The tears sprang to Miss Lawrence's eyes. Nan had scored a second time, all unconsciously. "Why, my dear, do you believe I could be harsh enough to inflict anything dreadful upon a little girl? I assure you I shall do nothing worse than keep her in after school and give her a lecture, not an unkind one, but I hope to be able to make her understand the nature of an untruth better than she does now. I am glad to know the exact facts, Nan; it will make it easier for me to deal with her."
"Shall you tell the whole school?" asked Nan anxiously.
Miss Lawrence considered the question. "No, I think not. I will simply tell them that a false report arose and that another time they must come to see for themselves, and that any announcement of a holiday will be made from the desk by me personally." She then bade Miss Dent good-bye, and stooped to kiss Nan whose championship had won the day for naughty little Jack.
Jack took her punishment stoically and the only remark about it was in answer to her sister's question: "Was it very dreadful, Jack? Was she awfully solemn and terrible?"
Jack's reply was philosophical: "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me," she said gravely. And that was all any one was ever able to get out of Jack.
CHAPTER VII
A TOURNAMENT WITH PETE
As Aunt Sarah prophesied, the boys thawed out in a few days, but did not promise by their manner to offer any real companionship. Mary Lee made a point of avoiding them while Nan was perfectly indifferent, and only Jean went out of her way to be agreeable.
"I think they're horrid," complained Mary Lee. "Just because they have a finer house than this one and their father has been some high muck-a-muck they think they can look down on us."
"I don't believe they look down exactly; I think it's because we are girls, and they're not used to playing with girls. We belong to the same family and it isn't anything much to be a Congressman. I'm sure they're polite enough."
"But they're not a bit like Phil," replied Mary Lee who measured all boys by that standard.
"It's because they're not used to girls," insisted Nan; "that's what Aunt Sarah says, and Phil has been used to us ever since he was born."
"But Phil says they're stuck up," persisted Mary Lee, "and a boy ought to know."
"Oh, well, who cares?" returned Nan. "I'm sure I don't, and I don't want boys tagging after me wherever I go," which was something of a fling at Mary Lee who generally preferred Phil's company to that of any of her sisters.
It was Phil, after all, who did bring about a better understanding between the cousins, so that all spent many a holiday in common. It was one Saturday when Phil came over to propose a "sure-enough" tournament, that the fun commenced. He had his own horse and proposed to beg, borrow or —
"Not steal one for me," interrupted Mary Lee.
"I'll get one some way," said Phil. "We must have more than one to enter the lists. The more the better."
As a tournament was sufficiently romantic to appeal to Nan she eagerly put in, "I'll be a knight."
"What'll you ride?" asked Mary Lee.
"Pete."
Phil tumbled back on the grass with a shout of laughter, for Pete was the old mule which Unc' Landy used for all farming purposes. He was aged, half blind and evilly disposed, so his entering a contest like a tournament seemed the height of absurdity.
"You laugh mighty soon," retorted Nan. "Maybe you reckon I can't ride Pete. I can do more with him than any one."
"I think he'd be lots of fun," said Phil, sitting up, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "I'll bring Lightfoot and maybe I can get sister Polly's mare for Mary Lee."
"Oh, I'd love that," cried Mary Lee, enthusiastically. "Who'll be the spectators?"
"We don't need any except the kids. Jack and Jean will do," returned Phil. "We'll just ride for the fun of the thing, you see."
"We can have a make-believe audience," said Nan eagerly. "I'd love that. Where can we have it, Phil?"
"Oh, over in the field, back where the road comes in."
"How about rings? We must have rings."
"One will do. We can't expect to have many. I can fix up one over the gate and if we take that we shall do well."
"That will be a fine place," said Nan, hugging her knees. "Go 'long, Phil, and get your horses and I'll see about Pete. Unc' Landy isn't using him to-day."
Phil went off with a chuckle, promising to return in half an hour, and Nan flew to the house. It was her intention to outdo them all in the matter of costume. Phil had declared his intention of tying some sort of sash around his waist and of wearing his brother Tom's Rough Rider hat with a feather in it. Mary Lee said she would put on a red jacket and tie a silk handkerchief around her head.
"I'll get up something," said Nan evasively. She might not have the swiftest steed but she could have the grandest costume. Whatever Nan went into, she did with all her heart and her enthusiasm went to full lengths whenever she entered any contest.
