CHAPTER XXVII
ARCHIE EATON RETURNS
Liz, returning from her "afternoon's work at the meeting house, blew breathlessly into the Hopworth kitchen.
"As I live, Archie Eaton's comin' home—this blessed day! His ma got a telegram last night; Sammy Todd brought it over from Nor' Hero on his bicycle. And Webb's put a notice in the post-office—he wants every man, woman and child to meet on the Common to-night at seven to sort o' welcome Archie to home."
"Everybody? Me and Davy," broke in Nonie, excitedly.
"Of course, when Webb says every man, woman and child it means all of us," answered Liz with importance, smoothing out her gingham apron.
Three days had entirely made over Liz Hopworth. Sarah Hopkins' death had given Liz, hitherto an outcast, a position of importance in the community. However unfitting Freedom's ladies might have thought it, nevertheless it was an undisputable fact, and everyone knew it, that Liz's hands had "done for" the stricken family; she had cleaned and comforted, dusted and baked and stitched together suitable mourning for poor Jennie, the oldest Hopkins girl. At the simple funeral it had been Liz who had greeted the neighbors and had urged them to "just look at Sarah Hopkins—you'd think she was enjoyin' it all, she's that happy lookin'!" What no one else knew was that it had been Liz who had put her arms around Jennie Hopkins when a complete realization of her loss had swept over the girl and had bade her "just lay your poor little head right here and cry all you want to!" Never in all her life had Liz's arms known such a labor of love. Jennie had cried all she wanted to—great, heart-breaking sobs that had, though they exhausted, finally soothed her.
From his corner where old Dan'l, with hanging head waited his supper, came a grunt of unbelief. Liz turned reprovingly.
"Anyway, Archie Eaton's a soldier even if he be an Eaton!" Then, to Nonie: "I met Mis' Sniggs comin' up the village and she wants all the little girls to wear white and throw bouquets at Archie as he's gettin' off the stage and sing America. She's goin' to get the flowers at Mis' Todd's and Mis' Brown's. Miss Nancy's white's too nice, but I guess your gingham's faded most white 'nough. Anyways, it's plenty good."
"Have I time to run up and tell Miss Nancy?"
"Lan' sakes, no! We gotta get supper spry so's to have the work cleared away. Nancy Leavitt knows it, I callate—ain't much happens Webb doesn't carry straight off up to Happy House. I guess maybe they're pretty busy, too. Things is certainly changin', I said, when Sabriny Leavitt goes to poor Sarah Hopkins' funeral, sittin' right on the plush chair over in the right-hand corner near the waxed flowers. And sure's I'm alive, she's taken the Hopkins baby up to Happy House to do for. She wanted it to keep regular like her own, but Timothy Hopkins wouldn't listen for a minit—his children wa'nt a goin' to be separated if they all starved! Seems to me he was foolish, but he was awful set and mebbe he was right. Dan'l Hopworth, take off your slippers! Of course you're goin' to see Archie Eaton come home! I guess you're as patriotic as any other folks."
Liz's determination won its point so that a little before seven the entire Hopworth family joined every other "man, woman and child" on the village common. The common presented a pretty sight, big and small flags fluttering, the weather-worn service flag again hoisted to its place of honor and women and children in their best attire. Mrs. Eaton, upon whom every glance turned with frank curiosity, did not need her gorgeous purple poplin with its lace ruffles swelling over her proud bosom, to make her the most conspicuous figure in the gathering—that she was the mother of the returning soldier was enough! And her eyes, as they strained down the road like the others, for a first glimpse of Webb's horses, were wet with tears.
Someone saw a little cloud of dust and set up a shout: "He's comin'!" Others took up the cry. Mrs. Sniggs frantically gathered her flock of little singers around the carriage-block in front of the meeting-house, where Webb had promised to pull up his team. Some one pushed Mrs. Eaton toward the spot.
"There he is," piped a small boy, pointing to the khaki figure that leaned out of the stage, violently waving a hat.
