Nan of the Gypsies

The two girls spent a happy morning together and in the afternoon Nan said, “I wonder why Aunt Dahlia and Aunt Ursula do not come. They wrote that they would be here early and take us both for a long drive.”

Another half hour passed and then there was a knock at the door.

Nan sprang up joyously. “It’s Marie to tell me that my dear aunts have arrived.”

It was indeed Marie, who held out a yellow envelope as she said, “This telegram just came, Miss Anne. Mrs. Dorsey isn’t in, so I thought I’d better bring it right up to you.”

When the door had again closed, Nan turned toward her friend with startled eyes.

“Oh Phyllis,” she said fearfully, “do you suppose that Aunt Dahlia is ill?” Then, tearing open the yellow envelope, the two girls read the few words that the message contained. “Miss Ursula Barrington died last night. Miss Dahlia wishes you to come at once.” The signature was that of a stranger.

“Aunt Ursula dead!” Nan repeated in dazed uncomprehension. “It can’t be. It must be a mistake, for only day before yesterday I received a long letter from her and she wrote that she was feeling unusually well.”

“I fear that it cannot be a mistake,” her friend said tenderly, “but you must be brave and strong, Nan, for your Aunt Dahlia will need you to comfort her.”

“You are right, Phyllis, I will go to her at once. Have I time to get the three o’clock train?”

“I think so, dear. You pack what we will need in your satchel and I will go and ask Patrick to bring around the school bus.”

“Why, Phyllis, are you going with me? Mrs. Dorsey is not here to ask.”

“I know Mrs. Dorsey would wish me to go with you. I would not think of permitting you to go alone.”

A few hours later these two girls entered the city home of the Barringtons. The lower hall seemed strangely silent, and at once they ascended the stairway to Miss Dahlia’s room. They found her sitting there alone and when they entered she hurried toward the girl whom she so loved. “Oh Nan darling,” she said with tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks. “I can’t understand it. I can’t believe that it has really happened. It was all so sudden.”

The young girl held the feebled old lady in a close embrace, then leading her to a wide lounge, she sat beside her, taking the frail hands in her strong ones. “Dear Aunt Dahlia,” she said, “tell me what has happened. Has Aunt Ursula been ill?”

“No, not at all. Yesterday morning a business-like looking envelope was in the mail for her. She took it at once to her study and remained there until noon, continually writing, and when at last she came to lunch, she looked worn and haggard, but when I asked her if she felt ill, she said no, and then she did something very unusual for her. She kissed me, saying in an almost pitying tone, ‘Poor little sister Dahlia.’

“Directly after lunch she returned to her study and continued writing. In the afternoon she sent Dorcas to the postbox with several letters. Last night we sat by the fireplace reading when suddenly her book slipped to the floor. I looked up and saw that she seemed to be asleep. This was so very unusual that I tried to waken her, but could not.

“The doctor whom I had Dorcas summon, said that my sister must have had some great and sudden shock. What it could have been, I do not know. I searched in her desk for that business-like envelope, but it was gone.”

Then leaning against the girl, she added, “Oh, Nan darling, how thankful I am that you came to us so long ago. If I did not have you, I would now be all alone in the world.”

The girl kissed the little old lady tenderly as she said, “Dear Aunt Dahlia, I, too, am thankful.”

Half an hour later Nan went to her own room and on her desk she saw a large envelope addressed, “To my beloved niece, Anne Barrington.” The writing was Miss Ursula’s.

CHAPTER XXVII.

NAN’S SUDDEN RESPONSIBILITY

With a rapidly-beating heart Nan sat at her desk and opened the large envelope in which there was a letter and another envelope that was evidently the one to which Miss Dahlia had referred as businesslike.

“My dear Anne,” the girl read, “I am prostrated with grief today and you will not wonder when I tell you that I was wrongly advised by one whom I considered a trustworthy friend, and I invested, not only my own fortune but also Sister Dahlia’s in securities that I am now informed are absolutely worthless.

“I did this, I assure you, with my sister’s permission, for, as you know, she had great faith in my business ability and good judgment. The result is that we are suddenly reduced to straitened circumstances which will necessitate an entire change in our mode of living.

