XIII. NAN'S DEPARTURE
Theo was feeling that he needed sympathy about that time, for itseemed to him as if every one that he cared for was to be taken awayfrom him.
Mr. Scott had invited the boy to go with him for a row on the riverand then to go home with him to supper. The river was beautiful in theafternoon sunlight, and Theodore enjoyed the row and the friendly talkwith his teacher, but he felt a little shy with Mrs. Rawson and wasnot sorry to find her absent from the supper-table.
When the meal was over Mr. Scott took the boy up to his own room tosee some of his curiosities. Theo's quick eyes took silent note ofeverything, and he mentally decided that some day he would have justsuch a room as that. He was thinking thus, when Mr. Scott said,
"Theo, you haven't asked me what Dr. Reed thinks about Nan and herlittle brother."
"She's better to-day--Nan is," exclaimed the boy, quickly.
"Yes, I suppose the medicine has toned her up a little, but the doctorsays that she must have a long rest. She has been working too hard."
"Well, she can. I'm earnin' enough now to take care of 'em,"interposed the boy.
"Nan would never be content to let you do that, I think, but, Theo,that isn't all."
Theo said nothing, but his anxious eyes asked the question that hislips refused to utter.
Mr. Scott went on, "The doctor says that the baby must go away intothe country or--he will die."
Theodore walked quickly to the window, and stood there looking out insilence. After a moment, his teacher crossed the room and laid his armaffectionately over the boy's shoulders.
"Sit down, Theodore," he said, gently, "I want to tell you what wehave planned for Nan and the little one."
Then in few words he told of Mrs. Rawson's letter and the reply,describing the beautiful country home to which Nan and the baby wereto go.
"You will be glad to think of them in such a place during the hotsummer days," he went on, "even though their going leaves you verylonely, as I know it will, Theodore."
"I ought to be glad, Mr. Scott," replied the boy, slowly, as histeacher paused, "an' I am, but ye see you don't know how hard 'tis fora feller to keep straight when he ain't got no home an' nobody to talkto after his work's done at night. Nan--well _you_ know she ain'tlike the rest o' the folks down our way. She never scolds nor nags atme, but somehow I can't ever look her straight in the eye if I've beendoin' anything mean."
"Nan has been a good friend to you, I'm sure, and I think you havebeen a good friend to her and the baby, Theodore. I know that she willmiss you sadly at first, and if she thinks you are to be very lonelywithout them, I'm afraid she will worry about it and not get as muchgood from the change as she might otherwise," Mr. Scott added.
The boy drew a long breath. "I won't let her know 't I care much 'bouttheir goin'," he said, bravely.
"Nan will guess quite enough," answered the gentleman, "but, Theodore,how would you like to come here? Mrs. Rawson has a little room overthe L that she seldom uses, and she says that you can sleep there ifyou like, and pay for it the same that you pay for the dark room thatyou now have."
The boy's eyes were full of surprise and pleasure as he answered,gratefully, "I'd like that fine!"
"Come on, then, and we'll take a look at the place. It has been usedas a storeroom and will, of course, need some fixing up."
As Mr. Scott threw open the door of the L room Theodore stepped in andlooked about him with shining eyes. It was a long, low room withwindows on three sides. The floor was covered with matting and thewalls with a light, cheerful paper.
"This for me!" exclaimed the boy. "Why, Mr. Scott, it's--it's too finefor a chap like me."
"Not a bit, my boy, but I think you can be very comfortable here, andyou will know that you have friends close at hand. And now, Theodore,I suppose you will want to get home, for we hope to get Nan away nextweek."
"So soon!" cried the boy, a shadow falling on the face, a momentbefore so bright.
"Yes, the sooner the better for the little one's sake," repliedMr. Scott, gravely.
"You've been mighty good to me--an' to Nan," said the boy, simply, andthen he went away.
He walked rapidly through the streets, taking no note of what waspassing around him, his thoughts were so full of this new trouble, fora great and sore trouble it seemed to him to lose Nan and LittleBrother out of his life even for a few weeks. His way led him acrossthe Common, but he hurried along with unseeing eyes until suddenlysomething bright attracted his attention, and he became aware that itwas a shock of rough red hair under a ragged old cap. It was surelyCarrots sitting on one of the benches, his eyes gazing moodily acrossthe greensward to the street beyond. He did not notice Theo'sapproach, but started up quickly, as the latter stopped in front ofhim.
