She Gave a Bound From Nan's Arms
She lifted the cat, who put her paws over the girl's shoulder contentedly. She had been used to this method of being carried about from the time she was a kitten and was quite satisfied. All went well till the door of the living-room was closed after them, and Nan was mounting the stairs on her way back to her room. She was more than half way up when the sudden appearance of a mouse dartingacross the hall was too much for Lady Gray's equanimity. She gave a bound from Nan's arms, the suddenness of the spring sending the candle to the ground, and causing Nan to miss her footing on the stair. There was a scream, a fall, and then all was still while Nan lay huddled up in an unconscious heap at the foot of the stairway.
CHAPTER X THE RED CLOTH
The sound of the fall startled Aunt Sarah from a sound sleep. She sat up in bed and listened. All was quiet. "I couldn't have been dreaming," she murmured. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee," she called, "did you hear anything?"
"Huh?" said Mary Lee sleepily.
"Did you hear something fall? I thought I heard a scream and a fall. Is Jean in bed with you?"
Mary Lee was now awake. "Yes, Aunt Sarah, she's here," she answered. "I don't know whether I heard anything or not, I was so sound asleep."
Miss Sarah lay down again, but her ears were open to the slightest noise and in a little while she heard a plaintive meow. Again she sat up. "I hear a cat," she said. "It's somewhere near-by, and I shut Lady Gray in the kitchen myself."
"Maybe it's on the porch roof," said Mary Lee, drowsily.
Miss Sarah arose and went to the window which overlooked the porch. "Scat!" she said, putting out her head. She waited a few moments but there was no sound from this quarter. When she drewin her head the meowing sounded more plainly than ever.
"It certainly is in the house," said Miss Sarah. She went to the door leading out into the hall and discovered that the sound seemed to come from one of the rooms opposite. In one of these slept the boys; the other was where she had turned the key upon Nan. Slipping on a dressing gown and slippers, and taking a candle, she went forth to investigate. She stopped first at the door where the Gordon boys slept; all was still. At Nan's door she listened. It was plain that the meowing came from there. Lady Gray having failed of catching the mouse had found her way into the room which Nan had left and was trying to make it known that she wished to be let out.
Miss Sarah opened the door and was met with every evidence of satisfaction by Lady Gray. "How in the world did you get up here?" asked Miss Sarah in surprise. But just then a curious damply smelling air arrested her attention and she perceived the door standing ajar. "Of all things!" she exclaimed and went on with her candle. "Nan," she called, "Nan, what prank is this? I wonder if that willful child really has run off to her grandmother's." She cautiously went on to the stairs, shading her candle with one hand and peering downinto the dark hallway. A white heap at the foot of the stairs caught her eye. She hurried down to find Nan, pale and still, lying there.
"Oh, dear, dear, dear," cried Miss Sarah, "what has happened? Nan! Nan!" but Nan did not stir.
Unable to carry both Nan and the candle, Miss Sarah hastened back to her room. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee!" she called, "get up quick and bring a candle! Hurry!"
At this peremptory summons, Mary Lee leaped from her bed. "What is the matter? What is it?" she cried.
"Nan has fallen down the stairs. Come right along. Here, take both candles and I'll carry her."
Trembling, Mary Lee followed apprehensively, and lighted the way for her aunt to bear the helpless burden up-stairs to the room from which the girl had escaped. As Mary Lee caught sight of the white face and limp form, she burst into tears. "Oh, is she dead? Is she dead?" she cried.
"I don't know," said Miss Sarah, her lips quivering. "Run get me some camphor, or hartshorn or smelling salts, or, better yet, there is a little brandy in the medicine closet; bring that."
"I'll bring them all," answered Mary Lee, rushing away and coming back laden with bottles. "Oh, Aunt Sarah," she said, anxiously watching her auntforce the brandy between the shut lips, "suppose she is dead! Suppose she is, and I called her an angle-worm. Oh, my dear Nan! My poor Nan! What will mother say?"
"Hush up," cried Aunt Sarah, tortured beyond forbearance. "I reckon you're not the only one who is feeling distressed. She's coming around, Mary Lee," she said presently, "but I can't tell whether there are any bones broken or not. We'd better get the doctor at once. Her right arm looks queer to me. Call Randolph and send him for Dr. Woods."
Aroused by the confusion, Jack came pattering to the door. "What is the matter?" she called as she heard Mary Lee knocking on the boys' door.
"Nan's fallen down the stairs," said Mary Lee, concisely.
"Is she dreadfully hurt? Oh, Mary Lee, is she?"
"We don't know, but we are going to send for the doctor."
Jack rushed across to where Nan was lying. "Go right back to bed," commanded Aunt Sarah. "I don't want a case of croup. I've got about as much as I can manage right here."
"I want to see my Nan."
"Go to bed," ordered Miss Sarah, and Jack sobbingly obeyed.
Mary Lee returned with the report that Randolph would go instantly. She poured out some of the brandy and came close to the bed to see Nan opening her eyes.
"She was stunned," said Aunt Sarah. "No, she mustn't have any liquor; it will be bad for her now. She is gaining consciousness."
Nan gave a weak moan. "What's the matter?" she said faintly. "My arm hurts so. Where's mother?"
Aunt Sarah's chin quivered and her eyes filled as she answered, "You've had a fall, child. Keep quiet till the doctor comes."
Nan closed her eyes and lay still for a moment. Presently she said: "I was hungry and I went down to get something to eat." Then she fainted again and Aunt Sarah was busy with restoratives when the doctor came. He was a bluff, hearty, middle-aged man who had known Nan all her life.
"What's all this?" he said. "Tumbling down stairs in the dead of night? Walking like a ghost in shut up places? What does this mean, Miss Nan?"
