Happy House Part 13

"Nonie--let's you and I play lots together. I can give you books, too.

We'll read them together. You can come to Happy House often in the daytime."

Nonie shook her head doubtfully.

"Liz won't let me. She says there ain't--there isn't--no use my going off and leaving my work. She says school's bad enough!"

"Does Liz--punish--you much?"

"She chases Davy and me with the broom sometimes. And she scolds, too, but we don't mind, 'cause she's scolding all the time. I wish she would whip us--or lock us up--or--or send us to bed! It'd be like other kids, then."

The strangeness of a child longing for punishments that would make her life seem like other childrens' shocked Nancy! She looked at the thin body--was poverty starving the physical being while neglect starved the spirit?

"I'll talk to Liz myself. We'll see what I can coax her to do," Nancy declared resolutely. "We'll be chums, Nonie."

"Oh, then I won't have to play 'bout Rosemary! So, you _are_ as nice as Miss Denny. You don't know her, do you? But she'll come back in the fall and sometime, I guess, she'll be Mr. Peter's dearest."

"What _do_ you mean, Nonie," demanded Nancy.

"Well, Mr. Peter's the _nicest_ man I know 'cause he's awful--nice to Davy and me, and Miss Denny's the nicest _lady_ and so she'll be his dearest! He don't--he doesn't--know her yet but he will in the fall and so will you."

"I may not," Nancy answered, rather coldly, "so your Miss Denny may have your Mr. Peter all to herself. And now something tells me it's time for fairies to be in bed! If you'll hand me my slippers I'll dance with you to the gate--only we must be very, very still or we'll waken B'lindy!"

From the gate of Happy House Nancy watched the child's figure disappear in the shadows of the road. In a very little while she would be crawling into her deserted bed, pulling the clothes up over her head and pretending that a mother's hand was caressing her to sleep and a voice that never "hollered" was whispering "goodnight."

"Blessed child," thought Nancy, "her fairy G.o.dmother has given her one gift that even Liz can't take away from her--imagination!"

CHAPTER XII

LIZ

Old Jonathan, returning from his daily trip to the postoffice, brought home the news that "there'd be doin's on Fourth of July 'count of the soldier boys--that Webb'd said it'd got to be a Fourth that not a child in Freedom'd forget!" And B'lindy had retorted that "it wa'nt likely, I guess, if Webb got up the doin's anyone _would_--they'd be doin's no one _could_ forget!"

But Nancy's interest in the coming event gave way with a quickly smothered exclamation of delight when Jonathan drew from an inside pocket a square, bluish envelope with a foreign postmark, redirected in Mrs. Finnegan's most careful handwriting.

"And here's another," he added, bringing forth a letter from Claire.

"You're a _dear_," cried Nancy, hugging her treasures. "If you'll take this pan of peas, Jonathan, I'll run off and read them!"

B'lindy watched Nancy disappear toward the orchard with mingled amazement and disapproval. "There never was a letter _I_ got I'd set by my work for! _That's_ a young one for you!"

Out in her Bird's-nest Nancy held up the two envelopes. "I'll save you 'til last, Daddy," she whispered, kissing the handwriting she loved.

Claire's letter was short and yet so like her that Nancy could have believed her friend was there with her--talking to her.

"I'm perfectly miserable, and I can't let mother guess--she tries to make everything so jolly for me. But I'm just plain homesick for college and you girls. The summer isn't a bit what I'd planned. Barry went away before I got home. Mother thought he'd come back but he didn't, and the maddening thing is she won't tell me where he is. She said Barry was 'getting settled.' Isn't that absurd? I suppose he's gone off to the Canadian Rockies or maybe to j.a.pan. But I don't see why mother has to make a secret of it! The war's changed all the men I know--none of them seem as nice. They're so restless and act so old.

But then, I'm restless, too, and feel as old as the hills. For heaven's sake, Nancy, hurry up and do your duty by Anne's relatives and come here to me--I need you!"

"Funny Claire," laughed Nancy, talking aloud in the way she had learned at Happy House. "She's always trying to make herself think she's miserable. But Barry _is_ a pill! Now, Daddy mine!"

Because she must make her moment of joy last as long as possible, she spread out each page; she peeped into the envelope to be certain that she had them all; she touched ever so lightly the penned lines; she even sniffed joyously at the paper in a vain hope of detecting the familiar odor of Havana tobacco.

