CONCERNING JACK
The consciousness of her responsibilities made Nan awaken with a start
quite early in the morning. After her festivities, Mitty could not be
expected to appear before nine o'clock, consequently, the matter of
breakfast depended entirely upon Nan. She was sufficiently rested after
her night's sleep to look upon the day's prospects with more calmness
than had seemed possible the night before. The storm had passed; all
the fears and dreams vanished in the sunshine. The whole world appeared
fairer. The heavy rain had washed the dust from the leaves; the grass
sprang up in livelier green; the morning-glories over the porch were
fresh and beautiful; the very earth looked refreshed. Birds were
singing in the bushes; a rooster was lustily crowing from a fence rail.
"It has cleared off beautifully," said Nan as she opened the kitchen
door to look out. "Good morning, Lady Gray," she greeted the big cat
which came purring to rub against her. "I hope my stormy time is over,
too," she went on. "It certainly was a gray day yesterday, but to-day
Aunt Sarah will surely come and Mitty will be back, so there is only
breakfast to trouble me. I haven't the least idea what I ought to have,
or, I should say, what I can have. I thought Aunt Sarah would be here
to decide all such things. I can't have bacon and eggs again! Unc'
Landy! Ah, Unc' Landy!" she called to the old man who was just issuing
from his cabin.
He came toward her. "Mawnin,' miss," he said, taking off his battered
hat with a bow. "Fine day arter de rain."
"It is indeed. Unc' Landy, I want you to cut some slices of ham for me."
"Yass, miss. Whar dat Mitty?"
"Now you know Mitty won't get back till nine o'clock. She never does
after a festival or a picnic or a parlor social, as she calls it. She
is too sleepy after staying up half the night."
"Po' miserble sinnah," grumbled Unc' Landy. "Bad man git her suah ef
her foots keep on a-twitchen' when de banjo play."
"Oh, Mitty is all right," returned Nan smiling. "You are too hard on
her, Unc' Landy."
"'Tain' no use talkin' to dese yer light-haided young uns," he replied.
"Yuh jest bleedged to beat erligion inter 'em. Dey foots is on de broad
road to destruction, and yuh bleedged to drive 'em back wid er stick,
jest lak a sheep er a heifer er a pig when dey gits outer de parf. How
much ham yuh reckon yuh wants, honey?"
"Oh, a couple of slices. I suppose you can tell how long to cook it. I
had an awful time with my supper last night, and it wasn't very good
after all. I forgot to put salt in the biscuits and the bacon was
chunky."
"Whafo' yuh mek any fuss jest fo' yuh-alls?" said Unc' Landy. "Why yuh
don' jest picnic till yo' Aunt Sarah come? 'Tain' no diffunce ef yuh
chilluns ain' got a comp'ny brekfus."
"But it is a difference when we have two strangers."
"Strangers? Who dey?" Unc' Landy looked greatly surprised.
"The Gordon boys, Randolph and Ashby. They were to have come to-day,
you know, but they got here yesterday instead."
"Law, honey, is dat so? An' de ole man ain' on han' to he'p yuh-alls
out when dat fool chile Mitty away. Now, ain' dat scan'lous fo' Unc'
Landy git ketched in de rain an' not git home in time fo' suppah? I
clar it righ down owdacious. Nemmine, don' yuh werry, chile, I fix yo'
brekfus. What yuh reckon yuh have?"
"Ham; you know I asked you to cut it."
"Brile ham. Yes'm, and a pone, aig pone. How dat do?"
"I used all the eggs last night."
"Dey mo' in de hen-house, I reckon. I git 'em. Coffee, yuh bleedged ter
have a good cup of coffee."
"Well, yes, I suppose Randolph drinks it and maybe Ashby does. We'll
have it, anyhow."
"Might fry some taters, er tomats," suggested Unc' Landy.
"Yes, they would be good."
"Den go 'long an' set de table, honey, whilst I git de aigs, an' den'
yuh come tell ole Landy whar things is an' he git yo' brekfus. He cook,
yass 'm, dat he kin. He domeskit, Landy are." And chuckling at this
self praise the old man jogged down to the hen-house while Nan flew to
set the table, greatly relieved at having so capable an assistant.
The breakfast turned out to be all it should. The ham was cooked to
a turn; the egg pone, light and puffy, came to the table hot and
delicious; the coffee was perfect; the tomatoes fried brown and
surrounded by a tempting gravy. Nan tried to make conversation and
her sisters ably assisted her, but the boys were not very responsive,
though Nan concluded it was shyness and not pride which prevented
them from being more talkative. They escaped as soon as the meal
was over and Nan drew a sigh of relief. "They certainly aren't very
good company," she remarked. "Jean seems the only one they will have
anything to say to."
