On and on she rode, peering through the gloaming until her eyes ached, ever conscious of the “throb, throb,” of the car directly behind her. What a mistake, she thought dismally, to have ventured on these lonely roads alone. And, O dear! how her mother would worry when she failed to arrive home on time.

Suddenly she stopped and stared fixedly through the gray light, and then her heart leaped, for down the road a little distance, trudging slowly and uncertainly beside the mountain-ditch, were four little figures. Oh, they must be those boys, but she had sent for only three.

With a glad thrill of hope urging her forward, the machine responded to her touch, and in a moment she had reached the boys, one of whom, at the sound of the oncoming car, had swung around, and was staring at her with large, liquid brown eyes. The girl suddenly decided that he must be the Italian lad, who the ticket-agent had said wore an embroidered vest, and carried a violin under his arm. Yes, there was the violin!

Nathalie brought her car to a sudden stop, and called out, “Hello there, boys; hello!”

At the sound of the girl’s call all four swung about and faced her, while a boyish, gruff voice answered: “Hello yourself. What do you want?”

Nathalie laughed happily, for a sudden intuition told her that her search was over. And then she said: “Why, I am looking for some little boys, who were to have come from New York on the White Mountain express. Are you the ones?”

A chorus of trebles piped excitedly, “Yes, mum; we comed off the train,” while the tallest lad, to whom a smaller child of six or seven was nervously clinging, stepped forward. As he lifted his ragged cap he cried politely, “Be you Miss Nathalie Page?” The girl, as she stared down at the questioner, saw a close-cropped head of reddish hair, and a freckled face of an unhealthy pallor, from which two sharp blue eyes were anxiously peering.

“Yes, I’m Miss Nathalie Page,” responded the girl, with a note of relief in her voice, not only glad that she had found the boys, but at the sudden thought that her tormentor would now let her alone, for, with four boys to keep her company, he would not dare to molest her.

“I’m awfully sorry not to have met you at the station,” she went on regretfully, “but something happened to my machine and I was detained on the road. But I did not know that there would be four of you,” she added a little doubtfully. But before she could finish her sentence, the lad who had constituted himself the spokesman for the group, silently handed her a letter.

Nathalie tore it open, and then hastily read it. She was so excited, however, by the many events that had crowded one upon the other that she did not sense its full meaning. Recognizing the signature, “Elizabeth Van Vorst,” she cried hastily, “Well, it’s all right, boys; jump into the car,” as she stuffed the letter into the pocket of her coat. Nathalie immediately saw that a second invitation would not be needed, as the boys made a wild lunge forward, scrambling and pushing each other, as if to see which one would get there first, all but the little chap, who stood whimpering by the side of the car.

“Now, boys, no pushing or pulling,” cried Nathalie with a laugh in her voice, “for there’s plenty of room, and you’re all going home with me. But here, you big one, get out and put that little kid up by me, for the poor tot must be hungry and tired.”

“Sure, he is, Miss,” replied the older lad, who evidently was his brother, jumping down and lifting him up into the seat by Nathalie, despite his kicks and protests that he wanted to sit with Danny.

“Ah, there, kid,” coaxed the bigger boy softly, “don’t be a girl. Show you’re a boy. Sit up there nice-like. Sure the leddy won’t eat yer.” This suggestion of being a girl had a magical effect upon the child, for he immediately ceased to whimper, and settled back in the seat with a repressed sniffle.

Nathalie turned the car around,—the man who had been following her had long since disappeared in the darkness,—and was soon speeding towards home. She glanced every now and then at the three figures on the back seat, who sat as still as three blind mice, snuggling up to each other for warmth, while the little chap at her side clutched her frantically as he lurched forward every time the car swung around a corner, or bumped over a “thank-you-ma’am.”

“Here, kiddie,” cried the girl presently, suddenly looking down at the child, whose big, reddish-brown eyes were staring up at her half fearfully from out of a wan, white face. “Put your head on my lap! There, that’s it,” as the child, to her surprise snuggled up to her, and then silently obeyed. “Now look up,” she added laughingly, “and count the stars.”

Although this injunction brought forth a chuckle from the back seat, it sufficed to keep the little one quiet, and the girl, as she drove rapidly on, could hear him droning, “One, two, three,—” until, with a drowsy little sigh, the counting ceased, and the girl saw that he was asleep.

It was almost nine o’clock when Nathalie whirled under the dimly burning lantern of the porte-cochère at Seven Pillars, where, on the veranda, Janet and her mother were anxiously watching for her.