Nan tried to smile but felt herself slipping off into an unreal world while the doctor looked her over. "Nothing worse than a broken arm," he decided, "only a simple fracture, fortunately." The bonewas slipped into place, causing a moment of exquisite agony, and after leaving a soothing potion, the doctor said, "She will be feverish and possibly a little delirious after her fall. I will come again in the morning." He departed leaving Miss Sarah to a solitary vigil while Nan moaned and wandered off again into the world of unreality.
Toward morning she began to mutter about strange things of which Aunt Sarah had never heard: the Poppy Fairy and Giant Pumpkin-Head, the Place o' Pines and the red cloth. Then she tried to sing a little song beginning: "A little child goes wandering by." At this the tears started to Aunt Sarah's eyes and she busied herself in putting iced cloths on the burning head.
Sunday morning dawned softly bright, a dim haze over the purple mountains and a faint mist enveloping the valley. Mary Lee awoke with the realization that something distressful had happened. She told the twins to keep very quiet for Nan was very sick, and it was a sober little group which gathered around the breakfast table.
Randolph and Ashby tiptoed about cautiously. Jean took refuge with Unc' Landy and Jack established herself just outside the door of the room where Nan lay. Mary Lee rushed down to Cousin Mag's with the woeful tale and Cousin Mag hurriedback with her offers of help. She insisted upon taking Aunt Sarah's place and allowing her to rest, but this Aunt Sarah would not permit.
"I reckon I am more responsible for this than any one else is, Margaret," she said. "I was in a perfect pepper-jig of a temper because Nan went over to Uplands, and when she answered me back pretty saucily I was madder at that than anything, so I made her go without her supper and locked her up into the bargain. We're both of us pretty well punished and I reckon it's going to be my only consolation to nurse her."
Cousin Mag then declared that the twins should stay at her house a few days and she would see to it that the housekeeping went on smoothly at the Corners'. "You'll have to take some rest," she declared, "and I will come over every day to see that you get it."
So began the long siege for Aunt Sarah and Nan, each of whom was receiving a punishment not anticipated. Because she felt herself partly to blame, Aunt Sarah was tenderness itself, and for the same reason Nan was a docile patient.
Jean was perfectly willing to spend a week at Cousin Mag's and rather liked the idea, but Jack at first rebelled, and only after receiving the promise that she should see Nan every day was she willingto go. So every afternoon a wistful little face appeared at Nan's door.
It was on the third day that Nan first noticed her. After her fever and delirium, she lay weak and exhausted, but she gave a faint smile of welcome to her little sister. Aunt Sarah had stepped from the room for a minute and Jack ventured inside. "Can't I do something for you? May I kiss you just once, Nannie?" she said softly.
"Yes indeed," said Nan, and Jack dropped a gentle kiss upon her cheek.
"Have you seen the red cloth?" asked Nan with as much anxiety in her voice as her weakness would allow.
"Oh, I haven't looked," said Jack, "but I will." Aunt Sarah's footsteps were heard in the hall and Jack slipped out. "I kissed her," she said facing Aunt Sarah at the door, "but I didn't make her worse." Aunt Sarah smiled but made no reply.
Jack went out into the hall. She had found something to do for Nan. She tiptoed down-stairs and went out upon the porch softly closing the door behind her and looking toward Uplands. Yes, there hung the red cloth from the second story window. For a moment the child stood irresolute, then she started off, but with more than one backward look. She was doing the same thing as thatfor which Nan had been punished, but she didn't care. It was for Nan. Nan wanted her Aunt Helen to know that she could not come to her. She remembered that this had distressed her sister in their talk that evening before the imprisonment.
The little girl trudged on downhill, across the brook and uphill, on the other side. In a few minutes she had reached the house and was trying to make up her mind at which door she should knock. She decided upon that which opened upon the front porch and here she raised the brass knocker and let it fall twice. The door was opened by Miss Helen herself. Jack knew her at once from Nan's description, and it may be that Miss Helen guessed Jack's identity for she said: "Come in, dear."
"I can't come in," said Jack. "Nan's tumbled down-stairs and has broken her arm. She can't come to see you and she's dreadful sorry."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear, how grieved I am to hear that!" said Miss Helen. "How did it happen?"
"Aunt Sarah shut her up and wouldn't give her any supper, so she got up in the night and Lady Gray saw a mouse and jumped so the candle went out and Nan fell nearly all the way from the top. It's a wonder she wasn't killed, Cousin Mag says."
Just what Lady Gray had to do with the accident Miss Helen could not clearly understand. "Oh, Iam so sorry," she repeated. She hesitated before asking, "Why did Aunt Sarah shut her up?"
Jack did not reply at once. "I don't believe I ought to tell that," she said. Then after some consideration of the subject: "Maybe I can tell half; she shut her up for one thing and she made her go without her supper because Nan sassed her back."
Miss Helen smiled but immediately she said gravely, "Nan should not have done that."
"Maybe you would, too, if you were doing something your mother let you do and your mother's aunt said you shouldn't," returned Jack, feeling that in this rather mixed-up speech she had adequately excused Nan, and Miss Helen read the meaning sufficiently well to take in the fact that Miss Sarah had disapproved of Nan's coming to Uplands.
"Aunt Sarah has written to mother," said Jack, "and Mary Lee has written, too, so I reckon Aunt Sarah will feel awfully sorry when mother's letter comes and says Nan wasn't disobeying." Jack gave further enlightenment. "I see Nan every day," she added.
"I am sure that makes Nan happier," returned Miss Helen. "Which of the twins are you? Jack, I suppose."
"Yes, I am Jack. Jean is over to Cousin Mag's. We sleep there now while Nan is sick. Nan won'tbe able to write for ever so long, for her right arm is all wrapped up in something and she can't move it. It is funny that it is her right arm and her writing arm, too, isn't it? I must go now."
