LOOKING AHEAD
It was one lovely day in June that Nan hied her to Place o' Pines. She
gazed with a half smile at the old log of wood on which the music rack
was still fastened. No need now to pretend a piano she remembered with
pride and pleasure. She began softly to sing the old tune but this time
Little Jamie was not the refrain, but that other one: Dearest Mother.
"The very nicest thing in all the world is a mother," she said to
herself. "I believe just as Dr. Woods said to Aunt Helen the other day;
she made me say it over so I wouldn't forget it: 'The Being who could
conceive and create a good mother must Himself be perfect love.'"
"Nan, Nan," came the voice of some one calling from afar.
Nan started up and listened, then she crept out of the opening in the
pines and ran around to the fence, giving the peculiar call which the
Corner children always used in answering one another. "Where are you?"
Mary Lee's voice came nearer. There was an excited and triumphant ring
in it. Evidently, she had something important to tell.
"Here I am," said Nan, squeezing herself through the fence and meeting
her sister on the other side. "What do you want me for, Mary Lee?"
"You ought just to hear what mother and Aunt Helen and Aunt Sarah have
been talking about; the most exciting things. Come over here and I'll
tell you." Mary Lee spoke importantly. It was generally Nan who was the
dispenser of news, and Mary Lee seldom had the chance of taking the
role of herald, in consequence she carried herself with the little air
of superiority which Nan generally assumed upon such occasions.
Nan followed her to a patch of grass by the side of the fence, and they
sat down together. This summer the two were more frequently companions,
for Phil had suddenly discovered a preference for the company of boys,
and was generally with Ashby and Ran pursuing more masculine sports
than Mary Lee cared to join.
"We're not likely to be here six months from now," Mary Lee began with
a view to making a sensation.
"What do you mean?" said Nan, startled out of a pretended indifference.
"Just what I say. Of course, Aunt Sarah and the boys will be here but
we shall not."
"Oh, Mary Lee, we are not to be sent away to boarding-school, are we?"
asked Nan in a horror-stricken voice.
Mary Lee hugged her knees and rocked back and forth in enjoyment of the
situation. "No, we're not going to boarding-school. Oh, Nan, it will
be perfectly splendid, and you've always longed to travel, you know.
It will be so fine to see oranges growing, and all sorts of things,
olives and lemons and such oceans of flowers. You used to make such a
fuss over that one little palm, and how you will revel in the things we
shall see."
"I think you might tell me what you are talking about," said Nan
impatiently.
But Mary Lee was enjoying her unwonted pleasure of news-giving too much
to let out all her information at once and she went on, "Of course we
shall not travel so very much after we once get there for it will be
better that mother should settle down in some one place where it will
agree with her. Aunt Helen says we must not give up our studies, and
that you especially must keep up your music, so we shall probably take
some little cottage where we can have a piano. It would be fun to have
a Chinese servant, wouldn't it?"
Nan was too quick-witted to let this hint pass. "I know now!" she cried
exultantly. "It's California. Now, Mary Lee, don't fool about it any
more, but just begin at the beginning and tell me."
Seeing that there was no use in further holding off, Mary Lee smoothed
down her frock and began. "Well, I just happened to be on the porch
outside the living-room when it all started, and I went in and
listened; they let me. It began by mother's saying that the doctor told
her it would be perfectly safe to stay here during the summer, but that
when November came she must go away again. He said that if she would
do that for two or three years he was sure that she could get over all
her symptoms. 'It makes my heart sink when I think of being separated
for even one more winter from my children, but it must be done,' said
mother, 'and it is fortunate that the boys want to come back and that I
shall be able to cover my expenses.'
"Then Aunt Helen spoke up. 'Don't say anything about expenses, Mary,'
she said; 'you know it was mother's wish that the estate should be
divided, and though she did not sign that last will, I consider it
just as binding as if she had done it.' Oh, Nan, she said she meant
to have grandmother's first will set aside so we could have our share
lawfully."
"That is just like Aunt Helen," said Nan. "Go on."
"Then they talked about that for a little while and said a lot about
lawyers and trustees and things I didn't understand, then Aunt Helen
said, 'What do you think of California for a winter, Mary?'
"'But it is so far,' said mother, 'and it is such an expensive trip. I
should like it better than the Adirondacks, but for the distance. But
I couldn't be so far from my children. Of course,' she said, 'you and
Aunt Sarah would be here, and that would be a great comfort.'
"'I didn't mean for you to go alone,' Aunt Helen said; 'I meant that
the children and I would go, too.'
"Mother turned right around and put her hand on Aunt Sarah's. 'But what
would my dear auntie do?' she asked.
"'Don't mind me,' Aunt Sarah said. 'I'll manage. If you want to close
the house, I'll go to Henry Dent's or somewhere, but if you'd rather
keep it open I should like mighty well to stay right here and look
after those boys, and perhaps I could get a couple more to come in, so
it would keep me interested and occupied.'
"Then I spoke right up, Nan."
"What did you say?" asked Nan, eagerly.
"I said, 'Oh, do let Aunt Sarah stay, mother, for who would take care
of old Pete, and what would Lady Gray and Baz and Ruby do without any
family, and then there's Unc' Landy and the pig and the chickens.'
Then they all laughed, though I don't know why and mother said: 'That
settles it, Mary Lee. If Aunt Sarah wants to take such a large family
under her wing, I am sure I have no objection.'
