TALE TWELVE. TWO BABES AND TWO MOTHERS.

“Yes, we are very happy here.”

“That fact is very evident and, as I am out for a story today, I am going to be so rude as to ask you if there is not some pain back of all this peacefulness?”

The woman addressed drew herself up to her full height, which was little more than five feet, while her gray eyes gleamed with the assurance of complete possession of some article of value.

This woman was not handsome, in fact had she been placed in less effective surroundings she would have been homely.

But she was good, although the fact that she had borne cares could not well be concealed. It was her nature and intention to see the brightest side of any object, and that trait in her character was so dominant that it outshone her physical imperfections. The writer had known her a very long time, and she had often promised him a story, so that it took but little urging on his part to get her to talk of her past life.

“I was never a famous beauty, an actress, a singer of note, nor a rich man’s daughter,” she said, by way of beginning. “I was a simple country girl whose chief duties consisted in helping my mother wash, iron, churn and pull weeds in the garden in the summer months, while the winter days were whiled away by washing dishes, going to school, and if nothing of greater importance came up for the evening, sewing carpet rags until bed time.

“Such was the monotony of the life of Virginia Dawson. My father thought little of the future, not that he failed to care, but that he failed to see that the future held anything in store for him or his children. He had been taught the lesson of frugality, the same being demonstrated by poverty. It seems strange that a discovery of nature’s deposits would be the turning point in my humdrum existence, but such was the case. My parental home was but a few miles from the now busy city of Anderson, Ind., and it was the finding of natural gas near our house that threw me into the company of Arthur Blake. He was the son of wealthy parents and, though all my sufferings are directly traceable to my early association with him, I must say that he is one of the most noble of men. He came to the community in which we dwelt as a civil engineer, having fancied that profession more than any other. A firm of Boston capitalists had employed him to investigate the extent and certainty of the gas belt. He was instructed to keep his business quiet and to conceal his real identity. To do this, he assumed the role of a laborer, going about and actually toiling with the derricks, ropes and pipes just as though he was not an heir to a large fortune.

“While thus engaged he came to our humble home to board. I was just such a strip of awkward girlhood as any man might expect to find in a child of the rural district.

“I know I was the most unsophisticated creature that ever lived. I knew nothing of life outside the five-room house in which my parents had lived for twenty years and in which I had been born nearly seventeen years before I met Arthur Blake.

“He remained at our house for three months, and so refined and dignified was he that he won a place in our hearts that was hard to fill by any others. He was rather reticent and made few friends. My father was dumfounded when one day Arthur proposed that he, my father, go and buy a new buggy.

“‘What would I buy a buggy with and what for?’” asked my father.

“‘With this,’ said Arthur, as he handed father a roll of bills, ‘and for my use. I shall have to do a great deal of driving. I will hire a horse from you, but I want everyone to understand that the whole outfit is yours.’

“So it was arranged, and it was generally said by less fortunate neighbors that ‘Dawson must be makin’ money keepin’ boarders.’

“Then came a long series of drives over the broad expanse of the gas fields. My parents did not object to my going with him, for he was very considerate of my welfare. It was during these trips that I learned of the beauties of nature. I soon became thrilled with the songs of birds, the chirping of crickets and the humming of bees, none of which had held any charms for me before. Plants that to me had always been known as weeds now bore bright blossoms; the green leaves meant more to me. I saw beauty in the undulating fields which I had always known as plain hills. The whole world seemed to put on a new garment. You see that I was not experienced enough to know that I saw everything with different eyes than before. I did not know that a little word of four letters told all that affected me, in fact I did not know what love meant until he told me, and then I did not fully understand it until he was away from me for three weeks.

“He went home, back to Pittsburg on a visit, and while he was gone the brightness of the flowers faded. The frosts of October withered the foliage, and the brown of the leaves seemed to resemble the solemnity of my heart when I would walk along the well known paths with pleasant memories in my mind. Every bush and tree seemed to add to the sentiment with which my heart was filled and sobs choked me. The notes of the few birds that had remained tempting fate by braving the elements were even sobbing.

“Then he came back, and the glinting of the sunshine on the early morning frost was not brighter than my life. After that he made real love to me, and I have always thought he meant it. Our love was like that of many others and led to grave indiscretions, and in due time I realized that I was in serious trouble. I told Arthur and he said he would go back to his father and get some money and come and marry me. Instead, he went away and during those months of waiting my suffering was beyond description.