"I wish you could stay," said Miss Helen wistfully. "I will write to Nan, and you must give her my love. Can't you stay and see your grandmother? She is asleep now, for she is very tired, but she will waken soon."
"I'm afraid I can't stay," said Jack who had no great desire to see a grandmother of whom she had heard from Mary Lee and Unc' Landy only ill reports. "I saw the red cloth. Nan told me about it," Jack went on. "I came over to tell you about her. She doesn't know I came but she'll be glad."
"You love Nan very much, don't you?" said Miss Helen tenderly.
"Yes. I love Jean 'cause she's my twin, but Nan always takes up for me and helps me out of scrapes. I get into a great many," sighed Jack. "Maybe I'm in one now," she added thoughtfully.
"Oh, dear, I hope not," Miss Helen hastened to say. "I must not keep you if you ought not to stay. You must not be disobedient if any one has forbidden your coming here."
"Nobody did 'zackly, but—I reckon I'd better not stay."
Miss Helen stooped to kiss her. "I hope to see you soon again," she said, "and I am very much obliged to you for telling me about Nan."
Jack trudged back satisfied at having done her errand. If Aunt Sarah discovered it she said nothing and a day later came a letter from Mrs. Corner in reply to Miss Sarah's. In it she said: "I feel now, dear Aunt Sarah, that I did wrong in harboring any ill-will toward Helen. I am sure my dear husband would wish me to meet any advances from her with an equally forgiving spirit and I do want my children to see and love their Aunt Helen, the only sister of their father. So Nan has my permission to go to Uplands when she receives an invitation. When one feels that the waves from the dark river may perhaps soon be touching her feet, quarrels and dissensions seem very petty things. I realized this when I first knew of the danger threatening me. Now that I feel that I am permitted a longer lease of life the bitterness of the past is something to be forgotten. I view life with a new understanding and I would encourage peace, forgiveness and forbearance."
Aunt Sarah read the letter thoughtfully, Nan watching her with big eyes looking from a very white little face. Aunt Sarah put her head backagainst the back of the big chair in which she was sitting and rocked silently for some moments.
"What does mother say?" asked Nan feebly.
"She says you may go to Uplands. Would you like to start now, Nan?" Aunt Sarah spoke half sadly, half jestingly. "Well, Nan," she went on, "I reckon we are both punished pretty thoroughly, you for your sauciness and I for my hardness. Neither of us has any scores to pay that I see. Goodness, child, when I picked you up from the foot of those stairs I would have given my right hand to have taken back my conduct toward you."
"I was dreadfully saucy, Aunt Sarah," said Nan. "It was wicked for me to speak so to you, and I had no business, either, to sneak down into the kitchen in the middle of the night. I have given my right hand, for a little while," she added, "only it don't do away with what I said and did."
Aunt Sarah bent over and kissed the child's forehead. Two salt tears trickled down from her eyes and fell on Nan's cheek. Those drops washed out all ill feeling between them, for Nan understood that Aunt Sarah did really love her and that she, too, had suffered, if not bodily pain, at least bodily fatigue and much mental anguish on Nan's account.
There was another letter which came later to Nan.It was not exactly a lecture, and the reproof was slight, but after reading it Nan felt that in being impertinent to her aunt she had abused her mother's trust and had hurt her as well as Aunt Sarah, so she resolved that never, never again, no matter what, would she treat Aunt Sarah with disrespect.
Many were the attentions showered upon the little girl during her illness, but chief among them, and most pleasing to her, were those which came from Uplands. Not a day passed that she did not receive some token of her Aunt Helen's thought of her. Lovely flowers were never suffered to fade before they were replaced by others. Dainties to tempt her palate followed the flowers, and when she could sit up came packages of picture postal cards of different places in Europe or interesting photographs. To these were added once in a while a cheerful story-book or a magazine, so, in spite of pain and lack of freedom, Nan fared well and in due time was out again, her arm in a sling and herself a little pale, but otherwise no worse for her accident.
CHAPTER XI GRANDMOTHER
The November winds had swept the leaves from the maples and had sent them in hurrying gusts upon the waters of the little brook before Nan again visited Uplands. The oak trees still showed patches of dark red foliage and in Place o' Pines were heaps of shining brown brought there by that same November wind. Since Jack had braved her Aunt Sarah's displeasure with no ill results, Nan had felt there was hope that she would be permitted to make a visit to Uplands as soon as she should be well enough. Jack had not repeated her visit; she was not as ready to meet her grandmother as Nan was, nor were Mary Lee and Jean any more eager, so that the first interview was left to Nan.
It was one day in November that she said rather timidly to her Aunt Sarah: "Don't you think I might go over to Uplands? You know mother said I might."
"Assuredly," replied Miss Sarah. "Go by all means."
Nan looked at her critically to see if she meant this sarcastically, but there was no suspicion of anysuch intention, and she realized that the consent was readily given.
It was an important event to the girl. She had fallen in love with the lady of the portrait in the first place; her Aunt Helen had completely won her in the second, and she had learned to give at least pity and sympathy where her sisters felt, at the most, indifference, so she set out upon her walk with an eager anticipation.
She panted a little as she reached the top of the hill on the other side of the brook, for she had not gone so far since her accident, and, moreover, her heart was beating fast. She was to meet her grandmother. Would she be haughty and distant or kind and cordial? Would she come sweeping in all jewels and lace, or would she wear the plainer dress which her daughter adopted? Nan hoped that she would wear nothing more sombre than black satin with fine laces and that she would have more than one glittering ring upon her fingers.