“I am indeed glad that our Anne has been able to complete the course of studies at Pine Crest Seminary before this calamity befell us. There is one other thing which in this hour of humiliation and grief is a consolation to me, and that is that our home in San Seritos is in no way effected. It is in my sister’s name and cannot be taken from her.”

A blot followed and then with an evidently shaking hand had been written: “Anne, a sharp pain in my heart warns me that I must cease writing for awhile and rest. I had intended mailing this letter to you, but, remembering that it would reach you on your eighteenth birthday and shadow the happiness which is rightfully yours at that time, I have decided to place it on your desk and when you come on Sunday, you and I will retire to your room and discuss the matter.

“As you know, my dear Anne, it is difficult for me to express in words the emotions that I may feel, but I want you to know how proud I am of the little girl who came to us three years ago. You have brought a new happiness into my life and I must confess, that, though my original thought was merely to Christianize one whom I called a heathen, I myself have become more sympathetic and loving, more truly a Christian.

“Good night, Anne. If I should be taken away before my dear sister Dahlia, I will go with far greater willingness knowing that you will care for her and comfort her as long as she shall live.

“Your loving,Aunt Ursula.”

The postscript had evidently been written much later. The writing was easily legible. “Anne, another of those sharp heart attacks warns me that I would better place in your care the money that we have on hand. I sent Dorcas to the bank this afternoon to draw it out and I have locked it in my desk; the key I am enclosing. There will be sufficient to care for you and sister Dahlia for at least a year; after that I am sure that my brave Anne will find a way.”

********

Phyllis quietly entered the room a few moments later and saw Nan seated at her desk, her head on her arms.

“Oh, Phyllis,” she sobbed, as her friend sat beside her and tried to comfort her, “how Aunt Ursula must have suffered. If only I had been here. Perhaps if we had talked it over together, it might have been a help to her.”

Nan then gave the letter to Phyllis to read, and after a thoughtful moment, added, “I must be worthy of the trust that splendid woman has placed in me. How glad I am that I will be able to teach. I shall not tell Aunt Dahlia of the financial loss until it is necessary. She is very frail and it might be more than she could stand. Come dear, let us go to her. I do not want to leave her alone.”

A week later Nan returned to Pine Crest Seminary and Miss Dahlia was with her. Mrs. Dorsey had at once visited the Barrington home and had insisted that her old friend share her pleasant apartment at the school until Nan had successfully passed the final examinations and had received her diploma.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE VALEDICTORIAN

A few days before the closing exercises at Pine Crest Seminary, Phyllis entered their room and exclaimed jubilantly to the girl who was seated at the writing desk. “Nan Barrington, you never can guess who passed with the highest marks and is to be chosen class valedictorian.”

The other girl looked up brightly. “It was Phyllis Dorchester, I do believe,” she declared.

“No, indeed. That guess is far afield. The successful maiden is Anne Barrington. There, now, what do you think of that? Mrs. Dorsey just told me and I simply couldn’t walk upstairs demurely, I was so eager to tell you. How proud I will be at the closing exercises to see my room-mate standing before a crowded assembly room reading her graduating essay on ‘Comrading With Nature.’ It’s poetry in prose, Nan, and I am glad that you are to read it.”

“But I will not be here for the closing exercises, and so if that essay is read, you will have to do it for me.”

“Nan Barrington! Not be here, and the closing exercises less than a week away! Why, where are you going?”

“Sit down and I will tell you. I would love to stay, as you well know, if I had only my own wishes to consider, but each day Aunt Dahlia seems to grow more frail. Naturally Mrs. Dorsey and I have been much occupied and Aunt Dahlia has often been left alone with her sorrow in a strange apartment. Each time that I go to her, she clings to me as a frightened child would, and over and over again she tells me that she knows she will be strong again as soon as we are back in the gardens at San Seritos, then she always ends by asking in a pathetic tone, ‘Nan, do you think that we will be able to go tomorrow?’ and today my answer was ‘yes, Aunt Dahlia, we will go tomorrow.’”

Phyllis reached for her friend’s hand and held it in a sympathetic clasp and tears sprang to her eyes. She knew what a sacrifice Nan was making, for they had often talked of the happy time they would have at their graduation.

“How disappointed Robert will be,” Phyllis said at last, “but, dear, of course it is right that you should go. How I do wish that I might go with you, but Mother and Dad and I are leaving for England in another month. However, if you remain in California, do not be surprised next winter to see me appearing, bag and baggage.”

