A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK
The summer was drawing to a close. There were only two weeks more
of Camp, and Round Robin was resolved to make the most of this
fortnight, before the little group should scatter to the four
quarters of the land. For as Dick said it was like “boxing the
compass” when they compared their winter plans. Dick was putting in
long hours finishing up his studies with Hugh, before starting back
to his home in the far West. Beverly, like the summer birds which
were already showing restless flutterings in the treetops, would soon
be flitting South. Victor was going to try his fortunes in New York,
where Norma lived. Gilda and the Batchelders were due in Boston,
where the public schools open early. And Cicely must sail back to
England before the autumn storms were due. Nelly Sackett was still
in High School at Old Harbor; she alone would remain, it seemed. Then
there was Anne. What about Anne?
Round Robin was agreed that they must all treat Anne exactly as if
nothing had happened. Anne was still Anne, and they had voted her a
full and satisfactory member. The thing was to have as good a time
and to make her have as good a time as possible in the short weeks
left of the precious summer. There weren’t likely to be any more such
exciting happenings as had kept them all on tenterhooks during these
last days. But there were picnics and excursions planned; the hours
were not long enough for all the delightful things they had put off
till the end of summer, while the days were already growing shorter.
The morning Anne was expected back to camp Tante sent the Twins
off to pick blueberries. Cicely and Nancy had already started
with baskets for a “mushroam,” as they called a tramp to find the
delicious tawny chanterelles that hid in the shadows under the spruce
trees. Dick was studying in his tent; some of the others had gone for
the mail.
Beverly announced that she was going to see Sal Seguin. The old
Indian woman was free again, but Captain Sackett had let her live in
his barn for a day or two, while she was being questioned about what
she had seen that night when Idlewild was burned. Beverly wanted to
give her a little present before she went home, for she and the old
woman had become very good friends. Tante was left alone at Round
Robin to welcome Anne; which was exactly what she had planned. She
did not know that at this very moment Norma was racing breathless
along the road, hoping to intercept Anne at the end of Cap’n
Sackett’s lane.
“Heia! Hoia!” sang Norma in her musical soprano as she spied the
two girls coming towards her, and in her dramatic Italian way she
flourished a paper high in the air. Anne and Nelly, who were talking
earnestly together, stopped their conversation and came up to her
with a question. It did not seem as if there could be any event left
to cause such excitement.
“Good news!” called Norma, her big eyes shining. And running forward
she seized Anne in her arms and kissed her warmly. “I have had an
answer to my telegram. I thought it would come this morning.” The
girls still stared. They did not know about any telegram. But Norma
explained that it was from her father in New York. “Let me read it,”
she said unfolding the paper. “I ran all the way from the Post Office
because I couldn’t wait, Anne.”
The telegram was, after its kind, brief and emphatic. “‘Wire
needs of your girl friend. How much? Tell her bank on me. G.
Sonnino.’--There!” said Norma triumphantly. “That’s just like Father!
Now it’s all right.”
But Anne looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” she said. “I don’t
understand.”
“It means that as soon as Father heard about--about your trouble,
Anne, he just wanted to help. You can count on him for money enough
to do whatever you please--for a while, anyway. Father will do
anything for me, Anne. I am so glad!”
“Oh Norma!” exclaimed Nelly, glancing sidewise at Anne. She was
afraid the impulsive girl would hurt her cousin’s feelings. Anne
flushed a little and hesitated.
“It is awfully good of you Norma, and your Father is kind as can
be,” she said. “But--but I hope I shall not have to borrow any money
from--from outside my family. I have a family, you know, Norma! Nelly
is my cousin and Cap’n Sackett is my grandfather. I don’t think he
would want me to take money from anyone else. Would he Nelly?”
Nelly shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said emphatically.
Norma’s face fell.
“I am so disappointed,” she said. But she was wise enough not to
press the point. “Well, I suppose I may as well wire Father now,”
she said, turning reluctantly back towards the village. “He will be
sorry. He loves to help.”
