CASTLES IN THE AIR
NEXT morning Judith could scarcely move; her limbs were stiff from the
unaccustomed exercise and one shoulder was bruised and wrenched from her
fall, so Mrs. Nairn kept her in bed all morning and gave her much
petting and mothering.
The plans for the afternoon had included a skating party on the river,
ending with a drive out to the Nairns' summer cottage, which had been
opened in preparation for this week of winter sports. A neighbouring
farmer's wife had promised to have a roaring fire ready for the skaters
when they should appear about five o'clock, and the farmer himself was
to meet them at the river with his big sleigh. Clearly Judith could not
skate to-day, so other plans were made for her. Nancy, of course, must
be with the skaters, since she was the hostess, but Sally May insisted
on staying at home with Judith. Naturally this embarrassed Judith, for
she knew that Sally May loved skating, and an outdoor party of this
kind would be a novelty to a Southerner. Finally Jack talked things over
with his mother, and, as Judith declared that she was well enough to go,
Mrs. Nairn agreed that she should drive with Jack to the cottage and he
would leave her there with Mme. Berthier, while he rejoined the skaters
on the river.
Tim, to Judith's disappointment, declared that he had an engagement and
couldn't come.
"I can't think what's happening to Tim," grumbled Nancy as they changed
into warm clothes for their long drive; "usually he's a dear about
helping to entertain, but he's not a bit like himself, he looks so glum
and 'grouchy.'"
"Oh, Nancy!" Judith protested, "I don't see how you can say such a
thing! I think he looks just lovely!"
"Just lovely," Nancy laughed wickedly; "he'll be pleased when I tell
him."
Poor Judith crimsoned.
"Oh, Nancy," she begged, "you wouldn't, surely you wouldn't. I just
meant that he had nice eyes."
But Nancy would make no promises.
Promptly after an early lunch the skaters set off, and Jack appeared
with a horse and a little old-fashioned cutter which he had borrowed
from an uncle who scorned motors and still clung to his horse. Judith
was tucked up in a fur robe in the cutter and off they went.
[Illustration: JUDITH WAS TUCKED UP IN A FUR ROBE IN THE CUTTER AND OFF
THEY WENT]
"It's almost as good as skiing or flying," laughed Judith as the light
sleigh flew over the snow and the bells on the horse jingled a merry
accompaniment to their talk. It was another day of magical
colouring--all blue and gold and dazzling white, and "Little Oaks" was
reached all too soon in Judith's opinion. To their dismay there was no
friendly column of smoke announcing the fire that Mme. Berthier had
promised.
"It's a good thing the Berthiers are only a mile away," said Jack;
"whatever can have happened?"
He came out of the little whitewashed cottage with a grave face.
"Jacques is away at the lumber camp and Toinette and the two younger
children are down with flu--Toinette seems very ill; luckily Jeanne is
old enough to do the nursing, but they need a doctor, and I'm afraid
I'll have to go off at once. Nancy will be disappointed, but it can't be
helped. We'll pin a note on the door for her as we go back--it would
take too long to open the house and get a good fire going--and a wood
fire wouldn't keep in all afternoon anyway--and I couldn't leave you
alone--"
"Oh, please, please," begged Judith, "do let me stay--couldn't that
small boy by the door be coaxed to stay with me for company--I couldn't
bear to have Nancy's party spoilt."
Judith knew how to be very persuasive and Jack finally gave in. Little
Pierre came with them to carry the wood, he was told.
Jack opened up the house, carried in the baskets of provisions, and lit
a fire of blazing logs.
"I'll 'phone to you when I get in, and if you should need anything, or
if you feel lonely, ring up Mother in the meantime."
"I shan't have a minute to spare for feelings," declared Judith, "Pierre
and I have plenty to do."
She didn't quite realize how much was to be done when she watched Jack
drive off. The living-room to be swept and dusted--that would come
first--and no small task when one's arms and back are bruised and
aching; then to the kitchen, and judge of her dismay when on opening
the baskets she found that, though there were cakes and fruit and salad
stuff in plenty, of bread there was only one small loaf. Whatever
could--oh, here was a small bag of flour and a tin of baking powder.
Judith groaned as she remembered hearing Nancy tell Sally May that Mme.
Berthier was a splendid cook and had promised to make heaps of waffles
and hot biscuits for them to eat with their baked beans and salad.
Twenty hungry skaters appearing in an hour and one small loaf to feed
them! Judith had never made waffles, but she had made baking-powder
biscuits once or twice, though only, of course, in small quantities. Her
first thought was to walk to Mme. Berthier's cottage and ask for
directions. No, that wouldn't do--the precious hour would be gone. And
Nancy must _not_ be disappointed.
"Put on some more wood, Pierre, please. I want a good hot oven," she
called to her little helper, and then as he looked blank she tried first
her scanty stock of French words and then showed him what to do.