Nan had the faculty of mentally placing objects in their relative places once she had seen them, and on her way to the house she quickly made an inventory of those things she should need. First there was Jack's plaid skirt; it would about come to her knees. A pair of leathern leggings her mother had worn as part of her riding costume when a girl, she remembered seeing in a trunk in the attic. In this same trunk, to her satisfaction, she came across some strips of plaid like the skirt; these she considered a great find and bore them down-stairs with the leggings.
Having arrayed herself in a green shirt-waist, the plaid skirt and the leggings, Nan rummaged among her treasures to find an old cairngorm pin which had belonged to her Grandmother Lee, and which her mother had once given her as a birthday gift, lacking anything new. Fashioning the plaid strips into a scarf by pinning the longer ones together, she fastened them at the shoulder with the pin. Then her deft fingers contrived from some stiff paper, a sort of Scotch cap. She gave this a coat of shoe polish which dried quickly, and as a finishing touch she pinned to it a long peacock feather which some one had once given her.
When all was ready Nan surveyed herself in the glass with much pride. Her ideas had been gleaned from some pictures of Highland costumes which she had often seen at her Cousin Mag's, and she had determined to take the name of the Knight of Snowdoun, knowing and loving well her "Lady of the Lake."
On her way from the house she stopped in the pantry and took three apples from the barrel standing there. One of these she carefully pared and slipped the paring into her pocket; the others she took with her to the stable yard where old Pete stood, his head over the fence. She rubbed his nose gently and gave him the pared apple. If there was anything Pete loved, it was apples, and with these as a reward Nan knew she could do anything with him, and indeed he allowed her to adjust his bridle and to strap a folded horse blanket upon him and to mount him easily, a bit of apple being the recompense for such amiable behavior.
As Nan rode in state out of the yard in the direction of the field, Ashby Gordon saw her and was fascinated by her appearance.
"What are you going to do?" he called after her.
Nan flashed him a merry look over her shoulder, but made no reply.
There was something entirely too enticing in the possibilities her looks presented and Ashby's curiosity got the better of him. He ran to find Randolph. "Come on, Ran," he said. "I wish you'd see Nan. She looks stunning and she's riding old Pete somewhere. Come on."
More impressed by Ashby's manner than his words, Randolph followed his brother. As they went out they caught sight of Nan just disappearing down the road behind the barn. A dip in the hill hid her from view in another moment, but they determined to take the same direction to see what was going on. Arriving upon the scene, they found Phil on Lightfoot, Mary Lee riding her Cousin Polly's Beauty, and the twins seated as spectators.
"What's going on?" asked Randolph.
"A tournament," said Phil. "There is the grandstand if you want to look on."
"Oh, but I'd like to be in it, if I only had my horse here," said Ran.
"So would I," put in Ashby. "My! but Nan looks great. What are you, Nan?"
"I'm the Knight of Snowdoun, Mary Lee is the Knight of the Red Jacket and Phil is the Knight of Morro Castle because he is wearing a Rough Rider hat."
"It's rather too big," said Phil. "I've got to take a reef in it."
"We've only one ring," said Nan, "but we have a large assemblage to look on. The Goldenrod family are nearly all here. The Oaks are out in force and the Maples are dressed up in their gayest clothes, you see."
Ran looked at her with more interest than he had ever shown. "I say," he remarked, "you look like the real thing. Who's your herald?"
"Oh, we haven't any. Phil is going to call out: 'Prepare to charge,' and 'Charge,' unless," she said graciously, "you'd like to do it."
"I'd like it first-rate," said Ran heartily.
"All right. That will help us out finely, won't it, Phil?"
To which Phil replied: "It will make it more real, I reckon."
"The other two had selected their ladies before I reached here," said Nan, "so if I win I'll have to crown a make-believe. The crown is of red maple leaves. Jean is making it now."
"If you win," said Mary Lee contemptuously, being rather put out at the appearance of the Gordon boys upon the scene.
"Yes, Miss High-and-Mighty," returned Nan. "Because you have the best mount, you needn't think you're going to have it all your own way. It isn't the riding; it's the taking the ring. Two out of three goes. Where are the lances, Phil?"
Phil produced three long straight poles made from saplings, sharpened at the end, and soon all three knights were mounted and in line. But just before the herald uttered his first call, Nan lowered her lance, drew from her pocket a piece of apple paring and tied it upon the pole.
"What in the world are you doing?" cried Phil.
"I'm doing this to make Pete go," was the answer. "If he smells this, he'll try to run for it."
