CHAPTER XXII
The Fate of the Prisoner

“THEY are a lawless lot, those Settlement men, and Sam Peters says the crowd known as the Syndicate are the worst of the lot,” said Mrs. Nichols, one afternoon a week later, when, her housework being done, she came to sit with Nell, who was resting on the couch which stood under the window in the cheerful little sitting-room.

Very much of an invalid was Nell, for the fright or the shock, or the secret trouble which she could not keep wholly in abeyance, had pulled her down until she was but a wan shadow of herself.

She could talk again, although her words came with a halting slowness which made the doctor frown when he heard her, just as he frowned when she described the noise in her injured ear, which sometimes was so great that she could hear nothing else on that side. But he told her she would be better in time, so she was trying to bear the discomfort patiently.

She glanced up with quick inquiry in her face, at the remark made by Mrs. Nichols about the men of the Settlement.

“Why do you think they are so lawless?” she asked, her heart beating a little faster, for this was the first time since her arrival that Mrs. Nichols had shown any desire to gossip.

“Because of the way they took the law into their own hands last week, about that fellow you chained up in the coffin,” replied the stout woman, holding her head very much on one side while she contemplated a patch which did not look straight.

“I thought Gertrude said the police went up to Camp’s Gulch on the early cars next morning to arrest him?” said Nell, with a dismayed look.

“So they did, only when they got there he was gone; one of the big doors was lifted clean off its hinges, and the Chinaman’s coffin had been taken away. It made us all feel pretty weird at the time, I can tell you, so the doctor said you were not to be told, for fear there was a tragedy behind, which would have upset you. But Sam Peters came down this morning to see about packing up his furniture, and he’s just been over and told me all about what has come out since.”

“Yes?” queried Nell, doubtfully.

Mrs. Nichols cleared her throat vigorously. Next to hearing a bit of neighbourly gossip which had no venom in it, was the pleasure of passing it on, so she was disposed to make the most of the occasion.

“It seems that some of the miners⁠—⁠the Roseneath lot, you know⁠—⁠recognized the voice of the man in the coffin as belonging to young Dick Brunsen, who had swindled the Syndicate. So, when the doctor and Sam brought the engine and the rest of you back here, one of the men started hot-foot to the Settlement, to let the Syndicate know where the man was to be found who had cheated them so badly. It was a risky thing to do, and I guess that Dick Brunsen’s life had never been in quite so much danger before.”

“Did they hurt him?” queried Nell, faintly.

“No; that is the funny part of it, for when men take the law into their own hands there is mostly a tragedy somewhere. Directly the Syndicate got word about where Dick Brunsen was to be found, they set off for the depot to get their revenge before the police arrived to arrest the prisoner. But it seems that the young man’s father was hanging about the depot, and when he heard what was on hand, he came forward and made a bargain with them.”

“What sort of a bargain?” asked Nell.

“The very best sort from the point of view of the Syndicate. He offered to return every dollar of the money out of which they had been cheated, if only they would do something to set young Dick free; but if they would not do this, Brunsen said that both he and his son would die before they would reveal the hiding-place of the money, which, as good luck would have it, they had not been able to spend. The Syndicate figured it out then that dollars were more satisfactory than revenge, so they agreed to get young Dick free somehow, even if they had to pull the shed down to do it. But they vowed that if the money was not forthcoming after they had done their part, the Brunsens, father and son, should be strung up to the nearest tree by their necks.”

“How horrible!” groaned Nell, with a shiver.

“But they did not do it, so there is nothing to turn white about,” retorted Mrs. Nichols. “They just swarmed down to the depot, a mob thirty or forty strong. The miners on guard there instantly gave way before them, and passively looked on, if they did not help. The great door was lifted by main force, though how much it weighs I shouldn’t like to make a guess at, and young Dick, with the Chinaman’s coffin, was carried away. Nothing else was meddled with though there was property enough in the shed to have tempted people more honest than they ever professed to be.”

“I know that. It was the fear of its being stolen which bothered me so badly,” sighed Nell.

“Well, nothing was taken, however, and when the first cars reached Camp’s Gulch in the morning, it was to find the place absolutely deserted, except for poor old Mrs. Trip, who was asleep in her house.”

“I can’t think what made Joey go off in such a fashion. I shouldn’t have been half so much afraid if he had been there to keep me company,” Nell remarked.

“The doctor thinks the poor old man clean forgot that the night cars hadn’t come in. The man that keeps the saloon at the Settlement said Joey looked funny that evening, and some of the customers thought he had been drinking; but it is plain the poor man must have had a stroke on the way home, as they found him lying unconscious under the trees at Hobson’s Gap.”

“How is he now?” asked Nell.

“Sam hasn’t heard this morning; but Dr. Russell has gone up to the Settlement to-day, so we shall most likely hear when he comes back.”

“It will be a great change for Sam Peters to live at Camp’s Gulch,” remarked Nell.

“I am very glad he has got the post,” Mrs. Nichols answered. “He did really deserve promotion; but it is not clear to my mind that he would have had it if it had not been for his swarm of children.”

“Why not?” queried Nell, in surprise.

“It is my opinion that the railway people meant to have as many folks for their money as they could get⁠—⁠it is such a lonely place, don’t you see? And as Sam Peters had such a swarm of children, they reckoned he would populate the depot better than any one else, so he got the berth.”

