Nancy Of Paradise Cottage Part 20

With the great fragrant bunch of violets at her waist, with money in her pocket to set her mind at rest, and with the memory of a singularly pleasant episode, Nancy saw the wintry landscape, over which a fresh snow was beginning to fall, through rosy spectacles. Somehow, not even the thought of the latest and greatest trouble loomed so very black and terrifying in her mind. She glanced down at the little book in her lap, and then opened it at the fly-leaf. He had written, "To commemorate To-day," and had signed it simply, "George." It had been a day of unusual unhappiness and unusual pleasure--not even he had understood what the mingling had been for Nancy, but the memory of the pleasure outweighed the memory of trouble; as if ashamed of herself she tried to fix her thoughts on plans for helping and advising her mother and Alma; but at length she gave it up, to review the little, delightful trivial memories of "To-day," putting off the recollection of trouble until To-morrow.

CHAPTER XIV

PARADISE COTTAGE

The twenty-second of December, a red letter date, indeed, for some fifty excited, bustling girls, dawned without bringing much of a thrill to the two Prescotts. Neither of them could enter with genuine enthusiasm into the gay holiday antic.i.p.ations of the others, finding in them too depressing a contrast to their own expectations of a not very happy Christmas tide.

Nancy had shown Alma their mother's letter, and had had several long and serious talks with the poor child, who had been almost overcome with despair. Neither of them even thought of the matter of the examination, that trouble having been completely wiped out by the newer and heavier one, nor did they draw any particular satisfaction from the fact that Alma's Latin examination had been credited, and her name cleared of suspicion, while the ident.i.ty of the actual culprit remained their own secret. The debt to Mildred had been paid, Alma evidently believing that the money had been sent by Providence, and asking Nancy no questions.

So far as the matter of the examination was concerned, Miss Leland had allowed the subject to drop, simply announcing her gratification at the fact that there had unquestionably been a mistake, and that Miss Drinkwater was satisfied on this point. A coldness that reached the condition of an almost habitual silence sprang up between Alma and Mildred, and the fact that Mildred asked for no explanations gave further circ.u.mstantial proof of her own guilt.

The incident of her trip to New York with the ring and her meeting with Mr. Arnold Nancy did not mention; feeling a peculiar shyness about it, and a wholesome dread of being teased. Her violets had been smuggled up to her room so that they would not lead to questions and jokes, and had faded away slowly in an inconspicuous corner, diffusing their fragrance extravagantly as they drooped and wilted over the edges of a tooth-brush mug. But two of them had been chosen to immortalize their memory, and had been carefully pressed between the pages of the little volume of stories.

After a first outburst of despair and tears, Alma had taken the bad news from home with a quiet pluck that surprised and touched Nancy.

Her old-time unquestioning faith in Nancy was revived again, and she felt that if Nancy could take a cheerful view of the outlook, why, it could not be so very bad.

They left for home again, on the early afternoon train, with ten or fifteen of the other girls, all of whom were, of course, in the highest spirits. Only Charlotte knew that they would not return to Miss Leland's after the holidays, and her sorrow at parting with Nancy was touchingly apparent in her effort to seem cheerful.

It was after four o'clock when the two girls, trudging up from the Melbrook station, through the snow, at length came in sight of the little brown house. The long red rays of the sinking sun threw the shadows of the bare trees across the unbroken white surface of the lawn; and the cottage, with its gabled roof, was silhouetted against the ruddy, western sky, so that it looked as if the light were radiating from it.

"Oh, Nancy!" Alma turned a s.h.i.+ning face to her sister. "I don't much care what happens--it's home, and nothing can change that! Mother and Hannah's inside, and there's a fire, and it's all so snug, and safe, and _loving_!"

Nancy, who was gazing at the beloved little place with bright, dreamy eyes, and that tender smile on her mouth that always gave her face a singularly winning sweetness, answered:

"It makes me think of a picture I saw once--it was called the 'House at Paradise'--I don't know why. It was just the picture of a quaint little house, that seemed to be glowing from something inside of it--and perhaps because the house in the picture made me think of our home, I've always thought of this as 'Paradise Cottage.' Oh, my dear, let's run!"