"Hold on, Carrots--don't clear out. I want to tell you something,"cried Theo, hastily, laying a detaining hand on one ragged sleeve.
Carrots looked at him suspiciously. "D'know what yer got ter say terme," he growled.
"Sit down here, an' I'll tell ye."
Theodore sat down on the bench as he spoke, and after a moment'shesitation the other boy dropped down beside him, but he kept a waryglance on his companion, and was plainly ready to "cut and run" at amoment's notice.
"You look's if you were down on your luck," began Theo, with a glanceat the ragged garments, and dilapidated shoes of the other.
"'Course--I'm always down on my luck," responded Carrots, in a tonethat implied, "what business is that of yours?"
"Sellin' papers now?"
"Yes, but a feller can't make a livin' out o' that. There's too manykids in the business, an' folks'll buy o' the kids ev'ry time, 'n'give us big fellers the go-by," Carrots said, in a gloomy tone.
"That's so. The little chaps always sell most," assentedTheodore. "Why don't you get into some other business, Carrots?"
"Can't--'cause my money's all tied up in railroad stock," retortedCarrots, with bitter sarcasm.
"Carrots, what made ye play such a mean trick on Jim Hunt the otherday?" asked Theodore, suddenly.
Carrots grinned. "Hunt's a fool," he answered, "else he wouldn't 'a'give me a chance ter work him so slick."
"Well, I don't think you'll play it on him again. I think you were thefool, Carrots, for you know well enough you can't get such good stuffanywhere else for your money, an' now ye can't go to my stand."
"Got it 'thout money that time," chuckled Carrots, impudently, butstill keeping a sharp eye on his companion.
Theo flushed, and his fingers itched to pitch into the boy and givehim a good drubbing, but he controlled himself, and said, quietly,"What's the trouble with you, Carrots? Are you too lazy to work, orwhat?"
The boy's eyes flashed angrily, as he replied, "See here, TodeBryan--what ye pokin' yer nose int' my business for, anyhow?"
"'Cause I can put you in the way of earnin' honest money if you'rewillin' to do honest work."
"What sort o' work?" Carrots inquired, suspiciously.
"I'll tell ye 'bout it when I'm sure you're ready to take hold of it,an' not before. See here, Carrots, I've seen you lately loafin' 'roundwith some o' the meanest fellers in this town, an' if you don't keepaway from them you'll find yourself where some of 'em have beena'ready--behind the bars. I mean well by ye, an' if you make up yourmind to be a man instead of a tramp an' a loafer, you can come to me,an' I'll give ye a start. Jim Hunt'll tell ye where to find me."
The night shadows were falling now and the street lamps were alreadylighted, and seeing this, Theodore started up, adding, "It's later'n Ithought. I must be off," and he hurried away, leaving Carrots lookingafter him in a much bewildered state of mind.
Theodore found Nan sitting by the window in the dark. She had rockedthe baby to sleep, and was thinking over the happy afternoon thatseemed now so like a beautiful dream. She lighted her lamp whenTheodore came in, and brought out the food that she had put aside forhim, and while he ate she told him of all that had happened. He didnot eat much and he was very
silent, so silent that at last she pausedand said, anxiously,
"You aren't sick, are you, Theo?"
"No," he replied, gravely, "an' Nan, I'm real glad you're goin' tosuch a nice place." But though he spoke earnestly, there was in hisvoice a ring of pain that Nan detected instantly, and guessed itscause.
"I'm going to miss you dreadfully, Theo," she said, quickly, "and Idon't know what Little Brother will do without you. That's the onething about it that I don't like--to think of you all alone here withno place to stay evenings."
"Mr. Scott says I can have a room where he lives--at Mrs. Rawson's,"answered Theodore. "It's a fine room--bigger'n this, an' it's gotchecked straw carpet an' three windows."
"Oh, Theo, how glad I am!" cried the girl, delightedly. "That's justsplendid. Don't you like it?" she added, as the boy still sat withserious eyes fixed on the floor.
"Like it? The room you mean? Oh yes, it's a grand room, but I don'tthink I'll go there," he answered, slowly.
