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 DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY. 
 
"This is no night for a child to be out." — Pa%e 8. 
 
DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY. 
 
 By A. G. PLYMPTON. 
 
 HlustrateU bg tfa aut&or. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 i8qo. 
 
Copyright, r8qo, 
 By A. G. Plympton. 
 
 33mbcrgitg $ksb: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 
 
DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ' I ^HE rain was driving in sheets 
 from the northwest, and the 
 wind howling dismal prophecies of 
 winter, as a carriage, one rough night 
 in November, stopped at the door of 
 Mrs. Kipp's boarding-house on Sun- 
 shine Street. It happened, at the mo- 
 ment, that Mrs. Kipp herself stood 
 looking out of her front-parlor window, 
 and discerned, by the light from the 
 lamp-post, a young man descend from 
 the carriage carefully carrying a soft 
 bundle. 
 
6 Dear Daicghter Dorothy. 
 
 " This must be the gentleman from 
 the South who wishes to take my 
 fourth-story front," was Mrs. Kipp's 
 conclusion ; and in a moment more 
 Jane had ushered the stranger into 
 the room with the words, — 
 
 "A gentleman, mum, to see you." 
 
 He was a tall, fine-looking young 
 man, with a crop of crisp curls and 
 a pair of handsome, though rather sad- 
 looking, dark eyes. 
 
 The bundle, which was well wrapped 
 up in a travelling-shawl, he tenderly 
 deposited beside him upon the sofa. 
 
 " Heavens and earth ! " exclaimed the 
 good woman ; " it 's a baby ! " 
 
 Yes, a demure little creature, with 
 soft gold-brown curls and serious eyes, 
 and a smile which disclosed four little 
 white teeth, and which went so straight 
 to Mrs. Kipp's warm heart that it was 
 
Dear D might er Dorothy. 7 
 
 with the greatest difficulty she could 
 say, — 
 
 " This is Mr. Thorpe, I suppose. 
 Well, I wrote you that you could have 
 my fourth-story front, but you said 
 nothing about bringing a baby with 
 you. If you had, I should have replied 
 at once that I never take children into 
 my house." 
 
 " A-goo ! " gurgled the smiling baby. 
 
 " No ; the other boarders object to 
 them, so I 've made it my rule, and 
 I must abide by it." 
 
 " It s very unfortunate for me," re- 
 plied the pensive young man. " It never 
 occurred to me that she would be an ob- 
 jection. I even hoped that for a further 
 compensation you would be willing to 
 take charge of her during the day when 
 I must be away from her. However, if 
 this is your rule, I will not detain you. 
 
8 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 Come, little Dorothy ! " As he spoke, 
 he lifted the baby again in his strong 
 young arms, from which height she 
 looked down upon little Mrs. Kipp 
 and gurgled gleefully. 
 
 Mrs. Kipp followed them out into 
 the hall. The rain was driving against 
 the glass lights in the front door, which 
 a sudden gust of wind rattled angrily. 
 
 " Goodness gracious ! " cried the poor 
 woman, aghast at the thought of the 
 delicate baby-girl weathering such a 
 storm, and speaking right from her 
 motherly heart, " this is no night for 
 a child to be out. I think you had 
 better stay here until to-morrow, Mr. 
 Thorpe, when you can leave her with 
 me while you find rooms to suit you. 
 Let me take her now, and you go 
 and tell the hackman to bring in your 
 trunks." 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 9 
 
 The truth is, Mrs. Kipp's fingers 
 were fairly itching to squeeze the win- 
 some baby. She took her from the 
 young man's arms ; and little Dorothy 
 with baby wisdom at once discovered 
 she had found a friend, — a discovery 
 which caused her to nestle her head on 
 the good woman's shoulder and stroke 
 her cheek with her soft dimpled hand. 
 
 The following day, when Mr. Thorpe 
 returned from his fruitless search, Mrs. 
 Kipp, now thoroughly conquered by 
 Dorothy's charms, informed him that 
 she had no further objection to his re- 
 maining permanently with the child in 
 her fourth-story front ; and here, with 
 the addition of the little hall-room 
 adjoining, the two made a home for 
 themselves. 
 
 It was suggested to Mr. Thorpe, 
 when Dorothy's mother died, that it 
 
io Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 would be necessary for him to give the 
 child into the care of a woman. But 
 the broken-hearted young father clung 
 to the baby as his only comforter. 
 Poor little Dorothy had neither grand- 
 mother nor aunt ; and no stranger, he 
 thought, could have such tenderness for 
 her as he who shared her loss. So 
 when a position was offered him in 
 Boston, he packed up little white frocks 
 and dainty garments with his own per- 
 sonal possessions, and set out for the 
 North with Baby Dorothy upon his 
 arm. To others it might have seemed 
 a strange thing that in beginning this 
 new work he should hamper himself 
 with a helpless infant, but he knew that 
 it was only for her that he had heart to 
 work at all. 
 
 He was a very young papa, and in 
 cases of emergency he had no valuable 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 1 
 
 experience of children to fall back upon ; 
 but fortunately the baby was a wonder 
 of health and good-nature, and even at 
 this early age proved herself a good 
 traveller. 
 
 There is something very touching in 
 the sight of a big man's tender care of 
 a delicate little child, and their fellow- 
 passengers took the friendliest interest 
 in the odd pair. Dorothy was con- 
 stantly borrowed by the ladies, and car- 
 ried off to be fondled and amused ; and 
 she responded with sweet baby smiles 
 to all their advances. All the children 
 made friends with her ; and even the 
 gruff old soldier, who growled quite 
 rudely upon her first appearance on 
 the car, soon became reconciled to 
 her company, and rattled his newspa- 
 per to amuse her, in condescending 
 playfulness. Dorothy's first journey 
 
1 2 Dear Daug liter Dorothy. 
 
 was a long one ; but she bore it brave- 
 ly, and laughed and crowed, eat and 
 slept, in blissful unconsciousness of all 
 discomfort. 
 
 The truth is, she was a most engag- 
 ing baby, with the sweetest little face in 
 the world, and a disposition to make 
 the best of things. It really seemed as 
 if she understood that she was being 
 brought up by a man instead of in the 
 usual way by women and nurses, and 
 made it as easy as she could for him. 
 She slept just as comfortably under his 
 ragged old dressing-gown as if covered 
 by the daintiest afghan, took kindly 
 to tobacco-smoke, and did not repine 
 when her lullabies were whistled to her. 
 Her consideration was still further 
 shown by the fact that whatever her 
 private woes might be she never cried 
 over them, and she devoted herself to 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. I 3 
 
 the duty of growing up as fast as pos- 
 sible, which you must admit was the 
 cleverest thing a baby in her circum- 
 stances could do. 
 
 The admission of little Dorothy into 
 Mrs. Kipp's household was a reckless 
 innovation, and it was with fear and 
 trembling that the dear old creature 
 announced that a baby had become a 
 permanent member of it. How did she 
 know but Mrs. Le Grand, an invalid 
 of extreme nervous irritability who had 
 boarded with her for years and years, 
 would declare her first floor vacant! 
 And there was the Professor, who was 
 writing a book and disturbed by every 
 passing sound, — what would he say to 
 it? The Professor detested children, 
 and declared on the spot that he would 
 not stay in the house to be annoyed by 
 a fretful child ; and as for the lady, she 
 
14 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 wept and accused Mrs. Kipp of having 
 no consideration for her sufferings. 
 
 But one day the Professor was seen 
 pushing a perambulator upon the pave- 
 ment, and after that there was no further 
 talk of his leaving Mrs. Kipp ; and Mrs. 
 Le Grand even forgot her nerves in 
 cuddling the cooing baby. As the 
 child grew older, she became still more 
 interesting, and her funny speeches were 
 the delight of the whole household. 
 
 She was, it is true, rather an odd 
 little girl, and talked as nearly as she 
 could like her papa, whom she adored, 
 and who regarded her more and more, 
 as the years flew by, as a dear comrade. 
 So close was their companionship that 
 some one once playfully dubbing them 
 Thorpe and Company, the name was 
 unanimously adopted. 
 
 This familiarity between the two 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 15 
 
 often troubled " Auntie Kipp," who 
 thought that the usual relation of father 
 and child would be better for Dorothy, 
 who she declared was fast growing into 
 a little old woman. 
 
 But when she expostulated with Mr, 
 Thorpe, what did this singular parent 
 do but discuss this question, as he did 
 all others, with Dorothy herself, who 
 promptly declared Auntie Kipp's fears 
 to be groundless. 
 
 " You see he is such a very young 
 papa," she sweetly explained, " and I am 
 so much older than most persons of 
 eight years," — Dorothy always spoke 
 of herself as a person, — " that after all 
 we are very nearly of an age." 
 
 She was such a thoughtful little girl, 
 looking out for every one's comfort in 
 such a sweet way, and taking up one 
 care after another so successfully, that 
 
1 6 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 by the time she had reached the age 
 of eight she had really a great many 
 responsibilities. 
 
 At the end of every month her father 
 on his return from the office gave the 
 month's salary — "our salary" as Dorothy 
 called it — right into her small hands ; 
 and Dorothy laid aside the exact sum 
 for " the fourth-story front," and another 
 sum for the laundress, and perhaps a 
 few dollars for a hat for papa or a new 
 frock for herself, and prudently tucked 
 the rest in the old portemonnaie to last 
 till the next pay-day came round. 
 
 Mrs. Kipp was horrified indeed when 
 this plan came to her knowledge, and 
 she prophesied that Mr. Thorpe's ruin 
 would be the result of it. But Dorothy 
 declared that with his mind so occupied 
 with the great poem he was writing, he 
 ought not to be worried with the care of 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. i 7 
 
 money, and insisted that she could make 
 it go as far as any one. 
 
 But though different from other little 
 girls of her age as Dorothy certainly 
 was, Mrs. Kipp consoled herself with 
 the thought that she had too loving a 
 heart to be spoiled, and for cleverness 
 there was not her equal in Boston. 
 
 " As for her father, with his scribbling 
 and his fiddling," such were Mrs. Kipp's 
 own words, " he is the very moral of 
 those pale geniuses you read about, and 
 with no more sense, dear young gentle- 
 man ! for getting n in the world." 
 
 Scribbling and fiddling ! Well, it was 
 fortunate for Mrs. Kipp that Dorothy 
 never heard this disrespectful sentence. 
 With all her loving little heart she be- 
 lieved him to be gifted with the highest 
 genius. She was sure that the violin 
 had never been played as he played it. 
 
1 8 Dear Dazighter Dorothy. 
 
 Every evening she brought it to him 
 and sat at his feet, with her soft thought- 
 ful eyes on his face, as he made it sing 
 to her the beautiful harmonies that filled 
 his soul. Its sweet voice had sung her 
 earliest lullabies, for often in her baby- 
 hood he had sat by her cradle and lulled 
 her to sleep with its aid. Dorothy could 
 not think of the dear violin as other than 
 a living friend. She spoke of it always 
 as Herr von Stein; and her papa, humor- 
 ing her whim, also spoke of it as Herr 
 von Stein. The name of Von Stein 
 she had selected in memory of a dear 
 friend of her father, who had given the 
 violin to him years ago in Germany. 
 As for the first name it was Herr, " after 
 Herr Beethoven," she told Thorpe senior, 
 who enjoyed the joke by himself, and 
 did not explain that this was not a 
 proper name at all, but signified in 
 
She sat at her father's feet while he played. — Page 18. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 19 
 
 German the same as the English pre- 
 fix " Mr." 
 
 Her father's poems, however they 
 were regarded by the cold world, were 
 masterpieces in the partial eyes of his 
 little daughter. While he was writing 
 them, she often sat quietly by his side 
 waiting for the happy moment when she 
 could number the pages, which was 
 always her share in the work ; and you 
 may be sure that the little figures were 
 made with scrupulous care, that no ugly 
 characters should mar the beauty of 
 the pages. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 /^NE sunshiny morning Thorpe and 
 Company were crossing Boston 
 Common on their way to the office. 
 It was their usual route in fair weather, 
 and their faces had become familiar 
 to many a grave man of business, who 
 smiled as he passed tall, handsome 
 Robert Thorpe, and the slip of a girl 
 whom he called his junior partner. 
 Dorothy was so small of her age that 
 the Mother Hubbard cloak and the 
 simple white muslin cap which she 
 wore tied down over the pretty gold- 
 brown curls seemed the most suitable 
 costume that could be devised for her ; 
 but they were worn solely to gratify 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 21 
 
 a whim of her papa,- and were pri- 
 vately considered by the wearer as very 
 ridiculous for a person of eight years. 
 It was a pity that the senior member 
 of the firm being so tall and the junior 
 member so very short, they were un- 
 able to walk arm in arm, and also 
 that Dorothy's little feet had to take 
 so many steps to every stride of her 
 companion ; but for all that, it cannot 
 be denied that they had the air of 
 true comrades. 
 
 " Papa," Dorothy began in an earnest 
 voice, as they turned from the noisy 
 street into the Common, " how I do 
 wish we could get a position to travel, 
 — just in the nice warm countries, you 
 know. It does n't seem as if your cough 
 grew a bit better, and the doctor said 
 this would be the surest way to cure 
 it. Besides, I am getting rather tired of 
 
22 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 being a bookkeeper; those horrid figures 
 are so tiresome, and give you so many 
 headaches. And then it takes so long 
 to get rich. I suppose we ought to be 
 grateful that we have our salary every 
 month ; but it is never quite enough, 
 you know, and of course we ought not 
 to be so grateful as if it were more. 
 I have given up all hopes now of Jon- 
 athan Black & Brother ever raising 
 our salary ; have n't you, papa ? " 
 
 " They do not appreciate us, that 's 
 a fact, my Dorothy. But you are right; 
 we are not getting on at all. We are 
 still poor as rats ; but what can be done 
 about it ? " 
 
 " Well, suppose we send our poem to 
 another publisher. It has not been sent 
 to nearly so many as the novel or the 
 play. Let 's send the poem again, papa." 
 
 The fine dark eyes of Dorothy's 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 23 
 
 father took an expression of deep mel- 
 ancholy, but he answered in the same 
 bantering tone, " The publishers don't 
 appreciate us either, my darling." 
 
 " There is something very queer 
 about publishers," remarked Dorothy, 
 with a puzzled frown on her pretty 
 white forehead. " I think perhaps they 
 are not cultivated, because Miss Miller 
 says that one has to cultivate the mind 
 before one can 'predate the great poets. 
 I suppose poetry is like tomatoes. You 
 have to learn to like it, and it takes a 
 long time. Now there is Betty, you 
 know ; she is a splendid chambermaid, 
 but she does n't 'predate Shakspeare. 
 It was only yesterday morning, when 
 she was doing up our room, that I read 
 her a part of the play you like, papa, — 
 • Orfellow,' that 's the name, is n't it ? — 
 and when I asked her if she was en- 
 
24 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 joying it, she said, ' Well, it do be a bit 
 dull, miss.' You see her mind has not 
 been cultivated." 
 
 " Did you enjoy it yourself, Doro- 
 thy?" Thorpe senior smilingly inquired. 
 
 " Well, no, papa, not very much ; 
 but I like ours. I don't mean to be 
 discouraged, though, but remember the 
 tomatoes, and read right on. When I 
 have cultivated my mind I shall enjoy 
 Shakspeare too. It would be more in- 
 teresting now, I dare say, if I did not 
 have to skip so many of the words. As 
 for the publishers, perhaps it is wrong 
 to blame them so much ; for they may 
 be very sorry that their minds not hav- 
 ing been cultivated, they are n't able to 
 'predate our lovely poem. I should 
 think they would be ashamed, and I 
 dare say they are." 
 
 " What a sharp young person you 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 25 
 
 are, Dorothy dear ! " her papa observed, 
 with a fond smile ; " but I wonder that, 
 having discovered why it is that our 
 genius is n't recognized, you don't see 
 how useless it is to keep on sending 
 our productions to the publishers." 
 
 " Well, I can't help hoping that there 
 may be just one cultivated one among 
 so many, and that we may happen to 
 hit upon him. Yes, papa ; let us try 
 once more," urged the child. 
 
 " Better spend the money in confec- 
 tionery that the postage would come 
 to, my dear." 
 
 " No, this is what I '11 do," cried 
 Thorpe junior; "I'll carry the poem 
 myself, papa, and save the stamps. 
 Yes, this very morning, for it already 
 has your name and address on the 
 last leaf. I will leave it with some un- 
 important-looking little man to give 
 
26 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 to the chief one, who will never know 
 that it didn't come in the regular way; 
 and then you see we shall have earned 
 the money, — earned it," repeated Dor- 
 othy, impressively, " and can afford a 
 real treat this evening. What shall we 
 have ; and would you invite Professor 
 Grumpinson ? It's more fun just by 
 ourselves; but he is such a lonesome 
 little old gentleman." 
 
 They walked along Tremont Row, 
 and down School Street, planning their 
 entertainment, as merry as grigs, — hand- 
 some Robert Thorpe and his little 
 daughter Dorothy. A happy firm was 
 this of Thorpe and Company, sharing 
 poems and confectionery, cares and 
 pleasures, in a loving copartnership. 
 
 When they reached the office of 
 Jonathan Black & Brother, a tender 
 scene was enacted by them in the 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 27 
 
 vestibule. These pathetic partings 
 took place every morning, to the great 
 disgust of the office-boy, who consid- 
 ered them derogatory to the dignity 
 of a man of business. 
 