"Who's the other fellar?" asked Mr. Todd, but no one around him seemed to know.
All ceremony was thrown to the four winds; the hysterical piping of the little girls was lost in the wild rub-a-dub dub of the Freedom's drummers and the clamor of excited voices from the pushing, jostling crowd. However, Archie Eaton was utterly unconscious of it all, for in less than a second he was tightly enveloped in folds of purple poplin!
After a moment he sprang back to the step of Webb's wagon and raised his hand.
"Mebbe you think it ain't good to get home! I'll say it is! I've laid awake nights dreamin' of this. I ain't goin' to make a speech, folks, but I've got to tell you something. I wanted to send word to you back a time but my buddy here wouldn't let me! Mebbe you don't remember my buddy—he's changed a lot, I guess, but he's from Freedom, all right!" He pulled at the arm of his companion. "Stand up, so folks can see you! Give a cheer, now, for Eric Hopworth, the best and bravest soldier in Uncle Sam's army!"
Not a throat in Freedom could have made a sound for utter surprise. They gaped at the big, bronzed fellow in khaki while Archie Eaton went on, speaking rapidly.
"Mebbe you folks up here don't know yet that he led a bunch of us after a machine gun nest that was holdin' back the fellows there in the Argonny and that when every man of us dropped he went on single-handed, with a nasty hole in his side, and got every Jerry of 'em! But I guess before he done that he pulled Archie Eaton back where the Jerries couldn't finish me with their shot pepperin' the lot of us as we lay there and—well, he's done a lot more'n that and mebbe you don't know that the other day some fellers down at Washington gave him a Distinguished Service Medal which I guess puts him pretty near next to Ethan Allen himself! So set up a shout that'll split your throats for Eric Hopworth, 'cause if it wasn't for him Archie Eaton wouldn't be here holdin' his mother's hand and cryin' real tears, he's that tickled to be home, and this old North Hero wouldn't be on the map like 'tis! So let her rip, fellows! My buddy, Eric Hopworth!"
Something, pent up while Archie Eaton was speaking, burst with a roar. Each person, big or small, tried to shout louder than anyone else; each tried to press close enough to lay a hand on the hero. And, strange sight, Mrs. Eaton was now clasping Eric Hopworth in her arms!
Nancy, standing a little apart with Miss Sabrina, shouting like the others, suddenly felt her throat choke with a sob, for she saw Dan'l, stung to life, leap forward through the crowd to reach his son, his face lifted and lighted by a great pride. Then, as they clasped hands, the crowd parted suddenly, and through it flashed two small figures. In less than a moment Nonie and Davy were both in their father's arms.
No one stopped to recall the stories of Eric Hopworth's youth nor of his bringing the two babies back to his father. It was enough that he was there among them, one of the country's heroes.
Mrs. Eaton was excitedly begging everyone to come to her home and have ice cream and cake, and there was a general movement of young and old to accept her hospitality. But when she urged Eric Hopworth he shook his head, slipping one arm over his father's shoulder.
"I guess we want to go home," he explained, a little embarrassed. "You see, it's been a long time—Pa and I have got a lot to say to each other! And we've got to get acquainted," nodding at the youngsters who were clinging to his arm.
There was a great deal that Eric Hopworth could not tell his father, for the simple reason that he had not at his command the words that could tell of the lessons the war had taught him. But in one simple, awkward sentence he tried to express his remorse and penitence.
"Well, Pa," they had stopped before the door of the dilapidated house, "I guess it took the war to make a man of me! I went into it 'cause it looked pretty excitin', but it didn't take me long to find out it was a big job and the kind of a job that meant a fellow had to give the very best in him—and only the best! I've had time to think a lot and things sort a come to me different, over there. I guess I know now that I've got a job right here most as big as the war and I'm goin' to do it! I'm goin' to make a home for you and Liz and the kids—a real home!"