“How it came about I don’t mind, seeing that he has got it,” Nell answered, with a smile; then she asked, “Who is doing my work⁠—⁠that poor sickly young Robertson?”

“No; the operator is a big red-haired young man, named Scott, and he has fitted up an old freight-wagon to live in, because there is no room in Sam’s house,” Mrs. Nichols said, with an uneasy wriggle as she darted an anxious look at Nell, for Sam Peters had told her that morning that Scott was at Camp’s Gulch for a permanency, which would mean that Nell had been superseded.

She saw the anxious look, and smiled faintly. “You need not be worried about my feelings being hurt. I did not expect to go back to Camp’s Gulch; indeed, I am thinking of sending in my resignation, only it seemed better to wait a few days longer, in order to make quite sure.”

“To make quite sure of what?” asked the stout woman sharply, looking at Nell more anxiously than before.

“That I can’t be an operator any longer. I am all but certain I shall not be able to do it, because of that noise and confusion in my head. The doctor says he hopes it will get better in time, but he does not say what time, and I cannot go dragging on indefinitely.”

“Can’t you hear enough with your other ear?” asked Mrs. Nichols, but Nell shook her head.

“That was my best ear, and now I could never be sure of myself. However, there are other ways of earning one’s living, so I must just begin over again,” she said a little sadly, for beginning over again meant starting at the bottom once more, and this was disappointing.

Mrs. Nichols looked troubled too. “I’m real sorry you feel like that, especially just now, for Miss Lorimer has got to go home; will be away all winter perhaps, if her mother ain’t better, and if you had only been fit for deputy work, why you might have stayed here so comfortable,” she said regretfully.

Nell gave a little start. “Have they sent for Gertrude from Lorimer’s Clearing?” she asked.

She had not seen Gertrude that morning, and had indeed only had brief visits from her on each evening.

“Her father wrote the day before yesterday, and asked her to go home next week. Mrs. Lorimer is very low down, and, judging from a few things that poor girl has let drop, very difficult to live with, I’m afraid.”

“Next week. Poor Gertrude!” Nell sighed heavily, for she had seen far enough into the heart of her friend to know how much it would cost Gertrude to leave Bratley just now.

Then she sat silent for a while, wondering if she dared offer to go to Lorimer’s Clearing and help them all until Mrs. Lorimer was better, finally asking the advice of Mrs. Nichols on the subject.

“You might offer certainly, and I haven’t a doubt you would do a good part by them. But you are worth a better post than that now, and I can’t bear to think of your being dragged backwards when you ought to be rising all the time. Of course, socially, you are a long way above the Lorimers, and I don’t like to think of your drudging for them like a common hired girl,” the stout woman said, in a discontented fashion.

Nell smiled faintly. “Some one must do the drudgery, and I am more fit for it than Gertrude.”

“Very likely you are, so far as strength goes; but, well, you ought to be above that sort of thing now. I hate for you to take a low-down place, so there!” said Mrs. Nichols, vehemently.

Nell laughed outright at this, only somehow there was a lack of mirth in the sound. Then she took a sudden resolve, and began to tell Mrs. Nichols of the encounter with Doss Umpey at Camp’s Gulch, which had resulted in her injuries.

“I could not speak of it while there was any danger of the police finding him,” she said sadly. “But if the Brunsens got clear away, most certainly granfer would get away too. Only when you begin to talk about my social position being so much better than Gertrude’s, it is as well that you should know what weights there are to drag me down.”

“Oh, the wicked old man, to strike you such cruel blows!” cried Mrs. Nichols, in horrified tones. “Why, he ought to be shut up in prison for the remainder of his life.”

“Hush, hush! I could not bear that. He was just mad with rage, or he would not have struck so hard, and I was too dazed and stupid to get out of his way in time,” Nell said hastily, more willing to make excuses for the old man now than she had been in the past.

“Don’t talk about him; it turns me sick!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, angrily. “That reminds me, too, that I brought a parcel home with me from the American side for you. But we’ve been in such a state of worry and confusion ever since, that I haven’t thought a word about it until now.”

“A parcel for me? What is it?” cried Nell, a tinge of pink coming into her pale cheeks.

“That I don’t know. But when I was staying with my cousin, Sabina Clack, at Lewisville, a Mrs. Joe Lipton, from Button End, came on a visit to her sister who lived opposite, and, as luck would have it, we got quite intimate.”

“Why, I know her⁠—⁠at least, I’ve seen her,” said Nell. “She was kind, too. I remember she gave me a lot of old magazines once, because I hadn’t anything to read.”

“I saw she was a kind-hearted sort; but she hadn’t a single good word for Doss Umpey, and she said all Button End was up in arms at the way he went off and left you to the mercy of them Gunnages.”

“But I did not stay with them long,” said Nell, smiling now to remember how angry Mrs. Gunnage had been with her for going away.

“A good thing, too. Well, when Mrs. Lipton was going on about Doss Umpey, and saying that he was no better than a murderer, because he had driven you to wander till you died, I just told her that I happened to know you were not dead, and, what is more, I knew where you were and what you were doing. I did not open my mouth very wide as to particulars, but told her enough to satisfy her about you. Then she asked me if I would take charge of a parcel which had been left at her house, and give it to you when I had the chance.”

“Who left the parcel there?” asked Nell.

“A gentleman, Mrs. Lipton said, and she told me she should have sent it over to the Lone House with the Gunnages, only she didn’t trust Mrs. Gunnage any further than she could see her.”