The letter had been three weeks on its way. And it was in answer to one Nancy had written to him from college, soon after Anne's plans to go to. Russia had been completed.

"* * * * That is fine in Anne, but it seems to me, that in the enthusiasm of her youth she's overlooking opportunities for service closer at hand. These problems over here are so tremendous--they, need a tried mind and the wisdom of years. You know, my dear, if you want to do things to make this world better you can generally find them waiting for you in your very own corner! Wherever you look you will see the destruction of prejudice, ignorance, selfishness and pride--you don't have to go to Russia to find it!

"In a few weeks my baby will be graduated. I cannot picture you grown up. Perhaps you will never seem so to your Dad. I feel as though these months that I have spent over here away from you must have made many changes in my girl--they have cheated me of a great deal of joy in your development. But I hope that the dignities you have acquired have not changed the dear, kind, joyous heart of you!

"You tell me you have decided upon a 'career,' but you will not tell me what--little torment! Is it something in which I can help? If it is useful and honorable, my child, it will bring you happiness, whatever it is. I hope it is a hard one, too, the more you have to work the more satisfaction you will enjoy.

"Now for good news. My work over here is done. As soon as I can get pa.s.sage I will sail for home, I can't think of anything else. I thought I'd spend my unexpected holiday nosing around in the places where I've always wanted to go--but I can't. I'm too impatient to enjoy anything. So I shall camp on the doorstep of the G. H. Q. Office until word of my sailing comes. I suppose you are at the apartment under Mrs. Finnegan's loving eye. When I return we'll run off to the seash.o.r.e or mountains for a few weeks."

"Dear, dear thoughtful Daddy--nice, old, _preachy_ Daddy--with your sugar-coated sermons in little pellets, all easy to swallow!" cried Nancy, laughing, then suddenly a sob choked her, another and then another.

"It's almost _dreadful_ to have Daddy have just me. What if he is disappointed when he sees me! What if he is--angry--at what I've done!"

For the first time this possibility crossed her mind {134} leaving a terrible fear. Impulsive Nancy had often displeased her father, but always the most trivial offence had troubled her deeply. Her father had such an aversion to the smallest departure from truth! And wasn't she really acting a lie?

For the next few moments poor Nancy sorely needed the support of Anne's convincing arguments! Remorse of the most torturing kind swept her.

And she had dared to judge Miss Sabrina's standards of honor and justice!

"I'll go away," she cried, aloud. "I'll go straight back to Mrs.

Finnegan's where I belong."

But this determination, soothing at it was, brought added problems.

Nancy's brow wrinkled with a deep frown of perplexity. It would not be fair to Anne to just run away--she'd have to give some explanation to Miss Sabrina and Miss Milly and B'lindy, and even Webb. And just now, in her present mood, anything but the absolute truth seemed abhorrent to her.

Then she thought of Aunt Milly--dear little Aunt Milly. She was a different creature now from the pale little woman Nancy had first seen on the couch in the darkened room. Each day, when she did not go to the orchard, she spent in the sitting room or on the hollyhock porch, knitting and helping in little household tasks. And Nancy knew by the wistful glance that met hers when she came and went, how Aunt Milly hungered for her company. Nancy had told herself that it was because she was young and that she seemed, perhaps, like what Aunt Milly had wanted to be--before the dreadful accident.

What _would_ Aunt Milly's life be if she went suddenly out of it?

There was Davy, too, and all she had planned to start for the Club and Nonie--

What must Nonie think? She had let a whole day go by and had not seen Liz!

Nancy re-read her father's letter. "If you want to do things to make this world better you can generally find them waiting for you in your very own corner!" Funny--that Daddy should have written just that!

Nancy folded her letter with a sigh of relief. "Of course, there's work right here and maybe--I'd be a coward to run away--just now. The wrong was done when I came!"

The logic was youthful, but then Nancy, despite the dignity of graduation was very youthful, too. Her mind made up she looked very resolute. She'd go and call upon Liz that very afternoon.

However, she must know more concerning the Hopworth's before she braved Liz on her own ground. So she sought out the all-wise B'lindy.

B'lindy was most generous with her information.

"I guess the Hopworths ain't any concern of yours, Miss Anne. The Leavitts al'las visited mostly with good folks like the Allens and the Chamberlains and the Fiskes over in South Hero, and the Hills up to Isle Le Motte and the Eatons and Todds, here to Freedom. Time was when the best come to Happy House--Miss Sabriny's mother liked company--but not trash like the Hopworth's!"