Lincoln High School - Lincolnian Yearbook (Kansas City, MO)

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10 THE LINCOLNIAN either think what the coining of Wini- fred Winters would bring forth. CHAPTER ILL The sun rose beautifully over the trees and it promised a very warm day. Mrs. Drew arose with the sun, for she had much to do. Today was the day set for the arrival of Winifred and Mrs. Drew wanted to see that everything was made ready for her. She wondered why she felt so happy, for she hadn’t felt so for years. At first Mr. Drew refused to have an actress in the house, but he was son won over, because he, too, was very fond of Maurice and would do anything to please him. A beautiful room was prepared for the girl, for Mrs. Drew had written to her asking her to stay a few weeks. In reply to her letter she re- ceived this no’te : , Benton Hotel, New York, N. Y. July 7, ’06. Dear Mrs. Drew : — I received your kind letter and was very much impressed by it Although i never knew my mother and father, still I have a portrait of my mother and 1 think as I read your leter, she must have been somewhat like you. Your let- ter made me feey how much I have lost in not knowing a mother ' s love. Thank- ing you again for your kind invitation, I am yours, Winifred Winters. Although Mrs. Drew did not know it, it was the little note that made her so happy. She went about putting things in order, and when evening came the family gathered on the veranda to await the arrival of the guest. At last she came and Maurice, not waiting for the carriage, walked down to meet her. He brought her up to the veranda and pre- sented her to Mr. and Mrs. Drew. When the girl loked into Mrs. Drew’s kind face it seemed as if it had seen her before. A shade of sadness passed over the face of the older woman as she thought of her own lost daughter, but Mrs. Drew shok hands with the girl and led her to her room. “Oh, how pretty!” said Winifred as she entered the dor. Then she turned to Mrs. Drew and looked into her eyes. All the while Mrs, Drew was saying “Mildred’s eyes.” She knew that Mildred would have been about this girl’s age. Winfred changed her traveling dress for a soft white and her curls were tied back with a large blue bow. While she dressed she contin- ually loked at Mrs. Drew. Mrs. Drew told her of her little Mildred and she again looked into her eyes. Finally Mil- dred said I have a portrait of my mother when she was young, and I want to show it to you.” She took it out of her traveling bag and held it up. Mrs. Drew turned deathly pale, for the pic- ture which she saw was her own. She sank into a chair to keep from falling, for a weakness took possession of every limb. “My Mildred !” she exclaimed to the wondering girl. “Is this your mother?” she trembling- ly asked when she could speak. “Yes,” said Winifred. “Then I am yoilr moth- er and you are my daughter.” It is use- les to try to write what passed between mother and long-lost daughter; but when both could speak, matters soon explained themselves. Winifred told her about the little home in Brooklyn where her sup- posed aunt died. “Brooklyn,” said Mrs. Drew, “why, that ' s the postmark on the letter I received this afternoon. 1 be- lieved it to be the church which I aided asking for help again and I intended to read it when I had time.” She rang the bell and had the maid to bring her the letter. She looked at the postmark and found it had been delayed three week ' s. She tore it open and read : Dear Margaret: — Although I feel that these lines will at some time raech you, vet I shrink from sending them by the one that should take them. Margaret, Winifred Winter, the young star, is your daughter. Do you remember years ago, Katie, your chum? Do you remember that when you were married to John Drew you never saw her again? When you married John Drew, whom T loved, I was so filled with jealousy that I swore vengeance against you, for I believed that you took his love from me. When I read your add in the paper, wanting someone to sew for your litle daughter. I thought my time had come. ’Tis true you did not recognize me, because I had dyed my