 " Good-by until afternoon, papa," 
 said Dorothy, " when I shall come as 
 usual to walk home with you. Here 
 are your eye-glasses ; and, oh ! here are 
 your cough-drops. I had almost for- 
 gotten to give them to you. What- 
 ever would become of us if I should 
 grow to be as forgetful as you are ! " 
 
 " The fates forbid ! " devoutly ejacu- 
 lated her smiling papa. 
 
 " And, darling," went on the anxious 
 little maid, "dont sit in the draughts! 
 I do wish I could come in and look 
 after you, for I don't think Mr. Jona- 
 than Black & Brother take any care 
 of you at all." 
 
28 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 " They don't coddle me as much as 
 they might, for a fact," was Mr. Thorpe's 
 laughing rejoinder ; " but I '11 try and 
 coddle myself for the sake of my sweet 
 Dorothy." 
 
 " Then good-by, and good luck to 
 you ! " cried the gay little damsel, reach- 
 ing up for a final kiss ; and then the 
 heavy door of Jonathan Black & Brother 
 swung heavily between them. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 /^~\N her way home Dorothy stopped 
 at the windows of the confec- 
 tioners', and examined with contempla- 
 tive eye the wares on exhibition. She 
 did not intend, however, to make her 
 purchases in any of these fancy shops. 
 
 " It 's just as Mrs. Kipp says ! " she 
 declared to herself. " It is a good plan 
 to look in these high-priced places, and 
 then when you have found out the 
 styles buy what you want in the cheap 
 ones." 
 
 In fact, Dorothy always patronized a 
 certain little shop which a funny old 
 maid had opened on the corner of 
 Sunshine Street. Most of her wares 
 
30 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 were of her own manufacture ; among 
 which pop-corn balls and good old- 
 fashioned molasses candy played a 
 very conspicuous part. There was also 
 a certain sticky substance made into 
 squares that were especially toothsome, 
 and which the children called " lolly- 
 gobs," — a term which so insulted Mar- 
 thy Ann, as the little old maid was 
 called, that at last she absolutely re- 
 fused to sell them under this disrespect- 
 ful name. Therefore, when this dainty 
 was desired, the children were obliged 
 to ask sedately for so many cents' worth 
 of taffy. It is painful to add that im- 
 mediately upon leaving the shop many 
 of these bad girls and boys were in 
 the habit of derisively screaming, " Lol- 
 lygobs ! lollygobs ! " at the top of their 
 shrill little voices, outside her win- 
 dow, to poor Marthy Ann's intense 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 31 
 
 chagrin. Dorothy never did this, be- 
 cause there was always a tender place 
 in her heart for the unfortunate ; and 
 Marthy Ann's troubled air had not 
 escaped those soft, observant gray eyes 
 that looked out so seriously from the 
 small face of Dorothy Thorpe. So 
 on looking up at the ringing of the 
 little bell on the door that always 
 announced a customer, and beholding 
 Dorothy, the little confectioner's face 
 broke into a pleased smile. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Marthy Ann," 
 said the child, with a friendly nod. 
 "Have you any fresh ' lol ' — dear me! 
 of course I mean taffy — this morning?" 
 
 " Now, my dear, dorit make use of 
 that dreadful name ! I consider it an 
 insult ! " 
 
 " I don't know why I did, unless it 
 was because I was so particular not 
 
32 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 to," apologized Dorothy. " But really, 
 Miss Marthy Ann, I would n't mind it 
 so much if I were you ; for whatever 
 name you call them by, they are per- 
 fectly delicious, and no one but you 
 can make them." 
 
 " Well, to be sure, a taffy-square by 
 any other name would taste as sweet," 
 said the other, quite mollified by the 
 compliment. " How many do you 
 want, my dear? " 
 
 Dorothy, having made her purchases, 
 was leaving the shop, when her eye 
 fell upon some cranberry tarts. " If 
 I had not spent all my money, I 
 would get some of those, for I heard 
 Professor Grumpinson say he liked 
 them," she said to herself; "but now 
 I really can't afford it." She was half 
 inclined to substitute the novel for the 
 poem she was to take to the pub- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 33 
 
 Usher; for it was ever so much larger 
 and heavier than the poem, and of 
 course the postage would be more, 
 and thus she would feel justified in 
 buying the tarts. But this plan was 
 finally relinquished as not being "quite 
 fair." 
 
 Upon reaching home Dorothy took 
 out the purse and counted the money 
 that was left from last months salary. 
 There was but a small sum, and she 
 stopped to consider how the remainder 
 had been spent. From her bureau 
 drawer she took out a little book which 
 lived there in the neighborhood of the 
 purse, and studied it attentively for a 
 long time. It was the book in which 
 she kept a strict account of the ex- 
 penses of Thorpe and Company. 
 
 " A great deal goes to Mrs. Kipp," 
 
 she said at last ; " but I am sure that 's 
 3 
 
34 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 no more than fair when we have such 
 a nice, pleasant room ; and a great 
 deal goes to the laundress. Well, I 
 suppose it is pretty hard work to 
 wash, so that 's fair too. Perhaps I 
 need not have bought that little vase 
 at the five-cent store ; but I really 
 had n't a thing to put flowers in ; and 
 Professor Grumpinson and the others 
 give me so many that I felt, in justice 
 to mysetf, I ought to buy a vase to 
 hold them." This phrase, which Dor- 
 othy had borrowed from Mrs. Kipp, 
 was of great service to her, and all 
 her little extravagances were indulged 
 in on the strength of it. But there 
 were not so many of these, after all, 
 when one considers that the little girl 
 had free access to the purse where 
 all the money was kept, and that her 
 father always encouraged her purchases. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 35 
 
 Fortunately "justice to herself" never 
 covered more than five or ten cents at 
 a time. Every now and then a small 
 sum was set down in this little book 
 as travelling expenses. Once Thorpe 
 senior, in looking over the book, in 
 his laughing way asked Dorothy what 
 this meant. 
 
 " I was not aware that we travelled 
 so much, Dorothy," he said. 
 
 " No," the little girl answered, " we 
 don't ; but the poem and the novel 
 and the play do, papa ! I put down 
 all the postage they cost as travelling 
 expenses. It sounds nicer, I think." 
 
 This had happened only a few weeks 
 previous, — just after the poem had 
 come home the last time. Papa had 
 greeted it with his never-failing jokes, 
 but Dorothy felt they covered more 
 than the usual disappointment ; and 
 
36 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 when he declared they would have no 
 more travelling expenses of that sort, 
 her heart was very heavy indeed. 
 
 " It 's so queer," she had said to her- 
 self, " that all those horrid books of 
 Professor Grumpinson's about Greek 
 roots and things should be published, 
 and no one will take papa's lovely 
 poem ! " She had looked forward for 
 such a long, long time to the delight- 
 ful things they would do and have 
 when her papa should have won fame 
 and money by his writings, that the 
 idea of now giving up all these hopes 
 and settling down to "just our salary" 
 was most unbearable. For instance, 
 how could she abandon the plan of a 
 trip abroad, when the doctor had pre- 
 scribed that as the surest cure for 
 papa's cough, which was growing more 
 and more troublesome in the chill east- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 37 
 
 wind of Boston ? One of the pleas- 
 ures she had looked forward to was 
 a visit to Germany, where her father 
 and mother had lived before she was 
 born. It was here the original Herrvon 
 Stein, a celebrated violinist, lived ; and 
 many a cordial letter Thorpe and Com- 
 pany had received from him describing 
 the pleasures he could offer them if they 
 would only come to Berlin. 
 
 Those little items called travelling 
 expenses, you see, were full of signifi- 
 cance to the child, and entirely ban- 
 ished all thought of the cranberry tarts 
 which in justice to herself she felt that 
 she ought to buy for the Professor. 
 She put away the purse and the book, 
 and opening a shabby little trunk 
 looked in upon a number of neat pack- 
 ages. They were the poems, plays, 
 etc., on which Thorpe and Company 
 
38 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 had counted for their future prosperity. 
 Dorothy, who still firmly believed in 
 their value, handled them reverently. 
 
 Taking out a battered manuscript 
 and smoothing its curling pages, she 
 exclaimed in a tone of pride such as 
 Mrs. Shakspeare might have used in 
 speaking of "Hamlet," — 
 
 " Ah, this is the play ! It looks rather 
 tired after travelling so much. Let me 
 see, how many years ago did papa write 
 that ? It was when I was sick with the 
 mumps, because I remember teasing 
 him to read it to me, and begging 
 him to make Hildegarde, who had so 
 many misfortunes, poor thing ! have the 
 mumps too. I was very silly; but it 
 was before Miss Crosby came to teach 
 me, and my mind had not been culti- 
 vated at all. Now here is the novel. 
 What a great, long book it would 
 
Dear Daughter Doroi/iy. 39 
 
 make ! Don't I remember how tired I 
 was, though, before I had numbered all 
 the pages ? Papa must be very clever 
 to write all this ; but he thinks it 's 
 not so good as the others ; so some- 
 time we may find a publisher able 
 to 'preciate it." 
 
 Finally Dorothy came upon the par- 
 ticular package she was in search of, 
 and carefully wrapping it up, laid it 
 aside until she could find time to go 
 out again. 
 
 This did not happen at once, for she 
 had promised Mrs. Le Grand to wind 
 wool for her; and then she remembered 
 to have seen a hole in Professor Grum- 
 pinson's gloves which she had secretly 
 determined to mend for him. After she 
 had performed this little labor of love, 
 she went down into Auntie Kipp's par- 
 lor to see what she could do for her. 
 
4-0 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 Mrs. Kipp was tying on her new 
 bonnet before the glass. She wore an 
 anxious face, and Dorothy th'ought 
 it must be that ths new bonnet was 
 not satisfactory. It was made of black 
 silk, and sparkled with bugles ; a big 
 red bow was perched on one side, 
 while spikes of stiff flowers decorated 
 the other. The whole effect was not 
 to Dorothy's fancy, but she felt that 
 her dear old friend was in need of 
 encouragement. 
 
 " It 's a perfectly gorgeous bonnet, 
 Auntie Kipp," she said. 
 
 But Mrs. Kipp only shook her 
 head sadly. " We are none the better 
 for gorgeor, my dear; and with all the 
 trouble I have with that impudent Jane, 
 I don't take much interest in bunnits." 
 
 " Oh, with Jane ! " cried Dorothy ; 
 " is that the trouble ? " 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 41 
 
 " Yes, the important creature ! She 
 thinks because she has lived ten years 
 with me, I could never get along with- 
 out her. She has had the imperti- 
 nence to tell me so, and I have just 
 discharged her. She is going Monday. 
 Dear, dear ! I declare I would like to 
 go out of the boarding-house business 
 and live private for a while." 
 
 " Well, Jane's mind has never been 
 cultivated, and people whose minds are 
 not cultivated are always exasperating," 
 said Dorothy. " But she will always 
 do 'most anything I ask of her ; and 
 I am going to ask her to stay." 
 
 " You need n't tell her I can't get 
 along without her, for I can ; and I 
 don't care if I can't!" were Mrs. Kipp's 
 parting words ; but Dorothy knew they 
 were words of bravado, and went off 
 in search of the all-important damsel. 
 
42 Dear Datighter Dorothy. 
 
 It was a well-known fact anions the 
 boarders that Jane was the main pillar 
 of Mrs. Kipp's house. Without this 
 able major-domo it would certainly have 
 tumbled in ruins upon her distracted 
 head. If the generous creature laid 
 up a penny, it was certainly due to 
 Jane, who kept a firm hand upon the 
 purse-strings. She managed not only 
 the affairs of the house but Mrs. 
 Kipp herself into the bargain ; and if 
 the mistress rebelled she was always 
 sure to repent of it. 
 
 But there was one person, and a 
 very small one too, who could bring 
 Jane to terms ; and this was Doro- 
 thy. In five minutes she was in a 
 condition to give any promise that the 
 child demanded ; and having secured 
 it, Dorothy felt free to go on her self- 
 appointed errand. So with the manu- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 43 
 
 script under her arm she danced 
 down Sunshine Street, happy to think 
 that there need be no entry in the lit- 
 tle book for " travelling expenses " on 
 this occasion, and that she and her 
 papa and dear Professor Grumpinson 
 were to have a most delectable treat 
 in consequence. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HPHE office of Jonathan Black & 
 Brother was located in what Dor- 
 othy considered a very out-of-the-way 
 part of the city. To reach it, one was 
 obliged to pass through a great many 
 crowded streets, — not entertaining thor- 
 oughfares like Washington Street, where 
 there are a great many interesting win- 
 dows for a small girl to look into and 
 choose what she will buy when her 
 papa is a prosperous author, but streets 
 crowded with drays, and pavements 
 swarming with busy gentlemen, who are 
 too intent upon important matters to 
 stand aside for the convenience of little 
 girls. 
 
Dear Dattghtcr Dorothy. 45 
 
 As Dorothy wended her way to this 
 office every afternoon for the pleasure 
 of a walk home with her papa, she 
 often wondered why Jonathan Black & 
 Brother should not have established it 
 in the region of Sunshine Street. But 
 there were many puzzling things to her 
 about this firm. To begin with, why 
 should not " Brother," as she always 
 called Mr. Isaac Black, have his first 
 name on the sign as well as Mr. Jona- 
 than ? She did not think it was really 
 quite fair ; and yet, for all she espoused 
 his cause so warmly, she could not like 
 Mr. Isaac nearly so well as rosy, smiling 
 Mr. Jonathan. When "Brother " met her 
 outside the office door, as often hap- 
 pened, he always scowled and told her 
 to "run along home," — "Just for all the 
 world as if I were a little street gam- 
 mon/" she explained, with great dignity, 
 to her papa. 
 
46 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 As Dorothy went tripping on her way 
 this particular afternoon, reading for the 
 many hundredth time the sign of Jona- 
 than Black & Brother in conspicuous 
 letters over the door of a solemn granite 
 building, two men came briskly down 
 the steps. Just then a sudden gust of 
 wind seized the hat of one of them and 
 bore it swiftly out of reach. A messen- 
 ger-boy started in pursuit; but the wind 
 carried it mockingly on, as if determined 
 to cheat him, and finally dropped it just 
 at Dorothy's feet. 
 
 The little girl handed it to its owner, 
 who now came up. 
 
 " Why, it 's ' Brother,' to be sure," she 
 said to herself, " and he never so much 
 as thanked me ! " 
 
 He was a dark, nervous-looking little 
 man, with a deep wrinkle between his 
 eyes, — which was to blame, Dorothy 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 47 
 
 thought, for the cross expression his 
 face always wore. She used to tell 
 herself, on meeting him, that he did 
 not mean to be disagreeable and she 
 liked him very much in spite of the 
 wrinkle. 
 
 This objectionable mark was espe- 
 cially noticeable as he took the hat from 
 Dorothy, and then turning to his com- 
 panion, growled out, " Robert Thorpe's 
 child, is n't it ? Humph ! it's a pity 
 she has n't a better man for a father." 
 
 The words struck like a blow on 
 Dorothy's ear, and she flushed up to 
 her soft wavy bang with resentment. 
 She could find no kind excuse for him 
 in her heart, none at all ; for in her eyes 
 he had committed the unpardonable sin 
 of disparaging her father. 
 
 She took a long breath and gazed 
 angrily after him. For the moment she 
 
48 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 felt that she was glad — yes, positively 
 glad — that whether or not it was 
 "fair," his name was not on the sign 
 with Mr. Jonathan's. 
 
 " A better man than papa ! " cried the 
 little daughter, aghast at such heresy ; 
 " as if there ever was or could be one ! " 
 and she compared him in derision to Mr. 
 Isaac, not at all to the latter's advantage. 
 For was not " Brother " the crossest- 
 looking of living men, while her father 
 with his lovely eyes and charming smile 
 was as beautiful as the morning ? Who 
 could be so good, so handsome, or so 
 clever ? As there was nobody to answer 
 the question, Dorothy answered it her- 
 self with a decided " No one ! " 
 
 It is a fact that Thorpe senior almost 
 justified even the exaggerated admiration 
 of little Dorothy. Perhaps he had been 
 too sobered by the loss of his young 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 49 
 
 wife, and too devoted to the happiness 
 of the little girl she had left to his care, 
 to make many intimate friends among 
 men ; but he was loved and trusted by 
 every one with whom he came in con- 
 tact. He had a tender heart, with 
 never-failing sympathy for those in 
 trouble ; and many a time because of 
 it, " our month's salary " came into Dor- 
 othy's hands in a shockingly reduced 
 condition. 
 
 It was fortunate for Dorothy that she 
 could thus dismiss " Brother's " words 
 from her mind. She was too sunny- 
 tempered to brood over disagreeable 
 things, and just now there seemed many 
 pleasant ones to look forward to. In 
 gleeful impatience she waited on the 
 sidewalk for her father, eager to tell him 
 the events of the day and hurry him 
 home to the dissipations of the evening. 
 4 
 
50 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 One by one the other men came down 
 the stone steps and turned homeward, 
 and now a half-hour had passed since 
 the last one had disappeared around the 
 corner. 
 
 " It 's those tiresome accounts that 
 keep him. How tired I am of being 
 a bookkeeper ! " she said to herself, 
 with a sigh that was cut short by the 
 appearance of the office-boy. 
 
 When he beheld Dorothy he stopped 
 and remarked : " Waitin' for your pa, 
 I suppose. Well, it 's no kind of use 
 to wait any longer." 
 
 " ' No use to wait ' ! " echoed Dorothy. 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because he has already gone," was 
 the answer. 
 
 " You are joking," said Dorothy. 
 " He would n't go without me, I know." 
 