Nonie, standing off, a little shyly and uncertainly, was steeling herself for a test. Out of a clear sky had dropped a real father. He looked very big, but his face was kind, and he had a nice voice. Perhaps—perhaps one of her dreams was coming true! She slipped away to her room and made ready for bed with trembling fingers. For a long time she lay listening to the voices below. After a little Davy came in and crawled sleepily into the cot in the corner. Still she waited, her hands clasped tightly under the covers. At last she heard a step—not like her grandfather's, nor Liz', she knew theirs—a cautious, tip-toey step. As it came nearer she shivered with exquisite anticipation.
Eric Hopworth leaned over the bed. He had thought Nonie would be asleep. She held her eyes shut tight for a moment. He laid his hand on her head with a shy, caressing movement. Suddenly the child threw her two arms around his neck. He held her close, then he kissed her and laid her gently back upon the pillow.
"Good night, kiddie," he whispered softly, and tip-toed out of the room.
Nonie gave one long, happy sigh, then, cuddling down under the covers, dropped off into dreamless slumber.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A LETTER FROM THE MASTER
Four days had passed since Nancy had written her confession and sent it off to Peter Hyde. They had seemed endless, too, in spite of all the strange changes at Happy House. Aunt Sabrina and Aunt Milly were pathetically and helplessly busy over the new member of the family, and his coming had necessitated momentous reforms in the habits of the household and long arguments as to the proper care of infants. B'lindy had finally found somewhere in the back of a "Household Helper" a chapter on the "Care of the Child," and went about all day with a finger between its pages and a superior look on her face.
Nancy had spent one entire afternoon at the Hopworth's. Nonie and Davy had come for her and had dragged her back with them to see their "Dad."
"Ask him to tell you 'bout——" and Davy had breathlessly, rattled off a dozen or more of the war tales that he had liked best.
Nancy had thought, that afternoon, that, somehow or other, the Hopworth kitchen had changed since that first day she had visited it. It was cleaner, homier; there was less litter, the air was not so heavy with the stale odors of cooking. Old Dan'l sat near the open door smoking the pipe Eric had brought him, his eyes following Eric's every movement. Liz, fussing about over household tasks, was less dominant, less forbidding, and the tired look had gone from her face.
With the children's chatter Eric Hopworth's shyness soon wore off. Nonie had told him of the pleasant days at Happy House with Nancy; he felt a deep gratitude to these people who had been doing for his two "kiddies" what he should have done. At Davy's coaxing he had repeated for Nancy some of the incidents of the war in which he had shared. Davy had proudly exhibited the precious trophies that had come home in his father's luggage.
"And Dad's going to stay home always and always now," Nonie had announced. Then Eric Hopworth explained that he had taken a position in a big manufacturing plant at Burlington.
"The boss there was my captain. It'll do for a start. After a bit, maybe, I can take the family there, though Pa'll likely want to always stay here in Freedom," he had added with a squaring of the shoulders that said plainly that the burdens of the household now rested upon him.
Nancy had gone away from the cottage that afternoon with a feeling in her heart that Nonie and Davy would no longer need her. Davy, with his first-hand war stories and trophies and a real hero for a father, from now on had an assured standing among the youths of the village, and Nonie had some one to love and to love her.
So the little loneliness that this thought created added to Nancy's restlessness and made the hours seem endless. And it made her, too, haunt the doorway watching for Jonathan and possible letters.
She told herself, sternly, that, of course, it was silly to expect Peter Hyde to write—that was a closed chapter. But she had written a long letter to Anne, telling her of the strange things that had transpired at Happy House and of the two dear little sisters who were undoubtedly Anne's relatives. Surely Anne must answer that letter.
Old Jonathan was too simple-hearted to wonder why Nancy ran out each day to greet him or why she asked, each day, in a manner she tried to make casual, if "Mr. Judson had anyone to help him yet?" But on this fourth day, his smile was broad with satisfaction as he proudly placed in her hand a big, flat envelope.
A week before Nancy would have exclaimed—for it was from Theodore Hoffman. Now she turned away in disappointment.
