CHAPTER XVIITHE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN
Yes, it was a man digging in the ground. The quivering, yellowish glare from a torch that had been stuck in the ground by his side—as it flickered and flared, sometimes almost extinguished by the night air, and then suddenly blazing to a vivid flame—silhouetted his form in sharp outline against the high rock by which he was standing.
As the girl’s eyes dilated in puzzled wonder as to who the man was, and why he was digging in the woods at this hour of the night, a queer, odd quiver, or twitching of his head at times, as he bent over the spade, aroused within her a vague consciousness that she had seen some one before who had that same peculiar motion.
Tige, the little yellow dog crouching at their feet, at this moment gave a low growl, a warning that he might betray their presence. Nathalie, quickly pushing Jean from her lap, grabbed the dog, and snuggled him close to smother the growl, afraid that the man would discover that he had been seen. Assailed by a nameless fear, she seized Jean’s hand and pushed onup the incline, stepping cautiously, almost noiselessly, on the fallen leaves and stones, ever and anon glancing back, as if fearful that the man would pursue them.
Recalled to herself at Jean’s wide, frightened eyes, and the tremor of his slight form, she whispered with assumed courage, “Oh, I guess the man is only burying some dead animal, or something of that kind up here in the woods.” Nevertheless she was almost as frightened as the child, and was devoutly thankful when they reached a little clearing nearer the top, where the moon shone down with the brightness of day.
Yes, it would be about here that Sheila would come, for it was not far from the jutting rock where they had seen such beautiful views that morning. With keen eyes the girl peered around, but only craggy rocks, scrubby bushes, tree-stumps—weird black objects in the moonlight—here and there, backed by a forest of heavily-branched trees met her gaze. Oh! what was that tiny glimmer of light over by the tree yonder? Was it a light held by the man who had been digging, and who was perhaps watching them from behind the tree?
Nathalie’s heart gave a wild leap, again shaken by that nameless fear, and then, to her intense relief, she saw that the light came from the little log cabin the children had found that morning in prowling about the clearing. Yes, some one must live there. Butsuppose it should be the man they had seen? Ah, they would hurry on, and gripping Jean’s hand in a closer pressure, she started forward. But no; Jean stood obstinately still, with low-bent head, as if listening.
What was it? Oh, it was a noise,—a low sound like a moan. Could it be Sheila? Was she lying somewhere there in the woods? Why, it sounded as if it came from the little cabin! Nathalie’s head went up as she peered resolutely through the gloom. No, she would not allow her foolish fear to master her. She would go forward and see what it was—perhaps. A moment or so later the girl, still frenziedly clinging to the little boy’s hand, her heart leaping with anxious agitation and nervous fear, tapped loudly on one of the log posts of the open doorway, which was hung with what appeared to be a large dark-colored shawl that waved dismally in the wind. Almost immediately, in answer to her rap, the shawl was pushed hastily aside and a man stood in the doorway.
From the weird red gleam of a lantern that hung from the center of the cabin, Nathalie perceived that the man was young, with a strange pallor on his lean, brown face, which was lighted by large, densely black eyes, that were peering down at her from beneath a tangle of soft, wavy black hair.
Inwardly quaking, but determined not to show her fear, Nathalie inquired, “Have you seen anything of a little girl about?” Without answering, the manturned and was pointing towards a log couch built up against the wall, spread with an old army-coat. Nathalie gave a hurried glance, and then made a wild rush forward, for the little form lying so strangely still on the coat was Sheila!
But the man’s hand stayed her as he said in a low, but pleasant-sounding voice, “Sh-sh! I would not awaken her. Poor little thing, she cried herself to sleep.” He then briefly explained how he had been awakened by the low whimpering of a child, and, on going out to the clearing, had found her sitting on a rock, crying piteously for the fairies to come and get her. He was moved to question her, and then, by a little coaxing, and the explanation that the fairies had all gone back to fairyland, as it was long after midnight, he had coaxed the child into the cabin, and finally she had fallen asleep. As Nathalie bent over her in anxious solicitude she saw the undried tears still on her lashes, while low, whimpering moans—the sounds that had arrested her attention—came at intervals from between the soft, red lips.
As the girl pondered as to how she was to get Sheila home, Danny’s policeman’s whistle, as he called it, followed by Janet’s shrill “hoo-hooing,” announced that the rest of the party of searchers had arrived. In a short space they were all in the little cabin, animatedly discussing how to carry the little girl down the mountain. Danny, meanwhile, had hastened to the couchand was down on his knees, softly kissing the little hand thrown over the side, in the abandon of sleep, while the young man stood at one side, quietly watching the little group.
