PARADISE COTTAGE
The twenty-second of December, a red letter date, indeed, for some
fifty excited, bustling girls, dawned without bringing much of a thrill
to the two Prescotts. Neither of them could enter with genuine
enthusiasm into the gay holiday anticipations of the others, finding in
them too depressing a contrast to their own expectations of a not very
happy Christmas tide.
Nancy had shown Alma their mother's letter, and had had several long
and serious talks with the poor child, who had been almost overcome
with despair. Neither of them even thought of the matter of the
examination, that trouble having been completely wiped out by the newer
and heavier one, nor did they draw any particular satisfaction from the
fact that Alma's Latin examination had been credited, and her name
cleared of suspicion, while the identity of the actual culprit remained
their own secret. The debt to Mildred had been paid, Alma evidently
believing that the money had been sent by Providence, and asking Nancy
no questions.
So far as the matter of the examination was concerned, Miss Leland had
allowed the subject to drop, simply announcing her gratification at the
fact that there had unquestionably been a mistake, and that Miss
Drinkwater was satisfied on this point. A coldness that reached the
condition of an almost habitual silence sprang up between Alma and
Mildred, and the fact that Mildred asked for no explanations gave
further circumstantial proof of her own guilt.
The incident of her trip to New York with the ring and her meeting with
Mr. Arnold Nancy did not mention; feeling a peculiar shyness about it,
and a wholesome dread of being teased. Her violets had been smuggled
up to her room so that they would not lead to questions and jokes, and
had faded away slowly in an inconspicuous corner, diffusing their
fragrance extravagantly as they drooped and wilted over the edges of a
tooth-brush mug. But two of them had been chosen to immortalize their
memory, and had been carefully pressed between the pages of the little
volume of stories.
After a first outburst of despair and tears, Alma had taken the bad
news from home with a quiet pluck that surprised and touched Nancy.
Her old-time unquestioning faith in Nancy was revived again, and she
felt that if Nancy could take a cheerful view of the outlook, why, it
could not be so very bad.
They left for home again, on the early afternoon train, with ten or
fifteen of the other girls, all of whom were, of course, in the highest
spirits. Only Charlotte knew that they would not return to Miss
Leland's after the holidays, and her sorrow at parting with Nancy was
touchingly apparent in her effort to seem cheerful.
It was after four o'clock when the two girls, trudging up from the
Melbrook station, through the snow, at length came in sight of the
little brown house. The long red rays of the sinking sun threw the
shadows of the bare trees across the unbroken white surface of the
lawn; and the cottage, with its gabled roof, was silhouetted against
the ruddy, western sky, so that it looked as if the light were
radiating from it.
"Oh, Nancy!" Alma turned a shining face to her sister. "I don't much
care what happens--it's home, and nothing can change that! Mother and
Hannah's inside, and there's a fire, and it's all so snug, and safe,
and _loving_!"
Nancy, who was gazing at the beloved little place with bright, dreamy
eyes, and that tender smile on her mouth that always gave her face a
singularly winning sweetness, answered:
"It makes me think of a picture I saw once--it was called the 'House at
Paradise'--I don't know why. It was just the picture of a quaint
little house, that seemed to be glowing from something inside of
it--and perhaps because the house in the picture made me think of our
home, I've always thought of this as 'Paradise Cottage.' Oh, my dear,
let's run!"
It was not until after supper, when they had gathered around the
fireside just as they used to, in dressing-gowns and slippers, that
they opened the council of war.
"Oh, my dears, what can you do?" sighed Mrs. Prescott. "I had hoped
for so much. It will kill me to feel that my daughters are forced to
work for their living by my fault."
"I really do think that I'd sort of like to make some money," added
Alma. "Of course I'm not fitted for anything in particular, but, do
you know, I was just wondering why I couldn't get some position like
that girl in Mr. Dixon's office.--Do you know what, she said that after
the first of the year she expected to get a position in New York, and
I'll bet my hat that I could get that very place!"
Inspired by this sudden idea, Alma sat bolt upright on the shabby sofa,
and pursing up her lips, with self-satisfaction looked from her mother
to Nancy, who promptly applauded.
"Brilliant! I remember her saying that, too. Let's go over and see
Mr. Dixon to-morrow," said Nancy. "I don't see why _I_ couldn't give
lessons, you know, tutor children--like the two little Porterbridge
girls, for example. Margaret doesn't go to school because she's so
delicate, and I know that last winter Mrs. Porterbridge kept Dorothy at
home with her. I might even be able to get up a little class. I don't
look so awfully young, and lots of girls my age have done it. Miss
Drinkwater at school told me that she had begun to help her father with
his pupils when she was less than seventeen, and I'll be eighteen in
March. I'd love it, too."
Soon they were all chatting and laughing like schoolgirls, the three of
them.
"I used to think I wanted ever so many things," observed Alma, with a
pretty little air of earnest thought fulness. "But do you know what,
I've discovered that I never really wanted anything more than what I've
already got--you and Nancy, Mother."