"You forget she dressed up in her best and entertained them yesterday,"
said Mary Lee, laughing. "What did you talk about, kitten?"
"Oh, fings to eat, and--and horses and--dogs."
"No wonder then they found something to say," laughed Nan. "Now run
along and get ready for school. Mary Lee will start later and I may not
get there at all."
"There isn't going to be any school to-day," returned Jean.
"Why not? Who said so?"
"Jack said so."
"How did she find out?"
"I don't know. She said this morning when we were getting dressed that
there wasn't going to be any school to-day."
"It isn't a holiday. I'd like to know why," said Nan reflectively. "Are
you sure, Jean?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I asked Jack twice and both times she said: 'There
isn't going to be any school.'"
"To be sure we weren't there yesterday," said Nan, "and she probably
heard from some one over at Cousin Mag's. Where is Jack?"
"I don't know."
"Go find her, there's a good girl."
Jean went out. She saw nothing of her twin, so she sought the dog who
would be a willing and able help in finding Jack.
As she stood at the gate, looking up and down the street, the two boys
came out. "What are you looking for?" asked Randolph.
"I'm looking for Trouble," she replied.
The boy gave a short laugh. "You'll find it soon enough if you look for
it," he said, passing on and leaving Jean much puzzled by his remark.
Finding neither Jack nor Trouble in this direction, she sought Unc'
Landy and Trouble was discovered gnawing a ham bone by the old man's
cabin door. "Come, Trouble, find Jack," called Jean.
The dog dropped his bone, cocked his head to one side, flopped an ear
over one eye and looked at her brightly.
"Find Jack. Come, where's Jack?" repeated Jean. Then Trouble
understood, and set off down the street, Jean following.
Just before the schoolhouse was reached, Jack was discovered sitting on
the steps of a vacant house. She had settled herself there before any
of the school children came that way. There were too many interesting
things occurring for Jack to wish to waste her time at school, and she
had argued out a plan of proceeding which ought to satisfy everybody,
she reflected. There could be no school without scholars and she would
see to it that there were no scholars. As each child came along she
promptly called out: "There isn't going to be any school to-day." She
felt that this was strict truth. The first arrivals turned back all
too readily and repeated Jack's words to the others they met, so that
within the schoolroom the teacher wondered and waited till ten o'clock.
By that time Jack, feeling that the day was saved, left the steps where
she had been sitting and went to the station to wait the first train in
from Washington.
Before this, however, Trouble had discovered her to Jean in his most
polite manner. "Nan wants you, Jack," announced Jean, running up.
"I don't care. She's not my mother," returned Jack.
"You'd better come."
"I will when I'm ready."
"I'm going straight home to tell her."
"I don't care."
"I don't see what you want to sit here for all by yourself."
"Because I choose."
In this mood Jack was not companionable, as Jean knew to her sorrow,
and so, after a look of virtuous reproach at her sister, and a lifting
of her head in scorn, she walked off with switching skirts, pounding
down her heels very hard and calling back: "I'll tell Aunt Sarah too."
"She hasn't come yet," called Jack in return.
"You don't know whether she has or not," came the reply in fainter
tones.
"I do so. The train doesn't get in till eleven. Ba-ah!" Then Jean
indignantly pursued her way to pour forth her grievance in Nan's ear.
"She was sitting on the steps of the old Southall house," she reported,
"and she wouldn't come when I said you wanted her. She said 'Ba-ah!'
too, and she told me she'd come when she was ready."
Nan knew Jack's eccentricities of old, and that she should choose
to be sitting on the steps of the Southall house was not a matter
of surprise, though she wondered why Jack preferred to be there to
enjoying her own home garden on a holiday. But she did not think it
wise to try to force an obedience which very likely would not be given,
so she said: "Well, never mind, let her stay there if she likes it.
Perhaps she is waiting for some one. Isn't that Mitty coming? It looks
like her yellow hat."
"It is Mitty," Jean assured her, "but her hat looks funny and she's got
on an old calico wrapper."
Mitty entered rather shamefacedly. She had a tale of woe to tell. She
had been caught in the rain and her clothes had suffered. She had gone
to the "fessible," however, but it rained so hard that she, with most
of the others, had to stay all night. There was a fight which scared
her nearly to death, and there was no place to sleep, for the older
persons took up all the floor space. She had walked home when daylight
came, and had gone to bed at her mother's, but she was "clean tuckered
out." And, indeed, at intervals during the rest of the day, one or
another of the girls came upon her sound asleep over her work.