“Oh, Nathalie, I have been so worried about you,” began her mother plaintively. “I will never let you go off this way again.” But her lamentations were cut short as her daughter cried, “Oh, it’s all right, mumsie; something happened to the car and detained me. But do help me get these hungry boys into the house, for the poor things are just dead with the long ride and for something to eat.”

Several minutes later, as the girl came hurrying from the kitchen, where she had been to see if the boys’ supper was ready, she found them lined up in the hall, four pathetically weary little figures. Their pale faces were smeared with railroad dust, and their foreheads oozed perspiration, but their eyes were bright and expectantly keen, on the alert for the something good that they knew was coming.

As her eyes swept smilingly down the line, the smile suddenly wavered, as her glance was arrested by the thin, emaciated face of a strange grayish whiteness,—of a peasant lad, who, bewildered with dumb amazement, was staring at her with a dogged look, his dark eyes haunted, as it were, by an expression of fear.

He was huddling something in his right arm, a yellowish-brown thing that squirmed and twisted uneasily, while the left sleeve of his soiled shirt-waist, strapped with one suspender, was pinned to his shoulder in an empty, flat way that was infinitely pathetic, for the little lad had only one arm!

The girl stared back at the boy with a suppressed cry, as into memory flashed the many stories she had heard of the Belgian and French children who had been so mercilessly ill-treated and maimed by the German soldiers. Oh, this must be one of those refugees. Yes, she dimly remembered now, seeing the word “Belgian” in Mrs. Van Vorst’s letter, which she had read so quickly. With sudden effort, her natural kindliness coming to her aid, she smiled into the fear-haunted eyes, crying gently, as she softly touched him on the one arm, “Is that your dog? Oh, I love dogs. What is his name?”

A sudden flash of joyful relief radiated from the boy’s face, momentarily driving away that dulled, cowlike bewilderment from his eyes. It was a look that caused Nathalie’s heart to quiver with pain, for it was the look of some dumb animal that had been wantonly punished or brutally hurt by the hand it loved; a look that haunted her for many days, constantly urging her to try and say something, or do something, so as to drive it away.

The next moment a little yellow-brown terrier was crouching on the floor at his master’s feet, while thumping the floor with his tail, and licking his hand, then trying to crawl up his trousers’ leg, as if to get back to the shelter of that one lonely arm.

“Oh, the poor animal must be hungry,” exclaimed Mrs. Page, just as the boy had given his name as Tige. “But come, children,” she added, “and get your suppers; and the dog, too,” patting the brown head of the refugee, while a look of infinite pity shone from her kindly eyes.

The boys needed no further urging, as Danny, with a wild hoot of delight, yelled, “Come on, fellers; it’s eats.” And then, notwithstanding Nathalie’s well-laid plans that each one should have a good wash-up before eating, they made a straight run for the kitchen.

Here they were soon putting down everything in sight in a way that almost frightened the girl, as she suddenly realized the care and responsibility she had taken upon herself. And that one-armed boy! O dear! she had never thought of such a thing as that.

But if they didn’t have their wash before supper, they had it very soon after, as the girl marched each one separately to the washbowl in the bathroom, and, after making him duck his head in the water, proceeded to give it a vigorous shampoo, notwithstanding sundry squirms and twists, for Nathalie believed in taking things by the forelock, and they just must be clean.

Then the scrubbed one, after being supplied with towels and soap, was informed that he must give himself a good scrubbing in the tub, and if he failed to do it properly, he would have to do it all over again. Nathalie’s somewhat severe admonition was met with stony silence on the part of her victims, unless it was a rather loud, “Gee whiz, fellers; here’s me for a swim!” that involuntarily escaped Danny, the older boy, when he found himself before the well-filled bath-tub.

When it came to the little chap’s turn, Nathalie’s young heart revolted at letting him go through the washing process all by himself, as he was so little, tired, and sleepy, so she said that she would give him his bath. To her surprise he began to whimper, while his older brother protested most vehemently that he could bathe him.

“Oh, no,” returned the young lady decidedly; and a few moments later her charge was standing in the bath-tub, ready for his scrubbing, Nathalie meanwhile talking to him gently, as if to quiet his fears.

Some time later, with a red, heated face, the young girl emerged from the room, dragging a little white-robed figure by the hand, whose face was, strange to say, wreathed in dimples. “Here, dear, you get into Miss Natty’s bed,” said the girl, leading the child into her room, “and brother will stay with you until I return,” motioning to Danny, who had been waiting outside the bathroom, with a strange, worried look on his face.

