GRANDMOTHER
The November winds had swept the leaves from the maples and had sent
them in hurrying gusts upon the waters of the little brook before Nan
again visited Uplands. The oak trees still showed patches of dark red
foliage and in Place o' Pines were heaps of shining brown brought there
by that same November wind. Since Jack had braved her Aunt Sarah's
displeasure with no ill results, Nan had felt there was hope that she
would be permitted to make a visit to Uplands as soon as she should be
well enough. Jack had not repeated her visit; she was not as ready to
meet her grandmother as Nan was, nor were Mary Lee and Jean any more
eager, so that the first interview was left to Nan.
It was one day in November that she said rather timidly to her Aunt
Sarah: "Don't you think I might go over to Uplands? You know mother
said I might."
"Assuredly," replied Miss Sarah. "Go by all means."
Nan looked at her critically to see if she meant this sarcastically,
but there was no suspicion of any such intention, and she realized
that the consent was readily given.
It was an important event to the girl. She had fallen in love with the
lady of the portrait in the first place; her Aunt Helen had completely
won her in the second, and she had learned to give at least pity and
sympathy where her sisters felt, at the most, indifference, so she set
out upon her walk with an eager anticipation.
She panted a little as she reached the top of the hill on the other
side of the brook, for she had not gone so far since her accident, and,
moreover, her heart was beating fast. She was to meet her grandmother.
Would she be haughty and distant or kind and cordial? Would she come
sweeping in all jewels and lace, or would she wear the plainer dress
which her daughter adopted? Nan hoped that she would wear nothing more
sombre than black satin with fine laces and that she would have more
than one glittering ring upon her fingers.
There were no weeds now to wade through for the lawn was smoothly mown,
though grass would have to be sown when the stubble was ploughed under.
There were pretty curtains in all the rooms and flower-pots holding
blossoming plants stood in a row in some of the windows. A bird-cage,
too, hung in the library and as Nan stepped upon the porch she heard
the joyous song of the canary. The place seemed so lived in; no longer
a mysterious enchanted castle but the comfortable abode of human kind.
A neat maid opened the door and ushered Nan into the library. An open
fire was blazing in the grate, the canary was singing blithely above
the blossoming geraniums and begonias. There were magazines and papers
piled on the table and an open desk showed that some one lately had
been writing there.
Presently there was a rustle of skirts on the stairs and Miss Helen
came swiftly in. "My dear, my dear!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to
see you. What a siege you have had. It has seemed such a long time and
mother has been hoping every day that you would be well enough to come.
Do you still suffer, poor little lass?"
"Not now," was the answer, "but I gave my right hand, you see, and
didn't get anything for it after all."
"You haven't given it altogether, I hope."
"No, but I can't even write, and if I had a piano I couldn't play on
it."
"But you will soon be well," returned her aunt. "Come, let us go up to
mother; she is very impatient to see you."
Nan followed to the softly carpeted, upper front room. No grand dame,
magnificently attired came forward to meet her, but by the window sat a
little old lady in sombre mourning; her face was lined with sorrow and
her hands were worn and thin; only a plain gold ring adorned the left
one.
"And this is Nancy," she said. "Excuse my rising, my dear, I am not
very strong. Come here, won't you?"
Nan approached with a feeling of disappointment. How could any one fear
sharp speeches from this mild-mannered old lady? Where was the flashing
splendor of her eyes? Where was her proud mien? What had become of all
those qualities which the portrait represented?
"Come closer, Nancy, child; I want to have a look at you," said her
grandmother. And Nan knelt down before her. Mrs. Corner took the girl's
face between her hands and looked at her long and earnestly. "She has
Jack's eyes," she said to her daughter.
Nan smiled; it pleased her to be told this.
"And his smile," continued her grandmother. She took Nan's free hand
and smoothed it softly. "She has the Corner fingers, too," she went on,
"long and tapering with the filbert nails. She has sentiment, Helen, I
am sure, and she is quick but sensitive; loving but impatient; honest
and forgiving."
