Happy House Part 26

"How wonderful," Nancy exclaimed. "It's the bright lining, all right--the cloud has turned inside out! I believe," she turned to Peter, "that when the sun does s.h.i.+ne it s.h.i.+nes brighter--here! You two have magic."

"Janie and I never shut it out," laughed the sister Saphrony. "We say it's G.o.d's way of smiling and frowning. There's no storm but what pa.s.ses and we're just mighty glad you two children came 'long this way.

Goin' to Freedom?"

Afterwards Nancy said to Peter that that had been the most curious thing about the two friendly little old women--that they had not right at first asked who they were nor where they were going!

Peter answered from the window. "Yes--we thought this road would be shorter." Then, to Nancy: "Do you think we can venture now? I guess the storm's pa.s.sed."

Nancy nodded. "We'd better start. My aunts are worrying dreadfully, I'm afraid. But we've loved it--here. May we come again sometime?

And may we not know who it is that has given us shelter?"

"Why, yes--I never thought to tell! Most folks know us, but maybe you're new in these parts. We're Saphrony and Janie Leavitt."

"_What!_" cried Nancy with such astonishment that Peter turned from the door. "Why, I--_I_ am Anne Leavitt!" she said in very much the same way she had spoken in the French cla.s.s, four years before.

The two little old women laughed. "I guess you're one of the Happy House Leavitts--they're _real_ Leavitts. Sister Janie and I are only plain Leavitts," Saphrony explained with a twinkling in her eyes that seemed to say that to confuse real Leavitts with plain Leavitts was very, very funny. "Are you Miss Sabriny's niece?"

Nancy avoided the question. "Aren't you any relation to us--up at Happy House?"

"Not as anybody ever knew of. There's Leavitts and Leavitts all over New England, I guess. We've always been poor as Job."

"Well, I shall always pretend we're related," declared Nancy, warmly, "because it's been so nice here!"

While Peter was carefully tucking her into the seat with much lamenting that it had gotten so wet, Nancy was staring reflectively at the funny little weather-beaten cottage. From the door smiled the two sisters.

"I wish," she said, "that I could take a piece of their philosophy back to Happy House!" She leaned out to wave her hand once more. "Hasn't it been fun? I'm glad now that it stormed."

As they splashed along toward Freedom, Nancy fell into a sudden quiet.

Her mind was held by an overwhelming desire to tell Peter, in this last hour she might have alone with him, the whole truth--that she, like the two sisters they had left, was not a real Leavitt, of that day back in college, of Anne's pleading and her yielding. Twice she opened her lips to speak, then shut them quickly. There was something in Peter's strong profile that made her afraid. Once he turned quickly and saw her eyes upon him with a frightened, troubled expression in their depths.

"What is it, Nancy?" he asked tenderly.

She couldn't tell him--she could not bear to see his face when he knew the truth! She tried to speak lightly.

"I was thinking how much I'd grown to like--things--around here and how I hate to--go away. Peter, will you keep Nonie and Davy doing happy things--like other children. And, Peter--do you hate people that--act lies?"

Peter laughed--Nancy was so deliciously child-like. Then he suddenly colored to the very roots of his hair.

"Generally--I haven't much use for people that can't stick pretty well to the truth. But when there may be some reason--someone may start doing it for someone else----" he stopped abruptly. Nancy stared ahead with startled eyes. Did he know? But, no, how could he! It had only been an accident that he had so nearly hit upon the truth.

She could not tell him--she need not tell him; in a few days she would say good-by and go away and never see him again! Theirs had been a pleasant friends.h.i.+p, for awhile she would miss it, but she'd be just plain Nancy Leavitt again, playing with Claire at Merrycliffe or with Daddy somewhere in the mountains or at the seash.o.r.e, working, too--beginning life. After a while these weeks at Happy House would seem a curious memory--a dream!

Suddenly she s.h.i.+vered.

"Freedom--at last!" exclaimed Peter, increasing his speed. Ahead they saw the gleam of roofs through the trees. "And it looks as though they'd caught the storm worse than we did!"

CHAPTER XXIII

WHAT THE CHIMNEY HELD

The storm, sweeping down the valley, had reached the heighth of its fury over Freedom.

As the flashes of lightning grew sharper and more frequent, B'lindy bade Miss Milly watch the baby while she made things fast around the house. Beth women had been hanging over the sleeping child with something like awe. "Poor little mite--like as not right this minit Sarah Hopkins is watchin' us," B'lindy had whispered, "little bit of a thing, goin' to grow into a big, big man some day! Ain't it just _wonderful_, Milly Leavitt?"