There were no weeds now to wade through for the lawn was smoothly mown, though grass would have to be sown when the stubble was ploughed under. There were pretty curtains in all the rooms and flower-pots holding blossoming plants stood in a row in some of the windows. A bird-cage, too, hung in the library and as Nan stepped upon theporch she heard the joyous song of the canary. The place seemed so lived in; no longer a mysterious enchanted castle but the comfortable abode of human kind. A neat maid opened the door and ushered Nan into the library. An open fire was blazing in the grate, the canary was singing blithely above the blossoming geraniums and begonias. There were magazines and papers piled on the table and an open desk showed that some one lately had been writing there.
Presently there was a rustle of skirts on the stairs and Miss Helen came swiftly in. "My dear, my dear!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you. What a siege you have had. It has seemed such a long time and mother has been hoping every day that you would be well enough to come. Do you still suffer, poor little lass?"
"Not now," was the answer, "but I gave my right hand, you see, and didn't get anything for it after all."
"You haven't given it altogether, I hope."
"No, but I can't even write, and if I had a piano I couldn't play on it."
"But you will soon be well," returned her aunt. "Come, let us go up to mother; she is very impatient to see you."
Nan followed to the softly carpeted, upper frontroom. No grand dame, magnificently attired came forward to meet her, but by the window sat a little old lady in sombre mourning; her face was lined with sorrow and her hands were worn and thin; only a plain gold ring adorned the left one.
"And this is Nancy," she said. "Excuse my rising, my dear, I am not very strong. Come here, won't you?"
Nan approached with a feeling of disappointment. How could any one fear sharp speeches from this mild-mannered old lady? Where was the flashing splendor of her eyes? Where was her proud mien? What had become of all those qualities which the portrait represented?
"Come closer, Nancy, child; I want to have a look at you," said her grandmother. And Nan knelt down before her. Mrs. Corner took the girl's face between her hands and looked at her long and earnestly. "She has Jack's eyes," she said to her daughter.
Nan smiled; it pleased her to be told this.
"And his smile," continued her grandmother. She took Nan's free hand and smoothed it softly. "She has the Corner fingers, too," she went on, "long and tapering with the filbert nails. She has sentiment, Helen, I am sure, and she is quick butsensitive; loving but impatient; honest and forgiving."
Nan felt rather embarrassed at this summarizing of her character, but as her grandmother leaned over and kissed her forehead a glad light leaped to the girl's eyes. This was not censure, but a tender interest.
"Your old grandmother is very glad to see you," Mrs. Corner went on. "I have longed for you, for one of my son's own children, and it is a great gratification to me to know you have no hard feelings."
"No, I haven't any hard feelings; neither has mother," returned Nan gravely.
A little expression of pain passed over Mrs. Corner's face and she sighed. "Never let yourself be a wicked old woman, Nancy, to want your own way. Be willing to share what you possess with others. Never be jealous and suspicious and envious. Try not to pity yourself too much and don't think your rights are superior to those of other persons. You will be very unhappy if you do not learn your lesson early. The book of life holds many hard pages and it will be handed back to you over and over again till you have learned by heart what is meant you should know."
"Now, mother," put in Miss Helen, "you are entirelytoo grave and preachy. Don't spoil Nan's first visit by giving her the impression that she is in a lecture-room."
"You are right, Helen; I should not allow myself to be carried away to the past from the present. Forgive me, Nancy, for being prosy and serious; your coming awakened so many memories of things I have tried to forget. Tell me about your mother while Helen gets out some things I brought you from Italy."
Nan's eyes sparkled. "Brought me? How good of you," she exclaimed. She wondered what the gifts could be and was quite overpowered when Miss Helen came in with her arms piled high with all sorts of packages. There were soft silks from Sorrento, corals from Naples, strings of beads from Venice, odd bits of jewelry from Florence, scarfs and sashes from Rome, a quaint little hat from Milan, embroideries, laces, knickknacks of all kinds.
Nan looked at them in delighted amazement. She had never seen so many pretty things together before. "They're not all for me," she said.
"All for you, my dear," said her grandmother with a pleased smile.
"But," Nan spoke earnestly, "it would be dreadfully selfish for me to be piggy and not give theothers anything, my sisters, you know. They'd think I was the proud sister sure enough." Nan looked toward her aunt and back at her grandmother. Then she saw the mild expression disappear and the look of the portrait came over Mrs. Corner's face.
"I wish you to have them all," she said haughtily. "Not one of the others has thought it worth while to come to see me; but you, Nancy," her face softened, "you sent me a kiss before you saw me."
"Oh, but," Nan's eyes grew starry, "you know I am the eldest and I met Aunt Helen and they didn't; besides, they don't understand; the twins are too young and Mary Lee, well—she hadn't seen Aunt Helen, you know. I thank you a thousand times, grandmother, for being so lovely as to bring me these things, but indeed, I'll have to be honest and say I can't keep them all for my own self."
"Put them away, Helen," said Mrs. Corner wearily. "It is only one more disappointment. I hoped my granddaughter would be pleased."
The tears came to Nan's eyes. "I am pleased. I can't tell you how much. I never saw such lovely things, and I'm just crazy for them, but I should feel such a mean, meany, piggish thing to keep them all."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Corner with an air ofresignation, "perhaps you will change your mind, Nancy, after you have thought it over."
Nan knew perfectly well that she never would, but she said nothing, and had the discomfort of seeing Miss Helen carry away the things as Mrs. Corner insisted that she should do. "She might have left out one little string of beads," thought Nan. But not so much as a tiny pin was allowed her and she began to realize something of the spirit which had antagonized her mother and which had given her father such distress. However, she was too proud to show her disappointment and did not leave at once; instead she chatted pleasantly and even kissed her grandmother good-bye.
