THE TRIUMPH OF VIRGINIA DALE

CHAPTER I
HER MISSION IN LIFE

Obadiah Dale was the richest man in South Ridgefield. He owned the great textile mill down by the river where hundreds of people were employed and which hummed and clattered from morning until night to add to his wealth. He lived in a fine house. About it, broad lawns, shaded by ancient elms and dotted with groups of shrubbery, formed a verdant setting for the walls and massive porch pillars spotless in white paint.

Obadiah’s only child was Virginia. She was a charming bit of girlhood with a complexion so clear that it seemed pale in contrast to the black hair and the clearly lined brows which arched those big, serious, blue eyes.

On an afternoon in early June she was reading on the couch which swung from the lofty ceiling of the porch when she became aware that some one was coming up the walk from the gate. She arose and her face lighted with happiness as she ran down the steps to greet a smartly dressed woman of middle age. “Oh, Hennie dear,” she cried, “I am so glad that you’ve come.”

The older woman laughed gaily as she caught the girl in her arms, “You know I couldn’t forget your birthday, Virginia.”

“No, you wouldn’t do that, Hennie. You don’t come often,” the girl sighed, “but you always remember that.”

Mrs. Henderson kissed her little hostess. Always had her big heart gone out to this motherless maid. Long ago she had been the intimate friend of Virginia’s mother. Elinor Dale had died when her daughter was a year old so that Hennie had a twofold reason for loving her young friend.

“It’s good to have you here,” exclaimed the girl as she drew her visitor to a chair by the couch. “I wish you would come every day.”

“Now, listen to that. Wouldn’t it be better, please, for you to come and see me instead of planning for a poor old woman,”–Mrs. Henderson did not look the part–“who has twinges of rheumatism, to make daily calls upon you?”

Virginia regarded her guest with great seriousness. “I come to your house very often, Hennie. I was over the other day, but,”–she gave another sigh,–“you were not home.”

“I do remember. Carrie told me that you were over with Serena. I supposed that you came to see her. I am on so many committees for various charitable organizations––” She stopped short and reaching over patted the girl’s hand. “I am sorry that I was not home, dear. I should remember that you are rather old to call upon my negro cook.”

Virginia’s eyes danced. “I must have called upon Carrie a thousand times since I was a baby. A few more calls in your kitchen instead of your parlor won’t hurt me.”

“Why are you laughing?” demanded Mrs. Henderson.

“I can tell you a secret about your own house but you must agree not to use it against Carrie.”

“I promise.”

“Well, Hennie, you might be interested to know that refreshments are served oftener in your kitchen than your parlor. I learned that years ago.”

“The very idea!” exclaimed the caller.

The girl’s gaze wandered thoughtfully over the beautiful grounds. “I do so love to have you here. I don’t see very many people.” Her voice was wistful. “This big place gets lonesome sometimes. I think I envy girls who live in houses with stoops on the sidewalk. They have the cars, peddlers, policemen and lots of people going by all of the time. It would be great fun to live that way.” She was very sober now. “I think that I want noises and lots of things going on. Am I very strange, Hennie?”

“No indeed, all young people are that way,” declared Mrs. Henderson with emphasis. “I felt so myself, once. Of course, it is lonely for you in this big house with only Serena. Your father is home for so short a time each day.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me, I am not very lonely–only a little bit. If something interesting–something exciting and wildly adventurous–would happen, Hennie, it would be fine.”

Mrs. Henderson smiled. “I am afraid that I can’t help you in such ways, dear, but I have something here which I am very sure that you will dearly love.” She drew forth a small parcel from her bag.

Virginia waited in pleased expectation. “I am going to adore it,” she cried joyously, as, accepting the package, she prolonged anticipation by inspecting it curiously, “because you gave it to me.”

“You will care for it for other reasons,” replied the older woman soberly.

Within the wrappings, the girl found a little volume, the cover of which was much worn.

“Don’t be misled by appearances,” Mrs. Henderson suggested as Virginia opened the book.

Upon the fly leaf, written in ink faded with age, was the name, Elinor Clark. The girl’s eyes opened wide in wonder and suppressed delight. “It was my mother’s book, Hennie?” she asked gently.

“Yes, dear, it was a girlhood possession of your mother. During her last illness she gave it to me and asked me to see that you got it on your eighteenth birthday. She explained that she didn’t want to trouble your father, yet she wanted you to have it. It was the last request Elinor ever made of me.” Mrs. Henderson’s eyes winked suspiciously and leaning forward she peered at the worn cover. When she spoke her voice was husky with emotion. “It’s a gift that you will always cherish, dear.”

A great tenderness swept over Virginia’s face. “It’s my mother’s birthday present to me, isn’t it, Hennie?”–she almost whispered–“the only one that I can remember.”

As the older woman bowed her agreement, she moved over upon the couch by the girl and for a time they were silent.

Virginia was the first to speak. “Tell me about my mother, please,” she said softly, her hand caressing the cover of the book. “It makes Daddy sad if I talk to him too much about her so I never do. But Hennie, I should like to know more of her if I could.”

“Bless your heart, I will gladly tell you everything I can, dear.” She was thoughtful for a moment and then resumed, “Your mother was three years older than you are now when I first met her.”

“And married,” cried the girl in surprise, “I never thought of my mother as so young. I pictured her as much older.”

“Old, nonsense! Your mother was my age. She was hardly grown at the time of her death.”

“Where did my father meet her? I know that she lived down South. Serena is always talking about the old home.”

“He met her here in South Ridgefield. He had come here from New England and started his mill. It was small in those days, but prosperous. Social affairs had little attraction for your father. That made him very interesting to us girls. I suppose too we did not forget that he was making lots of money and could give the girl of his choice everything she desired. He had been here four or five years when the marriage took place. Its announcement caused much excitement among us young people. We had given your father up as a hopeless old bachelor. Think of it, in a week, your mother snatched the best catch from under the noses of the South Ridgefield girls.” Mrs. Henderson laughed gaily. “Elinor did that very thing.”

“My mother must have been very beautiful?”

“She was, every one admitted that, but she had the advantage in another way. She came from Virginia after her father’s death to settle some business affairs with your father.” Again Mrs. Henderson laughed. “The