“I was finally forced to tell my parents. My mother wept herself sick; father became morose and said little; my trouble became neighborhood gossip; one old lady going so far as to say it was good enough and she guessed most anybody could have a new buggy for that price.

“One day after my baby was born, a well dressed stranger called at our house and asked for my father. He was a lawyer that Arthur had sent. He had a great lot of papers he wanted us to sign, and after a long talk with father, we signed them as directed. After that father seemed to get along better; he was kinder to me and seemed to like the baby better. He seemed to have more money and the first day of each month, rain or shine, he went to town and nearly always brought mother and me a new dress or some article of apparel that was most needed. He gave me money to buy the baby’s clothes without a murmur, and took a more cheerful view of everything.

“At last the land in our section became so valuable for the gas that was under it that the little forty-acre tract on which my father had been a tenant so long, was sold to a party of capitalists, and our occupation as farmers was gone.

“We moved to town, I mean Anderson, Indiana. There my father obtained work in a factory. All this time my baby was growing from the sphere of long clothes, into prattling, toddling childhood. Father toiled long and faithfully day by day; mother and I managed the housework, nor was our strength taxed, for we had but a five-room cottage, and it seemed a shame that poor father should work so hard, so many long hours of the day and we have so much time to spend in idleness. It was decided that I should seek employment and I obtained a situation as maid in the home of one of the large factory owners. I had a very pleasant place, and when at the end of two years, the family decided to remove to Chicago, it was arranged that I go with them. My mother could easily get along without me, and she had grown so fond of the baby that she would not hear of my taking her with me.

“I was soon located in my new home on one of the principal North Side thoroughfares of the city. All went well until one day the lady of the house announced that she expected some company from California, and wished me to be in attendance to them during their stay.

“When the visitors arrived I was at my station in the hall on the second floor; the hostess greeted them, and in her demonstration of hospitality showed the lady the suite they were to occupy during their stay. She rang and I went in to assist in putting away the wraps. The lady was a sweet young matron, and when she said, ‘Now I must have my baby with me a little while,’ I could have hugged her.

“‘Yes,’ said the hostess; ‘Virginia, run down and bring the baby up; he is with his papa in the reception room.’

“Then, with a motherly feeling growing in my breast, I descended the heavily carpeted stairs, three steps at a time, but even in my flight I had taken time to fall in love with that baby before I ever set eyes on it.

“I told the gentleman that I would take the baby up to its mother. I saw the pallor on his face as I spoke, but when I took my baby’s half-brother into my arms none of the spectators suspected the truth.”

“Then the man was⸺?”

“Yes, it was my Arthur who had brought his wife and child to visit in the home where I was a servant, quite accidental, of course, and thanks to my rugged nature, I did not faint nor in any way betray my feelings.

“For two weeks I held my post of duty. Once he tried to speak to me in the hall, but I ran away from him. I felt that my claim had been settled. The day they left he pushed an envelope into my hand as I was packing his wife’s trunks. It contained a fifty-dollar bill and a letter. The money was an insult; the letter told me of his sympathy for me, and how he had been engaged to his wife long before he met me, but had loved me and still did. It all aroused my anger. I brooded over the matter for three weeks, then concluded to go to his home and expose the whole affair to his wife. I went to Anderson, got my little girl and departed for the west. I had no difficulty in finding his home. I was admitted and ushered into the parlor. His wife soon came to me; the moment she saw my little girl she began to weep and took her in her arms. My first impression was that he had told her everything. But no, she explained to me that her baby boy had contracted a cold in Chicago, from which he had never recovered, and they had buried him but two days before. She insisted on knowing whose child I had with me. Her suffering had the effect of changing my plans. Poor soul, I did not wish to add to her misery. After wringing a promise from her never to tell anyone, not even her husband, I told my story. I told her all except who the man was, and I concealed that fact from her. She insisted on my staying at their home for a few days until I found work. I was eager to do so, for she said baby and I would be such a comfort to her.

“I left with a promise to return. I found Arthur’s office and told him why I had come west, also how my plans were altered. He listened in silence until I had finished, then tenderly he took the baby into his arms and kissed her—just think, the first father’s kiss she had ever known.