“Oh, mother,” exclaimed Nathalie a moment later, as she came rushing out to the porch. “What do you think? Oh, I never was so surprised in my life!”

“Why, Nathalie, what is the matter with you?” ejaculated Janet, as she placed her arm caressingly around the girl. “You are as white as a ghost, and you’re all of a tremble.”

“Oh, I’ve had such a scare,—such a terrible surprise,” stammered the girl. And then she broke into a little laugh as she cried: “Oh, mother, you know the littlest chap? Well, he isn’t a boy at all; he’s a girl!”

“A girl!” echoed three voices simultaneously, and then Mrs. Page gave a laugh, a laugh in which every one joined.

It did not take Nathalie long to relate her experiences in the bathroom, and then she remarked: “I wonder if Mrs. Van Vorst knew he was a girl. It’s awfully funny. Oh, I’ll read her letter again.”

The next moment, with the letter opened before her, she was slowly reading aloud:

“Dear Nathalie:

“I am sending you four boys instead of three. The fourth lad is a one-armed Belgian refugee, and his story is so pitiful I am sure, when you come to learn it, you will be glad I sent him to you. A Buffalo lady sent word to the Belgian Relief Committee that she would take one of a number of refugees recently arrived from France. But when she found that the poor lad had been mutilated by the Germans, her heart weakened. She claimed that she could not stand unpleasant things—what about the sufferings of the boy?—and returned him to the committee.

“A member of the committee, hearing that I was looking for some boys, and being greatly distressed over the cruelty of the case, begged me to send him to you, if only for a little while, so as to give them a chance to place him later. I, of course, will be responsible for any expense he will be to you. I am sorry, but I had no opportunity to clothe him. He seems a strange, docile child. I think he is still living in the horrors of hell, from those terrible eyes of his. Oh, it is heart-breaking, but I know that you love children, dear, and I am sure that you are just the one to bring something of the child in him back to his face again.

“His story is one of many. His village was overrun by the German soldiery, and the brave little lad, while trying to defend his mother from the atrocity of a German officer, was bayoneted, and finally lost his arm. His mother was carried away into Germany, but the boy believes her dead. I will not tell you the rest of the story, for some day he may want to unburden his child mind and tell you his pitiful take himself. His little yellow dog has been his comrade through all of his weary wanderings, the only thing that remains to him of his once happy home, and no one had the heart to take it from him.

“The Italian lad was found wandering in the streets on the East Side, making an effort to support himself by playing on his violin, as his aged grandfather,—he seems to have been an orphan,—who was a hurdy-gurdy man, had just died. The two brothers were found living in a cellar, where Danny, the older one, had been trying to support his brother, after the death of the aged woman who had had charge of them. He sold papers, but, when sick and unable to do so, was found half-starved in the cellar. It is hoped that the bracing breezes of the mountain air, with good healthy food, will make new children of these boys.

“Dear Nathalie, if you could only realize the bigness of the work you have undertaken in taking these slum children into a wonder-land of healthy living, the beauties and wonders of which will mean to them a new and glorified world. God bless you, dear, is all I can say and pray.

“No, this letter proves that Mrs. Van Vorst did not know that the child was a girl,” said Nathalie, as she tucked the letter in her shirt-waist. “But, mother, what shall I do about it?” she continued, in such a dejected voice that her mother burst out laughing.

“Don’t do anything about it, daughter,” Mrs. Page replied, still laughing. “A girl is as good as a boy any day, and we will just set to work, this very minute, and rig up some clothes from some of your old things, for the child to wear.”

“Oh, I think she will make a lovely girl, with those great brown eyes of hers,” cried Janet, enthusiastically. “And she has dimples, too. I know we can make the sweetest thing of her, and—”

But Nathalie didn’t wait to hear the rest. She was so overjoyed to think it had turned out all right, that she was in a hurry to reassure Danny, whom she realized had been greatly worried over the circumstance. But how did they come to dress the child as a boy? she queried as she hurried into the room, where the now little girl had fallen fast asleep in Nathalie’s bed, while her brother watched beside her with a white, frightened face.

“Tell me, Danny,” inquired Nathalie gently, as she laid her hand on the boy’s head, “how did you come to make a boy of your sister?”

A quick sob broke from the lad. And then, with a stiffening of his chin, as if with the resolution that he would not give way, while furtively wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he told how, when Granny Maguire died, and his little sister’s clothes, after a time, wore out, he had been compelled to clothe her in his cast-off rags, because he had no others, and he didn’t know where to get them.

