Happy House Part 14

"But _why_ are they trash, B'lindy? What do they do? Webb says they're an old family, that they've been here as long as the Leavitts."

B'lindy snorted. "Webb's tongue's tied in the middle and wags both ends and I guess most of the time at the wrong end! Mebbe they are old--you can't kill off folks same's you can a strain of cattle. They don't do nothin', Miss Anne, that's it--they don't do nothin'. They're just shiftless, no-good folks. Old Dan'l don't work--never did, and his pa before him. And that Eric--he was worst of all!"

"Who was Eric?" begged Nancy.

"Old Dan'l's son and as bad a boy as ever tormented a neighborhood.

But no one knew he'd be anything but no-good, and he wasn't. Ran off to sea. Folks never heard much 'bout him, but they knew they wouldn't hear anything good, anyway. Then, sudden-like, he turns up with two young 'uns. Brought 'em to old Dan'l to keep. One was a girl and the other, a baby in his arms, was a boy."

Freedom folks had never lost their enjoyment in this episode of Eric Hopworth's adventurous life. B'lindy, happy now in her tale, made the most of it.

"I guess there were a lot of stories 'bout them young uns, but old Dan'l never made a sign 'bout which was true. And Eric Hopworth went off's suddenly as he come, leavin' those two more Hopworth's for old Dan'l to feed and bring up, and for the folks 'round here to watch, unless they wanted all their apples stolen and their chickens killed!

Mis' Tubbs told Mis' Sniggs that she _see_ a marriage certificate and that the mother'd been one of them actor-women down in New York and she thought like's not the woman died when the boy was born. Mis' Jenkins sez _she'd_ heard other stories over in North Hero! Anyways old Dan'l's as close-mouthed as a stature!"

"And who's Liz?" asked Nancy.

"Old Dan'l's half-sister. He brought her over from Bend after the young 'uns came, to do for 'em."

Nancy mused for a moment. There was not much use in telling B'lindy that she was going to call upon Liz--it would take days and days of argument to overcome the heritage of prejudice in B'lindy's mind.

Perhaps, for the present, she had better keep Nonie in the orchard.

It had not needed B'lindy's description for Nancy to recognize the Hopworth dwelling, if by such a name could be called the four weather-beaten walls hanging crazily together as though by a last nail.

A litter of debris cluttered the bare ground around the house and between the shed and the unused barn. Back of the shed an old man slouched in the sun.

The door sagged on its one hinge, partly open. When Nancy knocked a gaunt, slatternly woman, in the room within, turned with a scowl.

As Nancy's eyes, sweeping over the dirty, crowded room, came back to the hard face before her, she sickened at the thought of little Nonie, with her "dreams," growing in this environment. Then, as Liz' scowl gave place to a sullen indifference, Nancy realized that the most marked thing about the woman was a resigned hopelessness.

Nancy, choosing her words carefully, introduced herself. As Liz'

unfriendliness discouraged any advances, Nancy plunged straight to the point. She had taken a fancy to the children, she explained--would Miss Hopworth permit Nonie and sometimes Davy, to come often to Happy House? She, Nancy, found it a little lonesome at Happy House and she would enjoy their company.

Liz dropped a pan with a bang. "I'll tell you just's I tell her--there ain't goin' to be any more traipsing 'way from her work all the time like with the schoolmar'm either to Happy House nor nowhere. All them notions is settin' the girl loony goin' on with her lies and things 'bout things bein' differunt. She'll stay _right_ to home!"

And to prevent further argument Liz' head bent meaningly toward the door.

But at that moment a shadow crossed it. Mrs. Sniggs, very gingerly, thrust a head inside. Under her arm she carried a kettle. Once in a while old Dan'l mended the village kettles.

"How d'do," snapped Liz.

But Mrs. Sniggs, with an uplift of her nose that said plainly: "I don't even _see_ you," put her kettle near the door without a word and turned to depart. At which Liz, in a loud tone, exclaimed: "Most _certainly_, Miss Leavitt, we're _delighted_! Our Nonie can visit you up to Happy House real often!"

Liz knew and Nancy knew, by the tell-tale shadow that lingered across the threshold that Mrs. Sniggs had heard; Nancy blessed the good fortune that had brought the woman there at that moment!

Walking homeward, her mind full of plans of all she wanted to do for Nonie and Davy, Nancy with a shudder recalled the Hopworth home--and Liz. Something in the tired eyes haunted her. "Maybe," she thought with a pang of pity, "maybe she's as--starved--as Nonie!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE FOURTH OF JULY

B'lindy had said, truly, that "she guessed if Webb got up the Fourth of July doin's they'd be doin's no one'd forget!"

Webb's "doin's" took the form of a parade--a parade in which the very young and the very old should take part. At its head Webb himself would march, with the two recently returned soldiers, one on each side.

