Dorothy Dainty's Gay Times Part 23

"The dear child has not told us _where_ her aunt lives, only that she is _not_ in the city. What are we to do?"

Aunt Charlotte's face was pale as she asked the question, and the hand which held the note shook so that the bit of paper rustled like a leaf as it lay against her silk gown.

"We can do nothing to-night," Mrs. Dainty replied, "but to-morrow at daybreak the search must commence. I try to find comfort in the fact that the girl, Sue, seemed to be honest, and certainly she was straightforward if she intended to ask us if she might take Nancy to her aunt, and to insist that she write a note explaining her absence."

"I am sure that the girl's intentions are honest, but I am _not_ so sure of the woman who sent her to get Nancy. Steve Ferris is dead, but while it was he who once stole Nancy, it was his wife who helped him to keep her. I am frightened, and I can not believe that she has sent for her only for the pleasure of seeing her."

Mrs. Dainty turned quickly to see if Dorothy had heard what Aunt Charlotte had said, but Dorothy was questioning the maid to learn when she had last seen Nancy. Aunt Charlotte's words, which surely would have frightened her, had pa.s.sed unnoticed. It was late before any member of the household could think of sleeping, and when at last Dorothy lay dreaming of Nancy, her long lashes were wet with tears.

Mrs. Dainty had tried to comfort and cheer her by telling her that _this_ time they knew with whom Nancy was staying, and that Sue, who had once before helped them to find her, would, doubtless, bring her back.

Dorothy had listened patiently, but when Mrs. Dainty kissed her and said "good night," Dorothy threw her arms about her neck.

"Oh, mamma, I know we have Nancy's note," she said, "and Sue _was_ good to her once, but how do we know what her aunt will do? What if she means to make her dance at a theatre, just as her Uncle Steve did?" And Mrs.

Dainty could find no words with which to comfort her, because her own heart was filled with that very thought which made Dorothy so unhappy.

And when the bright sunlight streamed in through the windows of the stone house it found every one wide awake and full of excitement, eager to be doing something towards finding Nancy, but in doubt as to what to do first.

It was Mrs. Dainty's calmness that stilled their excitement, her cool head that directed their efforts, her firm will which chose to guide, rather than command.

And while every effort was being made to find Nancy, and to learn if she were safe, Nancy lay upon an old bed in the little house in the country lane, and slept soundly, after having cried herself to sleep the night before. She awoke with a start when a stray sunbeam came in through the tiny window and touched her cheek.

For a moment she stared at the glint of light which danced upon the wall, then a puzzled look came into her brown eyes, and she rubbed them as if in that way she might better see, and understand her strange surroundings.

Then suddenly she remembered all about it. Why she was in so shabby a room, and why she was there at all. Ah, yes, Sue had brought her, and she had thought that she should return that night.

Now the morning had come, and with it the hope that before night she would be again in her own home, and with those who were dear to her.

She listened. There was not a sound of any one stirring, nor was there any slight noises out-of-doors which told of busy people up and about at early morning. She had forgotten that they were not on a public highway.

In the little lane there was continual quiet whether at dawn or at high noon, so that one might have thought the whole town asleep, or at least napping.

And shabby as the bed was upon which Nancy lay, it was far more comfortable than the old lounge which Sue had chosen to occupy.

She had tried to honor Nancy as her guest, and so had given her the best resting-place which the cottage afforded.

Nancy wondered if Sue were yet awake.

"Sue!" she whispered. "Yes," whispered Sue in reply.

"Isn't it time to get up now?"

"Not yet," said Sue, "fer Mis' Ferris don't hev her breakfast till 'bout ten, an' it ain't pleasant ter wander 'round a cold house when there ain't no reason fer it, an' she don't want wood burned fer a fire until I use it ter git breakfast with. Ye might try ter git ter sleep agin; they's nothin' else ter do."

One glance around the dingy chamber would have told any one that much could be done before a ten-o'clock breakfast, but Mrs. Ferris wished the house to be quiet during the early hours of the morning.

And in spite of the fact that she was very wide awake, Nancy did go to sleep.

At first she amused herself by staring at the odd-shaped scrolls and blossoms upon the paper. There were blue and yellow flowers with bright green leaves, supported upon latticework of a queer shade of brown.

Nancy thought the vines looked as if they were crawling, and that the yellow blossoms were shaped like huge bugs. The longer she looked at it the more it seemed as if those vines did really move upon the wall.

While she watched them she dropped to sleep and dreamed that she was trying to dance, but could not do the graceful steps which she so well knew, because those vines had come down from the wall, and were tangled about her feet.

When she again awoke the sun was s.h.i.+ning brightly, and she could hear the rattling of dishes down in the little kitchen.

She sprang up, and hurriedly dressed, wondering why Sue had not called her. There was frost upon the window-pane, and she s.h.i.+vered. Each garment which she put on seemed colder than the one before.

She searched the room for a b.u.t.ton-hook, and finding none, ran down to the kitchen.

"Thought I wouldn't call ye till we got a bit warmed up," said Sue.

"What's that? No. I ain't seen no b.u.t.ton-hook in this place, but ye jest set on that chair an' I'll fasten yer boots fer ye."

She took a huge, crooked hair-pin from her hair, and b.u.t.toned Nancy's boots with wonderful speed, when the tool which she worked with was considered.

And what a breakfast that was, which Nancy ate from a blue-edged pie-plate that was badly crackled.

A small piece of very tough ham, an egg fried for ten minutes, until it looked and tasted like leather, a boiled potato the color of lead, and a biscuit of about the same hue.

"I don't s'pose ye're used ter drinkin' tea, but I guess I'll give ye some ter wash yer bread down. That biscuit's kinder dry," and she offered Nancy a cup of drink, which, from its flavor, might have been tea--or anything else.

The little kitchen was dingy, and the food not at all like the appetizing fare which she usually enjoyed, but she was hungry, and Sue felt flattered that Nancy ate the breakfast which she had served.

And after breakfast how the hours dragged!

Nancy was anxious to be starting for home, yet she could do nothing to hasten the time when she could go. Sue was busy with the ordinary work of the morning, and Mrs. Ferris had told her to tell Nancy that she would talk with her after dinner. That she felt too ill to see her until afternoon.

"'Tain't no use ter fret, Nancy," said Sue, "she ain't good fer much till after dinner, but I guess sh.e.l.l talk with ye then fast 'nough."

"But I'm wild to get back to the cottage," wailed Nancy.

"Ye couldn't git there ter-day, fer this is Sunday, and we don't hev but two trains that stop here Sundays. One leaves here at half-past seven in the morning, an' the other stops here at half-past nine at night, but that one goes ter the city, an' that would be going right away from Merrivale."

Nancy made no reply, but turned to look from the window.

"To-morrow will be Monday, and I _must_ get back to school," she thought.

It was late in the afternoon when Mrs. Ferris called Nancy to listen to what she had to say.

"I kin talk ter ye now," she said, "an' first I'll ask ye ef ye remember the old house in Merrivale where ye used ter live before Mis' Dainty give ye a home?"

"I guess I _do_," said Nancy.

"Wal, 'twa'n't much of er livin' ye had, an' the woman what took keer of ye was only yer _stepmother_. Did ye know that?"

"Some of the children told me," Nancy replied.

"Wal, did any one ever tell ye 'bout yer _own_ mother?"

Nancy stared in round-eyed surprise.