“She didn’t like it no way at first,” the lad’s blue eyes twinkled, “but she got kind o’ used to it, an’ then I promised that when she growed big I’d let her be a girl. And whin the leddy that does the settlement work comed round and wanted me to go ter the country I couldn’t leave the kid, and when she said he could come too, I didn’t squeal on meself, but jest kept mumlike, for they wouldn’t have let her come wid me if they knowed she was a girl. Sure, marm, we’ll have ter wait till morning to go back,” the lad tried to steady his voice, “fur the boss wid the brass buttons on the train told me there ain’t no train till then. Can we walk to the station, do yer think?” he inquired pleadingly.

“But you’re not going back, Danny,” replied Nathalie. “You’re going to stay right here with me, as long as you’re good and mind me. It doesn’t make a bit of difference if your sister is not a boy. I wrote for three boys, for I thought boys could take care of themselves in a way. Then, as we have no servants here, and I get tired sometimes with so much to do, I thought that boys would be more of a help. But we’ll dress your sister as a girl, and—Oh, don’t cry, Danny,” for the boy had turned his head aside, and was silently struggling with his sobs.

But they were sobs of joy, as Nathalie soon discovered, as, with a final shake of his thin shoulders, he faced about and cried: “Oh, thank you, ma’am. No, I ain’t no blubberin’ calf, but sure I just couldn’t let the kid go back alone—and—But Gee, leddy, it sure is heaven up here with these big hills—and the green trees—and the flowers—And, leddy,” he pulled at Nathalie’s sleeve as she turned to go away, “I kin be a sight o’ help ter yer, for I knows how to wash dishes, and I kin cook too, a good bit.”

“Oh, that will be just fine, Danny,” enthused Nathalie, “for I am wild to have a man chef, and I’ll let you wash all the dishes you want to, for that’s a job I hate. And, Danny,” said the girl, patting the boy’s shoulder gently, “we are going to make it as near like Heaven up here as we can. But come, son, you must be tired.” And then she led the boy up-stairs to the upper floor, where, in a large corner-room, she had taken the other boys, who were undressed and ready to tumble into the three beds.

After directing Danny to sleep in the double bed, as he was the largest, so that each one of the smaller boys could have a bed to himself, she showed them the closet and how to hang up their clothes,—what little they had, they had brought tied up in handkerchiefs, or on their backs,—she turned to go. “Yes, and you must be sure to get up, every one of you, when you hear the big bell ring in the morning.”

She had reached the door, after bidding them goodnight, when a sudden thought turned her back. And then Nathalie had her first solemn moments with her boys, as she told each one that, before getting in bed, he must say his prayers, so as to thank God for the good things that had been given them that day. The little Italian lad immediately drew out his rosary and began to say his beads, but Danny scratched his head in a dubious sort of way, and mumbled that it was so long since he had said his prayers that he couldn’t remember what he was to say.

But this forgetfulness on Danny’s part was soon remedied, as the girl made him kneel by her in the moonlight that streamed through the window, and solemnly repeat, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” adding a few words as a suggestion to the boy as to what he should add to the prayer. Danny, with a brighter face, now began to prepare for bed, and Nathalie, as she again turned to leave the room, stopped to speak with the refugee. And then the girl’s eyes grew moist, for he had stolen into the darkest corner of the room, and, with his one hand solemnly upraised, was repeating a prayer softly to himself, while the little yellow cur stood at attention by his side.

It was something of a surprise the next morning to Danny’s companions, to see a little maid, clothed and in her right mind, as Janet expressed it, come shyly into the dining-room,—a little maid who bore a very strong resemblance to the brown-eyed, curly-haired, whimpering little lad of the day before. The black eyes of the Italian boy, Tony, widened, and then, with a shy gleam of humor in their liquid depths, he nodded at the little girl, crying under his breath, “Oh, Boy!” But the little maid proved herself competent to manage the situation to her satisfaction, as she quickly made a face at him, for which she was properly rebuked by Nathalie, who, however, was on the verge of a laugh, while a ripple of amusement gleamed in her mother’s eyes.

Jean, the Belgian refugee, stared with some perplexity at the small girl, and did not comprehend the curious situation until the children had left the breakfast-table, when Nathalie made it plain to him.