In the excitement of the last few days she had forgotten her play. She opened the envelope now with steady fingers. By some intuition she knew just what she would find inside. There they were—all the sheets over which she had toiled so long, familiar, yet unfamiliar, their freshness gone from handling—tired-looking. Before she opened the master's letter she gave them a tender little pat, as though she felt very sorry for them.
The master's letter told her that her play had much merit and a great deal of promise, but that it was "young." "You must know more of life, my dear young lady, live close to love and close to sorrow and learn life's lessons, before you can portray them.... And never lose faith in your work. After failure, try again—and again—and again.... Work, work, work, greatness is in effort."
Nancy read the words with a thrill—it was as though he was speaking to her.
Her labor of the last few months should not be in vain; her little play, though it had been a failure, had brought her this golden message from the one who had, through the effort he preached, risen to the very top.
Then the last two paragraphs of the master's letter made her forget everything else.
"I have had constantly in my mind that strange child who played and danced in your garden. She has haunted me. You told me her name was Nonie Hopworth. I have looked up records and have learned that the young student who, fifteen years ago, gave such promise of dramatic ability, was Ilona Carr and that she married an Eric Hopworth. This Nonie is without doubt her child.
"Will you ask the child's guardians if they will allow her to come to my school at Tarrytown for a few years? There she will have the best schooling and dramatic training that my teachers can give and her talent will have an opportunity for development and growth. When she is older she shall choose for herself whether or not she will follow the calling——"
"The fairy godmother has come," declared Nancy, later, bursting in upon the Hopworth family with her strange news. She had to read and re-read the letter so that they could understand and Eric Hopworth had to hear all about the afternoon at Happy House when the great Theodore Hoffman had called.
At first he had decidedly opposed the plan. Liz had snorted in disapproval. Nonie had stared at first one, then another, with round, bewildered eyes.
"You ought not to throw away such a chance. It's a wonderful school—I've visited there. Nonie will have splendid training——"
"I know all about it," Eric Hopworth had broken in, and Nancy suddenly remembered what the master had told her.
"Tell me about Nonie's mother," she begged.
There was not much to tell—she had come into Eric Hopworth's life and gone out again, in a few years.
"I always had a feelin' I'd cheated her of a lot," Eric Hopworth said humbly, turning in his hand the photograph he had brought out from old Dan'l's bureau to show Nancy.
It was a cheap little photograph, taken a few months after they had been married. But the pretty face that smiled out of it was a happy face. Nancy, as she studied it closely, wondered if it had ever been shadowed by a regret for the dreams she had sacrificed by her marriage.
"Then—don't cheat Nonie now," Nancy answered.
So before she went away it was decided that Nonie should go to Tarrytown and while little Nonie was pinching herself to be sure she was awake and not dreaming, Nancy's and Liz's minds, in true feminine fashion, leaped ahead to the question of "clothes." Upon their perturbed planning came Mrs. Cyrus Eaton, walking into the Hopworth kitchen with the air of one familiar with its threshold.
Too many strange things had happened for Nancy to be amazed at this. And when she saw Mrs. Eaton pat Eric Hopworth's arm as she sat down beside him, Nancy knew that in the woman's heart, all silly prejudices had been swept away by a deep affection for the man who had saved her boy's life.
Mrs. Eaton had to hear all about the master's letter and Nonie's wonderful chance to go to the school at Tarrytown.
"Clothes—land sakes, Liz Hopworth, you've got enough to do without fussing over clothes. Let me get the child ready. I always did want to sew for a girl. Besides, it isn't much for me to do, considering——" she could not finish, but she laid her hand, again, on Eric Hopworth's arm.
Nancy realized, more than Liz, how much Mrs. Eaton wanted to have this opportunity to do something for Nonie, so she answered quickly, before anyone could make a protest:
"That will be splendid if you will help out that way, Mrs. Eaton," and she made her tone very final, as though they must all consider the matter settled.
Nancy left Mrs. Eaton and Liz fussing over the wearing qualities of various fabrics hitherto absolutely unknown to Nonie and walked slowly homeward. It was a sunny, still afternoon, conducive to meditation. And Nancy, in a pensive mood, had much to meditate over.