“Dear me! it sounds mysterious. Can I have the parcel now, or am I to wait a while, in order to have my curiosity roused to boiling point?” asked Nell, eagerly.

“You shall have it now; then you can look at it while I take Miss Lorimer’s tea across to the depot,” said Mrs. Nichols, thrusting her work on one side, and going off to her room in search of the mysterious parcel.

It was of considerable size and bulky, well tied up in stout brown paper with strong string fastened in many knots, and it was addressed “Miss Nell, care of Mr. Doss Umpey.”

A wave of burning colour surged over Nell’s face as she looked at the handwriting and read the address. But she seemed to have lost all interest concerning the contents, and sat with it unopened on her lap, while Mrs. Nichols prepared Gertrude’s tea, and went off with it to the depot.

Even then, when she was alone, a great reluctance to open it still oppressed her, until at length, ashamed of what looked so much like cowardice, she picked up a knife, and cutting the string pulled off the outer wrappings.

Then was revealed a big piece of crimson merino, yards and yards of it, a long length of soft white flannel, some ribbon to match the merino, and four books. There was a letter packed in between the books, and Nell picked it up with an odd sensation of knowing already exactly what it contained.

The name at the bottom was signed in full, but it had evidently been written in a violent hurry with a leaky fountain-pen, then inadvertently smeared so badly that it was undecipherable.

Nell sat looking at it so long that she forgot about the other things, until Mrs. Nichols came back from the depot.

“Oh, what a pretty colour! and it is good merino, too, and the flannel is the best quality⁠—⁠it cost half a dollar a yard, if it did a cent, I guess. Oh, my dear, do tell me the name of the gentleman that sent it!” cried Mrs. Nichols, who was walking round the parcel in an ecstasy of admiration.

“You can see the letter if you like,” replied Nell, quietly; but her colour was coming and going, and it was easy to see that she was having hard work to maintain her self-control.

Mrs. Nichols stood by the table and read the letter through in silence, until she came to the signature, then she said with something like irritation in her tone⁠—

“What is the name?”

“Can’t you read it?” asked Nell.

“It is so horribly smudged. Just like a man to stuff a letter into an envelope without stopping to blot it. The first name looks like Dick, and⁠—⁠but no, it can’t surely be Brunsen!” cried Mrs. Nichols, in a shocked tone.

“I am afraid it is,” sighed Nell.

“And the money, did you find that?” demanded Mrs. Nichols, sharply, referring again to the letter, which she still held in her hand.

“Yes, but I did not use it. I sent it back to Mr. Brunsen just as soon as I knew where to find him,” said Nell, holding her head very high now, while her cheeks glowed redder than before.

“Sent it back? Whatever do you mean, child?” asked Mrs. Nichols, in a puzzled tone.

“I was standing in the big shed at Camp’s Gulch, back in the summer, when I saw the gentleman whom I had taken care of at the Lone House, standing talking to someone else on the Settlement road, and when I asked Joey Trip who it was, he said it was Mr. Dick Brunsen, the man who afterwards cheated the Syndicate. So I wrote a note to say where I had found the money, and sent it back to him in a letter,” said Nell, rather unsteadily.

“What did this person say in reply?” asked Mrs. Nichols, frowning heavily.

“There was no reply, of course, for I put no address, and I posted it here in Bratley,” said Nell.

“That man Joey Trip is an idiot,” announced Mrs. Nichols, with tremendous emphasis.

“What do you mean?” queried Nell, in surprise.

“I mean just what I say; and if I were not so fond of you, I should say that you are an idiot too,” retorted Mrs. Nichols, sourly.

“But why?” asked Nell, more puzzled than before.

“For thinking that the man who took the trouble to send you this parcel was that drinking, cheating, thieving Dick Brunsen whom you tied up in that Chinaman’s coffin.”

“But it must have been the same; Joey Trip said so, and he ought to know, seeing that Mr. Brunsen had been treating him to lemonade every night for weeks past,” Nell answered. But there was a wistful look in her eyes, which showed how gladly she would submit to being worsted in her theories concerning the identity of the man who had remembered her so kindly.

“Joey Trip is stupid as an owl. Most likely he would say that his fire-eating Dick Brunsen was a saint, if you asked him; but reasonable folks would know better. Now, look at these books. Here’s ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress,’ ‘Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier,’ ‘Essays on Chaucer,’ and ‘The Imitation of Christ.’ Are they the sort of books a man would choose as a present for a girl if he were of the sort that we know this Dick Brunsen is?”

“Joey Trip said it was the same; and oh, Mrs. Nichols, if it isn’t, I’ve sent the money to the wrong man!” exclaimed Nell, starting up in great dismay.

“That is just about what you have done, I expect,” replied the stout woman, with an air of gloomy triumph.

CHAPTER XXIII
Honouring the Heroine

A FORTNIGHT slipped past, during which Nell’s injuries mended slowly, though her general health was anything but satisfactory; for the shock and strain of her adventure at Camp’s Gulch proved too much for even her intrepid spirit.

Gertrude had been gone a week. Nell had received one brief letter in which Gertrude said she was sending in her resignation, for they could not do without her at home now.

A fresh operator had been installed at Bratley⁠—⁠a girl who gave herself superior airs because of her city up-bringing, and who drove Mrs. Nichols nearly wild with her untidy ways.

