Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
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VOL. III.--NO. 157. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, October 31, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
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[Illustration: "I AM YOUR SECOND COUSIN PHYLLIS."]
NAN.
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE,
AUTHOR OF "MILDRED'S BARGAIN," "AUNT RUTH'S TEMPTATION," ETC.
CHAPTER I.
"If a man had eight quarts of wine in one measure, and three in
another--"
Nan announced so much of a problem in her arithmetic, and then stopped
with a little groan of despair.
"Well?" said her cousin Marian, turning from the window.
"Oh dear!" sighed Nan, "what is the use of lessons, anyway? And if we
don't go down town soon, we won't be home in time for tea."
"What if we're not?" said the third inmate of the room, a boy of about
thirteen, who was lounging on the sofa. "But hurry up, Nan; there's no
use grumbling."
Nan planted her elbows rather more firmly into the table, clutched her
curly head with a pair of firm brown hands, and returned to the question
of the man and his wine. Marian watched the thin drizzling rain on the
garden beds, and Philip read his _Robinson Crusoe_, regardless of the
disorder of shells and minerals about him. For the matter of that, no
one of the three young people took special heed of his or her
surroundings. Marian did not care; Philip had a boy's feeling that he
could not help untidiness; and Nan had, after two years' residence
there, grown accustomed to the dingy shabbiness and vulgar disorder of
her step-aunt's house in Bromfield.
The room was a nondescript one, above a cheese and butter store. It was
half sitting-room, half parlor, and as long as Nan had known it the
furniture had been the same, except that the wear and tear of time had
made the chairs and table more rickety, the holes in the carpet more
dangerous to incautious walkers, and the drawers of the big sideboard or
press more uncertain in their way of moving in and out. The room
overlooked the main street of Bromfield, and, as I have said, was
directly above the store kept by Nan's step-aunt, Mrs. Rupert. A rather
dark corridor outside led to a rickety staircase. Below, was only a
small room off the store, and a kitchen, while above, the family were
crowded into three sleeping-rooms.
When Nan first came to live with the Ruperts she was painfully observant
of the things about her; but time had made many of the disagreeables
seem natural, although even now any one could read in the bright, sweet
face of my little heroine something more delicate and refined than her
surroundings.
Just what Nan Rolf looked like at thirteen it is hard to tell you.
Sitting at the table on this gray rainy day, she seemed to be the only
bright spot in the room. Marian was a head taller than Nan. She was a
pretty, rosy girl, in spite of her cramped life, and certainly would
develop into a handsome woman. But no one could have predicted anything
so definitely of little Nan. Her face was interesting, but not pretty;
the features were irregular, the hazel eyes were full of a certain
earnest sweetness, and though her mouth was rather wide, her smile was
bright and dimpling, and her teeth white and even. Perhaps if Nan's hair
had been in order, her clothes tidy and well-fitting, if she should
cross a room without awkwardness, she might have looked attractive to
any one. As it was, only those who cared to look a second time caught
the real spirit of the child's face, the fearless honesty in her glance,
the sweetness that made up for much lack of repose in her face and
manner.
Nan herself would have laughed gayly at the thought of any one counting
up her attractions, or, indeed, of their bestowing five minutes'
reflection upon her. Such as she was, she had grown up more like a
little wild flower, sharing what others around her had to offer, coming
in for scoldings and pettings, the former predominating, no doubt, but
never thinking much of her own individuality. Her step-aunt, Mrs.
Rupert, was a widow with four children, the eldest of whom was Marian;
and young as she was, Nan appreciated the kindness that offered her a
home when her parents died; for Nan had never seen her--indeed, had
scarcely heard of her, for the tie was not one of blood.
Mrs. Rupert's mother had married, a second time, Nan's grandfather,
himself a widower with one little girl, later Nan's mother. The
half-sisters had rarely met, for, before Mrs. Rolf was out of school,
her step-sister had made a marriage far beneath her, and removed to
Bromfield. Mrs. Rolf married, a few years later, a young lawyer, reputed
to be very well off in this world's goods; but she knew at the time that
he had quarrelled with his grandfather, from whom he had expected a
fortune. And so it chanced that little Nan came into the world, and had
lived her thirteen years in it, knowing no real relations.
When her mother's death left her a penniless orphan, Mrs. Rupert came
forward and took the child to her own home. Mrs. Rupert had made an
ineffectual effort, it is true, to reach some of Nan's paternal
relations; and even now the child was frequently puzzled by hearing her
aunt speak to others of her "having those belonging to her as rolled in
money."
Who or where they were Nan often wondered in a vague, childish way, but
could not tell. Her mother had died too suddenly to leave her any
directions, and her father Nan only remembered dimly. Keen as were her
instincts of refinement, and lonely as she often felt, yet little Nan
could look forward to no future which should be brighter than Marian's.
Philip was a boy; he, Nan liked to think, could go out into the world
and carve his own career; but for her, she felt sure, it could only be
the butter shop, the crowded little rooms, and the children always
needing to be cared for in some fashion from morning until night.