The girl found that the morning hours were well-occupied, as she started right in to put her boys through their paces, as she called her drilling, so as to prepare them not only for a very happy, but a useful, summer’s stay. She had noticed, during the morning meal, that the children, with ready sympathy for the maimed boy, had been rather officious in trying to help him, and that his thin, sickly face had flushed with embarrassment and over-sensitiveness at the fact that to them he was an object of pity.

Instantly divining how she would have felt under like circumstances, Nathalie managed to get Danny and Tony together, when Mrs. Page, whose mother-heart had gone out to the boy, had taken him down to the barn to show him where he could keep his dog, and Janet had taken possession of the little maid.

In a few words she told them the tragic story of the Belgian, and, after gaining their interest, made it clear to them how they themselves would have felt if they had been different from their mates, and warned them about being too open in their method of helping him. She suggested that little acts of subtle kindness would be more appreciated, as they would not offend his sensitiveness.

Danny was now installed, with a big apron tied around his waist, in front of the kitchen sink, taking his first lesson in Nathalie’s method of washing dishes, with Tony, the second helper, as the dish-dryer. Divining that it would not only be better for Jean, the refugee, to have employment so as to fill his mind with something besides his sad experiences, and realizing that he would naturally want to do as the other children, Nathalie made him her right-hand man, as she called it, and showed him how he could assist her in a number of ways. In a few moments he was laboriously carrying out, with one hand, the food to Nathalie, who quickly placed it in the ice-box, or closet, while little Sheila removed the soiled dishes to the kitchen, happy at being on the job, as Danny said.

From dish-washing, preparing the vegetables for dinner, sweeping the kitchen and shed, and dusting the dining-room, it was bed-making. Jean was made captain of the Working Squad, eager to help by doing what he could with his one hand, while seeing that the boys did their work as Nathalie had instructed them.

Fortunately for Nathalie, she was a fair French scholar, and as the Belgian lad had lived in one of the Walloon provinces, where French is generally spoken, she had no difficulty in conversing with him. He could speak a little English, but in a queer, hesitating way that made him shy over it.

When the morning duties were finished, and they were not done with a magician’s wand by any means, but with the exercise of great patience on the part of their young instructor, and a good deal of drilling on the children’s part, they all hurried out into the sunshine. Here they raced about, enjoying the fresh air, the green trees and the flowers, and the beautiful mountain views, and then they made the acquaintance of Sam, who not only introduced them to the fascinations of the barn,—as the cows, pigs, and chickens, the soft cooing doves who flittered over the barn-roof,—but to the one dray-horse. This animal proved a source of unfeigned joy to the boys, as Sam taught them how to harness it, and then allowed each one to ride it bareback, even Jean, whose pale face glowed with a strange joy, as he held the reins with his one hand, and rode up and down on the road in front of the house.

From the barn there was an inspection of the farm, going down a green slope to watch the sheep as they quietly browsed, and then on to the orchard, where they had their fill of fruit, while in the vegetable garden many hands proffered willing assistance to Nathalie, as she gathered what was needed to replenish the vegetable larder. From here they all trooped down to pay a visit to the farmerette, whereupon Janet set them all to weeding. Strange to say, Jean pulled up the greatest number, to Nathalie’s surprise, who, by this time, began to understand that real industry, even if one-handed, can accomplish a good deal.

Finally Nathalie lined her charges up under the trees on the lawn at attention, and undertook to teach them the military salute, but before she was through she was somewhat puzzled as to whether she or the boys was the instructor. After they had saluted the flag, which Sam had run up on the top of the barn for that very purpose, and which was to be the boys’ duty in the future, they had a little soldier’s drill.

A few words were then read, very softly, by Nathalie from the Bible. She had concluded that this would be a good way to give them a bit of religious instruction, especially for a beginning. She had begun the reading by getting them interested in the book, on whose fly-leaf was written the name, Philip Renwick, by telling them how she had found it in a little room on the upper floor of the house. She then told them about this boy who had left his mother to travel abroad, how he had married, and had then come home, only to leave his mother and return to Europe, never to be seen by her again. They were much interested in the story, especially when she showed them the picture of the young man in the library, and from that time onward the little Bible seemed to possess a peculiar interest to them, and thus led them to become more interested in the every-day Scripture lesson.

After the “Star-Spangled Banner” and several patriotic songs had been sung, and the “Marseillaise” had been given with much spirit by the boys, Janet, who had just come up from her farm, appeared, and patriotically kept time with her rake. She became so interested in the little singers that she volunteered, to Nathalie’s delight, to drill them in the national anthems of the Allies.