Here and there along the road a maple leaf turning red showed that
the short summer was nearing its end. Blackberries were ripening
above the stone walls. The birds were flitting in little groups
through the treetops, keeping together, ready for their coming long
flight. The golden rod stood suddenly ablaze, and the asters were
putting on their royal purple.
“What a lovely road it is!” said Anne. “I never used to notice such
things, but I have got new eyes this summer.”
They were about half way to Round Robin before they met Beverly. “Oh
Anne!” she cried running up as soon as she saw the two cousins. “I
_am_ so glad to see you again. I have missed you awfully. I’m on my
way to see old Sal. But I’ll be back before luncheon. Let’s go for a
swim as soon as I get back, shall we?”
“All right,” agreed Anne, glad to be offhanded.
Beverly turned on her heel as she was just disappearing down the
path, “I say, Anne,” she drawled, “don’t you make any engagements
for October! I’ve written Mother already that you are to come and
visit us in Virginia for at least a month. We’ll have the best time!
Everybody will want you; but don’t forget I’ve asked you first.”
Anne beamed upon her with pleasure. Beverly was such a dear!
“I’d love to come, if I can,” she said. “But I’ll have to ask
Grandfather, of course. And I don’t know about school yet.”
“We’ll fix it somehow,” Beverly nodded. “Mother will be crazy to see
you. And you’ll love Liveoaks, our old place. Well, so-long! I’ll
have to hurry if we are to get that swim.” And Beverly moved on, as
fast as Beverly could.
“How dear they are!” thought Anne. “I never would have believed it,
six weeks ago!”
Meanwhile, with Patsy in her lap, Tante sat on the piazza of the
bungalow watching for Anne. As she darned the stockings of the Twins
she glanced up every now and then anxiously. Anne was late. All these
meetings and talks had delayed her and Nelly. When at last Tante saw
the two girls coming along the path she laid down her mending and
went to greet them with a sweet smile. “I am glad to see you back,
Anne my dear!” she said, cordially. And Patsy arching his back seemed
to agree with her, in an amiable purr. “These two days have seemed
long to us.”
Nelly lingered at the foot of the steps. She hated to give up this
new-found cousin of hers. “I guess I will go back now,” she said,
reluctantly. “Will you come over to-morrow, Anne?”
“Of course I will,” said Anne heartily. “Don’t feed the rabbit till I
come. I want him to be glad to see me.”
“You don’t need to worry. We shall all be glad enough,” grinned
Nelly. Anne waved her out of sight. Then she sat down on the piazza
steps at Tante’s feet. It seemed as if she had been gone a week. But
Tante acted exactly as if nothing had happened. Tante always treated
everybody the same at one time as at another; which was one reason
why everybody loved her so much. She told Anne some of the things the
Club had planned for the next two weeks. Then she said quite casually
that of course the Camp would be closed in September, and not opened
till another summer.
“Another summer!” said Anne. “I suppose I shan’t see any of you till
then. Won’t it be odd?” Tante asked her if she had any plan for the
winter, and Anne hesitated. “Not any regular plan,” she asked. “You
know everything about me, don’t you, Tante?” Tante said yes, she did.
“I have a foreign name now!” said Anne. “Isn’t it queer? I can’t
quite get used to being _Anne Carlsen_,” she spoke it strangely.
Tante asked her if she liked her new name, and Anne confessed that
it sounded better to her than the old one. Then Tante said a strange
thing:
“Because, if you don’t like it we can change it. How would you like
the name of Batchelder, for instance? How would you like to call
Nancy your sister, and Hugh and the Twins your brothers, Anne?”
“Tante!” Anne gasped. What was she being offered? Nothing less than
a new home and family. She had seen enough of that family to guess
what a beautiful home they must have. Seeing Anne speechless, Tante
went on to tell her how she had consulted her children and how they
were pleased with the idea. They were not rich, she said. They lived
in a simple city house, not in the least like the former luxurious
home of Mr. Poole. They had no servants, and they all shared the work
together, just as at Round Robin. Tante was a teacher, and so was
Hugh. They would all have to earn their living some day. But, Tante
said, all American children ought to be able to do that, whatever the
future held in store for them. Anne should go to school with Nancy
and learn the things she wished. Then in summer there would again be
Camp, which was Tante’s “business.”