"That's not fair," cried Mary Lee.
"It is, isn't it, boys? When she has the best horse she ought to let me do it, I think," declared Nan.
"Oh, there wouldn't anything make that old creature go," said Phil disparagingly. "He always sleeps while Unc' Landy has him in the plough, and I reckon he'll do it now. Let her tole him on any way she likes, Mary Lee; it will be more fun."
The Knight of the Red Jacket was the first to start, but with such impetus did her steed go that it took all her wits to hold in the spirited mare and her lunge at the ring brought no result.
Nan came next. Pete, with the apple paring dangling within a foot of his nose, got up his best speed and galloped with noble effort to overtake this tid-bit.
"Good boy, Pete," cried Ashby, clapping his hands, and the sly old mule, as if understanding, dashed along at a rate which surprised every one. Nan had ridden him bare-back too often not to know his paces and though he had never before taken quite such a gait she was secure in her faith in him and actually took the ring, laughing as she slipped down and offered Pete the bit of apple paring.
"I told you it was skill and not paces," said she as she came back.
Phil was the next, and he, too, took the ring.
"It's not fair," pouted Mary Lee. "If you had this horse, you'd go so fast you couldn't see anything."
"I'll change with you," cried Nan quickly.
"Suppose you do that," proposed Ran. "Then each one will have a fair test. Nan can ride Mary Lee's mare next time and Phil can take Pete. Then the third time Phil can ride the mare, Mary Lee can ride Pete, and Nan Lightfoot; that will give every one an equal test."
Mary Lee objected to this, mainly because Ran had proposed it, but the others overruled her and so it was arranged, Nan a second time coming off victorious, Phil knocking the ring from its place and Mary Lee scoring not at all.
The third time no one won for Pete absolutely refused to carry Mary Lee. He planted his feet obstinately and firmly and when urged by repeated blows from Ashby at the rear, kicked out so viciously that Ashby speedily got out of the way. So Nan and Mary Lee were obliged to change back again, but even then Mary Lee was no more successful, for by this time Pete's temper had been tried beyond pacifying and he was sulky. No amount of coaxing would urge him to go faster than a slow walk, so it was decided to lead him aside and Nan made her third essay upon Phil's horse, without taking a ring. However, as it was, the odds were in her favor, for she had outdistanced her rivals and had shown herself the most expert in the tourney. Therefore, it was she who was to bestow the crown upon her chosen lady.
"You might take one of us," said Jack wistfully, who longed to be queen of Love and Beauty.
"I wish I could, but you didn't wear my colors and I can't offend a brother knight or we might have a joust which would end in bloodshed," said Nan seriously, swinging the wreath of red and yellow leaves upon her lance. "I'm sure I don't want to give offense," she added.
Jack looked disappointed. "I thought, of course, you'd choose me, Nan," she said.
"I will next time. We'll try it again some day, and this time Phil can crown you as a maid of honor."
This satisfied Jack who felt that to be the only lady to wear a crown was sufficient honor.
Nan stood swinging her wreath and looking uncertainly around the field. Upon a tall bramble a single spray of white shone out, the bush evidently having miscalculated the season and having imagined that it was still summer. "Ah, my Lady Bramble," cried Nan, "I will crown you, for you must have expected something unusual or you wouldn't be showing yourself at this time of year." And she flung her garland over the bramble bush.
But just here their play was interrupted by a voice at the fence, saying, "Who got dat mewl?"
Nan ran toward Unc' Landy who looked at her in disapproving surprise. "What all dis? Dis ain' no way fo' young ladies to dress. None o' de fambly evah done disher way 'scusin' dey goes to er ball."
"It's a tournament, Unc' Landy, and I took the ring," cried Nan joyously. "You ought to have seen Pete run the first time, but he was awfully obstinate at the last."
"Pete? You ain' ride dat ole mewl to no tournymint?"
"Yes, I did and he ran, really he did. I'll tell you why." And Nan told how she had lured on the old creature by the odor of apples.
At this story all Unc' Landy's disapproval vanished and he burst into a loud guffaw. "I say yuh meks him run," he cried. "I knows now how to git wuk outen him."
"Oh, but you mustn't fool him," said Nan. "I gave him the apple afterward. It would never do to make him run that way every day or he'd die in his tracks."
