It proved an ideal Christmas day. Clear and cold and spotlessly white, for the snow fell heavily all through the night, and covered everything with a mantle of glistening frost.
Nan looked out of her window, and gave a gasp of delight as she saw the shimmering, rime-covered trees, with the sunshine striking full upon them and bringing out sparks of light from every branch and twig. Whatever sounds there were in the streets came to her softened and mellowed over the snow-laden ground, and as she listened she felt a great wave of inward happiness surge into her heart and make the possibilities of life seem very different to her from anything she had ever dreamed of before. The snow, the sound of chiming Christmas bells, worked upon her, and made her feel that it would be easy to be good, and that her days ought all to be like this; that she would make them so, serene and melodious, every one a festival.
She heard Miss Blake stirring in the next room, and tore herself away from her dreams to begin the day well with a prompt appearance at the breakfast table.
"It seems to me that if father were only here I wouldn't have a thing left in the world to wish for," she said happily, spearing a gold-brown scallop with her fork and eating it with relish.
Miss Blake put down her coffee-cup just as she was carrying it to her lips, and her face wore the curious expression that Nan had so often noticed there and could never account for. But the girl was too busy with her own thoughts to regard it to-day, and the governess hastened to respond:
"Then next year, please God, you will be quite entirely happy. And a year is not long to wait."
"No, indeed!" broke in Nan. "Why, I never knew the time to go as quickly as it does lately. It doesn't seem any while at all since you came, and you've been here over two months. Just let's think what we'll do next Christmas, when father is home. To begin with, I'm going down to the dock with Mr. Turner, so that when the ship comes in he'll see me the first thing. Then we'll come up here, and you and Delia will be waiting to welcome him at the door, and there'll be decorations and things and—"
"You forget, dear Nan," Miss Blake said, gently interrupting her, "that I shall not be here then."
The girl's face fell and the light died out of her eyes. Then she brightened again suddenly.
"Oh, you must, you must! Why, my father will want to see you. Of course you'll be here. You'll have to stay and meet him. You can surely do as much as that. You don't know how dear my father is! And so handsome and good! Why, if you once saw him you couldn't possibly be afraid. He's simply the kindest man in the world, and when he smiles at you, you just love him—you can't help it."
Miss Blake herself smiled faintly. "I am sure he is all you say, Nan," she replied. "But listen! There go the first bells. We must hurry or we shall be late for church."
The girl rose and made her way rather slowly to the stairs. Somehow she felt less light-hearted than she had done a few minutes before. What was it? She could not understand. The world had seemed all joy and sunshine to her a quarter of an hour since, and now there was a cloud over her heart that dimmed for her even the radiant prospect of her father's return.
"I feel just like sitting down and having a good cry—if I ever did such a thing," she said to herself as she fastened on her new hat and tried to be glad that it was so becoming.
But as she and Miss Blake walked along the streets in the midst of a crowd of happy, chatting church-goers her spirits rose, and she nodded gayly to the Buckstone girls and Harley Morris, and broke into quite a ripple of laughter as John Gardiner overtook them and asked if the wheel he had brought her the night before had proved a good one.
"Oh, it was immense!" answered Nan, merrily.
The services were beautiful, and Nan entered into them heart and soul, listening to the sermon with rapt attention and letting her fresh young voice swell out jubilantly in the dear, familiar carols as she had never done before.
As they went out of church Miss Blake said to her softly:
"You won't mind going on without me, will you, Nan? I have a little errand to do before I go home. Tell Delia I'll be back in time for dinner."
"I have a little errand to do""I have a little errand to do"
"I have a little errand to do""I have a little errand to do"
"But why can't I go with you?" demanded the girl.
"Because it—it wouldn't be best. I will explain it to you later. Now I must go. Tell Delia what I said. But if I should happen to be delayed don't wait, and don't—that is, tell Delia not to worry. Good-bye!" and she was around the corner before Nan could say another word.
Ruth Andrews joined her and they walked along together, falling at once into the easy terms of familiarity that had sprung up between them the night before.
"O Nan!" began Ruth abruptly, "you aren't going to be such a goose as to back out of joining the skating club just because—well, because Mary Brewster's such a prig? She isn't the whole membership, not by a good deal, and the rest of us count on your coming. Why, you'll be a tremendous acquisition. And the first meet is to-morrow. Won't you come?"
Nan hesitated. "It isn't because I'm a goose," she said at length. "That is, I mean—oh, I can't explain it, but really, Ruth, I'd rather not join. I wouldn't have a good time myself, and I'd only be spoiling Mary Brewster's pleasure. It's no use. I know she's not the whole club, and I really think the rest of you would like to have me, but somehow, knowing she didn't want me, would spoil the whole thing and I'd just be miserable the entire time."
Ruth shook her head as if at the hopeless state of Nan's obstinacy, but she broke in again immediately with a new suggestion:
"Besides, I don't think you can be at all sure she feels that way now. Why, I myself heard her telling you and Miss Blake that she hoped you and she would know each other better after this."
"Well, so we do," said Nan, whimsically. "I know now for a certainty that she doesn't want me, and she knows that I won't go where I'm not wanted, and if that isn't getting acquainted with a vengeance I'd like to know what is."
Ruth laughed ruefully, but broke in, with sudden inspiration: "O dear! You're as proud as a peacock, Nan Cutler. Louie will be dreadfully disappointed, for she told me to tell you she counted on you to take her out. She's never skated much, you know, and she's wobbly on her ankles. She's afraid of the teachers, and she doesn't like to ask the boys, because they hate to have a girl hanging on to them, and the rest of us have as much as we can do to attend to our own affairs."
Nan's face lit up with quick pleasure. "Oh, if Louie needs me I'll come in a jiffy. If you see her, won't you tell her I'll be only too happy to teach her everything I know?"