Nan smiled lovingly at her friend. “No one could be more welcome,” she said, then she added thoughtfully, “I have indeed a difficult problem to solve for I want to live as economically as we possibly can and yet not disclose to poor Aunt Dahlia the truth concerning the lost fortune.”

Phyllis sprang to her feet and kissed her friend on the forehead, as she exclaimed, “And you will be able to do it, Nan darling, I’m sure of that! Now I must depart, and you must finish that letter if it is to go on the next mail.”

When Nan was alone, she continued writing until several sheets of note paper had been covered. She was telling her comrade all that had happened and explaining why she would not be able to attend her own graduating party.

Two days later the letter reached Robert Widdemere, and, after reading it, he sat for a long time gazing thoughtfully into space. In another month he would be of age and master of his own actions and possessed of a goodly income. He sprang to his feet at the call of a bugle summoning him to drill, but in his heart there was a firm resolve.

CHAPTER XXIX.

FAITHFUL FRIENDS

A week had passed and it was nearing the end of June when Miss Dahlia and Nan arrived at the little station of San Seritos. They found Mr. Sperry, the gardener, waiting to take them home in the Barrington car, which had the family coat of arms emblazoned on the door.

Nan had written a long letter to this faithful servant and his kindly wife, telling of Miss Ursula’s death and also informing them that Miss Dahlia had but little money left, and, would be obliged to dispense with the services of so expert a gardener as Mr. Sperry. Nan had then added that since Miss Dahlia was very frail, she thought best not to tell her of the changed financial conditions, but if Mr. Sperry would accept a position elsewhere, Miss Dahlia would suppose that to be the reason he was leaving her service.

When Mr. Sperry read this letter to his wife, he removed his spectacles and wiped them as he said, “Nell, Miss Dahlia is one of God’s good women if there ever was one. Mind you the time little Bobsy had diphtheria and you couldn’t get a nurse? You’d have died yourself with the care of it all if it hadn’t been for that blessed woman coming right down here and staying quarantined in this lodge house where there weren’t any comforts such as she had been used to, and now, that she’s in trouble, it isn’t likely we’re going to desert her. No, sir, not us! The Baxters have been at me this month past to work on their place half time, and I’ll do it. Then we can raise our own vegetables and plenty for Miss Dahlia besides, in the kitchen garden here and she’ll never know but what Miss Nan is paying us a salary regular, just as we always had.”

“You are right, Samuel,” Mrs. Sperry said wiping her eyes with the corner of her blue apron. “We’re not the sort to be forgetting past kindness. I’ll go up to the big house this minute with Bertha and we’ll air it out and have Miss Dahlia’s room cheerful and waiting for her.”

And so when Mr. Sperry saw Nan assisting Miss Barrington to the platform, he hurried forward, and, snatching off his cap, he took the hand the little lady held out to him. It was hard for him to steady his voice as he said, “Miss Dahlia, it’s good to see your kind face again. It’s been lonesome having the big house closed for so long and it’s glad I am to have it opened.”

Tears rolled down the wrinkled cheeks of the little old lady. This home-coming was hard, for, during the last two years Miss Ursula had been much changed, more of a loving sister and a comrade.

When they reached the house, Mrs. Sperry was on the veranda and Bertha, now a tall girl of eleven, was standing shyly at her mother’s side.

The doors were wide open, and Nan, glancing in, saw that there were bowls of ferns and flowers in the hall and library. As she greeted Mrs. Sperry, she said softly, “It was very kind of you to do all this.”

Then the girl assisted Miss Dahlia up the wide front stairs. The gardener’s wife called after them “when you’ve laid off your wraps come down to the dining room. It’s nearly noon and I thought you might be hungry after traveling so far.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sperry, we will,” Nan replied, and tears sprang to her eyes as she thought how loyal these kind people were and with no hope of remuneration.

Later, while they were eating the appetizing luncheon which the gardener’s wife was serving, Miss Dahlia asked, “Mrs. Sperry, will you see about hiring maids and a cook for us as soon as possible?”

The woman glanced at Nan questioningly and that girl hurried to say:

“Oh, Aunt Dahlia dear, please don’t let’s have any just yet. I do want to learn to keep house and the best way to learn, you know, is really to do it. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Sperry?”

