CHAPTER X
THE RED CLOTH
The sound of the fall startled Aunt Sarah from a sound sleep. She sat up in bed and listened. All was quiet. "I couldn't have been dreaming," she murmured. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee," she called, "did you hear anything?"
"Huh?" said Mary Lee sleepily.
"Did you hear something fall? I thought I heard a scream and a fall. Is Jean in bed with you?"
Mary Lee was now awake. "Yes, Aunt Sarah, she's here," she answered. "I don't know whether I heard anything or not, I was so sound asleep."
Miss Sarah lay down again, but her ears were open to the slightest noise and in a little while she heard a plaintive meow. Again she sat up. "I hear a cat," she said. "It's somewhere near-by, and I shut Lady Gray in the kitchen myself."
"Maybe it's on the porch roof," said Mary Lee, drowsily.
Miss Sarah arose and went to the window which overlooked the porch. "Scat!" she said, putting out her head. She waited a few moments but there was no sound from this quarter. When she drew in her head the meowing sounded more plainly than ever.
"It certainly is in the house," said Miss Sarah. She went to the door leading out into the hall and discovered that the sound seemed to come from one of the rooms opposite. In one of these slept the boys; the other was where she had turned the key upon Nan. Slipping on a dressing gown and slippers, and taking a candle, she went forth to investigate. She stopped first at the door where the Gordon boys slept; all was still. At Nan's door she listened. It was plain that the meowing came from there. Lady Gray having failed of catching the mouse had found her way into the room which Nan had left and was trying to make it known that she wished to be let out.
Miss Sarah opened the door and was met with every evidence of satisfaction by Lady Gray. "How in the world did you get up here?" asked Miss Sarah in surprise. But just then a curious damply smelling air arrested her attention and she perceived the door standing ajar. "Of all things!" she exclaimed and went on with her candle. "Nan," she called, "Nan, what prank is this? I wonder if that willful child really has run off to her grandmother's." She cautiously went on to the stairs, shading her candle with one hand and peering down into the dark hallway. A white heap at the foot of the stairs caught her eye. She hurried down to find Nan, pale and still, lying there.
"Oh, dear, dear, dear," cried Miss Sarah, "what has happened? Nan! Nan!" but Nan did not stir.
Unable to carry both Nan and the candle, Miss Sarah hastened back to her room. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee!" she called, "get up quick and bring a candle! Hurry!"
At this peremptory summons, Mary Lee leaped from her bed. "What is the matter? What is it?" she cried.
"Nan has fallen down the stairs. Come right along. Here, take both candles and I'll carry her."
Trembling, Mary Lee followed apprehensively, and lighted the way for her aunt to bear the helpless burden up-stairs to the room from which the girl had escaped. As Mary Lee caught sight of the white face and limp form, she burst into tears. "Oh, is she dead? Is she dead?" she cried.
"I don't know," said Miss Sarah, her lips quivering. "Run get me some camphor, or hartshorn or smelling salts, or, better yet, there is a little brandy in the medicine closet; bring that."
"I'll bring them all," answered Mary Lee, rushing away and coming back laden with bottles. "Oh, Aunt Sarah," she said, anxiously watching her aunt force the brandy between the shut lips, "suppose she is dead! Suppose she is, and I called her an angle-worm. Oh, my dear Nan! My poor Nan! What will mother say?"
"Hush up," cried Aunt Sarah, tortured beyond forbearance. "I reckon you're not the only one who is feeling distressed. She's coming around, Mary Lee," she said presently, "but I can't tell whether there are any bones broken or not. We'd better get the doctor at once. Her right arm looks queer to me. Call Randolph and send him for Dr. Woods."
Aroused by the confusion, Jack came pattering to the door. "What is the matter?" she called as she heard Mary Lee knocking on the boys' door.
"Nan's fallen down the stairs," said Mary Lee, concisely.
"Is she dreadfully hurt? Oh, Mary Lee, is she?"
"We don't know, but we are going to send for the doctor."
Jack rushed across to where Nan was lying. "Go right back to bed," commanded Aunt Sarah. "I don't want a case of croup. I've got about as much as I can manage right here."
"I want to see my Nan."
"Go to bed," ordered Miss Sarah, and Jack sobbingly obeyed.
Mary Lee returned with the report that Randolph would go instantly. She poured out some of the brandy and came close to the bed to see Nan opening her eyes.
