Dorothy Calvert looked with pride on this manly young fellow at her side, as she recalled her first meeting with him some years before. At that time she had been living with Mother Martha and Father John on the Hudson near Newburgh. Jim, the “bound boy,” had been Mrs. Calvert’s protégé, and had finally worked his way into the regard of his elders, until Dr. Sterling had taken him under his protecting wing. The doctor, a prominent geologist, had endeavored to teach the boy the rudiments of his calling, and Jim had proved an apt pupil, but had shown such a yearning toward electricity and kindred subjects that the kindly doctor had purchased for him some of the best books on the subject. Over these the boy had pored night and day, rigging up apparatus after apparatus, that he might experiment with the great force first discovered in its primitive form by Benjamin Franklin, and later given to the world in such startling form by Morse and Edison.
“I shall never try to turn you from your purpose, Jim,” said Dorothy. “I feel that whatever you attempt will be a success. You have it in you, and in your lexicon there is no such word as fail. When do you begin your apprenticeship?”
“In Baltimore this month, if I can find a place.”
“Oh, Jim, won’t that be fine? I’ll tell Aunt Betty the moment we arrive. Perhaps some of her friends will know of an opening. I’m sure some of them will, and we’ll have you always with us.”
“That sounds good to me. I’ve written Dr. Sterling to send my books and electrical apparatus by freight to Bellvieu.”
“Then we’ll give you a fine, large room all to yourself, where you can set up your laboratory.”
Dorothy’s enthusiasm began to communicate itself to Jim, and soon he had launched himself into an exposition of electricity and its uses, with many comments on its future.
So engrossed were both boy and girl in the discussion that they did not hear Ephraim, who came silently down the aisle and stood in a respectful attitude before them.
“S’cuse me, please, Miss Dorot’y, en Mistah Jim, but p’raps yo’ don’t know dat we’s almos’ tuh de Baltimore station.”
Dorothy threw a quick glance out of the window.
“Oh, so we are! See, Jim! There’s the old Chesapeake, and it’s a sight for sore eyes. Now, for old Bellvieu and Aunt Betty!”
There was a hasty gathering of satchels and paraphernalia as the train drew into the big station. The hum of voices outside, mingled with the shouts of the cab drivers and the shrill cries of the newsboys, met their ears as they descended from the coach.
Through the throng Ephraim led the way with the luggage, Dorothy and Jim following quickly, until finally, in the street, the girl descried a familiar carriage, on the top of which a young colored boy was perched.
“Hello, Methuselah Bonaparte Washington! Don’t you know your mistress?” cried Dorothy, running toward him.
This was probably the first time Dorothy had ever called him anything but “Metty,” by which nickname he was known at Bellvieu, where he had always lived, and where he had served as Aunt Betty’s page and footman since he was old enough to appreciate the responsibilities of the position.
His eyes glowed with affection now, as he viewed his little mistress after many months’ absence. Descending from his perch on the carriage, he bowed low to Dorothy, his face wreathed in a smile of such broad proportions that it seemed his features could never go back into their proper places.
“Lordy, lil’ missy, I’s suah glad tuh sot mah eyes on yo’ once mo’. Ole Bellvieu hain’t eben been interestin’ sence yo’ lef las’ fall.”
“Do you mean that, Metty?” cried the girl, her heart warming toward the little fellow for the sincerity of his welcome.
“Yas’m, lil’ missy, I suah does mean hit. An’ I hain’t de only one dat’s missed yo’. Mrs. Betty done been habin’ seben fits sence yo’ went off tuh school, an’ as fo’ Dinah en Chloe, dey hain’t smiled onct all wintah. Dey’ll all be glad tuh see yo’ back – yas’m, dey suah will!”
“And how is Aunt Betty?” the girl asked, a little catch in her voice. Instinctively she seemed to dread the answer. Aunt Betty was getting old, and her health had not been of the best recently.
“She’s pow’ful pooh, lil’ missy, but I jes’ knows she’ll git plenty ob strength w’en she sees yo’ lookin’ so fine en strong.”
“Well, take us to her,” said Dorothy, “and don’t spare the horses.”
“Yas’m – yas’m – I’ll suah do dat – I’ll suah do dat!”
Through the narrow, crowded streets of old Baltimore the Calvert carriage dashed, with Dorothy and Jim inside, and Ephraim keeping company with Metty on the box. Metty chose a route through the dirtiest streets, where tumbledown houses swarmed with strange-looking people, who eyed the party curiously; but this was the shortest way to the great country home of the Calverts. Soon the streets grew wider, the air purer, then the Chesapeake burst into view, the salty air refreshing the tired occupants of the carriage as nothing had done for days.
Finally, the glistening carriage and finely caparisoned horses sped on a swift trot through the great gateway at Bellvieu, and Dorothy, leaning out of the window, saw Aunt Betty standing expectantly on the steps of the old mansion.
Home at last!
CHAPTER II
AT OLD BELLVIEU AGAIN
“Oh, Aunt Betty, Aunt Betty!” cried Dorothy, as she leaped from the carriage and dashed across the lawn toward the steps, followed more leisurely by Jim. “I just can’t wait to get to you!”
Aunt Betty gave an hysterical little laugh and folded the girl in her arms with such a warmth of affection that tears sprang into Dorothy’s eyes.
“My dear, dear child!” was all the old lady could say. Then her lip began to tremble and she seemed on the verge of crying.
Dorothy took the aged face between her two hands and kissed it repeatedly. She forgot that Jim was standing near, waiting for a greeting – forgot everything except that she was home again, with Mrs. Elisabeth Cecil Somerset-Calvert, the best and dearest aunt in the world, to love and pet her.
“Break away! Break away!” cried Jim, after a moment, forcing a note of gayety into his voice for Aunt Betty’s sake. “Give a fellow a chance for a kiss, won’t you, Dorothy?”
“Certainly, Jim; I’d forgotten you were with me,” was the girl’s response.
“You, as well as Dorothy, are a sight for sore eyes,” cried Aunt Betty, pleased at the warm embrace and hearty kiss of her one-time protégé.
“And we’re glad to be here, you bet!” Jim replied. “A long, tiresome journey, that, Aunt Betty, I tell you! The sight of old Bellvieu is almost as refreshing as a good night’s sleep, and that’s something I stand pretty badly in need of about now. And just gaze at Dorothy, Aunt Betty! Isn’t she looking well?”
“A perfect picture of health, Jim. Had I met her in a crowd in a strange city, I doubt if I should have known her.”
“Oh, Aunt Betty, surely I haven’t changed as much as that,” the girl protested.
“You don’t realize how you’ve grown and broadened, and – ”
“Broadened? Oh, Aunt Betty!”
“Broadened, not physically, but mentally, my dear. I can see that my old friend, the Bishop, took good care of you, and that Miss Tross-Kingdon has borne out her well-established reputation of returning young ladies to their relatives greatly improved both in learning and culture.”
“Well,