Miss Helen followed her to the door. "You must not mind mother's ways too much, Nancy," she said. "She will think better of it yet, and you must consider that all she has brought you will be really yours to do with as you like after a while. Be patient with her, darling, if you love your Aunt Helen. Thank you so much for coming over and for being so dear and sweet to mother. She appreciates even when she does not confess it. You will come again soon, won't you?"
"Oh, yes," returned Nan, not quite so heartily as she would like to have spoken. She was disappointed, really bitterly disappointed, she confessedto herself. Her grandmother was no queen, but only a faulty woman. A sad and sorrowful one, it was true, and one willing to make an effort in many directions to compensate for her hardness and bitterness of former years, yet she still clung to her imperious ways and was not ready to give up her own way nor to allow any one to thwart her will.
Nan drew a long sigh as she went down-hill. It was not going to be as easy as she had hoped to love her grandmother. What a delight it would have been to display all those lovely things to the family, to give Mary Lee that string of beautiful blue beads and the striped Roman sash; to let Jean and Jack choose what they liked best, and to give even Aunt Sarah something from the splendid mass of things, while to her mother Nan would have sent the very best of whatever seemed suitable. It certainly was tantalizing to have things happen this way. However, there was still the possibility of future possession her Aunt Helen had promised her, and she would take comfort in that.
Jack was the only one who had curiosity enough to ask questions when Nan returned. No doubt but Miss Sarah would like to have had a full account of Nan's visit, but she scorned to show any interest and Mary Lee took her cue from her. "Well,you're back again," was the only remark she made as Nan passed through the room.
"Yes, here I am," returned Nan. She felt that she would rather not discuss her visit with either Mary Lee or Aunt Sarah. Jack waylaid her as she was on her way up-stairs. "Did you see our grandmother, Nan?" she asked, "and is she a horrid old witch?"
"No, she isn't that," replied Nan, "though she is different from what I expected. She was very kind at first, but she showed the iron hand in the velvet glove before I came away."
Jack looked as if she understood. She was always quick to take Nan's allusions.
"If you won't say anything to anybody, I'll tell you all about it," said Nan.
Jack nodded. She could be relied upon to keep a secret if she gave a promise, but was a very expansive person when there was no reason for silence. As Nan expatiated upon the glories of the gifts that were withheld Jack grew deeply interested.
"And you were going to give me some, weren't you?" she said.
"Of course," replied Nan.
"I think you were very proud and very good not to take them," remarked Jack, meditatively, all thewhile forming her own plans. "Was she so very cross, Nan?" she asked presently.
"Not exactly cross, only bound to have her own way, like some other people I know."
Jack laughed. "I don't suppose you listened to her if she did say things you didn't like. That's the way I do. I always think of something nice, like eating ice cream or having a new doll, when any one scolds me; it makes it lots easier," she said philosophically. She saw no reason now why she should not go to her grandmother's. She reasoned that it was because no one but Nan had been to see her that she refused gifts to the rest, and if there was any way, not too difficult, in which she could get a string of those beautiful beads which Nan had described, Jack meant to do it.
She spent much time that afternoon laboriously writing in her very best hand, her name upon a card. The next day, dressed in her best, she started to make a formal call at Uplands. She meant to be very polite and ingratiating, and, if all went well, she would induce Jean to go. She felt that at this first interview it would be best that no one but herself and her grandmother should be present, for Jean did not know things and might say something she should not. Although the beads were the largest object of her motive in going, there was besidesa desire to gain for Nan those things which Jack felt she ought to have.
At the door, she handed the maid the card upon which was unevenly written: "Miss Jacqueline Corner." "I have come to call on Mrs. Corner," she said gravely, and walked into the drawing-room where she seated herself expectantly.
Curiosity, amusement and a real desire to see the child brought Mrs. Corner down. Miss Helen was not at home. Jacqueline arose to meet her grandmother with her best company manners. "I am very much pleased to meet you, Mrs. Corner," she said. "I hope you are very well."
"Not so very well, though better than yesterday," replied the lady, seating herself.
"You ought to take Junipy Tar," said Jack, solicitously; "that is what Unc' Landy takes when he isn't well." She supposed this a remedy specially fitted to the needs of the aged.
Mrs. Corner thanked her, smilingly, her amusement increasing.
"Did you have a pleasant journey?" asked Jack, racking her brain for a proper subject.
"You mean across the ocean? Only fairly so. I am not a very good sailor."
Jack looked at her in surprise. "Oh," she said, "I didn't know ladies ever were sailors, and I amsure they would never make good ones; their skirts must get so in the way when they climb the ropes. I suppose you never went up as far as the main-top-gallant mast."
"No, never," returned Mrs. Corner, laughing outright. Jack could not understand her amusement and changed the subject.
"Do you like dogs?" she asked.
"Very much."
"We have one; his name is Trouble. We like him but Ran says he wouldn't take a prize at a bench show. I don't see why dogs should take prizes at bench shows; I should think it would be only benches, the biggest bench or the prettiest bench or the one made by the youngest child like they give prizes at the fair. Don't you love fairs? I do. I like the pink lemonade best of all and the prize packages of candy. Once I got a real sure enough diamond ring, but it was too big for me and I lost it. Jean likes the pop-corn and the gingerbread the best. What do you like?"
"I think," said Mrs. Corner, "that I like seeing the people as well as anything."
"I do sometimes, but I don't always. Once we all went to the circus and Jean dropped her hat between the benches. I crawled under to get it, and every time I tried to get out some one stepped onmy head; I thought I'd have to stay there forever. It was awful."
"It must have been."
"Is it ten minutes yet? I don't suppose I ought to stay more than ten minutes at a first call, ought I? Cousin Polly says that is long enough."
