The Man in Lonely Land | Page 7

what's the matter. Not
for some years have I been glad over them, I don't care for girls older
than you are, Dorothea. When they reach the grown-up age--"
"Claudia has reached the age of twenty-six. She told me so in one of
her letters. What age have you reached, Uncle Winthrop?"
"Middle age."
"Is that very old?" Dorothea came closer, and her fingers slipped in and
out of Laine's hair. "You're gray just a teensy bit, but I don't think she's
a person who will mind if a man isn't truly young. You've got such nice
strong arms, and I'm not afraid of lions or tigers or bears or--or mice or
anything when you are with me. Please like her, Uncle Winthrop!"
Dorothea's face was pressed against Laine's. "Next to father and mother
and Channing I love you best, and I think I'm going to love her next
after you."
"Mademoiselle Dorothea!"
From the steps outside Antoinette was calling, and Dorothea nodded
her head at her uncle. "That's another thing my children are not going
to have. They are never going to have a French governess to put them
to bed and make them say their prayers in French. I don't believe the
Lord likes it. Good night, Uncle Winthrop. I hope my cousin Claudia
will be politer about you than you've been about her, and I know she
hasn't red hands." She waved her own and threw a kiss, but as she
reached the door Laine called her back.
"Come here, Dorothea."
She turned and came toward him. "Did you call me, Uncle Winthrop?"
"I did." He drew her on his knees. "Did you say you said your prayers

in French?"
"Every night, unless for punishment I have to say a German one.
Channing just shuffles his out and runs all the words together so I don't
believe even God can understand them. I don't like French prayers."
"Then why do you say them?"
"Oh, we have to! All the children I know say their prayers in French.
One day six of us had a race to see which could say them fastest and
say the most. I beat. Want to hear me?"
"Indeed I don't!" Laine's voice was emphatic. "But I don't like French
prayers for little American girls. I never cared for parrots or--"
"What kind do you say, French or American?" Dorothea was stroking
her uncle's fingers one by one. "I always say my real prayers inside
after I get in bed--that is, if I'm not too sleepy; and they're just plain
talking to the Lord. You see, we are not allowed to speak one word
except in French to Antoinette, and mother likes us to speak it to her,
only she is always in such a hurry she forgets half the time. We speak
English to father, all right, though; father says French for breakfast is
all foolishness, and I think so, too. We take breakfast with father every
morning, and we just have a grand time. Mother is never very well in
the mornings, so she don't get up; but we take lunch with her when
there isn't company and she isn't going out. Did you know the Dufferns
had a new baby at their house?"
Laine shook his head.
"They have. It's a girl. They had four girls already, and Julia says
they're going to change their doctor. He always brings girls."
"Madam-oiselle Dor-othea!"
Dorothea slipped from her uncle's lap. "I know what that means.
Whenever she says 'Madam-ois-elle Doro-thea!' through her nose it's a
German prayer. Good night." And this time she was gone.
Laine followed her to the steps to take upon himself the responsibility
of her delay, and as he came back in the room he glanced at the clock
and took out his watch. It wouldn't do for a girl from the country to get
into New York alone at this time of night, and, of course, he would
have to meet her; but why did she come at this hour of night? Ringing
for his coat and hat, he put them on, then stopped to light a cigar, and
as the match was held to it the front door-bell rang sharply. A moment
later some one was talking to Timkins.

"Is this Mr. Warrick's residence?"
The voice that asked the question was fresh and clear, and carried
easily to where he stood. He looked around quickly as if for escape.
"Yes'm." He could picture the bow Timkins was making. Timkins was
the politest person he knew. "Yes'm, and this is Miss Keith, isn't it? Just
come in, ma'm, we're expecting of you, though your train must have
been a little earlier than usual, ma'm. Mr. Warrick is out of town, and
Mrs. Warrick had a pressing engagement which couldn't