"She was stunned," said Aunt Sarah. "No, she mustn't have any liquor; it will be bad for her now. She is gaining consciousness."
Nan gave a weak moan. "What's the matter?" she said faintly. "My arm hurts so. Where's mother?"
Aunt Sarah's chin quivered and her eyes filled as she answered, "You've had a fall, child. Keep quiet till the doctor comes."
Nan closed her eyes and lay still for a moment. Presently she said: "I was hungry and I went down to get something to eat." Then she fainted again and Aunt Sarah was busy with restoratives when the doctor came. He was a bluff, hearty, middle-aged man who had known Nan all her life.
"What's all this?" he said. "Tumbling down stairs in the dead of night? Walking like a ghost in shut up places? What does this mean, Miss Nan?"
Nan tried to smile but felt herself slipping off into an unreal world while the doctor looked her over. "Nothing worse than a broken arm," he decided, "only a simple fracture, fortunately." The bone was slipped into place, causing a moment of exquisite agony, and after leaving a soothing potion, the doctor said, "She will be feverish and possibly a little delirious after her fall. I will come again in the morning." He departed leaving Miss Sarah to a solitary vigil while Nan moaned and wandered off again into the world of unreality.
Toward morning she began to mutter about strange things of which Aunt Sarah had never heard: the Poppy Fairy and Giant Pumpkin-Head, the Place o' Pines and the red cloth. Then she tried to sing a little song beginning: "A little child goes wandering by." At this the tears started to Aunt Sarah's eyes and she busied herself in putting iced cloths on the burning head.
Sunday morning dawned softly bright, a dim haze over the purple mountains and a faint mist enveloping the valley. Mary Lee awoke with the realization that something distressful had happened. She told the twins to keep very quiet for Nan was very sick, and it was a sober little group which gathered around the breakfast table.
Randolph and Ashby tiptoed about cautiously. Jean took refuge with Unc' Landy and Jack established herself just outside the door of the room where Nan lay. Mary Lee rushed down to Cousin Mag's with the woeful tale and Cousin Mag hurried back with her offers of help. She insisted upon taking Aunt Sarah's place and allowing her to rest, but this Aunt Sarah would not permit.
"I reckon I am more responsible for this than any one else is, Margaret," she said. "I was in a perfect pepper-jig of a temper because Nan went over to Uplands, and when she answered me back pretty saucily I was madder at that than anything, so I made her go without her supper and locked her up into the bargain. We're both of us pretty well punished and I reckon it's going to be my only consolation to nurse her."
Cousin Mag then declared that the twins should stay at her house a few days and she would see to it that the housekeeping went on smoothly at the Corners'. "You'll have to take some rest," she declared, "and I will come over every day to see that you get it."
So began the long siege for Aunt Sarah and Nan, each of whom was receiving a punishment not anticipated. Because she felt herself partly to blame, Aunt Sarah was tenderness itself, and for the same reason Nan was a docile patient.
Jean was perfectly willing to spend a week at Cousin Mag's and rather liked the idea, but Jack at first rebelled, and only after receiving the promise that she should see Nan every day was she willing to go. So every afternoon a wistful little face appeared at Nan's door.
It was on the third day that Nan first noticed her. After her fever and delirium, she lay weak and exhausted, but she gave a faint smile of welcome to her little sister. Aunt Sarah had stepped from the room for a minute and Jack ventured inside. "Can't I do something for you? May I kiss you just once, Nannie?" she said softly.
"Yes indeed," said Nan, and Jack dropped a gentle kiss upon her cheek.
"Have you seen the red cloth?" asked Nan with as much anxiety in her voice as her weakness would allow.
"Oh, I haven't looked," said Jack, "but I will." Aunt Sarah's footsteps were heard in the hall and Jack slipped out. "I kissed her," she said facing Aunt Sarah at the door, "but I didn't make her worse." Aunt Sarah smiled but made no reply.
Jack went out into the hall. She had found something to do for Nan. She tiptoed down-stairs and went out upon the porch softly closing the door behind her and looking toward Uplands. Yes, there hung the red cloth from the second story window. For a moment the child stood irresolute, then she started off, but with more than one backward look. She was doing the same thing as that for which Nan had been punished, but she didn't care. It was for Nan. Nan wanted her Aunt Helen to know that she could not come to her. She remembered that this had distressed her sister in their talk that evening before the imprisonment.
