“‘When the matron saw that we were interested, she asked if we didn’t want to borrow No. 31 for a few days. She said they sometimes lent children for two weeks or so. When she said it, she sounded just as though a child were a typewriter or a vacuum cleaner, sent on ten days’ free trial. I looked at Dad and Dad looked at me, and then he said, “We’ll take her!” It didn’t take long for the matron to do up her few clothes and to get her ready. She was so glad to make 153 the loan that she hurried. Little No. 31 was so surprised that she didn’t know whether to be happy or not. Perhaps she didn’t understand what it was to be really happy, but she knows now! She’s positively radiant!
“‘I can’t explain how it seemed when we brought her home. Somehow ’twas as though we’d just begun to be a real family. She snuggled between Dad and me on the front seat of the car, and kept looking from one to the other of us. I think it was her name that first gave us the idea of keeping her. We couldn’t call that adorable child No. 31, and we wouldn’t call her Minnie. Of course we couldn’t name a borrowed child, and so after I’d given her a bath, and we’d seen how truly sweet and adorable she was, we decided that at all events she should never, never go back to that Home, which is a satire on the word. At first Dad thought he knew of a fine home for her with some friends of his who haven’t any children, but after the ten days’ free trial were over we knew we just couldn’t give her up. Best of all, Mrs. Shute, the housekeeper, 154 who’s been with us all summer, loves her to death, and she’s promised to stay right on with Dad, and keep house for him next winter in Los Angeles. So you see Dad has a home and another child, and he’s the happiest man in California.
“‘He let me do the naming, and, of course, I consulted my child. I couldn’t think of anything lovelier than to name her for the two founders of the Vigilantes, and after I’d told her all about you she was pleased as pleased could be. I let her choose between Priscilla Hunter Richards and Virginia Winthrop Richards, and she took Virginia and named her new doll Priscilla. I wish I could have named her for you and Mary, Vivian, dear, but Dad thought two names were enough.
“‘We’re the very happiest family you ever saw. Virginia fits in better every day. She’s learning such sweet manners—I tell Dad it just shows she must be sweet inside! She’s learning to read and to write, too. We have a lesson every morning after breakfast. The other day I bought the pattern of a little dress, and Mrs. Shute helped 155 me cut it out and make it. I never felt so proud in all my life. I’m obliged to be more vigilant than ever, because Virginia does and says everything that I do. The other day I said I should certainly die if I didn’t get a letter from some of you, and she was quite frightened. So I guess I’ll have to be more moderate in speech after this.
“‘There’s one thing more I must tell you before I stop. I saw Imogene the other day. Dad and Virginia and I were walking by one of the big hotels here, when an automobile came up to the curbing. You can just imagine how surprised I was when Imogene and Mrs. Meredith stepped out. There was a young man with them whom I didn’t like very well. He had a queer way of looking at you, and was over-dressed, I thought. Imogene looked very handsome, and, oh, loads older! I felt a perfect baby beside her! Mrs. Meredith was just the same, only even more elaborately gowned than she used to be when she visited Imogene. Imogene was as surprised as I was, I think, though she didn’t show it. She and 156 her mother shook hands with me, and she introduced her friend. I was so excited I didn’t hear his name at all. She told me she was going to be married at Christmas time, and so wouldn’t be back at St. Helen’s, and Mr. Whoever-he-was laughed and said Imogene had been to school long enough. Dad and I asked them to tea with us, but they said they were just hurrying through and couldn’t come.
“‘When they left us and went into the hotel I had the queerest feeling. ’Twas just as though I had said good-by to Imogene forever—just as though she’d gone away into a different world. And the queerest part of it all was that I didn’t care very much. It seemed years since I had cared for her—years since we had done things together at St. Helen’s. That night after I had put Virginia to bed, and come out on the porch with Dad, a big machine flew by our house. I heard some one laugh, and knew it was Imogene. She hadn’t been hurrying through; she just hadn’t cared to come. I suppose it ought to have hurt me, but it didn’t. I was glad she’d stopped caring, too, 157 the way I had. Then, at least, neither of us would be hurt. The only thing I’m sorry about is that Imogene has gone into that kind of a world. I don’t believe it can give the best kind of happiness, do you?
“‘It’s nearly church time, and I must hurry. We’re all going together. It’s Virginia’s very first service, except for those at the Home, and I do hope she’ll be good. I’ve been instructing her for days—telling her just what to do and what not to do. I’m afraid I’ll send out many thoughts in your direction, but Miss Wallace says they’re prayers anyway—that is, the kind I’d send to you, so I guess it will be all right. There’s Virginia calling now.
“‘Dearest love,
“‘Dorothy.
“‘P.S. After service. She was angelic! When she knelt and closed her eyes, she looked like one of Raphael’s cherubs. Dad wiped his eyes—I saw him—and I could have cried for happiness. The sermon was on “Vigilance”—wasn’t that strange? The minister spoke about watching 158 for opportunities to serve, for in so doing, he said, we served ourselves most of all. Dad looked at me then and smiled, and we both looked at Virginia, our opportunity. She was finding A’s in the prayer-book.