The gladness died out of Nan's face. "Oh, Theo, why not?" sheexclaimed, in a disappointed tone.
He answered again, slowly, "I think I shall stay here an' take thisroom o' yours 'stead o' my little one."
"This is ever so much better than yours, of course, an' if you do thatyou can keep my furniture, and I s'pose you'd be comfortable, but'twould be lonesome all the same, and I shouldn't think you'd like ithalf so well as being with Mr. Scott."
"'Course I wouldn't like it half nor quarter so well, Nan, but this iswhat I've been thinkin'. You know there's a good many boys in thesetwo houses that don't have no place to stay evenin's, 'cept thestreets, an' I was thinkin' as I came home to-night, how fine 'twouldbe if there was a room where they could come an' read an' play gamesan' talk, kind of a boys' club room, don't ye know, like the oneMr. Scott was tellin' 'bout they're havin' in some places. I thinkhe'll help me get some books an' papers an' games, an' maybe he'llcome an' give us a talk sometimes. It would be grand for fellers likeJimmy Hunt that ain't bad yet, but will be if they stay in the streetsevery evenin'."
"Theo, I think it's a splendid idea, only there ought to be just sucha room for the girls. They need it even more than the boys do." Nanhesitated a moment, then added, earnestly, "Theo, I'm proud of you."
Theodore's face was the picture of utter amazement as he gazed ather. "Proud--of me?" he gasped. "I'd like to know what for."
"Well, never mind what for, but I want to say, Theo, what I've thoughtever so many times lately. When I first knew you, you were good toLittle Brother and me, so good that I can never forget it, but youweren't"--
"I was meaner'n dirt," interposed the boy, sorrowfully.
"No, but you'd never had any chance with nobody to teach you or helpyou, and I used to hate to have you touch Little Brother, because Ithought you were not good."
"I wasn't," put in Theodore, sadly.
"But since you came back from the bishop's you've been so different,and it seems to me you're always trying to help somebody now.Theo--if Little Brother lives, I hope he'll be like you."
Theodore stared at her in incredulous silence. "Like me. LittleBrother like me," he whispered, softly, to himself, the colourmounting in his cheeks. Then he arose and walked over to the bed wherethe child lay, with one small hand thrown out across thebedclothes. The soft, golden hair lay in pretty rings on the moistforehead, but the little face looked waxen white.
Theodore stood for a moment looking down at the baby, then suddenly hestooped and kissed the outstretched hand, and then without anotherword he went away.
Nan's eyes were full of tears as she looked after him.
"How he does love Little Brother," she thought. "He's going to misshim awfully."
Monday was a busy day for Mrs. Rawson. She had engaged a seamstressto finish off Nan's dresses, and having seen the woman settled to herwork, she set off herself for the tenement house, a boy going with herto carry a small valise.
She found Nan busy baking bread. The place was very warm and the girllooked flushed and tired. Mrs. Hunt had carried the baby off to hercooler rooms.
"Nan, child, you've not taken up the cooking again?" exclaimedMrs. Rawson.
"I had to do some--not very much," replied the girl, gently.
"But, my dear, I thought you understood that we didn't want you to dothis any more."
Nan only smiled as she set the last loaf in the oven.
The lady went on, "Nan--we want you to go away to-morrow."
Nan looked up with startled eyes. "So soon!" she exclaimed asTheodore had done.
"Why should there be any delay about it? Every day that you stay hereis so much actual loss to you and to the baby, too," added Mrs.Rawson.
With a bewildered air Nan dropped into a chair, saying, hesitatingly,
"But how can I get ready to go to-morrow?"
"Easily enough, if you let the cooking go. I was wondering as I camealong what you would do with your furniture."
To Mrs. Rawson's eyes the few poor bits of furniture looked worthlessenough, but she realised that it would seem quite otherwise to thegirl who had bought them with her own hard earnings.
But now Nan looked up with shining eyes and in eager words told ofTheodore's plan and the lady's face brightened as she listened.
"It's a fine plan," she replied, heartily, "and it means a deal forsuch a boy as Theodore to have thought of it."
"And when he might have gone to your house, too," added Nan,softly. "Mrs. Rawson, he'll be very lonely when Little Brother isgone."