The little girl trudged on downhill, across the brook and uphill, on the other side. In a few minutes she had reached the house and was trying to make up her mind at which door she should knock. She decided upon that which opened upon the front porch and here she raised the brass knocker and let it fall twice. The door was opened by Miss Helen herself. Jack knew her at once from Nan's description, and it may be that Miss Helen guessed Jack's identity for she said: "Come in, dear."
"I can't come in," said Jack. "Nan's tumbled down-stairs and has broken her arm. She can't come to see you and she's dreadful sorry."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear, how grieved I am to hear that!" said Miss Helen. "How did it happen?"
"Aunt Sarah shut her up and wouldn't give her any supper, so she got up in the night and Lady Gray saw a mouse and jumped so the candle went out and Nan fell nearly all the way from the top. It's a wonder she wasn't killed, Cousin Mag says."
Just what Lady Gray had to do with the accident Miss Helen could not clearly understand. "Oh, I am so sorry," she repeated. She hesitated before asking, "Why did Aunt Sarah shut her up?"
Jack did not reply at once. "I don't believe I ought to tell that," she said. Then after some consideration of the subject: "Maybe I can tell half; she shut her up for one thing and she made her go without her supper because Nan sassed her back."
Miss Helen smiled but immediately she said gravely, "Nan should not have done that."
"Maybe you would, too, if you were doing something your mother let you do and your mother's aunt said you shouldn't," returned Jack, feeling that in this rather mixed-up speech she had adequately excused Nan, and Miss Helen read the meaning sufficiently well to take in the fact that Miss Sarah had disapproved of Nan's coming to Uplands.
"Aunt Sarah has written to mother," said Jack, "and Mary Lee has written, too, so I reckon Aunt Sarah will feel awfully sorry when mother's letter comes and says Nan wasn't disobeying." Jack gave further enlightenment. "I see Nan every day," she added.
"I am sure that makes Nan happier," returned Miss Helen. "Which of the twins are you? Jack, I suppose."
"Yes, I am Jack. Jean is over to Cousin Mag's. We sleep there now while Nan is sick. Nan won't be able to write for ever so long, for her right arm is all wrapped up in something and she can't move it. It is funny that it is her right arm and her writing arm, too, isn't it? I must go now."
"I wish you could stay," said Miss Helen wistfully. "I will write to Nan, and you must give her my love. Can't you stay and see your grandmother? She is asleep now, for she is very tired, but she will waken soon."
"I'm afraid I can't stay," said Jack who had no great desire to see a grandmother of whom she had heard from Mary Lee and Unc' Landy only ill reports. "I saw the red cloth. Nan told me about it," Jack went on. "I came over to tell you about her. She doesn't know I came but she'll be glad."
"You love Nan very much, don't you?" said Miss Helen tenderly.
"Yes. I love Jean 'cause she's my twin, but Nan always takes up for me and helps me out of scrapes. I get into a great many," sighed Jack. "Maybe I'm in one now," she added thoughtfully.
"Oh, dear, I hope not," Miss Helen hastened to say. "I must not keep you if you ought not to stay. You must not be disobedient if any one has forbidden your coming here."
"Nobody did 'zackly, but – I reckon I'd better not stay."
Miss Helen stooped to kiss her. "I hope to see you soon again," she said, "and I am very much obliged to you for telling me about Nan."
Jack trudged back satisfied at having done her errand. If Aunt Sarah discovered it she said nothing and a day later came a letter from Mrs. Corner in reply to Miss Sarah's. In it she said: "I feel now, dear Aunt Sarah, that I did wrong in harboring any ill-will toward Helen. I am sure my dear husband would wish me to meet any advances from her with an equally forgiving spirit and I do want my children to see and love their Aunt Helen, the only sister of their father. So Nan has my permission to go to Uplands when she receives an invitation. When one feels that the waves from the dark river may perhaps soon be touching her feet, quarrels and dissensions seem very petty things. I realized this when I first knew of the danger threatening me. Now that I feel that I am permitted a longer lease of life the bitterness of the past is something to be forgotten. I view life with a new understanding and I would encourage peace, forgiveness and forbearance."
Aunt Sarah read the letter thoughtfully, Nan watching her with big eyes looking from a very white little face. Aunt Sarah put her head back against the back of the big chair in which she was sitting and rocked silently for some moments.
"What does mother say?" asked Nan feebly.
