But Don's letter suited Dorothy admirably, and in its sturdy helpfulness and cheer, and its off-hand, picturesque account of his adventures, it quite consoled her for the disappointment of not reading the letter that she was positively sure came to Mr. Reed by the same steamer.
The full story of Donald's journey, with all its varied incidents up to this period, would be too long to tell here. But the main points must be mentioned.
Immediately upon landing at Liverpool, Donald had begun his search for the missing Ellen Lee, who, if she could be found, surely would be able to help him, he thought. From all that Mr. Reed had been able to learn previously, she undoubtedly had been Mrs. Wolcott Reed's maid, and had taken charge of the twins on board of the fated vessel. Soon after the shipwreck she had been traced to Liverpool, as the reader knows, and had disappeared at that time, before Mr. Reed's clerk, Henry Wakeley, could see her. But fifteen years had elapsed since then. Donald found the house in Liverpool where she had been, but could gain there no information whatever. The house had changed owners, and its former occupants had scattered, no one could say whither. But, by a persistent search among the neighboring houses, he did find a bright motherly woman, who, more than fifteen years before, had come, a bride, to live in an opposite house, and who well remembered a tall, dark-complexioned young woman sitting one night on the steps of the shabby boarding-house over the way. Some one had told her that this young woman had just been saved from a shipwreck, and had lost everything but the clothes she wore; and from sheer sympathy she, the young wife, had gone across the street to speak to her. She had found her, at first, sullen and uncommunicative. "The girl was a foreigner," said the long-ago bride, now a blooming matron with four children. "Leastwise, though she understood me and gave me short answers in English, it struck me she was French-born. Her black stuff gown was dreadful torn and ruined by the sea-water, sir, and so, as I was about her height, I made bold to offer her one of mine in its place. I had a plenty then, and me and my young man was accounted comfortable from the start. She shook her head and muttered something about 'not bein' a beggar,' but do you know, sir, that the next day she come over to me, as I was knitting at my little window, and says she, 'I go on to London,' she says, 'and I'll take that now, if you be pleased,' or something that way, I don't remember her words; and so I showed her into my back room and put the fresh print gown on her. I can see her now a-takin' the things out of her own gown and pinning them so careful into the new pocket, because it wasn't so deep and safe as the one in her old gown was; and then, tearin' off loose tatters of the black skirt and throwing them down careless-like, she rolled it up tight, and went off with it, a-noddin' her head and a-maircying me in French, as pretty as could be. I can't bring to mind a feature of her, exceptin' the thick, black hair, and her bein' about my own size. I was slender then, young master; fifteen years makes—"
"And those bits of the old gown," interrupted Donald eagerly, "where are they? Did you save them?"
"Laws, no, young gentleman, not I. They went into my rag-bag, like as not, and are all thrown away and lost, sir, many a day agone, for that matter."
"I am sorry," said Donald. "Even a scrap of her gown might possibly be of value to me."
"Was she belonging to your family?" asked the woman, doubtfully.
Donald partly explained why he wished to find Ellen Lee; and asked if the girl had said anything to her of the wreck, or of two babies.
"Not a word, sir, not a word; though I tried to draw her into talkin'. It's very little she said, at best; she was a-grumpy-like."
"What about that rag-bag?" asked Donald, returning to his former train of thought. "Have you the same one yet?"