The young people would come in costumes depicting the characters of the men a.s.sociated with the Island history.

"Mrs. Eaton wants you to help her dress the children, Anne," Miss Sabrina had announced, the day before the Fourth. "She asked me to ask you to be at the meeting-house at 9 o'clock.

"Oh, I'd love to," Nancy had responded eagerly.

"It is very nice of her, I am sure," Miss Sabrina had added. "She _wants_ to be pleasant." And a hint of apology in Miss Sabrina's voice made Nancy suddenly think that perhaps Mrs. Eaton was not _always_ pleasant.

She remembered that B'lindy had added the Eaton name to the list of acquaintances possible to a Leavitt.

The very air of that Fourth of July morning was a-tingle with excitement. When Nancy turned into the village street it seemed to her filled with people, all in Sunday-best and holiday spirits. The green in front of the meeting-house was alive with eager, tumbling youngsters.

Mrs. Eaton, a large woman with what Nancy called a prune mouth and watery blue eyes, greeted Nancy effusively. Nancy was a "_dear_"--she said it with a rising squeak--to help her! There wasn't a great deal to do--the little dears were going to wear white caps and capes and represent a band of peace; the girls would carry wreaths of white syringa. _She'd_ thought of it all herself--two days before.

"I'm _so_ glad to be rushed to _death_," she explained, patting down a small cap on a small head. "Of _course_ you know my Archie is _still_ in Germany!"

Nancy had not known it, nor, indeed, anything about Archie, but she nodded sympathetically.

"Cyrus Eaton says I'm a _wonder_--just a wonder! But I _suppose_ I ought to be thankful my Archie's come through without losing any of his arms or legs! Now, my _dear_, if you'll fix the _rest_ of these children I'll run down and look at the Indian Chiefs. _Bless_ me, I don't know _what_ Webb'd do without me. But _then_, I'm glad to do it--it keeps my _mind_ off Archie." She panted off with a patronizing smile that took in Nancy and the group of staring youngsters.

To Nancy, whose life had been spent mostly in the big cities of the world, this glimpse of village life was a novel experience. She loved it--the spontaneous gaiety of it all, the round-eyed children that crowded to her, noisily clamoring to have their "things" put on. The notes of a bugle floated up the street. Fire crackers popped off with the regularity of machine-gun fire. From every side came loud, eager voices. She was glad she was a part of it all. As she finished arranging its cap, she patted each head, just as Mrs. Eaton had done, but in Nancy's smile there was something that had not been in Mrs.

Eaton's, so she invariably won a quick smile in response.

Suddenly Nancy spied Nonie and Davy, hand in hand, watching the other children from a little distance. Their childish longing betrayed itself in the unwonted way their hands clung together, in the wistfulness of their faces. Nancy hailed them.

"Come along--hurry!" she cried. They ran eagerly to her. Nancy seized a cape and a cap.

"Dast we?" asked Davy, very gravely.

"Why, of _course_. Quick--take this cap, Davy. Here, Nonie, is a wreath. Now--stand here--in this line!" She placed them between two other children. "All of you--faces forward! Be ready for the signal.

Right foot--don't forget."

Mrs. Eaton bustled up. "Everything _ready_, my dear? It's perfectly _beautiful_--just beautiful!" in breathless staccato. "I wish my Archie could see it! I'm actually _inspired_!" Her red, moist face suggested that she had made a mistake in her choice of words. She ran around the group of children, standing in ragged file, impatiently awaiting the signal to start. "The little _dears_--just like a beautiful band of peace!" Suddenly she stared and her face flushed a darker red. "Nonie Hopworth, how _dared_ you come here!"

Nonie's lips quivered and her eyes went imploringly to Nancy. Davy tossed his head defiantly. Neither answered.

"_I_ called them, Mrs. Eaton."

Now there was no "my dear" on Mrs. Eaton's tongue. It clicked sharply against her teeth. She was too outraged, too, to pick her words.

"Get right away!" She seized Davy by the shoulder. "Little good-for-nothings! This is a patriotic celebration and we don't want any Hopworth's in it!"

Nancy's eyes blazed. "_Oh_, Mrs. Eaton! _Don't_--they're just children! They----"

"_You're_ a stranger here in Freedom, Miss Leavitt--I'll be pleased if you'll let _me_ manage this! I say it's an _insult_ to our heroes to have Eric Hopworth's young 'uns here--an insult to Freedom's n.o.ble history!" The ruffles on her bosom heaved in her anger. "What'd Eric Hopworth do for his country! When I think of my Archie----" What she might have thought did not find expression, because of the pins she was tearing roughly from Nonie's cape and thrusting between her teeth. "Go off now," she panted between the shining row. "Go off where you came from!"