While she was thinking, she was rapidly unpacking the baskets and
setting the table, disregarding meanwhile the twinges of pain from her
hurt shoulders. At last everything was ready but the biscuits--she
couldn't remember, try as she might, the proportion of baking-powder and
flour and milk. A mistake would be such a tragedy! Then just as she had
decided to make three or four batches and hope that one or two might be
good, she suddenly thought of the telephone.
"Well, I am a silly, petit Pierre, now we'll be all right--Yes, Mrs.
Nairn, it's Judith--Jack will explain--please tell me how to make
biscuits!"
The explanation must have been easy to follow, for when Nancy and her
party arrived a little later three pans of beautifully browned fluffy
tea-biscuits were ready to put on the table. Judith had never been as
proud of anything in her life as of those same biscuits, and when later
the company toasted her in hot cocoa and sang, "For she's a Jolly Good
Fellow," with Nancy and Jack looking their special thanks, Judith
decided she could never be any happier than she felt right then.
Mr. Nairn was as good as his word next day and took them on a
sight-seeing tour ending with a delightful luncheon at the Château
Frontenac. Judith had never lunched in such a big hotel and felt very
important and grown-up. Jack and Tim refused to be instructed on
historical matters, but were on hand for the luncheon.
"I guess you two have won Dad's hard heart and no mistake," Jack
confided to Judith while they waited for Mr. Nairn, who was speaking to
an acquaintance. "I see the favors are 'chien d'or' bonbon dishes,"
pointing to the quaint little china dishes. "He always presents a copy
of 'The Golden Dog' to highly honored visitors."
"Your father has been telling us about it," said Judith, "and he
promised me a copy when we get home."
"I'm coming back to sketch here some summer," announced Sally May;
"Quebec's simply full of places wanting to be painted."
After the luncheon the boys took them home, and as Judith was still
tired from her exertions of the last two days, they voted to spend the
afternoon at home, and curled themselves up in comfortable chairs in the
sitting-room prepared to discuss a box of chocolates and the universe in
general.
"What're you going to do after school, Judy?" demanded Nancy; and then
without waiting for an answer--"I believe Mother is going to let me
train to be a nurse. I've just been crazy to be a nurse ever since I was
about ten. Mother has laughed at me and said I would get over it, but
she sees that I really mean it, and I think she is willing now. I don't
know where I'll go. Florence Matthews says you can get the best training
in New York, but Mother thinks New York is too far away, and anyway I
have to take a Domestic Science course first."
"You'll look perfectly sweet in a uniform, Nancy," said Sally May; "I
simply adore the kerchiefs the nurses wear in some of the hospitals.
It's too bad the war is over. Wouldn't it have been thrilling to nurse
soldiers!"
"I'm going to be an artist," Sally May continued, "with a studio in New
York. I'm going to buy all sorts of lovely embroidery and pottery in the
East--I know a perfectly lovely shop in Shanghai--and I'll make a
gorgeous room. I'm sure I could make it perfectly fascinating, full of
atmosphere, you know," she continued vaguely. "I'll have afternoon tea
every day and invite heaps of people, interesting people, who do
out-of-the-ordinary things. Patricia Caldwell's cousin had the
loveliest time. Patricia says her studio is just like an old-fashioned
French salon."
"What about your pictures?" asked Judith slyly.
"Oh, of course I'll work hard," said Sally May happily. "I simply love
to draw."
"What are you going to be, Judy?"
"I'm not sure," said Judith slowly, "but I think I'd like to be a
teacher."
"A teacher?" chorused the other two in surprise. "Why, Judy, what a
funny idea!" said Sally May.
"I don't see why it's funny," Judith objected. "I think it would be
splendid to be like Miss Marlowe or head of a school like Miss
Meredith."
"Well, you'll never get married if you are a teacher," said Sally May
with finality; "at any rate, not for ages and ages."
"Why not?" said Judy.
This was a poser.
"W-e-l-l--you'd have to learn so much, you see."
Judith laughed. "I hadn't thought of that, but I thought you were going
to be an artist," she added teasingly.
"But not all my life," expostulated Sally May, and Judith and Nancy
laughed to think of Sally May's picture of a hard-working artist.
Judith considered the matter of her future seriously as she dressed for
dinner.
It might be nice to be married--think how lonely she and Mummy would be
without Daddy--but of course she couldn't marry Daddy; and then she
laughed at herself as she remembered Daddy's story of the small girl who
sobbed that she didn't ever want to get married because, as she couldn't
have daddy, she'd have to marry a perfect stranger.