"Yes, he'll miss you both sadly, but Nan, you mustn't worry aboutTheodore. Mr. Scott loves the boy and will look out for him, you maybe sure of that. But now we must talk about your journey. I've broughtthe things that I thought you would need on the way, and I'd like youto try on this dress."
She lifted the pretty wool suit from the valise as she spoke, and Nanbegan to take off her faded calico. The colour rose in her face as shedid so, for she hated to have Mrs. Rawson see her poor under garments,but the lady seemed not to notice, as she chatted away about thedress.
"Fits you beautifully. I was sure it would, for I had all themeasurements. I don't believe you will need to carry many of thethings you have, for there are plenty of the new ones," she said. "Iput into this little valise everything that will be needed for thejourney, and the other things can go with mine."
Nan looked up quickly, crying out joyfully, "Oh, Mrs. Rawson, are yougoing with us?"
"To be sure. Did you suppose I meant for you to travel alone with asick baby? I'm going to stay a week."
"That's lovely!" exclaimed the girl, with a sigh of relief. "I diddread to go among entire strangers alone."
"Mrs. Hyde won't be a stranger two minutes after you meet her. Youcouldn't help loving her if you should try. Now then, let me see. Youare to be ready at half past nine to-morrow. The train goes at10:15. I'll stop here for you. Now, child, don't work any moreto-day. Just rest so that you can enjoy the journey. Oh, there's onething I came near forgetting--shoes. Those will have to befitted. Can you come with me now and get them?"
"Yes, if Mrs. Hunt can see to my baking," Nan replied.
Mrs. Hunt was very ready to do so, and Nan and her new friend weresoon in a car on their way to the shoe store.
When she returned to her room alone, the girl took out the prettyserviceable garments from the valise and examined them all withmingled pain and pleasure. It was a delight to her to have once moresuch clothing as other girls wore, but to receive them from strangers,even such kind strangers as Mrs. Rawson and the girls, hurt Nan morethan a little. But she did not feel quite the same about the daintygarments for her little brother. Over those her eyes shone withsatisfaction. She could not resist the desire to see how he would lookin them, and when he was dressed she carried him in for Mrs. Hunt toadmire, and the two praised and petted the little fellow to theirhearts' content.
Theodore had looked forward to a quiet evening with Nan and thebaby--that last evening that they were to spend together for
solong--but it proved to be anything but a quiet one. It had leaked outthat Nan was going away, and all through the evening the women andgirls in the house were coming to say "good-bye." Nan had notexpected this, for she had never had much to do with any of them, andit touched her deeply when in their rough fashion they wished her apleasant summer and hoped that the baby would come back well andstrong.
Theodore sat silent in a corner through all these leave-takings, andsome of the women, as they went back to their own rooms, spoke of theloneliness the boy would feel without the baby that they all knew heloved so dearly.
When the last caller had departed, Theodore stood up and held out alittle purse to Nan.
"Ain't much in it, but I want ye to use it for anything _he_wants," the boy said, with a gesture toward the child.
Nan hesitated. She would not have taken it for herself, but she knewthat it would hurt Theo sadly, if she refused his gift, so she tookit, saying, "You've been so good to him always, Theo. I shan't let himforget you ever."
"No--don't," muttered the boy, and unable to trust himself to saymore, he turned away in silence, and went to his own room. The littlepurse he had given Nan contained five dollars.
"The dear boy! How good he is to us," Nan murmured, as she put thebill back into it, "but I hope I shall not need to use this."
Theodore ran in the next morning for a hasty good-bye before he wentout to his work. He had waited purposely until the last moment, sothat his leave-taking might be a brief one, and he said so little, andsaid that little so coldly that a stranger might have thought himcareless and indifferent, but Nan knew better. Now that the time ofdeparture was so close at hand, she shrank nervously from it andalmost wished she had refused to go, but still she dressed LittleBrother and herself in good season, and was all ready when at ninethirty, promptly, Mrs. Rawson appeared. The lady gave a satisfiedglance at the two, and then insisted upon carrying the baby downstairsherself, while one of the Hunt children followed with Nan's valise. Acab was waiting at the door, and cabs being rarities in that locality,a crowd of curious children stood gaping at it, and waiting to see Nanand the baby depart in it.