“Indeed I do, Miss Nan,” that little woman replied with enthusiasm, “and I’ll be right handy by, whenever you need help extra, for cleaning days and the like.”

Miss Dahlia smiled. “Well dearie,” she said, “you may try for a week or so, but at the end of that time, I’m pretty sure that you will be glad to hire a cook and at least one maid.”

The next morning, when Miss Dahlia awakened, it was to see a smiling lassie in a pretty ruffled white apron approaching her bedside with a tray on which was a cup of steaming coffee and a covered plate of delicately browned toast.

“Top o’ the morning to you, Aunt Dahlia,” the girl laughingly called as she brought a wash cloth and towel and then a dainty lavender dressing jacket and cap. A few minutes later when the pleased little old lady was sitting up among comfortably placed pillows, Nan with arms akimbo, inquired, “Is there anything more ye’ll be afther wantin’ this mornin’, Miss Barrington?”

“Oh, Nan darling,” the little woman replied brightly, “I truly did think that I wouldn’t be able to get on without Norah, but I believe that after all my new maid is going to prove a much handier young person. Have you breakfasted, my dear?”

“That I have, Aunt Dahlia, and my head is as full of delightful plans as a Christmas pudding is of plums, but first I wish to ask if I may have your permission to play the game just as I wish.”

“Indeed you have it without the asking. Get all the amusement that you can get of the experiment, but, Nan dearie, don’t you think that you would better reconsider and have at least one house maid?”

The girl shook her head and her dark eyes danced merrily as she again returned to Norah’s brogue. “And is it discharging me, ye are, on the very fust day of me service wid ye? Arrah, and oi’ll not be goin’ till ye’ve given me a fair two weeks’ triol.”

Miss Dahlia smiled happily. What a comfort this gypsy girl was to her. Then suddenly the little woman realized that she had not thought of Nan as a gypsy for a long time. It did not seem possible that this loving and lovable girl could be the same little wild waif who had climbed out of an upper window nearly four years ago because she did not want to be civilized.

When the tray was ready to be carried away, the audacious maid stooped and kissed the smiling face of the little old lady as she inquired, “Will ye dress now, or will ye be staying’ in bed for the mornin’, Miss Dahlia?”

“I’d like to remain in bed, dearie, if you are sure that you don’t need me to help you around the house. It was a long journey across the continent and now that we are really home it seems so nice to just rest and look out of the window at the garden and the sea.”

“Good! I’m glad!” Nan exclaimed as she drew the downy quilt over the frail shoulders. “Perhaps you’ll return to dreamland awhile. Now, don’t forget that you have granted me permission to carry out my plans in my own sweet way.”

When Nan was gone, the little old lady, resting luxuriously, wondered what her dear child might be planning, and then, truly weary, she again fell into a refreshing slumber.

Meanwhile Nan had donned her riding habit and, having visited the barn, she found her Binnie in fine trim. The small horse whinnied joyfully when he beheld his mistress, and Nan, putting her arms about him, caressed him lovingly. Two years before she had written Mrs. Sperry, telling her to permit the children to ride Binnie, and so the small horse had had many a merry canter and had not been lonely.

Saddling and mounting her mottled pony, Nan rode down the circling drive to the lodge house. She was about to carry out a plan, which was merely another way to economize and not let Miss Dahlia recognize it as such.

CHAPTER XXX.

NAN AS HOUSEKEEPER

“Good morning, Mrs. Sperry,” Nan called as she drew rein at the door of the lodge. “Could Bertha go up to the house and stay until I have cantered into town and back? Miss Dahlia is still in bed and I have a few purchases to make.”

Then Nan told her new plan and the gardener’s wife replied, “Bertha and Bobsy are in school. They take their lunch and stay all day and my husband works over at Baxters’ now till mid-afternoon, so I’ll take my basket of darning and go right up to be near Miss Dahlia if she should call.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sperry, I won’t be gone long and you’ll find my room just flooded with sunshine.”

An hour later Nan returned and soon thereafter a delivery wagon left a bundle at the kitchen door. Mrs. Sperry declared that she could stay all the morning just as well as not.

Miss Dahlia did not awaken. Now and then Mrs. Sperry heard the tapping of a hammer from the ground floor where the kitchen and maid’s dining room were and she wondered what Miss Dahlia would think of the new plan.