It was soon decided, at his suggestion, that they leave the little girl there in the cabin with Danny until morning, when there would be more light to get her down the mountain. This difficulty settled, with relieved hearts they were about to set forth on their return journey down the trail, when Nathalie, whose eyes had been wandering about the rustic hut, cried, “But do you live here all alone up on this mountain?”
The young man’s eyes lighted. “Why, yes, I live alone up here. It is not much of a summer-resort,” he said, with a rarely winning smile. “Still it answers my purpose, for I am guaranteed plenty of pure air. I am an English soldier,” he volunteered somewhat slowly, “and have recently come over here from England. I was wounded,—” he glanced down at his arm with its gloved hand, and which Janet had been eying rather sharply, for it hung down in a strangely stiff way,—“and I thought the mountains would benefit me. But I am very glad I found the child,” he broke off abruptly, as if he had been revealing something he did not care to talk about. “I hope she will be none the worse for her adventure,” he continued kindly, “even if she failed to find the fairies.” Nathalie had explained how the child had come to wander away.
Nathalie bent over in anxious solicitude.—Page259.
Nathalie bent over in anxious solicitude.—Page259.
Nathalie bent over in anxious solicitude.—Page259.
Early the next morning Danny and Sheila appeared, the little girl now quite wide-awake, but she grew very shamefaced when Mrs. Page scolded her gently for giving them such a fright, dwelling upon the deep anxiety she had caused Miss Natty, when she had been so good to her, too. The tears came into the brown eyes at this rebuke, and, impulsively running to the girl, she protested with a stifled sob that she would not run after any more fairies.
Of course Nathalie had to kiss the woeful little damsel, but perceiving that the auspicious moment had arrived to impress her with a fact that she should know, she took her out on the porch, and then gravely and carefully made clear to the little mind that there were no fairies, but just beautiful fancies that existed in the brains of people, who put them in stories so as to make them interesting to children.
But Danny, apparently greatly distressed, now drew Nathalie to one side, and confided to her that he believed that the young man must be hungry and very poor, for there seemed to be no food in the cabin. And he had heard him mutter,—when he thought the boy was asleep,—as he counted some loose change he had taken from his pocket and thrown on the table, “Well, that won’t get much food.” And then he had sat very quiet for a long time, as if thinking.
Nathalie immediately rushed to impart this news to her mother, with the result that, a half-hour later,Danny and Tony, each with a basket filled with food, started up the mountain-trail. In his pocket Danny carried a note written by Mrs. Page, in which she not only thanked the young man again for his kindness to Sheila, but made it clear that the food came from the child, a thank offering to him, and that she hoped he would find it acceptable, as she knew that it must be a difficult matter to obtain much food up there on the mountain top.
Some time later the two boys returned in a state of great excitement. They claimed that they had found the young man asleep on the couch, and although they had tried to awaken him, and had “hollered and hollered right into his ear,” as Danny expressed it, he had not even stirred. The faces of the listeners grew grave as they heard this, and Janet, with a sudden sharp exclamation, turned and rushed up-stairs, to reappear in a moment with a medicine-case and her hat. Her training as a district nurse was now to be put to a real test. “I just believe that boy has been starved to death,” she ejaculated, her blue eyes luminous with sympathy, “for I could see by the look of him last night that he was in a bad way.”
Of course Nathalie would not let Janet go alone, and so the two girls and the boys again hurried up the mountain to the cabin, where they found the young man not dead, as Nathalie had vaguely feared, but in a state of unconsciousness. Under Janet’s able ministrationshe was finally brought to, and after Nathalie had warmed some broth—Danny had made a fire in the open—it was gently fed to him by Janet. As Nathalie watched her, she opened her eyes in amazement at the girl’s deftness and gentleness in handling her charge, for this indeed was a new phase of her cousin’s character.
Won by the girls’ sympathy and interest, Philip de Brie—as that proved to be the young man’s name—said he had been wounded at the battle of Loos, and then wounded again and taken a prisoner at the battle of the Somme. After many months, under most harrowing circumstances, he had made his escape, and finally reached England, only to find that his mother had died in the meantime. “As I was alone,” there was a perceptible quiver in his voice,—“my father had died when I was a lad,—I decided to come over here.