"I think persons often do stay longer." Mrs. Corner was too greatly entertained to want to get rid of her guest. "I am sure I shall be delighted if you will stay," she went on as she rose to ring the bell. "Bring some cake and some of that currant shrub that Mrs. Southall sent me," she told the maid, and Jack was glad she had mentioned the pink lemonade. "I want to offer you some refreshment, Miss Jacqueline," said her grandmother.
"Thank you," said Jack, promptly sitting down again. "Nobody ever calls me Jacqueline; it's always Jack. When Nan and I are grown we are going to call ourselves Nannette and Jacqueline, not Nan and Jack, but mother says she wants me always to be called Jack after my father. He was your son, wasn't he?"
The amused look faded from Mrs. Corner's eyes. "He was my only son and no one can take his place. No one knows how terribly I miss him."
"Well," said Jack, forgetting to be propitiatory, and somehow resenting this speech, "I'm sure wecouldn't ever get a new father any more than you could get a new son, and I reckon my mother misses him as much as you do."
Mrs. Corner looked startled. "I suppose so; I suppose so," she murmured. "It is true that others have claims."
Jack did not quite take this in but she followed up her speech by adding: "I suppose you missed your husband when he died, didn't you?"
"Oh, child, child, what are you saying?" said her grandmother in a tremulous voice.
Jack regretted this remark seeing her grandmother's agitation. "I don't suppose I ought to have said that. Was it impolite?" she asked. "I wanted to be very polite."
"Why?"
"Oh, because I——" she hesitated. "I must go now. I have finished the party; it was very nice indeed."
Mrs. Corner looked at her with sudden suspicion. "Did Nancy send you over here?" she said.
"Nobody sent me. I didn't tell any one I was coming."
"Why did you come then?"
"Why to see you. Didn't the servant tell you? Didn't she give you my card?"
"Oh, yes." Mrs. Corner's face cleared. "I amglad you came of your own accord. I have enjoyed your call immensely."
"Thank you. Ought I to say Mrs. Corner or grandmother?"
"Grandmother would please me best."
"Then, good-bye, grandmother. I've had a charming time."
"Then, please come again."
"I'd be delighted, I'm sure." Her company manners were in full swing, and she went out after a gracious smile and bow.
"The droll little creature!" exclaimed Mrs. Corner. "I must tell Helen about her. I want to know them all. They interest me." So Jack's call was not without effect.
CHAPTER XII NUTS
With her usual compliance, Jean consented to go to call upon her grandmother though Mary Lee obstinately refused to make any overtures. Children often have very strong prejudices and are even more determined in their refusal to give them up than are their elders. Mary Lee felt quite virtuous in her decision not to make friends with her relatives and often berated Nan for having no backbone and for influencing Jack. Jean, however, had been won over by her twin who descanted upon the deliciousness of the refreshments offered her and upon the pretty things their grandmother might give them.
"You see," said Jack to Jean in arguing the matter, "we must be polite to our elders, Aunt Sarah says, and I think we ought to be very, very nice to our grandmother because she is old. I shouldn't wonder if she were the oldest person we know."
"Not as old as Unc' Landy," said Jean.
"No, of course not; he is older than anybody, but he doesn't count," returned Jack.
"I think we might take grandmother one of thekittens," said Jean with sudden inspiration. Lady Gray had recently given them the surprise of a family of four lovely kittens. Aunt Sarah had said most positively that they could keep only one, although they had all insisted that one apiece would exactly agree to the number, but Aunt Sarah was firm and the two elder girls had given way to the younger ones who had each selected the one she preferred and now it was a matter of continual dispute as to which was to be finally kept. A third kitten was promised to Phil, and Mitty had declared that she knew of a good home for the fourth.
"You see," said Jean, "if the kitten lived at Uplands we could see it often. We could even borrow it sometimes to play with ours."
"We'll take them both over," decided Jack, "and let her choose one, then we won't have to quarrel any more over them, for that will settle it."
They started off each with a wee, mewing kitten, and were duly announced as Miss Jacqueline and Miss Jean Corner, though this time their Aunt Helen was at home and they were not ushered into the drawing-room but into the library, and from thence were conducted up-stairs to their grandmother's room.
"Well, young ladies," said Mrs. Corner, "I am glad to see you. So this is Jean. She looks morelike the Lees than Nancy and Jack. What have you there, my dears?"
"We have brought you a kitten," spoke up Jack. "We brought two so you could take your choice, for it is really very hard to tell which of them all is the prettiest. We let Phil take his choice first and we left the ugliest for Mitty, though that one is really very pretty, but not quite so lovely as these."
"It is very kind of you to want me to have the best," said Mrs. Corner. "Which do you consider the prettier?"
"I like this one," said Jack, displaying a furry gray ball from which issued a protesting mew as Jack held it up.
"And I like this," said Jean, more discreetly holding her kitten in her lap. "It has white feet and a white shirt front. Jack's is all gray. Mine is named Rubaiyat; we call it Ruby."
"And mine," said Jack gravely, "is Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz. It's a Bible name. Baz ought to be very good."
"What extraordinary names!" exclaimed Mrs. Corner.
"Ruby is named after the 'Rubaiyat of a Persian Kitten,' for Lady Gray is a Persian, you know. Ran named them and he said we could call Jean's, Ruby, and mine Baz. He says that Maher-Shalal-Hash-Bazjust suits a cat for he found out what it means and it means 'the spoil hastens; the prey speeds.'"
"Helen, did you ever know such droll children?" said Mrs. Corner laughing.
"Would you like to look at them closer?" said Jack. "Their claws are very briery like blackberry bushes, but they really don't scratch unless you don't know how to hold them. I'll put them in your lap and you can see how sweet and dear they are."
"They certainly are beauties," said Mrs. Corner, admiringly. "Don't you think we would enjoy having one, Helen?"
"Most decidedly," said Miss Helen, "and of the two I think Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz charms me the most. He is a darling."