Whereupon Jean, with a new eagerness in his bewildered eyes, up with his hand, and made Nathalie understand that he could sing, too. Nathalie smilingly encouraged him, and in a few moments the lad’s thin, quavering voice, that grew deeper as he caught the spirit of the words, gave them Belgium’s song of cheer. This inspired Tony, and he became the soloist, and sang Italy’s national anthem.

There was a “do-as-you-please time” after dinner down on the lawn for an hour or so, and then the boys were mustered in the bathroom and initiated as to how to manipulate a tooth-brush, in a tooth-cleaning drill, Nathalie having supplied herself with three new brushes in anticipation of this procedure. Sheila, who was not one of the drillers,—only three brushes having been provided,—looked with envious eyes upon this performance, and, when Danny had finished, in a plaintively aggrieved voice complained to their young teacher that he would not let her have his brush so that she could clean her teeth, too.

Explanations were now in order. Nathalie smiling amusedly at the idea of loaning a tooth-brush, and then they were all made as presentable as possible, considering their ragged clothes, which had begun to prey upon Mrs. Page’s mind, as well as Nathalie’s. But the clothes part was something that had not presented itself to the girl when she had planned the boys’ coming, and she was at a loss to remedy the trouble.

Certainly something must be done to do away with Tony’s old velveteen embroidered vest, his greatest treasure, and Jean’s soiled white shirt, which seemed to be the only one he possessed. Danny’s clothes, although they had been queerly darned and glaringly patched, and were miles too small for him, were clean, and he did have a change of underclothing, to Nathalie’s relief.

However, the general shabbiness of the boys’ apparel had not affected their merry spirits, the girl decided, as she sat knitting on the veranda, and heard the happy, joyous voices that floated up from the lawn, as they played leap-frog, ran races, and turned handsprings. Even Jean, caught by the contagion of the moment, turned a somersault, to her breathless amazement.

She was beginning to realize what Mrs. Van Vorst meant when she spoke of what the glorious wonders of these mountains would mean to the half-fed, sickly little waifs of humanity from the East Side of New York. Yes, it meant a new world, with no more squalid, stifling two-by-two rooms, or damp, moldy cellars. No more nauseating smells, odors from the backyard garbage-can, the rattlety-bang of heavy trucks and milk-wagons, or the jarring creak of the Elevated. For, as Sheila expressed it, they were in a “big green world, with high blue walls, with flower stars a-peepin’ at ’em from the grass, and little teeny birds a-singin’ and rockin’ their babies to sleep in tall trees, that nodded to ’em with a swishy whisper.”

Suddenly the serenity of Nathalie’s cogitations received a shock, as a horrible swear-word came, no, not floating, but yelling, its way across the green. The girl jumped up and rushed down under the trees, to see Tony, with his soft, appealing ways, and Danny, with the blue eyes that she had already begun to trust for the frankness of their gaze, rolling on the lawn, locked in a vice-like grip, as they pommeled and pounded each other in a way that made Nathalie gasp.

Sheila, with squeals of delighted glee, was circling about the combatants, piping shrilly. “Give ’im a plug in the snoot, Danny! Pound ’im in the mug!” to the accompaniment of big, forceful oaths that rolled from the mouths of the fighting boys. As the little maid sighted Nathalie, she ejaculated, with a broad grin, “Ain’t them kids fierce!” which caused poor Nathalie to gasp again.

“Oh, boys, you mustn’t fight!” the agonized girl cried, as she reached down and tried to separate the young pugilists, with her limbs all of a tremble. But her efforts were useless, and, regardless of her screams and expostulations, the punching and scratching continued, punctuated by defiant yells, and such horrifying language that the girl shivered.

As she stared as if fascinated by this new and revolting experience, she saw a little trickle of blood oozing down Danny’s face, for Tony, who was the underdog, was an expert at nail-digging. It was a fearsome sight, and Nathalie, appalled by the thought that he might dig out an eye or so in his blinded wrath, in frenzied horror screamed, “Oh, Tony, you’re killing Danny!” But the only result of her cry was, “Yer bet yer life he ain’t!” and the hair continued to fly, as Danny yelled triumphantly, “Gee! I knew I could lick yer wid one hand!” and the gory battle continued.

Then, in sheer desperation, hopelessly wringing her hands, she started in the direction of the house to call her mother. Suddenly she stopped. Oh, no; her mother would send them away, and then—O dear! Ah, she knew what she would do. Terror speeded her feet, and two minutes later she reappeared on the lawn, and with one swing of her arm there came a terrific “Clang! Clang!” as the girl, with big excited eyes, thrust the still clanging bell between the faces of the boys.