At eleven o'clock came Aunt Sarah, accompanied by Jack, who had met
her at the train. Ordinarily Nan would not have been so overjoyed to
see Aunt Sarah. There were too frequent passages of arms between them
for the girl to look forward to her great aunt's visit with unalloyed
pleasure, but this time Miss Dent was given an exuberant welcome, not
only by Nan, but by the others. "We thought you would never get here,"
said Nan.
"I thought so myself," returned Aunt Sarah. "Henry Dent made me miss
the train by five minutes yesterday morning, so I had to take the
afternoon train. That was an hour late owing to a washout, so I
couldn't make connection in Washington, but had to stay all night there
with Cousin Lou, though I did get the earliest train this morning.
Your mother got off safely, Jack tells me. Why aren't you children at
school?"
"There wasn't any school to-day," promptly replied Jean.
"How's that?" Miss Dent turned sharply.
"I don't know," said Jean.
"Did you hear the reason?" asked Nan, turning to Jack. She had been so
occupied that the question of school had given her very little thought
that day.
"There wasn't one of the scholars there," replied Jack truthfully and
with a guileless look.
"How do you know?"
"I was down there and saw."
"Down where? Did you go to the schoolhouse?"
"I didn't go in."
"Didn't Miss Lawrence come?"
Jack hesitated, but she was equal to the emergency. "I didn't see her,"
she made answer.
"I wonder if she is ill," said Mary Lee. "We didn't hear that she was
yesterday, and yet Jack knew this morning before breakfast that there
wasn't to be any school. She told us so."
"How did you find out?" Aunt Sarah fixed a keen look upon Jack. "Look
here, Jacqueline Corner, it strikes me that there is a screw loose
somewhere. Did you tell your sister that there wouldn't be any school
so you could have a holiday?"
Jack faced her questioner unflinchingly. "It's just as I said, Aunt
Sarah. There wasn't truly any school to-day."
"I'll find out the why and wherefore," replied Aunt Sarah, shaking her
head warningly. "How did you get along, Nan? I suppose with Mitty and
Unc' Landy you have had no trouble."
"We had an awful time," Nan answered. "Mitty took an afternoon and
evening off. Mother promised her long ago that she should go to the
festival of the Sons and Daughters of Moses and Aaron and we had a
terrible thunder-storm that scared us nearly to death and that kept
Unc' Landy from getting back from the mill where he had gone for some
feed. Then the boys came and it was pitch dark before I could get
supper ready."
"Yes, and Jack fell down and mashed the cake so some of it was crite
flat," put in Jean.
"I don't care; it was dreadfully slippery coming up the hill and,
anyhow, it tasted good. Randolph ate two pieces," protested Jack.
"So did you," retorted Jean.
"Hush, hush your squabbling, children," said Aunt Sarah. "Well, Nan,
you did have your hands full. I'd have been more put out than I was if
I had known those boys were here. I suppose, though, you didn't make
any difference for them, just two youngsters like them."
"Indeed we did make a difference," Jack told her proudly. "We had out
all the best china and silver, and Nan made biscuits, and we borrowed
cake from Cousin Mag, and all that."
"For pity's sake, what did you make all that fuss for over two young
cubs of boys?"
"We wanted to give them a good impression," said Nan, with dignity.
"Mother says so much depends upon the first impression."
Aunt Sarah laughed. "Well, you might have saved yourselves in my
opinion. What are the lads like? Nice fellows?"
"I suppose so," returned Nan doubtfully. "They haven't given us much of
a chance to find out. Randolph says very little and Ashby nothing at
all except: 'Please pass the bread' or 'Please pass the butter.'"
"Those remarks don't furnish much of a clue to character," remarked
Aunt Sarah with a little smile. "Probably they are bashful and are
not used to girls. Here in a houseful of them with no older person
they feel mighty queer, I have no doubt. Their tongues will loosen up
after a few days. You put them in your room? Your mother wrote that you
wanted to."
"Yes, and we made it look pretty well. There is a broken chair that
Unc' Landy is going to mend, and some of our clothes are still in the
press."
"Well, I'll get myself settled and we'll soon have things in running
order," returned Aunt Sarah, rising to go to her room.
Nan gave a sigh of relief. It lifted a great weight from her shoulders
to have capable Aunt Sarah on hand, to know that in a few minutes the
black cashmere would be substituted by a neat calico and that, in her
working garb, Aunt Sarah would take control.