"She says you may go to Uplands. Would you like to start now, Nan?" Aunt Sarah spoke half sadly, half jestingly. "Well, Nan," she went on, "I reckon we are both punished pretty thoroughly, you for your sauciness and I for my hardness. Neither of us has any scores to pay that I see. Goodness, child, when I picked you up from the foot of those stairs I would have given my right hand to have taken back my conduct toward you."
"I was dreadfully saucy, Aunt Sarah," said Nan. "It was wicked for me to speak so to you, and I had no business, either, to sneak down into the kitchen in the middle of the night. I have given my right hand, for a little while," she added, "only it don't do away with what I said and did."
Aunt Sarah bent over and kissed the child's forehead. Two salt tears trickled down from her eyes and fell on Nan's cheek. Those drops washed out all ill feeling between them, for Nan understood that Aunt Sarah did really love her and that she, too, had suffered, if not bodily pain, at least bodily fatigue and much mental anguish on Nan's account.
There was another letter which came later to Nan. It was not exactly a lecture, and the reproof was slight, but after reading it Nan felt that in being impertinent to her aunt she had abused her mother's trust and had hurt her as well as Aunt Sarah, so she resolved that never, never again, no matter what, would she treat Aunt Sarah with disrespect.
Many were the attentions showered upon the little girl during her illness, but chief among them, and most pleasing to her, were those which came from Uplands. Not a day passed that she did not receive some token of her Aunt Helen's thought of her. Lovely flowers were never suffered to fade before they were replaced by others. Dainties to tempt her palate followed the flowers, and when she could sit up came packages of picture postal cards of different places in Europe or interesting photographs. To these were added once in a while a cheerful story-book or a magazine, so, in spite of pain and lack of freedom, Nan fared well and in due time was out again, her arm in a sling and herself a little pale, but otherwise no worse for her accident.
CHAPTER XI
GRANDMOTHER
The November winds had swept the leaves from the maples and had sent them in hurrying gusts upon the waters of the little brook before Nan again visited Uplands. The oak trees still showed patches of dark red foliage and in Place o' Pines were heaps of shining brown brought there by that same November wind. Since Jack had braved her Aunt Sarah's displeasure with no ill results, Nan had felt there was hope that she would be permitted to make a visit to Uplands as soon as she should be well enough. Jack had not repeated her visit; she was not as ready to meet her grandmother as Nan was, nor were Mary Lee and Jean any more eager, so that the first interview was left to Nan.
It was one day in November that she said rather timidly to her Aunt Sarah: "Don't you think I might go over to Uplands? You know mother said I might."
"Assuredly," replied Miss Sarah. "Go by all means."
Nan looked at her critically to see if she meant this sarcastically, but there was no suspicion of any such intention, and she realized that the consent was readily given.
It was an important event to the girl. She had fallen in love with the lady of the portrait in the first place; her Aunt Helen had completely won her in the second, and she had learned to give at least pity and sympathy where her sisters felt, at the most, indifference, so she set out upon her walk with an eager anticipation.
She panted a little as she reached the top of the hill on the other side of the brook, for she had not gone so far since her accident, and, moreover, her heart was beating fast. She was to meet her grandmother. Would she be haughty and distant or kind and cordial? Would she come sweeping in all jewels and lace, or would she wear the plainer dress which her daughter adopted? Nan hoped that she would wear nothing more sombre than black satin with fine laces and that she would have more than one glittering ring upon her fingers.
There were no weeds now to wade through for the lawn was smoothly mown, though grass would have to be sown when the stubble was ploughed under. There were pretty curtains in all the rooms and flower-pots holding blossoming plants stood in a row in some of the windows. A bird-cage, too, hung in the library and as Nan stepped upon the porch she heard the joyous song of the canary. The place seemed so lived in; no longer a mysterious enchanted castle but the comfortable abode of human kind. A neat maid opened the door and ushered Nan into the library. An open fire was blazing in the grate, the canary was singing blithely above the blossoming geraniums and begonias. There were magazines and papers piled on the table and an open desk showed that some one lately had been writing there.
Presently there was a rustle of skirts on the stairs and Miss Helen came swiftly in. "My dear, my dear!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you. What a siege you have had. It has seemed such a long time and mother has been hoping every day that you would be well enough to come. Do you still suffer, poor little lass?"
"Not now," was the answer, "but I gave my right hand, you see, and didn't get anything for it after all."