The effect was magical, for the lads, with screams of terror, unlocked their arms, hands, and legs, and rolled apart, while gazing with dilated eyes, as if they had heard the crack of doom, at the bell that Nathalie had thrust into their faces.

A few moments later, almost unclothed, dust-begrimed, blood-besmeared, and both sniffling from nerve-shock, but still breathing out dire vengeance one upon the other, Nathalie led her two charges up-stairs and thrust one into the bathroom and the other into a dark closet. Jan, at this moment, appeared in the hall, and the girl excitedly dragged her into her bedroom, and, in a hushed, nervous whisper, made known the proceedings of the last few moments.

But Jan, who at home was a district nurse, and had witnessed many slum fights, burst into a peal of laughter. And then, with her face still red with mirth and laughter, demanded, “Well, young lady, what else did you expect if you will take ragamuffins and street Arabs to your bosom?” Nevertheless Janet’s sympathies were aroused, for Nathalie, if not for the boys, and in a few moments the two girls were industriously making the boys presentable once more.

And then Nathalie led the culprits into a chamber apart, and began to upbraid them, trying to impress their young minds with the enormity of the wrong-doing of which they had been guilty.

But the spirit of the cave-dweller was not yet subdued, and, notwithstanding the girl’s persuasiveness, and her pleading attitude in her endeavor to make them see the error of their way, they kept up a wrangling duet of recriminations, each one accusing the other of punching him first, while stubbornly crying, “Now, ye didn’t lick me.”

Presently Nathalie, under the strain of overwrought nerves, and the sudden realization of the unforeseen responsibility of her position, burst into tears. Lo, to her amazement, her tears acted like oil on troubled waters, for the next instant a grimy hand tugged at her sleeve, as Danny, with troubled eyes, in a sudden wave of contrition, cried: “Oh, Miss Natty, don’t take on like that. Sure and I’m never goin’ to fight no more.”

Meanwhile Tony’s black eyes, in dumb entreaty, grew bigger and bigger, until he, too, in sudden repentance, began to stroke her hand caressingly as his soft, musical voice pleaded, “Please Mees Natta, Tonee, he lova you—he fighta no more.”

Peace was making its way into each heart, when the purr of an automobile was heard, and as Nathalie hurried to the window, she saw Mr. Banker whirling under the porte-cochère. As the boys, paroled on their honor, a little later hung around the car, discussing its many merits, they were duly presented to the newcomer. That gentleman evidently liked small boys, for he immediately made arrangements to call for them some day, and take them to Littleton for an all-day good time.

The following afternoon Nathalie, holding Sheila by the hand, with Jean by her side, and the two boys in front of her, started to show them the mountains. At the post-office at Sugar Hill village Jean, who had been delegated to act as postman the coming week, was duly initiated into the business of opening the mail-box, an office he accepted with a sudden lighting of his dazed eyes, which Nathalie began to fancy were already losing some of their fear-haunted expression.

A short visit was paid to the Sweet-Pea ladies, where they were treated to some maple sugar, Mona very earnest in her endeavors to show sympathy for the little refugee, and her admiration for Sheila. As they hurried away, a bunch of sweet peas was seen on each little breast, pinned there by that gentle lady.

A walk on the long, curving board-walk up the hill, with a rest on one of the benches under the maples, to Hotel Look-off, now followed. The three boys were anxious to start that very minute to climb Iron Mountain, but were soon persuaded that it was too warm a day for a mountain hike. From the long veranda of the hotel they were lured to admiration of the hilly, wide-spreading green sward, and the magnificent views of the mountains, as they rose and fell, receded and advanced, with their jutting pinnacles of rock, gloomed with the green of mountain forest.

After slacking their thirst at the little spring-house in the grove, they sauntered down the board-walk to the Sunset Hill House, and as they interestedly watched the golfers in their bright-colored coats on the velvety green links, Danny proudly informed them that he knew how to caddy. But their enthusiasm grew tense when they stood on the little observation tower in front of the hotel, and Nathalie pointed out the Presidential Range, with Mount Washington towering six thousand feet up among the clouds.

She then showed them the Franconia Range, explaining that the great mountains were divided into clefts, or notches, from which flowed four long rivers and many smaller ones, several of them being named after the Indians, who, in the early times, lived on the mountain passes.