Nell was secretly longing to get to work again, and chafing sorely at her enforced idleness. She spent hours every day in the sunshine; reading, walking, making plans for the future, and doing her best to help anyone who stood in need of assistance that she was able to give.

She had spent a long afternoon with Mrs. Jones, at a farm about half a mile from the depot, who had a sick baby and a swarm of toddlers of various ages⁠—⁠six of them altogether, and the eldest not ten years old.

Nell had taken them all, saving the ailing baby, to the field where Mr. Jones was ploughing up potatoes; and the whole tribe had been picking up the potatoes, even small hands accomplishing a fair amount of work when there was some one present who could turn it into play.

But the stooping, and the effort to keep the little ones amused, had brought on the buzzing in Nell’s head in quite an aggravated form, and she was feeling very miserable indeed as she trailed along the dusty road, carrying a heavy basket of late plums in her left hand, which Mrs. Jones had sent as a present to Mrs. Nichols.

It was growing dusk by the time Nell reached Bratley, for which she felt thankful, as her face was drawn into puckers of weariness and discomfort.

Entering by the back door, she put the plums on the kitchen table, meaning to slip off to her own room to get a little rested before any one noticed her entrance; but in this she was disappointed.

“Is that you, Nell dear?” asked Mrs. Nichols from the sitting-room; and there was an indefinable something in her tone which made the listener thrill and quiver with expectation, while half her weariness dropped from her as if by magic.

“Yes; I have come. Do you want me?” she asked, presenting herself at the door of the inner room where Mrs. Nichols sat knitting by a fire of sticks, although the evening was unusually warm for late September.

“There is a letter for you from Camp’s Gulch, sent by special messenger; it came an hour ago. I would have sent for you, only I was expecting you home every minute,” replied Mrs. Nichols.

“As important as that, is it?” said Nell, coming forward into the firelight. “What is it about? A round-robin from the Peters family, asking me to come and take up my abode in the old freight-wagon, I expect. But I’m not going. I mean to send in my resignation to-morrow, for I’ve swarms of bees let loose in my ear again, and it is just horrible.”

“Poor child! But I expect you have done too much to-day, and that is why your head is bad. No, the letter is not from the Peters lot; it is from the Syndicate. There it is on the table. I was told to take care of it, so I’ve just sat and stared at the thing ever since it came.”

“The Syndicate?” echoed Nell, in amazement.

Then she opened the envelope and drew out a short letter, accompanied by a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill.

“Oh, they have sent me some money, but I can’t keep it!” she cried, in profound astonishment mingled with dismay.

“Why not?” demanded Mrs. Nichols, trying not to look as if she knew about the contents of the letter.

“Because⁠—⁠oh, because it is just absurd that I should be paid for doing my duty,” flashed out Nell, with her head in the air.

“What is in the letter?” asked Mrs. Nichols, nodding and smiling as if vastly pleased.

“Read it and see. Oh dear, I don’t like such a fuss being made,” said Nell, ruefully.

“Read it to me; I can’t see by this light, it flickers so much,” replied Mrs. Nichols, and stooping forward to the fire, Nell began to read⁠—

“Well, it is a very nice letter, anyhow; and you would surely never hurt their feelings by sending the money back, especially as they are not rich men,” said Mrs. Nichols.

“I did not think of it hurting their feelings; but it is such a dreadful lot of money to take for just nothing. It isn’t even as if the railway people had given it to me,” Nell replied, with visible relenting in her tone.

“The railway people will do something, I have no doubt, when they know that you are compelled to resign because of what happened to you in your efforts to secure them from loss. But even if they had lost everything the big shed contained, they would not have stood to lose so much as the Syndicate did over that bad deal in copper. I guess they will be more careful how they spend their money next time. No wonder they feel so grateful to you for helping them to get their money back.”

“I am glad they did not hurt the poor man when they had him in their power,” Nell said, feeling that nothing would have induced her to take this money if the Syndicate had wreaked some dreadful vengeance on the prisoner.

“So am I, though I must say he got off more lightly than he deserved to do. But you will keep the money, dear, and it may help you to some of that education you are always longing for; although, to my way of thinking, you are already as learned and as ladylike as any one need wish to be.”

“Oh, how perfectly lovely that would be!” cried Nell, ignoring the compliment and thinking only of the possibilities contained in the gift of the Syndicate.

In the end she decided to take the gift in the spirit in which it was offered, and she wrote a graceful little letter of thanks to Mark Flossman; then, in a spirit of flat contradiction, felt fearfully ill used because she had been the innocent means of bringing Dick Brunsen to justice, even though it was rough justice, which showed plainly enough that she did not entirely accept Mrs. Nichols’s theory about the identity of the man whom she had succoured at the Lone House more than a year ago.

The next day she sent in her resignation, accompanied by a note from Dr. Russell, which stated that, owing to the injury to her ear, it would be a long time before she was a safe operator again.

To her amazement, the officials at headquarters, taking into account the peculiar circumstances of the case, paid her full salary up to the date of her resignation, and sent her a hundred dollars as compensation for injuries received and her consequent loss of work.

“I expect they got shamed into it by what the Syndicate did,” said Mrs. Nichols, which was a little ungracious on her part, as doubtless the officials at headquarters knew nothing whatever of the action of the Syndicate in honouring the heroine.

