The Golden House

by Sarah S. Baker

The dignified old servant now brought in the letters from the morning mails. The first that the princess opened was in an unfamiliar hand. A cloud of sadness came over her, as a friend long in heaven was recalled to her mind. The colonel had written, not to renew the sorrow of the princess by reminding her of his lovely wife, but to say that he had accidentally heard of Nono's departure, without credentials or recommendations of any kind to insure her confidence. The letter guaranteed the truthfulness and honesty of the boy, and contained warm words in favour of the family at the golden house.

The good princess was glad to be acquitted of rashness in her promise, and was once more encouraged to love and to trust, and to give freely out of her abundance.

Little Nono had started cheerily on his homeward journey, grateful at heart. He was hopeful as to finding Blackie at the house where he had been assured his pet would be awaiting his return from the palace. Nono was met there by rude answers to his eager inquiries, and was told that no one had seen anything of a little black pig, nor did any one on those premises wish to see anything more of a little dark boy full of impudent questions. There was a sweep of meadows about the house, and no other dwelling was near the spot.

Nono could but disconsolately begin again his homeward walk, and try to forget his pet in the thought of the future opening before little Decima. He betook himself to the highroad, and trudged along as cheerily as he could. Drops of blood on the snow suddenly arrested his attention. They formed a regular line leading into the far distance, where a familiar black object was getting over the ground at a marvellous rate. It must be Blackie! Nono gave a long whistle by which he was accustomed to call his four-footed friend. The black object stopped. The whistle was repeated, and in a few moments the little pig was awkwardly capering about his master, almost tying his tail into knots, as it was twisted round and round as an expression of delight.

Blackie had evidently escaped from confinement and uncongenial society. Where he had been, of course he could not tell. His poor nose was sadly torn where the ring had been wrenched away as he broke loose from his imprisonment. Nono was glad that Blackie had lost his badge of servitude; and as to needing a rope to be led by, the poor creature was willing enough to follow Nono wherever he might choose to lead him. A kind countryman returning from the city with an empty waggon gave the odd pair a good lift, and took them along so rapidly that towards evening they reached the shoemaker's cottage. Nono thought best to be set down there, and he was hardly on the ground with Blackie beside him when there was an impromptu concert of singing and scolding that brought the inmates of the house at once to the door.

Of course the travellers were warmly welcomed. There was great eagerness to hear Nono's adventures, and he was at once besieged with all sorts of questions. When he had told his story, the shoemaker got up and bowed respectfully to the absent princess, whom Nono had so vividly described that she seemed actually standing there in the cottage. "There be some good people left in high places!" exclaimed honest Crispin. "It's of no use talking against the royal family while such a princess is above ground." So some dim socialistic ideas that had been troubling the mind of the poor shoemaker died a violent death, and the warm loyalty of his youth took the upper hand.

Nono and Blackie were hospitably housed for the night, and treated almost as if they were ambassadors from court, with a flavour of royalty about them.

It is needless to tell with what joy the travellers were received the next day at the golden house, or what rapid preparations were made for Decima's departure. The princess should see that Jan and Karin were prompt to avail themselves of her kindness.

Jan took an unusual holiday, and actually was for the first time in a railroad car, with Decima cuddled close at his side.

Decima Desideria, who had a keen sense of her own fitness to come to honour, really seemed to think the children's hospital had been established for her special benefit, and that her presence there, and the ado that had been made about her, were quite natural matters, with which gratitude had very little connection. Once made mistress of one of the little white beds, and surrounded by every comfort, her arrogance and her exactions would probably have known no bounds, if she had not wonderingly seen about her from day to day deformed children, suffering children, and almost idiots, as tenderly cared for as herself. It somehow came into her head to be thankful that she at least had but to lie in her bed, without great pain, that she could understand all that was said to her, and could even be learning to knit and crochet, which she was doing with extreme satisfaction.