It was not until after supper, when they had gathered around the fireside just as they used to, in dressing-gowns and slippers, that they opened the council of war.

"Oh, my dears, what can you do?" sighed Mrs. Prescott. "I had hoped for so much. It will kill me to feel that my daughters are forced to work for their living by my fault."

"I really do think that I'd sort of like to make some money," added Alma. "Of course I'm not fitted for anything in particular, but, do you know, I was just wondering why I couldn't get some position like that girl in Mr. Dixon's office.--Do you know what, she said that after the first of the year she expected to get a position in New York, and I'll bet my hat that I could get that very place!"

Inspired by this sudden idea, Alma sat bolt upright on the shabby sofa, and pursing up her lips, with self-satisfaction looked from her mother to Nancy, who promptly applauded.

"Brilliant! I remember her saying that, too. Let's go over and see Mr. Dixon to-morrow," said Nancy. "I don't see why _I_ couldn't give lessons, you know, tutor children--like the two little Porterbridge girls, for example. Margaret doesn't go to school because she's so delicate, and I know that last winter Mrs. Porterbridge kept Dorothy at home with her. I might even be able to get up a little cla.s.s. I don't look so awfully young, and lots of girls my age have done it. Miss Drinkwater at school told me that she had begun to help her father with his pupils when she was less than seventeen, and I'll be eighteen in March. I'd love it, too."

Soon they were all chatting and laughing like schoolgirls, the three of them.

"I used to think I wanted ever so many things," observed Alma, with a pretty little air of earnest thought fulness. "But do you know what, I've discovered that I never really wanted anything more than what I've already got--you and Nancy, Mother."

CHAPTER XV

THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE MR. PRESCOTT

A little after five o'clock on a dull January afternoon the two sisters met on the road that ran from Melbrook to the cottage. It had been just a week since they had actually started in "working." Alma had just spoken in time to get the position that had been opened in the young village lawyer's office, guided by a kindly Providence.

"I don't see how you are clever enough to teach, Nancy," said Alma, looking at her sister's rather tired face with admiration. "I'd be throwing books and things inside of five minutes. But isn't it wonderful to think that we are really and truly making money? Did you ever believe that we could do it? I just hope that Uncle Thomas hears what we are doing--that'll just show him that we don't want anything from _him_. I wonder what Mildred would say to us--wouldn't she be shocked, though?"

Inside the little house, Alma banged the door behind her, while Nancy shouted gaily to her mother up-stairs.

"Well, well, well, what is all this noise for?" inquired a calm, masculine voice from the sitting-room. The two girls stopped still, thunderstruck; for the voice, unfamiliar in its genial accents, was nevertheless unmistakably the voice of Mr. Prescott! Alma stared at Nancy, Nancy stared back at Alma, neither of them knowing whether to stay where they were or to go forward.

"I shan't bite," remarked Mr. Prescott, mildly. Nancy boldly advanced, being on more familiar terms with the "Ogre" than the frankly terrified Alma, and to Alma's amazement he proceeded to kiss them both, and then, as if embarra.s.sed, cleared his throat, and said "How-do-you-do" in a dry, formal tone.

In a few moments Mrs. Prescott came downstairs. She looked older and sadder than she had the last time he had seen her, and, because she had denied herself any new clothes since she had lost the money, she now wore an old gown which she had had for years. It was not a pose with her, for she no longer pitied herself, or bemoaned her limited means, but rather a sincere half-childlike desire to punish herself for having, as she believed, deprived her daughters of what she considered the best things in life. Nevertheless, her natural instinct for daintiness had a.s.serted itself in the little touches of lace at the neck and wrists--and she looked pretty and dignified as she greeted Mr.

Prescott.

It was not long before the first feeling of constraint wore off. As Alma said afterwards, it was impossible to believe that they had been laughing and chatting with the "Ogre" "just as if he were a nice old man." He called Mrs. Prescott "Lallie," and paid her two compliments.