"Then we'll call for you at ten sharp to-morrow morning," announced the wily Ruth, and before Nan could change her mind she had slipped off and left her standing with her word given at her steps.
"Where's Miss Blake?" asked Delia, opening the door in answer to Nan's ring and seeing her alone.
"Gone off somewhere on an errand or something. I don't know. She said she'd be home for dinner, but if she wasn't, not to worry and not to wait."
Delia wrung her hands. "O Nan, child, why did you let her away from you? She's gone to the Duffys; I know she has. And they've scarlet fever in the house. The milkman told me so this morning at mass. She's been going there for weeks, doing for them and carrying them money and things. The youngest of the children had been sick all the week, and now she's down with the fever. If I'd only thought to tell her this morning! But my head was so full of the breakfast and clearing up a bit after last night that I forgot. Oh, why did you let her away from you?"
"How could I know?" cried Nan, almost savagely. "I never knew she went to such places! What has she got to do with the Duffys, anyhow? Why hasn't somebody stopped her from going, I should like to know? She's no business to run such risks. The first thing you know she'll catch the fever, and then—and then—"
She turned her back on Delia, and the next moment was flying upstairs two steps at a time.
"What are you going to do, Nan?" cried the woman.
"Go after her and bring her home!" shouted the girl.
But Delia barred the way when she tried to come down again. "You can't do that, Nan," she protested. "It would only make things worse. Just wait, and see if she comes home to dinner."
"No; I want to go now!" persisted the girl.
"But don't you see it would only worry her?" insisted Delia.
Nan considered. "Well, I'll wait till dinner," she admitted; "but if she isn't here by then I'll start."
She sat down by the parlor window and commenced to watch. It seemed to her that every one in town came into sight but the one she was looking for with such curious anxiety. Suddenly her heart gave a great leap. She flew to the front door and flung it wide.
"She's come! She's come!" she shouted to Delia, exultantly.
"Nan, Nan!" cried Miss Blake, hearing the joyous ring in her voice and seeing the glad light in her eyes. "What is the matter? Has anything happened? Has—has any one come?" As she spoke her lips grew white.
"Yes! You're the matter! You've happened! You've come! I tell you I'm glad! And don't you ever go to those Duffys again, where there's scarlet fever, and you can die of it!"
Miss Blake sank upon the hall-chair and held her hand to her heart.
"Why, what's the matter?" gasped Nan, frightened at the sight of her white face.
"Nothing, dear, nothing! I was startled—that was all."
"But who startled you?" persisted the girl.
"Not you. It is all over now."
"You see," Nan hastened to explain, "the milkman told Delia there was scarlet fever at the Duffys, and we thought you had gone there, and it scared us to death."
"But I told you to tell Delia not to worry."
"Much good telling would do! Besides, you didn't tell me not to worry. Of course, she'd worry anyhow and so would I. But is it true? Have the Duffys got scarlet fever?"
Miss Blake hesitated. Then she said, truthfully, "Yes, they have, Nan. Little Mary Ellen has it. But you need not be afraid. I would not come back into this house without taking every precaution."
Nan cast on her an indignant look. "And you think that's what made us worry?" she asked, and turned on her heel and tramped upstairs in high displeasure. But she had scarcely got as far as the landing when she felt a hand upon her arm.
"Nan, forgive me. I didn't think so—really. I know you had my safety in mind. But I have been very careful all along. And now I have a good nurse for the child, and I think she will pull through."
"But promise me you won't go there any more," demanded Nan, sternly, only half mollified.
"I promise gladly. They don't need me now, and it would be wicked to take an unnecessary risk."
"Well, I should think so. Now, remember, you've promised. O Delia! Is dinner ready?"
All through the meal Miss Blake was aware of Nan's eyes fixed upon her in a peculiarly scrutinizing gaze. She was puzzled, but asked no questions, sure that, sooner or later, the girl would disclose the reason herself. At length it came.
"Does your head ache, Miss Blake?"
"No, dear; why?"
"Because your cheeks are pretty red, and I thought you might not be feeling very well."
"Probably the brisk wind has made them so, for I feel very well indeed."
"Oh!"
But at twilight Miss Blake came upon her bending double over a volume of the Encyclopaedia, and a glance showed her what article the girl was studying. It was that headed "Scarlet fever."
The book was shut with a clap, and Nan stalked off to replace it in the book-case without a word. She came back in a moment, however, and stood before Miss Blake like a grim young Fate, her dark eyes full of care and worry.
"See here! You've got to take something. There's no use fooling with a sickness like that. Your cheeks are red, and I shouldn't wonder but your throat is sore. When you came home you kind of went to pieces on the hall chair, and I guess your head is aching this minute. I don't say you've got scarlet fever, but—it looks mighty like it, that's all. Now don't be scared. I'll take care of you. I can, you know, if I put my mind to it."
Miss Blake dared not hug her, though it was precisely what she longed to do. She dared not laugh at her, either, for that would give lasting offense when Nan was so deadly in earnest. What she did was to say brightly, but in quite as off-hand and matter-of-fact way as the girl herself had spoken:
"I'm sure you could. But you see I am perfectly well. Honestly, I haven't a pain nor an ache, and if my cheeks are still red it's because the skin has been frost-nipped. I give you my word of honor I will go to a doctor if I feel the slightest symptom."
Her tone was so heartily sincere that Nan could not doubt her. She drew a long breath of relief, as if a heavy load had been lifted from her heart, and threw herself upon the lounge with a contented sigh.
"Just think," she said. "Last night this time I didn't even know I was going to have a party, and now it's all over and done with, and Ruth and Louie want me to go skating with them to-morrow. It's been the happiest Christmas I ever spent, with the exception of the Duffy part, and I wish it could last forever."
"I think some of it will," replied Miss Blake in her gentle voice, as Delia came to light the lamps.