"You haven't given it altogether, I hope."
"No, but I can't even write, and if I had a piano I couldn't play on it."
"But you will soon be well," returned her aunt. "Come, let us go up to mother; she is very impatient to see you."
Nan followed to the softly carpeted, upper front room. No grand dame, magnificently attired came forward to meet her, but by the window sat a little old lady in sombre mourning; her face was lined with sorrow and her hands were worn and thin; only a plain gold ring adorned the left one.
"And this is Nancy," she said. "Excuse my rising, my dear, I am not very strong. Come here, won't you?"
Nan approached with a feeling of disappointment. How could any one fear sharp speeches from this mild-mannered old lady? Where was the flashing splendor of her eyes? Where was her proud mien? What had become of all those qualities which the portrait represented?
"Come closer, Nancy, child; I want to have a look at you," said her grandmother. And Nan knelt down before her. Mrs. Corner took the girl's face between her hands and looked at her long and earnestly. "She has Jack's eyes," she said to her daughter.
Nan smiled; it pleased her to be told this.
"And his smile," continued her grandmother. She took Nan's free hand and smoothed it softly. "She has the Corner fingers, too," she went on, "long and tapering with the filbert nails. She has sentiment, Helen, I am sure, and she is quick but sensitive; loving but impatient; honest and forgiving."
Nan felt rather embarrassed at this summarizing of her character, but as her grandmother leaned over and kissed her forehead a glad light leaped to the girl's eyes. This was not censure, but a tender interest.
"Your old grandmother is very glad to see you," Mrs. Corner went on. "I have longed for you, for one of my son's own children, and it is a great gratification to me to know you have no hard feelings."
"No, I haven't any hard feelings; neither has mother," returned Nan gravely.
A little expression of pain passed over Mrs. Corner's face and she sighed. "Never let yourself be a wicked old woman, Nancy, to want your own way. Be willing to share what you possess with others. Never be jealous and suspicious and envious. Try not to pity yourself too much and don't think your rights are superior to those of other persons. You will be very unhappy if you do not learn your lesson early. The book of life holds many hard pages and it will be handed back to you over and over again till you have learned by heart what is meant you should know."
"Now, mother," put in Miss Helen, "you are entirely too grave and preachy. Don't spoil Nan's first visit by giving her the impression that she is in a lecture-room."
"You are right, Helen; I should not allow myself to be carried away to the past from the present. Forgive me, Nancy, for being prosy and serious; your coming awakened so many memories of things I have tried to forget. Tell me about your mother while Helen gets out some things I brought you from Italy."
Nan's eyes sparkled. "Brought me? How good of you," she exclaimed. She wondered what the gifts could be and was quite overpowered when Miss Helen came in with her arms piled high with all sorts of packages. There were soft silks from Sorrento, corals from Naples, strings of beads from Venice, odd bits of jewelry from Florence, scarfs and sashes from Rome, a quaint little hat from Milan, embroideries, laces, knickknacks of all kinds.
Nan looked at them in delighted amazement. She had never seen so many pretty things together before. "They're not all for me," she said.
"All for you, my dear," said her grandmother with a pleased smile.
"But," Nan spoke earnestly, "it would be dreadfully selfish for me to be piggy and not give the others anything, my sisters, you know. They'd think I was the proud sister sure enough." Nan looked toward her aunt and back at her grandmother. Then she saw the mild expression disappear and the look of the portrait came over Mrs. Corner's face.
"I wish you to have them all," she said haughtily. "Not one of the others has thought it worth while to come to see me; but you, Nancy," her face softened, "you sent me a kiss before you saw me."
"Oh, but," Nan's eyes grew starry, "you know I am the eldest and I met Aunt Helen and they didn't; besides, they don't understand; the twins are too young and Mary Lee, well – she hadn't seen Aunt Helen, you know. I thank you a thousand times, grandmother, for being so lovely as to bring me these things, but indeed, I'll have to be honest and say I can't keep them all for my own self."
"Put them away, Helen," said Mrs. Corner wearily. "It is only one more disappointment. I hoped my granddaughter would be pleased."
The tears came to Nan's eyes. "I am pleased. I can't tell you how much. I never saw such lovely things, and I'm just crazy for them, but I should feel such a mean, meany, piggish thing to keep them all."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Corner with an air of resignation, "perhaps you will change your mind, Nancy, after you have thought it over."