With the help of the chart they soon learned that Lafayette was the highest peak of this smaller range, and that Pemigewasset, seemingly the nearest peak to the hotel, had been named after a great Indian chieftain. The adjoining peaks, as the Kinsman and the Three Graces, proved of interest; also Cannon, or Profile Mountain, when the young girl explained that it not only had a stone, shaped like a cannon, on its top, but that from one of its sides a great stone face was to be seen.

Nathalie now told her young listeners how the mountains were first seen, over four hundred and fifty years ago, a cluster of snowy peaks, by John Cabot, from the deck of his ship when sailing along the New England coast. They were called Waumbekket-meyna, the White Hills, and sometimes “The mountains with the snowy foreheads,” by the Indians.

The first white man to ascend these heights, she related, was an Irishman named Field, who, two hundred years after they had been seen by Cabot, with a few white companions, climbed to the topmost crag of the highest peak. “Field found a number of shiny crystals which he thought were costly gems,” laughed the girl merrily, “but, alas, they proved to be only beautiful white stones, but, on account of this occurrence, the mountains came to be called Crystal Hills.

“The Indian guides who had accompanied Field part way up the mountains,” continued Nathalie, “refused to go any farther, for fear that the Great Spirit, who they believed lived in a magnificent palace on the highest peak, would destroy them if they ventured too near him. They were so surprised to see Field return in safety a few hours later that they decided he was a god, for during his absence a great storm had arisen, which they believed had been sent by the Indian Manitou to kill him. The redmen not only believed that the Great Spirit sent forth the frost and snow, as well as the rain and fire,—the lightning—but declared that the thunder was his voice.”

The Indian legend of Pawan was eagerly listened to, as Nathalie told how the Indians asserted that when the earth was covered with water and every one was drowned, he and his wife, carrying a hare, had ascended to the highest peak. When the waters began to abate, Pawan sent forth the hare, and when it did not return he and his wife descended to the earth and dwelt there in safety, for the waters had dried up from off the land. From this man, the Indians declared, every one on the earth had descended.

During the recital of these stories, Sheila’s red-brown eyes darkened to black, and every mountain peak assumed a weird and wonderful personality to her imaginative mind, fed, as it had been, by stories of fairies, pixies, and gnomes, as told to her by Danny, when playing the little mother.

But the tourists now found that their appetites had been whetted by the keen mountain air, and gladly started on their homeward way to enjoy the supper that awaited them. After tea they gathered on the veranda, and Tony entertained them by playing on his violin. Nathalie soon discovered that he not only played with considerable skill, but that Danny could whistle like a bird, while Jean and Sheila could pipe forth snatches of song in clear, childish trebles.

The boys were rendered exuberantly happy a few days later at the unexpected arrival of Mr. Banker, who had come to give them a day’s outing at Littleton. Morning chores, military tactics, and other occupations were quickly forgotten, as Nathalie and her mother made them tidy for the trip, Danny, by the way, having kindly washed Jean’s one shirt the day before,—a housewifely occupation that he had become proficient in, from sheer necessity,—and Nathalie had ironed it.

It was long past tea-time when the boys returned from their pleasure jaunt, and told in high good spirits of the “bully” time they had had, what they had seen at the movies, and many other sights. Nathalie’s joy almost equaled the boys’ when they descended from the car, and she saw three smartly equipped lads, each one in a khaki suit, with brown shoes, a brimmed hat, a knapsack, and, the most prized possession of all, a gun! The girl’s eyes filled with tears, and she had rather a tremulous time of it as she thanked Mr. Banker for his kindness, and especially for those much-needed clothes.

Nathalie, with her brown-suited boys,—Tony with his violin and his embroidered vest, as he had soon discarded his khaki suit, Jean with his empty sleeve, and yellow-brown terrier,—and Sheila, in a pink sunbonnet, soon became familiar objects on the mountain roads. They were always greeted with pleasant smiles and nods from the passing tourists, Jean being regarded with more than the usual curiosity, as his story had been rumored about.

Many of them would stop and give him money, until he had so many silver coins that Nathalie had to make him a bag to keep them in, as he had declared that he was going to save them to take him back to France, so he could find his father. It was not long before they had not only become hardy mountaineers, but familiar with all the near-by walks in and around Franconia and Sugar Hill. Jean, too, had begun to show a decided improvement, not only having gained flesh and color, but having a brighter and more cheerful expression in his eyes.

And so the sunny days passed, cementing the bond between Nathalie and her charges, and each one learning something that would be of help in the days to come. And then, one day, Nathalie had an inspiration!