  Leaving their ponies at the stables, the two hand in hand walked along the path in the glowing garden. “I’m glad the yellow crysanthemums are at their loveliest now,” the girl cried. “I’m going to gather an armful to put on the table that we may have one more thing to be thankful for.” “Good, I’ll help you!” the boy broke a curling-petaled beauty. “Nan, these shall be our friendship flowers. They seem so like you, so bright and colorful; joyful within themselves, and radiating it on all who pass.” When the girl’s arms were heaped with the big curling, glowing blossoms, the lad suddenly cried; “Lady Red Bird, I completely forgot something very important.” “What?” the girl turned toward him to inquire. “This!” he took from his pocket a folding kodak, “I wanted to take a picture of you at the top of the trail and I never thought of it until now. Please stand still, there, just where you are, with the fountain back of you and the crysanthemums all around you. Don’t look so serious, Nan. Laugh won’t you? There, I snapped it and you had not even smiled. You had such a sad far away look. What were you thinking.” “I just happened to think of Little Tirol and how I hope it is all true, that there is a God to care for him and give him another body, one without pain.” “Dear sister,” the boy said, “you do have such strange and unexpected thoughts. How did you happen to think of Little Tirol now?” “Perhaps it was because I remembered that day only two months ago, when he and I first came to the garden. The yellow flowers were just beginning to bloom and I wanted one so. I hoped he knows now that I can gather them, a great armful if I wish.” Then the girl skipped toward the house, as she called merrily: “If you were ravenously hungry on the mountain trail, what must you be now, I hope we are not late.” “There is someone watching us from a front window,” the boy said. “I saw a curtain move. Miss Dahlia would not do that, would she, Nan?” “I hardly think so. It was probably the maid; though I can’t think what she would be doing in the front room when it must be almost time to serve dinner.” Robert Widdemere paused a moment at the vine hung outside portal to speak with an old gardener whom he had known since his little boyhood. Nan, singing her joyous bird song without words, climbed the stairs to the library and before she had reached the door she called happily, “Oh Miss Dahlia, Robert Widdemere and I have had such a glorious ride up the mountain road, and too, we climbed to the very summit. Isn’t it wonderful—” she got no farther, for having entered the library she realized that the fashionably dressed stranger standing there was not the little woman whom she so loved. “Oh, pardon me!” the gypsy girl said. “I thought you were Miss Dahlia.” “Here I am, dearie,” a trembling voice called as that little lady appeared from the dinning room. “I was needed for one moment in the kitchen,” she explained, then turning toward the stranger she said almost defiantly, “Mrs. Widdemere, this is my dearly loved protege, Nan Barrington. Nan, Robert’s mother has returned unexpectedly from France.” “Yes, and at great inconvenience to myself, I can assure you, to forbid my son associating with a common gypsy girl.” Miss Dahlia drew herself up proudly, and never before had she so closely resembled Miss Ursula. “Mrs. Widdemere,” she said, “kindly remember that you are in my home, and that you are speaking of my protege.” At that moment Robert appeared and was puzzled to see Miss Dahlia standing with a protecting arm about Nan, and the proud angry tone of her voice, he had never before heard. Then he saw the other woman with a sneering smile on her vain, pretty face, and he understood all. “Mother,” he said, “did you not receive the message that I sent you? Did I not tell you that you need not return to the States, that my health was recovered?” “Yes,” Mrs. Widdemere replied coldly, “and now I understand why you did not return to the school where I had placed you. You, a Widdemere, neglecting your education that you might associate with one of a class far beneath you; but I forbid you, from this day, ever again speaking to this gypsy girl.” Nan’s eyes flashed, but she replied proudly, “Mrs. Widdemere, you do not need to command. I myself shall never again speak to one of your kind,” then turning, she left the library. A few moments later, when Robert and his mother were gone, Miss Dahlia went to the girl’s room and found her lying on her bed sobbing as though her heart would break. “You see, Miss Dahlia,” she said, “there’s no use trying to make a lady of me. I’m merely a gypsy and I’ll only bring sorrow to you.” The little woman sat by the couch and tenderly smoothing the dark hair, she said: “Little girl, you are all I have to love in the world. My sister is too occupied with many things to be my companion. It grieves me deeply to have you so hurt, but I have thought out a plan, dearie, by which this may all be prevented in the future. Tomorrow morning, early, you and I are going away to a little town in the East which was my childhood home.” Nan’s sobs grew less and she passionately kissed the hand that carressed her. The little lady continued:—“I will legally adopt you, and then, truly, will your name be Nan Barrington. After that I am going to send you to the Pine Crest Seminary, which is conducted by a dear schoolmate of mine, Mrs. Dorsey. I want you to permit me to select your wardrobe, which shall be like that of other girls, and no one there will dream that you are a gypsy, for many there are who have dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. Will you do all this for me, Nan darling, because I love you?” Nan’s arms were about the little woman as she said, “How good you are to me, how kind! I’ll try again to be a lady for your sake, and I hope that in time I’ll be able to repay you for all that you do for me.” That afternoon was spent in packing and the next morning, soon after sunrise, Miss Dahlia and Nan were driven away, but they did not leave a forwarding address. * * * * * * * * Robert Widdemere lifted the heavy iron knocker of the Barrington home about nine o’clock. He wanted to ask Miss Dahlia’s pardon, and to tell Nan, that although he was about to return to the Military Academy to please his mother, he would never forget the promise he had made on the mountain, that he would always be her brother and her friend. When Robert learned that Nan was gone and that he had no way of communicating with her, he felt that again a great loss had come into his life. |
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