 But the office-boy solemnly shook 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 5 1 
 
 his head. " Guess your pa don't think 
 it s much of a joke. I 'm telling you 
 the truth. He was taken off this morn- 
 ing by a policeman who did n't know, 
 most likely, about his having such a 
 pressin' engagement, or he would have 
 let him off." 
 
 " Dear me, how very silly! " exclaimed 
 Dorothy, with a cool dignity which 
 seemed to exasperate the office-boy 
 into saying, — 
 
 16 You'll soon find out whether I am 
 joking or not. I tell you, your pa, that 
 you are so proud of, has been taken up 
 on a charge of embezzlement." 
 
 " What 's that ? " laughed little Doro- 
 thy. " Is it French ? " 
 
 " Yes, it 's the French for stealing!' 
 He was about to impart other informa- 
 tion of the same sort, no doubt; but the 
 child was already dancing away, with 
 
52 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 her hands over her ears. It was evi- 
 dent, from her silvery laughter, that he 
 had failed to make the impression he 
 had expected, and with a contemptuous 
 grunt he started off in the opposite 
 direction. 
 
 Dorothy watched him out of sight, 
 then came back to her old post, where, 
 after waiting some moments longer, she 
 went up the steps ; and finding the of- 
 fice closed for the night, set off at a 
 brisk pace for Sunshine Street, won- 
 dering more than a little why her fa- 
 ther, for the first time in his life, had 
 forgotten her. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A BOUT an hour previous, Doro- 
 thy's father had climbed the three 
 flights of stairs, and entered the room 
 in which so many years had slipped 
 by. There was his desk littered with 
 papers, the head of Dorothy's best doll 
 confidently reposing on a closely writ- 
 ten page. Among his books were in- 
 terspersed gayly bound volumes that 
 contained the history of Dorothy's fa- 
 vorite heroines ; his meerschaum pipe 
 lay beside a little worn worsted mitten ; 
 everything spoke of the close compan- 
 ionship of father and child. 
 
 He sat down and waited until he 
 heard a well-known footfall upon the 
 
54 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 stairs, a child's voice speaking to some 
 one in the lower hall, and finally, the 
 groping of a little hand for the knob 
 on the door; and then Dorothy came 
 in. For a moment she did not dis- 
 cover him in the gathering gloom ; 
 then, spying him as he sat by the fire, 
 his head bowed on his hand, she ran 
 up and threw her arms around his 
 neck, pressing her cheek against his 
 short crisp curls. 
 
 " You bad papa, not to wait for me ! " 
 and then having swung herself around 
 to look in his face, she cried out in a 
 startled voice, " Papa, are you crying ? " 
 
 Dorothy never forgot the sensation 
 of that moment ; or the next, when he 
 took her in his arms, and she heard 
 him whisper, " Oh, my Helena! I have 
 brought your child to disgrace." 
 
 Helena was the name of Dorothy's 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 55 
 
 mother, and it was the first time she 
 had ever heard her father speak it. 
 The child's face grew white, and her 
 heart beat to suffocation ; but she tried 
 to control herself, and above all, not 
 to cry. 
 
 " What is it, papa ? " she whispered. 
 
 It never occurred to the father to 
 withhold his trouble from this little 
 eight-year-old child. Indeed, it would 
 not have been possible to conceal it 
 from her loving and watchful eyes. 
 So, putting her down upon the floor, 
 and turning so that he could not look 
 upon the little face in its soft, tender 
 beauty, he tried to tell what misfortune 
 had befallen him. 
 
 " I have been arrested," he said, in 
 a strange voice, " under a charge of em- 
 bezzlement ; that is — Oh, my God!" 
 he groaned, "how can I tell her!" 
 
56 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 " Don't try to, papa," said Dorothy, 
 moving closer to him, "for I know 
 what it means. Let us not be sad, 
 dear, for we never did it, you know." 
 
 " Are you quite sure, child, that you 
 know what embezzlement means ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Dorothy, nodding her 
 head sagely ; " it means taking their hor- 
 rid money. But we never did. How 
 could they think so, papa?" 
 
 His arm was around her again, and 
 he drew her to his knee, — this brave 
 and trustful little daughter, who always 
 stood ready to comfort him. 
 
 "They thought so because the money 
 was gone, dear, — had been drawn from 
 the bank, — and my books are not 
 straight ; that is, the figures have been 
 altered, — big sums changed into little 
 ones, and the difference in money is 
 gone." 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 57 
 
 " Oh ! and why should n't they have 
 accused any one else instead of us ? " 
 
 " Because no one besides myself has 
 access to the books. Dorothy, in this 
 matter you must not say us. I will 
 not have my innocent child include her- 
 self in this vile business. Don't cry, 
 darling! Be my brave little maid!" 
 
 " I cannot be brave, papa, if you keep 
 me away from you like that. I must 
 be accused if you are. We have al- 
 ways done everything together, and I 
 can't bear now to be left out." 
 
 She was so distressed that her papa 
 could only say, as he stroked her soft 
 curls : " There, there, child ! say what 
 you like. What do words matter, after 
 all ? " 
 
 Then he resumed his former atti- 
 tude, with his head in his hands; and 
 the cloud which had seemed to lift a 
 
58 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 little settled down upon him heavier 
 than before. Dorothy sat upon the 
 floor at his feet, watching him ; her 
 little chest heaving with sobs which 
 she would not give way to. She 
 pressed her fingers upon her hot eye- 
 balls to keep the tears back. 
 
 " Papa," she asked at last, in her 
 soft voice, "what can we do?" 
 
 il I do not know, child," was the sad 
 reply. 
 
 " But, papa," she cried impetuously, 
 " surely we should do something! We 
 will not let them think we took the 
 money. What can we do ? " 
 
 He looked so stunned as he sat there, 
 staring vacantly into the fire, that the 
 child grew frightened. Placing a hand 
 on his knee to rouse him, she said, 
 " Let us ask Professor Grumpinson 
 what to do." 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 59 
 
 " No, no, my Dorothy ; he cannot 
 help us," he said, unconsciously falling 
 into the old form of speech which had 
 just shocked him so. 
 
 "And who, then?" 
 
 " A lawyer, I suppose, if any one." 
 
 "A lawyer, — oh yes ! " cried the child, 
 brightly. " Tommy Dow's father is a 
 lawyer, — a good one. He treated us 
 all at Marthy Ann's shop when she first 
 opened it, — yes, every boy and girl on 
 Sunshine Street. He is a very good 
 lawyer, papa ; let us go to him." 
 
 She picked up her coat and little cap 
 from the chair where she had flung them, 
 and put them on. Then she brought 
 her father's heavy coat and handed it to 
 him. By and by she persuaded him to 
 stand up and let her help him on with 
 it. When they were ready to go he let 
 her lead him out into the street. 
 
60 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 The office of Tommy Dow's father 
 was but a short walk from Sunshine 
 Street; and Dorothy, who had often 
 walked there with Tommy, knew the 
 way perfectly. 
 
 The lawyer was just putting away 
 some papers preparatory to going home, 
 when Thorpe and Company opened the 
 door. 
 
 He begged the new-comers to be 
 seated, and sat down himself with his 
 face turned inquiringly to Mr. Thorpe. 
 
 The poor young man still wore the 
 bewildered expression that had fright- 
 ened Dorothy. He seemed hardly to 
 notice Mr. Dow's presence, and to his 
 " Now, if you please, sir, will you state 
 your business ? " made no answer at all. 
 
 " Ahem ! " said the small voice of the 
 junior partner; "we have been accused 
 of 'bezzling." 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 61 
 
 " Well, upon my word," cried the 
 lawyer, glancing first at Dorothy and 
 then at her father, " how very extraor- 
 dinary ! Sir," turning to Mr. Thorpe, 
 " what under the heavens did you bring 
 that child for ? " 
 
 " He did n't bring me," said Dorothy, 
 sweetly ; " I brought him. I told him 
 you were a good lawyer." 
 
 " She knows about as much as I do 
 of the whole affair," said Mr. Thorpe, 
 slowly recovering himself under the 
 sharp eyes of the lawyer. " I have been 
 falsely accused of embezzling, by Jona- 
 than Black & Brother, whose book- 
 keeper I was, and have come to you 
 for advice." 
 
 It was quite dark when Dorothy and 
 her father went out again into the street. 
 There had been a long conversation 
 between the two men which the child 
 
62 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 had been unable to understand ; but she 
 knew that her father had at last aroused 
 from the dull stupor that distressed her 
 so, and meant to fight with every inch 
 of his being for their good name. With 
 the natural elasticity of childhood, she 
 laid her fears aside, sure that so good 
 a lawyer as Tommy Dow's father could 
 set matters straight. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " TT is very nice, is it not," said Doro- 
 thy one day to her papa, " that 
 Tommy Dovv's father does all the work 
 and we don't have anything to do about 
 our case ? It 's very lucky, because I 
 should n't really know what to do. That 's 
 the 'vantage, I suppose, of having a good 
 lawyer. Will we have anything to do 
 at all, papa? " 
 
 " Only to pay his fee, my dear," re- 
 plied her father, as cheerfully as might 
 be. 
 
 "Fee? that's money, I suppose," said 
 Dorothy, concealing her dismay with a 
 smile. 
 
64 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 When her. father had lost his position 
 at Jonathan Black & Brother's, and 
 " our salary " had ceased to come in 
 regular instalments, the question of 
 money became very perplexing to 
 Thorpe and Company. 
 
 Mr. Thorpe had wished to leave Mrs. 
 Kipp's fourth-story front at once, and 
 remove into cheaper quarters ; but that 
 dear good woman would not listen to 
 such a plan for a moment. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Thorpe," she had said, 
 " I am surprised, I am indeed, that you 
 should propose any such thing, know- 
 ing, as of course you do, that it would be 
 like drawing my heart out to take Doro- 
 thy away ! Has n't she been as dear to 
 me as a child of my own ever since the 
 night you brought her here, a mite of a 
 baby, but chipper as you please in all 
 that driving storm ? Besides, I hope 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 65 
 
 I 'm not one as won't stand by folks 
 when they are in trouble ; and as for the 
 rent it can just wait till it's convenient 
 for you to pay it." 
 
 That might not be for a long time 
 hence. To raise the necessary money, 
 therefore, he sold his watch and various 
 other articles of value. But his books 
 were still in their accustomed places on 
 the shelves, and it broke Dorothy's 
 heart to see him look sadly at them, 
 knowing it was in his mind that these 
 too must soon be sacrificed. 
 
 " It isn't fair," she reflected, " that all 
 his things should be sold and that I 
 should keep mine. If I knew how to 
 sell them, I would." 
 
 She had a great many little keepsakes 
 which had been given her from time to 
 time by various persons who had been 
 captivated by her gentle beauty and the 
 
 5 
 
66 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 quaint dignity of her manner. These, 
 one day, she took to a jeweller, who 
 named so small a sum as the price he 
 would be willing to give for them, that 
 he himself smilingly advised her not to 
 sell them to him. It was just as she 
 was returning from this unsuccessful 
 expedition that she for the first time 
 noticed a red flag on the house beyond 
 Tommy Dow's, the owner of which had 
 recently died. 
 
 " That red flag means that there is 
 going to be an auction," said Tommy, 
 who was watching the people as they 
 mounted the steps. " Let 's go too." 
 
 " Do you have to pay ? " asked Dor- 
 othy, discreetly. 
 
 Being assured that no such embar- 
 rassing demand would be made, Doro- 
 thy followed her friend without further 
 ado ; and here it was that the bright 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 67 
 
 idea came to her mind that her un- 
 salable wares might be disposed of by 
 auction. A consultation with Tommy 
 ensued, in which he assured her of his 
 ability to act as auctioneer; and then 
 she went merrily home to look over 
 her possessions. 
 
 Spreading them out upon the table, 
 she was really surprised to see how 
 much property she owned. There 
 were nine dolls, a doll's carriage, a 
 bed, and much furniture besides, which 
 upon being rubbed up looked nearly 
 as good as new. Some of the dolls 
 she was loath to part with, particularly 
 a splendid damsel in an aesthetic pea- 
 cock-green gown, which she admired 
 very much. However, she was deter- 
 mined to allow no favoritism anions: 
 her children, but dispose of the whole 
 lot at once. Then, besides the toys, 
 
68 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 there were two dainty bangles, a dear 
 little turquoise pin, another with a 
 small pearl in the centre ; a string of 
 amber beads cut into queer figures, 
 and a silver watch. There were fans 
 and fineries of all sorts, dear to Dor- 
 othy's heart as the gift of this one or 
 that among her many friends. Yes, 
 they were all gifts ; and she felt that 
 it was a grave discourtesy to the do- 
 nors to sell them at all. 
 
 In the drawer where these were 
 mostly kept was a small box tied 
 carefully with a ribbon, which held 
 a valuable ring that had been her 
 mother's. But although she drew it 
 forth and examined it, Dorothy did 
 not add this to her collection. The 
 ring had been given her by her father, 
 with the request that she should keep 
 it carefully until she was old enough 
 
"Perhaps if I should sell the ring she would think we have forgotten her." — Page bg. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 69 
 
 to wear it It must not be sold, there- 
 fore, without his permission ; and this 
 she could not ask for without speak- 
 ing of the auction, which she wished 
 to keep a secret from him until the 
 proceeds were safely placed in the 
 portemonnaie. And besides this, in Dor- 
 othy's heart there was a tender feeling 
 for the young mother whom she had 
 never known that forbade her to part 
 with the ring she had once worn. 
 
 " It seems as if it would* hurt her 
 feelings if I were to sell it," the little 
 girl thought, as she twirled the spark- 
 ling jewel around her finger. " Perhaps 
 she would even think that we have 
 forgotten her; but I know if she were 
 here she would willingly give it up to 
 help dear papa," 
 
 The auction was to take place on 
 the following day, in the basement of 
 
•jo Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 Tommy Dow's house. To be exact, it 
 was to take place in the laundry, from 
 the window of which a flaming flag, 
 made out of one of Mrs. Kipp's red 
 flannel petticoats, fluttered gayly in the 
 breeze. There was a placard pasted 
 on the basement door, too, which was 
 a close imitation of the one which 
 had advertised the previous auction 
 sale, and which began thus : " Auction 
 sale of the household goods of the late 
 Dorothy Thorpe." Then followed such 
 an elaborate catalogue of dolls and dolls' 
 toys, books, games, and the like, that 
 every child on Sunshine Street re- 
 solved to be present. 
 
 Before the hour arrived, however, 
 Dorothys idea of politeness led her to 
 make a call upon each person whose 
 gift was to be disposed of. It would 
 be difficult to find a more oddly se- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 71 
 
 lected group of friends than these for 
 a damsel of eight ; but however they 
 might seem to others, to Dorothy they 
 were one and all very lovable person- 
 ages. There was Mrs. Le Grand, for 
 instance, who had Mrs. Kipp's best 
 rooms, a worldly old lady in black 
 lace and bugles, that made herself as 
 disagreeable as possible to everybody. 
 How was it that Dorothy had found 
 the key to her heart? Then all agreed 
 that Professor Grumpinson was a crusty 
 old scholar, fond of no society but his 
 own ; but Dorothy knew he could be 
 as agreeable as the best of them. She 
 could not see why little Miss Miller 
 should not be a general favorite. As 
 for her being ill-natured and envious, 
 the child would not believe a word of 
 it. To her she was like sunshine it- 
 self, and so it was with them all. 
 
72 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 " Lor', that Dorothy is a witch, and 
 that's what she is," Mrs. Kipp would 
 say, " and can persuade the blackest 
 wretch to show himself as gentle as a 
 lamb to please her; for she will have it 
 that everybody is as good as herself." 
 
 These were the little girl's friends, — 
 these, and several others apparently no 
 more to a child's fancy ; and Dorothy 
 called on them all to explain why she 
 was going to part with their gifts. 
 
 The day of the auction proved ex- 
 ceptionally fine, which must account 
 for the large number of persons who 
 congregated in the Dows' laundry. 
 The tubs had been covered with 
 boards on which were spread the 
 articles for sale, the latter being care- 
 fully inspected by the children, not- 
 withstanding the watchful eye of the 
 auctioneer and his repeated command, 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 73 
 
 " Hands off, ladies and gentlemen ; 
 please don't finger the goods!" 
 
 The owner of these was secreted 
 behind a clothes-horse covered with 
 shawls. That she was an interested 
 spectator of the scene was made evi- 
 dent by whispered comments, prob- 
 ably intended for Tommy's ear, but 
 distinctly audible to all. Such excla- 
 mations as, " Mrs. Le Grand, I de- 
 clare, in her best black silk ! " or, 
 " Here comes the Professor on the 
 lookout for bargains!" put every one 
 in good humor. 
 
 The first object to be sold was one of 
 the dolls. " Ahem ! Ladies and gentle- 
 men," began Tommy, " what am I 
 offered for this beautiful Paris doll ? 
 A very accomplished lady, — both eyes 
 open and shut, and it says ' Mamma 
 almost as well as a parrot." 
 
74 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 " It 's got a piece broken off its nose," 
 here interrupted a child's voice ; " I 
 saw it." 
 
 " Beg your pardon, madam," said 
 Tommy, turning the doll round so as 
 to get a view of its features ; " it 's 
 only — er — a little retroussee!' 
 
 Upon this cool assertion the pres- 
 ence of the auctioneer was instantly 
 demanded behind the screen, where 
 the following dialogue in loud whis- 
 pers took place : — 
 
 " Tommy, she is right. I dropped 
 that doll downstairs ever so long ago. 
 I want you to tell the truth." 
 