"Come, Mary Lee," said Nan, "Aunt Sarah will see to everything. There
is really nothing for us to do, so let's go work in our gardens. It's a
splendid day for weeding."
The girls' gardens were side by side. In Nan's grew currant bushes,
a dwarf apple-tree, tiny tomatoes, yellow and red, sweet corn, and
in one corner, pleasant smelling herbs, thyme, tansy, sage, lavender
and bergamot. Flowering beans ran over her share of the fence, and a
rollicking pumpkin vine sprawled its length along the line between this
and Mary Lee's garden. All in Nan's garden appealed to the senses.
She gloated over the delicate pink blooms which covered her small
tree in the spring. She reveled in the shining red currants hanging
in clusters among the green leaves. She delighted in the scarlet and
yellow tomatoes, in the delicate bloom of the lavender, the graceful
green of the tansy, the perfume of the bergamot. These gardens were
theirs provided they raised something useful, and Nan had kept within
the limits, but her mother smiled to see how she had chosen.
Mary Lee, on the contrary, showed a practical utilitarianism. Potatoes,
onions, large lusty tomatoes, solid cabbages, mighty turnips, radishes
and lettuce were what she aspired to cultivate, and right well did the
crops show.
"I think I'll have an asparagus bed next year," said Nan bending down
to gather a leaf of bergamot. "It looks so pretty and feathery, and
after it is once started it is no trouble at all."
"It will take up a lot of room," returned Mary Lee. "I do wish you'd
pull up that old pumpkin vine; it's getting all in among my turnips."
"It's too late in the season for it to hurt them," returned Nan
nonchalantly, "and I really can't keep it on my side, Mary Lee, unless
I sit here all day and all night watching it, for it grows so fast I'm
continually having to unwind it from something. I believe it is a fairy
vine, an ogre--no, it's too jolly to be an ogre. It may be a playful
giant that grabs at everybody just to be funny."
"I don't think it's a bit funny," replied Mary Lee, not possessing
Nan's humor. "I just wish you'd come and get it away from my side."
Nan stepped across the twig fence which separated the two gardens.
"Come here, old Giant Pumpkin-head," she said. "You must stop curling
your fingers around everything you see. Stay on your own side." She
dragged the obtrusive length of vine across to her own garden. "He does
spread mighty near over the whole place," she continued. "I'm afraid I
shall have to put a spell on him another year. Oh, I know where I'll
have him next season."
"Where?" asked Mary Lee industriously pulling up weeds which yielded
easily after the rain.
"Oh, never mind where. I can't tell just yet," Nan hastened to say, for
her thought was to allow a pumpkin vine to have its own way upon the
edge of the field where she had her retreat. She, too, fell to pulling
weeds, but presently she cried: "Mary Lee, Mary Lee, Miss Lawrence is
coming up the street and I believe she is coming to our house."
"Then she isn't ill," returned Mary Lee, brushing the earth from her
hands.
"No, and here comes Jack running for dear life. I must go see what she
wants. Heigho, Jack!"
The child came tumultuously toward them. "Oh, Nan, don't let her see
me," she cried.
"Let who see you?"
"Miss Lawrence. She's coming after me."
"Coming after you? and why? You know she's not bothering about you
unless you have been up to some trick. Have you, Jack?"
Jack clung to Nan's hand. "I didn't tell a story. There couldn't be any
school when there were no scholars, could there?"
"No, I suppose not."
"I did so want to help," said Jack. "I knew you would have to stay home
and get dinner if Aunt Sarah didn't come, and I wanted to go and meet
her if she did."
"But what did you do?" Nan drew the child to one side. "Now tell sister
the whole truth, Jack, and unless it is something perfectly dreadful,
I'll try to get you let off. What did you do?"
"I just told Carrie Duke and Laura Fitchett there wouldn't be any
school, and they went and told a whole lot of the others, and when any
one else came along I told them, too. There wasn't any school, so I
didn't tell a story."
Nan giggled outright. She couldn't help it. Of course, it was not
right, but the plan was so ingenious and the logic so like Jack's that
she couldn't be angry. Moreover, she was but a child herself who liked
a holiday. "I'll tell you what to do," she advised. "You go over to
Cousin Mag's and tell her I'll send back some cake to-morrow, that I am
very much obliged to her for helping us out, that Aunt Sarah has come
and that we shall have no more trouble. Then I'll go up to the house
and say I have sent you on an errand. You may stay over there for a
little while, if you like. Of course," she added, feeling that perhaps
she was too lenient, "you did very wrong, and if Miss Lawrence asks me
I shall have to tell her what you did, but if she is very mad you'd
better not be on hand, especially as Aunt Sarah is there, too. Now, run
along."
