A Little Miss Nobody Part 1

A Little Miss n.o.body.

by Amy Bell Marlowe.

CHAPTER I

MISS n.o.bODY FROM NOWHERE

The girls at Higbee School that term had a craze for marking everything they owned with their monograms. Such fads run through schools like the measles.

Their clothing, books, tennis rackets, school-bags--everything that was possible--blossomed with monograms, more or less ornate.

Of course, some girls' initials offered a wider scope than others' for the expression of artistic ideas; but there wasn't a girl in the whole school who couldn't do _something_ with her initials, save Nancy.

"N. N." What could one do with "N. N."? It was simply impossible to invent an attractive-looking monogram with those letters.

"N. N.--Nancy Nelson--just n.o.body from Nowhere," quoth Nancy to Miss Trigg, the teacher and school secretary who, despite her thick spectacles and angular figure, displayed more of a motherly interest in Nancy than anybody else at Higbee School.

Miss Prentice, the princ.i.p.al, never seemed to be interested in Nancy.

The latter had n.o.body to "write home to," either good or bad about the school--so the princ.i.p.al did not have to worry about her. And it didn't matter whether Nancy's reports showed "improvement" or not--there was n.o.body to read them.

Miss Trigg was also a lonely person; perhaps that was why she showed some appreciation for "Miss n.o.body from Nowhere." Sometimes in the long summer vacation she and Nancy were alone at the school. That drew the two together a little. But Miss Trigg was a spinster of very, very uncertain age--saving that she couldn't be young!--and it was the more surprising that she seemed to understand something of what the sore-hearted young girl felt.

"The really great people of this world--the worth-while people--have almost all been known by one name. There were many Caesars, but only one _Caesar_, who crossed the Rubicon, and in his 'Commentaries' said: 'All Gaul is divided into three parts.' One never hears what Cleopatra's other name was," pursued Miss Trigg, with her queer smile. "Whether Isabella of Spain--the Isabella that made the voyages of Columbus possible--had another name, or not, we do not inquire. How many of us stop to think that the married name of the English Victoria--that great and good queen--was 'Victoria Wettin,' and that for the years of her widowhood she was in fact 'the Widow Wettin'?

"The greatest king-maker the world ever saw--the man who turned all Europe topsy-turvy--was known only by one initial--and that your own, Nancy. Here! I will make you a more striking monogram than any of the other girls possess," and quickly, with a few skilful strokes of her pencil, Miss Trigg drew a single "N" surrounded by a neat, though inverted, laurel wreath.

"Now your monogram will not conflict with Napoleon's," she said, with one of her rare laughs; "but it is quite distinctive. It stands for 'Nancy.' Forget that 'Miss n.o.body from Nowhere' chatter. You may be quite as important as any girl in the school--only you don't know it now."

That was what really troubled Nancy Nelson. She was too cheerful and hopeful to really care because she couldn't entwine the two initials of the only name she knew into an artistic bowknot! It was because "N. N."

really meant nothing.

For Nancy didn't know whether the name belonged to her or not. She knew absolutely nothing about her ident.i.ty--who she was, who her people had been--of course, it was safe to say she was an orphan--where she had lived before she came to the Higbee Endowed School when she was a little tot, who paid her tuition here, or what was to become of her when she was graduated.

And Nancy Nelson, now approaching the end of her last year at the school, was more and more persuaded that she should know something about herself--something more than Miss Prentice, or Miss Trigg could tell her.

Years before Nancy had listened to the story of her earlier life as it was whispered into her ear when she and Miss Trigg were alone together, just as though it was a story about some other little girl.

One September day, just after the fall term had opened, a gentleman brought a tiny, rosy-cheeked, much beruffled little girl to Miss Prentice and asked the princ.i.p.al of Higbee School to take charge of the little one for a term of years--to bring her up, in fact, as far as she could be brought up and taught at that inst.i.tution.

This gentleman--who was a lawyer rather well known at that time in Malden, the small city in which the school was situated--could only say that the little girl's name was Nancy Nelson, that she had no parents nor other near relatives, and that he could a.s.sure the princ.i.p.al that the tuition and other bills would be paid regularly and that Nancy would have a small fund of spending money as she grew.

Who she really was, where she had lived, the reason for the mystery that surrounded the affair, the lawyer would not, or could not explain. He had left Malden soon afterward, but was established in Cincinnati--and he met all Nancy's bills promptly and asked each quarter-day after her health. But he showed no further interest in the little girl.

As for Nancy herself, she remembered nothing before her appearance at the school. And that was not strange. She was a kindergartner when Miss Prentice accepted the responsibility of training her--the very youngest and smallest girl who had ever come to Higbee School.