He gave them a very long discourse on the value of a scientific education for everybody, and from that veered off into a heated tirade against the uselessness of modern education, anyway.

"Am I to understand that you two young ladies are--earning money?"

inquired Mr. Prescott. Amus.e.m.e.nt, chagrin, curiosity, and admiration were mingled in his changing expressions.

"Indeed we are," replied Alma, quite beaming with self-satisfaction.

"_Ever_ so much. Of course, Nancy makes more than I, now--Nance is much cleverer than I, but Nancy's work is more the intellectual kind, you know, and Nancy will probably be famous, and I'll be rich."

"Bless my soul!" gasped the "Ogre," then suddenly he threw back his head, and laughed and laughed, nor could Nancy and Mrs. Prescott keep from joining in. The more Alma proclaimed her enthusiasm for business, the more patent her utterly delightful inapt.i.tude for it became.

Then he grew grave, and turning to Mrs. Prescott said, in a gentle, friendly voice:

"Lallie, I wish you would tell me--everything that has happened. I would be very dull, indeed, if I could not guess that you and my nieces have had a new misfortune. I blame myself. I--I have made mistakes, and--well, life is very short."

Mrs. Prescott was silent for a moment, and sat up stiffly, as if uncertain whether she should listen to the dictates of her pride or of her hopes. Then presently, speaking in a quiet, monotonous voice, she told him about her bad investment, and why she had made it.

When Mrs. Prescott had finished speaking, everyone was silent for a little while. Then Mr. Prescott said, abruptly:

"You have been only vain, Lallie." Then, bluntly but not unkindly, turning to Mrs. Prescott. "Very vain, very foolish. And now that we've talked business, I'm going to ask if I may stay to supper?"

Of course he stayed. And Hannah, as she saw the last of her delicacies vanis.h.i.+ng silently down the "Ogre's" lean, old throat, indulged in a bright vision of his eventual surrender.

But, having stuck to his principles for thirteen years, Mr. Prescott was not a man to change them in a moment of impulse. After that evening at his niece's he made no further reference to their affairs, and seemed quite oblivious of their difficulties. Some very narrow straits lay ahead of the Prescotts, and they had to deny themselves things that once their little income had allowed them.

Winter wore away into spring, and the girls went on doggedly with their tasks. Miss Bancroft had gone away for a month or so. They had been to see her several times during the winter, and she had dropped in to see Mrs. Prescott fairly often. There had been something very delightful in those few afternoons spent with her; for she was one of those charming old ladies who remain perennially girlish, and her interest and sympathy in their talk had won from them a very warm affection. Mr. Arnold had not appeared on the scenes during the entire winter and spring; having gone to England, Miss Bancroft had casually explained, for an indefinite stay. This intelligence had depressed Nancy unaccountably, but she explained her depression to herself on the grounds that she was worried about reclaiming the ring, which she valued so dearly.

As the days grew longer, they had their tea out in the little garden, which Nancy zealously tended. And these pleasant evenings made the whole day seem quite cheerful--if it had not been for the incessant worry about the future.

One afternoon in the middle of the month, they were sitting out in the little arbor, where the vines, covered with a veil of delicate, sticky little leaves, already offered a light shade from the beams of the western sun. As Nancy turned her head to say something joking to Alma, she noticed for the first time how very quiet her sister had been while they had been talking. Alma was lying full length on the little bench, with her arm across her eyes. Evidently feeling that her mother and sister were wondering what was the matter, she took away her arm, revealing a feverishly flushed face and heavy eyelids. "I just have a beastly old headache," she explained drowsily. "It isn't anything but spring fever."

"You poor little kid!" cried Nancy, going to her in concern and throwing her arm around her.

"It isn't anything," said Alma, feebly. "I had it yesterday, too, but it wasn't so bad."

"Well, I'm going to see if you have any fever, anyway," Nancy said quietly, not liking the look of Alma's hot cheeks and crimson lips.