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THE LINCOLNIAN 9 wife and the servants were on their way to their country seat. CHAPTER II. Although fifteen years have passed since Mildred was lost, it sems but yes- terday to the bereaved mother. Lately she has had dreams of her little girl, and in them she always seemed not dead but living. As she kept dreaming these dreams she became convinced that Mil- dred had not been drowned but kid- napped, although no ransom had been asked for. But son this idea was given up for she never could hear anything of the dressmaker who disappeared soon after Mildred. Mildred was the sole heiress to the vast estate and if she should die before her father, the estate went to Maurice Mansford, a distant relative of the fam- ily. Accordingly, after years passed on, Maurice, a young fellow about twenty- four, was sent for. He was to make his home with Mr. and Mrs. Drew so that he might be taught all he should know about the estate and its tenants. It was about five o’clock in the after- non, and everyone was awaiting the ar- rival of the young heir. Mr. Drew walked up and down the porch, thinking of how his own daughter would have proved a worthy mistress. A brave tear rolled down the man ' s cheek for the child he had lost, and wiping it away, he thought : “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these, ‘It might have been.’ ” As he loked up the carriage was just turning in the driveway and when it rolled up to the walk, a young man sprang out and walked briskly to the porch. Maurice Mansford had for many years been supported by Mr. Drew. His father was a cousin to John Drew, and when he died Maurice was left alone, the only relative being Mr. Drew. Mr. Drew promised to see after Maurice un- til he was of age, for Maurice then was quite a child. He put him in boarding school and afterwards in college. Maur- ice had graduated when he was twenty- one, and for the last three years he was earning his living as play-writer. When he received the letter from Mr. Drew asking him to make his home with them, a! first he hesitated, then as another let- ter came from Mrs. Drew, he hesitated no longer, for there was a motherly feel- ing in it which he had never known. As be walked up to the veranda and shook hands with M.r. Drew he knew the man had a kind heart, and Mr. Drew thought as he loked into the boy’s honest eyes that he, too, would make a good master of the Drew estate. Dinner was announced and Mrs. Drew came down. Very stately she looked, descending the stairs, in her rich black silk, and very affectionately she greeted Maurice. They went in to dinner and Maurice told them about a play he was writing, and what a fine little actress he had found for the leading part. “And,” said he, “she is so beautiful and refined that I think she must have god blood in her veins. But when I asked her about her relatives she knew nothing about them, except an aunt who had died a few weeks before her engagement. After dinner Mr. Drew took Maurice over the estate and he pointed out with pride the beauties of the old home. Weeks passed on and in the hearts of Mr. and Mrs. Drew Maurice had found Mrs. Drew that he wanted to have a private rehearsal with his star, and asked a warm place. One day Maurice told her if he might ask the girl to come there. “Ancf,” he added, “when she comes I know you will like her, because you are so kind and good. I almost wish she didn’t have to go on the stage,” he added as if to himself. Mrs. Drew knew that Cupid had been shooting his arrows, by the boy’s earnest conversa- tion. “Certainly, she can come,” said she. “And stay until the play is put on. What is the name of your star? “Winnipeg Winter,” replied Maurice. “Don’t you think it’s rather pretty?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Drew, and she patted the boy’s shoulder affectionately. ‘It’s very pretty. I must go and dress for din- ner, but you may be sure that little Wini- fred Winters will be welcomed.” “Thank you,” said Maurice as he kissed the hand that had patted his shoulder. Little did

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THE LINCOLNIAN 11 hair a dark color. I know you are wondering what this has to do with Mil- dred. Mildred, as you know, grew fond of me and often she would come into the sewing room and talk with me. I hav e often heard that people seeking revenge will do onything and now I know it is so. One day I did not have to sew, so I loitered around the place trying to see Mildred alone. My chance came. Mil- dred was playing by herself not far from the house and I persuaded her to walk to the pond with me There I had her to leave her hat and doll, telling her I could find another for her. I car- ried her home, dressed her as a little boy and began to pack my trunk. At first Mildred refused, but the idea of riding on the cars made her jump for joy. That night I left and went to New York. 1 told Mildred that I was only taking her to see New York. She was quite small and son forgot her home. In a few years she had no recollection of home what- ever. She always called me auntie and I told her her name had to be Winifred Winters. She didn’t want to change her name, but I told her that all little girls that came to New York had to change their names. A child of five years is easily deceived. I put her in a god school and she learned fast. As she grew to know no. other home but mine she was contented. She wanted to go on the stage, but I wouldn’t allow her. I thought I would bring her up to marry wealthy so she would not have to work. Believe me, Margaret, I loved Mildred and did all I could for her. T soon grew unable to work and without my knowing it, she obtained a position on the stage. I grew worse. I knew I must confess to someone for that was partly the cause of my illness. So I wrote the story down on paper. Don’t doubt the words for they come from the lips of a woman who now sees death standing at her bedside. I dare not tell Mildred for I want to die with her blessings. But when, after my death, she reads this as 1 know she will, she will know her parents and for- give me. Forgive me Margaret, Katie. When Mrs. Drew finished the letter there were tears in her eyes. Forgive her, mother,” said Mildred. What a lovely sound the words made, coming from lips so near her own. “I will for- give her, darling,” said her mother, “but J cannot forget the great wrong done to us both.” A bell summoned Mr. Drew and Maurice. Mrs. Drew could only ex- claim, “My lost Mildred,” and his searching eyes read the old resemblance, lie extended his arms and she fled into them. Th beautiful dinner table stood lonely waiting, for the inhabitants of that beau- tiful home were too happy to think of anything but each other and the long years since they had parted. . As they sat on the veranda in the moonlight those years were lived over by father, mother and daughter. A strange happiness also filled Maurice’s heart, for had he not discovered this winsome girl. Kind readers, we must not stop longer to listen to the voices on the veranda. Mr. and Mrs. Drew have gon indoors, the servants have retired, and so must we.