There was a great crowd on the lake. It was perfect skating weather, and every one who had skates and could use them, had come to enjoy the advantage of the first real ice of the season. The banks were thronged with onlookers, and it was a great inspiration to the expert ones to know that their performances would be watched and commended by such an audience as this.
"Goodness, girls! Did you ever see such a crush?" asked Louie feverishly, hurrying her pace, as she, Nan, and Ruth neared the spot.
"There won't be room to move," announced Nan, adding with a laugh, "much less to fall down in."
"All the better for me! I'll put on my skates and let the crowd push me round. I'm never too sure of myself, but in a crush like this, one can't go over, so I'm saved a heap of worry!" cried Ruth with a jolly laugh.
Nan's skates were on in a twinkling, and she longed with all her heart to be off and away. But the sight of poor Louie, struggling vainly with her refractory straps, kept her back.
"Oh, do hurry," urged Ruth excitedly.
"Did you ever see such contrary things?" gasped Louie, her cheeks crimson with cold, and the exertion of bending double in her fur jacket.
"Give them to me; I'll get them on in a jiffy," and Nan was down on her knees and the skates secured before Louie had even time to thank her with a look.
"Now, do come on!" cried Ruth, fairly dancing with eagerness.
"Oh, wait! wait! Please wait!" pleaded Louie. "This is the first time I've been on the ice this year, and I feel so nervous I could scream."
John Gardiner spun past with a nod and a flourish, but a moment later wheeled about and came skimming up to where they were standing, saying briskly:
"Jolly day, isn't it? Ice in first-rate shape, too. Too many people, but after a few of them get tired out it will be all right. Don't suppose they'd care to stand aside and let us show them what skating is, eh, Nan?"
Nan laughed. "Perhaps they wouldn't like the figures we'd cut. I'm not sure I would myself. Pride goes before a fall, and I'd rather be a bit humble and keep on my feet."
"As though you'd ever take a tumble," cried the young fellow with great scorn. "Oh, I say, come along and let's do a turn or two, as we did on the Steamer last year. Don't you remember what a rousing cheer we got? Let's try it again."
For an instant Nan's blood leaped. She liked to do daring things, and she loved applause. John Gardiner was as much at home on his skates as she was on hers, and they were singularly at ease together. Moreover, way down in her heart was a sort of lurking pride at being especially chosen by this favorite among the "fellows" and being seen with him in his attractive suit and his graceful "Norwegians" that were the envy and admiration of all the other fellows in town. It certainly was a temptation, and for a moment Nan yielded to it. Then she looked at Louie's anxious face and shook her head.
"I'm heaps obliged," she said. "But I guess I'd better not to-day. It wasn't much harm at the Steamer, for there was no crowd there to speak of; but here it's so public, I'm afraid it wouldn't look well."
John threw back his head and laughed.
"As if you cared how things look!" he cried, frankly.
Nan's cheeks reddened furiously. She looked down and drew a figure on the ice with the tip of her skate. Her confusion could not escape him, and he caught himself up instantly. "I mean, you've always been so sensible, you know. You haven't cared for tattle or nonsense. That's what's made us like you so. A fellow hasn't had to be on the continual jump for fear your hat wasn't on straight or your hair was coming down. You're as plucky as a boy, and it's like having another jolly, good fellow about when you're around. You're not going back on all that? You aren't going to turn girly-girly? You aren't going to be a Nancy, are you?"
She lifted her head with a jerk. "No; I'm going to stay plain Nan," she retorted. "But I can't go out with you this morning, John—at least not now. Later I may take a turn if you're willing."
He saw that there was no shaking her resolution, and turned away with a frown and a sigh.
"Very well. If you won't, you won't. I'll look you up by and by, though, and maybe you'll have changed your mind by then," and he was off like a flash, his flying feet seeming scarcely to touch the ice, and his long, curved, glistening skates flashing back the sunlight from their dazzling nickel blades.
Louie clutched Nan's arm. "Oh, I'm so glad you didn't go!" she said, agitatedly. "I'm all of a tremble, and I'm sure I'll slip if you don't hold on to me."
So Nan held on to her, and slowly piloted her this way and that, urging her gently to strike out alone, and patiently waiting until she had the courage to try. Ruth darted hither and thither, minding it as little when she went down herself as when she was the cause of others doing so, and always skating with an awkward energy that was refreshing to behold.
"O Nan!" panted Louie, "how did you learn?"
"By getting up whenever I fell down," declared Nan, succinctly.
Ruth came toward them with arms flying like windmills.
"O girls!" she gasped; but just here her feet went from under her, and she sat squarely upon the ice with a great plump. "O girls!" she repeated, not a bit abashed and without trying to get up, "Mary Brewster and Grace are over there, and they just asked John to take them out—at least Mary did—and he said he was ever so sorry, but his 'card was full,' and they are simply furious."
"Get up!" commanded Nan, with lips that would twitch in spite of her efforts to control them. "You'll catch your death of cold!"
Ruth grasped her outstretched hand and struggled to her feet. "How are you getting on, Lu?" she asked, shaking the snow from her skirts.
"I think I'm doing a little better. Don't you, Nan?" appealed Louie, tremulously.
