A PLEASANT CALL.
Miss Squeers found it hard to follow orders that were so against her own
judgment. She well knew Mrs. Widdemere, for had she not been in that home
during the illness of Robert's father and had she not found his mother a
woman after her own heart! "If a person is born an aristocrat," the nurse
told herself, "she ought to act like one and be haughty and proud. How
would a peacock look trying to put herself on a social footing with a
pullet?"
All the time that she was assisting Robert Widdemere to dress for the
drive that he was to take with Doctor Wainridge, the woman's thin
colorless lips grew tighter and thinner. The physician had not told where
he was going to take their patient, but she knew, as well as if she had
been able to hear through the closed door. She consoled herself with the
knowledge that her turn to triumph would come in time. They did not know,
however much they might suspect it, that she had written the mother all
that she knew of this disgraceful friendship. Doctor Wainridge would be
peremptorially dismissed, of that Miss Squeers was certain. For that
matter the doctor was sure of the same thing, but what he hoped was that
his patient should by that time be so far along on the road to recovery
that he would not be harmed by his mother's anger or subsequent action.
That Mrs. Widdemere would forbid the friendship, he well knew. But his
office, at present, was to help the lad to rouse himself from the
indifferent stupor into which he had fallen since his father's death.
The doctor arrived at two, and for half an hour they drove about the
picturesque country lane on either side of which were the vast estates of
the wealthy dwellers of the far famed foot-hill section.
At length they left the highway and turned into the drive leading to the
Barrington home. The physician was saying:--"I was up in the big city
when it all happened and so another doctor was called when the accident
occured. I am referring to the accident which brought the gypsy girl into
the home where I presume she is to remain." Then he laughed. "It is well
for the girl that the haughty older sister has gone away for an
indefinite stay for she had undertaken, so the story goes, to civilize
and Christianize this little heathen."
The boy nodded. "Lady Red Bird told me. She said she was just ready to
run away because they were going to put her in a convent school, when a
telegram came and Miss Ursula Barrington left at once for the East."
As they neared the house, they saw a very pretty sight. The girl of whom
they had been talking, looking more then ever like a gypsy in the costume
she had worn when she had first arrived, was dancing up and down the
paths of the glowing garden shaking her tambourine, as she had danced on
that never-to-be-forgotten day when she had been there with little Tirol.
Nearby on a bench the younger Miss Barrington sat with her lace crochet
now and then dropping it to her lap to smile at the girl. Suddenly she
called. "Nan, dearie, the company has come." The girl dropped to a marble
bench, but a side glance toward the drive showed her that both the doctor
and the boy had witnessed her performance.
"I don't care, Miss Dahlia," she said, tossing her dark hair back and out
of her eyes, "I put this dress on purposely that Robert Widdemere might
see I'm not ashamed that I am a gypsy. I'm proud, proud, proud because I
belong to Manna Lou."
"Of course you are, dearie," the gentle little woman rose and advanced to
greet the newcomers.
"Doctor Wainridge," she said, "I'm so glad that you have come to meet our
dear adopted daughter. It was a real regret to me that you were out of
town at the time of the accident, if something which results in great joy
and happiness can be called by so formidable a name. And this," she held
out a slender white hand toward the glowing girl, "is our Nan."
The doctor, whose broad-brimmed black felt was under one arm, shook hands
with Miss Dahlia and then with the girl. Turning, he beamed on the lad as
he said, "Surely, Miss Barrington, you remember this boy, although you
may not have seen him recently."
"Indeed I do! Robert, how you have grown." Then noting his pale face, she
said with kindly solicitude, "You are not yet strong. Shall we go into
the house? Would it not be more comfortable there?"
But the doctor, after glancing at his watch replied: "I fear that I
cannot remain today, as I have other patients to see, but if you are
willing to entertain your young neighbor, I will return for him in just
one hour."
Robert's face brightened. "That's great of you, doctor, to leave me in so
pleasant a place." Then turning to Miss Dahlia who was looking at him
pityingly, he confessed. "I'm bored to death at home with that specter of
a nurse watching over me for all the world like a vulture swinging around
the head of some poor creature that it expects is soon to die."
The doctor had been glancing about. There was a summer house near in
which there were comfortably cushioned rustic chairs and a table. It was
where Miss Dahlia and Nan had their daily lessons.
"That would be a pleasant place for you children to go for a real visit,
isn't it?" he suggested. Miss Dahlia nodded smilingly and Nan led the way
to the summer house. Miss Dahlia then walked at the doctor's side toward
his car as she wished to ask his advice about her headaches.
"Isn't he a great sport?" Robert looked after his friend and ally
admiringly, then he blurted out:--"Lady Red Bird, that sly cat of a nurse
was trying to keep us apart. That's why I wasn't at the gate in the hedge
yesterday. If I'd been strong enough I would have walked over here when I
reached home and explained, but I was lots worse."
The lad glanced anxiously into the flushed face of the girl. He feared
she was hurt with him. "I say, Miss Nan, you'll forgive my not being
there. I wouldn't be such a cad, if I could help it. You know that, don't
you?"
He was greatly relieved with the reply which was, "I wasn't there myself,
Robert Widdemere. Miss Dahlia had one of her headaches and was so sick I
didn't wan't to leave her. I was sure you would understand." Then,
quickly changing the subject, she added. "This is a real comfortable
chair. It's where Miss Dahlia sits when she teaches me to read. Oh, I
love reading," she exclaimed, "and stories. I used to make them up out of
my head to tell Little Tirol and the other children. Little wild foxes I
called them."
There was a sudden far away wistful expression in the girl's dark eyes as
she gazed out of the vine-hung door of the summer house, and the lad
watching her, wondered that he had ever doubted that she was truly a
gypsy. Surely, in that costume, there could be no question about it.
He said gently, "Lady Red Bird, I believe you sometimes wish you could go
back to the old life." She turned wide startled eyes toward him as she
replied in a tense voice, "I'm going back when the black dragon comes
again. I won't stay here with her. I won't be civilized for her. She
doesn't love me like Miss Dahlia does."
"But doesn't the wild gypsy life lure you?" the boy leaned forward
interested. "I always imagine it as romantic and carefree."
Again the girl looked at him startled, then replied in a low voice.
"Would you think it was romantic to have to do everything that a cruel,
black-hearted Anselo Spico and his demon mother said to do? Would you
call it being carefree when you were thrashed till the blood came if you
wouldn't dance at the gorigo inns?
"I staid till little Tirol died. Anselo Spico had to beat me first,
before he could get at that poor little cripple. I staid to take little
Tirol's beatings, but when he was dead, I ran away and came here."
Robert Widdemere hardly knew what to say. "Lady Red Bird, I thought you
told me you were proud of being a gypsy and that you loved the life."
There was an instant change and springing up she flung her arms wide with
almost a wistful cry--"I love living out in the open, with only the
starry sky for a roof, and the branches of trees swaying, swaying over my
head when I sleep. I love to ride on my pony Binnie away, away, away, to
feel my hair blowing in the wind and to have nothing to do but live."
Robert sighed. "I'd like right well to be that kind of a gypsy," he said.
"I'd like to wander away, away, away from nurses and houses and routine
studies."
Miss Dahlia appeared in the door and she was followed by a maid with a
tray. "I thought you children might like a tea party," she said, "and if
you do not mind, I will join you."
The hour was soon up and the doctor bore away a very thoughtful lad.
"Lady Red Bird _is_ a real gypsy," he was thinking, "and I don't believe
she will civilize."