A moment's whim had brought her to Happy House and how much had happened because of her coming. How curiously intermixed everything had been; her acquaintance with Judson's hired man had brought her in touch with the great Theodore Hoffman and then he, through her, had found Nonie.
Life was so funny—Nancy suddenly remembered a game she had played when she was very, very small. She had had a box of queer shaped and many colored Japanese blocks, that, if placed together in just the right way, made a beautiful castle upon the highest peak of which she could place a shining red ball. But it had been very difficult to build; Nancy had, often, in impatience, thrown the blocks down, but her father had always come, then, to her help and had laughingly coaxed her to try again.
Life was like that—if one could successfully fit all the queer edges together and build up, piece by piece, one could have the reward of the shining ball at the top. But Nancy, thinking of it now, felt the tugging impatience that she had used to feel toward the pile of colored blocks.
A few weeks had so changed her own life—she must take up the little pieces and begin to build again.
At the gate of Happy House she paused, and turning, looked down the road. In the last few days she had caught herself often looking down that road and yet she would not admit to herself—she was too proud to admit it that she was always wishing that she would see Peter Hyde coming. It was very lonesome at Happy House without him.
Suddenly, in a swirl of dust, a motor turned the corner at the smithy and approached toward her at a tremendous speed, its outline barely distinguishable because of the cloud that enveloped it. No one came up that road unless they were coming to Happy House.
Then someone, swathed in linen and green, floating veiling, spied Nancy and waved wildly from the tonneau.
Scarcely believing her eyes, Nancy took a step forward. With a swerve and a roar the car came to a stop and from the front seat, throwing off goggles and cap, sprang Eugene Leavitt.
"Daddy!" cried Nancy, throwing herself into his arms.
"I thought it was Anne, but I couldn't——"
she began, finally withdrawing from his tight clasp to greet the others. "I just—couldn't believe it."
Anne was standing now beside her, and behind Anne, unwinding yards and yards of dust-covered veiling, laughed Claire.
"Oh, it's too good, good, good to be true," Nancy cried, trying to embrace them both at the same time. "To have you all come—at once. I'm so happy, I just want to cry."
"And, Nancy, at last you're going to meet my brother Barry," interrupted Claire, her eyes sparkling. "You wouldn't come to Merrycliffe, so you see I had to bring him here."
Nancy was so happy that she could even turn to greet the despised "lion" with a radiant smile. Claire's brother, who, forgotten by the others in their joyous reunion, had been busying himself with the engine of his car, now turned and removed from a dust-stained face the goggles that had almost completely hidden it.
"Pe-ter. You——" and Nancy, her face crimson, put her two hands behind her back.
CHAPTER XXIX
BARRY
Nancy presented such a picture of bewilderment and unbelief that the others all laughed—except Peter; his face was very grave.
"You see I thought the only way I could get you—to forgive me—was by bringing them all back with me."
But Nancy had no intention of forgiving—at least, at once—the trick that had been played upon her. She lifted her chin with meaning disdain and turned to the others.
"Let's go up to the house. My aunts will be so glad to see you all," and slipping one hand through her father's arm and another into Anne's she turned up the path, leaving Claire and her brother to follow.
Miss Sabrina had seen the car stop at the gate and had come to the door. She knew at once that this was Nancy's father. A color swept her cheeks and faded. She tried to say some word of welcome but her trembling lips could not frame a single syllable. But almost instantly her fears were set at rest, for Eugene Leavitt took her two hands in his clasp and lightly kissed her cheek in a cheery way that put aside forever the trouble that had separated them.
In the hub-bub and chatter that followed, Nancy did not realize that Peter Hyde had slipped away; not until Aunt Sabrina had carried her father off to Aunt Milly's room and B'lindy, radiant, had gone back to the kitchen to prepare a supper "fit for folks," leaving the three chums together. Claire gave her friend an affectionate shake.