 " Pooh ! an auctioneer never does 
 that ; he has to sell things," protested 
 the boy. " Now don't be a goose ! 
 That fellow, the other day, said what 
 he chose, and no one popped up to 
 contradict." 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 75 
 
 "Well, but poor Mr. White couldn't 
 pop up, on account of his being dead. 
 He had a splendid excuse, you see, and 
 I have n't any at all." 
 
 Then Tommy stoutly declared that 
 Dorothy would have to sell her own 
 wares, and it began to look as if there 
 would be no further proceedings that 
 day ; but presently he reappeared, evi- 
 dently conquered, and the sale went on. 
 
 " This beautiful doll, then," he ad- 
 mitted, " has met with an accident and 
 lost the tip of her nose. I don't think 
 it has injured her looks in the least ; 
 and her eyes are in perfect condition, 
 and — and — " stammered Tommy, 
 wildly seeking other perfections. 
 
 " And she has a very affectionate 
 heart," prompted the tearful voice of 
 its bereaved mamma. 
 
 " A very affectionate heart!" repeated, 
 
j6 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 Tommy. " Now, ladies and gentlemen, 
 what do you offer me ? " 
 
 " Ten cents," said a bold little girl 
 in a big hat. 
 
 " Ten cents ! She offers me ten 
 cents for this beautiful Paris doll ! " 
 cried Tommy, in such an exact imita- 
 tion of the sarcastic tone of his model 
 that Dorothy laughed outright. 
 
 " Well, fifteen then," said the same 
 voice that had offered ten, "and that's 
 enough, — or perhaps twenty-five." 
 
 " Twenty-five ; make it fifty. Will 
 you give me fifty ? Seventy -five ! A 
 capital chance, Miss Marthy Ann, to 
 enlarge your stock ! Seventy-five ; will 
 you gimme seventy-five ? " 
 
 "Seventy-five," said Marthy Ann. 
 
 " Seventy-five ! gimme dollar ? Am 
 I offered dollar?" 
 
 " No, indeed, you are n't," cried the 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. yy 
 
 girl with the big hat. " I guess not, 
 for that cracked up thing." 
 
 u Dollar ! " said the indignant Mar- 
 thy Ann, bidding in her wrath against 
 herself, with a scowl for Miss Big Hat, 
 and a smile for the eyes peering out 
 from between the shawls. 
 
 "Dollar! dollar for this lovely doll! 
 Make it dollar fifty! Gimme fifty — 
 forty — thirty — fifty," sputtered Tom- 
 my, excitedly ; and catching Professor 
 Grumpinson's nod, closed with : " This 
 beautiful Paris doll sold to Professor 
 Grumpinson at a dollar and a half!" 
 
 " Dear me ! why, what will he do with 
 it ? " inquired Dorothy, in an anxious 
 whisper. 
 
 "Never you mind! Teach it Greek, 
 for all I care," replied the excited 
 auctioneer. 
 
 The next object sold was the favorite 
 
78 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 aesthetic doll in the green gown, which 
 was knocked down to the little shop- 
 keeper, whose affection for her favorite 
 customer led her to reach the extrava- 
 gant bid of two dollars. 
 
 And so the sale went on, until poor 
 Dorothy was absolutely childless ; the 
 last dolly being borne away by one of 
 her playfellows for the paltry sum of 
 twenty-five cents. This doll was always 
 called by Thorpe senior "a masterly 
 fragment,'' having lost all its features, 
 a leg, and both arms. Perhaps it had 
 brought all it was worth ; but it is a 
 sad fate, at eight years, to own not a 
 chick or a child ; and Dorothy could 
 not help calling the little girl into 
 her sanctum, where she bestowed a 
 tragic maternal kiss upon her depart- 
 ing darlinsr. 
 
 After the dolls, the other toys were 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 79 
 
 sold; and then came the keepsakes. 
 Dorothy clapped her hands over her 
 ears when she heard the bids for her 
 pretty turquoise pin ; but as they rose 
 higher and higher, her feelings merged 
 into one of extreme astonishment; and 
 when it was finally kocked down, for 
 twenty-five dollars, to Mrs. Le Grand, 
 who had originally given it to her, she 
 exclaimed, with unconscious rudeness, 
 " That 's more than she gave for it 
 in the beginning, I do believe." 
 
 There was one thing about the sale 
 that seemed a very curious coincidence 
 to Dorothy, which was that each arti- 
 cle should go back into the possession 
 of the giver. The Professor carried 
 off the bangles he had presented to 
 her with so many pretty speeches on 
 her last birthday. And Mrs. Le Grand 
 bought the watch as well as the pin, 
 
80 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 both having been her gifts to the little 
 girl. Even the pretty French lady, 
 who had " fallen in lofe " with Dorothy 
 from the windows of the opposite house, 
 had come to the auction with the others, 
 and had outbid them all when the am- 
 ber beads with which she had once 
 decked her little favorite were put up 
 for sale, saying, in her funny, broken 
 English, " Eets a tousand pitie ze leetle 
 sing should part wiz zese, zey become 
 her zo mooch." 
 
 At last everything was sold, and the 
 buyers, laughing and chattering, went 
 their way. Then it was Dorothy came 
 out from her hiding-place and gazed in 
 silence around the room. All her pret- 
 ty things had gone ; but there was a 
 bright cheerfulness in her eyes as she 
 counted over the money that had been 
 left in their stead. Oh, how it would 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 81 
 
 stuff out the lank sides of the old 
 portemonnaie, and make her papa's 
 heart rejoice ! 
 
 Tommy, congratulating her on her 
 good luck, gallantly escorted her to 
 her own doorstep, and sped home to 
 describe the sale to his mother, who 
 had been unable to be present. 
 
 " And the jolliest part of it is," cried 
 the boy, " that the people have agreed 
 among themselves to return all these 
 things to her on her next birthday. Not 
 the children, of course ; but they have 
 nothing but dolls and such rubbish, and 
 so Dorothy will have the money and 
 her things too. That's what it is to 
 be popular ! " 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 |"T happened very curiously that just 
 as Dorothy had slipped the pro- 
 ceeds of her sale into the portmonnaie 
 and shut it up in the drawer, her papa 
 came in ; and his first words after kiss- 
 ing his little girl were, " Dorothy, my 
 darling, how much money have we in 
 the purse ? " 
 
 Dorothy was obliged to keep her face 
 well out of view as she replied, " Here 
 it is, papa ! You count it." 
 
 He sank down into a chair and opened 
 the purse, saying, " It won't take me 
 long I suspect. Let me see, here are 
 five, ten, fifteen. Is that a twenty ? 
 Another ten ! Why, how is this, child ? 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 83 
 
 Here is a good deal of money ; and the 
 last time I asked you about it we had 
 but ten dollars left." 
 
 " It has been put in since," said Doro- 
 thy, demurely. " Hold up your head a 
 little higher, dear ! I want to fix your 
 necktie ; it 's crooked." 
 
 " Put in since? Why, when? I don't 
 remember," cried poor papa, with his 
 head tipped at such an angle that he 
 could not see the mirthful gray eyes, 
 nor catch the smile lurking around 
 Dorothy's lips, which were pursed up in 
 a would-be primness while she said, — 
 
 " You are so absent-minded, almost as 
 bad as the Professor! Just think, this 
 morning he went out with two hats on, — 
 his own and Mr. Waterman's, which had 
 been put on top of it." 
 
 " But about the money ? I am not so 
 absent-minded that you can play tricks 
 
84 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 like this on me. How did we come 
 by it ? " 
 
 " The trouble with you, papa, is, you 
 are either too absent-minded or not 
 absent-minded enough," said Dorothy, 
 laughing; but she proceeded to explain 
 how they came to be so rich. 
 
 " Oh, my child," he cried in a'pained 
 voice when she had told her story, "it 
 was not necessary that you should sac- 
 rifice your poor little treasures!" But 
 though he took the little face between 
 his hands and searched it carefully, 
 he could find no shadow dimming its 
 radiance. 
 
 " Don't you think it's nice that we 
 can pay Mrs. Kipp?" she said, in her 
 sunny fashion. " I thought that would 
 give you pleasure." 
 
 " Truly it does. She cannot afford 
 to wait for her money, and now we can 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 85 
 
 pay her up to the end of this week and 
 yet have quite a sum left." 
 
 They counted the bills over together ; 
 Mr. Thorpe too touched by the child's 
 love and courage to spoil her pleasure 
 by useless regret. He gave her the joy 
 of knowing that her generosity had 
 really brought him relief. 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Kipp will be right glad of 
 this," said Dorothy thoughtfully, touch- 
 ing the pile of money on the table in 
 front of her. " That gentleman with 
 the big beard and the diamond ring 
 went away without paying his board, 
 but she would never let us know if she 
 needed it ever so much, dear good 
 Auntie Kipp ! Do you know, papa, she 
 is almost too good to me ? " the little girl 
 resumed after a pause. " It makes me 
 feel bashful sometimes when she saves 
 all the best things at the table for me; 
 
86 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 and I am sure the other boarders don't 
 like it." 
 
 " Nonsense, child ! they don't care." 
 " Oh yes, papa, I heard all the little 
 old ladies talking together about it in 
 the parlor. There was Mrs. Smith and 
 Mrs. Green and little Miss Miller, and 
 Miss Miller said that Mrs. Kipp always 
 gives her the back of the chicken. 
 ' When she serves the pie,' Mrs. Smith 
 said," went on Dorothy, " ' she cuts off a 
 whole quarter of a one for that child, 
 and she sends me a little sliver no big- 
 ger than that!'''" and Dorothy, who had 
 unconsciously mimicked the voice of 
 Mrs. Smith, now marked off the differ- 
 ent sizes of the pie on her hand, in such 
 good imitation of the impressive manner 
 of the indignant boarder that Mr. Thorpe 
 threw back his head and laughed. 
 
 " Well, it's too bad to make fun of poor 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 87 
 
 Mrs. Smith," resumed Dorothy, happy to 
 see her father in such good spirits, " for 
 she is a very nice old lady, after all. 
 This morning when I carried her one 
 of the roses the Professor brought me, 
 she kissed me just as warmly as if I 
 hadrit had more than my share of the 
 pie. Mrs. Green and Miss Miller are 
 nice too, and I 'm sorry they have the 
 back of the chicken. If I always had it, 
 I dare say I should make a fuss too." 
 
 " You would never know it, my girl," 
 cried papa, catching Dorothy up and 
 kissing her. 
 
 "But if I did I wouldn't like it," 
 laughed the child. " I should think 
 sometimes it ought to go to your 
 
 " Dorothy, you are a fraud. You 
 know you would n't care a farthing, and 
 you only say so to excuse those greedy 
 old ladies." 
 
88 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 " Not greedy, — oh no, papa," Dorothy 
 protested eagerly; "you mustn't think 
 they are greedy." 
 
 " Then why do they grumble, my 
 dear ? " 
 
 " I think their feelings are hurt, — that 
 must be the reason, papa, — and it 's 
 awful to have your feelings hurt, you 
 know. I shall tell Auntie Kipp that 
 such big pieces of pie will make me 
 ill. Perhaps I had better go now, so 
 I shall be sure not to forget it." 
 
 That evening was the pleasantest 
 Thorpe and Company had passed since 
 their troubles began. It was such a 
 relief to be out of debt again that 
 Dorothy's spirits rose to their usual 
 level. Herr von Stein was brought 
 out, and made merry music once more 
 for his two friends. I say once more, 
 for he had been able of late to dis- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 89 
 
 course only in such sad tones that it 
 quite gave one the blues to listen to 
 him; but it was evident that to-night 
 he was in a very different mood. 
 Dorothy sat on a foot-stool at her 
 father's feet while he played ; and it 
 really seemed to her that Herr von 
 Stein was trying to comfort them. 
 " Life now is rough and stormy," he 
 sang, " but presently it will flow on 
 again like a sunny stream beneath 
 kind skies. Only continue, little Dor- 
 othy, to love and trust, and all will 
 be well." 
 
 The money left in the purse did 
 not hold out, however, as long as Dor- 
 othy had anticipated, and very soon it 
 seemed to her the time came when she 
 was obliged to own, in answer to her 
 father's inquiry, that it was all gone. 
 
 It is marvellous what a cheerful 
 
90 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 manner they immediately assumed, al- 
 though they carefully explored every 
 chink in the old portemonnaie. 
 
 " Now, you see, there is plenty of 
 room for some more," Dorothy ob- 
 served, as she stretched it open till 
 its numerous compartments seemed like 
 so many gaping mouths. 
 
 To fill these the books were finally 
 sold ; and worse even than this, oh 
 much worse, Herr von Stein was in 
 pawn. Dorothy wept many bitter 
 tears while thinking of their beauti- 
 ful friend, broken-hearted no doubt in 
 the dirty little shop of a pawnbroker; 
 and if she felt it so deeply, what then 
 were her father's feelings, when so many 
 tender associations clustered around the 
 instrument ? This money too was fast 
 slipping away, and it daily became more 
 difficult for Thorpe and Company to 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 91 
 
 confront life with a brave heart and a 
 smiling face. In vain Dorothy looked 
 over her remaining trinkets for any- 
 thing of value to dispose of. There 
 was nothing but her mother's ring ; and 
 when she brought it out one day and 
 offered it to her father, he covered his 
 eyes and groaned. 
 
 " No, Dorothy, not yet." 
 
 All this was painful enough ; but 
 Dorothy comforted herself with the 
 thought that the following month " our 
 case " would be tried, and after that 
 she believed there would be no more 
 troubles of this sort. How glad she 
 would be to have the old comfortable 
 salary every month ! Yes, comfortable, 
 even though she did have to pinch 
 here and there to make it cover their 
 needs. She had at first thought it 
 strange that her papa, after his dis- 
 
92 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 charge from Jonathan Black & Brother's, 
 had not sought another position, and 
 had asked him in some surprise if he 
 did not mean to find one. The an- 
 swer was made in a tone that told 
 how painful it was to explain to her that 
 no one would employ a man who is 
 suspected of dishonesty. 
 
 Dorothy would have borne a great 
 deal of discomfort rather than ask the 
 question had she known it would give 
 her father pain, and she instantly re- 
 solved to ask him no more. This 
 resolution the child bravely kept, puz- 
 zling by herself over matters which she 
 was supposed to be too young to think 
 of at all. The truth is that Dorothy 
 did not wish to speak to others of this 
 trouble, and if broached, put the sub- 
 ject aside in a manner of her own at 
 once proud and gentle. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 93 
 
 Even yet I have not recounted all 
 the little girl's worries. Among these 
 her father's cough took a conspicuous 
 place, for it was rapidly growing worse, 
 and no remedies brought relief. In 
 her anxiety Dorothy would have bought 
 all of these that she heard of ; but this 
 would require money, and there was 
 none to spare. Mr. Thorpe never wore 
 gloomy looks in the presence of Dor- 
 othy ; but she was sure he was not 
 as cheerful as he would have her be- 
 lieve, knowing, poor little soul ! that it 
 is possible to smile and jest when there 
 is nothing in the mind but care and 
 trouble. 
 
 One evening while she sat looking 
 wistfully at him, he suddenly said, 
 " Dorothy, you wish to ask me some- 
 thing. What is it, darling ? " And 
 when she shook her head he was not 
 
94 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 convinced, for love gave him a power 
 to look right into her heart, and he 
 added, " You wish to ask me some- 
 thing about the case." 
 
 So she hid her face on his shoulder 
 and whispered, " Has Tommy Dow's 
 father found out who took the money ? " 
 
 " Not yet," was the answer ; " but we 
 must not be discouraged, dear." 
 
 There was still another question trem- 
 bling on her lips, but the child did not 
 ask it. She talked about other things, 
 avoiding any subject which would bear 
 upon this one, privately wondering how- 
 ever, in her own heart, what would hap- 
 pen to her father and herself if Tommy 
 Dow's father did not gain the case. 
 
 The following morning Dorothy and 
 Tommy went together for a walk. 
 They rambled over the Common and 
 then to the Public Garden, where they 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 95 
 
 stood long and watched the boats on 
 the Pond, and then homeward along 
 Beacon Street, their faces turned toward 
 the State House. The fine old street 
 was gay that pleasant spring morning 
 with carriages dashing along its length, 
 gay dames fluttering hither and thither, 
 and the dear babies toddling on the 
 pavement with their white-capped nurses. 
 The sunlight was checkered by the 
 great elms of the Beacon Street mall on 
 the Common, and here and there in 
 front of the houses were beds of crocus, 
 making patches of bright colors. It did 
 not seem that care and sorrow ever in- 
 vaded these cheerful dwellings. One of 
 the finest of these Tommy pointed out 
 as being the home of Judge Hartwell. 
 
 " Your case is going to be tried before 
 him. I heard father say so, and I heard 
 him say something else too ; and that is," 
 
96 Dear Dazighter Dorothy. 
 
 continued the boy, as Dorothy, notwith- 
 standing her curiosity, remained silent, 
 — " that is, he does not at all expect to 
 gain it. He says your father has n't a 
 leg to stand on." 
 
 " Why, I should think not having 
 taken the money," cried poor little 
 Dorothy, " would be a very good leg to 
 stand on." 
 
 " It may seem so," Tommy admitted, 
 " but that does n't count for much. The 
 fact is the money has been stolen, and 
 somebody must be punished." 
 