At about noon, Nan tiptoed upstairs and the gardener’s wife looked up with a welcoming smile. “I’m on the last hole in the last stocking,” she said softly. “I’m so glad to have them all done.” Then she added, “Is the new plan finished?”

The girl nodded. “I do hope Aunt Dahlia will like it,” she said.

“Nan, dearie,” a sweet voice called from the next room, and Mrs. Sperry taking her basket of darned stockings, nodded goodbye and tiptoed away while the girl went to answer the call.

“I’ve had such a restful sleep, dear,” the little old lady said, “and now I’ll dress and help you prepare our lunch. Really, Nan, I shall enjoy being allowed to go into a kitchen again. You know when I was a girl it was considered both proper and fashionable for a young lady to learn how to cook that she might direct her servants intelligently, if for no other reason, and many times I’ve wished I might slip down, when the cook was away, and see if I could still make some of the things as my dear mother taught me, but Sister Ursula did not approve. She said one of the maids might see me and think that I was queer.”

Nan laughed. “What fun we will have, Aunt Dahlia,” she declared as she assisted the little old lady to dress, “for, if you will, I would like to have you teach me to cook as your mother taught you.”

Then, when they were ready to go down stairs, Miss Dahlia said with almost girlish eagerness, “This afternoon we’ll go up in the attic. There’s a box somewhere up there which is filled with books, and in one of them my mother kept her tried recipes.”

Nan led the way past the cold, formal dining room, with its polished table and high-backed carved chairs. The little old lay shuddered as she glanced in. “It will be hard to get used to having Sister Ursula’s place always vacant,” she said.

“I knew it would, dear Aunt Dahlia,” the girl replied, as she put an arm about the little lady, “and that’s why I have planned to have our dining room somewhere else.”

They had reached the ground floor and the girl opened a door. Miss Dahlia glanced in and then she exclaimed with real pleasure, “Nan, how charmingly you have arranged this little room!”

It had formerly been the maids’ dining room. It was on a level with the ground. The wide windows opened upon the garden, a lilac bush, close to the house was fragrant with bloom, and a mocking bird, somewhere near, was singing joyously. But it was the inside which had been transformed as though by magic. Nan had scrubbed the creamy walls and woodwork and had hung blue and white draperies at the sunny windows, while at one side stood a high long basket-box of drooping ferns. The table was daintily set with blue bird dishes which Nan had used in boarding school when she had a spread for her friends. There were only two chairs, and, since Miss Ursula had never dined in this room, the loneliness of one gone could not be so keenly felt.

“Be seated, my lady,” the merry girl said as she drew out the chair that faced the garden. “You are now to partake of the very first meal that your new cook has ever prepared.” Miss Dahlia was delighted with the dainty luncheon. Nan chatted joyously, although whenever she was alone, she pondered deeply on how to solve the serious problem that was confronting them.

CHAPTER XXXI.

NAN’S PROBLEM

That morning when Nan had been in the village of San Seritos, she deposited in the bank the money which Miss Ursula had left in her keeping. The interest from the few thousand dollars would be sufficient, the girl thought, to provide comforts and even some luxuries for Miss Dahlia, but the necessities Nan wished to earn, knowing that if they used the principal, it would soon be necessary to tell Miss Dahlia of the lost fortune, and the home which the little old lady so dearly loved, would have to be sold.

Before leaving Pine Crest Nan had talked the matter over with Mrs. Dorsey and that kindly woman had written a letter telling whoever might be interested that in her opinion Nan Barrington was competent to teach the younger children all of the required studies, as well as languages and the harp.

The girl was confident that she could obtain a position as governess but that would necessitate hiring a maid or leaving Miss Dahlia alone, and neither of these things did she wish to do.

A week had passed when one morning Nan sitting on the sunny veranda reading the paper chanced to see in the want column something which she thought that she would like to investigate.

Miss Dahlia was still asleep and Mrs. Sperry gladly took her sewing up to the big house while Nan rode away on Binnie.

She had not far to go, for a quarter of a mile down the coast highway was a group of picturesque bungalows about a small hotel called Miracielo. Here each summer wealthy folk from the inland country came and took up their abode. This year it chanced that there were many young children among the tourists, and Mrs. Welton, manager of the exclusive hotel, had advertised for someone who would both instruct and entertain the little guests.