Part 11 (1/2)

So, as might be expected, she managed to recover herself before many minutes, and receive his tender condolences with renewed spirit; and when she bade him good-night she was almost herself again, and was laughing, even though her eyelashes were wet.

”No,” she said, ”we are _not_ going to destruction, Lady Augusta to the contrary, and the family luck must a.s.sert itself some time, since it has kept itself so long in the background. And in the mean time--well,” with a little parting wave of her hand, ”Vagabondia to the rescue!”

CHAPTER VI. ~ ”WANTED, A YOUNG PERSON.”

THEEE was much diligent searching of the advertising columns of the daily papers for several weeks after this. Advertis.e.m.e.nts, in fact, became the staple literature, and Dolly's zeal in the perusal of them was only to be equalled by her readiness to s.n.a.t.c.h at the opportunities they presented. No weather was too grewsome for her to confront, and no representation too unpromising for her to be allured by. In the morning she was at Bayswater calling upon the chilling mother of six (four of them boys) whose moral nature needed judicious attention, and who required to be taught the rudiments of French, German, and Latin; in the afternoon she was at the general post-office applying to Q. Y. Z., who had the education of two interesting orphans to negotiate for, and who was naturally desirous of doing it as economically as possible; and at night she was at home, writing modest, business-like epistles to every letter in the alphabet in every conceivable or inconceivable part of the country.

”If I had only been born 'a stout youth,' or 'a likely young man,' or 'a respectable middle-aged person,' I should have been 'wanted' a dozen times a day,” she would remark; ”but as it is, I suppose I I must wait until something 'presents itself,' as the Rev. Marmaduke puts it.”

And in defiance of various discouraging and dispiriting influences, she waited with a tolerable degree of tranquillity until, in the course of time, her patience was rewarded. Sitting by the fire one morning with Tod and a newspaper, her eye was caught by an advertis.e.m.e.nt which, though it did not hold out any extra inducements, still attracted her attention, so she read it aloud to Aimee and 'Toinette.

”Wanted, a young person to act as companion to an elderly lady. Apply at the printers.”

”There, Aimee,” she commented, ”there is another. I suppose I might call myself 'a young person,' Don't you think I had better 'apply at the printer's'?”

”They don't mention terms,” said Aimee.

”You would have to leave home,” said 'Toinette.

Dolly folded up the paper and tossed it on to the table with a half sigh. She had thought of that the moment she read the paragraph, and then, very naturally, she had thought of Griffith. It would not be feasible to include him in her arrangements, even if she made any.

Elderly ladies who engage ”young persons” as companions were not in the habit of taking kindly to miscellaneous young men, consequently the prospect was not a very bright one.

There would only be letter-writing left to them, and letters seemed such cold comfort contrasted with every-day meetings. She remembered, too, a certain six months she had spent with her Bilberry charges in Switzerland, when Griffith had nearly been driven frantic by her absence and his restless dissatisfaction, and when their letters had only seemed new aids to troublous though unintentional games at cross-purposes.

There might be just the same thing to undergo again, but, then, how was it to be avoided? It was impossible to remain idle just at this juncture.

”So it cannot be helped,” she said, aloud. ”I must take it if I can get it, and I must stay in it until I can find something more pleasant, though I cannot help wis.h.i.+ng that matters did not look so unpromising.

Tod, you will have to go down, Aunt Dolly is going to put on her hat and present herself at the printer's in the character of a young person in search of an elderly lady.”

Delays were dangerous, she had been taught by experience, so she ran up-stairs at once for her out-door attire, and came down in a few minutes, drawing on her gloves and looking a trifle ruefully at them.

”They are getting discouragingly white at the seams,” she said, ”and it seems almost impossible to keep them sewed up. I shall have to borrow Aimee's m.u.f.f. What a blessing it is that the weather is so cold!”

At the bottom of the staircase she met Mollie.

”Phemie is in the parlor, Dolly,” she announced, ”and she wants to see you. I don't believe Lady Augusta knows she is here, either, she looks so dreadfully fluttered.”

And when she entered the room, surely enough Phemie jumped up with a nervous bound from a chair immediately behind the door, and, dropping her m.u.f.f and umbrella and two or three other small articles, caught her in a tremulous embrace, and at once proceeded to bedew her with tears.

”Oh, Dolly!” she lamented, pathetically; ”I have come to say good-by; and, oh! what shall I do without you?”

”Good-by!” said Dolly. ”Why, Phemie?”

”Switzerland!” sobbed Phemie. ”The--the select seminary at Geneva, Dolly, where th-that professor of m-music with the lumpy face was.”

”Dear me!” Dolly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”You don't mean to say you are going there, Phemie?”

”Yes, I do,” answered Euphemia. ”Next week, too. And, oh dear, Dolly!”