"It is going to be a warm day. I shall be glad when we are fairlyoff," Mrs. Rawson said, with an anxious glance at the baby's face, asthe cab rattled over the rough stones.
As the little party entered the station, there was a flutter of lightraiment and bright ribbons, and Nan found herself fairly surrounded bythe eleven King's Daughters. They took possession of the baby, whobrightened up wonderfully at the sight of them, and they seized thevalise and Mrs. Rawson's handbag, and they trooped altogether throughthe great station to the waiting train, and instead of saying, "Can'tgo through yet, ladies--not till the train's made up," the gatekeepersmiled in genial fashion into their bright faces and promptly unlockedthe gate for them. That was because one of them was the daughter of arailroad official, but Nan didn't know that.
The train was not all ready, but two of the parlor cars were there,and into one of these the girls climbed, and then they found the seatsbelonging to Mrs. Rawson and Nan, and put the extra wraps up in therack for them and pushed up the window, and did everything else thatthey could think of for the comfort of the travellers.
Then one of them pinned a great bunch of deliciously fragrant violetsto Nan's dress, and another fastened a tiny silver cross above theviolets, as she whispered,
"We've made you a member of our circle, Nan, dear, and this is ourbadge."
And then Nan noticed that every one of the girls wore the tiny, silvercross somewhere about her dress. She wondered what it meant anddetermined to ask Mrs. Rawson later, but she could not talk much justthen--she was too happy with all those dear girls about her,chattering to her and counting her in with themselves.
At last there was a rumble and a jar, and people began to fill up theseats in the car and one of the girls looked at her watch andexclaimed,
"We must say 'good-bye' girls, or we shall be carried off."
"Wouldn't it be fun if we could all go too, and stay for the week withMrs. Rawson?" cried another.
"Yes, indeed. If it weren't for school we might have done it."
"Now remember, Nan, we're all going to write to you because you belongto our circle," whispered another, and then, some with a kiss, andsome with a warm handshake, they said, "good-bye," and hastened out ofthe car and stood on the platform outside the car windows, calling outmore farewells and last words, and waving hands and handkerchiefs,until the train drew out of the station.
Then Nan settled back in her comfortable seat with a happy light inher dark eyes.
"I didn't suppose there were any such girls in all the world,Mrs. Rawson," she said; "girls who would be so dearly kind to astranger like me."
"They certainly are dear girls. I think myself that there are not manylike them," Mrs. Rawson answered. "Some of them have been in mySunday-school class ever since they were nine years old."
"Perhaps that accounts for it," Nan answered, shyly, with one of herquick, bright smiles. Then she turned to look out of the window andher face changed, for there on a fence, close beside the track, stoodTheodore, eagerly scanning the windows as the train went by. Nansnatched up Little Brother and held him to the window, and a smilebroke over the boy's face as he waved his hat in response. Then thetrain gathered speed and flew on, and the boy went slowly back to hiswork.
It was nearly sunset when the station where the travellers were tostop, was reached. Nan's heart began to beat fast and she glancedaround somewhat anxiously as she stepped on to the platform, but thenext moment she found herself looking into Mrs. Hyde's face, and fromthat instant all her fears and anxieties vanished.
Mrs. Hyde had no children of her own, but the very spirit ofmotherliness seemed to look out of her eyes, and she took the twostrangers into her heart at sight. The baby, wearied with the longjourney had been fretting for the last hour, but no sooner did he findhimself in Mrs. Hyde's arms, than he settled down comfortably and wentto sleep and slept soundly through the three mile drive from thestation.
Mrs. Hyde did not say much to Nan during the drive, only by anoccasional word or smile, showing her that she was not forgotten,while the two ladies talked together, but at last she laid her firm,strong hand lightly on the girl's fingers, saying,
"Look, dear--you are almost home."
And Nan looked with happy eyes at a big, rambling, white house, shadedby tall elms, and with wide piazzas on three sides. An old-fashionedflower garden, with high box-bordered beds was at the back, and broad,rolling acres, spread out on every side but one, where there was agrove of grand old trees.
The late afternoon sunlight was throwing long, level beams across thegreen lawn, touching everything with a golden light as they drove upto the side door, and Nan said to herself,
"I don't see how anybody could help being well and happy here."