CHAPTER XII

MIDDY

“Whither away, Patty?” asked Nan, as Patty came downstairs one bright morning in late October, hatted and gowned for the street.

“I’m going out on multifarious errands. First, I shall make a certain florist I wot me of, wish he had never been born. What _do_ you think? I ordered pink chrysanthemums and he sent yellow? Could villainy go further? And then I’ve some small shopping to do. Any errands?”

“No, unless you stop in at the photographer’s and see if my pictures are done.”

“All right I will. By, by.”

Patty got into the big car, with its open top, and drew in long breaths of the crisp autumn air.

“To Morley, the florist’s, first, Martin,” she told the chauffeur.

As they drove down Fifth Avenue, Patty nodded to acquaintances now and then. She was very happy, for she was planning a pleasant outing for her club of working girls, and it greatly interested her. She had long ago gotten over her foolish notion about the stage, and was now able to laugh at the recollection of her silly idea. But she occasionally sang at a concert for charity or for the entertainment of her friends, and her voice, by reason of study and practice, was growing stronger and fuller.

When she reached Morley’s the florist’s doorman assisted Patty from the car, and she went into the shop.

Though she had threatened to reprove him severely for his error about the flowers, Patty was really very polite, and merely called his attention to the mistake, which he promised to rectify at once. Then, selecting a small bunch of violets to pin on her coat, Patty went out.

The doorman, who had been looking in the window, to see when she started, sprang to attention, and then, as Patty stepped toward her car, she stood stock-still in amazement. For there, on the back seat, sat a smiling baby, a chubby rosy-cheeked child about two years old.

“Why, you cunning Kiddy!” exclaimed Patty, “where in the world did you come from? What are you doing in my car?”

The baby smiled at her, and holding out a little white-mittened hand, said: “F’owers? F’owers for Middy?”

“Who is she, Martin?” asked Patty of the chauffeur. “How did she get here?”

Martin looked around. The car was a long one, and he had not turned to look back since Patty went into the shop.

“Why, Miss Patty, I don’t know! Maybe some of your friends left her?”

“No, of course, no one would do that, and besides, I don’t know the child. Who are you, baby?”

“Middy,” said the little one. “I Middy.”

“You are, are you? Well, that doesn’t help much. Who brought you here, Middy?”

“Muddy.”

“Muddy, Middy. Your vocabulary seems to be limited! Well, what shall I do with you?”

The baby gurgled and smiled and reiterated a demand for “f’owers.”

“Yes, you may have the flowers,” and Patty gave her the violets, “but I don’t understand your presence here.”

Apparently it mattered not to the baby what Patty understood, and she smelled the flowers with decided evidences of satisfaction.

Patty turned to the doorman, who had followed her from the shop.

“What do you make of it?” she said.

The man stared. “I don’t know, ma’am. There was no baby in the car when you arrived here.”

“That there was not,” agreed Patty. “Well, how did she get there?”

“I’m sure I’ve no idea, ma’am.”

“Weren’t you here while I was in the store?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I was looking in at you, so’s to be ready to open your car door as soon as you came out.”

“Well, I never heard of anything so queer. I wonder what I’d better do.”

“Shall I call a policeman, ma’am?”

“Policeman? Gracious, no! This is a nice child. See how pretty she is, and how well dressed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Patty looked up and down the street, but saw no one whom she could connect with the baby’s presence. A policeman drew near, and his expression was questioning. He hadn’t realised that there was a strange baby in the case, but he saw the lady was in a dilemma of some sort, and he was about to ask why.

But Patty jumped in the car beside the child, and said, “Home, Martin,” so quickly, that the policeman wandered on without a word.

“It’s ridiculous to take you home, baby,” Patty said; “but what can I do with you?”

“F’owers,” said the little voice, and the stranger offered them to Patty to smell.

“Yes, nice flowers,” returned Patty, absently, as she stared hard at her visitor. “Who are you, dear?”

“Middy,—des Middy,” and the little face dimpled in glee.

“Well, Middy, you’re one too many for me!” and they went on toward home.

“Oh, Nan!” cried Patty, as she took her new friend indoors, “look who’s here!”

“Who is she?” asked Nan, looking up from her book, as Patty deposited the small morsel of humanity on a sofa.

“Dunno. She was wished on me while I was in at Morley’s. Came out of the shop to find her sitting bolt upright in the car.”

“Really? Did somebody abandon her?”

“Can’t say. She wasn’t there,—and then, she _was_ there! That’s all I know. Want her?”

“Certainly not. But what are you going to do with her?”

The stranger seemed to sense a lack of welcome, and putting up a pathetic little red lip, said in tragic tones. “Middy ’ants Muddy.”

“You poor little thing!” cried Patty, catching her up in her arms. “Did your mother put you there?”

“Ess, Muddy frowed Middy in au’mobile. Middy ’ant do home.”

“Where is your home?”

The baby’s face smiled beatifically, but the midget only said “Vere?”

“Don’t you know yourself?” and the baby shook her head.

“It’s clear enough, Patty, somebody has abandoned the little thing. How awful! And such a pretty baby!”

“And beautifully dressed. Look, Nan, see the little white kid shoes, and fine little handkerchief linen frock. And her cap is all hand-embroidered.”

“And her coat is of the best possible quality. Look at the fineness of the cloth.”

“Well, what about it?”

“I can’t make it out. If it were a poor child, I’d think it a case of abandonment. Oh, Patty, I’ll tell you! Somebody kidnapped a rich child, and then they became frightened, and slipped her into your car to save themselves from discovery.”

