  Thanksgiving came and at the appointed hour Nan was waiting at the beach gate when she saw a gypsy riding toward her. Nan’s first thought was one of terror, for the approaching horseman looked as Anselo Spico had when arrayed in his best, a blue velvet corduroy suit, a scarlet silk sash and a wide felt hat edged with bright dangles. “Oh, Robert Widdemere!” Nan cried, when she saw who it really was. “You looked so like Anselo Spico as you rode along by the sea, that I was about to run and hide. Where did you get that costume?” “At a shop in town where one may procure whatever one wishes for a masquerade,” the laughing lad replied as he leaped to the ground and made a deep, swinging bow with his gay hat. “I like it, Lady Red Bird,” he enthusiastically declared, “and I do believe that I will purchase this outfit. Won’t we create a stir in the countryside as we ride together down the Coast Highway.” Nan laughed joyously. “It becomes you, Robert Widdemere,” she said. It was hard for the girl to believe that the handsome, flushed youth at her side was the same pale sickly lad whom she had first met less than a month before. During that time these two had become well acquainted, taking short walks together and reading Ivanhoe while they rested. Miss Dahlia found that her pupil was making remarkable progress under her new tutor, moreover she liked the youth with his frank, good-looking face and she was glad to have Nan companied by someone near her own age. Miss Dahlia appeared at the beach gate to see them off on their long planned ride and she called after them, “Robert, lad, be sure to come back and share our Thanksgiving dinner.” “Thank you, Miss Dahlia, I would like to,” the youth replied doffing his hat. Then the little lady watched them ride away and turn up the mountain road. In her heart there was a strange misgiving that she could not understand. “What if her sister, Miss Ursula, should suddenly return,” she thought. Then indeed would Miss Dahlia be censored for having permitted Nan to again assume the raiment of a heathen. Never before had Nan seemed more charming to the lad than she did on that glorious morning when side by side they rode up a narrow canon road leading toward the mountains. “See, Nan,” the young philosopher called, “life is full of contrasts. Now we are in a blaze of warmth and sunlight, and, not a stone’s throw ahead of us, is the darkness and dampness of the canon, where the pine trees stand so solemn and still, like sentinels guarding the mysteries that lie beyond.” The girl drew rein and gazed with big dark eyes at the boy. During the past month she had learned his many moods. In a serious voice she said. “I sometimes wonder how we dare go on, since we do not know the trail that is just ahead. I don’t mean here,” she lifted one hand from her horse’s head and pointed toward the high walled canon in front of them. “I mean, I wonder how we dare go along life’s trail when it is, so often, as though we are blind-folded.” The boy’s face brightened. “Nan,” he said, with a note of tenderness in his voice which the girl always noticed when he spoke of his father. “Did I ever tell you how my father loved the writings of Henry Van Dyke? It didn’t matter what they were about, fishing, or hiking, or philosophising. My father felt that they were kin, because they both so loved the great out-of-doors. Just now, when you wondered how we dare go ahead when we cannot know what awaits us on life’s trail, I happened to recall a few lines which Dad so often used to recite. They are from Van Dyke’s poem called ‘God of the Open Air.’” The boy gazed at the girl as though he were sure of her appreciation of all he was saying. “It is a long poem and a beautiful one. I’ll read it to you someday, but the part I have in mind tells just that how everything in nature has, planted deep in its being, a trust that the Power that created it will also care for it and guide it well. This is it: “By the faith that the wild flowers show when they bloom unbidden; By the calm of the river’s flow to a goal that is hidden. By the strength of the tree that clings to its deep foundation, By the courage of bird’s light wings on the long migration (Wonderful spirit of trust that abides in Nature’s breast.) Teach me how to confide, and live my life, and rest.” “It is very beautiful,” Nan said in a low voice and then, starting their horses, they entered the shadow of the mountain walls and slowly began the ascent. The trail became so narrow that they had to ride single file for a long time. Each was quietly thinking, but at last they reached a wide place where the mountain brook formed a pool and at the girl’s suggestion they dismounted to get a drink of the clear cold water. “How peaceful and still it is here,” Nan said as she sat on a moss covered rock, and, folding her hands, listened to the murmuring sounds of trickling water, rustling leaves, and soughing of the soft breeze in the pines. Robert, standing with his arms folded, had been gazing far down the trail which they had just climbed, but chancing to glance at the girl he saw a troubled expression in her dark beautiful face. Sitting on a rock near her, the boy leaned forward as he asked eagerly. “Nan, you aren’t longing for the old life, are you?” She