THE RED CLOTH
The sound of the fall startled Aunt Sarah from a sound sleep. She sat
up in bed and listened. All was quiet. "I couldn't have been dreaming,"
she murmured. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee," she called, "did you hear anything?"
"Huh?" said Mary Lee sleepily.
"Did you hear something fall? I thought I heard a scream and a fall. Is
Jean in bed with you?"
Mary Lee was now awake. "Yes, Aunt Sarah, she's here," she answered. "I
don't know whether I heard anything or not, I was so sound asleep."
Miss Sarah lay down again, but her ears were open to the slightest
noise and in a little while she heard a plaintive meow. Again she sat
up. "I hear a cat," she said. "It's somewhere near-by, and I shut Lady
Gray in the kitchen myself."
"Maybe it's on the porch roof," said Mary Lee, drowsily.
Miss Sarah arose and went to the window which overlooked the porch.
"Scat!" she said, putting out her head. She waited a few moments but
there was no sound from this quarter. When she drew in her head the
meowing sounded more plainly than ever.
"It certainly is in the house," said Miss Sarah. She went to the door
leading out into the hall and discovered that the sound seemed to come
from one of the rooms opposite. In one of these slept the boys; the
other was where she had turned the key upon Nan. Slipping on a dressing
gown and slippers, and taking a candle, she went forth to investigate.
She stopped first at the door where the Gordon boys slept; all was
still. At Nan's door she listened. It was plain that the meowing came
from there. Lady Gray having failed of catching the mouse had found her
way into the room which Nan had left and was trying to make it known
that she wished to be let out.
Miss Sarah opened the door and was met with every evidence of
satisfaction by Lady Gray. "How in the world did you get up here?"
asked Miss Sarah in surprise. But just then a curious damply smelling
air arrested her attention and she perceived the door standing ajar.
"Of all things!" she exclaimed and went on with her candle. "Nan,"
she called, "Nan, what prank is this? I wonder if that willful child
really has run off to her grandmother's." She cautiously went on to the
stairs, shading her candle with one hand and peering down into the
dark hallway. A white heap at the foot of the stairs caught her eye.
She hurried down to find Nan, pale and still, lying there.
"Oh, dear, dear, dear," cried Miss Sarah, "what has happened? Nan!
Nan!" but Nan did not stir.
Unable to carry both Nan and the candle, Miss Sarah hastened back to
her room. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee!" she called, "get up quick and bring a
candle! Hurry!"
At this peremptory summons, Mary Lee leaped from her bed. "What is the
matter? What is it?" she cried.
"Nan has fallen down the stairs. Come right along. Here, take both
candles and I'll carry her."
Trembling, Mary Lee followed apprehensively, and lighted the way for
her aunt to bear the helpless burden up-stairs to the room from which
the girl had escaped. As Mary Lee caught sight of the white face and
limp form, she burst into tears. "Oh, is she dead? Is she dead?" she
cried.
"I don't know," said Miss Sarah, her lips quivering. "Run get me some
camphor, or hartshorn or smelling salts, or, better yet, there is a
little brandy in the medicine closet; bring that."
"I'll bring them all," answered Mary Lee, rushing away and coming back
laden with bottles. "Oh, Aunt Sarah," she said, anxiously watching her
aunt force the brandy between the shut lips, "suppose she is dead!
Suppose she is, and I called her an angle-worm. Oh, my dear Nan! My
poor Nan! What will mother say?"
"Hush up," cried Aunt Sarah, tortured beyond forbearance. "I reckon
you're not the only one who is feeling distressed. She's coming around,
Mary Lee," she said presently, "but I can't tell whether there are any
bones broken or not. We'd better get the doctor at once. Her right arm
looks queer to me. Call Randolph and send him for Dr. Woods."
Aroused by the confusion, Jack came pattering to the door. "What is the
matter?" she called as she heard Mary Lee knocking on the boys' door.
"Nan's fallen down the stairs," said Mary Lee, concisely.
"Is she dreadfully hurt? Oh, Mary Lee, is she?"
"We don't know, but we are going to send for the doctor."
Jack rushed across to where Nan was lying. "Go right back to bed,"
commanded Aunt Sarah. "I don't want a case of croup. I've got about as
much as I can manage right here."
"I want to see my Nan."
"Go to bed," ordered Miss Sarah, and Jack sobbingly obeyed.
Mary Lee returned with the report that Randolph would go instantly.
She poured out some of the brandy and came close to the bed to see Nan
opening her eyes.
"She was stunned," said Aunt Sarah. "No, she mustn't have any liquor;
it will be bad for her now. She is gaining consciousness."
Nan gave a weak moan. "What's the matter?" she said faintly. "My arm
hurts so. Where's mother?"
Aunt Sarah's chin quivered and her eyes filled as she answered, "You've
had a fall, child. Keep quiet till the doctor comes."
Nan closed her eyes and lay still for a moment. Presently she said: "I
was hungry and I went down to get something to eat." Then she fainted
again and Aunt Sarah was busy with restoratives when the doctor came.
He was a bluff, hearty, middle-aged man who had known Nan all her life.
"What's all this?" he said. "Tumbling down stairs in the dead of night?