 Here at last was the opportunity to 
 settle the question that had so puzzled 
 Dorothy. She looked anxiously at 
 Tommy's sturdy back as he marched on 
 ahead whistling a merry air. Small 
 boys, as a rule, are not troubled by too 
 tender sympathies, and it would not 
 pain him to answer her question. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 97 
 
 With a mighty effort little Dorothy 
 summoned all her courage. " Tommy,' 1 
 she said, " you know everything about 
 law ; tell me what will they do to papa 
 if we lose the case ? " 
 
 " Send him to state-prison," was the 
 prompt and cheerful reply. 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Why, of course. When I am a man 
 I shall be a lawyer myself, and I know 
 now just what will be done. See now, 
 Dorothy, if all does not happen like this! 
 He will be tried before the judge next 
 May, and if the jury — " 
 
 "And what is that?" asked the 
 child. 
 
 " Why, the twelve men who after the 
 witnesses are examined will decide 
 whether your father is guilty or not." 
 
 " And who are the witnesses ? " 
 
 " They are the people who tell what 
 7 
 
98 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 they know about the case. Maybe you 
 will be called as a witness." 
 
 " If I am, then there will be no need 
 of any others, for I can tell them all 
 about it. I know that papa did n't take 
 the money." 
 
 " Well, there will be plenty of others, 
 you '11 find ; but father says he hopes 
 you won't be called, for children are sure 
 to let out something that had best be 
 kept quiet." 
 
 " I cannot do that, for there is nothing 
 to let out," said Dorothy, rather proudly. 
 
 But Tommy continued heedless of the 
 interruption : " And so, after all the wit- 
 nesses have testified, the jury will decide 
 whether or not your father is guilty, and 
 if guilty, the judge will pronounce this 
 sentence, — to serve so many years in 
 state-prison. In my opinion, the judge 
 does n't amount to much anyhow," added 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 99 
 
 this future ornament to the legal pro- 
 fession. " So far as I can see he has 
 nothing to do but to sentence the 
 criminals." 
 
 Tommy walked on briskly for a few 
 paces, and % then commenting on his 
 companion's surprising dolefulness, pro- 
 posed a race home. Dorothy assented; 
 but when Tommy reached the goal she 
 was nowhere within sight. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 T^OROTHY had not cared to win 
 the race, for what Tommy Dow 
 had said filled her mind with alarm. 
 She began to fear that she had been 
 mistaken in Tommy Dow's father, and 
 that perhaps, notwithstanding his gen- 
 erosity at the time when Marthy Ann's 
 shop was first opened, he was not so 
 good a lawyer as she had believed. She 
 was distressed that he did not wish 
 her for a witness, being quite sure she 
 could make everybody understand that 
 Thorpe and Company had never been 
 guilty of dishonesty. 
 
 For some time she stood looking re- 
 flectively down the street, and then 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 101 
 
 walked resolutely back to the house that 
 had been pointed out to her as Judge 
 Hartwell's. 
 
 After mounting the steps and giving 
 the bell a sharp pull, she was admitted 
 to the vestibule by a colored man, 
 who informed her that the Judge was 
 within. 
 
 " Then please go and tell him that a 
 person wants to see him on business," 
 said Dorothy. 
 
 "He, he!" giggled the black gentle- 
 man ; " I 'se right sorry, but I cawn't. 
 No, marm, I 'se not to 'sturb de Judge 
 on no account whatever. Dem is his 
 special orders." 
 
 " Well, I must see him," persisted the 
 " person " in a sweet, soft voice ; " so I 
 think I '11 come in and wait." 
 
 There was a large hall-chair just in- 
 side, and Dorothy walked calmly in 
 
102 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 and seated herself upon it. " I 've come 
 on business, you see," she explained. 
 
 She looked so very small in that big 
 chair, and her grave manner contrasted 
 so oddly with the infantine face in its 
 muslin cap, that the man leaned against 
 the wall and laughed. Dorothy was 
 wondering what the joke might be, 
 when the servant suddenly became as 
 solemn as an owl, and she was conscious 
 of the figure of a gentleman standing 
 in the doorway directly opposite to her. 
 
 u Dis pusson, sah, wishes to see you 
 on business, sah," said the servant, with 
 his eyes rolling in the direction of Dor- 
 othy. " I tole her you was busy dis 
 arfternoon.' 
 
 Dorothy looked curiously at Judge 
 Hartwell, and thought him a very large 
 and imposing-looking gentleman, for he 
 had a commanding manner and the 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 103 
 
 air of a person who is accustomed to 
 be obeyed. His hair and beard were 
 iron-gray. He had a hooked nose, and 
 eyes that looked searchingly at her 
 from under bushy eyebrows. 
 
 " Yes," said Dorothy, " it was n't his 
 fault at all. He told me that you 
 would n't see me, but I would come 
 in. I meant to wait, though, until 
 it was convenient for you. I did n't 
 mean to disturb you now. Had I bet- 
 ter wait here, or go home and come 
 back again by and by?" 
 
 "As you are already here, why not 
 tell me at once what you want?" 
 
 "What, here, in this hall!" cried 
 Dorothy, looking at the waiter, who 
 had been listening with much inter- 
 est and amusement to what she said. 
 " Well, I suppose I ought to have told 
 you that I came on private business." 
 
104 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 She looked at him so solemnly, and 
 with such evident belief in the impor- 
 tance of her errand, that after staring 
 at her for a moment, the Judge found 
 himself saying, "Well, well, child, come 
 with me ! " 
 
 He led the way through several large 
 rooms into one in which stood a dining- 
 table. The cloth had been removed, 
 and there was nothing upon it but a 
 filigree silver basket of fruit. The air 
 was full of smoke, and it was evident 
 that the Judge had here been enjoying 
 his after-dinner cigar. 
 
 He placed a chair for his visitor, 
 who was obliged to give an undignified 
 jump to get into it; but once ensconced 
 in its depth she had a very sedate air, 
 and proceeded to explain, in a soft but 
 earnest little voice, the object of her 
 visit. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 105 
 
 " Tommy Dow, who knows every- 
 thing about law, tells me that you are 
 to be the judge in our case," she began. 
 
 " Your case, eh ? " said the Judge, 
 smiling a little in a grave sort of way. 
 " A case of importance, no doubt ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " answered Dorothy ; " a 
 case of 'bezzlement. It 's a very queer 
 case, because the real 'bezzler can't be 
 found, and in the mean time, you know, 
 they accuse us." 
 
 The Judge had not seated himself, 
 but stood with his back to the fire- 
 place, looking down very sharply at 
 poor little Dorothy. It is not to be 
 wondered at that as she stopped, he 
 could only say, with a perplexed frown, 
 " Upon my word, child, I don't know 
 what you are talking about." 
 
 " Well, never mind ! " was the encour- 
 aging reply. " I did n't understand it, 
 
106 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 either, at first ; but Tommy Dow, 
 who knows everything about law, ex- 
 plained it to me, and I am going to 
 explain it to you. You see we used to 
 be book-keeper for Jonathan Black & 
 Brother." 
 
 "Jonathan Black & Brother?" re- 
 peated the Judge, recognizing the name 
 of a well-known firm. " Do you mean 
 to say you kept their books ? " 
 
 "Well, I suppose I didn't really; 
 but papa did, and so it seems just as if I 
 did too," said the child. " If you don't 
 mind, I think I '11 say we, because I 'm 
 so used to it. A little while ago we 
 lost our position at Jonathan Black & 
 Brother's. They accused us of steal- 
 ing their money — they call it 'bezzling 
 — but I am going to make it just as 
 easy as I can for you ; and these queer 
 words mix one up so. It 's all a mis- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorot/iy. 107 
 
 take, of course ; but Tommy Dow's 
 father, who is our lawyer, has not been 
 able to find out who took the money, 
 and it may be that he won't find out 
 at all. It would not matter so much 
 about that, if he would only 'low me 
 to be a witness. I suppose you know 
 what a witness is ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied the Judge, meekly, " I 
 know that much." 
 
 " If I could only be a witness, I 
 could explain to those twelve men who 
 decide everything, that we did n't take 
 the money. It would save them ever 
 so much trouble, I am sure. But you 
 see how it is," went on Dorothy, eager- 
 ly ; "and so I thought perhaps, as Tom- 
 my Dow says you don't have very much 
 to do, you would be willing to explain it 
 to them for me." 
 
 As the Judge slowly realized what 
 
io8 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 the child really meant, his face as- 
 sumed a very stern expression. 
 
 " What is your name ? " he asked. 
 
 " Dorothy Thorpe." 
 
 " Did your mother know that you 
 were coming here ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Dorothy, " my mamma 
 is dead ! There is no one but papa 
 and me." 
 
 " And did he know you were 
 coming? " 
 
 " No ; and neither did Tommy Dow. 
 It was private business, you know. It's 
 just a secret between us" She said this 
 with the most confiding little air in the 
 world; but Judge- Hartwell went on, 
 severely, — 
 
 " It was a very wrong thing for 
 you to do, — very wrong indeed! One 
 should not try to influence the opin- 
 ion of the judge. You are too young 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 109 
 
 to understand that ; but, at least, little 
 girls should know that they must not 
 meddle in the affairs of older people." 
 
 " Oh ! but don't you see," cried Dor- 
 othy, " this is just as much my affair 
 as papa's ? Why, he feels it even more 
 for me than he does for himself, — he 
 said so. Oh, yes ; half of it is my 
 affair, I 'm sure. But of course I 
 would n't have come if I had known 
 that it would trouble you so. Have 
 I influenced your 'pinion very much ?" 
 she inquired anxiously. 
 
 " Well, perhaps not," replied the 
 Judge, smiling a little. " But if I had 
 realized that this was anything but 
 child's play, I would not have listened 
 to a word you have said. Now I will 
 give you these oranges to take home, 
 and we will say good-by." 
 
 He took a couple of the largest ones 
 
1 1 o Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 from the dish, and offered them to the 
 child as he spoke. 
 
 " I don't think I will take them, al- 
 though they are splendid oranges ; and 
 I 'm ever so much obliged to you for 
 thinking of it," Dorothy managed to 
 say in spite of her quivering lips. " I 
 guess I 'm a little — a little nervious." 
 
 The Judge was quite unaccustomed 
 to children, but he understood very well 
 how Dorothy felt. He could see that 
 she wanted to cry, and was exercising 
 all her self-control to speak calmly, and 
 he was very grateful to her for sparing 
 him a scene. It even occurred to him 
 that he would like to comfort this brave 
 little girl who was struggling so he- 
 roically with her disappointment. But 
 what can be done for a child that re- 
 fuses oranges? 
 
 Fortunately, Dorothy had now en- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 1 1 
 
 tirely recovered herself. " I will go 
 right away," she said in quite a steady 
 voice ; " but I would like to ask you a 
 question." She got out of the large 
 chair, and stood looking at him with 
 her clear shining gray eyes, the witch- 
 ery of which it was so difficult to re- 
 sist. Gradually the stern look that 
 struck terror into men's hearts melted 
 away, and he stroked Dorothy's soft 
 cheek with the reflection that he would 
 like just such a winsome little creature 
 as a child of his own. 
 
 Children are skilful readers of faces, 
 and Dorothy knew she might ven- 
 ture to ask her question. " It 's about 
 something Tommy Dow told me," she 
 said. 
 
 " Tommy Dow, who knows every- 
 thing about law, I suppose ? " 
 
 Dorothy nodded. " But I hope he 
 
ii2 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 made a mistake this time ; indeed I 
 think he did, for he said that if we do 
 not gain our case," — here the little 
 voice trembled, — " they will send my 
 papa to state-prison. Is that true ? " 
 
 " It 's not yet time to think of that," 
 was the evasive reply. 
 
 " Oh, but it 's ever so much better 
 for persons to know the truth, so that 
 they can — well, try and make up their 
 minds to things," said Dorothy, gravely. 
 " It takes a long while to make up your 
 mind that your father may go to state- 
 prison, you know. So please tell me 
 if there is any danger of it." 
 
 " Bless my soul, if I were ever in 
 such an awkward predicament ! " said 
 the Judge to himself, walking up and 
 down the room in excitement. " I 
 won't answer the child." 
 
 But he was spared this task, for Dor- 
 
She looked at the judge, who had come back to his old place by the mantelpiece, 
 and was watching her anxiously. — Page 113. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 1 3 
 
 othy had already guessed by his silence 
 that what she had feared was true. 
 How cruel it seemed that such a thing 
 could be ! Dorothy felt that she could 
 not bear it if the father she loved so 
 dearly were thus unjustly punished and 
 disgraced. But no, she told herself, 
 she would not think of such a thins: 
 for it could not be possible. 
 
 She looked at the Judge, who had 
 come back to his old place by the 
 mantelpiece and was watching her 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Does it ever happen," she asked 
 eagerly, " that those twelve men make 
 a mistake ? Oh, do you think you 
 have ever sent the wrong person to 
 state-prison ? " 
 
 " I hope not, my dear. Heaven help 
 me! I hope not," said the Judge, 
 fervently. 
 
ii4 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 " But does it ever happen, — could 
 it happen ? " she urged. 
 
 He held out his hand and drew the 
 child towards him, having forgotten his 
 " awkward predicament " in his pity 
 for her. 
 
 " Come, come, my dear, don't trouble 
 your little head over such disagreeable 
 questions ! " he said kindly. " A little 
 girl like you should be at play with 
 her dolls. What you need is a hand- 
 some new one, eh, my dear ? " 
 
 A new doll ? No, Dorothy had no 
 heart to think of toys ; and this in her 
 patient way she tried to tell Judge Hart- 
 well. All her thoughts were fixed upon 
 the question which he had left un- 
 answered, and to which she returned 
 with gentle persistence. The Judge 
 was finally obliged to admit that such 
 a thing as she suggested was possible; 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 1 5 
 
 but he made light of her fears, and in 
 a kind and even tender way tried to 
 reassure her. Although she listened 
 carefully to what he was saying, it was 
 easy to see there was still something on 
 the child's mind. 
 
 " Well, I am ever so much obliged to 
 you," she said at last, when he paused. 
 " I am sure it was very good of you 
 when you were so busy to see me at all, 
 and I've stayed a long time already; 
 but — I hope you won't think I'm very 
 troublesome — before I go I want to 
 ask you a favor." 
 
 "That's riorht, that's ri^ht ! " The 
 Judge thrust his hand into his pocket, 
 as he spoke, hoping that she had re- 
 pented of her refusal of the new doll. 
 " I shall be glad to give you anything 
 you want. What shall it be, my 
 dear?" 
 
1 1 6 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 "It will be a fi?'oniise" was the eager 
 reply. " I want you to promise that if 
 you send papa to state-prison you will 
 send me there too." 
 
 "Tut, tut!" cried the Judge; "we 
 don't send innocent little girls to state- 
 prison." 
 
 " But you must not send him there 
 alone" protested the child; " it would be 
 cruel, and besides it would not be fair. 
 If he 'bezzled, why then I 'bezzled too, 
 for we do everything together. We are 
 Thorpe and Company, and belong to- 
 gether. Oh ! " cried Dorothy, tears for 
 the first time coming into her gentle 
 eyes, " papa is sick, and there will be no 
 one there to take care of him, — no one 
 to give him his cough-drops, or to see 
 that his necktie is straight. He will 
 always get it on crooked. I must go." 
 
 " My dear child," groaned the Judge, 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 1 7 
 
 " this is out of the question. You 
 must ask some other favor. There, 
 there ! don't worry any more about it. 
 It will all come out right, no doubt ; and 
 if your father is convicted, you shall 
 come and live with me, and I will give 
 you everything you want." 
 
 " I don't want anything but to be 
 with papa. Just think how lonesome 
 he would be there without me! I know 
 there will be the other prisoners, but 
 they will none of them be me, you know. 
 Oh, I shall be ever so much obliged to 
 you if you will only send me too ! " 
 
 Judge Hartwell tried his best to 
 soothe the excited little girl, but Doro- 
 thy noticed that he did not give the 
 promise she had asked of him. There 
 being now no longer an object in re- 
 maining, in a trembling voice she bade 
 the Judge good-by. 
 
1 1 8 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 As she got up, she was surprised to 
 find herself shaking from head to foot; 
 but she tried to smile, noticing that he 
 was watching her with a very troubled 
 air. A smile, however, is not to be 
 managed with eyes brimming with tears 
 and a quivering mouth, and Dorothy 
 held out her hand instead. The tears 
 dropped down from her lashes on to her 
 cheeks ; but others quickly filled her 
 eyes, so that she could not see the black 
 waiter as he opened the door for her, 
 nor knew that the Judge had followed 
 her, and that he was standing by the 
 portiere where she had first seen him. 
 The fresh air from the street cooled her 
 hot cheeks, and Dorothy moved quick- 
 ly forward, and somehow — she never 
 could tell exactly how it happened — 
 she fell from the top step and lay a 
 sad little heap on the sidewalk below. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "POR a brief moment, as she lay upon 
 the pavement, Dorothy had a dim 
 sense of the Judge bending over her, and 
 then lost all consciousness of her sur- 
 roundings. When she recovered her- 
 self, she was lying on a large bed in a 
 splendid chamber. The Judge was 
 here too, and with him at the foot of 
 the bed another man who was saying, 
 " It is rather a bad sprain, and she had 
 better not be moved for a day or two ; 
 but it 's nothing serious, nothing at all. 
 Ah ! she has come to. How do you 
 feel, my dear ? " 
 
 " I am very well, thank you, and I 
 must get right up and go home. Papa 
 will be worried." 
 
1 20 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 But the first movement caused such 
 a sharp twinge of pain that she sank 
 back with a very pale little face against 
 the pillow. 
 
 " We will send word to your father 
 where to find you," the Judge told her 
 kindly. 
 
