Hidden Hand. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

shop.

      Luckily, there was behind the counter only one person—a staid, elderly, kind-looking woman.

      "Here, madam," said Old Hurricane, stooping confidentially to her ear, "I am in a little embarrassment that I hope you will be willing to help me out of for a consideration. I came to New York in pursuit of my ward—this young girl here—whom I found in boy's clothes. I now wish to restore her to her proper dress, before presenting her to my friends, of course. Therefore, I wish you to furnish her with a half dozen complete suits of female attire, of the very best you have that will fit her. And also to give her the use of a room and of your own aid in changing her dress. I will pay you liberally."

      Half suspicious and half scandalized, the worthy woman gazed with scrutiny first into the face of the guardian and then into that of the ward; but finding in the extreme youth of the one and the advanced age of the other, and in the honest expression of both, something to allay her fears, if not to inspire her confidence, she said:

      "Very well, sir. Come after me, young gentleman—young lady, I should say." And, calling a boy to mind the shop, she conducted Capitola to an inner apartment.

      Old Hurricane went out and dismissed his cab. When it was entirely out of sight he hailed another that was passing by empty, and engaged it to take himself and a young lady to the Washington House.

      When he re-entered the shop he found the shop woman and Capitola returned and waiting for him.

      Capitola was indeed transfigured. Her bright black hair, parted in the middle, fell in ringlets each side her blushing cheeks; her dark-gray eyes were cast down in modesty at the very same instant that her ripe red lips were puckered up with mischief. She was well and properly attired in a gray silk dress, crimson merino shawl and a black velvet bonnet.

      The other clothing that had been purchased was done up in packages and put into the cab.

      And after paying the shop woman handsomely, Old Hurricane took the hand of his ward, handed her into the cab and gave the order:

      "To the Washington House."

      The ride was performed in silence.

      Capitola sat deeply blushing at the recollection of her male attire, and profoundly cogitating as to what could be the relationship between herself and the gray old man whose claim the Recorder had so promptly admitted. There seemed but one way of accounting for the great interest he took in her fate. Capitola came to the conclusion that the grim old lion before her was no more nor less than—her own father! for alas! poor Cap had been too long tossed about New York not to know more of life than at her age she should have known. She had indeed the innocence of youth, but not its simplicity.

      Old Hurricane, on his part, sat with his thick cane grasped in his two knobby hands, standing between his knees, his grizzled chin resting upon it and his eyes cast down as in deep thought.

      And so in silence they reached the Washington House.

      Major Warfield then conducted his ward into the ladies' parlor, and went and entered his own and her name upon the books as "Major Warfield and his ward, Miss Black," for whom he engaged two bedrooms and a private parlor.

      Then, leaving Capitola to be shown to her apartment by a chambermaid, he went out and ordered her luggage up to her room and dismissed the cab.

      Next he walked to the Astor House, paid his bill, collected his baggage, took another carriage and drove back to the Washington Hotel.

      All this trouble Old Hurricane took to break the links of his action and prevent scandal. This filled up a long forenoon.

      He dined alone with his ward in their private parlor.

      Such a dinner poor Cap had never even smelled before. How immensely she enjoyed it, with all its surroundings—the comfortable room, the glowing fire, the clean table, the rich food, the obsequious attendance, her own genteel and becoming dress, the company of a highly respectable guardian—all, all so different from anything she had ever been accustomed to, and so highly appreciated.

      How happy she felt! How much happier from the contrast of her previous wretchedness, to be suddenly freed from want, toil, fear and all the evils of destitute orphanage, and to find herself blessed with wealth, leisure and safety, under the care of a rich, good and kind father (or as such Capitola continued to believe her guardian to be). It was an incredible thing! It was like a fairy tale!

      Something of what was passing in her mind was perceived by Old Hurricane, who frequently burst into uproarious fits of laughter as he watched her.

      At last, when the dinner and the dessert were removed, and the nuts, raisins and wine placed upon the table, and the waiters had retired from the room and left them alone, sitting one on each side of the fire, with the table and its luxuries between them, Major Warfield suddenly looked up and asked:

      "Capitola, whom do you think that I am?"

      "Old Hurricane, to be sure. I knew you from Granny's description, the moment you broke out so in the police office," answered Cap.

      "Humph! Yes, you're right; and it was your Granny that bequeathed you to me, Capitola."

      "Then she is really dead?"

      "Yes. There—don't cry about her. She was very old, and she died happy. Now, Capitola, if you please me I mean to adopt you as my own daughter."

      "Yes, father."

      "No, no; you needn't call me father, you know, because it isn't true. Call me uncle, uncle, uncle."

      "Is that true, sir?" asked Cap, demurely.

      "No, no, no; but it will do, it will do. Now, Cap, how much do you know? Anything? Ignorant as a horse, I am afraid."

      "Yes, sir; even as a colt."

      "Can you read at all?"

      "Yes, sir; I learned to read at Sunday-school."

      "Cast accounts and write?"

      "I can keep your books at a pinch, sir."

      "Humph! Who taught you these accomplishments?"

      "Herbert Greyson, sir."

      "Herbert Greyson! I've heard that name before; here it is again. Who is that Herbert Greyson?"

      "He's second mate on the Susan, sir, that is expected in every day."

      "Umph! umph! Take a glass of wine, Capitola."

      "No, sir; I never touch a single drop."

      "Why? Why? Good wine after dinner, my child, is a good thing, let me tell you."

      "Ah, sir, my life has shown me too much misery that has come of drinking wine."

      "Well, well, as you please. Why, where has the girl run off to!" exclaimed the old man, breaking off, and looking with amazement at Capitola, who had suddenly started up and rushed out of the room.

      In an instant she rushed in again, exclaiming:

      "Oh, he's come! he's come! I heard his voice!"

      "Whose come, you madcap?" inquired the old man.

      "Oh, Herbert Greyson! Herbert Greyson! His ship is in, and he has come here! He always comes here—most of the sea officers do," exclaimed Cap, dancing around until all her black ringlets flew up and down. Then suddenly pausing, she came quietly to his side and said, solemnly:

      "Uncle, Herbert has been at sea three years; he knows nothing of my past misery and destitution, nor of my ever wearing boy's clothes. Uncle, please don't tell him, especially of the boy's clothes." And in the earnestness of her appeal Capitola clasped her hands and raised her eyes to the old man's face. How soft those gray eyes looked when praying! But for all that, the very spirit of mischief still lurked about the corners of the plump, arched lips.

      "Of course I shall tell no one! I am not so proud of your masquerading as to publish it. And as for this young fellow,