Walking like a ghost in shut up places? What does this mean, Miss Nan?"
Nan tried to smile but felt herself slipping off into an unreal world
while the doctor looked her over. "Nothing worse than a broken arm," he
decided, "only a simple fracture, fortunately." The bone was slipped
into place, causing a moment of exquisite agony, and after leaving a
soothing potion, the doctor said, "She will be feverish and possibly a
little delirious after her fall. I will come again in the morning." He
departed leaving Miss Sarah to a solitary vigil while Nan moaned and
wandered off again into the world of unreality.
Toward morning she began to mutter about strange things of which Aunt
Sarah had never heard: the Poppy Fairy and Giant Pumpkin-Head, the
Place o' Pines and the red cloth. Then she tried to sing a little
song beginning: "A little child goes wandering by." At this the tears
started to Aunt Sarah's eyes and she busied herself in putting iced
cloths on the burning head.
Sunday morning dawned softly bright, a dim haze over the purple
mountains and a faint mist enveloping the valley. Mary Lee awoke with
the realization that something distressful had happened. She told the
twins to keep very quiet for Nan was very sick, and it was a sober
little group which gathered around the breakfast table.
Randolph and Ashby tiptoed about cautiously. Jean took refuge with Unc'
Landy and Jack established herself just outside the door of the room
where Nan lay. Mary Lee rushed down to Cousin Mag's with the woeful
tale and Cousin Mag hurried back with her offers of help. She insisted
upon taking Aunt Sarah's place and allowing her to rest, but this Aunt
Sarah would not permit.
"I reckon I am more responsible for this than any one else is,
Margaret," she said. "I was in a perfect pepper-jig of a temper because
Nan went over to Uplands, and when she answered me back pretty saucily
I was madder at that than anything, so I made her go without her supper
and locked her up into the bargain. We're both of us pretty well
punished and I reckon it's going to be my only consolation to nurse
her."
Cousin Mag then declared that the twins should stay at her house a few
days and she would see to it that the housekeeping went on smoothly at
the Corners'. "You'll have to take some rest," she declared, "and I
will come over every day to see that you get it."
So began the long siege for Aunt Sarah and Nan, each of whom was
receiving a punishment not anticipated. Because she felt herself partly
to blame, Aunt Sarah was tenderness itself, and for the same reason Nan
was a docile patient.
Jean was perfectly willing to spend a week at Cousin Mag's and rather
liked the idea, but Jack at first rebelled, and only after receiving
the promise that she should see Nan every day was she willing to go.
So every afternoon a wistful little face appeared at Nan's door.
It was on the third day that Nan first noticed her. After her fever and
delirium, she lay weak and exhausted, but she gave a faint smile of
welcome to her little sister. Aunt Sarah had stepped from the room for
a minute and Jack ventured inside. "Can't I do something for you? May I
kiss you just once, Nannie?" she said softly.
"Yes indeed," said Nan, and Jack dropped a gentle kiss upon her cheek.
"Have you seen the red cloth?" asked Nan with as much anxiety in her
voice as her weakness would allow.
"Oh, I haven't looked," said Jack, "but I will." Aunt Sarah's footsteps
were heard in the hall and Jack slipped out. "I kissed her," she said
facing Aunt Sarah at the door, "but I didn't make her worse." Aunt
Sarah smiled but made no reply.
Jack went out into the hall. She had found something to do for Nan. She
tiptoed down-stairs and went out upon the porch softly closing the door
behind her and looking toward Uplands. Yes, there hung the red cloth
from the second story window. For a moment the child stood irresolute,
then she started off, but with more than one backward look. She was
doing the same thing as that for which Nan had been punished, but she
didn't care. It was for Nan. Nan wanted her Aunt Helen to know that
she could not come to her. She remembered that this had distressed her
sister in their talk that evening before the imprisonment.
The little girl trudged on downhill, across the brook and uphill, on
the other side. In a few minutes she had reached the house and was
trying to make up her mind at which door she should knock. She decided
upon that which opened upon the front porch and here she raised the
brass knocker and let it fall twice. The door was opened by Miss Helen
herself. Jack knew her at once from Nan's description, and it may be
that Miss Helen guessed Jack's identity for she said: "Come in, dear."
"I can't come in," said Jack. "Nan's tumbled down-stairs and has broken
her arm. She can't come to see you and she's dreadful sorry."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear, how grieved I am to hear that!" said Miss Helen.
"How did it happen?"
"Aunt Sarah shut her up and wouldn't give her any supper, so she got up
in the night and Lady Gray saw a mouse and jumped so the candle went
out and Nan fell nearly all the way from the top. It's a wonder she
wasn't killed, Cousin Mag says."
Just what Lady Gray had to do with the accident Miss Helen could not
clearly understand. "Oh, I am so sorry," she repeated. She hesitated
before asking, "Why did Aunt Sarah shut her up?"
Jack did not reply at once. "I don't believe I ought to tell that," she
said. Then after some consideration of the subject: "Maybe I can tell
half; she shut her up for one thing and she made her go without her
supper because Nan sassed her back."
Miss Helen smiled but immediately she said gravely, "Nan should not
have done that."
