'She had a trunk,' he replied. 'Here it is, with her clothes, and the child's, and--a Bible.'

'He said the last slowly, and, taking up the book, opened it as far as possible from the writing on the margin, which might or might not be dangerous.

'It is a German Bible,' he continued, and then Arthur took it quickly from him as if it had been a long-lost friend, turning the worn pages rapidly, but failing to discover the marked pa.s.sage and the message for some one.

The lock of baby hair and the faded flowers caught his attention, and his breath came hard and pantingly, as for a moment he held the little golden tress which seemed almost to twine itself lovingly around his fingers.

'That must be her child's hair. You know I told you there was a little girl found with her. Would you like to see her?' Frank said.

'No, no!' Arthur answered, hastily. 'Let her stay where she is, I don't like children as a rule. You know I can't abide the noise yours sometimes make.'

He was leaving the room with the Bible in his hand, but Frank could not suffer that, and he said:

'I suppose all these things must stay here till the coroner sees them; so I will put the Bible where I found it.

Arthur gave it up readily enough, and then, as he reached the door, looked back, and said:

'If forty coroners and undertakers come on this business, don't bother me any more. My head buzzes like a bee-hive. See that everything is done decently for the poor woman, and don't let the town bury her. Do it yourself, and send the bill to me. There is room enough on the Tracy lot; put her in a corner.'

'Yes,' Frank answered, standing in the open door and watching him as he went slowly down the long hall and until he heard him going up stairs.

Then locking the door, which shut him in with the dead, he took the photograph from his pocket and examined it minutely, feeling no shadow of doubt in his heart that it was Gretchen--if the picture in the window was like her. It was the same face, the same sweet mouth and sunny blue eyes, with curls of reddish-golden hair shading the low brow. The dress was different and more in accordance with that of a girl who belonged to the middle cla.s.s, but this counted for nothing, and Frank felt himself a thief, and a liar, and a murderer as he stood looking at the lovely face; and debating what he should do.

Turning it over he saw on the back a word traced in English letters, in a very uncertain scrawling hand, as if it were the writer's first attempt at English. Spelling it letter by letter he made out what he called 'Wiesbaden,' and knew it was some German town. Did Gretchen live there, he wondered, and how could he find out, and what should he do? He had not yet seen the child at the cottage, but from some things Harold said, he knew she was more like this picture than like the dead woman found with her, and in his heart he felt almost sure who she was, and that his course of duty was plain. He ought to show Arthur the photograph, and tell him his suspicions, and take every possible step to ascertain who the woman was and where she came from.

Frank was not a bad man, nor a hard-hearted man, but he was ambitious and weak. He had enjoyed money, and ease, and position long enough to make him unwilling to part with them now, while for his children he was more ambitious than for himself. To see Tom master of Tracy Park was the great desire of his life, and this could not be, if what he feared were proved true. If Arthur had no wife, no child, no will adverse to him, why, then his interest was safe, for no will his brother could now make would be held as valid, and when he died everything would naturally go to him. Of all this Frank thought during the few minutes he staid in the silent room. Then he said to himself:

'I will see the child first. After all I know nothing for certain--can never know anything for certain, and I should be a fool to give up all my children's interests for a fancy, an idea, which may have no foundation. Arthur does not know half the time what he is saying, and might not tell the truth about Gretchen. She may not have been his wife.

On the whole, I do not believe she was. He would never have left her if she had been, and if so, this child, if she is Gretchen's, has no right to come between me and mine. No, I shall wait a little while and think, though in the end I mean to do right.'

With these specious arguments Frank tried to quiet his conscience, but he could not help feeling that Satan had possession of him, and as he hurried through the hall he said aloud, as if speaking to something seen:

'Go away--go away! I shall do right if I only know what right is.

He did not see his brother again that day, or go to the cottage either, but as he was dressing himself next morning he said to his wife:

'That little girl ought to see her mother before she is buried. I shall send for her to-day. The coroner will be here, too. Did I tell you I had a telegram last night? He is coming on the early train.'

Mrs. Tracy pa.s.sed the allusion to the coroner in silence, but of the little girl she said:

'I suppose the child must come to the funeral, but you surely do not mean to keep her? We are not bound to do that because her mother froze to death on our premises.'

'Would you let her go to the poor-house?' Frank asked, but Dolly did not reply.

As the breakfast-bell just then rang, no more was said of the little waif until the sleigh was brought to the door, and Frank announced his intention of stopping for the child on his way back from the station, where he was going to meet the coroner.

CHAPTER XIV.

LITTLE JERRY.

It was nearly noon when Harold left Tracy Park the previous day and started for home, eager and anxious with regard to the child whom he claimed as his own. He had found her. She was his and he should keep her, he said to himself, and then he wondered how his grandmother had managed with her, and if she had cried for him or for her mother, and as he reached the house he stood still a moment, to listen. But the sounds which met his ear were peals of laughter, mingled with mild, and, as it would seem, unavailing expostulations from his grandmother.

Opening the door suddenly he found the child seated at the table in the high chair he used to occupy, and which Mrs. Crawford had brought from the attic, where it was stored. Standing before the child was a dish of bread and milk, of which she had evidently eaten enough, for she was playing with it now, and amusing herself by striking the spoon into the milk, which was splashed over the table, while three or four drops of it were standing on the forehead and nose of the distressed woman, who was vainly trying to take the spoon from the little hand clenching it so firmly.