“Why, of course that’s it! How clever you are, Nan, to think it out! For she is a refined, sweet baby, not a bit like a slum child.”

This was true. The dark curls that clustered on the baby’s brow were fine and soft, her little hands were well cared for, and her raiment was immaculate and of the best. But they searched in vain for any name or distinguishing mark on her clothes. Even the coat and cap had no maker’s tag in them, though it was evident that there had been.

“See,” said Patty, “they’ve ripped out the store tag! The kidnappers did that. Did the bad mans take you, baby?”

“No, Muddy b’ing baby. Des Muddy.”

“Muddy is, of course, her mother. Now, we know her mother never put the child in the car, so I guess we can’t depend on her story.”

“Ess,” and the little one grew emphatic. “Muddy did b’ing Middy. An’ Muddy _did_ put Middy in au’mobile.”

“Well, I give it up. She seems to know what she’s talking about, but I do believe she was kidnapped. We’ll have to keep her for a day or two. It’ll be in the papers, of course.”

“Perhaps she’s hungry, Nan; what ought she to eat?”

“Anything simple. Ask Louise for some milk and crackers.”

But Middy did not seem hungry. She took but a sip of the milk and a mere nibble of the cracker. She seemed happy, and though she beamed impartially on everybody, she said little.

“She ought to have something to play with,” decreed Patty. “There isn’t a thing in the house. I ransacked the attic rooms for that last missionary box. I haven’t any favours or toys left. Nan, I’m going to take her out to buy some, and maybe we’ll meet her distracted mother looking for her.”

“Maybe you won’t! But go along, if you like. I’ll go with you as far as Gordon’s.”

Putting on the baby’s wraps again, Patty started off. The child was delighted to go in the car.

“Nice au’mobile,” she said, patting the cushions.

“Hear her patronising tone!” laughed Nan. “Middy have au’mobile at home?” she inquired.

“No, no,” was the reply as the tiny white teeth showed in a sunny smile.

“You’re a lovely-natured little scamp, anyway,” declared Patty, hugging the morsel to her, and Middy crowed in contentment.

Patty took her to a large toyshop. As they entered, a clerk came forward to wait on them. “What can I show you?” he asked.

“Wait a minute,” said Patty. “Let the baby choose. Now, Middy, what do you like best?”

The child looked around deliberately. Then, spying some dolls, she made a rush for them. “Middy ’ant Dolly-baby! Ess!”

“Very well, you shall have a dolly-baby. This one, or this one?”

“No. ’Reat bid one! See!”

She pointed to the largest doll of all, a very magnificent affair, indeed.

“Oh, that’s too big for a little girl like Middy! Have a dear little, cunning, baby doll.”

But, no, the child was self-willed, and insisted on the big doll.

“Well,” said Patty, “I suppose she might as well have it,” so the big doll was put into the outstretched little arms, and peace reigned.

“An’ a dolly vadon,” the small tyrant went on. This was translated to mean dolly wagon, by the clerk, who was more versed than Patty in baby language.

“Good gracious, sister! You’ll bankrupt me!” and Patty inquired the price of the little coaches.

Moreover, the wilful purchaser declined all but the best and biggest, and when it was ordered sent home, Patty hurried her charge out of the store lest she demand further booty.

With the big doll they went back home, and Patty set herself to work to get further knowledge of the child’s antecedents.

But here efforts were vain. She learned only the age of her guest and no other statistics.

“Mos’ two ’ears old,” Middy declared she was, but except for that, no information was forthcoming.

Inquiries regarding her father brought only blank looks.

“Haven’t you any father at all?” urged Patty.

“No; no fader. Poor Middy dot no fader!”

But the bid for sympathy was so clearly insincere, and the accompanying smile so merry that Patty concluded she had no father of her recollection.

It soon transpired that the wily mite called for sympathy on all occasions. “Poor Middy,” was her constant plea, if she wanted anything.

“Poor Middy hung’y,” she said at last, and this time she eagerly welcomed the milk and crackers.

“Now, Poor Middy s’eepy,” she announced, when her meal was over, and willingly she allowed Patty to bathe her hands and face and put her to rest on the couch in the living-room.

“Did you ever see anything so pretty?” exclaimed Patty to Nan, as the latter returned. “She’s been sleeping nearly two hours. See her little hand, just like a crumpled rose-leaf. What _will_ Dad say?”

They let the baby sit up until Mr. Fairfield’s arrival, anxious to know his opinion of the strange circumstance.

“Well, bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “Patty, what queer jinks will you cut up next?”

“But, Dads, it surely wasn’t my fault! It was none of _my_ doing!”

“Of course not, child. I expect you’re one of those cut out for queer happenings. There are such people, you know.”

“Well, but what do you think about it? How do you explain it? Do you think, as Nan does, that kidnappers put her in the car, because they were frightened for their own safety, if found with the little thing?”

“Not altogether likely. I think it’s more probable the mother abandoned it.”

“Oh, how could she! That angel child. She _is_ a beauty, isn’t she, Daddy?”

“Very pretty, very pretty, indeed. But a problem. The end is not yet, Pattykins. I’m sorry this has happened. There’s been no kidnapping. If there had it would have been in the papers. This is, it seems to me, a deep laid plot of some sort. Well, we must await developments.”

Patty went away with Louise to make the baby a bed for the night, in her own dressing-room. With pillows and some guarding chairs, they improvised a crib, and the process of undressing the baby proved such a gala time that the whole house rang with merriment.

As they took off one little white shoe, a folded paper dropped out. It was addressed to Patty herself,—but with a feeling of apprehension as to what it might contain, she ran downstairs with it, before she looked inside at all.