"Why, yes. You'll skate as well as any one after you've once gained courage," Nan returned cheerfully, and took up the slow, tedious task again of steering her laboriously this way and that, Louie meanwhile clinging to her arm and uttering little panic-stricken shrieks that irritated Nan beyond measure. No one could conceive how hard it was for the girl not to desert her clinging companion. She knew in her heart that Louie would never master the knack unless she were made to rely upon herself. As long as she could depend on Nan's support she would not make any effort to use her own energy, nor would she exert her will-power to force herself to strike out alone. The ice was in perfect condition to-day, but it would not long remain so with such a crowd cutting it to pieces, and the sun already thawing the powdered snow and threatening to do more damage to-morrow. If Nan lost her chance now she might not have another so good in weeks to come, for the weather was always uncertain and the holidays were short. Everything seemed to urge her to break loose from her self-imposed martyrdom and go her way rejoicing; the crisp air that sang in her ears and filled her with a sense of glorious exhilaration; the shimmering sunlight on the ice that seemed to scud before her and invite her to join in the race; the knowledge that she was in reality doing Louie a doubtful service by staying beside her, and, last of all, the look of disappointment in John's eyes as he shot past them at intervals, and saw that Nan was not yet ready to capitulate. A sort of war with herself was waging in her mind; her sense of duty against her preferences; her long established habits against her newly found resolutions. She had resolved to be like other girls in the future. It was like headlong, impulsive Nan to make a resolve like this, and never stop to realize that it was only the exaggeration of herself that proved objectionable; that it would be as impossible for her to be sedate and silent and serious as for a dashing dandelion to become a dainty buttercup.
To her it seemed as if Miss Blake and the rest—were demanding of her just such a metamorphosis and she had been trying—she really had—to recast herself in the mold she thought they exacted. And now here came John Gardiner, surely the nicest and most mannerly young fellow she knew, and the one whom even Miss Blake was pleased to call "a perfect gentleman"—here came John Gardiner, and told her that her despised characteristics were precisely the ones that made her valuable. She shook her head. It was no use; she could not understand.
"O Nan!" cried Louie, shunting along clumsily by her side and clutching her arm in desperation. "Won't you please get me over to the shore? I'm all tired out. I guess I'll go in for a bit and warm up and get rested, and then I'll come out again, may be, and take another try."
Nan assented with alacrity.
"You've made a pretty good beginning," she said with new encouragement in her voice.
"Oh, it's always the same!" wailed Louie. "Year before last I got so I could do it quite respectably, and then last year I had to learn all over again. I really thought I'd pick it up where I left off this year, but you see how it is! The very sight of the ice when I'm on skates makes me quake."
"Just force yourself to do it and you'll be surprised to see how soon you'll be skimming all over creation," advised Nan, as she unfastened her friend's skates and saw her start stiffly up the path to the Lodge.
Her heart gave a bound as she realized that she was at last alone and untrammeled. She pulled her Russian cap well into place, thrust her hands deep into her pockets, and set out for the middle of the lake, her lithe young body swaying gently forward as she was carried this way and that by her gliding feet. She looked about for John, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she concluded that he had given up expecting her and had either gone home or joined other friends. Ruth was forging about after her own peculiar fashion, getting in every one's way and under every one's feet, and enjoying it all immensely. She was perfectly self-reliant, and Nan did not feel that there was any necessity of offering assistance or even companionship to such a self-sufficient, resolute maiden, and so she set about enjoying her independence with a clear conscience. A moment later she had forgotten everything but the keen delight of the delicious exercise; the fresh current of air upon her cheeks; the sense of flashing through space "without any appreciable effort; the knowledge of her mastery of the art. She had not a shadow of fear. Instead, she felt a sort of wild exultation in her own daring, and set about doing difficult feats with an added delight in the very risk of the thing. Suddenly a shadow shot toward her from the back, caught her by the arm and went flying forward, suiting his rhythm to hers in an instant.
"Oh! heyo, John! I thought you'd gone home!" said Nan.
"Not a bit of it. Think I'd leave the ice when it's as prime as this? Not much. What under the canopy have you been about all this time? Toting Lou Hawes around when you ought to be making the best of the rarest chance you'll get this season, maybe?"
"Oh, that's all right," rejoined Nan in a matter-of-fact way. "I liked to do it—for a change. And she's a little timid."
"Well now, you're free, let's have a couple of extra good turns just to make up for lost time," and he took her hand and started off on a fine, free swing, Nan gliding beside him in such perfect accord that it seemed as if one impulse moved them both. They swung apart rejoined, and swung apart again. Then, dropping her hand John gave a curving glide to the right which took him a pace ahead of her, and she, repeating his movement, but toward the left, passed easily before him on the other side, so on and on in a sort of progressive chain, until at a sign they sped backward, reversing the order in which they had come, and reached the starting point and circled round it, clasping crossed hands and chatting gayly the while.
John saw that they had already attracted some attention, and it only made his pulses quicken. He also saw that Nan was oblivious to everything, but the mere delight of what she was doing, and he did not think it worth while to remind her that this was not the Steamer, and that if she wished to be inconspicuous, as she had suggested, she would better limit herself strictly to a commonplace gait. Instead he bent toward her, and said in a quick, low undertone, "I'll bet a quarter you've forgotten how to cut your name."
"Oh, have I?" cried Nan, the spur pricking sharply at her pride. "Want to see me do it?" and off she went accordingly, accomplishing the difficult figure without a thought of hesitation, and returning to his side laughing and triumphant.
"Now the spiral! Forward! Left foot first! Now right! Combination!"
John gave the directions in a sort of tense whisper. He was mortally afraid Nan would become conscious, and see what was going on about her. But he might have spared himself the trouble. She was absolutely blind to the crowd that had gathered about them, and all the commendation she was aware of was that which he gave her in a murmured "Good!" or "Fine!"
A wide circle had been cleared for them, and in it they and one or two other hardy souls were exhibiting their prowess, while the throng outside whispered and applauded and made comments on the different skaters and their respective skill and grace.
"There! That's the serpentine he's doing now! Isn't it pretty?"
"It must be frightfully hard to go backward like that!"
"I should think he'd fall on his head!"
"Look! See! She's starting off again! Doesn't she do it well?"
"Who is she, anyway?"
Nan had completed her figure, and was waiting at the edge of the circle for John to finish his and to come and join her. She stood well back, so that she might not interfere with the others, and thus it was that she was waked from her trance with an abrupt shock by the sound of two whispering voices, seeming almost at her ear, their murmur carried so in the chill, crystal air.
