Major Dale was present and showed his usual kindly interest in Dorothy’s friends. In fact, he evinced a pardonable pride in the way his daughter won her friends, as he did, too, Mr. Pierce’s statement that Dorothy was a very smart little girl.
Dorothy naturally disliked such compliments, and always maintained she had done nothing more than any other girl would have done under the circumstances. This might have been almost true, or true in a sense, but when men like Lawyer Pierce are initiated into the girl realm, and discover that the members of that realm are not all “silly, giggling school girls,” surprise is natural as well as excusable.
In how many homes to-day are not young girls doing things quietly and almost unconsciously to help the entire family, not alone to obtain bread and butter, but to secure real peace and happiness?
Think of the numberless girls who are assisting good mothers with the trying details of the household, taking from tired heads and shoulders a generous share of the burden that would otherwise make life miserable for these same long-taxed mothers!
There are Dorothy Dales in almost every home—but we have not written their story yet. The “Home Girl” is one of the great unwritten volumes that writers hold so sacred in their hearts, scarcely is pen or paper deemed worthy to make the picture.
But we are telling one Dorothy’s story, that those who read may see the others by reflection.
In the library at the Cedars sat the group—Major Dale and his sister, Mrs. White, Lawyer Pierce, and Dorothy with Miette. They were now to learn the story of the real Miette—from the lips of her attorney.
“This young lady,” began the lawyer, indicating Miette, “was the daughter of Marquis de Pleau, a Frenchman of title, and of an American lady, before her marriage, Miss Davis, of Albany.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Mrs. White, in surprise, her tone indicating that she knew the mother of Miette, and that the memory was one of pleasant associations. Miette herself evinced some surprise, but Dorothy was too interested to take her eyes off Mr. Pierce.
“The marquis died suddenly,” continued the lawyer, “and the young mother was left with this precious inheritance,” laying his hand on Miette’s shoulder.