Chapter II. THE COTTAGE ON AMITY STREET
The little shingled cottage stood back from the street, in a deeper yardthan most of its neighbors. It was built the year Nan was born, so theroses, the honeysuckle, and the clematis had become of stalwart growthand quite shaded the front and side porches.
The front steps had begun to sag a little; but Mr. Sherwood had blockedthem up. The front fence had got out of alignment, and the same ablemechanic had righted it and set the necessary new posts.
The trim of the little cottage on Amity Street had been painted twicewithin Nan's remembrance; each time her father had done the work in hisspare time.
Now, with snow on the ground and frozen turf peeping out from underthe half-melted and yellowed drifts, the Sherwood cottage was not soattractive as in summer. Yet it was a cozy looking house with the earlylamplight shining through the kitchen window and across the porch as Nanapproached, swinging her schoolbooks.
Papa Sherwood called it, with that funny little quirk in the cornerof his mouth, "a dwelling in amity, more precious than jewels or finegold."
And it was just that. Nan had had experience enough in the houses of herschool friends to know that none of them were homes like her own.
All was amity, all was harmony, in the little shingled cottage on thisshort by-street of Tillbury.
It was no grave and solemn place where the natural outburst of childishspirits was frowned upon, or one had to sit "stiff and starched" uponstools of penitence.
No, indeed! Nan had romped and played in and about the cottage all herlife. She had been, in fact, of rather a boisterous temperament untillately.
Her mother's influence was always quieting, and not only with her littledaughter. Mrs. Sherwood's voice was low, and with a dear drawl in it, soNan declared.
She had come from the South to Northern Illinois, from Tennessee, tobe exact, where Mr. Sherwood had met and married her. She had grace andgentleness without the languor that often accompanies those qualities.
Her influence upon both her daughter and her husband was marked. Theydeferred to her, made much of her, shielded her in every way possiblefrom all that was rude or unpleasant.
Yet Mrs. Sherwood was a perfectly capable and practical housekeeper, andwhen her health would allow it she did all the work of the little familyherself. Just now she was having what she smilingly called "one of herlazy spells," and old Mrs. Joyce came in to do the washing and cleaningeach week.
It was one of Mrs. Sherwood's many virtues that she bore with a smilerecurrent bodily ills that had made her a semi-invalid since Nan was avery little girl. But in seeking medical aid for these ills, much of theearnings of the head of the household had been spent.
The teakettle was singing when Nan entered the "dwelling in amity", andher mother's low rocker was drawn close to the side-table on which thelamp stood beside the basket of mending.
Although Mrs. Sherwood could not at present do her own laundry-work, sheinsisted upon darning and patching and mending as only she could darnand patch and mend.
Mr. Sherwood insisted that a sock always felt more comfortable on hisfoot after "Momsey" had darned it than when it was new. And surely shewas a very excellent needlewoman.
This evening, however, her work had fallen into her lap with an idleneedle sticking in it. She had been resting her head upon her hand andher elbow on the table when Nan came in. But she spoke in her usualbright way to the girl as the latter first of all kissed her and thenput away her books and outer clothing.
"What is the good word from out of doors, honey?" she asked.
Nan's face was rather serious and she could not coax her usualsmile into being. Her last words with Bess Harley had savored of amisunderstanding, and Nan was not of a quarrelsome disposition.
"I'm afraid there isn't any real good word to be brought from outsidetonight, Momsey," she confessed, coming back to stand by her mother'schair.
"Can that be possible, Daughter!" said Mrs. Sherwood, with her low,caressing laugh. "Has the whole world gone wrong?"
"Well, I missed in two recitations and have extras to make up, in thefirst place," rejoined Nan ruefully.
"And what else?"
"Well, Bess and I didn't have exactly a falling out; but I couldn't helpoffending her in one thing. That's the second trouble."
"And is there a 'thirdly,' my dear?" queried little Mrs. Sherwoodtranquilly.
"Oh, dear, yes! The worst of all!" cried Nan. "The yellow poster is upat the mills."
"The yellow poster?" repeated her mother doubtfully, not at firstunderstanding the significance of her daughter's statement.
