Dorothy Dainty's Gay Times Part 21

"You've not had much lunch, Miss Nancy," the girl said, "you might take an orange, and eat it away from the table if you like."

Nancy took the big orange, and after much coaxing, pushed it into her pocket, and soon forgot that she had it. It was only quarter-past one.

She looked again at the clock. Yes, that was just what it said; quarter-past one, and Mollie and Flossie were still at lunch. She remembered that they rarely came out to play in the afternoon before half-past two. She wondered where she would rather spend the time. At the cottage she could play with the kitten, get out the new game that Mrs. Dainty had given her, or read her newest book, but Dorothy's books were up in the playroom of the stone house, and she was always free to read them. No, she would not stay indoors. She would go out and be ready to greet her playmates as soon as she saw them running down the avenue.

She put on her cloak and hat, and walked slowly through the hall, thus using up as much time as possible. The house stood high, and from the doorway she could see the avenue. There was no one yet in sight.

She strolled down the driveway, intending to wait at the great gate for her playmates to appear.

The gates were wide open, and as Nancy looked out, some one rushed past her. The plainly dressed young woman turned to look at the little girl.

"Oh, Nancy!" she cried, and "Why, Sue!" cried Nancy.

"D'ye live in that el'gant place Nancy? Why, it looks like er palace!"

"Mrs. Dainty lives there, and I'm there 'most all the time playing with Dorothy. I live in that dear little stone cottage with Aunt Charlotte,"

Nancy said, "but Sue, how happened you to be here? Aren't you working for the doctor?"

"Nancy, I come _purpose_ ter see yer," said the girl, bending to look into Nancy's face; "I wondered if you'd remember me."

"Oh, how _could_ I forget you, Sue? It was you who used to be kind to me when Uncle Steve was cross, and when I was sick you sent my little note to Aunt Charlotte so that she and Mrs. Dainty came for me."

"I done what I could for yer, Nancy, an' now I've come ter ax yer ter do somethin' that I'm 'fraid ye won't want ter do."

Eagerly Nancy looked up into Sue's honest face.

"I'd do _anything_ for you, Sue, because you were good to me when no one else was kind. You were working for Uncle Steve, and you were as afraid of him as I was, but you helped me, and you knew he'd be angry if he found it out."

"Ye're a kind little thing; ye'd do it quick fer me, but it ain't fer me I'm askin'," Sue replied.

"Is it for the doctor who helped me to get well? I'd do something just as quick for him. Uncle Steve was going to _make_ me dance when I was sick, but the big doctor said I shouldn't, and Uncle Steve didn't dare."

As she spoke Nancy's clear brown eyes looked up into Sue's blue ones, and Sue's cheek flushed. She looked down at the sidewalk.

"It ain't fer the doctor," she said; "he's gone ter Europe, but he's payin' my wages whilst he's gone, an' I'm stayin' with a woman what I worked fer before. Nancy, it's yer aunt I'm with, an' it's her that made me come!"

Nancy started back in terror. With frightened eyes she stared a moment at the girl, then turned to run.

"Oh, Nancy, Nancy! Come here!" cried Sue. "Ye don't understand."

Nancy paused, but she did not take a step nearer.

Sue hastened towards her, and Nancy seemed about to run again.

"Don't run away, Nancy," pleaded the girl, "I know what ye think; ye think yer Uncle Steve's after yer, but ye can be sure he ain't. Yer Uncle Steve's dead, an' I do'no's ye need try ter be very sorry."

Nancy came back to where Sue was standing. "Is it _true_?" she asked.

"Honest an' true," said Sue, "an' all yer aunt wants me ter git yer fer is because she's sick, an' she wants ter see yer. Oh, if yer could see her, Nancy, ye'd hate ter say 'no.' She keeps askin' fer yer all day, an' when I told her I'd find yer, an' ask yer ter come an' jest let her look at yer, she looked brighter'n she had fer days."

"But I'm afraid to go to the city to see her," said Nancy.

"She ain't in the city. She's in a town only a little ways from here. Ye could go with me in just no time, an' ye'd do her so much good."