“In spite of all my desire to expose him I was now fully convinced that it would be a great wrong to wreck his life and that of the woman who was his wife, and whom he had loved before he met me. He joined his wife in her entreaties for me to make my home with them, at least, he said, until I could do better.

“All went well for two months. Suffer? Yes, I suffered more than I dared then admit, but I was doing good, I was making his wife happy instead of dealing out pain, as I first intended. I am sure he suffered also, but I think he, too, found a great deal of happiness in the fact that he was doing all in his power for me and my child, without doing any harm to anyone. But an end must come, even to good intentions. One evening we were all sitting in the library of his home; my little girl was playing with a doll house he had given her. She had been quietly engaged in this pursuit for some moments, and so still was she we almost forgot that she was in the room. All at once she left her play and ran to Arthur and proceeded to climb up in his lap. Then putting her chubby arms around his neck and kissing his cheek, she said, ‘I wish you was my papa.’ And before anyone could answer her she turned to me and said, ‘Mamma, ain’t I dot no papa? Why tant you det me a nice papa like—like—Unca Arter?’

“It was too much for him. Tears sprang into his eyes and, putting her gently from him, he left the room. His wife thought his grief was caused by the sad recollection of their baby, but I knew. Such scenes were exceedingly straining, so I avowed my intention to return to Chicago, whereupon they begged me to leave my little Harriet with them. We talked it over while Arthur held her on his knee. I finally consented, for I knew she would be better cared for there with them than she would with me. I felt the greatest pain, though, when, after it was settled, Arthur lovingly folded her in his arms and said, ‘Now, darling, I am going to be your papa.’ Freeing herself from him, and not quite understanding it all, she ran to me and said, ‘Who’s doin’ to be my mamma now, you, mamma, or Auntie Arter?’ I could only take her in my arms and weep.

“Good-byes were said and I came here and found work in a restaurant. Letters came and went with the regularity of the rising sun. Always a little sheet of scribbles from my baby. They never allowed her to forget me. To my surprise one day I received a telegram from Arthur saying that his wife, the baby and himself would arrive in Chicago in three days. I did not understand at the time, but learned upon their arrival that Arthur’s wife had become afflicted with some malady which required a difficult surgical operation, and she was coming here for that purpose.

“The operation was performed and everything done to save her precious life, but it became the painful duty of the nurse to tell Arthur that all efforts had resulted in failure. The slender thread of life seemed about to be severed. They sent for me to come to the hospital and bring my baby. I went and was shown to the room where white sheets seemed to predominate, the monotony of which was only broken by the vases of beautiful flowers which filled the room with sweet perfume.

“Arthur and the nurse were with her. She feebly requested the nurse to leave us alone, then she kissed me and the baby, and reached out her feverish hands to Arthur.

“‘Arthur,’ she said, in trembling tones, ‘Arthur, say once more that you love me and for the sake of that love will do something for me.’

“The scene was pitiful. Arthur knelt beside the bed and took the death marked face between his strong hands and said, ‘Nannie, dear, I do love you, and will do anything you ask.’

“Poor soul, how she struggled for breath while Arthur with his face buried in the white linen sobbed his heart out.

“Then she said, ‘Now the baby.’

“He took the baby and placed her on the bed as she requested, where she could pat and caress her.

“‘And now you come, too, Virginia.’

“And there, with death stealing in on the bright rays of sunlight, we knelt one on either side of the baby.

“With a look of love which I shall always cherish, she began by addressing me:

“‘Virginia, I know all; he, Arthur, my Arthur and your Arthur, dear, has been good and truthful, and baby, God bless you, you have a real papa now and one of your choice. Listen—Arthur—Virginia⸺,’ her breath now came in gasps,—‘I’m—going to our little Arthur—see—see—he is watching us—and he’s waiting—for—me. Promise—Arthur—promise—Vir-gin—ia, that when I am gone—you will marry—for the baby’s—sake—and—my—sake—promise.’

“The sun crept through the blinds and lighted the smile that flitted over her face as I closed the bloodless eyelids.

“As soon as Arthur could arrange his business affairs in California, he went to New York, where baby and I were to join him.

“We were married quietly there a month after Nannie died. Quietly, because the world would have censured us for lack of respect had it known just that much of the affair.

“We sailed for Liverpool, and traveled abroad a year, and on our return we married again, and this time publicly. We are very happy, although there was much pain behind it all. We both know now what true happiness is.”