Apron-Strings | Page 5

her own labor in the house. Now with finger-tips together, and with the spirit of those half-dozen ecclesiastics sounding in her nasal sing-song, she voiced her stern reproof:
"My dear brothers!"
"Aw," scoffed a boy, "we ain't neither your brothers."
"I am speaking in the broad sense," explained Dora, with the loftiness of one who addresses a throng from a pulpit. Then shaking a finger, "'The wicked flee when no man pursueth'--Proverbs, twenty-eighth chapter, and first verse."
"We're not wicked," denied the boy. "Mr. Farvel told us to come."
"We're goin' to rehearse for the weddin'," chimed in the tow-headed one.
Dora let her look travel from face to face, the while she shook her head solemnly. "But," she reminded, "if Mrs. Milo finds you here, only a miracle can save you!"
"Aw, I'm not afraid of her,"--the uncombed chorister advanced bravely. "She's only a boarder. And after this, I'm goin' to mind just Mr. Farvel."
Something like horrified pity lengthened the pale face of Dora. "Little boys," she advised, "in these brief years since I left the Orphanage, I've seen ministers come and ministers go. But Mrs. Milo"--she turned away--"like the poor----" Her ministerial gesture was eloquent of hopelessness.
The boys in the passage stared at one another apprehensively. But their leader was flushed with excitement and wrath. "Dora," he cried, hurrying over to check her going, "do you know what I wish would happen?"
She turned accusingly. "Oh, Bobbie! What a sinful thought!"
"But I wasn't wishin' that!"
"Drive it out of your heart!" she counseled, with all the passion of an evangelist. "Drive it out of your heart! Remember: she can't live forever. She ain't immortal. But let her stay her appointed time,"--this last with the bowed head proper to the sentiment, so that two short, tight braids stood ceilingward.
The stifled exclamations of the waiting ten brought her head up once more. From the vestibule, resplendent in shining satin and billows of tulle, had appeared a vision. The choir gazed on it in open-mouthed wonder. "Oh, look! The bride! Mm! Ain't it beautiful!"
Hattie was equal to the occasion. Dropping all the tulle into place, she walked from bay-window to table and back again, displaying her finery. "Isn't it pretty?" she agreed. "See the veil. And look!"
Head on one side, the ever-philosophical Dora watched her. And Hattie, halting, turned once around for the benefit of all observers, but with an inviting smile toward the girl, as to a sister-spirit who would be certain to appreciate.
Dora lifted gingham-clad shoulders in a weary shrug. "'Can a maid forget her ornaments?'" she quoted; "'or a bride her attire?'"
"Well, I like that!" cried Hattie.
Quickly Dora extended a hand with a gesture unmistakably cleric. "Jeremiah," she explained; "--second chapter, and thirty-second verse."
But Hattie was not deceived. She rustled forward. "Yes!" she retorted. "And Hattie Balcome, first chapter, and first verse, reads: 'Can a maid forget her manners?'"
Dora was suddenly all meekness. "If she forgets her duties," she answered, "she shall flee from Mrs. Milo--and the wrath to come!" Whereupon, with a bounce and a giggle, neither of which was in keeping with her spoken fears, she went out, banging the library door.
Hattie turned, and here was the choir at her back, engrossed in the beauties of her apparel. She gave the little group a friendly nod and a smile. "So you are the boys," she commented.
Bobbie was quick to explain. "We're some of the boys," he said. "There's about fifty more of us, and pretty near fifty girls, too, over in the Orphanage."
"But--aren't you all rather big to be left in a basket?"
"Oh, not all of us are left in the basket." Bobbie shook his rumpled mop with great finality.
"No." It was a smaller boy. "Just the fellers that never had any mothers or fathers."
"Like me," piped a chorister from the rear.
"And me," put in the tow-headed boy.
Hattie looked them over carefully. "Which," she inquired, "is the one that is borrowed from his aunt?"
The group stirred. A murmur went from boy to boy. "Mm! Yes! That one! Oh, him!"
"That's Ikey Einstein," explained Bobbie. "And he's in the Church right now. You see, he's borrowed on account of his won-der-ful voice. Momsey says Ikey's got a song-bird in his throat."
Once more the group stirred, murmuring its assent. It was the testimony of a choir to its finest songster--a testimony strong with pride.
At that same moment, sounding from beyond the heavy door that gave to the Church, came a long-drawn howl of mingled rage and woe. "Wa-ah!"--it was the voice of a boy; "oh, wa-a-a-ah!"
Bobbie lifted a finger to point. "That," said he proudly, "is Ikey now." He motioned the choir into the bay-window, and Hattie followed.
The wails increased in volume. The door at the end of the passage swung open; and into sight, amid loud boo-hoos, pressed a squirming trio. There were two torn and dirty