"Why?"

Nancy asked the question in wonder. It seemed strange that her aunt, who had never loved her, should now long to see her.

"She's got something she wants ter give yer, an' she's got something she wants ter say, an' she says she can't rest till she sees ye. It's her worryin' that won't let her git well. Ef she could see ye fer a little talk, an' tell ye what she wants ter tell, I guess she'd git well right off. Seems ef ye'd _ought_ ter come with me, ef it'll do so much good."

Nancy's eyes were full of tears, and her sensitive lips quivered.

"Oh, I _wish_ I knew what to do!" she cried, clasping her hands together very tightly.

"Why, ask 'em ter let ye go," said Sue; "they'd let ye ef they knew yer Uncle Steve wasn't there, an' yer aunt was jest pinin' ter see yer."

"I'm '_most_ sure they would if they _knew_, but everybody's away. If only Aunt Charlotte or Mrs. Dainty were here, I'd ask them."

"Can't ye write a note, an' leave it at the cottage where yer Aunt Charlotte'll find it as soon's she gits home? Ye kin tell her I took yer ter yer aunt what's sick, an' ef ye tell her 'bout yer Uncle Steve, she won't worry."

Nancy hesitated.

"An' I hate ter hurry yer," Sue urged, "but I'll _hev_ ter be gittin'

back ter yer aunt, so I must go with yer, er else leave ye here, an'

tell her I couldn't coax ye ter come."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'll go if you'll promise to bring me back."]

"Oh, don't tell her _that_. If she's wanting so much to see me, I guess I _ought_ to go," Nancy said, but her voice trembled. Even although Sue had a.s.sured her that Uncle Steve was not living, the old fear of _any_ member of his family made her hesitate.

"I'm so glad ter see ye agin, Nancy," coaxed Sue, "an' ye'd ought ter feel reel safe with _me_."

"I'll go," Nancy said, "if you'll _promise_ to _bring_ me _back_!"

"Why, of course I will," said Sue, and after a moment's hesitating, Nancy ran over to the cottage, wrote a hasty note, which she left upon the table, and then, with her heart beating fast, and her lashes still wet with tears, she walked swiftly down the avenue with Sue.

Sue was delighted to be with Nancy again, and she had no idea that she was doing anything which could possibly cause Nancy's friends any uneasiness.

She had intended to call at the house, and ask permission to take Nancy to her aunt.

Having met Nancy at the gate, she had learned that there was no one at home, but she had urged Nancy to leave a note at the cottage telling where she had gone, and with whom, and she felt that that made the whole affair open and honest. Nancy's loving little heart was less light. She thought that it must be right to go with Sue, and if her aunt was so _very_ sick, why surely she ought not to delay going to her, but if only dear Aunt Charlotte had been at home she could have _asked_ her; could have just asked her.

Sue talked all the way, but Nancy said little, and when they had nearly reached the depot she looked back, and as she looked, wondered if, even then, she ought to run back to the cottage. Then the thought of her aunt calling constantly for her caused her once more to think that it must be right for her to go.

There were not many minutes in which to think about it, for when Sue had bought their tickets, the whistle of a locomotive was heard coming around a bend of the road, and almost before Nancy knew it they were seated in the car, and spinning over the rails towards the little town where her aunt was now living.

It was all like a dream. She saw the tall trees, the broad fields now brown, yet bare of snow, because the warm sun had melted it, the church spires of other villages standing out clearly against the blue sky, but they blurred and became indistinct, because she could not keep back the tears. She was not really crying, but as fast as the tears were forced back, others would come, and she turned from the window to hear what Sue was saying. "I say it's only three stations more, an' then we'll be there, an' when ye see how much good it'll do yer aunt, ye'll be glad ye come," she said.

Nancy's eyes brightened. If it was to do so much good, then she had done right. It must be that she really ought to be on her way towards the little house, and Sue had promised to return with her.

And now the train, which had been flying along, slackened its speed, and a frowzy-haired brakeman thrust his head into the car doorway, shouting something, Nancy could not tell what.