"Perhaps some one like Tim would be nice," thought Judith, and after the
fashion of most sixteen-year-olds she began to weave a shadowy romance
with a Prince Charming as its central figure. Tim had walked to the
Château with them this morning, and although he had not condescended to
talk beyond the merest civilities, this silence had merely served to
enhance his romantic value in Judith's eyes. She wondered what he was
thinking of. Perhaps he was living over again a battle in the clouds--as
a matter of fact, Tim was wondering why he hadn't received a certain
letter which he had hoped for on Christmas Day. Judith hoped he would
like her new frock, and wondered how many dances he would ask her for on
New Year's night.
The Nairns were a musical family. Nancy always went to the piano and
played for her father after dinner, sometimes Mrs. Nairn joined in with
her violin, and to-night Tim appeared with his 'cello.
Judith loved to attend symphony concerts and the tuning-up of the
orchestra never failed to give her delicious thrills, but she had never
had a speaking acquaintance--so to speak--with a 'cello before this, and
the beautiful mellow tones delighted her more than anything she had ever
heard before. As she undressed that night she revised her plans for the
future. She would devote herself to music and study hard so that when
they were married she might be her husband's accompanist. "On wings of
music" they would soar, and when they did come back to earth it must be
to a bungalow, a dear little grey-stone bungalow. She spent a happy time
planning the furnishing of her music-room and fell asleep before she had
decided on the respective merits of old oak and mahogany.
Next day began with "Happy New Year" and ended with the jolliest of
family parties. All the members of the house-party spent a busy day, for
Mrs. Nairn had plenty for the two maids to do in the kitchen. Sally May
was discovered to have a talent for decorating, so she and Jack and Tim
hung evergreens and holly and placed ferns and flowers where they would
show to the best advantage, while Nancy and Judith whisked about with
dusters and brushes.
"Music in the living-room, dancing in the drawing-room and hall, and
cards upstairs in Mother's sitting-room," said Nancy as they set the
small tables. "That's what we always have, and then everybody dances a
Sir Roger de Coverly--you should see Uncle Phil and Aunt Maria
dancing--and afterwards we have supper."
They had a picnic tea at six o'clock in the sitting-room as the maids
were arranging the supper-table in the dining-room, and then came the
fun of dressing.
Judith had kept her new silver frock as a great surprise, and now it was
thrilling to burst into Nancy's room in all her new finery. Nancy and
Sally May said it was "perfectly sweet," and even Jack, "who never
notices" (according to Nancy), looked and whistled his admiration as
Judith came downstairs, her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing with
excitement, and her pretty frock swishing about her in a highly
gratifying manner.
Guests were arriving at an unfashionably early hour, since it was
largely a family party, and Judith was introduced to a bewildering
number of cousins and cousins' cousins and aunts and uncles.
But where was Tim? He had not been home for tea, and although Judith
listened and watched there was no sign of him.
"Tim went out early this afternoon to pay calls and he isn't back yet,"
Sally May informed Judith. "I think Mrs. Nairn is rather worried about
him."
The younger set had been dancing for an hour or more and Jack had proved
an attentive host, but Judith was still half unconsciously looking for
Tim when suddenly she saw him in the doorway with an exquisitely pretty
girl beside him. Perhaps it was Tim's radiant look which he was making
no effort to hide, perhaps it was his partner's radiant looks which she
was trying to hide, but however it was Judith had the quick conviction
that this was a very special partner. The newcomer was slim and
graceful, and Judith saw with sudden envy that her hair was like spun
gold and her eyes as blue as forget-me-nots.
Tim danced with no one else, and in spite of Jack's attentions and no
lack of interesting partners, Judith began to feel a little
disconsolate. However, it was hard not to be merry at such a merry
party; there was happiness in the very air.
The Sir Roger was a great success, and Uncle Phil, aged seventy-two,
upheld his reputation as the gayest dancer of them all.
At supper-time Nancy and Judith were helping to serve the little tables
in the library when Judith saw Tim with his partner come in and go over
to Mr. and Mrs. Nairn. Nancy suddenly squeezed Judith's arm.
"Oh, Judy, Judy, they're engaged! I'm sure they are! Look at Tim! We
were pretty sure he was in love with her, and Lois is such a darling!"
Then she rushed over to put her arms around Lois, and Judith was left
alone feeling bereaved of husband, home, and career at one cruel
stroke.
"The nicest party I ever was at," said Sally May enthusiastically as the
three said good-night after a long discussion of the evening's fun, "and
I think you looked nicer than anybody else, Judy. I do hope you won't
get conceited about the way you look in that new frock. I know I
should."
"The nicest party I ever was at," thought Judith before she fell asleep,
"and the very nicest people. Jack is a brick--he's been awfully kind to
me. I wish I was half as pretty as Lois Selkirk. What _would_ it feel
like to be engaged?--I guess it would be exciting! However, then I
wouldn't be going back to York Hill--and that will be exciting next term
and no mistake. Oh, how glad I am that I've got Nancy!"