Happy House Part 15

Then, almost simultaneously with the approach of a dishevelled Indian hollering between cupped hands that "p'rade's goin' start," came Webb's warning whistle from down the street. Mrs. Eaton straightened to an appropriate dignity of bearing. She made a waving motion of her arm toward her little dears that ignored Nancy, standing back, dumb with the cruelty of it all.

But Nonie's crestfallen face stung Nancy to sudden action. While the band of peace fluttered wildly back to its position, Nancy, with an arm about each, moved with the children toward the church. She moved quickly, too, for a sudden inspiration had seized her. She remembered three flags on standards in the Sunday-school room. She bade Davy get them.

"Do _just_ what I tell you," she commanded. "The _cat_!" she threw over her shoulder.

All Freedom was too intent upon catching a first glimpse of Webb's host moving up the village street to notice the strange sight of Nancy and her companions racing through the back yards and fields that skirted the main thoroughfare. A long tear in Nancy's skirt testified to the speed with which she had climbed all obstacles. Such was the fire in her soul that she could have climbed a mountain!

In the shade of a wide maple tree, B'lindy, resplendent in fresh gingham and her good-as-new-last-year's-hat, watched Webb's "doin's"

with a heart that fluttered with pride. No town in the whole Island could turn out more folks! But, then, no town on the Island had a prouder history!

With his badges glittering on the faded blue coat, Webb marched at the head of his "p'rade" in his uniform of the Grand Army of the Republic.

On either side of him stepped the recently returned soldiers, their young-old faces turned straight ahead, their worn tunics attesting to other lines of march through other village streets. Behind them were the three soldier boys who had not "gone across." In pure enjoyment of the occasion they had forgotten the resentment against fate that they had cherished. A group of boys and girls in Indian costume portrayed that epoch of Freedom's history. One great warrior brandished a tomahawk that had been dug up in a nearby field and was now kept in a suitable setting at the post-office. Close at their heels followed four staid Puritan men, broad white collars pinned over Sunday coats.

Ethan Allen and his brother Ira, beloved heroes of the little Islands, were there in character. Two lanky lads wore the uniform of 1861.

Mrs. Eaton's "band of peace" in straggling lines, brought up the rear.

Greeted from each side by l.u.s.ty cheers, through a cloud of dust, to the tap-a-tap-tap of three proud drummers, the pageant moved down the street. It had been Webb's plan that the "p'rade" should halt before the stoop of the hotel, where Mr. Todd, the postmaster, in a collar much too high and a coat much too tight, waited to give an address of welcome. But as Webb's eyes roved with pardonable pride over the fringe of spectators on each side of the line of march, they suddenly spied an unexpected sight. On the stepping block in front of the school house stood Nancy, her white skirts blowing, with Nonie and Davy on each side. And each held, proudly upright, an American flag.

It was a pretty sight--the colors of the flags fluttering over the three bare heads, the young faces tilted earnestly forward. Webb saw in it a friendly effort on Miss Anne's part to add to the success of his "doin's." So as the line of march approached the stepping-block, he solemnly saluted the three.

Advancing, the returned soldiers also saluted, stiffly. The drummers lost a beat in order to wave their drumsticks. The Indians gaily brandished their clubs, the Puritans nodded, the "boys in blue" mimiced their heroes of the hour with a stiff bending and jerking of their right arms.

But then and there Mrs. Eaton fell back from her position at the head of the "band of peace." Nancy, wickedly watching from the corner of a perfectly innocent appearing eye, saw her give a gasp as she stepped aside.

Nonie and Davy, exalted into an ecstasy of joy over the part they had finally played in the celebration, stared in amazement at Nancy's suppressed peals of laughter, to which she gave way only when the last wee dove of peace had trailed off toward the hotel. And not only Davy and Nonie stared; from out of the spectators came Peter Hyde.

"I have cooked my goose--now," giggled Nancy, wiping her eyes and holding out a hand. "She was _so_ funny! But I have outraged Freedom's n.o.ble history!" Nancy twisted her lips to resemble Mrs.

Eaton's.

"If you'll let me help you down we might hurry and hear some of the Honorable Jeremiah Todd's oration," suggested Peter Hyde.

Nancy jumped lightly to the ground. "I wouldn't _dare_," she answered.

"Mrs. Eaton only waits to tear me limb from limb! I saw it in her pallid eye. You don't _know_ what I've done! Davy, you and Nonie carry these flags carefully back to the Sunday-school. And what do you say--in celebration of this day--to a swim--this afternoon, at the Cove!"

They exclaimed their approval of the suggestion. Nonie lingered.

"Do you know what I pretended then?" she asked, affectionately gripping Nancy's arm. "I pretended I was Joan of Arc, all in white, riding on a big horse with bugles, calling to my army. Miss Denny read to me all about it. Oh, it was grand!" She sighed, because the moment had pa.s.sed. Davy pranced impatiently.

"Oh, come 'long--stop yer actin' lies!" Then, to Nancy, with a questioning look that said such fortune seemed too good to be true: "'_Honest?_' 'Bout the swimmin'."

Nancy nodded mysteriously. "Honest to goodness--at three bells!"

She watched the children scamper away, then turned eyes dark with indignation to Peter Hyde.

"How can _anyone_ be cruel to children?" she cried. "How can anyone hurt them?"

Peter did not know what she was talking about, but he agreed with all his heart.