Nan felt rather embarrassed at this summarizing of her character, but
as her grandmother leaned over and kissed her forehead a glad light
leaped to the girl's eyes. This was not censure, but a tender interest.
"Your old grandmother is very glad to see you," Mrs. Corner went on.
"I have longed for you, for one of my son's own children, and it is a
great gratification to me to know you have no hard feelings."
"No, I haven't any hard feelings; neither has mother," returned Nan
gravely.
A little expression of pain passed over Mrs. Corner's face and she
sighed. "Never let yourself be a wicked old woman, Nancy, to want your
own way. Be willing to share what you possess with others. Never be
jealous and suspicious and envious. Try not to pity yourself too much
and don't think your rights are superior to those of other persons. You
will be very unhappy if you do not learn your lesson early. The book
of life holds many hard pages and it will be handed back to you over
and over again till you have learned by heart what is meant you should
know."
"Now, mother," put in Miss Helen, "you are entirely too grave and
preachy. Don't spoil Nan's first visit by giving her the impression
that she is in a lecture-room."
"You are right, Helen; I should not allow myself to be carried away
to the past from the present. Forgive me, Nancy, for being prosy and
serious; your coming awakened so many memories of things I have tried
to forget. Tell me about your mother while Helen gets out some things I
brought you from Italy."
Nan's eyes sparkled. "Brought me? How good of you," she exclaimed. She
wondered what the gifts could be and was quite overpowered when Miss
Helen came in with her arms piled high with all sorts of packages.
There were soft silks from Sorrento, corals from Naples, strings of
beads from Venice, odd bits of jewelry from Florence, scarfs and
sashes from Rome, a quaint little hat from Milan, embroideries, laces,
knickknacks of all kinds.
Nan looked at them in delighted amazement. She had never seen so many
pretty things together before. "They're not all for me," she said.
"All for you, my dear," said her grandmother with a pleased smile.
"But," Nan spoke earnestly, "it would be dreadfully selfish for me
to be piggy and not give the others anything, my sisters, you know.
They'd think I was the proud sister sure enough." Nan looked toward
her aunt and back at her grandmother. Then she saw the mild expression
disappear and the look of the portrait came over Mrs. Corner's face.
"I wish you to have them all," she said haughtily. "Not one of the
others has thought it worth while to come to see me; but you, Nancy,"
her face softened, "you sent me a kiss before you saw me."
"Oh, but," Nan's eyes grew starry, "you know I am the eldest and I met
Aunt Helen and they didn't; besides, they don't understand; the twins
are too young and Mary Lee, well--she hadn't seen Aunt Helen, you know.
I thank you a thousand times, grandmother, for being so lovely as to
bring me these things, but indeed, I'll have to be honest and say I
can't keep them all for my own self."
"Put them away, Helen," said Mrs. Corner wearily. "It is only one more
disappointment. I hoped my granddaughter would be pleased."
The tears came to Nan's eyes. "I am pleased. I can't tell you how much.
I never saw such lovely things, and I'm just crazy for them, but I
should feel such a mean, meany, piggish thing to keep them all."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Corner with an air of resignation, "perhaps
you will change your mind, Nancy, after you have thought it over."
Nan knew perfectly well that she never would, but she said nothing,
and had the discomfort of seeing Miss Helen carry away the things as
Mrs. Corner insisted that she should do. "She might have left out one
little string of beads," thought Nan. But not so much as a tiny pin was
allowed her and she began to realize something of the spirit which had
antagonized her mother and which had given her father such distress.
However, she was too proud to show her disappointment and did not leave
at once; instead she chatted pleasantly and even kissed her grandmother
good-bye.
Miss Helen followed her to the door. "You must not mind mother's ways
too much, Nancy," she said. "She will think better of it yet, and you
must consider that all she has brought you will be really yours to do
with as you like after a while. Be patient with her, darling, if you
love your Aunt Helen. Thank you so much for coming over and for being
so dear and sweet to mother. She appreciates even when she does not
confess it. You will come again soon, won't you?"
