Chapter II: Your Own Is Waiting

Mary Alice dreaded to meet her godmother. The excitement of getting away was all very well. But once she was alone in the Pullman, and the friendly faces on the station platform were left behind, she began to think apprehensively of what she was going to. She was sure to feel "strange" with her godmother, and there was at least a pretty good chance that she might actually dislike her. Also, there was every reason to doubt if her godmother would like Mary Alice. Mary Alice had several times met persons who had "been to Europe," and she had never liked them; their conversation was all about things she did not know, and larded with phrases she could not understand. Those years in Europe made her doubly dread her godmother.

But the minute she saw her godmother at the Grand Central Station, she liked her; and before they had got home, in the Fourth Avenue car, she liked her very much; and when she lay dozing off to sleep, that first night in New York, she was blissfully conscious that she loved her godmother.

Godmother lived in an apartment in Gramercy Park. It was an old-fashioned apartment, occupying one floor of what had once been a handsome dwelling of the tall "chimney" type common in New York. All around the Square were the homes of notable persons, and clubs frequented by famous men. Godmother was to point these out in the morning; but this evening, before dinner was served, while she and Mary Alice were standing in the window of her charming drawing-room, she showed which was The Players, and indicated the windows of the room where Edwin Booth died. It seemed that she had known Edwin Booth quite well when she was a girl, and had some beautiful stories of his kindness and his shyness to tell.

Mary Alice was surprised and delighted, and she looked over at the windows with eager, shining eyes. "He must have been wonderful to know," she said. "Do you suppose there are many other great people like that?"

"A good many, I should say," her godmother replied. And as they sat at dinner, served by Godmother's neat maid-of-all-work, it "kind o' came out," as Mary Alice would have said, how many delightful people Godmother had counted among her friends.

"You've had a beautiful time, all your life, haven't you?" Mary Alice commented admiringly, when they were back in the cozy drawing-room and Godmother was serving coffee from the copper percolator.

"Not all my life, but most of it--yes," said Godmother. "It took me some time to find the talisman, the charm, the secret--or whatever you want to call it--of having a happy time."

"But you found it?"

Godmother flushed as if she were a little bit embarrassed. "Well," she said, "I found one--at last--that worked, for me."

"I wish I could find one," sighed Mary Alice, wistfully.

"I'm going to try to give you mine," said Godmother, "or at least to share it with you. And all I ask of you is, that if it 'works' for you, you'll pass it on to some one else."

"Oh, I will!" cried Mary Alice. "What is it?"

"Wait a minute! I have to tell you about me, first--so you'll understand."

"Please do!" urged Mary Alice. "I'd love to hear."

"Well, you see, when the invitations to my christening were sent out, my folks forgot the fairies, I guess. And as I grew up, I found that I hadn't been gifted with wealth or beauty or talents or charm----"

"I know," Mary Alice broke in.

Godmother looked surprised.

"I mean, I know how that feels," Mary Alice explained.

"Then you know I was pretty unhappy until--something happened. I met a charming woman, once, who was so sweet and sympathetic that my heart just opened to her as flowers to sunshine; and I told her how I felt. 'Well, that _was_ an oversight!' she said, 'but you know what to do about it, don't you?' I said I didn't. 'Why!' she said, 'the fairies had their gifts all ready to bring, and when they were not invited to the party, what would they naturally do?' 'Give them to some one else!' I cried. I shall never forget how reproachfully she looked at me. 'That is a purely human trick!' she said; 'fairies are never guilty of it. When they have something for you, they keep it for you till you get it. If they were not asked to your party, it's your business to hunt them out and get your gifts. Somewhere in the world your own is waiting for you.' That was a magic thought: Somewhere in the world your own is waiting for you. I couldn't get away from it; it filled my mind, waking and asleep. And I set out to find if it was true."

"And _was_ it?"

"Well, it must have been. For I've found some of my own, surely, and I believe I shall find more. And oh! the joy it is to look and look, believing that you will surely find. I haven't found wealth, nor beauty, nor accomplishments--perhaps I didn't look in the right places for any of those--but I've found something I wouldn't trade for all the others. It is all I have to bequeath you, dear. But the beautiful part of this bequest is, I don't have to die to enrich you with it, nor do I have to impoverish myself to give it away. I just whisper something in your ear--and then you go and see if it isn't so."

"Whisper it now, please," begged Mary Alice, going over to her godmother and putting her ear close.

"Oh, no," said Godmother, kissing Mary Alice's ear, "this isn't the time at all. And it's _fatal_ to tell till the right time comes."

And no teasing would avail to make her change her mind.