Nan knew perfectly well that she never would, but she said nothing, and had the discomfort of seeing Miss Helen carry away the things as Mrs. Corner insisted that she should do. "She might have left out one little string of beads," thought Nan. But not so much as a tiny pin was allowed her and she began to realize something of the spirit which had antagonized her mother and which had given her father such distress. However, she was too proud to show her disappointment and did not leave at once; instead she chatted pleasantly and even kissed her grandmother good-bye.
Miss Helen followed her to the door. "You must not mind mother's ways too much, Nancy," she said. "She will think better of it yet, and you must consider that all she has brought you will be really yours to do with as you like after a while. Be patient with her, darling, if you love your Aunt Helen. Thank you so much for coming over and for being so dear and sweet to mother. She appreciates even when she does not confess it. You will come again soon, won't you?"
"Oh, yes," returned Nan, not quite so heartily as she would like to have spoken. She was disappointed, really bitterly disappointed, she confessed to herself. Her grandmother was no queen, but only a faulty woman. A sad and sorrowful one, it was true, and one willing to make an effort in many directions to compensate for her hardness and bitterness of former years, yet she still clung to her imperious ways and was not ready to give up her own way nor to allow any one to thwart her will.
Nan drew a long sigh as she went down-hill. It was not going to be as easy as she had hoped to love her grandmother. What a delight it would have been to display all those lovely things to the family, to give Mary Lee that string of beautiful blue beads and the striped Roman sash; to let Jean and Jack choose what they liked best, and to give even Aunt Sarah something from the splendid mass of things, while to her mother Nan would have sent the very best of whatever seemed suitable. It certainly was tantalizing to have things happen this way. However, there was still the possibility of future possession her Aunt Helen had promised her, and she would take comfort in that.
Jack was the only one who had curiosity enough to ask questions when Nan returned. No doubt but Miss Sarah would like to have had a full account of Nan's visit, but she scorned to show any interest and Mary Lee took her cue from her. "Well, you're back again," was the only remark she made as Nan passed through the room.
"Yes, here I am," returned Nan. She felt that she would rather not discuss her visit with either Mary Lee or Aunt Sarah. Jack waylaid her as she was on her way up-stairs. "Did you see our grandmother, Nan?" she asked, "and is she a horrid old witch?"
"No, she isn't that," replied Nan, "though she is different from what I expected. She was very kind at first, but she showed the iron hand in the velvet glove before I came away."
Jack looked as if she understood. She was always quick to take Nan's allusions.
"If you won't say anything to anybody, I'll tell you all about it," said Nan.
Jack nodded. She could be relied upon to keep a secret if she gave a promise, but was a very expansive person when there was no reason for silence. As Nan expatiated upon the glories of the gifts that were withheld Jack grew deeply interested.
"And you were going to give me some, weren't you?" she said.
"Of course," replied Nan.
"I think you were very proud and very good not to take them," remarked Jack, meditatively, all the while forming her own plans. "Was she so very cross, Nan?" she asked presently.
"Not exactly cross, only bound to have her own way, like some other people I know."
Jack laughed. "I don't suppose you listened to her if she did say things you didn't like. That's the way I do. I always think of something nice, like eating ice cream or having a new doll, when any one scolds me; it makes it lots easier," she said philosophically. She saw no reason now why she should not go to her grandmother's. She reasoned that it was because no one but Nan had been to see her that she refused gifts to the rest, and if there was any way, not too difficult, in which she could get a string of those beautiful beads which Nan had described, Jack meant to do it.
She spent much time that afternoon laboriously writing in her very best hand, her name upon a card. The next day, dressed in her best, she started to make a formal call at Uplands. She meant to be very polite and ingratiating, and, if all went well, she would induce Jean to go. She felt that at this first interview it would be best that no one but herself and her grandmother should be present, for Jean did not know things and might say something she should not. Although the beads were the largest object of her motive in going, there was besides a desire to gain for Nan those things which Jack felt she ought to have.
At the door, she handed the maid the card upon which was unevenly written: "Miss Jacqueline Corner." "I have come to call on Mrs. Corner," she said gravely, and walked into the drawing-room where she seated herself expectantly.
Curiosity, amusement and a real desire to see the child brought Mrs. Corner down. Miss Helen was not at home. Jacqueline arose to meet her grandmother with her best company manners. "I am very much pleased to meet you, Mrs. Corner," she said. "I hope you are very well."