  Thanksgiving morning dawned gloriously, and as Nan stood at her open window looking at the garden, all aglow, at the gleaming blue sky and sea, listening the while to the joyous song of a mocking bird in a pepper tree near, she thought how truly thankful she was that Fate had guided her to this wonderful place on that long ago Autumn day. Miss Dahlia, who with the passing months had regained her strength, surprised the gypsy girl by appearing in the kitchen before that maiden had time to prepare the usual breakfast tray. “Oh Nan darling,” the little woman said as she held out both hands. “I am so thankful, so thankful today that I have you. Think how dreary even this beautiful world would be if I were alone in it.” The girl, with sudden tears in her eyes, kissed the little old lady lovingly as she replied, “I am the one who is most grateful. No mother could have been kinder to an own child than you have been to me.” Then, brushing away a tear from the wrinkled cheeks, she laughingly added, “One might think that we were bemoaning some calamity instead of rejoicing because we have each other.” Merrily assuming Norah’s dialect, to make the little old lady smile, Nan said, with arms akimbo, “Miss Dahlia, will ye be havin’ some cream of wheat with thick yellow cream on it? Bobsy was just this minute after lavin’ it.” And so it was a happy breakfast after all, and then, at ten o’clock Robert appeared dressed in gypsy fashion, and Nan, in her old costume of crimson and gold, the color of Autumn leaves in the sunshine, rode away with him on her pony Binnie. The lad seemed to be exuberantly happy, as side by side, the two horses picked their way up the rough mountain road. When at last they could ride no further, they dismounted and the lad turning to the girl said with tender solicitude, “Nan, every time that I glanced back without speaking, I caught a sad or troubled expression in your face. Won’t you let me share whatever it is that causes you new anxiety?” The girl flashed a radiant smile as she said self-rebukingly. “Truly, Robert, I have no real sorrow. But I am thoughtful, I must confess, and quite without willing it, I assure you. It is as though a thought comes to me from somewhere from someone else to me.” Then, knowing that she was not making herself clearly understood, she asked abruptly, “Robert, do you believe in mental telepathy.” The lad nodded. “I do indeed,” he said. “Several of us cadets at school tried the thing out and the results were positively uncanny.” Then with a questioning glance at the dark girl, “Why, Nan, do you believe that you are receiving a telepathic communication?” “Oh, I really don’t know that I mean anything half as high sounding as all that. But what I do know is this. It doesn’t matter where my thoughts may start, they always wind up with wondering where Manna Lou is. I am continually asking myself a question which I cannot answer. “Will Manna Lou be remembering that I am now eighteen; indeed almost nineteen, and will she try to locate me that she may keep her long-ago-made promise to my mother?” The lad looked into the dark eyes that were lifted to his. “Nan dear,” he said very gently, “would you be greatly disappointed if this Manna Lou should find you and if the tale she has to reveal, should prove to be that you are not a gypsy girl at all.” This was very like the question he had asked her in the long ago. Her answer had not changed. Clearly she looked back at him. “Robert Widdemere,” she said unhesitatingly, “all these years I have believed my mother to be a gypsy, and I have loved her as one. It would be very hard for me to change the picture, O the beautiful, beautiful picture I have in my heart of her!” The lad, gazing into the glowing face could not resist saying, “Lady Red Bird, it is you who are beautiful.” But Nan, unlike many other girls, was not confused by so direct a compliment. She replied simply. “I hope I am like my mother.” The lad could wait no longer to tell the dream which had made his summer bright with hope. “Nan,” he cried, “nearly four years ago we stood on this very rock looking down over the valley and I asked you to let me be your brother-comrade.” Then, taking both of her hands, his voice trembling with earnestness, he continued. “And now, Nan, I have brought you here to this same spot to ask you to be my wife.” Then, as she did not at once reply, Robert hurried on, “I know now that I loved you, even then, but we were too young to understand.” “Thank you, Robert Widdemere!” the girl replied. “I too care for you, but I could not marry you without your mother’s consent.” And with that answer, the lad had to be content. After a moment’s silence, Nan caught his arm and pointed to the highway far below them. “Robert,” she said, “years ago as we stood here, we saw a strange car entering your grounds and in it was your mother who separated us for so long; and today, a strange car is entering the Barrington grounds. Who do you suppose has come to pay us a visit?” “No one who can separate us again, Nan comrade,” the lad said earnestly, “for no living creature can.” |
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