"Oh, Nan, you are so dear," cried Jack, giving her a hug. "I haven't
been comfortable all day, and when I saw Miss Lawrence coming, and I
felt so afraid, like Adam and Eve in the garden, I knew I hadn't done
right. It didn't seem very wrong when I first thought about it this
morning."
"I can't say it was right," said Nan with decision, "but go now." And
Jack took the benefit of her advice.
"I'm going up to the house to see Miss Lawrence," Nan called to Mary
Lee. "Will you come, too?"
"Not unless she particularly wants me. My hands are a sight, and I do
want to finish this weeding while the ground is so nice and soft."
Nan went slowly toward the house. She did not mean to excuse Jack but
she meant to shield her. It was always Nan's way and Jack realized that
her eldest sister was her most tolerant friend. There were occasions
when even Nan's patience gave out, but her mother feeling for her
little sister was too strong for her not to love this wayward one,
perhaps, best of all.
She found Miss Lawrence and Miss Dent in animated conversation. Miss
Lawrence was hardly through her greeting before she began to question.
"Why weren't you at school to-day, Nan?" she asked.
"I couldn't come, Miss Lawrence. Mother went yesterday, and our girl
was away, too, so I just had so much to do I couldn't come."
"Oh, I see. Miss Dent has been telling me of your mother's absence. I
am sorry."
"Nan, where is Jack?" asked Miss Sarah.
"I sent her on an errand, Aunt Sarah. She'll be back after a while."
"Do you know anything of her having reported that there would be no
school to-day?" asked Miss Lawrence severely. "Not a scholar came
though I waited till after ten. I could not imagine why it was and
have tried to trace the cause. From what I learned Jack was the first
one who started the report. Why did she think there would be no school?"
Nan glanced at her Aunt Sarah and was relieved to see that she did not
wear her severest look though Miss Lawrence looked sternly unsmiling.
"I don't think the way Jack looked at it," began Nan, addressing Miss
Lawrence, "that she meant to tell a story. She said there couldn't be
any school if there were no scholars, and so she saw to it that there
were no scholars. She always wants to help and she knew how busy I
would be, but she knew, too, that I would insist upon her going to
school and so she thought out this plan for having a holiday."
There was actually a smile on Aunt Sarah's face.
"That's Jack all over," she said. "And I know full well that from her
point of view she believed she wasn't telling a story."
"That's what she said to me," Nan again asserted.
"It's most astonishing," said Miss Lawrence, but even in her eyes there
was a flicker of amusement as she glanced at Miss Dent. "Of course, she
must be punished," she went on, "for she must realize how wrong it was
and such things cannot be overlooked."
"She didn't really think about its being wrong till she saw you
coming," said Nan, "and then she was scared to death, poor little Jack."
This was most tactful of Nan, for Miss Lawrence had a great horror of
being dreaded and disliked. She believed in firmness but in gentle and
loving control, so she said, "She should not have been scared of me,
Nan. I am never unjust, I hope."
"What are you going to do to her?" asked Nan, feeling that she must
learn the worst. "If it's very bad, Miss Lawrence, please let me take
the punishment; I'm bigger, you know."
The tears sprang to Miss Lawrence's eyes. Nan had scored a second
time, all unconsciously. "Why, my dear, do you believe I could be
harsh enough to inflict anything dreadful upon a little girl? I assure
you I shall do nothing worse than keep her in after school and give
her a lecture, not an unkind one, but I hope to be able to make her
understand the nature of an untruth better than she does now. I am glad
to know the exact facts, Nan; it will make it easier for me to deal
with her."
"Shall you tell the whole school?" asked Nan anxiously.
Miss Lawrence considered the question. "No, I think not. I will simply
tell them that a false report arose and that another time they must
come to see for themselves, and that any announcement of a holiday
will be made from the desk by me personally." She then bade Miss Dent
good-bye, and stooped to kiss Nan whose championship had won the day
for naughty little Jack.
Jack took her punishment stoically and the only remark about it was in
answer to her sister's question: "Was it very dreadful, Jack? Was she
awfully solemn and terrible?"
Jack's reply was philosophical: "Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words can never hurt me," she said gravely. And that was all any
one was ever able to get out of Jack.
[Illustration: CHAPTER VII
A TOURNAMENT WITH PETE]