"Didn't I tell you she was a bold thing?"
"Sh! She'll hear you! She's right in front of us—only those men between."
"No she won't, either. We're too far away. Didn't I tell you Lu's and Ruth's friendship was for one night only? I knew well enough why Lu asked her to come. Any one could see through that. She wants to learn how to skate, and this was as ready a way as any to be taught, and she jumps at the chance."
"Oh, do hush! She'll hear!"
"Don't care if she does. I don't know what your opinion is, but mine is that it's positively brazen of her to do such things before a crowd like this. Dragging John Gardiner into it, too! It's a disgrace!"
"Sh, please! There he comes!"
Nan pulled herself wearily forward a step or two to meet him.
"I say, what's up? What's the matter?" he demanded anxiously, looking into her face and seeing the change it had undergone.
"Nothing! Nothing!" she reassured him quickly. "I'm tired, that's all. And I didn't realize these people were watching us. Let's get out of this. I hate the way they stare. I want to go home."
John took her by the elbow and steered for the bank.
"Won't you find Grace and Louie first? You came with them, didn't you? They won't know what's become of you."
"I don't care! I want to go home!" she repeated irritably.
They sped forward silently, and in a moment had reached the shore. Nan trembled so as she tried to unfasten her skates that John pushed her hands aside and made her submit to having him assist her.
"You've caught cold!" he said remorsefully, "I was a brute to keep urging you on. But I didn't dream you were tired. You looked so bright and well."
"I'm not tired. I haven't caught cold!" said Nan. "Don't bother about me, please. Go back and finish up your skate!"
"Thank you kindly, ma'am," rejoined he, removing his own skates. "But I've finished it up already," and he grasped her arm and tramped her off in the direction of the Park entrance with vigorous steps.
"Won't Lou and Ruth wonder?" he ventured again after a moment of silence.
"No! They don't care!" cried Nan, dismally.
"The mischief they don't!" and John gave vent to an exclamation of disbelief. "Why, Ruth was only telling me half an hour ago how good and generous you were, and Louie caught me in the Lodge and went into regular spasms over you. You're the patientest, the generousest—everythingelse-est girl she knows. I had actually to tear myself away from her raptures when I saw that you were free of her and could take a turn with me."
Nan shook her head.
"No, you're wrong, John!" she said hopelessly. "They don't like me. None of them do. It's no use. I thought Christmas eve I might make them, perhaps—but I give it up. I'm too—different!"
"Now, see here, Nan!" cried John, stopping suddenly in the middle of the path and confronting her squarely, "this change of base has come on you all of a sudden. You weren't in such a state before. You've seen something or heard something that's given you a turn. Say now, haven't you, honestly?"
Nan gulped and nodded grimly.
"I thought so. Well, now, you say you're different from the other girls, and so you are in most ways, but just at present you're doing the silliest trick I know. Going off by yourself and making people miserable all around. Do you know what a fellow would do in your place? Why, he'd go straight to the man he'd heard or seen back-biting him and he'd make him come out fair and square and own up—or shut up. 'You pays your money and you takes your choice.' That's what a fellow would do. But girls prefer to be martyrs and go about 'letting concealment prey upon their damask cheeks' and all that namby-pamby nonsense. Pshaw! I wouldn't give a rush for a girl's courage. It's all humbug."
"It isn't any such thing!" cried Nan, hastening to defend her sex. "It isn't because I'm afraid that I don't go straight up to the—the person. It's because I have too much pride. I wouldn't demean myself by letting her know I care."
"Oh, fudge! Pride! I like that! Care? Why, whoever she is, she can see that, anyhow, with half an eye. It's as plain as preaching. You came with Lu and Ruth, and were as gay and jolly as could be. Then, all of a sudden, you turn grumpy and want to go home, and say Lu and Ruth don't like you. The explanation of that is simple enough. You've heard some one saying something about you, or pretending to repeat something Lu and Ruth have said about you. There! Now haven't I hit the nail on the head?"
Nan made no reply.
"I wager I have, though," continued the young fellow, watching her closely, and drawing many of his conclusions from the evidence of her tell-tale face. "And I'd be ashamed, even if I were a girl, to let myself be worried by a thing like that. Besides, it isn't fair to Lu and Ruth. You ought to give them a chance to set themselves straight. You've no right to believe things of them till you've their own word for it that it's true. Give them a chance, and if they act queer you can throw them over."
"But I can't ask them," burst out Nan. "It wasn't anything they said. It was about the way they feel, and if I give them a chance they may throw me over."
John laughed. "True for you. They may. But anyway, you'd have done the just thing. Whatever they did to you, you'd have played fair."
Nan thought a moment. Suddenly she turned on her heel and began to retrace her steps. "I'm going back," she said, stoutly, "to find Lu and Ruth! and—and—give them that chance."
"There! Now you're behaving like an honest man," announced John, with gusto. "One can't afford to be too perpendicular."
But before they had taken a dozen steps they came upon the two girls themselves, running breathlessly toward them.
"O Nan!" panted Louie. "What is the matter? Are you sick? Are you hurt? We couldn't find you anywhere!"
"We looked all over and got terribly nervous, and at last Mary Brewster told us you had gone home," Ruth broke in, gaspingly.
"She said John had taken you, and that you kind of walked as if you were dizzy or something. We've run all the way! Do say, are you sick?" pleaded Louie.
"Or hurt?" articulated Ruth.
John and Nan regarded each other solemnly for a moment. Then they both broke into a peal of laughter. Nan was the first to speak.
"No, I'm not sick and I wasn't hurt—the way you mean. I was a goose—that's all. I want you to forgive me."
"What for?" demanded the girls, in a breath.
"Why, for—for—making you run after me," replied Nan.
"Let's go back after luncheon," suggested Ruth as they tramped homeward.