"Now, Nancy Leavitt, don't be silly and stay cross at Barry. It's my fault. I knew he was here and that you were here, and that he knew you and you knew him, and neither of you——"
"Please, please Claire," begged Nancy, trying to stop her friend. Her face turned scarlet. Of course she could not be offended at his deception, had she not, herself, been masquerading? But burning in her mind was the recollection of that afternoon when she had opened her heart to Peter and had told him how she despised Barry Wallace and his kind. And he had let her talk—she could not forgive that, ever.
"After you'd been here a few weeks," Claire went on, "Barry wrote to me. I suppose he'd gotten to the point where he simply had to confide in someone. You can imagine, I nearly dropped when I saw the postmark and knew what he was doing, but picture how I felt when he wrote that he'd met the 'best girl ever—no frills and fropperies like mother's crowd, but a regular girl.' Of course I knew he meant you. I let him write a few more letters—I don't think Barry ever wrote so often to me before—and then, I told him everything."
"You did?" exclaimed Nancy. "Then——" she stopped short. Now she understood why he had refused to accept her answer as final—that last evening they had been together.
"And I made him promise on his honor not to tell you that I had told. So don't be cross at him," Claire pleaded, a little worried at Nancy's expression. "He has gone back to Judson's and he said—he asked me to ask you if you would go out to Bird's-Nest—after supper—and——"
Claire, failing in words, threw her arms around Nancy's neck and kissed her. Anne, who had been impatiently waiting for an opportunity, took up her part of the story.
"Goodness, Nancy, you can be thankful you've been up here and not at the apartment—it's unbearably stuffy and hot. Although it ought to have seemed like paradise after my quarters in London," snapping her lips together. Poor Anne, her dream of service was now only a bitter recollection. "I was sitting there as forlorn as could be when in blew—no other word could describe it—Claire's brother. You wouldn't have dreamed from the way he acted that he'd never laid eyes on me before. He told me about the confession you'd written him and he said he knew you were unhappy up here because of your false position and that I ought to come back up here with him and get you out of it. He didn't want me to lose a moment. Then, while we were talking, your letter came with its astonishing news. Isn't it all like some nightmare—all the aunts and things mixed up the way they were? We had to read your letter over and over to understand it. Then when we finally got it through our heads, we decided we'd get Claire and start the next day for North Hero."
"But Dad?" asked Nancy.
"We were all ready to go when a taxi drove up to the door and out jumped your father. Of course he had to hear the whole story way back to the letter Noah brought to our room. Barry didn't give him a chance to even wash his face, he bundled him straight into the automobile as though it were a matter of life and death. And here we are. And this place looks like Heaven," Anne finished.
It was a merry party that gathered around Miss Sabrina's table. B'lindy wanting to express all that was in her heart, had spread a supper fit for the gods. Nancy's father had carried Miss Milly downstairs and sat between her and Nancy. Every now and then Nancy slipped her hand into his, under the tablecloth. Miss Sabrina, at the head of the table, beamed down upon them all in a pathetic ecstasy of happiness. From the kitchen came the insistent "goo's" of the smallest Hopworth, to the accompaniment of a silver spoon beating against a silver mug.
Through all the light chatter in the room there was an undertone of deep happiness and contentment. Only occasionally Claire's eyes flashed a worried, pleading message to Nancy that Nancy wilfully ignored. But when, after supper, the others all went to the Hollyhock porch and Nancy slipped away, the watchful Claire drew a sigh of relief and proceeded to feel riotously happy.
As Nancy walked slowly down the path to the orchard she felt her heart grow inexplainably, foolishly light. She was so glad that Peter Hyde had come back.
The gladness shone in her eyes as she let him clasp her two hands. He did not even ask her if she would forgive him; they both laughed joyously, like two children.
"Wasn't it funny? Both of us up here pretending to be someone else."
"But it wasn't fair. You knew—and I didn't."
Peter hastened to defend himself. "I didn't—at first. And then Claire made me promise not to let on that I knew. Anyway, I'd grown so downright sick of that Barry Wallace that I wanted to just see if I could make someone like plain Peter Hyde. Did I?" he asked.