Jack gave a long sigh. "I just knew you'd say that."
"Would you rather keep this one, then?" asked Miss Helen.
"Oh, yes," said Jack.
"Oh, no," said Jean.
The ladies laughed. "Then suppose you don't give either away," said Mrs. Corner.
"We can't keep but one, you know. Aunt Sarah said so," Jean told them. "And we'd rather you'd have one than anybody."
"Then we'll take the gray one gladly and are very much obliged to you for thinking of bringing us such a beautiful and valuable pet," Mrs. Corner told them. "Haven't we some cake or something for these little girls, Helen?" she asked.
Miss Helen thought so and they were presently regaled upon delicious cake and some sort of curious drink that tasted like currant jelly and mint. It was a beautiful red color and Jack thought it was better than the pink lemonade at the County Fair.
While they were eating and drinking, Miss Helen left them to bring back to each some odd little green dishes which she said she had found in Holland. The children were delighted with the curiously shaped pots and pans, the pitchers and tea-pots, and bore them off in triumph, Jack feeling less regret at leaving her kitten since in return she had these queer little dishes.
She displayed them in high glee to Nan who was surprised and pleased that such an interest had been shown in her little sisters. If only Mary Lee would not be so offish, all might be pleasant between the two households, she thought, and—though this she only secretly admitted—they might still share the delights of those beautiful withheld gifts.
Place o' Pines was too chilly a spot to be visited these November days, but the woods up the mountainsideattracted both girls and boys one Saturday afternoon after the first frost, for Phil and Mary Lee knew a place where nuts were plentiful, so they all piled into the Lewis's carryall and went to where the road ended, fastening the horses there and going the rest of the way on foot. It was wildly beautiful in this mountain forest. The distant call of a bird, the rustle of leaves as some creature of the woods sped from sight, or the trickle of some little mountain brook was all that could be heard until the merry laughter of the young people rang out upon the air.
Nan sat down upon a log and was soon lost in a dream. The boys fell to gathering nuts; Jack and Jean ran here and there excited by the freedom and wildness of the spot; Phil and Mary Lee soon discovered a mutual interest in the lair of a Molly Cotton-Tail and her babies and next gave chase to a squirrel.
"We might find out where he lives," said Phil. "I'd like to get a young one and train him. There he goes, Mary Lee. Come on," and Mary Lee followed over fallen logs, through heaps of dead leaves and broken branches till finally Master Squirrel was lost from view and they were a long distance from where they started.
Meanwhile several bags of nuts were stowedaway under the seat of the carryall and Randolph discovered that it was time to start back. "The days are so short," he said, "that we haven't time to more than get back before dark. Call them all in, Ashby."
Ashby gave a long mountain call. Jack and Jean came running and Nan appeared from where she had been picking up a last hoard of nuts. "Where are the others?" asked Ran.
"Don't know," returned Nan.
"I saw them go off that way." Jack waved her hand toward the west. Ran went a short distance and gave the call. Then he waited. There was utter silence save for the trickling of the little stream. Again he called but there was no response. "Where can they be?" he said impatiently. "They ought to know better than to act so. I suppose they think it is funny to pretend they don't hear." But in a little while, he feared that it was not pretense, and that they were really not only out of sight but out of hearing. He did not voice his alarm to the girls, however, but, after whistling softly for a few minutes, he walked away, calling to his brother.
"See here, Ashby," he said, "I'm afraid those two have strayed away and have lost their bearings. Because they have been up here a number of times,they think they can find their way anywhere. Now, don't express any surprise when I propose that you drive the others home. I'm going to stay here and you go back and tell Colonel Lewis what I fear. Get fresh horses and come back. I'll wait here in case Phil and Mary Lee find their way back. It will be all right."
Ashby agreed and the two came back to where the others were waiting. "Phil's playing us a nice trick," said Ran in assumed contempt, "and it's time you girls were starting home. I'm going to send you back with Ashby and I'll wait here for the others. I'll hide so they can't see me. Won't they be good and scared?"
"But how will you all get back?" asked Nan.
"Oh, Ashby's coming back for us. It isn't much of a drive and Miss Sarah will be worrying. As soon as it gets a little darker, Phil and Mary Lee will hurry out to the road fast enough."
"You don't——" Nan glanced at the twins who had clambered into the carriage. "You don't think," she repeated in a low whisper, "that they could be lost."
"Nonsense," returned Ran. "They'll be here in a minute, only it isn't worth while to wait for them and they deserve a good scare."
Nan looked at him steadily. She was not quitesure that he was not alarmed for the safety of the missing two, but he smiled confidently.
"It's all right," he insisted.
"If you stay, I will," said Nan decidedly.
"No, you mustn't," returned Ran.
"Why not?"
"I don't want you," he answered bluntly.
"Oh, well then," said Nan, somewhat offended, "of course, I'll not stay, but I must say you're polite."
Ran turned away. He had gained his point at the risk of being rude, but that was of little moment just then. He could make his apologies later. And so the three girls drove off with Ashby as attendant and left Randolph to keep a lonely watch on the mountain.
Aunt Sarah was on the lookout for the nutting party. "Where are the others?" was her first question.
Nan explained. "Ran thought we'd better come on," she said. "He's waiting for Phil and Mary Lee. Ashby is going back for them."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Aunt Sarah and sought out Ashby.
When she returned Nan was quick to read the anxiety in her face. "You don't think they could really be lost," she said in alarm.
"We'll wait and see," returned Aunt Sarah in her most non-committal manner.
But as the hours wore on, she made no secret of her fears. Jean went to bed weeping. Jack's eyes had a scared look in them. Just suppose there should be bears and wildcats in the woods. She put her question to Nan. "Aren't there wild animals on the mountain?" she asked. "Landy says so."