“I can sit still comfortably now until my arm gets better, and then I will just go to work and fit myself to be something special in the world,” said Nell, gaily. “I should love to go to college and study medicine, only I’m afraid the money wouldn’t be enough to carry me through, or I might not be clever enough to get a degree. Would it not be lovely if I were Dr. Eleanor Hamblyn?”

“I would rather see you happily married to some good man,” grumbled Mrs. Nichols.

“One cannot always have what one wants, so that pretty little dream of yours may never be realized,” laughed Nell. Then she was suddenly overtaken with a sober fit, and went off to her room, where she stayed for quite a long time in a brown study as to ways and means.

When she applied to the doctor for advice about the best way of going to work to secure a thorough education, with a possible college course to complete it, to her surprise he threw cold water on the whole scheme, and advised her either to invest the money with a view to a rainy day, or to use it to start herself in some business.

“But I don’t know any business; and I want to be a cultured woman,” explained Nell.

“There is no reason why you should not be a business woman and cultured too,” he said, smiling at the look of disgust on her face.

“I have not been trained to business,” she objected.

“Nor have you been trained to entering a profession,” he answered quietly. “Except, perhaps, school-teaching, which is fearfully wearing work. There is not a profession that is not over-stocked, while there is always a crying need for bright capable women in what are mistakenly called the humbler walks of life.”

“But you are a professional man,” she said, with a pout.

“To my sorrow, yes. But if I had put half the hard work into learning a business that I put into acquiring my professional knowledge, Sonny and I would not be hanging round at little boarding-houses, scrimping and saving to make one dollar do the work of two,” he said, with a smile which was so wistful that it made Nell want to cry.

“I have always longed to get an education,” she said, with a sigh; “and now at last, when it looks possible, you tell me it is of no use to try for it.”

“Pardon me, I said nothing of the sort,” he replied, with a smile. “I only warned you against trying to enter a profession. Education is a word capable of many renderings, and anyone can get education of a sort if they only keep their eyes open wide enough.”

“Oh dear, how bewildering it is!” she exclaimed, with dismay in her tone. “When I had no money at all, I used to think that everything would be perfectly easy if only I had a little pile of dollars to call my own; but now that I have the dollars, it is harder than ever, because I don’t know what to do with them.”

“After this you will better understand and sympathize with the sorrows of millionaires,” said the doctor, laughing at her dismayed looks. Then he added, in a graver tone, “I should not advise you to do any hard study for the next year or two. If you take life fairly easy, with no undue mental or nervous strain, your ear-trouble will right itself, and you will have no further fuss with it. If, however, you think of fighting your way through exams., and that sort of thing, I warn you that you will have to suffer for it.”

Tears of disappointment welled up in Nell’s dark eyes, for the candid opinion and friendly advice of the doctor came as a great blow to her, shattering many a magnificent castle in the air. No one but herself knew how ardently she had longed to rise above the drudgery of ordinary life, and to make for herself a name and a place among the extremely cultured of the world.

But she made no great outcry about it, and was careful not to let anyone guess how hardly the statements of the doctor had hit her. She had sufficient common sense to know how truly he had spoken. It was out of the question for her to be a school teacher, even if she had cared for the life. If she trained for a clerkship she would be only one of scores all trying for the same post, and she might very easily be among the unsuccessful ones.

“I am too young to be a nurse, I am afraid,” she told herself, as she sat on a sunny hillock not far from the depot watching a train of cars steaming up the Roseneath valley. She was quite alone, for school had begun again, and the swarms of children who usually attached themselves to her as a sort of guard of honour were this morning otherwise engaged.

On the whole she was rather glad to be left solitary to thresh the matter out. It was three days since she had had her talk with Dr. Russell⁠—⁠three days of gloomy meditation, in which many a fine castle in the air had come down, and many a bright illusion had been dispelled in the strong light of common sense.

“I will wait one more week, and then I must decide,” she said to herself, with a sigh, as she rose from her sunny hillock and prepared to take her way back into Bratley village again.

Then she remembered her father’s words about seeking Heavenly guidance in the grave decisions of life. Truly Parson Hamblyn had not lived or preached in vain; his teaching remained alive and vigorous long after he himself was dead.

“Seek prayerfully to be led aright, dear little Nell; and when the guidance comes, don’t kick against it,” he used to say. The tears of tender, loving regret arose in her eyes as she recalled the wasted form and pale face of her father as she used to see him in those sad far-off days just before he died.

Then a smile twitched at her lips, for she reflected how very much she had been kicking during these last three days against her own disappointment about the higher education.

“It is the laziness of these days that is upsetting me, I believe. I will go up to Camp’s Gulch and see Mrs. Peters to-morrow. If I go by the early cars, I can walk over to the Settlement and have a look at poor old Mrs. Trip and Joey,” she said to herself, thinking how strange it seemed to have time and ability to go about here and there as fancy might dictate.

Mrs. Nichols highly applauded the idea of a visit to Camp’s Gulch. The difficulty had been to induce Nell to go anywhere, and it was plainly not good for her to sit about brooding on the problem of what she could or could not do.

It was considerable promotion for Sam Peters, baggage-clerk and pointsman of Bratley, to be station-master at Camp’s Gulch, and there might have been some truth in what Mrs. Nichols said about his having been chosen for the post because of his numerous family. Mrs. Peters was tremendously pleased at the improvement in her husband’s position, and would persist in declaring that they owed it all to dear Miss Hamblyn, which was, of course, rather embarrassing to Nell.