turned toward him with a smile that put his fears at rest. “Not that, Robert Widdemere. I was wondering if I dare ask you a question?” “Why Lady Red Bird, of course you may. I will answer it gladly.” The boy little dreamed how hard a question it was to be. For another moment the girl was silent, watching the water that barely moved in the pool at her feet. Then in a very low voice she said;—“We gypsies do not believe in a God.” Although unprepared for this statement, the lad replied by asking, “What then do your people believe gave life to all this?” He waved an arm about to include all nature. “They believe that there are unseen spirits in streams and woods that can harm them, if they will. Sometimes, when a storm destroyed our camp, we tried to appease the wrath of the spirit of the tempest with rites and charms. That was all. Manna Lou had heard of the gorigo God, and often she told little Tirol and me about that one great Power, but if we asked questions, she would sadly reply ‘Who can know?’” “Manna Lou was right in one way, Lady Red Bird, we cannot know, perhaps, but deep in the soul of each one of us has been implanted a faith and trust just as the poem tells. I do know that some Power, which I call God, brought me here and so sure I can trust that same Power to care for me and guide me if I have faith and trust.” There was a sudden brightening of the girl’s face, “Oh, Robert Widdemere,” she said, “I am so glad I asked you. I understand now better how it is, I, also, shall trust and have faith.” She arose and mounted on her pony and they began climbing the steeper trail which led to the summit of the low mountain. At last they rode out into the sunlight, and, dismounting, stood on the peak of the trail. Such beauty of scene as there was everywhere about them. Beyond the coast range, across a wide valley, there was still a higher and a more rugged mountain range and beyond that, in the far distance, a third, the peaks of which were scarcely visible in the haze and clouds. Then they turned toward the sea, which, from that high point could be seen far beyond the horizon that they had every day on the beach. “Lady Red Bird,” the boy laughed, “you will think me very dull today, I fear, but I can’t help philosophising a bit at times. I was just thinking that when troubles crowd around us, it would be a wonderful thing, if, in our thoughts, we could climb to a high place and look down at them, we would find that, after all, they were not very large nor very important.” “Things do look small, surely,” the girl said. “See the town nestling down there. The church steeple seems very little from here.” “I see the pepper tree where we first met,” the lad turned and took the girl’s hand. “I shall always think of you as my Lady Red Bird,” he told her. Hand in hand they continued to stand as brother and sister might. “And I see our marble fountain glistening in the sun,” Nan declared. Suddenly the boy’s clasp in the girl’s hand tightened. “Look, quick,” he said pointing downward, “there is a limousine turning from the highroad up into our drive. Who do you suppose is coming to call?” “Perhaps it is your doctor,” Nan suggested. The lad laughed. “No indeed. For one thing he rides in an open run-about, and for another, he told me that since I had made up my mind to get well, he would have nothing more to do with me. There are enough truly sick people he said, who need his attention.” “Then, who can it be?” Nan persisted, but the lad merrily declared that he knew not and cared not. After gazing for a moment at the girl who was still looking down at the highway he exclaimed with mingled earnestness and enthusiasm. “Nan, you don’t know how much it means to me, to have a sister like you, a friend, or a pal, the name doesn’t matter. You’re going to fill the place, in a way, that Dad held, and truly he was the finest man that ever trod the earth. Often he said to me ‘Son, when you give your word, stand by it. I would rather have my boy honest and dependable, than have him president,’ and I’m going to try, Nan, to become just such a man as was my father.” The girl’s gaze had left the road and she looked straight into the clear blue-grey eyes of the boy at her side. “I am glad, Robert Widdemere,” she said, “for I could never be proud of a friend whose word could not be depended upon.” The boy caught both of the girl’s hands in his as he said, “Nan, listen to me, you have no older brothers to take care of you, and as long as I shall live, I want you to think of me as one to whom you can always come. It doesn’t matter who tries to separate us, Nan, no one ever shall, I give you my word.” Tears sprang to the eyes of the girl, but that she need not show the depth of her emotion, she called laughingly, “Robert Widdemere, it is time that we were returning, for even before we left, the turkey had gone into the oven and we must not keep Miss Dahlia waiting.” “Right you are!” the lad gaily replied as again they started down the trail, “although a month ago it would not have seemed possible, I am truly ravenously hungry.” Down the mountain road they went, these two who so enjoyed each other’s companionship, little dreaming who they would find at the end of the trail. |
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