  That morning when Nan had been in the village of San Seritos, she deposited in the bank the money which Miss Ursula had left in her keeping. The interest from the few thousand dollars would be sufficient, the girl thought, to provide comforts and even some luxuries for Miss Dahlia, but the necessities Nan wished to earn, knowing that if they used the principal, it would soon be necessary to tell Miss Dahlia of the lost fortune, and the home which the little old lady so dearly loved, would have to be sold. Before leaving Pine Crest Nan had talked the matter over with Mrs. Dorsey and that kindly woman had written a letter telling whoever might be interested that in her opinion Nan Barrington was competent to teach the younger children all of the required studies, as well as languages and the harp. The girl was confident that she could obtain a position as governess but that would necessitate hiring a maid or leaving Miss Dahlia alone, and neither of these things did she wish to do. A week had passed when one morning Nan sitting on the sunny veranda reading the paper chanced to see in the want column something which she thought that she would like to investigate. Miss Dahlia was still asleep and Mrs. Sperry gladly took her sewing up to the big house while Nan rode away on Binnie. She had not far to go, for a quarter of a mile down the coast highway was a group of picturesque bungalows about a small hotel called Miracielo. Here each summer wealthy folk from the inland country came and took up their abode. This year it chanced that there were many young children among the tourists, and Mrs. Welton, manager of the exclusive hotel, had advertised for someone who would both instruct and entertain the little guests. Nan was admitted to Mrs. Welton’s reception room and almost immediately a pleasant woman of refinement appeared and graciously welcomed the visitor. Nan explained her mission and showed the letter from Mrs. Dorsey. “This is indeed interesting,” Mrs. Welton exclaimed. “My niece, Daisy Wells, attends that school and in her letters she has often mentioned Nan Barrington.” Then the kindly woman hesitated as though not quite certain that she ought to voice the thought that had come to her. Finally she said: “You will pardon me, I know, for mentioning a matter so personal, but I have always understood that your aunt possessed great wealth. Will she be willing that you entertain these little ones?” Nan, after a moment’s thought, decided to tell Mrs. Welton the whole truth and that good woman was much impressed in favor of the girl who was trying in every way to keep the frail Miss Dahlia Barrington from a knowledge of the loss. “It would not be possible for me to come each day to Miracielo,” Nan said, “but we have such a delightful rustic house in our garden; do you suppose, Mrs. Welton, that the children might come there each afternoon if I can persuade Aunt Dahlia to think favorably of my plan?” “I do indeed,” the pleased woman smilingly agreed. “That is the time when many of my guests desire to rest, and they would be glad to have the children away. If their mothers consent, I can send the little ones to you in our car every day.” Nan arose, her dark eyes glowing. “I thank you Mrs. Welton,” she said, “and tomorrow I will let you know if I have won my aunt’s consent to the plan.” That afternoon the gypsy girl broached the subject of the little class almost timidly, and her aunt said lovingly, “But, Nan, darling, don’t you realize that all I have is also yours? You do not need to earn money.” “Dear Aunt Dahlia,” the girl replied with sudden tears in her eyes, “I well know that whatever you have, you wish to share with me, but truly I would just love to try teaching for a short time.” “My Nan seems to wish to make many experiments,” the little old lady said merrily. “Is not housekeeping enough?” Then, noting an expression of disappointment in the face of the girl, she added, “Bring your flock of children to our garden, if you wish dearie, I, too, will enjoy having them here.” And so, the very next afternoon a dozen boys and girls, the oldest not seven, appeared, and though, for a time, some of them seemed shy, Nan soon won their confidence and had them merrily romping on a velvety stretch of lawn which she had chosen for a playground. Then when they were weary, they went into the vine-covered rustic house, and, sitting about the long table, they played quiet games that were both instructive and amusing. After receiving her first week’s check, Nan visited the town and purchased books and materials that would assist her in teaching and entertaining her little “guests.” Happy times Miss Dahlia and Nan had in the long evenings as they sat in the cheerfully lighted library reading these books, and then they would try to weave a pattern from gaily colored wools or bright strips of paper according to the instructions. The next day that particular pattern would be the one that Nan would show the children how to make. One afternoon Miss Dahlia wandered out to the rustic house during this rest period, and, sitting at one end of the table she assisted a darling five-year-old to make a paper mat of glowing colors. “See, Miss Nan,” the little fairy called joyously when the task was done, “see my pitty mat! May I take it home to show muvver?” “Yes indeed, dearies, you may all take home whatever you make,” their young teacher told them. “I wish we could make doggies or elphunts,” one small boy said. And that night Miss Dahlia and Nan hunted through the books for instructions on “elphunt” making, but failed to find them. Then Nan, not wishing to disappoint the little lad, brought forth scissors and cardboard and after many amusing failures, at last cut out a figure which Miss Dahlia laughingly assured the artist could be recognized as an “elphunt” at a single glance. They then cut out a dozen that the children might each have a pattern. The little boy was delighted because his suggestion had been followed. Nan showed them how to make their card-board animals stand, and soon they had a long procession of rather queerly shaped “elphunts” and dogs all the way down the length of the table. The pleased children clapped their hands gleefully, and one little girl looked up with laughing eyes as she said: “Miss Nan, it’s as nice as a party every day, isn’t it?” Sometimes the older girl, watching these children of the rich as they romped about on the velvety lawn, recalled another picture of the long ago. A group of dark-haired, dark-skinned, fox-like little creatures scrambling and rolling over each other as puppies do, but, when Nan had appeared, they had left their play and raced to meet her with outstretched arms. How she would like to see them all again. Nan’s life was happy but uneventful. The beautiful sunny, summery days passed and Nan’s little class never wearied of the “Party-school.” Then all at once unexpected and surprising, events followed close, one after another. |
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