She travelled up by the early cars next morning, and received a warm welcome from Sam and his wife. It gave her quite a thrill to see the place again, and to think of all the excitement and strain of the adventurous night which had terminated her residence there and cut short her career as a telegraph operator. But already changes were coming, and two more wooden houses were being erected just beyond the big shed, on the Settlement road.

“Why, it will be quite like a town presently, with gas-lamps and asphalted side-walks,” laughed Nell, when she saw the wooden frames of the new houses. “But who is going to live in them?”

“That is what we want to know,” said Mrs. Peters, as she jogged her baby up and down in her arms to give it a little exercise, while the small child who had been the baby previously clung to her skirts, whimpering to be carried also.

“A person might manage to get a living in summertime by letting lodgings or taking city people in to board, but it would be different in winter,” Nell remarked, noting afresh the exceeding beauty of the wooded heights, and wondering how anyone could endure living in ugly places who had once looked on scenery like this.

“It is the winter that will frighten the people, I expect; but it need not, for there are some new mines to be opened on the other side of the hill, Sam says. They have found copper rich there; that, of course, will bring a lot of men about the place, and anyone who would be willing to cook good plain food, such as pies, cakes, soups, and stews, might make a comfortable living.”

Nell made a grimace. “Oh dear, it just takes away one’s appetite even to think of it!” she exclaimed.

“Do you think so? Cooking never takes away my appetite; but then, I just keep doors and windows open as much as possible when I am boiling and stewing, which makes a great difference. I wish you would take one of those houses when they are finished, and see how well you could make it do,” said Mrs. Peters, wistfully; for, despite her delight in her new dignity, she often felt very lonely at Camp’s Gulch.

Nell burst into a merry laugh. “Fancy me setting up housekeeping at eighteen! And oh, how grand it would sound! Camp’s Gulch Restaurant. Proprietor, Miss Eleanor Hamblyn. Tariff on application. Currant dumpling a speciality. Table d’hôte at noon daily except Sundays.”

“You may laugh as much as you like,” said Mrs. Peters, who had laughed herself until the tears ran down her cheeks. “But mine is a very good idea, after all.”

Later in the day Nell walked over to the Settlement to see poor old Mrs. Trip, who was living in a little one-roomed shack and nursing Joey, who was still very ill.

The old man did not appear to recognize Nell, and she was shocked at the change in him. But Mrs. Trip said he was much better and getting well fast. She seemed to take great pride in her patient, and said it was quite a comfort to have him sick, because now he could not go off leaving her alone for hours at a stretch in the evenings.

Nell found it difficult to keep from laughing outright at this view of the case, and came away thinking that there was a bright side to most troubles if only one knew where to look for it.

She went back to Bratley on the evening cars, and found Mrs. Nichols waiting on the depot to meet her, and the good woman had bad news writ large on her face.

“What is the matter?” asked Nell, faintly.

“I’ve had a letter from Dr. Shaw, of Nine Springs, asking about you. Miss Lorimer’s father is dead; the mother is ill and incapable of anything; and the doctor wants to know if you are well enough to go to them,” Mrs. Nichols replied.

CHAPTER XXIV
A Sister by Adoption

GERTRUDE moved about the house with a sense of unreality about her. It could not be true, she told herself, that her father lay sleeping his last long sleep in the next room, while her mother was lying too ill to know or care what became of the family in this sad time.

It could not be true, but only a bad dream from which she would wake presently; only meanwhile she must do her best for the helpless children, who had no one to look to but herself.

Oh, why was life so hard, so very hard, for some people, when others found existence so delightfully easy?

It was her mother she had come home from Bratley to nurse; but it was her father, after all, who had needed her most.

She had not realized that he was ill until the morning when he could not get up; then, when Dr. Shaw came to see him, the truth fell on to her as a crushing blow that he was slipping out of life.

When he died, Flossie had besought her to send for Nell; but, remembering Nell’s battered condition, Gertrude would not even write to tell her of the sorrow which had come to them.

“We must bear our troubles ourselves, Flossie; we can’t always expect other people to stagger along under our burdens,” she said, when the little sister pleaded so hard for Nell to be sent for.

“But we are not bearing the troubles ourselves; I mean, other people are helping us. See how kind Dr. Shaw has been, and Mrs. Higgs, and Miss Trotman. Only all the time I feel as if there is no one who could comfort us like Nell,” said Flossie. She forbore to press the matter, because Gertrude looked so worried.

There were more troubles for the elder sister to face just then than the sickness and death which invaded the house. Monetary difficulties were staring her in the face, and she was quite shocked to find how poor her father had become in that last hard year of his life.

A mortgage had been raised on the property, or rather it had been increased, and bills were owing which Gertrude had supposed to have been paid long ago. Then the stock on the farm had been seriously diminished—a horse had died; two had been sold. The yearling cattle had also been sold; only weaning calves and milking cows remained on the place.

“But there is the corn; that is worth a good bit, isn’t it, Patsey?” she asked, with a little shiver, when she and the boy were discussing the situation on the day before the funeral.

“Not so much as you might think. Besides, if we sell the corn, what are we going to live on, or how shall we keep the cattle and the pigs through the winter?” Patsey asked, lifting his tear-stained face to look at her for a moment, then letting his gaze drop to the floor again.

“I wonder whatever we shall do? If only you were two or three years older we might rub along easily, but I know so little about farming,” she said, with a sigh.

