AUNT JANE'S NIECES AND UNCLE JOHN
Continued....
CHAPTER XXII
THE CONFESSION
After that evening the man attached himself to the
party on every
possible occasion. Sometimes in their trips around
Coronado he rode
in their automobile, at other times he took Myrtle,
and perhaps one
other, in his own car. Every day he seemed brighter
and more cheerful,
until even Major Doyle admitted he was not a bad
companion.
Three weeks later they moved up to Los Angeles,
taking two days for
the trip and stopping at Riverside and Redlands on
the way. They
established their headquarters at one of the
handsome Los Angeles
hotels and from there made little journeys through
the surrounding
country, the garden spot of Southern California. One
day they went to
Pasadena, which boasts more splendid residences than
any city of its
size in the world; at another time they visited
Hollywood, famed as
"the Paradise of Flowers." Both mountains and sea
were within easy
reach, and there was so much to do that the time
passed all too
swiftly.
It was on their return from such a day's outing that
Myrtle met with
her life's greatest surprise. Indeed, the surprise
was shared by all
but Uncle John, who had religiously kept the secret
of Mr. Jones'
identity.
As they reached the hotel this eventful evening Mr.
Merrick said to
the girls:
"After you have dressed for dinner meet us on the
parlor floor. We
dine privately to-night."
They were mildly astonished at the request, but as
Uncle John was
always doing some unusual thing they gave the matter
little thought.
However, on reaching the parlor floor an hour later
they found Mr.
Merrick, the Major and Mr. Jones in a group awaiting
them, and
all were garbed in their dress suits, with rare
flowers in their
buttonholes.
"What is it, then?" asked Patsy. "A treat?"
"I think so," said Uncle John, smiling. "Your arm,
please, Miss
Doyle."
The Major escorted Beth and Mr. Jones walked
solemnly beside Myrtle,
who still used crutches, but more as a matter of
convenience than
because they were necessary. At the end of a
corridor a waiter threw
open the door of a small but beautiful banquet room,
where a round
table, glistening with cut glass and silver, was set
for six. In the
center of the table was a handsome centerpiece
decorated with vines
of myrtle, while the entire room was filled with
sprays of the dainty
vines, alive with their pretty blue flowers.
"Goodness me!" exclaimed Patsy, laughing gleefully.
"This seems to be
our little Myrtle's especial spread. Who is the
host, Uncle John?"
"Mr. Jones, of course," announced Beth, promptly.
Myrtle blushed and glanced shyly at Mr. Jones. His
face was fairly
illumined with pleasure. He placed her in the seat
of honor and said
gravely:
"This is indeed Myrtle's entertainment, for she has
found something.
It is also partly my own thanksgiving banquet, my
friends; for I, too,
have found something."
His tone was so serious that all remained silent as
they took their
seats, and during the many courses served the
conversation was less
lively than on former occasions when there had been
no ceremony.
Myrtle tried hard to eat, but there was a question
in her eyes--a
question that occupied her all through the meal.
When, finally, the
dessert was served and the servants had withdrawn
and left them to
themselves, the girl could restrain her curiosity no
longer.
"Tell me, Mr. Jones," she said, turning to him as he
sat beside her;
"what have you found?"
He was deliberate as ever in answering.
"You must not call me 'Mr. Jones,' hereafter," said
he.
"Why not? Then, what _shall_ I call you?" she
returned, greatly
perplexed.
"I think it would be more appropriate for you to
call me 'Uncle
Anson.'"
"Uncle Anson! Why, Uncle Anson is--is--"
She paused, utterly bewildered, but with a sudden
suspicion that made
her head whirl.
"It strikes me, Myrtle," said Uncle John,
cheerfully, "that you have
never been properly introduced to Mr. Jones. If I
remember aright you
scraped acquaintance with him and had no regular
introduction. So I
will now perform that agreeable office. Miss Myrtle
Dean, allow me to
present your uncle, Mr. Collanson B. Jones."
"Collanson!" repeated all the girls, in an
astonished chorus.
"That is my name," said Mr. Jones, the first smile
they had seen
radiating his grim countenance. "All the folks at
home, among them my
sister Kitty--your mother, my dear--called me
'Anson'; and that is
why, I suppose, old Martha Dean knew me only as your
'Uncle Anson.'
Had she told you my name was Collanson you might
have suspected
earlier that 'C.B. Jones' was your lost uncle. Lost
only because he
was unable to find you, Myrtle. While you were
journeying West in
search of him he was journeying East. But I'm glad,
for many reasons,
that you did not know me. It gave me an opportunity
to learn the
sweetness of your character. Now I sincerely thank
God that He led you
to me, to reclaim me and give me something to live
for. If you will
permit me, my dear niece, I will hereafter devote my
whole life to
you, and earnestly try to promote your happiness."
During this long speech Myrtle had sat wide eyed and
white, watching
his face and marveling at the strangeness of her
fate. But she was
very, very glad, and young enough to quickly recover
from the shock.
There was a round of applause from Patsy, Beth, the
Major and
Uncle John, which served admirably to cover their
little friend's
embarrassment and give her time to partially collect
herself. Then she
turned to Mr. Jones and with eyes swimming with
tears tenderly kissed
his furrowed cheek.
"Oh, Uncle Anson; I'm _so_ happy!" she said.
Of course Myrtle's story is told, now. But it may be
well to add that
Uncle Anson did for her all that Uncle John had
intended doing, and
even more. The consultation with a famous New York
specialist, on
their return a month later, assured the girl that no
painful operation
was necessary. The splendid outing she had enjoyed,
with the fine air
of the far West, had built up her health to such an
extent that nature
remedied the ill she had suffered. Myrtle took no
crutches back to New
York--a city now visited for the first time in her
life--nor did she
ever need them again. The slight limp she now has
will disappear
in time, the doctors say, and the child is so
radiantly happy that
neither she nor her friends notice the limp at all.
Patsy Doyle, as owner of the pretty flat building on
Willing Square,
has rented to Uncle Anson the apartment just
opposite that of the
Doyles, and Mr. Jones has furnished it cosily to
make a home for his
niece, to whom he is so devoted that Patsy declares
her own doting and
adoring father is fairly outclassed.
The Major asserts this is absurd; but he has
acquired a genuine
friendship for Anson Jones, who is no longer sad but
has grown lovable
under Myrtle's beneficent influence.
END OF AUNT JANE'S NIECES AND UNCLE JOHN
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