Part 8 (1/2)

”Never mind, daughter, perhaps it will keep me from worrying,” was the reply; ”as 'tis said, there is nothing like work to keep up one's spirits.”

”Oh, Mumsie,” the girl cried impulsively, rubbing her hands caressingly over her mother's cheek, ”don't let's worry any more. We're just silly to cry over what may not happen,” and then she added hopefully, ”I'm sure things will come out all right.”

Mrs. Page's eyes filled as she bent forward and kissed her would-be-comforter. ”Yes, we are silly, no doubt,” she smiled through her tears, ”to waste time and strength worrying over what, after all, may not happen.”

”But, Mother,” suddenly questioned the girl with uneasy eyes, ”do-do you think I ought to become a Pioneer?”

”Why not, Nathalie?” inquired Mrs. Page in surprise. ”Perhaps it will teach you some of the many things you should know, for if we are to be poor, you may have to earn your own living. Resourcefulness, courage, those will be the things-” her mother's voice ceased abruptly.

Nathalie remained silent; there was a note in her mother's voice that seemed like reproof. A sudden depression seized her again as it came to her with renewed force how helpless she was, what things Helen did to help her mother, and the many useful things the Pioneer girls-plain girls, too, who had never had the advantages that she had had-could do.

But mentally pus.h.i.+ng these reproachful thoughts aside with the rebellious feeling that she had never been brought up to do these things, that she had been born a lady, she stooped and kissed her mother hastily and hurriedly joined Grace on the veranda.

”Where shall we walk?” she asked that young girl, as they pa.s.sed down the street. She glanced up at the blue sky, where snowy clouds drifted like rudderless s.h.i.+ps at sea.

”Oh, I forgot to tell you, but Mrs. Morrow has asked me to deliver a note to 'The Mystic.'”

”'The Mystic?'” echoed Nathalie in doubting amazement, ”why I thought she had never had anything to do-”

”To do with the people of the town,” finished Grace. ”Well, she doesn't as a rule, but she is one of Dr. Morrow's patients and had the grace to return Mrs. Morrow's call. I hate to go, as I know she dislikes young people, but of course I could not say no to Mrs. Morrow, and then, too, I rather think she is writing to ask her if we could have her lawn for one of our demonstrations. We had a lovely idea for a May-Day celebration, but we had to give it up, as we had no place to hold it.”

”What were you going to have?” inquired Nathalie, as the two girls turned up the hill leading to the big gray house enclosed in its barrier of gray wall.

”We were going to get some ox carts and decorate them with Mayflowers, and parade to the grounds. There we were to choose a queen and dance around the May-pole in welcome to the G.o.ddess of spring. Fred was to be Robin Hood-O dear,” she suddenly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed with a dismayed face, ”I do believe I left the note at home. What a ninny I am! Why, I pinned it to the cus.h.i.+on so I wouldn't forget it and then walked straight off and left it.”

The girls stared blankly at one another a moment and then Grace cried, ”Come, we might as well go back for it; do you mind? It is only a few blocks out of our way.”

On receiving Nathalie's a.s.sent she added contentedly, ”I'll get Dorcas to make us some lemonade to cool us off, and-why, I can show you my Pioneer room!”

”Oh, I should just love to see it!” enthused Nathalie; ”Helen told me about it. She said she was going to suggest that the groups of the Pioneer band have a Pioneer room.”

”Isn't it old-timey?” she mused a half hour later, as Grace ushered her into a low-ceiled room whose walls were flauntingly gay with a paper of many-colored tulips, which, Grace proudly admitted, was decidedly Dutch and for that reason had been selected.

Nathalie's keen eyes were lured to the photographs, water-colors, etchings, and cuts from magazines, all representative of pioneer days, that peeped from between the gorgeous rows of tulips. An etching of New Amsterdam dated 1650, with rows of one story houses, with their gable ends notched like steps, and weather vanes surmounted with grotesque designs of horses, lions, and geese, proved a great contrast in its quaint simplicity to the New York of to-day.

Her eyes swept from this pictured history to the four-poster with its dimity valance, and then on to the oval dressing table, resplendent with silver candle-sticks, snuffers, and a curious little Dutch lamp with a funny mite of a tinder-box by its side.

”But that clock is a dear!” she murmured as her gaze lingered admiringly upon a tall grandfather's clock in the corner, which returned her glance with such old-time solemnity on its ivory-tinted face that Nathalie's brain became a movie screen, one scene after another presenting themselves to her vivid imagination.

”Father gave that clock to me last birthday,” informed Grace with pride; ”it belonged to the Very Reverend Henricus Van Twiller, one of my forebears. See, there's his picture over the mantel,” pointing to a seamed and dingy-looking canva.s.s of said forebear, who looked down at them with stolid complacency.

”Yes, it is very old,” continued Grace, ”some unimaginative relative of Papa was going to chop it up with Georgie's little hatchet, but Father rescued it just in time. But you must look at the spinning-wheel.

Grandmother gave it to me for being a thief.”

”Yes,” she rattled on, ”I stole a satin bow from her old wedding gown for a souvenir, and when she discovered what I had done, the old dear not only forgave me, but added this spinning-wheel to my collection of things ancient. See, here is the bow on the distaff. But come, let's go down and have the lemonade, I'm dying for a cooling drink.”

As the two girls sat sipping the beverage, Grace suddenly sprang up crying, ”Oh, there's Fred! I want you to meet him!” She began to wave and call frantically in the direction of the lawn, where a tall, well-formed youth was striding, nonchalantly swinging his tennis-racket.

”Oh, I say, kid, what do you want? I'm in a hurry!” came in response a moment later, as the youth stopped and eyed his sister impatiently, vigorously mopping his face, for the day was warm.