 " And now," said the other gentleman, 
 who was apparently a doctor, " we must 
 bandage the ankle." 
 
 This proved to be a painful process ; 
 but Dorothy bore it bravely,, although 
 her puckered brow told how she suffered. 
 
 " There ! she has fainted a^ain," 
 groaned the Judge, as the doctor deftly 
 finished the operation. 
 
 " A fine child, sir ! " said the other, 
 leaning back in his chair composedly 
 and admiring his patient. " All nerve 
 and will power. Oh, she will come to in 
 a moment or so ; then give her some 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 2 1 
 
 sherry wine, and keep the bandage wet. 
 I bid you good-day, sir;" and the doc- 
 tor bowed himself out. 
 
 Left alone with the unconscious child, 
 the Judge was ill at ease. " Confounded 
 rascal, that doctor, to go off without 
 doing a thing to bring her round ! " he 
 muttered. He seized a fan, and waved 
 it with such a will that all the soft curls 
 danced on Dorothy's forehead. Then 
 he took one of the listless little hands, 
 and began gently to chafe it. So pretty 
 and helpless it looked as it lay in his 
 own big palm, that a strange protecting 
 and paternal feeling stirred the childless 
 old gentleman's heart. He was still 
 chafing it when Dorothy opened her 
 eyes and murmured, — 
 
 " I did n't mean to make such a fuss. 
 I think I must go home now to papa." 
 
 "Always ' papa'! " grumbled the other ; 
 
122 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 but he gallantly raised the little hand to 
 his lips, for loyalty is a quality he knew 
 well how to value. Then, after ques- 
 tioning her as to her father's name and 
 the number of the house and the street 
 where they lived, he left her to the care 
 of the housekeeper, who now came in 
 with the wine, and he hurried down- 
 stairs, to send a servant for Mr. Thorpe. 
 This had been a very painful day for 
 Dorothy's poor papa. It had begun 
 with a most disagreeable interview with 
 his lawyer, who it seemed was not really 
 convinced in his own mind as to Mr. 
 Thorpe's innocence; for in the course 
 of the conversation he intimated that if 
 he had embezzled the money it would 
 be his wisest course to confess it to 
 him, and they would work for a light 
 sentence. The insinuation brought a 
 crimson flush to the face of this high- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 123 
 
 spirited young man, and he was so 
 disgusted and disappointed in Tommy 
 Dow's father that it seemed as if he 
 could have nothing more to do with 
 him. Then there was the money ques- 
 tion to vex him ; for it was certainly 
 galling not to be able to pay Mr. Dow 
 his fee as soon as the trial was over, 
 although the lawyer had agreed to wait 
 until a certain time, when a sum of 
 money was due Mr. Thorpe. In truth, 
 he was too proud to relish being under 
 obligations to a man who had for a mo- 
 ment suspected him of a dishonest act; 
 and bitterest of all, was the thought 
 of Dorothy's future unprovided for. 
 Should the case go against him, how 
 could he leave her to the charity of 
 Mrs Kipp, good and generous though 
 she was ? The money in the portemon- 
 naie had now dwindled to a very small 
 
124 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 sum ; and he made up his mind, as he 
 walked homeward that night, that he 
 would give up his rooms on Sunshine 
 Street, letting Mrs. Kipp tuck Dorothy 
 into some unoccupied corner, as he 
 knew well she would willingly do, and 
 find cheaper quarters for himself in a 
 poorer portion of the city. 
 
 So, as he mounted Mrs. Kipp's steps, 
 it was with a heavy heart, thinking how 
 painful this news would be to Dorothy. 
 Oddly enough, no Dorothy came flying 
 down the stairs as usual to meet him ; 
 but instead of her cheerful greeting, a 
 note was handed him by the servant, 
 with the information that the little girl 
 had been away all day. 
 
 About dusk Dorothy was awakened 
 from a refreshing sleep by the sound of 
 voices in an adjoining room. One was 
 the deep bass of the Judge, and the 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 2 5 
 
 other — yes, it was certainly that of 
 her father ; quite distinctly his words 
 reached her, — 
 
 " I have but just received your note, 
 Judge Hartwell, and I do not know how 
 to thank you for the care you have 
 taken of my child. I hope to be able, 
 however, to remove her at once." 
 
 " Impossible, young man, quite impos- 
 sible ! The doctor has advised her 
 remaining, and you will be obliged to 
 leave her with me for some days. You 
 may rest assured that she will have 
 good care." 
 
 There was a tone in the Judge's 
 voice that Dorothy had not heard be- 
 fore. It was by no means so pleasant 
 as the one he had used when he begged 
 her to ask a favor of him, and so differ- 
 ent from the gentle accent of his voice 
 as he bent over her while she lay upon 
 
126 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 the sidewalk, that it might have be- 
 longed to another person altogether. 
 She was glad when her father spoke 
 again that it was in his proudest 
 manner, — 
 
 " I would much rather put you to 
 no such inconvenience ; if however it 
 should really be necessary for the child's 
 sake, I must submit to place myself un- 
 der this obligation to you." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense!" replied the 
 other, rudely. " You need not consider 
 the question of obligation ; I have taken 
 a fancy to the child." 
 
 " May I ask how the accident hap- 
 pened ? I cannot understand how she 
 should have been here at all," asked 
 Mr. Thorpe, after an awkward pause. 
 
 " Well, she came — ahem ! on busi- 
 ness." The Judge said this in what 
 Dorothy considered his kind voice ; but 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 127 
 
 it immediately changed again as he 
 went on to say : " On business that you 
 and I, sir, had best ignore altogether. 
 We will see the child in a moment, but 
 first I have a few words to say to you." 
 
 There was another pause, in which 
 Dorothy could hear the Judge fidget 
 about the room; but when the conversa- 
 tion was resumed it was in too low a 
 tone to reach her ear. What he said 
 was this : — 
 
 " I told you, Mr. Thorpe, that I have 
 taken a fancy to your little girl ; and it 
 was not, I assure you, an idle compli- 
 ment. It would be a pleasure to me to 
 keep her with me; and as you are not 
 in a position at present to take care of a 
 child, why not leave her here until after 
 the trial ? If the case goes against you, 
 she will be provided for until you are at 
 liberty to take her again, or leave her 
 
1 28 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 permanently with me, as you may decide 
 What do you say to this proposition ? " 
 
 " I have no right or wish to refuse it, 
 sir," was the answer, in a low, sad tone. 
 " Dorothy's future welfare is now my 
 chief thought, and one which has long 
 distressed me. If she consents to it, I 
 shall not feel justified in making any 
 opposition." 
 
 Judge Hart well stroked his beard 
 and looked rather thoughtful as he said, 
 " She is evidently much attached to you, 
 and the separation will be a trial to her, 
 no doubt ; but I hope she will not make 
 a great fuss." 
 
 Mr. Thorpe smiled rather sadly. 
 " Dorothy will not make a fuss. Oh, no, 
 you need not fear that ! If it breaks 
 her heart, she will do what she thinks 
 will please me, and you will hear no 
 complaints. If she refuses to stay with 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 129 
 
 you, it will be because of a belief that I 
 need her. However, if you leave it to 
 me, I think I can persuade her to do as 
 you wish. I will not attempt to thank 
 you for your kindness to her, but you 
 will find that she deserves it." 
 
 The Judge now rose, and motioned 
 Mr. Thorpe to follow him. He liked 
 the manly way Dorothy's father had ac- 
 cepted his offer, with no useless regrets 
 for the sacrifice he himself was called 
 upon to make. The little girl he 
 thought had come honestly by her gen- 
 erous heart and winning manner. 
 
 Presently the door of Dorothy's room 
 was softly opened. As her father came 
 forward, she sprang up with a sunny 
 smile of welcome, and Mr. Thorpe kneel- 
 ing down put his arms tenderly around 
 her, calling her by the fondest of his 
 pet names for her. Whatever troubles 
 9 
 
130 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 might be in store for them, they were at 
 that moment a happy pair. 
 
 " Oh, papa, papa," cried Dorothy, nest- 
 ling still closer against his breast, " I 'm 
 so glad you have come. We are better 
 off than the real 'bezzler after all, while 
 we have each other. I do hope he has 
 some one to comfort him, don't you? 
 Are you going to take me home now ? " 
 
 Mr. Thorpe threw a hasty glance at 
 the Judge, who stood watching them 
 from the hall. As the latter walked 
 away, it was with a guilty conscious- 
 ness that Thorpe and Company had en- 
 listed all his sympathies in their cause ; 
 and he was obliged to reassure himself 
 many times by declaring that he had 
 done no more for little Dorothy than 
 common humanity demanded. 
 
 As his footsteps died away, Mr. 
 Thorpe answered the child's question. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 3 1 
 
 "You can't be moved very well quite 
 yet," he said, " and Judge Hartwell is 
 kind enough to wish you to remain." 
 
 " Why, I should think he would 
 be afraid of my influencing his 'pinion 
 again. He said that was the reason 
 why I ought not to have come here ; 
 and that reminds me, papa, aren't you 
 going to scold me at all ? " 
 
 " Ah, you know what a weak old papa 
 I am, little one ! I cant scold you," he 
 said fondly, while he played with her 
 sunny locks and wondered how he could 
 best break the unpleasant news to her. 
 
 "Well, after all, you needn't scold if 
 you don't wish to," said Dorothy, with 
 gracious indulgence. " I am already 
 sorry that I came. It did no good, and 
 the Judge was rather — well, he wasn't 
 exactly polite — just at first, you know. 
 If a person makes a call upon a person, 
 
132 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 she expects that other person to be glad 
 to see her, doesn't she, papa? Well, do 
 you know, he was rit glad to see me. I 
 found it out directly, and it was n't 
 •agreeable at all. But I dare say a 
 judge can't act like ordinary persons, 
 because he has to be so careful about 
 his 'pinion. I think he was sorry for 
 me afterward, although he would n't do 
 what I asked of him, and he offered me 
 a new doll. Papa, are you paying at- 
 tention to me? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, I am thinking that the 
 Judge is a very, very kind man, and that 
 I shall have to leave you with him 
 for a while, — until after the trial, for 
 instance." 
 
 " Papa," cried Dorothy, in a frightened 
 little voice, " of course you are joking. 
 We could rit be separated. We have 
 often said so, you know ; that 's why they 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 133 
 
 call us Thorpe and Company. I like 
 most jokes, but this one — it hurts me." 
 
 " Dorothy dear, it is n't a joke ; but 
 you shall do as you please about stay- 
 ing," Thorpe senior was forced into 
 saying ; and he kissed the white brow 
 under its soft curly locks, declaring to 
 himself that he would not compel her 
 to leave him. 
 
 " Well, I shall please not to, then. 
 Why should I leave you, darling papa ? 
 You don't wish me to, I know." 
 
 " I would keep you always with me if 
 it were best, but sometimes, you know, 
 what we like is not for the best. I can- 
 not keep Mrs. Kipp's room any longer. 
 I cannot afford it ; but I intended to 
 leave you with her and take a cheaper 
 room elsewhere. In that case we 
 should be separated, Dorothy." 
 
 " But who would sew on your but- 
 
134 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 tons?" cried the child, in a triumphant 
 tone. "You see you never could take 
 care of yourself, dear ; I shall have to 
 go too." 
 
 But with some difficulty her father 
 made her see that this would be incon- 
 venient, and that if she stayed with 
 Judge Hart well it would relieve him of 
 much anxiety. When Dorothy became 
 convinced of this, as Mr. Thorpe had 
 foretold, she acquiesced with her usual 
 sweet patience, even agreeing to be as 
 cheerful as she could out of compliment 
 to her host. 
 
 " I think I can manage it if I do feel 
 sad," the little girl declared, "for I have 
 had so much practice." 
 
 When, after bidding the child good- 
 night, Mr. Thorpe went out into the 
 hall, he was surprised to find Judge 
 Hartwell awaiting him there. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 135 
 
 " Come as often as you can to see 
 Dorothy," he said to him with grave 
 courtesy; "but of course you under- 
 stand it is better that you and I should 
 not meet." Then he shook hands with 
 the young man, and they saw each 
 other no more until the day of the 
 trial. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 T^VOROTHY felt very sober as her 
 father closed the door of the un- 
 familiar room and left her alone in it. 
 It was her first separation from him, and 
 she could not believe he would be com- 
 fortable without her care. However, if 
 she allowed herself to think of this it 
 would be impossible to keep her prom- 
 ise. To be cheerful was a very difficult 
 part of her task; but she began by 
 bravely choking back her tears and try- 
 ing to look as if she were enjoying her 
 visit, in case the Judge should come in 
 again to see her. 
 
 It was well she did so, for presently 
 there was a tap at her door, and a kind 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 137 
 
 voice inquired if she were in the mood 
 to receive company. The Judge had 
 feared that he would find the little girl 
 with a very long face, and was much 
 gratified by her gracious welcome. He 
 held in his hand a beautiful doll, which 
 he placed on the bed beside Dorothy, 
 who gave a cry of delight and gathered 
 it into her arms in a maternal manner 
 that the giver thought very amusing. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, as he stood rubbing 
 his hands in a pleased way and watch- 
 ing her ; " so my ancient friend has a 
 weakness for dolls, after all. Is it a 
 nice one, my dear? I am not a judge 
 of the article, and perhaps the clerk 
 cheated me." 
 
 " Oh, no, he did n't. It 's the biggest 
 doll and the handsomest one I ever 
 had," was the emphatic reply. " Yes, 
 it s even more beautiful than Alice 
 
138 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 Maud, who was my favorite. Poor dear 
 thing ! I was perfectly devoted to her." 
 
 " What happened to the damsel ? " 
 
 " Why, I — I sold her," answered 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " That was being devoted. To whom 
 did you sell it ? " 
 
 " To Professor Grumpinson." 
 
 " Then I am not the only old fellow 
 who buys dolls," said the Judge. 
 " I did n't know Grumpinson had a 
 family." 
 
 " Oh, he has n't," cried Dorothy; " he 
 bought the doll for himself." 
 
 She went on to describe how the Pro- 
 fessor came to be in possession of the 
 lovely Alice Maud ; the interest of the 
 Judge in her account of the auction be- 
 ing so flattering that she confided many 
 of her secret misgivings on the subject 
 to his ear. Among them was the fear 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 39 
 
 that the Professor had bought the doll 
 merely to oblige herself, and not because 
 he really wished it. She derived much 
 consolation from his argument that 
 deep minds like the Professor's require 
 some means of relaxation, and that 
 Alice Maud undoubtedly furnished him 
 with wholesome diversion. 
 
 " Perhaps one reason that he bought 
 her was because she was his namesake," 
 said Dorothy. 
 
 " His namesake, eh ? Then the Pro- 
 fessor's name is Alice Maud Grumpin- 
 son, is it?" asked the Judge, with an in- 
 nocent air. 
 
 " Why, no, of course not ! His name 
 is Thomas. I changed it a little, you 
 see. Papa says it was n't compli — com- 
 plimentary," bringing out the long word 
 with a great effort; "and the next time 
 I name a doll for any one I sha'n't 
 
140 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 change it at all. I think I '11 name this 
 doll for you. What is your name, 
 please ? " 
 
 "Jonas," replied the Judge, with a 
 twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 To give the beautiful creature such a 
 name as this was rather more than Dor- 
 othy bargained for; but she would listen 
 to no compromise, and Jonasine, which 
 she concluded was the feminine of Jonas, 
 it was christened upon the spot. 
 
 When night came the little girl was 
 very glad of the company of Jonasine, 
 although Rosy, the good-natured cham- 
 bermaid, slept on a cot in the next 
 room, to be within call. In the morn- 
 ing Dorothy's ankle was much better, 
 and very soon she was able to be carried 
 downstairs by Samuel, the colored man, 
 who was always ready to dance attend- 
 ance upon " the little pusson." 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 141 
 
 No parent could be kinder than 
 Judge Hartwell was to Dorothy. It 
 seemed as if there were no end to the 
 pleasant surprises he planned for her; 
 and as for presents, — why, he fairly ran- 
 sacked the shops for such toys as he 
 thought would please her, and brought 
 home so many pretty things that Doro- 
 thy's room looked like a bazaar. Among 
 them he one day presented her a toy 
 fiddle. When Dorothy saw it memory 
 pierced her with its sting, and tears 
 choked the thanks she tried to offer. 
 
 " It reminded me so of poor Herr 
 von Stein," she stammered apologeti- 
 cally, as soon as she could speak. 
 
 " Well, well," said the Judge, who had 
 been regarding her anxiously, " it shall be 
 taken right away ; it shall be banished." 
 
 " Oh, that 's just what was done to 
 Herr von Stein ! " she cried. 
 
142 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 " Herr von Stein, eh ! Well, I dare 
 say the old Dutchman deserved it." 
 
 Dorothy shook her head in earnest 
 denial. " Never! It was done just for 
 the money. We put him in pawn — in 
 pawn, dear lovely Herr von Stein ! Do 
 you suppose he minds very much being 
 left in that horrid shop? " 
 
 The Judge looked thoughtfully at the 
 child 's anxious little face. " Do you 
 feel quite well this morning, my dear?" 
 he inquired, pushing the wavy locks 
 from her brow. " You are not feverish, 
 I hope ? " 
 
 " No, I 'm not feverish at all ; but I 
 can 't help feeling it that dear Herr von 
 Stein is in pawn. You would yourself 
 if he were a friend of yours, even if he 
 is only a violin." 
 
