THE STORY OF DOROTHY GRAPE.
DISAPPEARANCE.
I.
According to Mrs. Todhetley’s belief, some people are born to be unlucky. Not only individuals, but whole families. “I have noticed it times and again, Johnny, in going through life,” she has said to me: “ill-luck in some way lies upon them, and upon all they do; they cannot prosper, from their cradle to their grave.” That there will be some compensating happiness for these people hereafter—for they do exist—is a belief we all like to cherish.
I am now going to tell of people in rather humble life whom this ill-luck seemed to attend. That might never have brought the family into notice, ups and downs being so common in the world: but two mysterious disappearances occurred in it, which caused them to be talked about; and those occurrences I must relate before coming to Dorothy’s proper history. They took place before my time; in fact when Squire Todhetley was a young man, and it is from him that I repeat it.
At this end of the village of Islip, going into it from Crabb, there stood on the right-hand side of the road a superior cottage residence, with lovely yellow roses intertwining themselves about its porch. Robert Grape and his wife lived in it, and were well enough to do. He was in the “post-horse duty,” the Squire said—whatever that might mean; and she had money on her own account. The cottage was hers absolutely, and nearly one hundred pounds a-year income. The latter, however, was only an annuity, and would die with her.
There were two children living: Dorothy, softened by her friends into Dolly; and Thomas. Two others, who came between them, went off in what Mrs. Grape used to call a “galloping consumption.” Dolly’s cheeks were bright and her eyes were blue, and her soft brown hair fell back in curls from her dimpled face. All the young men about, including the Squire, admired the little girl; more than their mothers did, who said she was growing up vain and light-headed. Perhaps she might be; but she was a modest, well-behaved little maiden. She went to school by day, as did her brother.
Mr. Grape’s occupation, connected with the “post-horse duty,” appeared to consist in driving about the country in a gig. The length of these journeys varied, but he would generally be absent about three weeks. Then he would come home for a short interval, and go off again. He was a well-conducted man and was respected.
One Monday morning in summer, when the sun was shining on the yellow roses and the dew glittered on the grass, Robert Grape was about to start on one of these journeys. Passing out to his gig, which waited at the gate, after kissing his wife and daughter, he stopped to pluck a rose. Dolly followed him out. She was sixteen now and had left school.
“Take care your old horse does not fall this time, father,” said she, gaily and lightly.
“I’ll take care, lass, if I can,” he answered.