“I hate farming!” exclaimed the boy, vehemently; then looked heartily ashamed of his outburst.

But Gertrude only slid her arm round his neck and laid her head down on his shoulder.

“I hate it too,” she said softly; “but we must not think of ourselves just now, Patsey; mother and the children stand first, you know.”

“Yes, I know; and I’ll do just whatever you tell me, Gertrude. I promised father I would the night before he died,” Patsey answered. And he set his teeth hard, because he did not want to be caught shedding tears in public.

“The trouble is, I can see no way out of the tangle myself. It is quite possible we may have to sell the farm, only I don’t see how we are going to get a living for mother and the children if we do,” Gertrude said.

“What is that?” asked Patsey, lifting his head with a jerk.

The two were in the family sitting-room, with the outer door open, although the window was shrouded with drawn blinds. The boy’s sharp ears had caught the sound of wheels coming up the field, and he half rose to his feet to go and see who was coming, then changed his mind and sank back on his seat once more.

“Perhaps it is Dr. Shaw; he said he might look in this evening and see how mother was going on. Run, Patsey, and open the gate for him; it will save him from having to get down,” said Gertrude.

Patsey darted off like the wind; it was a huge relief to him to run, only, with the solemn presence of death in the home, it had seemed almost improper to move beyond a slow walk.

Mrs. Lorimer was being watched over by Flossie for a little while, and a kindly neighbour had taken the two youngest children home with her, to be out of the way until the funeral was over.

Gertrude gathered up one or two things, which were lying about the room, with that instinct of tidiness which is second nature to some people.

She heard the doctor’s voice greet Patsey; then heard the gate bang and the wheels come on to the house and stop. Then she was startled by hearing a familiar voice saying⁠—

“I can get down myself, thank you. I have one hand, you know.”

“It is Nell!” she exclaimed. She hurried to the door just in time to see Nell holding to the side of the doctor’s trap with her one sound hand and dismounting after a fashion of her own.

“Yes, I have come. I just had to when I heard what was the matter, and it is of no use for you to send me away, because I will not go,” she said, with a low laugh which ended in a sob.

“I am too thankful to have you here even to wish you away,” Gertrude answered, with a sudden relief at her heart, for it seemed to her that nothing could be quite so hard to bear now that Nell had come to share the burdens with her.

Nell entered the house with very mingled feelings. She had been so happy here with the children last winter, that it was impossible not to feel joyful at coming back, only the shadow and the sorrow pulled the other way, and she was quite ready to weep with those who wept and to share in the sadness which oppressed the others.

The doctor went straight into Mrs. Lorimer’s room, where he whispered a word in Flossie’s ear which brought the child limping out to the sitting-room in a great hurry, where she cast herself into Nell’s arms and nestled there in a speechless welcome which was eloquent beyond the power of words to express.

Gertrude had followed the doctor into her mother’s room, and Patsey was outside with the doctor’s horse, so the two were alone.

“Nell, we’ve wanted you so badly,” sighed poor Flossie, whose small white face had an unchildlike look which made Nell’s heart ache.

“I came directly I knew,” she answered, in a low tone.

“I was sure you would; but Gertrude would not write, because she said you were not well enough to come. Who told you about it?” she asked.

“Dr. Shaw wrote to Mrs. Nichols to ask her if I were fit to come. I did not know about it until the evening, because I was away at Camp’s Gulch all day; but I started by the early cars this morning, and I’m going to stay as long as you need me,” Nell answered, in a low, soothing tone, as she gently rocked the little girl in her arm.

“Then you will stay for always, because I need you all the time, dear big, strong, sweet sister Nell!” murmured the child; and to Nell the words were the sweetest she had heard for many a year, and the knowledge that someone wanted her brought a flood of happiness to her heart.

They had plenty of time for confidences, for the doctor was a long while with Mrs. Lorimer; Gertrude also remained in the sick-room, and Patsey was walking the horse slowly up and down the meadow in front of the house.

“We are dreadfully poor now, Nell; did you know?” Flossie asked, with a pucker of anxiety pinching her small face into lines of pain.

“A little about it; the doctor told me,” she answered, flushing at the admission, because she fancied Gertrude would not be pleased to think their poverty was town-talk already.

“Gertrude and Patsey think I don’t know anything about it, and they won’t talk about money worries in front of me, because they won’t have me bothered; but they forget that I have been shut up at home while Gertrude has been away, and so I expect I know more about our being poor than they do.”

“Never mind, we will find a way out of it somehow. I have got just a little money of my own now, you know, so I shall be able to help if matters get serious,” Nell replied, more with the desire of reassuring Flossie than from any idea that she and the Lorimers would henceforth make their home together.

But when she went into Mrs. Lorimer’s chamber and saw the poor woman lying there helpless, she began to realize that circumstances might be shaping her future in a way she had little expected.

It was not until the funeral was over, and Abe Lorimer had been laid to rest by the side of his two sons, that she put her thought into words. Even then she might have waited longer but for the fear of the future which was weighing Gertrude down.

“You see, it is not only the children that I have to think of and provide for, but there is mother also to nurse. Dr. Shaw does not say very much, but it is easy to see how little hope there is of her being able to do much for a very, very long while,” Gertrude said, with a careworn look on her face which made her seem years older.

“If we both put our shoulders to the wheel it won’t be so hard, and in a few years Patsey will be able to help,” Nell replied quietly.