The others assented heartily enough, and Nan was so eager to return to her sport that she did not wait for Delia to let her in at the upper door, but burst through the basement way, and ran against Miss Blake in the lower hall.
"Oh, excuse me!" she panted. "We've had a glorious time. We're going out again. Please may I have a bite of something quick, so I can run? We want to make the most of the daylight, and Lu can almost go alone."
"Certainly. Delia has everything on the table. But won't you want to run upstairs and give your face and hands a little scrub?"
Nan's forehead wrinkled, and she was on the point of uttering an exclamation of disgust. But she caught herself up, and pressing her lips together hard, flew upstairs without a word of protest. She finished her luncheon in marvelously quick time.
"If you wish to go you may be excused," her companion announced, as the last crumb was swallowed. A gleam of surprise lit upon Nan's face.
"Thank you," she said, and went her way feeling more contented with herself than she had done in many a long day.
It was late when she returned, and not finding Miss Blake in any other part of the house, she went to the governess' room and tapped on the door for admittance, a thing she had never done before, from pure perversity and a determination not to "let any person suppose she cared to see them when she didn't have to."
Miss Blake herself opened the door to her and invited her to "step into her parlor," most cordially, adding:
"I'm just having my afternoon tea. Won't you take a cup with me?"
At first Nan could scarcely find voice to reply, so strange did she feel in this altered room. When she had last seen it it was bare and cold and comfortless, and now—
The windows were draped with inner curtains of dainty Swiss. Hangings of some soft, pale green stuff hung before them and in all the doorways. The bed was shoved into a far corner of the room, and where it had once been, against the wall, a low bookcase now stood, displaying rows of tempting books upon its well-laden shelves, and above them delicate bits of bric-à-brac. A rug covered the centre of the floor. The ugly mantel-shelf was hidden from sight by an Oriental scarf, and upon it stood all manner of odd and curious trifles. The shabby lounge was covered by a fine old rug and piled with cushions, while beside it stood the quaint stand and brass tray that Nan had feasted from when her foot was lame; only now it held a brightly burnished alcohol kettle, out of which steam was issuing in the most hospitable fashion possible. Here also were dainty cups and saucers, and here it was that Miss Blake brewed her tea after she had led her guest to a chair and helped her remove her cap and coat with all the solicitude of a veritable hostess.
"Well, how has the day gone?" asked she, trying not to betray her amusement at Nan's obvious amazement.
"Oh, finely! We had a jolly good time. Lu can go alone now. John and I took her out and simply made her skate. Ruth goes floundering about like a seal, and every one laughs at her, but she's so good-natured she doesn't mind, and one can't help liking her. Such a funny thing happened.
"We were standing still for a minute waiting for Lu to catch her breath, and all at once we saw Ruth coming galloping toward us in her ridiculous way. A big, fat man was skating in the other direction, but nowhere near her, and we didn't notice him particularly till she veered suddenly off and crashed straight into him, without any excuse at all, just hurled into him plump, and bowled him square over. It was the most deliberate thing I ever saw. She had gone out of her way to do it, but, of course, she didn't mean to. They both went crashing down with such a thump I thought it would break the ice, and as he went over he said: 'Good gracious!' in the mildest, funniest voice you ever heard. John hurried off and helped him up, and I got Ruth on her feet again, all covered with snow, and as mortified as could be, but choking with laughter. The man looked worried, and we asked him if he was hurt. He said, 'No! Oh, no indeed!' and then he turned to Ruth with the most embarrassed sort of apologetic smile—just as if he had been to blame.
"'I'm so sorry!' he stammered. 'It is the strangest thing how it could have occurred. I thought you were over there. I really thought I was in no one's way. Oh, would you mind telling me—a—what I said when I—a—fell?'
"Lu was swallowing her pocket-handkerchief to keep from laughing out, and I know I was grinning.
"Why, I think you said, 'Good gracious!'" said Ruth, shakily.
"'Oh, thank, you!' the man cried, looking ever so much relieved. 'I thought I said 'Good gracious,' but I—I wasn't sure. I'm very glad!' and he shambled off as if he were lamed for life, poor thing, while Ruth and Lu and John and I simply rocked with laughter. And now when anything happens John says 'Good gracious!' in the mildest tone, and then goes on, 'What did I say? Oh, thank you. I thought I said "Good gracious," but I wasn't sure!'" and Nan broke into a chuckle at the mere recollection of the thing. Miss Blake laughed in sympathy, and she and Nan drank their tea and nibbled their wafers in the most amicable fashion possible, talking over, not alone the pleasant experiences, but also that which had threatened to spoil Nan's day, the remembrance of which made her shudder even now.
She repeated the incident to Miss Blake, concluding with:
"I don't care what they think!"
"John was right," declared Miss Blake, "and you did what was brave and just. But don't give up trying to win Mary's and Grace's good opinion, Nan. I want you to be respected and loved, and you can be, if you will only be as true to yourself as you are to your friends. You were not satisfied to let Lu and Ruth rest under a false accusation this morning. Neither should you be satisfied to let yourself. Prove to Mary and Grace that you are neither bold nor brazen. Force them to see that you are kind and lovable and courageous."
"Oh, dear! How can I?" despaired Nan.
"Why, simply by being so," declared Miss Blake.
Nan fell silent, and then, when Miss Blake was just beginning to wonder what new caprice her guest had fallen victim to, she broke out impetuously:
"Oh, I say Miss Blake! it is just festive in here. I never saw anything that began to be so pretty."
It was genuine praise, and Miss Blake really flushed with gratification as she replied:
"Thank you, Nan. I think myself it is cozy, and I am very happy if my little nest pleases you. It is a very simple one. I am my own upholsterer and my own decorator, so I have a special reason to value any praise of my small domain. You must come often if you like it here, for I love to play hostess to so appreciative a guest!"