“My father was an American,” he continued. “I was born in America, and, as I knew that I had a grandmother living here, now my only relative, I felt that I wanted to see her. But I found that she, too, had died,” the young man’s eyes saddened, “and, well, once up on these grand old mountains, somehow I wanted to stay, they seemed so restful after the nerve-shocked life of a battle-field and my prison experience. I found this old shack up here one day in wandering about, and, after finding its owner, hired it for thesummer. You see, my arm was bayoneted by a German,” his mouth set in a hard line, “and was never properly treated in the German camp. Sometimes I fear I will lose it altogether. But you have been very kind to me—I shall get along now.” He attempted to rise, but Janet, forcing him back, insisted upon ripping open the sleeve covering the bayoneted arm, notwithstanding his protests, and here she found a condition that made her eyes grow very grave.
After cleaning the wound and applying what remedies she had on hand, she rebandaged the arm, which made the patient feel much better, he affirmed. After giving him a soothing draught, and fixing him as comfortably as she could with the meager bed-clothing in the cabin, so he could sleep, she and Nathalie withdrew outside.
Under the trees the two girls sat and discussed the situation with much perplexity, for Janet maintained that it was a serious case,—that the young man’s temperature was not only rising, but that his arm needed a surgeon’s care. But what were they to do? And the girls’ eyes grew tragically grave as they realized that the young man was an object of much solicitude, alone and ill in a strange country, and evidently without any means.
It was finally decided that they take turns in caring for him, with the help of Danny, who was not only sympathetically interested, but who was quite a handyman in many ways. He said he had learned to care for Sheila, and for the old woman whom he called his nurse, who had cared for them, and who was not only very aged, but miserably ill for some time before she died.
But the next morning, unfortunately,—Janet and Danny had remained during the night,—the patient’s condition was worse and Janet, with tears in her eyes, besought Nathalie to go to the village and see if she could get help.
As the girl hurried down the trail her mind was active. Oh, she did hate to make the young man a public charge, as he looked so refined, and had such a noble, winning way with him. And he was a soldier, too; yes, a “Son of Liberty,” as she confided to Tony, who was by her side. For had he not been fighting in France to give liberty to the world? “Why, there isn’t anything too good for him,” lamented the girl, “and yet there he is up there alone, perhaps at the point of death for want of proper care.” And yet where was she to get the money to call a physician, and where could she find one, were perplexing questions.
As these thoughts ran rapidly through the girl’s brain, sometimes spoken aloud in her stress, inspired perhaps by Tony’s unspoken sympathy, as he gently patted her hand, she caught her breath quickly, and a bright flash illumined her eyes.
“Yes, I will do it,” she muttered aloud, absent-mindedly returning the boy’s caresses. “I will take the money. I was saving it. O dear!” Nathalie almost wailed, “shall I ever be able to save even asoutowards going to college? Well, it can’t be helped. I’ll just have to take it and see if I can’t get some one to tell me where I can get a physician.”
Hurrying into the house, Nathalie informed her mother as to the patient’s condition, and then told that she intended taking the money she had saved and call a doctor. Mrs. Page kissed the girl softly with troubled eyes, saying gently, “Never mind, Nathalie, you are investing your money at a greater per cent of interest in giving it to this unknown stranger, than if you used it for yourself. And then, who knows, dear? Something may turn up some day——”
“Oh no,” cried Blue Robin in a discouraged voice, “nothingwill ever turn up.” And then, with a feeble smile, she cried, “But, as you often say, mumsie, things are foreordained, and so perhaps it wouldn’t be for my good to have my wish. And then, anyway, I shall have the satisfaction,” the brown eyes were sparkling again, “of knowing that the ‘drop in the bucket,’ is going to do some good to some one.”
After finding Sam, who was rarely ill and could give her no information as to where to get a physician unless it was at Littleton, she started for the village. As she passed the little red house she ran in for amoment to tell Mrs. Carney about the man in the cabin, as she had become much interested in the young man’s story. The queer old lady and the girl had become very good friends since that visit with the children, for Nathalie had learned that the sometimes sharp gray eyes covered a kindly nature, notwithstanding the old lady’s brusque, queer ways.
“Yes, it just breaks my heart to take my college money,” she dolefully confided. Then, half-ashamed of her repining, she tried to explain how college had been the dream of her life, and how many times she had been disappointed. A kindly gleam in Mrs. Carney’s eyes, however, assured her that the old lady understood how she felt, and after a hurried good-by she was on her way to the post-office.
Nathalie feared she was going to get no more information here than what Sam had imparted, when suddenly a lady, who had been standing near, and who had been interested in her story, informed her that there was a famous surgeon from New York up at the Sunset Hill House, and that possibly she could get him.