Milly's awe of the baby had been mixed with alarm at the increasing intensity of the storm. So that, as B'lindy moved to go, she held out an imploring hand.

"Now you just hold yourself together, Milly Leavitt--that storm ain't goin' to hurt you! Anyways, it's lots more likely to if I don't see that everything's shut up tight, so's the lightnin' can't get in!

_Ouch!_" Even B'lindy covered her eyes from a blinding flash. "You hold on to that baby, Milly Leavitt," she commanded, bolting from the room.

But with each flash, each roar of thunder, poor Miss Milly's courage ebbed. Her cry--rising above, the noise of the storm brought Miss Sabrina and B'lindy to her.

"I can't--help--it!" she sobbed, covering her face. "It's so--so dreadful! And where's--Nancy! Oh--oh!"

Even Miss Sabrina's face was pale with alarm.

"You two women are like so many children," cried B'lindy, taking command. "Milly Leavitt, you'll work yourself into fits. Nancy's all right somewheres! I guess Peter Hyde's man enough to take care of her--mebbe they ain't where this storm is, anyways! Sabrina--you take that baby where Milly's yellin' won't wake it. Goodness knows the cras.h.i.+n's bad enough! Now Milly, you just hide your poor head in my lap," with grand tenderness, "_I_ ain't afraid a bit."

Sabrina had no choice--B'lindy had put the baby into her arms and almost shoved her to the door.

She carried it to her own room and sat down very carefully. Never in her whole life had she held a little baby. What would she do if it wakened suddenly? And if it kicked and squirmed, might she not drop it?

But the baby did not kick or squirm--he felt very comfortable in Miss Sabrina's arms--he snuggled ever so gently a little closer, turned his face toward the warmth of her embrace, and throwing up one little arm, laid it against her throat. The warm, soft baby fingers burned against Sabrina's throbbing pulse--the little spark crept down, down to her old, cold heart and kindled something there--something that swept her whole being. Cautiously she held the baby closer, pressed it to her breast so that she might feel the whole perfect little body; the little lips twisted and Sabrina, thinking it was a smile, smiled back with infinite tenderness. She forgot the storm raging without, her ears were deaf to its roar; after a little she leaned her head down until she could lay her cheek against the baby's soft head.

Within the darkened room a miracle was working!

Suddenly the air was split by a sharp crackle as of a hundred rifles spitting fire close at hand; and simultaneously came a deafening roar as though the very Heavens were dropping with a crash. Through it all pierced Aunt Milly's scream. The walls of Happy House trembled and swayed; for a moment everything went black before Sabrina's eyes! Then B'lindy, running through the hall brought her sharply back to her senses.

"We're struck--we're struck! Sabrin'y! Jonathan!"

Once more Happy House had been struck by lightning! The cras.h.i.+ng had been the tumbling of the bricks of the chimney. And just as in that other storm, long before, the lightning had worked its vengeance on the old mantel. It lay in pieces on the floor of the sitting-room, covered with a litter of broken bric-a-brac and mortar and bricks from the chimney.

But in the fear of fire no one thought of the mantel. B'lindy ran wildly around ordering Jonathan to throw buckets of water on any cranny that might possibly conceal a smouldering flame, at the same time heaping all kinds of curses down upon the heads of the neighbors who'd "let Happy House burn right to the ground without liftin' a finger."

And Sabrina, after one look at the lightning's havoc, still with the baby in her arms, had gone to quiet Miss Milly.

When Jonathan's activity had threatened to destroy everything in the house with water, B'lindy finally became convinced that there was to be no fire. "Funniest lightnin' I ever see," she declared, breathlessly dropping into a chair; "set down that pail, Jonathan--you've most drowned us all. Thank Heaven, here comes Nancy."

Nancy and Peter, after one glance at the bricks scattered over the garden, had guessed what had happened.

"Struck,--sure as preachin'! Lucky we ain't burned to a _crisp_. Just _look_ at the muss!" and B'lindy swept her arm toward the sitting-room door.

Nancy's face was tragic as she saw the broken mantel and the gaping fireplace. She clutched Peter's arm. "What a pity--what a _shame_!

It was so very old and--and----" She leaned down and picked up one of the pieces. "Look, Peter, here are parts of the letters! See H-A-P.

It had been cracked by another lightning storm, you know, years and years ago! Oh, I'm afraid it has been destroyed so that----" as she spoke she searched in the debris on the floor for more of the carving.

Suddenly she cried out sharply and, straightening, held out an old, worn, stained leather wallet. "Peter! B'lindy! _Aunt Sabrina!_"

Her cry brought Miss Sabrina, alarmed, running.