"Oh, yes," returned Nan, not quite so heartily as she would like to
have spoken. She was disappointed, really bitterly disappointed, she
confessed to herself. Her grandmother was no queen, but only a faulty
woman. A sad and sorrowful one, it was true, and one willing to make an
effort in many directions to compensate for her hardness and bitterness
of former years, yet she still clung to her imperious ways and was not
ready to give up her own way nor to allow any one to thwart her will.
Nan drew a long sigh as she went down-hill. It was not going to be
as easy as she had hoped to love her grandmother. What a delight it
would have been to display all those lovely things to the family, to
give Mary Lee that string of beautiful blue beads and the striped
Roman sash; to let Jean and Jack choose what they liked best, and to
give even Aunt Sarah something from the splendid mass of things, while
to her mother Nan would have sent the very best of whatever seemed
suitable. It certainly was tantalizing to have things happen this way.
However, there was still the possibility of future possession her Aunt
Helen had promised her, and she would take comfort in that.
Jack was the only one who had curiosity enough to ask questions when
Nan returned. No doubt but Miss Sarah would like to have had a full
account of Nan's visit, but she scorned to show any interest and Mary
Lee took her cue from her. "Well, you're back again," was the only
remark she made as Nan passed through the room.
"Yes, here I am," returned Nan. She felt that she would rather not
discuss her visit with either Mary Lee or Aunt Sarah. Jack waylaid her
as she was on her way up-stairs. "Did you see our grandmother, Nan?"
she asked, "and is she a horrid old witch?"
"No, she isn't that," replied Nan, "though she is different from what I
expected. She was very kind at first, but she showed the iron hand in
the velvet glove before I came away."
Jack looked as if she understood. She was always quick to take Nan's
allusions.
"If you won't say anything to anybody, I'll tell you all about it,"
said Nan.
Jack nodded. She could be relied upon to keep a secret if she gave a
promise, but was a very expansive person when there was no reason for
silence. As Nan expatiated upon the glories of the gifts that were
withheld Jack grew deeply interested.
"And you were going to give me some, weren't you?" she said.
"Of course," replied Nan.
"I think you were very proud and very good not to take them," remarked
Jack, meditatively, all the while forming her own plans. "Was she so
very cross, Nan?" she asked presently.
"Not exactly cross, only bound to have her own way, like some other
people I know."
Jack laughed. "I don't suppose you listened to her if she did say
things you didn't like. That's the way I do. I always think of
something nice, like eating ice cream or having a new doll, when any
one scolds me; it makes it lots easier," she said philosophically.
She saw no reason now why she should not go to her grandmother's.
She reasoned that it was because no one but Nan had been to see her
that she refused gifts to the rest, and if there was any way, not too
difficult, in which she could get a string of those beautiful beads
which Nan had described, Jack meant to do it.
She spent much time that afternoon laboriously writing in her very best
hand, her name upon a card. The next day, dressed in her best, she
started to make a formal call at Uplands. She meant to be very polite
and ingratiating, and, if all went well, she would induce Jean to go.
She felt that at this first interview it would be best that no one but
herself and her grandmother should be present, for Jean did not know
things and might say something she should not. Although the beads were
the largest object of her motive in going, there was besides a desire
to gain for Nan those things which Jack felt she ought to have.
At the door, she handed the maid the card upon which was unevenly
written: "Miss Jacqueline Corner." "I have come to call on Mrs.
Corner," she said gravely, and walked into the drawing-room where she
seated herself expectantly.
Curiosity, amusement and a real desire to see the child brought Mrs.
Corner down. Miss Helen was not at home. Jacqueline arose to meet her
grandmother with her best company manners. "I am very much pleased to
meet you, Mrs. Corner," she said. "I hope you are very well."
"Not so very well, though better than yesterday," replied the lady,
seating herself.
"You ought to take Junipy Tar," said Jack, solicitously; "that is
what Unc' Landy takes when he isn't well." She supposed this a remedy
specially fitted to the needs of the aged.
Mrs. Corner thanked her, smilingly, her amusement increasing.