"He sholy would ef he keep up dat gait. Come erlong hyar, yuh ole fool creetur. Whafo' yuh kickin' up yo' heels lak yuh young an' frolicsome? I knows yo' age. Come on hyar." And he led off the old mule while every now and then he doubled over with mirth, repeating: "I say run."
"It was great fun," declared Ran. "I didn't know girls ever did such things."
"We do," returned Nan. "We do all sorts of things and mother doesn't care so long as it isn't actually wrong. She likes us to be out-of-doors. We girls play baseball and do lots of things like that."
"Nan won't always play," complained Mary Lee. "She gets too young ladyish sometimes and goes off somewhere to mope."
"I don't mope," returned Nan, "but there are other things I like to do. I don't like boys' games all the time, only sometimes. I don't like to go fishing because I hate squirming worms on hooks, and I feel sorry for poor gasping fish."
"Oh, but we have to have them for food," said Ashby.
"I know we do, but I'd rather not do the catching. I'll let you do that," she added laughing.
They were all on thoroughly good terms by this time and since the afternoon was not over, they took turns in riding, Ran showing himself so expert as to pick up his cap from the ground while going at full speed. He was able, too, to ride standing, bareback or any other way, winning great applause for his cow-boy acts.
"I believe I'll ask father to let us have our horses up here," he said. "It would be no end of comfort and if we had some kind of trap we could take you girls off on long drives."
"We have an old phaeton," said Nan; "it's rather dingy looking, but that is all that is the matter with it, and there is the sleigh. We don't need either since we sold the horses, but mother doesn't like to part with them for the small price we could get for them and she says maybe some day we can afford to keep a horse."
"We must surely see about having our horses here," repeated Ran, and that very night he wrote home to his father to make the request.
A week later the horses arrived and were stabled near-by. Polly Lewis was generous enough to send her mare to one of the girls once in a while and so many a long and delightful ride did the cousins have. Sometimes several of them would pile into the old phaeton and sometimes two would go horseback and the rest would drive. Strange to say, though Mary Lee was so much less impetuous than Nan, and fonder of boys' sports, she sat a horse less well and was never the graceful and fearless rider that Nan was, though many a girl might have envied even her good seat and steady hand.
There were other tourneys, too, when Randolph generally was victor and crowned Jean who was his special favorite, thus causing pangs of jealousy in Jack's ambitious heart. Nan, seeing this, resolved to do her best for Jack's sake and practiced so diligently that once Ran's successes rendering him careless, she actually did take the championship from him and to Jack's great delight, crowned this little sister, making a flowery speech as she did so.
Aunt Sarah smiled contemptuously at these performances which she called "fool nonsense," but since the children kept well, were not in bad company, and did not neglect their school duties, she did not forbid them their exciting plays. After the arrival of the horses belonging to the Gordon boys, Pete was not again expected to play the part of a curvetting steed, but was allowed to rest on his laurels.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SUNSET-TREE
Although the girls had plenty of time for play, Aunt Sarah saw to it that they had no really idle moments. She was the most industrious of persons herself and accomplished wonders which she explained by saying her daily nap of half an hour so fortified her that she could do two days' work in one by taking two rests in the twenty-four hours. She was quick to perceive defects in young people and in a half sarcastic, half humorous way, commented upon them. Upon Jean, such remarks had little effect; they angered Jack, slightly annoyed Mary Lee, but they hurt Nan to the quick, she being the most sensitive of them all. Proud and romantic, high-spirited and impatient, she was often thrown from a pinnacle of eager expectation into the depths of a present discomfort. It was on such occasions that she fled to her nook in the pines which she had finally named "Place o' Pines." Here she would often solace herself by writing to her mother whom she missed, perhaps, more than any of the others did. Reports coming from Mrs. Corner were on the whole favorable. "If I can stay long enough," she wrote, "the doctors give me every hope of entire recovery."
It was one afternoon when Aunt Sarah had been particularly exacting that Nan fled to Place o' Pines. She had not been there for some time, having been occupied in too many ways to have many moods. This, however, had been a particularly horrid day. In the first place she had come down late to breakfast and Aunt Sarah had said: "Good-afternoon," when she entered the dining-room. That made all the others giggle and she felt so small. She needn't have been late, of course, but while she was putting on her shoes and stockings she thought of a new tune and had been humming it over so as not to lose the air, and, as she sat there dreaming, the time slipped away.
Then of course, Mary Lee might have seen that she was in a bad humor and should not have teased her about dawdling, making her answer sharply.