Thanking her warmly, the girl hurried up the board walk to the hotel,—the children tagging on behind her,—feeling extremely nervous as she realized her boldness in asking a big physician, who had probably come to the mountains for a rest, to be bothered with a poor patient. And then, too, who knew what terribly high prices he might ask for his services? Nathaliebegan to feel that her “drop in the bucket” might not prove of any help after all.
But, bracing to the ordeal, she told the children to wait at the little Observation Tower, as she called it, in front of the hotel, and hurried to the office. She had just nervously cleared her throat to question the clerk when the sudden cry, “Oh, Nathalie! Nathalie! where did you come from?” caused her to swing about. The next moment Nita Van Vorst had her arms about her, and was hugging and kissing her excitedly, while her mother stood by with pleased, shining eyes.
After a hearty greeting from Mrs. Van Vorst, Nathalie cried laughingly, although the sudden revulsion from nervous anxiety had brought tears to her eyes, “Oh, where did you come from, and when did you get here?”
“We arrived last night,” replied Nita, bubbling over with delight at being with her friend again. “Our coming here is a surprisefor you, and we were just going to see if we could get some information as to where Seven Pillars was, so as to motor there.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, and now you can see my boys!” And then, after Mrs. Van Vorst had led them into one of the little side-rooms opening from the long hall, where they could converse without being heard, she told all about her boys,—Sheila, the boy-girl, as she called her, the good times they were all having, and about the young man who was lying soill up on the mountain, and what had brought her to the hotel. “I am so nervous,” sighed the girl, as she finished her story, “for I don’t know this big man, and I dread to speak with him, for fear he will be brusque and sharp with me, butsomethingmust be done for that poor soldier boy.”
“Excuse me a moment,” exclaimed Mrs. Van Vorst after she had conversed a while; “I want to go and see if I have any mail.” But, to Nathalie’s surprise, she did not go in the direction of the desk, but hurried after a tall, rather stout gentleman who at that moment passed through the hall.
But the little incident was forgotten, as Nathalie and Nita had so much to say to one another that they both talked at once, as if their tongues were hung in the middle. Nita insisted that her friend would have to remain to dinner with her, as she had so much news to tell, especially about the Liberty Girls, that it would take hours to tell it.
In the midst of these many bits of enjoyed information, Nita’s mother returned, and Nathalie in a moment was dazedly bowing to the tall gentleman, whom her friend presented as Dr. Gilmour. “He is the surgeon, Nathalie,” she added smilingly, “whom you came after. As he is a very old friend of mine, and a good American to boot,” she nodded at the gentleman, “he has consented to go with you up the mountain to see your Son of Liberty, as you call him.”
“Oh, I am so glad! I am so glad!” burst from the girl with a joy-thrilled voice. “And, oh, I thank you so much; it is so kind of you,” she added with misty eyes, turning impulsively towards the physician.
But the big man, with an amused smile in his keen gray eyes, patted her on the shoulder as he said, “My little lady, I think that every true American should stand ready to do anything to help any man, or boy, who has been brave enough to face those fiendish Huns.”
“Oh, I think so, too,” cried the relieved girl, a wave of color flushing her cheeks, “and I think it must have been that thought that gave me the courage to come and ask you.”
“Oh, isn’t it just dandy!” enthused Nita, as Dr. Gilmour hurried away to get his little black case, while Nathalie led her friend down the steps of the veranda to where three little figures sat patiently waiting for her on the tower-steps.
But the girl’s eyes widened as she suddenly perceived that they were not alone, for a brown-clad figure with soldierly bearing, but with a golf-bag slung over his shoulder, with one foot on the steps, was bending down and talking to the children. And then a sudden thrill stirred her as she recognized the soldier lad who had helped her down the foot-bridge that day at the Flume, and who had so kindly taken Jean to see the cascade.
As Nathalie reached the children, she became embarrassed, as she suddenly realized that she did not know the name of the young soldier. But her embarrassment was momentary, as Nita called out merrily, “Hello, Van. Isthatwhat you are doing, making love to the kiddies? I thought you were going to play golf.”
“That was my intention,” replied the boy, straightening up and lifting his hat, and then his dark blue eyes brightened quickly, as he perceived Nita’s companion.
Nathalie was now introduced to Mr. Van Darrell, the son of a friend of Nita’s mother, and then the little group were chatting merrily as they waited for Dr. Gilmour, and Mrs. Van Vorst, who had gone to order the car to take them to the foot of the Trail that led to the top of Garnet Mountain.
All at once young Darrell turned towards Nathalie as he said, “But, Miss Page, have we not met before? Were you not one of the girls at Camp Mills one day last month, who asked a party of us if we did not want some cherries? And then, if I remember rightly, we all helped you to gather up the fruit after you had knocked the basket from the car.”