She was dusting the room with her left hand, moving here and there, but keeping her face turned from Gertrude, who was standing at the stove making a cup of arrowroot for the invalid.

“What do you mean?” asked Gertrude, blankly.

Nell dropped her duster and wheeled; her face was very pale, and her breath came in gasps because her heart was beating so fast.

“I mean that I am going to help to bring up the children,” she said, her words coming out with a firmness and decision which surprised her; but then, she had to speak in such a downright fashion because so much was at stake. “I have been so lonely, with no one to care for or to care for me in return. I have no brothers and sisters of my own, so I am going to adopt some; and as I love you all better than any others, I intend adopting all of you, so there!”

It was impossible to help smiling at this way of putting matters, and Gertrude laughed in an unsteady fashion just because she could not help it. Then, putting the saucepan of arrowroot down where it could not boil over, she turned to protest.

“Nell, it is just like your goodness of heart to suggest such a thing, and, in truth, we are all very willing to be adopted; but we cannot have you sacrificing your life in such a fashion. You have it in you to rise in the world, so you must not be held down and your career spoiled because of our children.”

“My career, as you are pleased to term it, will not be spoiled, and it is of no use for you to protest, because I have made up my mind. If you don’t like to live with me, you can take a situation, or even get married; but I will stay at home and look after the children,” Nell answered calmly. Picking up her duster again, she continued her one-handed performance of tidying the room. Her heart was beating very fast still, but instinct told her the victory was on her side, and although Gertrude might continue protesting, she would capitulate in the end.

“You might want to marry some day yourself,” said Gertrude, flushing a little, then turning pale again, for there were great renunciations in her life just then, and the pain of them was sometimes almost more than she could bear.

“I might, of course. But there is no need to discuss that event until it becomes probable. Have you any more objections?” she jerked out, flourishing her duster as if to sweep them away before they could be uttered.

“A great many; but mother’s arrowroot would be overdone if I stayed to put them all into words, so I must go. Only, Nell, if you had any idea of how fearfully poor we really are, you might want to think twice before adopting us all,” said Gertrude, as she poured the arrowroot into a cup and walked off with it into her mother’s room.

Nell laughed softly, and her duster went quicker and quicker as she moved round the room, making plans as she went. There had been so little time to think things out as yet, but already a scheme was looming up in her mind which she determined to talk over with Gertrude on the very first opportunity. It was out of the question to think of keeping on the farm, since neither she nor Gertrude understood enough of agriculture to be likely to make the place pay, and it was hopeless to think of raising the salary of a capable man.

Whatever enterprise they embarked in, it must be something in which they two could do all the work, with perhaps a little help at odd times from Patsey and Flossie.

Under the circumstances, it was only natural that the suggestion of Mrs. Peters should keep recurring to Nell as a possibility that could not now be ignored. The idea of running a food shop was no pleasanter now than it had been then; but there was the promise of a living in it. And putting her own likes and dislikes out of the question, Nell faced the situation squarely, and decided that the scheme was worth a trial.

So she wrote to Mrs. Peters, asking what the rent of one of the houses would be, and if she might have the refusal of the first one, waiting quietly until the answer came to her letter before making any suggestion to Gertrude.

Mrs. Lorimer lay in a strange apathetic condition, taking little notice of what went on around her. The doctor did not consider her condition immediately serious, but he was not hopeful about her recovery; and so the whole burden of the family rested on Gertrude, or would have done but for the coming of Nell and her voluntary acceptance of half the responsibility.

The first thing to be done was to get rid of the farm; but here difficulties cropped up. Mrs. Lorimer was not, at present, capable of decisions; her husband had died without making a will; and Gertrude, the eldest of the family, was still a minor. The doctor advised letting the farm for a time, and, as the land was in fairly good heart, this was easily done. But the rent would not be of very much service to the family, as a large part of it would be needed to pay interest on the mortgage every year.

By the time this was settled, a letter came back from Mrs. Peters, saying that Nell could have the house at a moderate rental, that it would be ready for occupation in a fortnight, and that parties of miners were arriving at Camp’s Gulch every day, so that there was prospect of good brisk trade all through the winter.

A little to the surprise of Nell, the scheme found instant favour in the eyes of Gertrude, who had altered a good deal during those weeks of heavy trial since coming back from Bratley.

Previously she would have turned up her nose at the idea, and steadily refused to take to a career which involved so much rough work and association with so many rough people.

Now she was thankful for the chance of earning a living for those dependent on her; and the question of personal liking seemed too trivial for consideration.

The house at Camp’s Gulch was to be taken in Nell’s name, as her two hundred dollars was their sole available capital. The live stock and farming implements, with all the crops at Lorimer’s Clearing, were taken at a valuation by the tenant; but that money was safely lodged in the bank until Mrs. Lorimer should be well enough to decide how she would like to have it used.

Then the household furniture was packed; and, leaving Mrs. Lorimer, the two little boys, and Flossie at the house of a neighbour, Nell, Gertrude, and Patsey went off to Camp’s Gulch to get the new home ready.

It was the parting from their old associations which brought such gloom to the faces of Gertrude and Patsey on the morning when they turned their backs on Lorimer’s Clearing. But Nell was blithe-hearted as a bird, because at last she had attained to a family and a home of her own, only for the sake of the others her aspect was sedate, giving no hint of the gladness within.