"Did you have a pleasant journey?" asked Jack, racking her brain for a
proper subject.
"You mean across the ocean? Only fairly so. I am not a very good
sailor."
Jack looked at her in surprise. "Oh," she said, "I didn't know ladies
ever were sailors, and I am sure they would never make good ones;
their skirts must get so in the way when they climb the ropes. I
suppose you never went up as far as the main-top-gallant mast."
"No, never," returned Mrs. Corner, laughing outright. Jack could not
understand her amusement and changed the subject.
"Do you like dogs?" she asked.
"Very much."
"We have one; his name is Trouble. We like him but Ran says he wouldn't
take a prize at a bench show. I don't see why dogs should take prizes
at bench shows; I should think it would be only benches, the biggest
bench or the prettiest bench or the one made by the youngest child like
they give prizes at the fair. Don't you love fairs? I do. I like the
pink lemonade best of all and the prize packages of candy. Once I got a
real sure enough diamond ring, but it was too big for me and I lost it.
Jean likes the pop-corn and the gingerbread the best. What do you like?"
"I think," said Mrs. Corner, "that I like seeing the people as well as
anything."
"I do sometimes, but I don't always. Once we all went to the circus
and Jean dropped her hat between the benches. I crawled under to get
it, and every time I tried to get out some one stepped on my head; I
thought I'd have to stay there forever. It was awful."
"It must have been."
"Is it ten minutes yet? I don't suppose I ought to stay more than
ten minutes at a first call, ought I? Cousin Polly says that is long
enough."
"I think persons often do stay longer." Mrs. Corner was too greatly
entertained to want to get rid of her guest. "I am sure I shall be
delighted if you will stay," she went on as she rose to ring the bell.
"Bring some cake and some of that currant shrub that Mrs. Southall sent
me," she told the maid, and Jack was glad she had mentioned the pink
lemonade. "I want to offer you some refreshment, Miss Jacqueline," said
her grandmother.
"Thank you," said Jack, promptly sitting down again. "Nobody ever calls
me Jacqueline; it's always Jack. When Nan and I are grown we are going
to call ourselves Nannette and Jacqueline, not Nan and Jack, but mother
says she wants me always to be called Jack after my father. He was your
son, wasn't he?"
The amused look faded from Mrs. Corner's eyes. "He was my only son and
no one can take his place. No one knows how terribly I miss him."
"Well," said Jack, forgetting to be propitiatory, and somehow resenting
this speech, "I'm sure we couldn't ever get a new father any more than
you could get a new son, and I reckon my mother misses him as much as
you do."
Mrs. Corner looked startled. "I suppose so; I suppose so," she
murmured. "It is true that others have claims."
Jack did not quite take this in but she followed up her speech by
adding: "I suppose you missed your husband when he died, didn't you?"
"Oh, child, child, what are you saying?" said her grandmother in a
tremulous voice.
Jack regretted this remark seeing her grandmother's agitation. "I don't
suppose I ought to have said that. Was it impolite?" she asked. "I
wanted to be very polite."
"Why?"
"Oh, because I----" she hesitated. "I must go now. I have finished the
party; it was very nice indeed."
Mrs. Corner looked at her with sudden suspicion. "Did Nancy send you
over here?" she said.
"Nobody sent me. I didn't tell any one I was coming."
"Why did you come then?"
"Why to see you. Didn't the servant tell you? Didn't she give you my
card?"
"Oh, yes." Mrs. Corner's face cleared. "I am glad you came of your own
accord. I have enjoyed your call immensely."
"Thank you. Ought I to say Mrs. Corner or grandmother?"
"Grandmother would please me best."
"Then, good-bye, grandmother. I've had a charming time."
"Then, please come again."
"I'd be delighted, I'm sure." Her company manners were in full swing,
and she went out after a gracious smile and bow.
"The droll little creature!" exclaimed Mrs. Corner. "I must tell Helen
about her. I want to know them all. They interest me." So Jack's call
was not without effect.
[Illustration: CHAPTER XII
NUTS]