“Well, Daniel, this is very strange! It seems like a Providence. I have observed Steenie closely; and I am sorry to say that the school plan has not worked as successfully as I had hoped. She doesn’t know what is the matter; but I do. It is the unwonted confinement. She asked Mary Jane what a prison was like; and when it was described, said: ‘Oh, I thought, maybe, it was like our school-house.’ It is really very opportune.”
“But what, Mother? I do not understand.”
“This morning’s call from Mrs. Courtenay. She says the Judge was so pleased with Steenie, and that Beatrice talks so much about her, they beg me to allow our little girl to go to Rookwood every day and share their child’s instruction and amusement. That two such lonely only children can do each other a deal of good. What do you say?”
“Yes, with all my heart. If you approve.”
“It does seem an admirable arrangement. The Judge has always expressed his deep obligation to your father for assistance when his own prospects were poor; and I can understand a proud man’s desire to render some recognition of this ‘claim,’—though such, I am sure, I have never felt it. Steenie will have only the most helpful surroundings at Rookwood; and she will be fully appreciated. I am glad, very glad.”
“Why, Mother! Your voice sounds as if you—actually—loved my little one.”
“I do, my son.”
“And have you quite forgiven her likeness to her mother?”
There was a moment’s pause. Then Daniel Calthorp felt his mother’s kiss upon his cheek, and, in that rare caress, died from both hearts all bitter memories.
Mary Jane witnessed this little incident through a crack in the door. Alas, Mary Jane was a “mortal woman!” Then she stole away with misty eyes,—misty, perhaps, from the strain of peeping,—murmuring piously: “And a little child shall lead ’em.”