"Yes. You know. When there's anything bad to announce to the handsthe Atwater Company uses yellow posters, like a small-pox, or typhoidwarning. The horrid thing! The mills shut down in two weeks, Momsey, andno knowing when they will open again."
"Oh, my dear!" was the little woman's involuntary tribute to theseriousness of the announcement.
In a moment she was again her usual bright self. She drew Nan closerto her and her own brown eyes, the full counterpart of her daughter's,winkled merrily.
"I tell you what let's do, Nan," she said.
"What shall we do, Momsey?" repeated the girl, rather lugubriously.
"Why, let's not let Papa Sherwood know about it, it will make him feelso bad."
Nan began to giggle at that. She knew what her mother meant. Of course,Mr. Sherwood, being at the head of one of the mill departments, wouldknow all about the announcement of the shut-down; but they would keepup the fiction that they did not know it by being particularly cheerfulwhen he came home from work.
So Nan giggled and swallowed back her sobs. Surely, if Momsey couldpresent a cheerful face to this family calamity, she could!
The girl ran her slim fingers into the thick mane of her mother's coiledhair, glossy brown hair through which only a few threads of white werespeckled.
"Your head feels hot, Momsey," she said anxiously. "Does it ache?"
"A wee bit, honey," confessed Mrs. Sherwood.
"Let me take the pins out and rub your poor head, dear," said Nan. "Youknow, I'm a famous 'massagist.' Come do, dear."
"If you like, honey."
Thus it was that, a little later, when Mr. Sherwood came home with feetthat dragged more than usual on this evening, he opened the door upon avery beautiful picture indeed.
His wife's hair was "a glory of womanhood," for it made a tent all abouther, falling quite to the floor as she sat in her low chair. Out of thiscanopy she looked up at the brawny, serious man, roguishly.
"Am I not a lazy, luxurious person, Papa Sherwood?" she demanded."Nan is becoming a practical maid, and I presume I put upon the childdreadfully, she is good-natured, like you, Robert."
"Aye, I know our Nan gets all her good qualities from me, Jessie," saidher husband. "If she favored you she would, of course, be a very hatefulchild."
He kissed his wife tenderly. As Nan said, he always "cleaned up" at themills and "came home kissable."
"I ought to be just next door to an angel, if I absorbed the virtues ofboth my parents," declared Nan briskly, beginning to braid the wonderfulhair which she had already brushed. "I often think of that."
Her father poked her tentatively under the shoulder blades with a bluntforefinger, making her squirm.
"I don't feel the wings sprouting yet, Nancy," he said, in his dry way.
"I hope not, yet!" exclaimed the girl. "I'd have to have a new wintercoat if you did, and I know we can't afford that just now."
"You never said a truer word, Nan," replied Mr. Sherwood, his voicedropping to a less cheerful level, as he went away to change his coatand light the hanging lamp in the dining room where the supper table wasalready set.
Mother and daughter looked at each other rather ruefully.
"Oh, dear me!" whispered Nan. "I never do open my mouth but I put myfoot in it!"
"Goodness!" returned her mother, much amused. "That is an acrobatic featthat I never believed you capabl
e of, honey."
"We-ell! I reminded Papa Sherwood of our hard luck instead of beingbright and cheerful like you."
"We will give him a nice supper, honey, and make him forget histroubles. Time enough to call to order the ways and means committeeafterward." Her husband came back into the kitchen as Nan finishedarranging the hair. "Come, Papa Sherwood!" cried the little lady. "Hotbiscuit; the last of the honey; sweet pickles; sliced cold ham; and abeautiful big plum cake that our Nan made this morning before schooltime, her own self. You MUST smile at all those dainties."
And the husband and father smiled. They all made an effort to help eachother. But they knew that with the loss of his work would doubtless comethe loss of the home. During the years that had elapsed, Mr. Sherwoodhad paid in part for the cottage; but now the property was deterioratinginstead of advancing in value. He could not increase the mortgage uponit. Prompt payment of interest half-yearly was demanded. And how couldhe meet these payments, not counting living expenses, when his incomewas entirely cut off?
Mr. Sherwood was forty-five years old, an age at which it is difficultfor a man to take up a new trade, or to obtain new employment at his oldone.