"You old sharp corner," Mary Lee then had said.
"You're a Corner yourself as much as I am," Nan had retorted. "You're an angle; you're an angle worm," was Mary Lee's triumphant reply. And then Randolph had shouted with laughter. Nan's cheeks reddened as she remembered his mirth. She hated to be laughed at, especially by boys, and by older boys worst of all. She didn't mind Ashby and Phil so much, for they were younger, but she did very much mind Randolph's laughter, so she had taken to her heels and had not spoken to any of them since. She hoped they would let her alone and that she would be safe in her hiding-place till supper-time.
It was two months since her mother had left home and longer since she had parted from her Aunt Helen. As she came through the orchard to where the pines stood sombrely green, she saw a charred space just outside her tiny grove. The boys had evidently been there roasting potatoes, for there were skins and corn-husks scattered about.
"Oh, dear," sighed Nan, "if they have found out my darling grove, I shall never have any more peace." But, apparently, the boys had not entered the charmed castle, for as Nan crept through the underbrush she saw that all was as she had left it, only a bit of white paper fluttered from the music rack to which it was fastened by a pin.
"They have been here after all," she exclaimed, "and have found me out. I suppose that is some foolish note they have left." She took the paper to the edge of the grove where it was lighter and read:
"Come, come, come,
Come to the sunset-tree.
The day is past and gone;
The woodman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done.
"Come at ten o'clock to-morrow by command of your
"Fairy Godmother.
"October 14."
Surprised and pleased, Nan's first thought was "I must go tell mother." Then with a rush came the recollection of her mother's absence. She was the only one who knew the secret. Her Aunt Helen had returned. Had she come alone?
Nan looked across the little brook toward Uplands. The house seemed as silent and deserted as in the weeks and months past. Slipping the paper into her blouse, she determined to go and reconnoitre.
The house looked grim and uninviting. Nan wondered if ever it had seemed otherwise, if ever the doors had been thrown open and from the windows had looked smiling faces, her Aunt Nancy's, her Aunt Helen's, her father's. The stick-tights and jimson weed held her with detaining hands as she ran back through the unmown lawn. They seemed like unseen fingers from fairies under a spell. Nan wondered at what mystic word the doors of this haunted dwelling would fly open to her.
"Suppose," Nan said to herself, "an ogre lived in that dark woods and I was in his power." She gave a little self-reproachful sigh as she reached the sunset-tree. "Mother would tell me that I was in the power of an ogre, I suppose," she continued, sitting down on the gnarled roots which stretched far along above soil. "Mother would say old ogre Impatience and the bad fairy that makes me get to dreaming, had me in their clutches. Maybe they have. I wish I could tell my fairy godmother about it, and that she could give me a phial of precious liquid to squeeze on the ogre's eyelids so he would go to sleep and never wake up; and I wish she would give me a charm to change the fairy that makes me dream into one that would make me jump right up and get dressed in a jiffy. I wonder why it is I always love so to moon over my shoes and stockings. All sorts of ideas come to me then. Perhaps if I did nothing but put on shoes and stockings I'd some day have an idea come to me that would be worth while." The whimsy of spending the rest of her life in putting on shoes and stockings made her laugh.
The sunset was gorgeous gold and red over the top of the hill. Lakes and mountains and turreted cities appeared in the sky. "The holy city," said Nan, becoming grave. "That is where papa is. Now up go the roses," she went on as pink clouds detached themselves and drifted off overhead. "I'm sending you those roses, papa," she said. "Please take them into heaven with you and I'll try to get rid of the ogre Impatience and the Poppy fairy. Poppies put you to sleep they say, so I'll call her that. To-morrow I'll stand on one foot to put on my shoes and stockings, for if I sit down I am lost. I wish I knew, papa darling, if you could look through those bright golden cracks in the sky and could see me standing here under the sunset-tree."
She returned soberly home and deliberately sought out Mary Lee and the boys whom she found practicing the double shuffle on the back porch.
"Where have you been?" asked Ran, pleasantly.
"In the enchanted woods," returned Nan, "but it was getting gruesome there so I came away."
Ran laughed. He was getting used to these speeches from Nan, and rather liked them.
"I can do it now," said Mary Lee eagerly. "I got Mitty to show me. See, Nan." And she executed the step easily.
"I don't know that step, but I know another one," said Nan, glad to perceive that her ill temper of the morning was forgotten, and being a little ashamed of supposing that they would miss her much when she went off alone.