Nan settled back among the cushions with a contented sigh.
"I wish," she said presently, "I wish the rest of the house looked this way."
"If you really would like to make some changes, Nan, I will do my best. What there is in the house is good and substantial, and with a little alteration could be made to serve very well."
Nan looked up eagerly.
"Oh, let's try and fix up the house, for father's coming home. Mr. Turner will give us some money to pay for repairs, I guess—he always does when pipes burst and things. Won't it be jolly to watch father's face when he comes in and sees it all so pretty here? Poor old papa! Mr. Turner says he may come in the fall, and so we'll have all the summer to work and plan in, and then when he's here, won't we have a jubilation, Miss Blake?"
The governess stooped to pick up a pin, and she did not reply. Then she rose and carried the tea-cups and plates to the washstand, where she began rinsing them carefully.
"When your father comes home I shall not be here, you know," she said simply; "but you will be very happy together, and I am sure he would enjoy a pretty home!"
The radiance in Nan's face faded suddenly. The same dull pain was at her heart that she had felt and shrunk from yesterday. Only now it did not pass away, and all the evening she seemed to be haunted by a peculiar sense of impending misfortune. It was as though she had been reminded of some unhappy occasion that she had tried to forget. Every once in a while after that, when she saw Miss Blake laboriously toiling to renovate some dilapidated piece of furniture, or heard her discussing with Delia the remaining possibilities of this carpet or that pair of curtains, she felt an almost uncontrollable desire to cry out—so sharp was the sudden sting of regret that bit at her conscience—and so keen the pain that pierced her heart.
Miss Blake left her to enjoy her holidays in perfect freedom, but as soon as they were spent the books were brought out again and lessons resumed as strictly as if the discipline of an entire school depended on it.
But study had grown to have no terrors for Nan, and she was not at all aware of the thorough course she was being put through, because it was all accomplished in such an unobtrusive fashion. Miss Blake had a system of her own which she put into practice, and the girl followed her unconsciously with an interest that showed how wise an one it was. Latin and mathematics proved the most troublesome of the tasks, and would perhaps have led to some serious differences of opinion if Miss Blake had not confessed herself at the start "rusty" in these particular branches and suggested that they "go over them together."
"I really never was very strong in either of them, and it will do me good to review," she explained.
So, spurred on by the thought of competition, Nan did her best; went through the declensions with a rush, and quite outstripped her fellow-student in the matter of algebraic problems.
History was always simple enough with Miss Blake to make it seem like the most dramatic of romances, and the girl discovered a fresh interest in the Roman heroes when the scenes of their exploits was so graphically described to her, and when she could build up the ancient city for herself by the aid of Miss Blake's admirable photographs of the present.
"It seems to me you have done more traveling than any one I ever knew!" exclaimed the girl for the hundredth time one day.
"It has been all I had to do," rejoined the governess wistfully. "For many, many years I have had nothing else. But now all that is changed, and—as it is half-past one, and I hear Delia coming up to announce luncheon, I'll dismiss my class, and declare school over for to-day."
"That is always the way," mused Nan, "whenever I refer to her and try to start her telling about herself she veers off and talks of something else. Queer about her traveling so much, though. I wonder how she came to do it—when she's so poor. She never said straight out she was some one's companion, and I don't think a governess would be taken all over the globe like that."
While the ice lasted Nan had many a good hour upon her skates. Miss Blake too donned hers, and at these times the tables were turned and Nan became the patient teacher, the governess the obedient pupil.
"My ankles are weak," pleaded the pupil in apology for persistent failure.
"Exercise 'em and they'll grow strong!" declared the intrepid instructor in peremptory tones.
"It's no use, I can't reverse, Nan!"
"Pooh! 'Never say can't till you've proved that the task is impossible,'" quoted Nan, with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
"You're real mean, so there!" responded Miss Blake in return with such a good imitation of her own querulous tone that the girl burst into a shout of laughter, and the two started off again to make another, perhaps futile attempt, at the difficult feat, until, by the latter part of the winter, Miss Blake acquitted herself so creditably that her teacher regarded her with pardonable pride, and declared,
"There, now! You ought to be 'all primmed up with majestick pride.' You skate as well as anybody now, and you've got rid of every particle of nervousness."
There were many things beside skating that the governess set herself to accomplish during these months, and Mrs. Newton often took her to task for working so hard.
"You are beginning to look completely fagged. Do let the house go. What do you fret over it for? If Nan wants alterations, why not let Mr. Turner engage competent people to do the work? You have responsibility enough without planning and overseeing all these improvements."
But Miss Blake only shook her obstinate little head and continued to discuss ways and means with Mr. Turner and Delia and to direct the workmen, who presently took possession of the house, and made it seem like a Bedlam into which order could never be restored.
"Oh, that's fine!" cried Nan, clapping her hands when she heard of the governess' plans. "That hall closet was no good anyhow. Delia only kept her brooms and dust-cloths there, and it's just the place for a dumb-waiter. But if we turn the library into a dining-room, what are you going to do with the books?"
"The best of them can be put on low shelves along the parlor walls, and we'll take the rest upstairs and make a sort of cozy study of the front room for your father."
"Splendid!" cried Nan.
For weeks the place was in a turmoil. Carpets were taken up, some of them never to go down again, curtains were unhung, cleaned and folded carefully away, and when the coast was clear the work of remodelling began in earnest.
It seemed to Nan as if it would never come to an end, but little by little things began to assume a more promising aspect, and at length the last lingering workman dragged himself reluctantly away, and then Delia descended upon the place, armed with scrubbing-brush and pail, and waged a mighty war upon every spot of dust or paint anywhere to be found.
The parlor had been freshly papered, and its walls no longer frowned gloomily down upon the inoffensive guest, but seemed to cast a faint, rosy smile at the redecorated hall and the new dining-room beyond. Miss Blake stripped away every vestige of tarletan, and let the fine oil paintings display themselves unveiled to the public eye.
"We can have the windows screened if we are afraid of flies," she said as she folded away the unsightly shrouds, and Delia echoed, "Why, so we can!" in the promptest assent, and as though it had been her own idea all along.
The draperies were of the simplest sort, but Nan thought them perfection. She fairly danced with delight as she fancied her father's face when he should see his altered home. He would never recognize in this attractive, tasteful room the old, gloomy parlor of former days.
The furniture was drawn out of its martial line and placed here and there in inviting positions by loving, artful hands. Various pieces were banished altogether, and where this chair or that had grown shabby Miss Blake renewed its usefulness by covering it over with some odd material that harmonized nicely with the old-fashioned shape of the frame and the tone of the rest of the room.
A simple fireplace had been set in the blind chimney-piece, in which were placed grandma's graceful andirons, buried so long in the attic that Nan had never seen them, while the old mantel-shelf in the library was torn out altogether and a stately new one put in its stead, and in this too was a place for wood and fire-dogs. The two French windows leading into the glass extension were transformed into doorways, and gave pleasant vistas of a blooming conservatory, into which the south sun shone genially the best part of the day.
Louie and Ruth came in on a special visit of inspection when the work was all completed, and it did not detract from Nan's enjoyment to hear them say that they thought the house one of the prettiest they had ever seen.
"It has such a fresh, comfortable look," exclaimed Louie.
"As if you lived in every part of it and enjoyed it yourself, and wanted other people to enjoy it with you," added Ruth.
"So we do," declared Nan; "that's just what we do. Isn't it, Miss Blake?"
And Miss Blake nodded a smiling assent, though she knew quite well that until very lately Nan had never thought about the matter at all. She had taken her home for granted, and it never had occurred to her to try to improve it in any wise. But the governess had had more in mind than the mere indulging of the girl's fancy when she set about rearranging the place. As in most of her characteristic schemes there was "a method in her madness." Nan soon discovered that a dainty home brought its obligations with it.
"Do you notice," said Miss Blake one day, "that since the household arrangements have been altered there has been a good deal more work to be done?"
"Why, I don't know," rejoined Nan; "why should there be?"
"Because all these bits of bric-à-brac we have set about must be dusted every day, and because throwing the parlor open, as we do, makes another room to look after. Then the plants in the conservatory should be carefully tended if we want them to live, and Delia has to take double the steps she used to take when we ate in the basement. Really, Nan, as things stand, I feel the work is going to be too hard for her."
"Dear me! Whatever are we going to do?" demanded the girl anxiously.
"Simply, she must have help."
"You mean another servant?"
"No, not that. I cannot increase the household expenses in such a way without your father's knowledge and approval. What we have done now is almost more than I dare think of. My only comfort is that it has come out of your money."
Nan gave a start. "My money!" she exclaimed. "Why, I never knew I had any. Goodness! tell me about it."
"There is nothing to tell. Simply, some one who owed your mother a debt and was unable to discharge it during her lifetime, has paid in a certain part of it to Mr. Turner for your benefit—or so he tells me. Both he and I thought it wise to use it in this way. The house is virtually yours, and unless you improve it from time to time it will decrease in value. We both felt that since you wished it, and since it might be looked upon in the light of protecting your property, we might safely lay out the money as we have done without first consulting your father."
"Oh, I'm glad," cried Nan. "I didn't want him to know. It'll be all the bigger surprise to him when he comes home. But what are we going to do about Delia?"
"That is what I want you to tell me," rejoined Miss Blake.
"I?" queried the girl. "Why, I'm sure I don't know what we can do, unless we hire another girl—and you say father can't afford that."
"Now, Nan, listen to me," said Miss Blake, seriously, drawing her chair to the girl's, and emphasizing her words by laying her hand upon hers and tapping it gently whenever a point was made. "Let us put the matter quite plainly, and see if we can't come to a conclusion that will both help Delia and save us the trouble of engaging another maid. One pair of hands can't do the work in this house! You admit that?"
"Yes; I s'pose so," conceded Nan.
"Well then, obviously, we must secure the aid of another pair—perhaps even two."
"Uh-huh!" assented the girl cheerfully enough.
"Not only that, we must secure the aid of another pair, if not two, at no additional expense to your father."
Here Nan's head began to drop. "That's what floors me," she responded perplexedly. "The rest is easy enough to settle; but how in the world we are going to get people to work for us for nothing—"
"What are those things in your lap, Nan?" asked the governess suddenly with a quick smile and an extra tap of the finger on the girl's palm.
"My hands, of course."
"Why shouldn't they be the pair we need? I cordially offer the use of mine."
"Oh!"
Nan's face was rather blank. "I hate housework," she added, and her mouth drew down at the corners in a pout of petulance.
"I doubt if any one really cares for it. But it must be done, and in this case you and I must consent to do it, at least in part. Now that you have looked the facts in the face, let us say no more about it, after we have settled just what we prefer to do. I have always taken care of my own room. Will you see to yours after this?"
"I s'pose so.
"Then there is the dusting and the plants."
"I'll take the plants," Nan hastened to declare.
"And the dishes on Mondays and Tuesdays?" continued Miss Blake.
There was a pause.
"If there's one thing I despise it's washing dishes," cried the girl, her voice trembling with irritation.
The governess looked down at her own two delicate little hands and seemed to be considering. Then she raised her head quickly, and said, without a shade of resentment in her voice:
"Very well then, dear, I'll take the dishes. So here is the way it stands: You care for the plants and your own room and I'll look after my room and do the dusting and the dishes."
"You'll have more to do than I," hesitated Nan.
"No matter; if you do your share well, and don't neglect it, I am willing to stand by my part. Is it a bargain?"
Nan nodded grimly, and they shook hands upon it.