 " Oh, he is a violin, is he ? " 
 
 " Why, yes ! You see, when I was 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 143 
 
 very small," explained Dorothy, " I fan- 
 cied that the dear thing was alive, and 
 it did n't seem quite respectful to speak 
 of anything that's alive as it, — just as 
 if he were no different from a stick or 
 a door-knob, you know. Why, even 
 my dollies each had a name." 
 
 "Ah, I see!" said the Judge ; "and 
 so you called it Herr von Stein. Did 
 you go with your father when he car- 
 ried it to the pawn-shop ? " 
 
 " No ; he carried it in the evening 
 after I had gone to bed. I did n't rind 
 it out right away, for you see since we 
 have been in so much trouble we have 
 not listened to him very much. He 
 seems to feel so sorry for us that he 
 always makes me cry. When I knew 
 what had happened, I got papa to show 
 me where the place was, and I went 
 every day and stayed a long time by 
 
144 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 the window, so he would see me, and 
 know I had not forgotten him." 
 
 Dorothy wondered that the Judge 
 inquired so particularly about the loca- 
 tion of this little shop ; but she under- 
 stood it the next day when he came in 
 with a triumphant smile upon his face, 
 and Herr von Stein under his arm. 
 
 When the child was able to go out 
 of doors, this good friend gave her a 
 pretty little purse, containing quite a 
 sum of money, which he said she was 
 to spend as she pleased. In fact, he 
 especially requested that she should 
 give him no account of it. 
 
 " Why, that 's queer ! " said Dorothy ; 
 " and why not ? " 
 
 " Well, my dear, it s so vulgar to 
 talk about money," was the answer. 
 
 " Dear me ! I have talked a great deal 
 about it in my life," said Dorothy, re- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 145 
 
 flectively. " Every month, when our 
 salary came, we used to plan how we 
 would spend it ; but that was to make 
 it go as far as possible, and when it was 
 gone we never spoke of money at all. 
 It was not so much that we were not 
 vulgar," she added honestly, " as that 
 there did n't seem to be anything very 
 pleasant to say." 
 
 Judge Hartwell owned a trim little 
 coupe, in which he sent Dorothy out 
 every morning. He could not go with 
 her, but she was at liberty to invite 
 whom she chose for company. He 
 made another strange request about 
 this, which was that she should not tell 
 him who this companion might be. 
 
 " I suppose that would be vulgar 
 too," was Dorothy's puzzled comment. 
 
 The Judge laughed, and pinched her 
 smooth, round cheek, admiring its rose- 
 leaf tint. 
 
146 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 " I would like to have you drive 
 out into the country, where you can 
 breathe pure air," he said in his kind 
 way. " That 's the best medicine for a 
 cough, and I heard you coughing this 
 morning." 
 
 " Why, I only choked," explained 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " Don't contradict, little girl, but do 
 as I tell you ! " said the Judge, in his 
 gruff tone ; and Dorothy, reading his 
 kind heart with a clearness that would, 
 had he known it, have disturbed him 
 exceedingly, put her arms around his 
 neck and promised to obey. 
 
 The following morning the coupe 
 was before the door at an early hour, 
 and Samuel carried Dorothy out to it, 
 tucking her up in the robes, for the air 
 had still a chill in it. Then the coach- 
 man looked in for his orders. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 147 
 
 " Drive first to the druggist's on the 
 
 corner, and then to 21 Street," said 
 
 Miss Thorpe, with an elegant air. 
 
 At the former place she bought two 
 bottles of cod-liver oil, which was what 
 the druggist gave her as the best thing 
 he had for a cough ; and it was very 
 pleasant to think that the price of it 
 would not have to be squeezed out of 
 that lean portemonnaie from which her 
 father made his few purchases. It is 
 certainly very agreeable to have money 
 to spend as one pleases ; and Dorothy 
 indulged herself in this pleasure, and 
 bought a number of things which she 
 thought would make her father com- 
 fortable. 
 
 Since she had been staying with the 
 Judge, Thorpe and Company had seen 
 very little of each other, and each meet- 
 ing was an occasion of great happiness. 
 
148 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 As she drove through the busy streets, 
 she thought if it were not for the re- 
 fractory cough, she would be a very 
 happy little girl this lovely spring 
 morning. The period of separation, to 
 which she had agreed only until the 
 trial, was rapidly passing, and after 
 that — well, how could she have any 
 fear for the future, with this new kind 
 friend who was always ready to shield 
 her from harm ; so with loving trust- 
 fulness, she left her father's cause in 
 his hands. Dorothy knew no more of 
 law than other little girls. She did not 
 understand that a judge must abide by 
 the decision of the jury, however pain- 
 ful to his feelings, and therefore had 
 not the power to do as he might 
 wish. 
 
 Meantime the coupe had turned into 
 the poor little street where Thorpe 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 149 
 
 senior now lived. It was a dingy place, 
 with tiresome rows of high, narrow 
 buildings well plastered with signs, and 
 all more or less out of repair. It made 
 Dorothy's heart ache to think of the 
 difference between this and Beacon 
 Street, where Judge Hartwell's house 
 was, and where she was made so comfort- 
 able ; or even dear old Sunshine Street, 
 with its nice airy houses and neat row of 
 trees. There was hardly so much as a 
 blade of grass for her father's tired eyes 
 to rest on ; while from her pretty window 
 she had a lovely view of the Common, 
 which was now a glorious mass of 
 green. 
 
 There were a number of untidy-look- 
 ing children playing about the steps of 
 the house before which the carriage 
 stopped. They stared into the coupe, 
 and made rude faces at its sad little 
 
150 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 occupant, while the coachman ran up 
 the high stoop to inquire if Mr. Thorpe 
 was at home. 
 
 It was pleasant to see the cross faces 
 change into sunshine as Dorothy dis- 
 tributed coins from that delightful 
 purse, and to watch the children as 
 they hurried away in the direction of 
 a small candy-shop, gayly chattering 
 as they went. 
 
 This little adventure served to occupy 
 Dorothy's attention until her father 
 came out, which he presently did with 
 a smiling face to welcome his little 
 girl. 
 
 The two had a very affectionate 
 meeting on the sidewalk, with the 
 coachman waving his whip as good 
 fairy in the background, and any num- 
 ber of spectators from the windows of 
 the neighboring houses. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 151 
 
 " I have come to take you out, papa," 
 Dorothy cried, with a motion of her 
 hand in the direction of the coupe. 
 " We are going for a long, long drive 
 into the country ; and I have ever so 
 much to tell you." 
 
 Her father, however, seemed very 
 reluctant to accept this invitation ; and 
 it was only because of Dorothy's evi- 
 dent disappointment that he finally 
 stepped into the carriage, and allowed 
 himself to be whirled away from the 
 sorrowful old city. 
 
 As they rolled gayly over the Milldam 
 and out into the beautiful country roads 
 the Judge had advised for Dorothy's 
 cough, the little girl would say from 
 time to time, — 
 
 " This is ever so much nicer than 
 going in the horse-car, is n't it, papa ? " 
 for their excursions in the past had 
 
152 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 always been made in that humble 
 conveyance. 
 
 It was now late in April ; and spring 
 came in royal style that year, with the 
 greenest foliage, the brightest skies, 
 and soft, delicious breezes. It all 
 seemed so lovely to Dorothy that she 
 . was sure her papa must enjoy it too, 
 and did not wear that pleased expres- 
 sion just to gratify her. Indeed, each 
 was so intent upon making the other 
 happy that black Care was really left 
 moping behind them. 
 
 The experiment proved so successful 
 that it was repeated several times before 
 the trial, which took place shortly after. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TF we are to follow the fortunes of 
 
 Thorpe and Company, I must take 
 
 you into a strange scene, — that of a 
 
 court of law. Let us see what such a 
 
 place is like. 
 
 At the end of the large room, on 
 a platform, was the Judge's bench, 
 behind which now sat Judge Hartwell, 
 with an air so calm and dignified it was 
 difficult to believe that his heart beat 
 fast at the sight of an innocent 
 little face, which looked like a flower 
 among the black-coated figures that 
 surrounded it. At his right sat the 
 twelve men who composed the jury, 
 whose office it was, after a hearing of 
 
154 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 the case, to decide whether or not 
 Robert Thorpe was guilty of the crime 
 of which he had been accused. Be- 
 tween them and the Judge was a small 
 stand with a railing in front of it, where 
 the witnesses would be placed one by 
 one to be examined by the lawyers. 
 In front of the Judge's bench were 
 tables for the use of the reporters, 
 whose business it was to carry an ac- 
 count of the proceedings to the news- 
 papers, which would proclaim the 
 disgrace or honorable acquittal of 
 Robert Thorpe. 
 
 At another table beyond these sat 
 Tommy Dow's father and a lawyer who 
 was his partner, but whom Dorothy had 
 never seen. There was also a man 
 who afterward had a great deal to say ; 
 and Mr. Thorpe told Dorothy, in reply 
 to her inquiries, that he was the prose- 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 155 
 
 cuting attorney. What the little girl 
 understood by this it would be difficult 
 to tell. Then came the defendant, by 
 which name was designated Dorothy's 
 papa, and with him the poor little 
 junior member of this ill-fated firm. 
 Close at hand were the witnesses on 
 both sides. All these persons were 
 collected around the platform ; behind 
 them, away to the farther end of the 
 hall, were benches, which are often 
 nearly empty ; but the interesting feat- 
 ures of this case being known to many 
 persons, there was a ceaseless tide of 
 people flowing in at the doors, until 
 all these benches were filled. 
 
 The proceedings began by a state- 
 ment of the case to be tried; and after 
 the witnesses were sworn in, many of 
 them were examined, until at last the 
 name of the defendant was called. With 
 
156 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 one reassuring glance at his little child, 
 Mr. Thorpe rose and took his place on 
 the witness-stand. There was a general 
 silence in the court-room, and every eye 
 was fastened upon him. He did not 
 look like a man guilty of crime, but 
 had the air of a true gentleman bearing 
 in a quiet and gentle manner injustice 
 and unmerited disgrace. In Dorothy's 
 eyes, at least, there was not in all that 
 assembly a man worthy to be compared 
 with him. 
 
 His examination now began. It was 
 a trying ordeal for poor little Dorothy, 
 but she had begged so earnestly to be 
 present at the trial that her father had 
 consented. He thought she might suf- 
 fer still more if left by herself, a prey 
 to her own fancies. She was scarcely 
 better off in the court-room, being too 
 young to understand what was said, and 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 157 
 
 was only bewildered by the big words 
 and queer phrases. 
 
 " Oh, why do they ask so many fool- 
 ish questions ? " she wondered ; and why 
 did not her papa explain that he had 
 not taken the money? If she could 
 only stand there in his place, she was 
 sure she could set things straight. 
 
 But no notice at all was taken of her, 
 and she sat looking with wide eyes at 
 the strange scene, and puzzling her lit- 
 tle head in vain. She was only sure. 
 of one thing, which was that her father 
 had not made his innocence so clear 
 as she had expected he would. 
 
 After he was released many other 
 persons were questioned, and afterward 
 he was called back and cross-questioned. 
 Suddenly in the midst of the strange 
 jargon she caught the familiar sound 
 of her own name. 
 
158 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 The trial, as it went on, had in fact 
 become more and more interesting; and 
 when the name of Dorothy Thorpe was 
 called, every person in the room was look- 
 ing on with breathless attention. A 
 hundred eyes followed this helpless little 
 morsel of humanity as she was led by 
 Mr. Dow to the witness-stand, to face 
 those who were disgracing her fair name 
 and darkening her future. A murmur 
 of compassion from those who felt the 
 pity of it broke out as she stood there 
 alone, her innocent little face in its white 
 cap just above the railing, her trustful 
 baby-eyes looking out at them from the 
 spot where so many a scheming rogue 
 had stood. 
 
 The nature of the oath having been 
 explained to her, the child was duly 
 sworn, and she was asked if she had 
 ever thought her father was in trouble 
 
I 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 159 
 
 before he had been arrested on this 
 charge of embezzlement. 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and 
 then the answer, spoken in a distinct 
 but gentle little voice, broke the silence : 
 " Yes, I thought so. Sometimes it seemed 
 as if we had a great deal of trouble, but 
 we did n't worry over it very much, for 
 that does n't do any good, you know." 
 
 " I am not speaking of you, but of 
 your father," said the prosecuting at- 
 torney, in such a sharp tone that he was 
 instantly rebuked by the Judge. 
 
 " Oh," said Dorothy, " don't scold 
 him ! I 'm sure he did n't mean to be 
 cross." 
 
 Even the prosecuting attorney him- 
 self joined in the laugh that ran through 
 the court, and he went on good-hu- 
 moredly : " Well, then, my dear, will you 
 tell us what you supposed to be the 
 
160 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 nature of your father's trouble ? What 
 was he troubled about?" 
 
 " There was his cough, for one thing ; 
 and then no one would appreciate the 
 poem or the play or the novel, although 
 I am sure they are very beautiful ; and 
 sometimes he was troubled about money." 
 
 "Ah! and how did you know that?" 
 asked the lawyer, in a tone which seemed 
 to express a great deal of satisfaction. 
 " What made you think he was troubled 
 about money ? " 
 
 " Because I knew we did n't have 
 any," was the conclusive reply. 
 
 " How did you know he did n't have 
 any? 
 
 " One reason," said Dorothy, gravely, 
 " was because I knew I had spent it. I 
 am afraid I was very extravagant; but 
 you know how it is about money, — it 
 seems almost to spend itself." 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 161 
 
 " I suppose you allude now to your 
 allowance," suggested the lawyer. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," answered Dor- 
 othv. 
 
 " Did your father give you a large 
 allowance ? " 
 
 "No, it wasn't large; it was a ma// 
 allowance." 
 
 " How much was it ? " was the next 
 question. 
 
 " It was a hundred dollars a month." 
 
 " A hundred dollars a month ? Well, 
 I should call that a very liberal allowance 
 for a bookkeeper's child. It must have 
 been nearly the whole of your father's 
 salary." 
 
 " Well, at any rate, it was n't enough," 
 insisted Dorothy. " Yes, it was the 
 whole of papa's salary. He gave it to 
 me every month." 
 
 " If he gave you the whole of his 
 
1 62 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 salary, he must have had other money 
 for his own support." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Dorothy, in her mild 
 little voice, " / supported him." 
 
 This assertion was greeted with an- 
 other laugh, which Dorothy thought very 
 singular, but so many of her speeches 
 were received in this way that it did not 
 trouble her very much, and she waited 
 quite patiently for the next question. 
 
 " Do you know," began the lawyer 
 again, " if your father wanted money for 
 any particular purpose ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," was the ready reply; "he 
 wanted to go abroad and live in some 
 nice warm country where his cough 
 might get well. I know all his plans, 
 because we always made them together," 
 said Dorothy, with a loving glance at 
 Thorpe senior, who sat with his eyes 
 fastened sadly upon her. " We made 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 163 
 
 ever so many plans to get the money, 
 but never one to 'bezzle it. There has 
 been a great mistake," she went on, 
 feeling that here at last was the oppor- 
 tunity she had wished for, " and I want 
 to tell you that I know papa did not 
 take the money. Papa is a gentleman, 
 you see, and gentlemen of course never 
 steal." 
 
 She cast a triumphant glance at Mr. 
 Dow ; but the lawyer's face wore an 
 expression of dismay, in marked con- 
 trast to the smiling and confident air 
 of his opponents. It seemed to the 
 little girl that what she said must 
 have convinced everybody that her 
 father was innocent, but in reality it 
 had all told against him. 
 
 Dorothy left the witness-stand with a 
 smile, and during the long speeches of 
 the lawyers and the address of the Judge 
 
164 Dear Dattghter Dorothy. 
 
 which followed, she wore an expression 
 of bright hopefulness. 
 
 Now at last the time had come for 
 the jury to give the verdict. Already 
 they had left the room, and when they 
 returned the trial would be over. 
 
 Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. 
 
 Dorothy sat quite still, holding one 
 of her father's hands in hers and look- 
 ing from time to time with loving care' 
 into his face. The room was so still 
 that when the jurymen came back into 
 the court and the fatal word " Guilty " 
 was pronounced, it was heard distinctly 
 in every part of it. 
 
 " Guilty ! " Think what a blow the 
 word must have been to that tender 
 little daughter! Those who were watch- 
 ing her saw the child raise the hand she 
 held to her lips and kiss it with a touch- 
 ing reverence. It was as if she thus 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 165 
 
 expressed her own unchanged loyalty, 
 and they knew that one trustful little 
 soul at least believed in Robert Thorpe's 
 honor. 
 
 Yes, the verdict was Guilty ; but the 
 sentence — oh, it would not be such as 
 Tommy had described ! The Judge was 
 a kind, kind man, and he loved her. 
 
 Throughout the day Judge Hart well 
 had worn a face of flint, his eyes under 
 their heavy brows fixed in a gloomy 
 frown. Never, lest his heart should 
 falter, did he allow himself to look at 
 the child whom he had befriended and 
 loved. But now the moment had come 
 when he must pronounce the sentence 
 which, although made as light as the 
 law allows, was still so terrible. 
 
 " To serve," he said hoarsely, " for a 
 term of one year in the state-prison." 
 
 " Then send me too, oh, send me 
 
1 66 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 there too ! " wailed little Dorothy, in a 
 voice that rang out through the big 
 room, its agonized intensity bringing 
 one's heart to one's throat. 
 
 She held out her arms entreatingly to 
 the Judge, and tottered a step toward 
 him before her father caught her in his 
 arms and whispered some magic words 
 in her ear. 
 
 " Darling, don't make it harder for 
 me ! Try to bear it." This is what 
 he said, knowing it to be the only argu- 
 ment which would move her. 
 