“You will be treated just the same as one of my own children, Anne,”
said Tante. And Anne knew that Tante never said what she did not mean.
“Oh Tante! And you have such a big family already!”
“We have a big house,” smiled Tante. “We love to keep it filled.”
Anne seemed to feel the warmth of happiness that must brim the rooms
in Tante’s big house, radiating from Tante’s own big heart. Then
suddenly she had a vision of the Captain’s happy look when she had
first called him “Grandfather,” and of Nelly’s wistful good-bye. And
she had a curious counter-pulling of her heart towards those people
who really belonged to her.
“Does Grandfather know?” she said falteringly. Tante nodded.
“Certainly, I consulted him first,” she said. “He is willing you
should choose for yourself, between his home and mine. Of course, you
would still see him in the summer; but I should want to adopt you
legally and have you take our name.”
Anne Carlsen stood looking at the ground, thinking harder than she
had ever thought in her life before. What Tante had said made her
very happy. To think that these lovely people wanted her in their
family! And wanted to share with her their good old Yankee name! She
was not yet quite familiar with her own proper Norwegian name; why
should she mind giving it up so soon? And yet--strangely enough--Anne
did not want to give it up!
“My _real_ name is Carlsen,” she was saying to herself. “I never
thought about what a real name meant, before. This one sounds
foreign, but it is _mine_; given me by my good sailor father whom I
never knew. I lost it once without knowing; now I have got it back
again. And I’d like to keep it and make it real American. It is only
a _sound_; that is all the Batchelder name is, too. But it’s _mine_.
And I can only be myself, not a Batchelder.” She looked up at Tante
with a wrinkle in her forehead, because she had been thinking so hard.
“You don’t have to tell me right away, Anne,” said Tante kindly.
“Think it over, Dear.” But Anne shook her head.
“Oh, Tante, you dear Tante!” she replied in a low voice. “I love you
all for inviting me. But if Grandfather wants me--and I think he
does, Nelly says so--I want to be his girl. I want to make good with
my own name, too. I think Grandfather would like that; because of my
mother.”
Tante kissed her affectionately. “You are a dear little girl!” she
said. “And you have thought things out pretty clearly, I see, in
this short time. But you mustn’t be in a hurry. Take time before you
decide, Anne.”
“That is what Grandfather said. But I have decided already,” said
Anne firmly. “I know I am doing right. If Grandfather wants me, I am
going to stay with him and Nelly. I shall do as he says, about school
and everything.” And she told Tante what she hoped to be, when she
should grow old enough to help in the world.
“I think you have chosen right,” said Tante. “But the children
will be disappointed. Your Grandfather and I shall have to do some
planning together.”
“Oh Tante! It is so nice to be _wanted_!” said Anne fervently.
Then the Twins came racing up. “Hooray, Anne!” cried Freddie. “Come
and play Indian with us, will you?”
“Come and see how we’ve finished the house you began for us, Anne,”
said Eddie pulling her by the hand. “It is so nice to have you back!”
“I’m coming,” said Anne. “And here’s Doughboy, too! But you just
ought to see my rabbits, Twins. Will you go over with me to
Grandfather’s house to-morrow and see Plon and the others? That will
be fun!”
Tante watched them racing down the path towards the sea; then went
out to meet Nancy who was just returning from a visit to the Maguire
children.
“Anne has decided to remain Anne Carlsen,” she said briefly. “I
thought she would.”
“Well, I didn’t,” confessed Nancy. “I thought she’d jump at our
family, Mother! The Golden Girl was just lonesome all the time, when
we thought her disagreeable. I didn’t half understand her.”
“If you are going to write stories--or do anything else successfully,
for that matter--you will have to learn to understand people,” said
Tante smiling. “It is a great part of Imagination. Fairy Stories are
only another small part, Nancy.”