"Of course, there are wild animals; foxes and rabbits and chipmunks," Nan answered lightly, trying to allay her fears.
"I don't mean those. I mean real tearing, scratching, eating animals," said Jack.
"Oh, I don't know, I don't know," returned Nan, ready to break down herself. "Don't think about it, Jack. Go to sleep and in the morning you will see Mary Lee safe and sound in bed asleep."
"Please stay with me then till I go to sleep," said Jack. "I see all sorts of things in the dark." And Nan stayed.
About nine o'clock Aunt Sarah put on her wraps. "I'm going over to Mag's," she said. "I can't stand this."
"Please let me go, too," pleaded Nan.
Aunt Sarah waited a moment before she consented, and the two set off together, leaving Mittyand Unc' Landy to keep a sleepy watch in the kitchen.
Meanwhile, night had descended upon the mountain. Feeling that danger actually threatened his little son, Colonel Lewis provided himself with lanterns, warm wraps, food and a bottle of spirits, and then started with Ashby to the spot where Ran waited.
It was dark by the time the carriage appeared and Ran called out: "That you, Ashby?"
"Colonel Lewis and I," replied Ashby. "Are you all there, Ran?"
"I'm all here, but nobody else," returned Ran not meaning to be jocular.
"They haven't come?" Colonel Lewis asked making his way quickly to the spot.
"No, sir. Don't you think it would be a good plan to build a fire? They might see it, or they might see the smoke."
"If there is no danger of the woods catching we can do it."
"There's a big rocky place further on where I think it would be safe," Ran told him. "I have kept up a constant calling, but haven't heard a sound except from an owl."
To build the fire was the first step and Ashby was left to watch it while the other two set out, lanternsin hand, taking the direction in which the wanderers had disappeared. "I always carry a small compass," said Colonel Lewis, "and I have hunted in these mountains since I was a boy. We'll keep an eye on the smoke and then if we can only find those children, I shall have no fears about our getting back to the fire. You're not afraid, Ashby?" he called back.
"No, sir," came the prompt reply.
"Keep up a good fire and a good heart," called Ran.
"All right, I will," and little Ashby had his turn of loneliness. It must be confessed that he did feel a sinking of heart as he saw the two disappear into the darkness of the forest.
Darker, more lonesome, more awful did that forest seem to the two children who, wearied at last from unsuccessful attempts to find their way back, sat down upon a log to rest. "It's no use trying any more," said Phil. "We're tuckered out and we can't see a yard ahead of us anyhow. It wasn't right for me to bring you way off here, Mary Lee, and I wish I hadn't done it."
"It wasn't your fault any more than mine," said she. "We both started to follow the squirrel."
"Yes, but I said I wanted to try to catch a youngone, and so you went to accommodate me. If I hadn't said that you wouldn't have gone."
"We might have gone after something else just the same," said the girl. "It is awfully dark, isn't it, Phil?"
"Father always carries a compass." Phil was busy with his own thoughts. "I wish we knew the direction we came, then I could find the North star and go by that."
"But we can scarcely see the stars in here."
"Anyhow I ought to have noticed the direction. Father says that is what one ought always to do when he is in a strange place, especially in the woods."
"It's getting very cold," said Mary Lee, plaintively. "Do you suppose we could kindle a fire by rubbing two sticks together as the Indians do?"
"It wouldn't do to have a fire here if we had matches. We might set the woods on fire. We ought to get out into some open place to do that."
"Couldn't we find one?"
"It's warmer here, more sheltered, you know. Are you very cold, Mary Lee? Take my coat."
"I'll do no such thing," Mary Lee refused determinedly. "It's no colder for me than for you."
"Then let's sit close." So the two cousins snuggledtogether, each feeling comfort from the nearness of the other.
"I wish we had something to eat," sighed Mary Lee after a silence. "It will be a long time before morning. Shall you dare to go to sleep, Phil?"
"I—don't know."
"Do you suppose they will try to find us?"
"My father will, I know."
"What are you thinking about?" said Mary Lee after another long pause.
"I'm trying to puzzle out about directions. Of course, the mountain is west of the town, for the sun sets behind it, so we ought to go east to get back, and we must go down-hill instead of up."
"But we might go down-hill and go north or south."
"When the sun rises, we can see that and travel toward the east."
"We can do that unless——" Mary Lee's courage was beginning to ooze out and she gave a little frightened sob.
"What, Mary Lee?" Phil began to stroke her hand in boyish fashion.
"Unless the bears or wildcats get us before then," she sobbed outright.
Phil had thought of this, but had not mentioned it. "They shall not get us," he declared. "Theyare not going to. Father will find us before long."
"How can he?"
"He can, and he will," said Phil confidently. "Father can do anything he sets out to do."
This was somewhat comforting, though it did not keep out the cold which was growing more and more evident every moment and presently both children were shivering.
"Do you suppose," said Mary Lee, "that if we covered ourselves with leaves like the Babes in the Woods that we would be warmer?"
"We might try it," said Phil. "The leaves are good and dry and there are lots around us right here."
They began to feel around them and to scrape up the fallen leaves, the exercise helping them to keep warm. They kept close together, fearing lest one should be separated from the other and not be able to find the way back. They sat down in their nest of leaves and pulled them high around them.
"I know now how the woodsy things feel," said Mary Lee, cheered by the warmth. "They sleep under a blanket of leaves all winter and peep out again in the spring. I'm getting sleepy, Phil." She rested her head against the log and was soon asleep.
Phil piled the leaves over her till she was almost hidden by them, but for him there was no sleep, for afar off the wailing cry of a wildcat he heard and recognized. Presently, it sounded nearer and the boy in terror, crouched down in the leaves by his sleeping companion.