"Maybe you would, too, if you were doing something your mother let you
do and your mother's aunt said you shouldn't," returned Jack, feeling
that in this rather mixed-up speech she had adequately excused Nan, and
Miss Helen read the meaning sufficiently well to take in the fact that
Miss Sarah had disapproved of Nan's coming to Uplands.
"Aunt Sarah has written to mother," said Jack, "and Mary Lee has
written, too, so I reckon Aunt Sarah will feel awfully sorry when
mother's letter comes and says Nan wasn't disobeying." Jack gave
further enlightenment. "I see Nan every day," she added.
"I am sure that makes Nan happier," returned Miss Helen. "Which of the
twins are you? Jack, I suppose."
"Yes, I am Jack. Jean is over to Cousin Mag's. We sleep there now while
Nan is sick. Nan won't be able to write for ever so long, for her
right arm is all wrapped up in something and she can't move it. It is
funny that it is her right arm and her writing arm, too, isn't it? I
must go now."
"I wish you could stay," said Miss Helen wistfully. "I will write
to Nan, and you must give her my love. Can't you stay and see your
grandmother? She is asleep now, for she is very tired, but she will
waken soon."
"I'm afraid I can't stay," said Jack who had no great desire to see a
grandmother of whom she had heard from Mary Lee and Unc' Landy only ill
reports. "I saw the red cloth. Nan told me about it," Jack went on. "I
came over to tell you about her. She doesn't know I came but she'll be
glad."
"You love Nan very much, don't you?" said Miss Helen tenderly.
"Yes. I love Jean 'cause she's my twin, but Nan always takes up for me
and helps me out of scrapes. I get into a great many," sighed Jack.
"Maybe I'm in one now," she added thoughtfully.
"Oh, dear, I hope not," Miss Helen hastened to say. "I must not keep
you if you ought not to stay. You must not be disobedient if any one
has forbidden your coming here."
"Nobody did 'zackly, but--I reckon I'd better not stay."
Miss Helen stooped to kiss her. "I hope to see you soon again," she
said, "and I am very much obliged to you for telling me about Nan."
Jack trudged back satisfied at having done her errand. If Aunt Sarah
discovered it she said nothing and a day later came a letter from Mrs.
Corner in reply to Miss Sarah's. In it she said: "I feel now, dear
Aunt Sarah, that I did wrong in harboring any ill-will toward Helen.
I am sure my dear husband would wish me to meet any advances from her
with an equally forgiving spirit and I do want my children to see and
love their Aunt Helen, the only sister of their father. So Nan has my
permission to go to Uplands when she receives an invitation. When one
feels that the waves from the dark river may perhaps soon be touching
her feet, quarrels and dissensions seem very petty things. I realized
this when I first knew of the danger threatening me. Now that I feel
that I am permitted a longer lease of life the bitterness of the past
is something to be forgotten. I view life with a new understanding and
I would encourage peace, forgiveness and forbearance."
Aunt Sarah read the letter thoughtfully, Nan watching her with big eyes
looking from a very white little face. Aunt Sarah put her head back
against the back of the big chair in which she was sitting and rocked
silently for some moments.
"What does mother say?" asked Nan feebly.
"She says you may go to Uplands. Would you like to start now, Nan?"
Aunt Sarah spoke half sadly, half jestingly. "Well, Nan," she went
on, "I reckon we are both punished pretty thoroughly, you for your
sauciness and I for my hardness. Neither of us has any scores to pay
that I see. Goodness, child, when I picked you up from the foot of
those stairs I would have given my right hand to have taken back my
conduct toward you."
"I was dreadfully saucy, Aunt Sarah," said Nan. "It was wicked for me
to speak so to you, and I had no business, either, to sneak down into
the kitchen in the middle of the night. I have given my right hand, for
a little while," she added, "only it don't do away with what I said and
did."
Aunt Sarah bent over and kissed the child's forehead. Two salt tears
trickled down from her eyes and fell on Nan's cheek. Those drops washed
out all ill feeling between them, for Nan understood that Aunt Sarah
did really love her and that she, too, had suffered, if not bodily
pain, at least bodily fatigue and much mental anguish on Nan's account.
There was another letter which came later to Nan. It was not exactly a
lecture, and the reproof was slight, but after reading it Nan felt that
in being impertinent to her aunt she had abused her mother's trust and
had hurt her as well as Aunt Sarah, so she resolved that never, never
again, no matter what, would she treat Aunt Sarah with disrespect.
Many were the attentions showered upon the little girl during her
illness, but chief among them, and most pleasing to her, were those
which came from Uplands. Not a day passed that she did not receive
some token of her Aunt Helen's thought of her. Lovely flowers were
never suffered to fade before they were replaced by others. Dainties
to tempt her palate followed the flowers, and when she could sit up
came packages of picture postal cards of different places in Europe or
interesting photographs. To these were added once in a while a cheerful
story-book or a magazine, so, in spite of pain and lack of freedom,
Nan fared well and in due time was out again, her arm in a sling and
herself a little pale, but otherwise no worse for her accident.
[Illustration: CHAPTER XI
GRANDMOTHER]