“Oh, yes, I remember you,” dimpled Nathalie. “No, not when I met you that day at the Flume, although your face haunted me as being familiar, but it all came to me on the ride home.”
“But I knew you right away,” said the boy half shyly, “although I did not like to make myself known, for, of course, I did not even know your name.”
“Or I yours,” laughed Nathalie. And then, with her mind filled with thoughts of the young English soldier, she told his story to Mr. Darrell, who immediately became so interested in Tommy Atkins, as he called him, that he begged Nathalie to let him go with her, quite assured, he declared, that he could be of some assistance to him.
Before the girl could reply a new voice suddenly shrilled, “Oh, Nathalie, how do you do? Did you come up here to call on us?”
The girl, thus addressed, stared with some bewilderment, to see her two New York schoolmates hurrying towards her. They looked very fetching in their modish golf-costumes, with their bags slung carelessly over their shoulders, as each one seized her hand and shook it cordially, while smiling down upon her in a most friendly and chummy way.
For a full second the girl simply stared, dazed and confused, as it suddenly flashed into her consciousness that the last time she had met these girls they had snubbed her, deliberately turning their backs upon her, when she greeted them, the day she had come to the hotel to leave the sweet peas. Ah, a sudden red leaped into Nathalie’s cheeks, her eyes flamed angrily, and she was about to return their snub by turning herback upon them, for she had intuitively divined that they were nice to her because they wanted to be introduced to her friends. Yes, they wanted to know the soldier-boy.
But something deep within the girl, her finer nature, whispered, “Never mind, ignore their slight, and show that you are above them by acting the lady.” With simple dignity the girl coolly returned their effusive greeting, and then, with cold formality, introduced them to her two friends. Oh, how delighted they were to meet Miss Van Vorst; they had heard all about her from a friend of hers,—Nita never was able to discover this friend. Then, turning from Nita as quickly as possible, they made an onslaught upon the soldier lad. Oh, how pleased they were to meet him, they had been just wild to know him ever since they had sighted his uniform. Was he a New York guardsman? What regiment did he belong to? These and a score of similar questions were quickly hurled at the young man, somewhat to his embarrassment. Nathalie could not hear all they said as she chattered with Nita, but vaguely realized, as they rattled on, with an angry flutter of her heart, that they were again ignoring her, as she heard them urging Mr. Darrell to join them at a game of golf.
But a few moments later, when Nita waved a good-by to her mother from the car, she was seated between the soldier lad and Nathalie, with the childrencrowding upon their laps, and the doctor in front with the chauffeur.
As the car whizzed away from the hotel Nita gave Nathalie’s sleeve a sudden twitch as she cried, “Oh, look, Nathalie; there’s theCount!”
“TheCount,” repeated her friend in mystified wonder, as she bent forward to gaze after a young man who had just flashed by in an automobile. But suddenly, with a curious gleam in her eyes, the girl drew back, a slight flush on her cheeks.
“Oh, no, he’s not areal Count,” informed Nita with some amusement in her eyes; “but every one calls him that because they think he’s so Frenchy-looking, with his dark skin and big black eyes. The girls seem quite wild about him, for he takes them riding in his car. Some one told mother that he was from Chicago, and was quite wealthy.”
But Nathalie manifested no further interest in the gentleman whom Nita had dubbed the Count, although she immediately recognized the young man as the one who had repaired her car the day she had gone after the children. But, alas, she felt that he was no gentleman, for had he not stared at her rudely in the post-office, and then accosted her near the cemetery a short time later?
CHAPTER XVIIITHE LIBERTY CHEER
After Nita’s arrival the two Pioneer-Liberty girls were so occupied with things to see and do, that at the week’s end it was hard to realize it was not a month since her coming.
In the order of events had been the anxious moments waiting to know the doctor’s decision as to the condition of the young English soldier. This had been followed by Nathalie’s deep joy when she realized that her “drop in the bucket” was doing its bit. Yes, the doctor announced that the young man’s condition was serious, induced by his gangrenous wound and the life he had lived for the last two years. Still, as he had a good constitution, and youth is a ready up-builder, with proper care and food,—emphasizing the word “food,”—he would be all right in a short time. Yes, Janet had sensed the situation when she had proclaimed that she believed the man was more than half starved.