Mrs. Crawford had had a busy and exciting day with her charge, who, active and restless, and playful, kept her on the alert and made her forget in part how lame she was. As she could not put her foot to the floor without great pain, and as she must move about, she adopted the expedient of placing her knee on a chair to the back of which she held, while she hobbled around the room, followed by the child, who, delighted with this novel method of locomotion, put her knee in a low chair, and holding to Mrs. Crawford's skirts, limped after her, imitating her perfectly, even to the groans she sometimes uttered when a twinge sharper than usual ran up her swollen limb. It was fun for the child, but almost death to the woman, who, when she could endure it no longer, sank into a chair, and tried by speaking sharply, to make the little girl understand that she must keep quiet. But when she scolded, baby scolded back, in a language wholly unintelligible, shaking her curly head, and sometimes stamping her foot by way of emphasizing her words.

When Mrs. Crawford laughed the child laughed, and when once a pang severer than usual wrung the tears from her eyes, baby looked at her compa.s.sionately a moment, while her little face puckered itself into wrinkles as if she too were going to cry; then, putting up her soft hand she wiped the tears from Mrs. Crawford's cheeks, and, climbing into her lap, became as quiet as a kitten. But a touch sufficed to start her up, for she was full of fun and frolic, and her laughing blue eyes, which were of that wide-open kind which see everything, were br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with mischief. Once or twice she called out 'Mahnee,' and going to the window, stood on tip-toe looking out, to see if she were coming. But on the whole she seemed happy and content, exploring every nook and corner of the kitchen and examining curiously every article of furniture as if it were quite new to her.

Once when Mrs. Crawford was talking earnestly to her, trying to make her understand, she stood for a moment watching and imitating the motion of the lady's lips and the expression of her face; then going up to her she began to examine her mouth and her teeth, as if she would know what manner of machinery it was which produced sounds so new and strange to her. She certainly was a remarkable child for her age, though Mrs.

Crawford was puzzled to know just how old she was. She was very small, and, judging from her size, one would have said she was hardly three; but the expression of her face was so mature, and she saw things so quickly and understood so readily, that she must have been older. She was certainly very precocious, with a most inquiring turn of mind, and Mrs. Crawford felt herself greatly interested in her as she watched her active movements and listened to the musical prattle she could not understand.

She had examined the carpet-bag, in which were found the articles necessary for an ocean voyage, and little else. Most of these were soiled from use, but there was among them a little clean, white ap.r.o.n, and this Mrs. Crawford put upon the child, after having washed her face and hands and brushed her wavy hair, which had a trick of coiling itself into soft, fluffy curls all over her head.

The bread and milk had been given her about twelve o'clock, and the laugh she gave when she saw it showed her appreciation of it quite as much as the eagerness with which she ate it. Her appet.i.te appeased, however, she began to play with it and throw the milk over the table and into Mrs. Crawford's face, just as Harold came in, full of what he had seen at the park, and anxious to see his baby, as he called her.

Taking her on his lap and kissing her rosy cheeks, he began to narrate to his grandmother all that had been done, and told her that Mr. St.

Claire had given it as his opinion that the woman was French.

'And if so,' he continued, 'baby must be French, too, though she does not look a bit like her mother, who is very dark and not--well, not at all like you or Mrs. St. Claire.'

Then he told of the trunk which the baggage-master had taken to the park, and of what it contained.

'The woman's clothes were marked "N.B."' he said, 'and some of the baby's--such a funny name. Mr. St. Claire said it was French, and p.r.o.nounced "Jerreen," though it is spelled "Jerrine."'

'That is the name of the child's things in the bag,' Mrs. Crawford said.

'Of course it is baby's, then,' Harold replied; 'but, I shall call her Jerry for short, even if it is a boy's name, and so my little lady, I christen you Jerry;' and kissing the forehead, the eyes, the nose, and the chin, he marked the shape of the cross upon the face upturned to his, and named his baby 'Jerry.'

Later, when he knew more of the world, he would change the 'y' into 'ie,' but now she was simply Jerry, and when he called her that she laughed and nodded as if the sound were not new to her. She was a beautiful child, with complexion as pure as wax, and eyes which might have borrowed their color from the blue lakes of Italy, or from the skies of England when they are at their brightest.

'I wish she could talk to me. I suppose she must speak French,' he said, as he was trying in vain to make her understand him. 'Don't you know a word I say?' he asked her, and her reply was what sounded to him like 'We, we.'

'That's English,' he cried, delighted with her progress, but when he spoke to her again, her answer was, 'Yah, yah,' which seemed to him so nonsensical that after a few attempts to make her say 'yes,' and to teach her what it meant, he gave up his lesson for the remainder of the day and talked to her by signs and gestures which she seemed to understand.

Whatever he did she did, and he saw her more than once imitating his grandmother's motions as well as his own, to the life.

Late in the afternoon Mr. St. Claire came to the cottage, curious to see the child, who, at sight of him, retreated behind Harold, and then peered shyly up at him, with a look in her great blue eyes which puzzled him on the instant, as one is frequently puzzled with a likeness to something or somebody he tries in vain to recall. In this instance it was hardly the eyes themselves, but rather the way they looked at him, and the sweep of the long lashes, together with a firm shutting together of the lips, which struck Mr. St. Claire as familiar, and when with a swift movement of her little hand, she swept the ma.s.s of golden hair back from her forehead, he would have sworn that he had seen that trick a thousand times, and yet he could not place it. That she was the child of the dead woman he believed, and as the mother was French, so also was she. He had once pa.s.sed two years in France, and was master of the language; so he spoke to the child in French, but though she seemed to understand him she made no reply, until he said to her:

'Where is your mother, little one?'

'Then she answered, promptly, 'Dead,' but the language was German, not French.

'Ho-ho! You are a little Dutchman,' Mr. St. Claire said, with some surprise in his voice.

Then as he noted the purity of her complexion, her fair hair and blue eyes, he said to himself: