Nan of the Gypsies

Nan was admitted to Mrs. Welton’s reception room and almost immediately a pleasant woman of refinement appeared and graciously welcomed the visitor. Nan explained her mission and showed the letter from Mrs. Dorsey.

“This is indeed interesting,” Mrs. Welton exclaimed. “My niece, Daisy Wells, attends that school and in her letters she has often mentioned Nan Barrington.” Then the kindly woman hesitated as though not quite certain that she ought to voice the thought that had come to her. Finally she said: “You will pardon me, I know, for mentioning a matter so personal, but I have always understood that your aunt possessed great wealth. Will she be willing that you entertain these little ones?”

Nan, after a moment’s thought, decided to tell Mrs. Welton the whole truth and that good woman was much impressed in favor of the girl who was trying in every way to keep the frail Miss Dahlia Barrington from a knowledge of the loss.

“It would not be possible for me to come each day to Miracielo,” Nan said, “but we have such a delightful rustic house in our garden; do you suppose, Mrs. Welton, that the children might come there each afternoon if I can persuade Aunt Dahlia to think favorably of my plan?”

“I do indeed,” the pleased woman smilingly agreed. “That is the time when many of my guests desire to rest, and they would be glad to have the children away. If their mothers consent, I can send the little ones to you in our car every day.”

Nan arose, her dark eyes glowing. “I thank you Mrs. Welton,” she said, “and tomorrow I will let you know if I have won my aunt’s consent to the plan.”

That afternoon the gypsy girl broached the subject of the little class almost timidly, and her aunt said lovingly, “But, Nan, darling, don’t you realize that all I have is also yours? You do not need to earn money.”

“Dear Aunt Dahlia,” the girl replied with sudden tears in her eyes, “I well know that whatever you have, you wish to share with me, but truly I would just love to try teaching for a short time.”

“My Nan seems to wish to make many experiments,” the little old lady said merrily. “Is not housekeeping enough?” Then, noting an expression of disappointment in the face of the girl, she added, “Bring your flock of children to our garden, if you wish dearie, I, too, will enjoy having them here.”

And so, the very next afternoon a dozen boys and girls, the oldest not seven, appeared, and though, for a time, some of them seemed shy, Nan soon won their confidence and had them merrily romping on a velvety stretch of lawn which she had chosen for a playground. Then when they were weary, they went into the vine-covered rustic house, and, sitting about the long table, they played quiet games that were both instructive and amusing.

After receiving her first week’s check, Nan visited the town and purchased books and materials that would assist her in teaching and entertaining her little “guests.”

Happy times Miss Dahlia and Nan had in the long evenings as they sat in the cheerfully lighted library reading these books, and then they would try to weave a pattern from gaily colored wools or bright strips of paper according to the instructions. The next day that particular pattern would be the one that Nan would show the children how to make.

One afternoon Miss Dahlia wandered out to the rustic house during this rest period, and, sitting at one end of the table she assisted a darling five-year-old to make a paper mat of glowing colors.

“See, Miss Nan,” the little fairy called joyously when the task was done, “see my pitty mat! May I take it home to show muvver?”

“Yes indeed, dearies, you may all take home whatever you make,” their young teacher told them.

“I wish we could make doggies or elphunts,” one small boy said. And that night Miss Dahlia and Nan hunted through the books for instructions on “elphunt” making, but failed to find them. Then Nan, not wishing to disappoint the little lad, brought forth scissors and cardboard and after many amusing failures, at last cut out a figure which Miss Dahlia laughingly assured the artist could be recognized as an “elphunt” at a single glance. They then cut out a dozen that the children might each have a pattern.

The little boy was delighted because his suggestion had been followed. Nan showed them how to make their card-board animals stand, and soon they had a long procession of rather queerly shaped “elphunts” and dogs all the way down the length of the table. The pleased children clapped their hands gleefully, and one little girl looked up with laughing eyes as she said: “Miss Nan, it’s as nice as a party every day, isn’t it?”

Sometimes the older girl, watching these children of the rich as they romped about on the velvety lawn, recalled another picture of the long ago. A group of dark-haired, dark-skinned, fox-like little creatures scrambling and rolling over each other as puppies do, but, when Nan had appeared, they had left their play and raced to meet her with outstretched arms.

How she would like to see them all again. Nan’s life was happy but uneventful. The beautiful sunny, summery days passed and Nan’s little class never wearied of the “Party-school.”

Then all at once unexpected and surprising, events followed close, one after another.

CHAPTER XXXII.

SURPRISING THINGS HAPPEN

It was Autumn once more. The children with their parents had returned to inland homes and the garden no longer echoed with their shouts and laughter.

Mrs. Welton had told Nan that the winter tourists from the snowy East would arrive in January and that she would re-engage her at that time if she cared to continue her little class, which the eager girl gladly consented to do. The remuneration had been excellent, and, during the intervening months, Nan planned keeping happily busy with sewing and home-making.

The garden was again glowing with yellow chrysanthemums as it had been on that long ago day when the gypsy girl and the little lad Tirol had first found the beach gate and the home which Nan had little dreamed was to be her own.

During the summer there had been many letters from Phyllis who was traveling abroad and from Robert Widdemere. Upon leaving the military academy, the lad’s first desire had been to cross the continent at once, but, when he found many tasks waiting in his father’s office, he believed that he ought not to start on a pleasure trip until these had been in some measure accomplished and it was November before he decided that he could start on the long planned journey. When he told his mother of his decision, she announced that she intended accompanying him and remaining during the winter at their San Seritos home.

This was a keen disappointment to the lad, who believed that his mother merely wished to try to prevent, if she could, his friendship with Nan Barrington, but Robert was too fine a lad to be discourteous, and so, on a blustery day, they left the East, and, in less than a week, they arrived in the garden village of San Seritos that was basking in the sunshine under a blue cloudless sky.

An hour later, Robert leaped over the little gate in the hedge and raced like a schoolboy across the wide velvety lawns of the Barrington estate.

He saw Nan and dear Miss Dahlia in the garden. At his joyous shout, they both looked up and beheld approaching them a tall lad who was jubilantly waving his cap.

“It’s Robert Widdemere!” Nan said, and then, as he came up and greeted them, she added, “But only yesterday I had a letter from you and in it you said nothing about coming.”

“I wanted to surprise you, Lady Red Bird,” the lad exclaimed. “Isn’t it grand and glorious, Nan, to be once more in this wonderful country. I wish we could start right now for a ride up the mountains.”

“I couldn’t go today,” the gypsy girl laughingly told him, “for I have something baking in the oven and it cannot be left.”

“I could tend to it,” Miss Dahlia said, but Nan shook her head.

“It’s a surprise for tomorrow,” she merrily declared, “and I don’t want even you, Aunt Dahlia, to know what it is.”

Then turning happy eyes toward the lad, she said, “Think of it, Robert Widdemere, tomorrow will be Thanksgiving day and five years since you and I rode to the mountain top.”

“Nan, comrade,” the boy said eagerly, “let’s take that ride again tomorrow, dressed gypsy-wise as we were before, shall we?”

“As you wish, Robert Widdemere,” Nan laughingly replied. “Thanksgiving seems to be a fateful day for us.”

A happy hour the young people spent together. Robert wished to hear all that happened and when Nan protested that she had written every least little thing, he declared that it had all been so interesting, it would bear repeating.

Suddenly the girl sprang up, holding out both hands as she exclaimed, “Robert, I shall have to ask you to come at some other time. I must look after that something which is baking for tomorrow.” The lad caught the hands as he said, “Good-bye, then, I’ll reappear at about ten.”

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE THANKSGIVING RIDE

Thanksgiving morning dawned gloriously, and as Nan stood at her open window looking at the garden, all aglow, at the gleaming blue sky and sea, listening the while to the joyous song of a mocking bird in a pepper tree near, she thought how truly thankful she was that Fate had guided her to this wonderful place on that long ago Autumn day.

Miss Dahlia, who with the passing months had regained her strength, surprised the gypsy girl by appearing in the kitchen before that maiden had time to prepare the usual breakfast tray.

“Oh Nan darling,” the little woman said as she held out both hands. “I am so thankful, so thankful today that I have you. Think how dreary even this beautiful world would be if I were alone in it.”

The girl, with sudden tears in her eyes, kissed the little old lady lovingly as she replied, “I am the one who is most grateful. No mother could have been kinder to an own child than you have been to me.” Then, brushing away a tear from the wrinkled cheeks, she laughingly added, “One might think that we were bemoaning some calamity instead of rejoicing because we have each other.”

Merrily assuming Norah’s dialect, to make the little old lady smile, Nan said, with arms akimbo, “Miss Dahlia, will ye be havin’ some cream of wheat with thick yellow cream on it? Bobsy was just this minute after lavin’ it.”

And so it was a happy breakfast after all, and then, at ten o’clock Robert appeared dressed in gypsy fashion, and Nan, in her old costume of crimson and gold, the color of Autumn leaves in the sunshine, rode away with him on her pony Binnie.

The lad seemed to be exuberantly happy, as side by side, the two horses picked their way up the rough mountain road.

When at last they could ride no further, they dismounted and the lad turning to the girl said with tender solicitude, “Nan, every time that I glanced back without speaking, I caught a sad or troubled expression in your face. Won’t you let me share whatever it is that causes you new anxiety?”

The girl flashed a radiant smile as she said self-rebukingly. “Truly, Robert, I have no real sorrow. But I am thoughtful, I must confess, and quite without willing it, I assure you. It is as though a thought comes to me from somewhere from someone else to me.”

Then, knowing that she was not making herself clearly understood, she asked abruptly, “Robert, do you believe in mental telepathy.”

The lad nodded. “I do indeed,” he said. “Several of us cadets at school tried the thing out and the results were positively uncanny.”

Then with a questioning glance at the dark girl, “Why, Nan, do you believe that you are receiving a telepathic communication?”

“Oh, I really don’t know that I mean anything half as high sounding as all that. But what I do know is this. It doesn’t matter where my thoughts may start, they always wind up with wondering where Manna Lou is. I am continually asking myself a question which I cannot answer.

“Will Manna Lou be remembering that I am now eighteen; indeed almost nineteen, and will she try to locate me that she may keep her long-ago-made promise to my mother?”

The lad looked into the dark eyes that were lifted to his. “Nan dear,” he said very gently, “would you be greatly disappointed if this Manna Lou should find you and if the tale she has to reveal, should prove to be that you are not a gypsy girl at all.” This was very like the question he had asked her in the long ago. Her answer had not changed.

Clearly she looked back at him. “Robert Widdemere,” she said unhesitatingly, “all these years I have believed my mother to be a gypsy, and I have loved her as one. It would be very hard for me to change the picture, O the beautiful, beautiful picture I have in my heart of her!”

The lad, gazing into the glowing face could not resist saying, “Lady Red Bird, it is you who are beautiful.”

But Nan, unlike many other girls, was not confused by so direct a compliment. She replied simply. “I hope I am like my mother.”

The lad could wait no longer to tell the dream which had made his summer bright with hope. “Nan,” he cried, “nearly four years ago we stood on this very rock looking down over the valley and I asked you to let me be your brother-comrade.” Then, taking both of her hands, his voice trembling with earnestness, he continued. “And now, Nan, I have brought you here to this same spot to ask you to be my wife.” Then, as she did not at once reply, Robert hurried on, “I know now that I loved you, even then, but we were too young to understand.”

“Thank you, Robert Widdemere!” the girl replied. “I too care for you, but I could not marry you without your mother’s consent.”

And with that answer, the lad had to be content. After a moment’s silence, Nan caught his arm and pointed to the highway far below them. “Robert,” she said, “years ago as we stood here, we saw a strange car entering your grounds and in it was your mother who separated us for so long; and today, a strange car is entering the Barrington grounds. Who do you suppose has come to pay us a visit?”

“No one who can separate us again, Nan comrade,” the lad said earnestly, “for no living creature can.”

CHAPTER XXXIV.

A HAPPY SURPRISE

The gardener’s boy came on a run to take Binnie when Nan Barrington dismounted, and then the girl holding out her hand to her companion said, “Good-bye, Robert Widdemere. I would ask you to dine with us since it is Thanksgiving, but I know that it is right that you should be with your mother.”

“But I’ll be over by mid-afternoon, Nan,” the lad earnestly replied, “and I shall ask you again the same question that I did this morning, but it will be with my mother’s consent. Good-bye, dear, brave comrade.”

As Nan turned into the house, she noticed a handsome car standing in the drive. For the moment, she had forgotten the visitor about whom they had wondered. Her heart was heavy with dread. What if it were someone who had come to tell Miss Dahlia about her lost fortune.

As she entered the wide hall, Miss Dahlia appeared in the library door and beckoned to her, and so the beautiful girl, dressed in crimson and gold, her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes glowing, accompanied her aunt, who seemed very much excited about something.

A tall, elegant gentleman was standing near the hearth.

“Monsieur Alecsandri,” the little lady said, “this is the gypsy girl for whom you are searching. This is my Nan.”

Unheeded the tears rolled down the wrinkled cheeks of Miss Dahlia as the stranger, with evident emotion, stepped forward, and held out both hands to the wondering girl, “And so you are Elenan, my dear sister’s little daughter.”

Nan looked, not only amazed, but distressed. “Oh, sir,” she cried, “you are not a gypsy. My mother, wasn’t she a gypsy after all?” Tears sprang to her dark eyes and the hand which Miss Dahlia held was trembling. The gentleman seemed surprised, but the little old lady explained, “Our Nan has been picturing her mother and father all these years as gypsies, and it is hard for her to change her thought about them.”

The man advanced and took the girl’s hands, and looking down at her earnestly, he said sincerely: “I am glad to find that you are not ashamed of your father’s people, for he truly was a gypsy. He was Manna Lou’s only brother. Now, if we may all be seated I will tell you the story. Your mother was born in a grey stone chateau overlooking the Danube River. Our father died when she was very young and our mother soon followed and so my orphaned little sister was left to my care. I thought that I was doing my best for her when I had her instructed in languages and arts, and then, just as she was budding into a charming and cultivated young womanhood, I had her betrothed to a descendant of Prince Couza.

“Other Rumanian young ladies envied my sister the social position which this alliance would give her, but Elenan begged me not to coerce her to marry a man whom she did not love. I was stern and unrelenting. All too late I learned that my sister loved Romola, a gypsy musician who was so rarely gifted that as a boy he had often played at the court for the king and queen. From them he had received many favors. He was placed in a monastery school to be educated, and, at his request, his younger sister Manna Lou was placed in a convent where she learned many things that other girls of her race never knew, but when they were old enough to do as they wished, gypsy fashion, they returned to the roaming life which was all that their ancestors had ever known.

“Often, Romola played the small harp he had fashioned in the court of Prince Couza, and it was there my sister met him. They loved each other dearly and were secretly married. I was away in another part of the country at the time, and, when I returned they had been gone for a fortnight. I searched everywhere for the gypsy band to which Romola belonged, but no one knew where it had gone.”

The gentleman looked thoughtfully at the girl for a moment and then he continued: “I never fully abandoned the search, but, not knowing that they had come to America, I followed clues that led nowhere. I now know what happened. The son of Queen Mizella, fearing arrest for some misdeed, crossed the ocean to America and with them was my sister disguised as a gypsy.

“But on the voyage over your father Romola sickened and died. My poor sister was heart-broken and lived only long enough to give birth to a daughter, whom she left in the care of Manna Lou. She asked that kind gypsy woman to bring you up as one of her own band until you were eighteen. Then as your mother knew, you would inherit her share of the Alecsandri estate, and she asked Manna Lou, if it were possible when you reached that age to take you back to Rumania and to me. This, of course, the faithful gypsy woman could not do, but, with her band, she returned last summer and came to tell me the story. I had long grieved over my sister’s loss not knowing to what desperation I had driven her, and so I at once set sail for America in search of her child. All that Manna Lou could tell me was that you had left the caravan near San Seritos, in California. When I arrived here and made inquiries, I learned that a gypsy girl had been adopted five years ago by Miss Barrington, and now, my quest is ended. I have found my sister’s little girl.”

Before Nan could reply. Miss Dahlia, glancing out of the window, exclaimed: “Nan, darling, Robert Widdemere is coming, and his mother is with him.”

The girl sprang up. “Aunt Dahlia, Monsieur Alecsandri, if you will excuse me, I will admit Mrs. Widdemere and Robert. I would rather meet them alone.” And so, before the lad had time to lift the heavy carved knocker, the door was opened by Nan. After a rather formal greeting, she led them into a small reception room.

It was hard for her to understand why Mrs. Widdemere had come, and she still felt dazed because of all she had so suddenly learned of her own dear mother.

“Won’t you be seated?” the girl heard herself saying. Then to her surprise, Mrs. Widdemere, who had always so disliked her, took both of her hands, as she said “Miss Barrington, can you ever forgive me for the unkind way that I have treated you? My son has been telling me what a splendid, brave girl you are, and when I compare with you the one I wanted him to marry, how sadly she is found wanting. Only yesterday I received a letter telling me that she had left her mother, who is in deep sorrow, to accompany a party of gay friends on a pleasure trip to Europe. You cannot think how glad I am that my son did not heed my wishes in this matter.”

Nan listened to this outburst, as one who could hardly comprehend, and for a moment she did not reply. Then she asked slowly, “Mrs. Widdemere, do I understand that you are now willing that your son should marry a gypsy girl?”

“Oh, Miss Barrington, Nan, what matters one’s ancestry when the descendants of noble families are themselves so often ignoble? I have been a vain, foolish woman, but I know that true worth counts more than all else. If you can’t forgive me, because I wish it, then try to forgive me for the sake of my son.”

Tears gathered in the dark eyes of the girl, as she said, “Mrs. Widdemere, first I had a kind gypsy-aunt, Manna Lou, then two dear adopted aunts and no one could have been more loving than they, but now, at last, I am to have someone whom I can call ‘mother.’”

“Thank you dear,” the woman said, “I shall try to deserve so lovely and lovable a daughter. Robert, my son, you and I are much to be congratulated.”

The lad, who had been standing quietly near, leaped forward and catching the hands of the girl whom he loved, he said joyously. “Nan, darling, let’s have our wedding tomorrow out under the pepper tree.”

The girl smiled happily, and then, suddenly remembering the waiting visitor, she said, “Mrs. Widdemere, I would like you and Robert to meet my uncle, who has just arrived from Rumania.”

“A Rumanian gypsy,” the lady was thinking, as she followed the girl. “That country is full of them.”

A moment later, after greeting Miss Dahlia, she saw an elegant gentleman approaching and heard Nan saying, “Mrs. Widdemere, may I present my uncle, Monsieur Alecsandri?”

“Your uncle, Nan?” that lady exclaimed. “Surely this gentleman is not a gypsy.”

“No, indeed, madame, I am not, but I am proud to be the uncle of this little gypsy girl.” He placed his hand lovingly on the dark head. “Elenan is my sister’s child, but her father was Romola, one of the handsomest and most talented of gypsies.”

Then, that Robert and his mother might clearly understand, the story was retold from the beginning. The lad leaped forward, his hands outheld. “Oh Nan,” he cried, “how glad you are that after all you are a real gypsy.” Then he thought of something and turning toward the gentleman, he said in his frank, winning way. “Monsieur, Nan and I were to have been married soon. May we have your consent?”

The foreigner, although surprised and perhaps disappointed if he had hoped his sister’s daughter would return with him, was most gracious. “If the very kind woman with whom I find our Elenan has given her permission, I also give mine.”

There were sudden tears in the gentle eyes of the older woman. She had known of course, that some day these two would wed, but now, how could she live without Nan? Her hesitation was barely noticeable, then she said bravely. “I shall be proud, indeed, to have Robert Widdemere for a nephew.”

Nan, noting the quivering lips, took her benefactress by the hand as she said brightly; “Oh, Aunt Dahlia, what do you think? I forgot our Thanksgiving dinner.”

“But I didn’t forget it!” that little lady quite herself again replied. “Mrs. Sperry has been in our kitchen all of the morning, and here she comes now to announce that dinner is ready for us and our three most welcomed guests.”

Nan’s cup of joy seemed full to the over-flowing but the day held for her still another happiness.

CHAPTER XXXV.

AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

On Thanksgiving afternoon Robert again said, “Nan, comrade, can’t we be married tomorrow out under our very own pepper tree.”

“Son,” Mrs. Widdemere smilingly protested, “what an uncivilized suggestion for you to make.”

“That’s the very reason why I wish it,” the lad replied. “Five years ago Nan and I met out under that tree and we both declared that we wanted to be uncivilized. I remember that I was pining to be a wild Indian or a pirate, but instead, we have both spent the intervening years in polishing our manners and intellects.” Then turning to the girl, he pleaded, “Lady Red Bird, let me have my own way just this once, and then you may have your own way forever after.”