Under the care of the skillful surgeon, with Janet’s good nursing, assisted by Nathalie and Nita, who hadbegged hard to be allowed to help, the patient soon began to improve. Possibly the atmosphere created by having three young nurses, the soldier-boy as orderly, Danny as handy man, with the other children as servitors, with nourishing food, had done as much as medicine and skill in giving renewed ambition to a man who had been dragging out his life on half-rations, in the solitude of a friendless existence.
The most important aid to the convalescent’s recovery, undoubtedly, was the thought of being able to refill an empty pocketbook, for Mrs. Van Vorst, as soon as she learned that he was a proficient French scholar,—he had lived in France, his mother being a French woman,—and was graduated from Oxford, had immediately made the suggestion that he give Nita French lessons. With her usual tact the suggestion had been so delicately made, pleading it as a personal favor to her, so as not to offend the fine sensibilities of the young man, that it had been soon arranged.
The young soldier’s peculiar situation had been noised about, and general interest and sympathy being awakened, many of the guests from the near-by hotels had climbed the mountain trails, with offerings of fruit or some delicacy for the invalid.
When the fact became known that Nita was to take French lessons from him, other young ladies at the hotels were eager to be his pupils, among them Nathalie’s two New York schoolmates, who ardentlysounded the praises of the handsome English soldier, whose refined scholarly face, tall, athletic figure, his romantic story, bade fair to make him a possible rival of the Count, who was considered the most eligiblepartiat the hotel. But the fact that the young man up in the cabin had played a soldier’s part in the present war, was an asset that carried more weight than mere wealth, in the minds of the ladies, particularly when it was fashionable to be patriotic.
Possibly Nathalie’s two friends seized upon this opportunity to make themselves one of a very happy party of young people, who somehow managed to have a most enjoyable time in ministering to their charge. As soon as the sick man was able, he was made comfortable in a hammock under the trees, on a clearing near the cabin, where each one vied with the other to cheer him.
Sometimes there would be a reading, then again just a merry chat, but as the meetings gained in numbers, stories became the vogue, the story-teller generally relating some tale about the mountains, or an Indian legend, while the listeners sat and knitted for the soldiers, as even Sheila and the boys,—all but poor Jean,—had become expert knitters, under Nathalie’s tutelage. As the patient had brightened so perceptibly at these little mountain-top gatherings, Nathalie had dubbed them Liberty Cheers.
When Blue Robin saw that her two schoolmates hadfoisted themselves upon the party, she felt indignantly grieved, as the snub they had administered to her still rankled. She had been on the point of revealing the incident to Nita, in one of their little confidential chats, when that young lady had remained at Seven Pillars over night, as she loved to do. But second thoughts stayed her, as she knew her friend’s loyal devotion to her, and her vehement way of disposing of people when they displeased her, the result of her spoiled childhood. Nathalie, also, was afraid to offend the two girls, for fear they would not continue to take lessons of Philip de Brie, and she knew that would mean a loss to him.
Van Darrell, the Camp Mills soldier, and Philip had fraternized as “mates”; for the latter, by his life on the battlefield, and in the trenches, and with his experiences in a German prison-camp, had a stock of information at his command that Van was greedy to devour. With the wholehearted patriotic enthusiasm of our young American boys when called to the colors, he was keen to be on the “firing-line,” so as to get a chance, as he expressed it, “to get a few jabs at the Big Willie gang.”
Philip’s deep appreciation of Nathalie’s kindness to him, and also that of her friends, was not only expressed in words, but by the warm, eloquent glances of his dark eyes. His deferential courtesy to all, his chivalrous manner towards her and Janet, and his kindly, winning way of making friends with the children,had won the girl’s admiration. Nevertheless she had noticed that it was Janet who had won his deepest regard. It was to her that he turned with questioning eyes when anything of moment came up, on her that his admiring, ardent glances fell when that young lady appeared in some simple, but fluffy, bewitching little costume, which she had taken to doing lately, somewhat to Nathalie’s surprise.
When he grew tired and showed a restlessness, a desire to be free of the merry-makers, a pleased look would dawn in his eyes when they left him to the ministrations of the head nurse. The somber shadows in his eyes would light with a strange glow as she hovered about him, trying to make him comfortable, or giving him the medicine that he probably would have forgotten if she had not been there to give it to him.
And Janet? Well, she had been, as it were, curiously transformed into a new creature, seemingly, by the sweet pity in her soft eyes, and the flush on her winsome face, as, with tireless patience and quiet diligence, she performed her duties. Evidently, for the nonce, her vocation of mingled pacifist, farmerette, and suffragette had been relegated to the past.
Oh, no, the girls did not spend all their time with Philip, for, as this was Nita’s first visit to the White Hills, there were many things to see. One of the first places she had been taken by her friend was to the Sweet Pea Tea-House, to meet the invalid and thedeaf-and-dumb lady. She was not only charmed with their garden of gardens, but enthusiastic in her warm admiration of the charms of its owners. And it was not long before she was alternating with Nathalie in reading to Miss Whipple, for Nathalie had managed, with her many duties and joys, to keep up the readings to the shut-in.
Mrs. Carney, of the little red house, also received a call, and the young girl had come away curiously impressed with the oddities of the queer little old lady, whose small black figure, with her basket of yarn for knitting, always in that funny poke-bonnet, was a familiar sight on the road.
Janet, Nita declared, was “just lovely,” and that this admiration was reciprocated was evidenced by Janet taking her down to her farm, although sadly neglected at present. Here Nita not only did her share of weeding, but returned with such glowing accounts of the farm’s luxuriance, expatiating so glowingly upon its fertility, and what wonders Janet had been able to accomplish so late in the season, that Nathalie forebore poking fun at it, as she generally did.
Nita had gazed at the mystery room with a keen desire to peep within, had read Nathalie’s diary of each day’s doings, and had prowled all over the house, intent on selecting what she thought was the most valuable thing for Nathalie to select, as she, too, was anxious that she should “win the prize,” as the childrencalled it. She had even visited Cynthia in her sanctum sanctorum, to Nathalie’s astonishment, the artist apparently having taken a great fancy to the hunchback girl, being particularly cordial to her, and returning Mrs. Van Vorst’s call, to the amazement of Mrs. Page, before that lady had had a chance to do so.
But the reason therefor was apparently explained, when it became known that she had suggested to Mrs. Van Vorst that she allow her to paint Nita’s portrait, insisting that her golden hair and violet eyes would show up beautifully on a canvas. Nathalie was still more surprised when that kind-hearted lady, whose income was amply sufficient to allow her to indulge in many whims, consented, and Cynthia was in a glorified state at the success of her plan.
Liberty Fort had proved a good inspirer of patriotism, as Nita not only became, for the time, a most valiant Son of Liberty, entering with great zest into the children’s sham battles on the meadow below, but she introduced an element of war that was hailed with delight. This was a battery gun, which she contrived to make, with the help of Jean, out of an old lead pipe found in the cellar, and which was placed on wheels, the remains of an old hayrack, and installed at the top of the terrace in front of the fort.
She had also helped the boys to make wooden swords out of sticks, and also hand-grenades of thick paper filled with gravel, which would have had a most disastrouseffect upon the enemy if the latter had not been imaginary.
It was here one afternoon, as the boys were having a battle with all the horrors of war, that young Darrell appeared, and as he and the two girls sat on the stone ledge, he told them how he was “all in” by having had a boxing-match with a prisoner when on police duty.
“The chap was a foreigner,” he explained. “He could only speak a little English, and I had heard him mutter to himself several times in rather a queer way. Suddenly, when I was off my guard, he let his club fly at me and gave me a whack on the head that knocked me silly. I saw stars for a moment, and then I let out on the chap,—he was a big fellow, as strong as an ox,—and was just about to use my automatic when the Military Police rushed up and in a few moments they had him as tight as a drum. It turned out that he was off his nut, and I believe he is now in some asylum. Anyway he put me in the hospital with a cracked skull for a while, and then I was granted a furlough, and came up here with mother.”
The girls, under the spell of the military, were inclined to make a hero of the soldier-boy, with the long-lashed, merry blue eyes and cheery laugh, in their minds at least, if not openly. Later, when he was sitting alone with Nathalie, in a burst of confidence, with sudden gravity, he lamented that he feared that he would never reach the “firing-line” overseas. WhenNathalie expressed her surprise at his fears, he explained that he had been detailed to sanitary work in the hospital, and then he added, with gloom-shadowed eyes, “And it looks to me as if it would be steady company; but it is up to Uncle Sam, and a soldier is no soldier if he kicks at his job.”
“Oh, I just wish I were a man, so I could go over there,” sighed Nathalie a little dolefully. “Sometimes I wish I had a million lives so I could give them to my country, and go over and fight.”
“Ho! ho! Blue Robin! You have changed your mind then, haven’t you?” good-naturedly jeered Nita, who had just come up behind them. Her blue eyes gleamed mischief as she continued laughingly, “Surely that was not the way you felt a short while ago.”
“No, that is true,” replied Nathalie with reddened cheeks, “but I was selfish then, and failed to read the handwriting on the wall.”
As Nathalie looked up in a shamefaced way at the young soldier she saw a strange expression flit across his face as he gazed down at her.
“Did you call Miss Page Blue Robin?” he asked hurriedly of Nita, with a sudden, strange interest.
“Oh, that is just a nickname,” began Nathalie, “and——”
“No, it isn’t a nickname,” returned Nita, with a defiant toss of her head. “It is just your own particular name. Shall I tell Mr. Darrell how you came byit?” And then, without waiting for permission, she told their companion the story of how Nathalie found the nest of bluebirds in the old cedar tree and thought they were blue robins. And when the Girl Pioneers claimed that she must become one of them, she had to join the Bluebird group. “Because, you see, she was a real bluebird,” ended the girl.
It was then that Nathalie, who hated to be the subject of a conversation, began to tell the young soldier of her many trials in training her boys in military tactics. To her joy he offered to give them a lesson, whereupon the young Sons of Liberty were lined up, Nita and Sheila with them, and drilled in a simple manual-of-arms,—how to stand as a sentinel on post, how to salute an officer or civilian, and how to stand at attention when the national anthem, the “Call to the Colors,” or “To the Standard,” were played, and when the flag went by.
There was a drill in calisthenics, and then the young military instructor explained to his youthful audience the necessity for a Son of Liberty—he had caught the phrase from Nathalie—to have clean hands, face, teeth, and finger-nails. “No boy or young man,” he emphasized, “will ever make a good soldier who will not discipline himself in these small things. It is also essential for a soldier not only to be clean, but to be courteous, helpful, and kind, especially to the aged and weak.”
The drill was conducted in such a masterful, soldier-like way, and the little talk made significant by so many points that Nathalie was laboring to teach her boys, that the girls were greatly impressed, and also the children, if one were to judge by their alert attention and the worshipful glances they cast upon the young soldier as they went through their war maneuvers.
Nathalie and the boys were anxious to show Nita their mountain walks, and so, with young Darrell, they spent many an afternoon, from glen and vale, in studying the mountains, with their rugged crests and beautiful cloud-effects. Their ever-changing beauty, their gigantic immensity, their awe-inspiring silences lifted the newcomers to a reverent calm, as they gazed at these everlasting memorials to the omnipotency of the Creator.
Sometimes the little party would walk four or five miles, something that the little hunchback had never been able to do until she became a Pioneer. The visit to the Flume was not only repeated, but they visited the Lost River. The weird mystery of the silver stream, as it gleamed luringly between massive gray bowlders, tempted them down the little ladder, to slide over rocky ledges, and climb stony declivities, until at last they were standing beneath the rocks in Shadow Cave. The Giant’s Pot Hole, with the shiny water peering at them from between the stone walls, so suggestive of giants and strange dragons, with its weird,mystical stream, made the underground trip to Mother Nature’s caverns a revelation and a delight to all of the party.
They ascended Mount Agassiz at Bethlehem, where they tried to signal to Philip and Janet on the top of Garnet, through the sun’s rays shining on a mirror, but although this method of signaling was greatly enjoyed, it was not very successful. With all of the merry times, however, the young invalid on the mountain was not forgotten, although he and Janet—with Mrs. Page for company sometimes—passed many hours in each other’s company.
Then came a cool, sunny afternoon in August, when they all gathered around a trench camp-fire on the top of Garnet, for Philip had convalesced sufficiently to do a little climbing, and had a luncheon in the woods. And it was the two young soldiers who boiled the potatoes in a pot that hung from a green pole, fastened in crotches on two upright saplings over the fire-pit, from which a trench a foot deep branched out on each of its four sides. This new kind of fire, as Sheila called it, was a real soldier’s fire, for it was where Philip had cooked his meals before he was visited by Nathalie and Janet, his good angels, as he called them.
With keen satisfaction the children watched Philip toast the sweet, nutty bacon for his guests, while Van showed the girlshis wayof making flapjacks, as hetossed them so high in the air that a shrill, “Oh, you’ll lose it!” almost unnerved the would-be cook.
But no such dire catastrophe happened, and soon they were all enjoying the brown cakes spread with maple sugar, and war-bread sandwiched with bacon between. After the edibles had been disposed of and the fire was banked, as Philip called it, for a later meal, Danny and Tony made a Pioneer Camp-fire, and around its glowing embers—for the wind was keen that cool August day up there on those craggy heights—they held a Liberty Cheer.
As they were about to cast lots as to who should tell the first story, Van, who never tired of listening to Philip’s experiences, begged him to tell the girls something of his life as a soldier fighting in France.