The noise of their break-downs brought Aunt Sarah to the door. "What in the world are you all doing?" she asked.
"Just doing some steps," replied Mary Lee, expertly executing her double shuffle.
"You might have been better employed," returned Aunt Sarah. "It would have been just as well, Mary Lee, if you had been giving some attention to darning your stockings. There is a fine large hole in the knee of one where you scraped it against a tree you were climbing, I suppose. And, Nan, it wouldn't do any harm if you were to see where you left the shirt-waist you took off this morning. We are not Japanese to hang up things on the floor."
"I wish we were," answered Nan. "I'd like to wear kimonos and shoes that slip up and down at the heel, and I'd not mind living in a house made of paper screens."
"Poor protection they'd be to you," replied Aunt Sarah, "for you would punch a hole in every one before a day was over."
Nan was not destructive and considered this an unjust imputation, so she stalked off with her head in the air. She didn't believe but that she had hung up the shirt-waist and that it had slipped down. Aunt Sarah was so particular and was always dinging at her about leaving bureau drawers and closet doors unclosed. When one is in a hurry, how is it possible always to see that everything is just so?
She found the waist not on the floor of the closet, but by the chair where she had laid her clothes the night before. There were some of Jack's belongings, too, strewed around the room, but Mary Lee's and Jean's were carefully put away. Nan hung up the waist and then sat down by the window. Suppose the things in the big house at Uplands had been allowed to lie around helter-skelter, she didn't believe it would look so attractive as she imagined. This brought a new train of thought which she carried out, leaning her arms on the sill, her chin resting upon them till Aunt Sarah's entrance aroused her from her reverie.
"Up in the clouds, I suppose," she exclaimed. "You ought to live in a balloon or a sky-scraper, Nan, you so seldom want to come down to earth. I want you to find Jack and Jean and tell them to come in and get ready for supper."
Nan departed on her errand, smiling to herself in the thought that she had a secret from them all. She was out of sorts with everybody in the house, but to-morrow would be the sunset-tree and Aunt Helen.
She was promptly on hand at the trysting-place the next morning, though finding some difficulty in getting there in time as it seemed that Aunt Sarah had a hundred things for her to do. That she did not dream over them goes without the saying, and Aunt Sarah congratulated herself upon the seeming improvement under her reproofs. Promptly, as Nan appeared, the little figure of her Aunt Helen was seen approaching her. She did not wait for Nan to come up but ran toward her and clasped her in her arms, and Nan gave her as close a hug. Her imagination was strongly appealed to by this relative, so little known and who had chosen such fascinating methods of becoming acquainted.
"You dear Aunt Helen," cried Nan, "where did you come from?"
"You know me then," said her aunt.
"Oh, yes. When I told mother, she guessed who you were."
"And she let you come to meet me to-day?" said Miss Helen, with a strain of eagerness in her voice.
"She didn't know. She wasn't here to ask. She's gone away, you know."
"I didn't know. Tell me about it, please."
Nan poured forth her woes and fears concerning her mother.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," sighed Miss Helen. "We didn't know. Oh, my dear."
"Do you think she may be very ill?" asked Nan her eyes wide with alarm.
"I hope not. I hope not." Her aunt spoke more cheerfully. "No doubt she will get quite well where she is."
"She says she will if she can stay long enough."
"She must stay." Miss Helen spoke with decision. "Did she mind very much, Nancy, that you met me?"
"Oh, no; she was glad. She said – " the girl hesitated.
"Go on, please." Miss Helen spoke pleadingly.
"She told me that she had said something that she regretted."
"And that was – " Miss Helen leaned forward eagerly and caught Nan's hand in a tight clasp.
"That she never wanted to see any of the Corner family again," here Nan hurried on. "It wasn't any wonder, was it, when she was in such trouble and distress?"
"I never blamed her," murmured her aunt.
"She said she ought to have tried to be friendly to you and" – Nan looked up shyly, "that you used to love me dearly."
"I've always loved you dearly," returned her aunt warmly, "and I hope I always shall. Ah, my dear, you don't know what it is to have those dreadful bitternesses come into a family. I loved you all, your father, your mother, you children, but I loved my mother, too, and she needed me, for I was all she had left, and – well, never mind now. I am so very glad time has softened your mother's feeling, toward me at least, and I am so sorry, so very sorry, that she is not well. Poor dear Jack, it would have been a blow to him."