"Kids--and dogs and cats and--little things," he added. "I shot a rabbit once when I was fifteen, and when I went up to get it, it was still breathing, and looked so pitiful and small--I couldn't help but feel that it hadn't had a chance 'gainst a fellow like me. I had to kill it then. That was enough for me! I haven't shot--any sort of living things--like _that_--since!"

His step shortened to Nancy's and together they turned their backs upon Jeremiah's cheering audience and walked slowly homeward. Her mind concerned with the children, Nancy told Peter all that had happened--of finding Nonie in the orchard, of the child's "pretend" games, of her call upon Liz. Then she concluded with an account of the incident of the morning mimicing, comically, Mrs. Eaton's outraged manner.

"As if it would hurt her or her Archie or--or anyone else in this old place to make two youngsters happy," Nancy exclaimed, disgustedly.

"I'm going to do everything I can, while I'm at Happy House, to make up to them," she finished.

Peter a.s.sured her that he wanted to help. How much the desire was inspired by sympathy for Nonie and Davy or by the winning picture Nancy made, her rebel strands of red-brown hair blowing across her flushed cheeks, no one could say. And when at the gate of Happy House they separated, Peter promising to be on hand at the Cove at four o'clock, Nancy watched him swing down the road with a pleasant sense of comrades.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER XIV

MRS. EATON CALLS

"Oh, shades of Odysseus," muttered Nancy. From the swing on the hollyhock porch she had spied Mrs. Eaton coming up the flagged path to the front door.

As she sat idly swinging, Nancy had been trying over the deeply emotional lines that Berthe, the much-suffering heroine of her dear play, should say when the villain proved to be her lover in disguise.

A chance glance through the syringas had acquainted her with the alarming fact that an avenging enemy approached.

It was the day after the Fourth of July. As yet not a word had come to Happy House concerning Nancy's part in the celebration.

There was not time for Nancy to escape; however, it was not likely that Miss Sabrina would take such a guest out to the porch. Nancy heard her greet the newcomer, then their steps approached the sitting-room. The swing was at the other end of the porch. Nancy, hugging her knees, could not be seen from the sitting-room windows and, anyway, the blinds had been shut to keep out the hot morning sun. Through their slats Nancy heard Mrs. Eaton's effusive greetings.

"I might as well hear what the cat tells," Nancy concluded. The fate of the proverbial eavesdropper did not alarm her in the least; she felt the resignation, of a child that knows he faces punishment.

Mrs. Eaton spent several moments explaining, how often she "had had a _mind_ to drop in for a little chat."

"But I am a _different_ woman with my Archie away! Cyrus says he don't _know_ how I bear up so well. _You_ don't know, of course, a mother's feelings!" Did Nancy imagine that she heard a rustling, as though Aunt Sabrina had suddenly straightened in her chair? "And _I_ said to Cyrus that _he_ don't even know a mother's feeling that's raised a boy right from the _cradle_!"

Miss Sabrina inquired politely as to the last word of Archie, and, with satisfied pride, the mother recounted Archie's description of the difficulties that had confronted the Allied occupancy of the Rhinelands. Archie's mother truly believed that Archie alone bore that tremendous responsibility.

"And Archie and me are as _like_ as two peas," she added.

It was, of course, only a matter of a few moments before Mrs. Eaton led up to the event of the day before. Nancy caught the crisp change in the woman's voice. The story gained much in her telling--of Nancy's impertinence in forcing the Hopworth young 'uns among her "little dears," then how she had, though fully aware of her, Mrs. Eaton's, explicit orders, flaunted Eric Hopworth's brood in the face of every respectable man, woman and child of Freedom--actually desecrating the very flags she had--_taken_--out of the Sunday-school room.

The story was interrupted by many sighs and sniffs.

"Of course _everybody_ on this Island that knows me and my Archie, Cyrus says, will _feel_ for me. I might as well as _not_ of been slapped in the face. And I said to Cyrus, "_I_ think Miss Leavitt ought to _know_--she's taken that girl there!" And Cyrus and I _both_ said that of _course_ no one would be surprised, seeing she's _that_ branch of your family where I suppose--you'll _forgive_ me for speaking right out _plain_, you can expect almost _any_ kind of actions!"

Nancy swung her feet down out of the hammock. "The cat," she breathed, straightening. She could see that stinging shaft plunge straight into poor Aunt Sabrina's heart and turn! She held her breath for Aunt Sabrina's answer.

Miss Sabrina's voice was cold and her words measured. "I am very sorry this has happened, Mrs. Eaton. But I am sure my niece did not dream of impertinence. She has not been here long enough to know of our prejudices!"

"_Bully!_" Nancy, said, almost aloud. "_That's_ a time when breeding shows!"

Mrs. Eaton was plainly annoyed at Miss Sabrina's defence. Her voice took on a crisper edge. "She's been here long _enough_ to pick up with Judson's hired _man_! _Your_ notions may be different from _mine_, Miss Leavitt, but _I_ wouldn't 'low any girl of _mine_ to go swimming at Cove's Hole with the Hopworth young 'uns! d.i.c.k Snead told his mother and his mother told my Cousin 'Manthy. Ain't there any _better_ folks she can take up with on this Island than a hired man _and_ the Hopworths?" Her shrill inflection seemed to say, "There--I have you _now_!"

Nancy's feet beat a war-dance. She wanted to rush in to her own defence--had d.i.c.k Snead told his mother and his mother told Cousin 'Manthy that she had swam forty strokes under water? Discretion, however, bade her use caution.