 Dorothy could not answer, but she 
 tried to calm herself for her father's 
 sake. Her heart beat fast, and a mist 
 rose before her eyes, through which she 
 but dimly discerned that some one had 
 stepped out from the crowd and was 
 speaking in a loud voice which silenced 
 the rising murmurs. It was " Brother," 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 167 
 
 " Robert Thorpe is not guilty," he 
 said. " I took the money." 
 
 Then a great hubbub arose, and 
 a voice cried : " Hurrah for Robert 
 Thorpe and the little gal ! " 
 
 The trial had already lasted many 
 hours when Mr. Isaac Black spoke those 
 words that fastened upon himself the 
 disgrace which Thorpe and Company 
 had so long and unjustly borne. 
 
 After various formalities, which the 
 circumstances made necessary, the Judge 
 once more arose, and declared that the 
 court would assume the responsibility 
 of immediate action, and not leave the 
 defendant to the expedient of apply- 
 ing for a new trial for pardon ; and he 
 ended with these words : " Let the 
 judgment be vacated, the verdict be set 
 aside, and the prisoner be restored to 
 liberty." 
 
1 68 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 Which in simple English means that 
 Robert Thorpe, cleared from all suspi- 
 cion, was at liberty to take his little 
 daughter by the hand and walk out 
 into the outer world, where he could 
 hold up his head once more among 
 men. 
 
 But this could not be done at once, 
 for a crowd of people now pressed 
 around him, offering such hearty con- 
 gratulations that it was easy to see on 
 whose side their sympathies had been 
 enlisted. 
 
 These, however, presently made way 
 for Judge Hartwell, who was hastening 
 toward them. He took Mr. Thorpe's 
 hand and pressed it warmly while he 
 said : " I congratulate you with all my 
 heart, and I thank God that he has 
 spared me a great sorrow." 
 
 It had been a most trying day, and 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 169 
 
 Dorothy was now quite exhausted. 
 Her little face was as white as a sheet, 
 and she trembled all over, so that her 
 papa looking down at her said anx- 
 iously, " Poor little girl, the excitement 
 has been too much for her ! " 
 
 Dorothy felt that, absurd though it 
 was, now that everything had turned 
 out so happily, she was really going 
 to cry. She slid her hand into her 
 pocket, but instead of the little square 
 of muslin she brought out a letter. It 
 had lain there forgotten ever since the 
 morning when it had been given her 
 for her father by Mrs. Kipp. 
 
 This letter had been sent to Mr. 
 Thorpe from the publisher to whom 
 that poem had been taken so many 
 weeks before ; and if you will believe 
 it, he had accepted it. Moreover, the 
 letter contained a large check, and 
 
1 70 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 what Dorothy valued even more, a kind 
 recognition of the talent in which the 
 poor little girl had been for so long 
 the only believer. And as if this were 
 not enough to fill one's cup of happi- 
 ness, there was also a wish expressed 
 for further contributions. 
 
 With so much to cheer her, Dorothy 
 at once revived, and they went out of 
 the court-room together; the Judge, to 
 all appearances, the most pleased of the 
 three. 
 
 They found the coupe at the door. 
 The Judge put in little Dorothy, and 
 turned to her papa. 
 
 " Come," he urged, reading denial on 
 the young man's face. " You must come 
 with us. It will please the child, you 
 know ; and when people have suffered 
 as we have to-day, I think pride is out 
 of place." 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 1 7 1 
 
 So the third figure crowded into the 
 carriage, the door was closed with a 
 slam, and they rattled gayly aw T ay, leav- 
 ing trouble and disgrace at an ever- 
 widening distance behind them. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "P*OR some weeks after the trial, 
 Dorothy remained with the Judge. 
 He did not wish to let the little girl 
 go ; and at present while her father was 
 seeking some means of support, he was 
 not in a condition to take care of the 
 child. 
 
 In the mean time Mr. Thorpe was 
 writing for the Judge; and it was pleas- 
 ant for Dorothy to see the friendship 
 that was growing up between them, and 
 to know that here was some one at last 
 who appreciated her papa almost as 
 highly as she did herself. 
 
 Dorothy had rarely seen Thorpe 
 senior in such good spirits ; but his 
 
Dear DaagJiter Dorothy. 173 
 
 health was still delicate, and his cough 
 a matter of much concern. 
 
 Besides this, the only blot on the lit- 
 tle girl's happiness was the thought of 
 " Brother," whose probable sentence lay 
 like a weight on her kind little heart. 
 
 It was impossible for her to forget 
 her last glimpse of him as he walked 
 with bent head out of the court-room 
 in the custody of an officer. 
 
 She forgot that it was because of his 
 dishonesty that she and her father had 
 borne those weeks of anxiety and pain, 
 and only remembered that at the last he 
 had come forward and saved them. It 
 was owing to this act that she was now 
 as happy as the day is long, while he 
 himself was behind prison bars. 
 
 One day Mr. Thorpe called Dorothy 
 to him with a very serious air. " My 
 darling," he said, as he took her in his 
 
174 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 arms, " I have had a letter from Mr. 
 Isaac Black, and he wishes to see you. 
 Would it pain you very much to go 
 to him ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " answered Dorothy. " Why 
 should it, papa ? I think I would like 
 to tell him how sorry I am for him. 
 Shall we go now?" 
 
 It was Mr. Thorpe's intention to take 
 the child at once to the prison ; so 
 Dorothy hastened to put on her cap 
 and cloak. 
 
 Meanwhile the Judge, knowing that 
 the sight of others' pain always cast 
 a shadow on Dorothy's tender heart, 
 walked up and down the room, and 
 grumbled. 
 
 " I disapprove of her going," he said. 
 " That scoundrel has already caused 
 trouble enough without calling upon 
 her sympathies now, and keeping alive 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 175 
 
 the memory of this unhappy affair, 
 which it has been mv constant en- 
 deavor to make her forget. I wonder 
 you let her go, Thorpe." 
 
 " It was an experience, Judge Hart- 
 well, that even such kindness as yours 
 will never make her forget," said Doro- 
 thy's papa. " If the child can help the 
 poor soul, we must not grudge the 
 cost." 
 
 " Pooh! I have not a farthing's worth 
 of pity for the fellow ; but you and the 
 child are just alike, and jump at a chance 
 of sacrificing your own feelings. If you 
 have made up your mind to go, it is use- 
 less for me to try to dissuade you." 
 
 But he grumbled on until Dorothy 
 came down dressed for the street, and 
 while he accompanied them to the 
 coupe, of which he insisted they should 
 make use. 
 
1 76 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 During the drive Mr. Thorpe ex- 
 plained to Dorothy that it had been out 
 of compassion for herself that Mr. Black 
 had finally confessed his guilt. 
 
 In truth, while the child had stood on 
 the witness-stand so innocently injuring 
 her father's cause, and yet all the time 
 showing for him a love that would make 
 his sufferings hers also, the guilty man 
 felt his wicked resolve waver. Not only 
 Robert Thorpe but this sweet blameless 
 baby — as Dorothy seemed among the 
 grave surroundings of the court — was 
 also to suffer for his sins. To be 
 trapped at eight years into dragging 
 one's own name into disgrace, — was 
 not this a sight to make angels weep ? 
 Mr. Black, to be sure, was no angel ; 
 but his heart was not so hard that he 
 could look upon it unmoved, and the 
 guileless speeches that so dismayed Mr. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 177 
 
 Dow made the course he had planned 
 for himself impossible. 
 
 There was no doubt in his mind that 
 if he remained silent Mr. Thorpe would 
 be convicted ; but he would come for- 
 ward like a man and bear the penalty 
 of his own wrongdoing. 
 
 It was so hard, however, to do this 
 that he sat silent while the lawyers 
 went on and on ; and finally the trial 
 was over and he had not moved. 
 
 Then the sharp cry that Dorothy 
 gave in the shock of that terrible 
 sentence wrung from him his tardy 
 confession. 
 
 He was awaiting his trial in the jail, 
 before whose grim doorway the coupe 
 now stopped. 
 
 Dorothy and her father followed 
 an officer, who led them through the 
 gloomy building, which cast such shad- 
 
178 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 ows on men's lives, to the cell where 
 Mr Black was confined. 
 
 The little girl looked expectantly at 
 her papa. " I think he had rather not 
 see me, darling ; it is you he has asked 
 for. You need not be afraid, for I 
 shall stand right here till you come 
 back." 
 
 When one's whole heart is filled 
 with pity for another, one is not troub- 
 led by fears for one's self, and Dorothy 
 walked quickly in. Her eyes were 
 fixed upon the bed where the prisoner 
 was lying. Although she had been 
 told that he was ill, she was not pre- 
 pared for so great a change in him. 
 He was lying very quietly, and might 
 have been asleep but that his eyes were 
 open and they had a strange, wild 
 look. 
 
 When he saw Dorothy he seemed to 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 179 
 
 shrink down into the bed, and he said 
 in an excited -tone, " So you came, after 
 all. Do you know who I am ? " 
 
 "Yes, I know; you are Brother," said 
 the little girl, in her soft voice. 
 
 " Brother." The word seemed to 
 soothe him, and he repeated it, looking 
 wistfully at Dorothy. " There was once 
 a little girl like you who called me that. 
 If she had lived, I might not have 
 become a scoundrel." 
 
 " Oh, no, don't call yourself that ! I 
 think you are very good. I was glad 
 when papa said he should bring me 
 here, for I have been wishing that I 
 could thank you. It was so kind of 
 you to take all the blame to yourself. 
 I am sure you are a very, very good 
 man." 
 
 He gave a restless toss upon the bed. 
 " Don't you know better than to say 
 
180 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 that ? " he cried out irritably. " It 's 
 not true. I 'm a felon. There, there, 
 child ! I did not mean to be so rough." 
 
 " Well, you know I have been a felon 
 too," said Dorothy. "I know just how 
 it feels, and how people always say 
 the wrong thing to you. But there is 
 one good thing about trouble. After 
 it 's over, you see, you feel even happier 
 than you did before." 
 
 " Do you ? " cried Brother, eagerly. 
 " That reminds me why I wanted to see 
 you. It was to know if you are happy 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " exclaimed the little girl. 
 " It 's very selfish, though, while you are 
 shut up in here ; but I did n't really 
 know that it was quite so bad. I shall 
 think of you now more than ever." 
 
 But to Dorothy's surprise this only 
 added to Brother's distress. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 181 
 
 " Don't think of me at all," he im- 
 plored, " but be as happy as you can, for 
 my sake. That is what I should like 
 best. Sometimes it has seemed to me 
 that you will always look as you did the 
 last time I saw you in the court. I am 
 always fancying that I hear you cry out 
 in that dreadful way, and it drives me 
 frantic," cried poor Brother, flinging out 
 his arms and staring wildly at Dorothy. 
 " You are always screaming, child. Oh, 
 it is awful, awful ! " 
 
 Dorothy had never seen a person be- 
 side himself as this man was. She stood 
 still a few moments, evidently puzzled ; 
 then she touched him with her soft 
 little hand. 
 
 "See!" she said brightly, "I look 
 happy. You don't hear me scream now, 
 and I sha'n't any more. I promise to 
 be very happy for your sake. It is n't 
 
1 82 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 much to promise when you have done 
 so much for me." 
 
 He fell back on his pillow and sighed. 
 To make the child realize his selfishness 
 seemed impossible. 
 
 " Well, after all, I am glad she doesn't 
 blame me," he murmured. 
 
 " Blame you ! Oh, no, it was n't your 
 fault," she said, in her earnest little 
 voice ; " I am sure it was n't your fault. 
 You were not treated fairly at all. Why, 
 they did n't even put your name on the 
 sign. Poor Brother, everything was 
 against you ! " 
 
 " Yes, everything was against me," 
 he repeated. His mind was wandering 
 now, and he looked far beyond the 
 prison walls into a past where Dorothy 
 could not follow him. 
 
 She waited a few moments, and then 
 in her pity stooped down and kissed him. 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 183 
 
 " Good-by, Brother," she whispered ; 
 " I shall be very happy." 
 
 A strange — I had almost said a 
 sweet — expression stole into the poor 
 worn face. The odious wrinkle was 
 smoothed from his brow, leaving it soft 
 and untroubled like a little child's. 
 Then his eyes closed, and he seemed 
 to fall into a gentle sleep. 
 
 The officer beckoned to Dorothy, 
 who crept noiselessly back to her father, 
 and with him went out again into the 
 sunshine. 
 
 It was not until some weeks after- 
 ward she was told that " Brother " died 
 that night. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TT was a fine June morning. At an 
 early hour the steamship " Cepha- 
 lonia " was to start from Boston for 
 Liverpool. Already the deck was 
 crowded with excited passengers, and 
 the friends who were bidding them 
 good-by. Here was a party of young 
 girls looking forward to their first trip 
 abroad. Yonder were two interesting 
 little lads destined for an English school, 
 already forgetting their anticipated woes 
 in the excitement of the novel scene. 
 There were people travelling for pleas- 
 ure and others bound on business, and 
 bright faces everywhere. The sound of 
 scores of voices mingled with the cries 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 185 
 
 of the sailors and the general noise and 
 confusion on the wharf. 
 
 It was at the last moment that a par- 
 ticularly large and interesting party 
 arrived. 
 
 " An actress, no doubt," the passen- 
 gers declared ; " no one else ever has 
 so many flowers." 
 
 There was much curiosity about the 
 central figure of the group ; but not un- 
 til it reached the plank that led from 
 the wharf to the deck over which they 
 were obliged to pass in single file, was 
 the discovery made that the object of 
 all this attention was only a very sweet 
 little girl. 
 
 She had a lovely, serious little face, 
 and soft, golden brown curls, over 
 which she wore a dainty muslin cap. 
 A handsome young man, with a face 
 that might sometimes be sad, but was 
 
1 86 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 now bright with hope and courage, care- 
 fully guided her steps. But I am sure 
 you have already recognized the friends 
 we have known so long as Thorpe and 
 Company. 
 
 To account for their appearance on 
 this new scene, I must tell you that 
 Mr. Thorpe was now engaged in writ- 
 ing a book for the publisher who had 
 accepted his poem. This required a 
 trip abroad in search of information 
 that could not be obtained at home ; 
 and as Dorothy announced to their 
 acquaintances, instead of the manu- 
 scripts, her papa and herself were now 
 to be the travellers. 
 
 All their friends had shown much 
 pleasure in Mr. Thorpe's sudden pros- 
 perity ; and when the morning came 
 that they were to sail, so many of these 
 accompanied them to the steamer that 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 187 
 
 Thorpe and Company were supposed to 
 be people of great consequence. 
 
 How such rumors are set afloat is 
 a mystery ; but it was immediately whis- 
 pered among the passengers that the 
 interesting-looking young man was a 
 very promising author. That large fine- 
 looking gentleman, with the iron-gray 
 whiskers and the gruff voice that 
 changed so quickly when addressing 
 the little girl, was surely a person of 
 distinction. Some one said it was 
 Judge Hartwell, and that the little man 
 in spectacles who was carrying a huge 
 bunch of Catherine Mermet roses was 
 no less a personage than the famous 
 Professor Grumpinson. 
 
 The limits of this chapter forbid the 
 mention of each of Dorothy's friends 
 who were present ; but Mrs. Kipp cry- 
 ing and smiling in a breath, Mrs. Le 
 
1 88 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 Grand in all her bugles, and Mrs. 
 Smith and little Miss Miller you may 
 be sure were among them. It touched 
 Dorothy very much that poor Marthy 
 Ann had closed her shop and come 
 with the others to pay her this parting 
 compliment. She had brought, too, a 
 large package of the delectable taffy for 
 which she was so famous, and which 
 Dorothy generously offered to the new 
 friends she made on the voyage, with 
 the remark that she believed it to be one 
 of the very best things for seasickness. 
 
 But already the signal was given for 
 those who were not passengers to leave 
 the steamer. 
 
 The Judge shook hands hastily with 
 Mr. Thorpe. " The trip will set you 
 right up, I have n't a doubt of it," he 
 was saying. " I shall find you a new 
 man in August, when you know I have 
 
Dear Daughter Dorothy. 189 
 
 Dorothy's promise that we shall travel 
 through the Tyrol together." 
 
 " Good-by," cried Dorothy, as she 
 drew him down for a parting kiss, and 
 recalled his kindness to her in the 
 home she had deserted. " I wish I 
 were twins, and then I could be a 
 daughter to each of you." 
 
 " Good-by ! good-by ! " shouted a cho- 
 rus of voices, as the ladies hurried from 
 the ship. 
 
 Dorothy had but a moment to press 
 a parting gift in Professor Grumpin- 
 son's hand. It was a package contain- 
 ing a parasol that had belonged to the 
 lovely Alice Maud ; and although the 
 Professor laughed when he saw it, yet 
 he kept it a long time in memory of 
 the gentle giver. 
 
 There was much shouting and wav- 
 ins: of handkerchiefs from the great 
 
190 Dear Daughter Dorothy. 
 
 steamer as it moved slowly out to sea, 
 which was energetically returned by the 
 people on the wharf. From no part of 
 it were the voices heartier than that 
 where Dorothy's friends stood straining 
 their eyes for a last glimpse of the little 
 face whose sunshine had brightened 
 their lives. 
 
 " Three cheers for the ' Cephalonia ' ! " 
 screamed the excited voice of Tommy 
 Dow. 
 
 " And three more," added the Judge, 
 tenderly, " for Dear Daughter Dorothy ! " 
 
 THE END. 
 


 wife