Nancy ignored the direct question and avoided the pleading in Peter's eyes.
"Why did you come here, Pet—Barry?"
"I wonder if you will understand, Nancy?" Peter's voice was serious. "Mother thought I was crazy and Claire would have, too—at the time. But when I heard you tell—that afternoon—what you thought of Claire's brother, I decided I'd done just about the right thing. You see, when I came back from the other side, just because father and mother are quite prominent, I found that a lot of stuff had been printed about all the things I'd done——"
"But you did do them," cried Nancy, warmly.
"Oh, yes, I did them, and I have got three or four medals—but then so were a lot of other fellows doing the same things and a lot of 'em were killed, doing them. You see, I just looked at it that everyone of us went over to do our duty and most all of us did—and that's all there was to it. So when I came back it was a sort of a shock to fall into the mess I found waiting for me. I couldn't turn around that I wasn't asked to appear at a tea or a reception or a banquet or a church circle or something or other to speak. Every other minute I was dodging a photographer. And you see the worst of it all was that they were all my mother's friends, and my mother was always around looking as though she was at last reaping the reward for her sacrifice. I suppose any mother would have been the same. But you can see the hole it put me in. I hated it, but I couldn't bear to offend her. I wanted to go to work at something; I tried a week in my father's office, but I couldn't stand the confinement indoors. So I ran away—it was my only escape. I headed for the mountains—somewhere where no one would know me. At Burlington I saw Judson's ad. and this idea came to me. I'd hire out to him for awhile and get a chance to work out some theories that were pets of mine—before the war. I shipped my car back to Merrycliffe and wrote to mother of my plan, begging her to tell no one. I picked the name Peter Hyde at random—out of the hotel telephone book."
"I shall never, never think of you as anything but Peter Hyde," broke in Nancy.
"I don't ever want you to," assured Barry.
Nancy's eyes rested for a moment on the outline of the Judson barns. "Are you going to help Judson with his harvesting?" she asked, suddenly.
"Sure thing I am—I wouldn't think of leaving him, just now. Nancy, will you listen to a plan I've been making? I've got some money—it was my grandmother's—and I want to buy up some farms in different parts of the state, the kind of farms that are sort of run down at the heels, and experiment with them and see what can be done with them, as a sort of outright demonstration for other farmers. Do you think that worth while?" he asked so anxiously and with such humility that Nancy colored.
"Oh, Peter—why ask me? It sounds pleasant and—and like you." She suddenly seemed to see him going on with this new work—without her. The thought brought a wistful look into her face. Barry Wallace read it there.
"Nancy, I'm afraid I sort of made a mess of things—the other night. When you told me you were going away—I lost my head. Tell me—you said you'd always care more for your work than for anything or anyone else—couldn't you share your work? Like I'd like to share mine?"
Nancy lifted a protesting hand that Barry promptly imprisoned in both of his own.
"Oh, Peter, don't repeat all that—silly stuff—I said."
"Didn't you mean it, Nancy?" Barry cried.
"I meant it—then. But that was—young." Barry could not know that she was using the master's words. "I know—I think—that—that——"
"What, Nancy?"
Nancy looked wildly around. She wanted to run away, but Barry Wallace was holding her hand very tight.
"That—I'll work better if—that—oh, I'm just glad you came back," and Nancy could not have said anything more, for her face was smothered against Barry's shoulder.
After a little, Barry had to hear all about the rejected manuscript, the master's letter and the redemption of the Hopworth's. There in the sun-lit orchard a golden world seemed to stretch around them.
"How foolish we used to be," laughed Nancy, with a rapturous sigh. "I never doubted but that my first play was going to make my fortune."
"And I, after facing death in every one of its worst forms, ran away from a pack of fussy women," added Barry.
"Never mind, let's bury those two children out here under the apple trees and begin real work——"
"Together."
"Finding the little things to do in our very own corner," added Nancy, dreamily.
Across the twilight stillness came the familiar whistle that had been the special signal among the three chums at college.