Miss Prentice was too firm a disciplinarian to be a very warm-hearted woman. Save for Miss Trigg's awkward attempts at motherliness, and the surrept.i.tious hugs and kisses of certain womanly servants about the school who pitied the lonely child, Nancy Nelson had experienced little affection.

She was popular in a way with her fellow pupils, yet there had always been a barrier between her and the rest of the school. She was the refuge of the dull scholars, or of the little ones who needed help in their lessons; but Nancy never made a real _chum_.

It was not the girl's fault. She was heart-hungry for somebody to love, and somebody to love her. But circ.u.mstances seemed always to forbid.

A new girl was scarcely settled at Higbee before somebody pointed Nancy out to her as a girl who was "peculiar." Sometimes the story of Nancy's coming to the school, and of her circ.u.mstances, were sadly twisted. She was often looked upon as a combination of Cinderella and the Sleeping Princess.

However that might be, it set Nancy in a cla.s.s by herself. Girls came and went at Higbee. Some took the entire course and were graduated. But none save Nancy remained at the school from year's end to year's end.

Miss Prentice saw to it that the girl had a sufficient supply of neat and serviceable dresses. She had all that she could possibly need, but little that she really _wanted_.

When her spending money was increased moderately, Nancy was able to buy herself the little trifles that persons like Miss Prentice never realize a girl's longing for. Nancy's private expenditures occasioned even Miss Trigg to say that she was "light-minded" and would never know how to spend money.

They did not take into consideration that Nancy had n.o.body to give her the little trifles so dear to every growing girl's heart. She never had a present. That is, nothing save some little things at Christmas from some of the smaller girls whom she had helped. Miss Prentice discouraged the giving of presents among the girls at Higbee. She said it occasioned jealousies, and "odious comparisons" of family wealth.

Miss Prentice was a very good teacher, and she exerted a careful oversight over both the girls' health and conduct. Most of the girls had their particular friends, and even the few other orphans beside Nancy in the school had those who loved and cared for them.

But here was a heart-hungry girl with absolutely no apparent future. The end of her last year at Higbee was approaching and neither Nancy, nor Miss Trigg, nor Miss Prentice herself, knew the first thing about what was to "be done with her."

Curiosity about herself--who she was, what was in store for her, and all--sometimes scorched Nancy Nelson's mind like a devouring flame. She kept a deal of it to herself; it was making her a morose, secretive girl, instead of the open-hearted, frank character she was meant to be.

Nancy's future as a girl and woman was in peril.

She scarcely believed that the name she was known by was her own. Some time before she had begun to refer to herself as "Miss n.o.body from Nowhere." It was continually on her mind.

So Miss Trigg's suggestion about the monogram was not entirely satisfactory to Nancy. It is all right to have brave thoughts about doing great deeds in the future; but--supposing there _is_ no future?

That's the way it looked to Nancy Nelson. June was approaching and all the other girls of the graduating cla.s.s were exchanging stories of what they were to do, where they were to go, and all about their future lives. But Nancy couldn't tell a single thing that was going to happen to her after breakfast the day following graduation.

Of course, Miss Prentice was not bound to keep her a minute longer than her contract called for. Nothing had been said by the lawyer in whose hands Nancy's fate seemed to be, regarding his future intentions. He had acknowledged the school princ.i.p.al's last letter at Easter, and that was all.

A girl who has spent all her days--almost--in a boarding school must of necessity possess some small amount of independence, at least. Although very young, Nancy felt perfectly able to start out into the world alone and make her way.

Just _how_ she should earn her living she did not know. But she had read story books. Sometimes girls of her age were able to help housewives do their work, or help take care of little children, or even be parcel-wrappers in big city stores.

Of course she could not remain at the school. There would be nothing for her to do here. And Miss Prentice carried her pupils no farther than the grammar grades.

Some of the other girls would begin in the autumn at other and more famous schools--college preparatory schools, and the like. Nancy loved books, and she hoped for a college education, too; dimly, in some way, she hoped to find means of preparing for college. But how? That was the problem.

One noon, as Nancy filed into the long, cool dining room, Miss Prentice, who often stood at the door to review the girls as they filed before her, tapped Nancy on the shoulder.

"My room after luncheon, Miss Nancy," said the princ.i.p.al, severely.

She always spoke severely, so this did not disturb the girl. But the latter was so anxious about her own affairs that she flushed deeply and only played with her food.

Both of these things did not trouble Nancy. In the first place, she was very pretty when she blushed, having an olive complexion and dark, crisp hair which she wore in two plaits down her back. And she was so plump that the loss of luncheon wasn't going to hurt her.

She was glad when the bell rang for the girls to rise and listen to Miss Trigg's murmured "thanks for meat." Then she ran eagerly over to the princ.i.p.al's cottage and found Miss Prentice waiting for her.

"I have heard from Mr. Gordon," began that lady.

"My guardian!" gasped Nancy, clasping her hands.