"It's the girls," cried Nancy. "Let's go back. I can't bear to have them come here—just now. It's—it's——" she blushed, but met his eyes squarely. "I want this to be—just ours—for awhile."
As they walked slowly back to the house, Nancy stopped suddenly in the path.
"Doesn't Happy House look beautiful?" she whispered. And in fact the fading glow of the sun was touching the old walls with a shadowy beauty.
"It seems to speak to one," added Nancy. She was thinking of that other Anne Leavitt who had come there bravely intent upon building a happy home in the heart of the wilderness. Though she said not a word, in her heart she was making a solemn pledge—that she and Barry, would add, through useful lives, their bit to the traditions of Happy House and the little Island, traditions rich with bravery, sacrifice and loyalty.
Again came the girls' whistle—insistent. Nancy slipped her hand into Barry's.
"Let's hurry."
Hand in hand they went along the path to the house—and to their future together. As they reached, the edge of Jonathan's raspberry patch Nancy turned with shining eyes and whispered: "Pals."
And Barry, teasingly recalling Nonie's pet plan, answered tenderly: "Dearest."
There is the high, happy spirit of youth in these famous
BOOKS FOR GIRLS
by JANE D. ABBOTT
BARBERRY GATE
A boy flyer opened the Barberry Gate, closed since the day great-grandfather Colfax locked it, and Winsome learned the romantic story behind it all.
LAUGHING LAST
Sidney finds adventure in Provincetown—she takes part in the capture of modern pirates, and much to her surprise plays an unexpected part in her sister's romance.
APRILLY
The charming story of a young girl, child of the circus, and the adventures which led to her goal of happiness.
HIGHACRES
A school story of Jerry Travis and her chum Gyp Westley. A thread of romance and mystery in Jerry's life runs through the tale.
KEINETH
How Keineth Randolph kept a secret—a war secret—for a whole year makes one of the best stories ever written for girls.
RED ROBIN
In attempting to bring happiness into the lives of mill workers, Robin Forsythe, heir to a fortune, has many strange adventures.
HEYDAY
Twenty-three! The heyday of life. Jay, a small town girl, finds happiness in New York.
LARKSPUR
Especially interesting to any Girl Scout because it is the story of a Girl Scout who is poor and has to help her mother.
HAPPY HOUSE
How an old family quarrel is healed through a misunderstanding and an old homestead becomes a "happy house" in reality.
GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers NEW YORK
THE NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES
By CAROLYN KEENE
Illustrated. Every Volume Complete in Itself.
Here is a thrilling series of mystery stories for girls. Nancy Drew, ingenious, alert, is the daughter of a famous criminal lawyer and she herself is deeply interested in his mystery cases. Her interest involves her often in some very dangerous and exciting situations.
THE SECRET OF THE OLD CLOCK
Nancy, unaided, seeks to locate a missing will and finds herself in the midst of adventure.
THE HIDDEN STAIRCASE
Mysterious happenings in an old stone mansion lead to an investigation by Nancy.
THE BUNGALOW MYSTERY
Nancy has some perilous experiences around a deserted bungalow.
THE MYSTERY AT LILAC INN
Quick thinking and quick action were needed for Nancy to extricate herself from a dangerous situation.
THE SECRET AT SHADOW RANCH
On a vacation in Arizona Nancy uncovers an old mystery and solves it.
THE SECRET OF RED GATE FARM
Nancy exposes the doings of a secret society on an isolated farm.
THE CLUE IN THE DIARY
A fascinating and exciting story of a search for a clue to a surprising mystery.
NANCY'S MYSTERIOUS LETTER
Nancy receives a letter informing her that she is heir to a fortune. This story tells of her search for another Nancy Drew.
THE SIGN OF THE TWISTED CANDLES
Nancy, as mediator in a generation-old feud, divulges an unknown birthright.
THE PASSWORD TO LARKSPUR LANE
A carrier pigeon furnishes Nancy with a clue to a mysterious retreat.