"Then Aunt Helen said: 'I've only one thing to say, Mary. If Miss Sarah
is to undertake all this, I hope you will feel that you have enough to
let her have all she can make out of her--her----'"
"Her experiment," suggested Nan who had a more ready vocabulary than
Mary Lee.
"I think she said 'undertaking,'" said Mary Lee, not to be corrected.
"Then I said: 'Are we really going to California, Aunt Helen?' And she
said, 'I should like to think so. It all rests with your mother. I have
always wanted to go there and I can't bear to be parted from you all,
so why can't we go together?' Then she asked mother what she thought
about it."
"She said yes, of course," put in Nan.
Mary Lee nodded. "Uhm--hm. She did indeed, and I got up and just
yelled, and then I told them I was going hot-foot to find you, and I
left them there still talking about it."
"Oh, do let's go back and hear the particulars," said Nan. "Isn't it
perfectly wildly exciting? Did you ever believe such a thing could
happen to us? To think we are all going. I wonder when we shall start,
and where we shall go, I mean the exact place. To think of living,
really living there. Come, let's find out more."
They went racing toward the house and burst in upon the three ladies
still absorbed in making plans. "Are we really going to California?"
asked Nan, excitedly. "When shall we start? What place is our cottage
to be in? May I take some of my books? What trunk shall I use?"
All three smiled. "Gently, Nan, gently," said her mother. "We are not
going to-morrow, and there will be plenty of time to decide on trunks
before October."
Nan drew a long sigh, and went to sit down by her Aunt Helen. "Fairy
godmother," she said, "the Poppy fairy never brought me this dream.
Just wave your wand, please, and make me see it all."
"We shall go to Southern California," said Miss Helen, drawing Nan
close to her, "probably to San Diego or Pasadena. We shall travel a
little at first and decide upon the best place for your mother, then
we will take a little cottage, hire a piano, have some books, engage a
teacher for you girls, and settle down to enjoy our winter."
"Do let's have a Chinese servant."
"Perhaps we can try one."
"And we can have a garden?"
"If we can find a house with one attached. I think it is extremely
probable that we will have one. A little cottage of about six or eight
rooms will be large enough, I think, and, if we can, we will have a
garden where the geraniums will grow so high that they will shade our
second story windows, and where roses will bloom in January. We will
not be too far from orange groves and olive orchards nor too distant
from the city, and we must be near enough to slip over into Mexico
and to have the Pacific ocean for a neighbor. We shall hear Spanish
spoken, and the ancient missions will give an old world air to our
surroundings. We shall be where your mother will gain strength and
health, and where you will have the opportunity of learning all sorts
of new things, where I shall try to forget many sad things of my old
life, and shall feel that I have a sister and her children to make me
content and give me a new peace. Do you like the picture, West Corner?"
"It is beautiful. Now it all seems real. I can see everything, dearest,
it's lovely. Just one thing more: How do we go?"
"I think we shall take the southern route and come back by some other."
"You mean---- Just which way is the southern route?"
"Down through New Orleans, Texas, and a bit of Mexico, then up through
Southern California. Coming back, we will go through upper California
and perhaps come home through the Canadian Rockies, but we will decide
that when the time comes."
Nan drew a long sigh of satisfaction. "It is just too lovely for words.
I may tell it, may I? It's all going to really happen?"
"So far as any one can say a thing will really happen. Of course, if
any one should go prowling around at night in strange places and break
an arm or leg and so detain us, we all could not go."
Nan fell upon her aunt with playful beatings of her fist in punishment
of this speech. "It won't be me, at any rate," she declared. "I'm going
to hunt up the kiddies now before Mary Lee gets hold of them to tell
them."
Mary Lee had already flown to Cousin Mag's with the news and Nan was
free to be first dispenser of it to the twins. She was but a little
way from the house when Jean met her, running, and wiping away tears
with two grimy fists. "Whither away, my little maid?" cried Nan,
catching her. "Where's Jack?"
"Oh, Nan," said Jean, "come, come crick; Jack is in the pig-pen and the
pig is screaling awfully."
"Why in the world did Jack want to get into the pig-pen with the pig?"
asked Nan. "Did she want to make piggy 'screal'?"
"No, she fell in. Come, get her out, please, Nan."
Nan followed Jean to the scene of the disaster, but, by the time they
reached there, Jack had managed to get out by her own efforts, though
she was a sight to behold. "Goodness, child!" exclaimed Nan, "you are a
mess. What have you been doing? Here, come along with me. Don't touch
me. Unclean! Unclean! Fee-ugh! how does the pig stand that kind of
sachet? Go on ahead---- No, keep behind. I don't notice it so much,
then. Follow, follow." She ran on ahead until she reached the brook,
whose waters were warmed by the June sunshine. "Off with your shoes and
jump right in," she cried to Jack; "into that nice little smooth pool
where the sun is shining. You are the pilgrim in 'Pilgrim's Progress,'"
she went on, "and I see that the dirt of the Slough of Despond is upon
thee, but that slough is the beginning of the sorrows that do attend
those that go on in that way. Hear me, I am older than thou; thou art
like to meet within the way that thou goest, Wearisomeness, Pain,
Hunger, Perils, Nakedness, Sword, Lions, Dragons, Darkness----"
"Oh, Nan," wailed Jack, "don't scare me any more than I was scared.
The pig's little wicked eyes looked at me so fierce and he grunted and
grunted and tossed up his nose."
"Like Tiny in the song Aunt Sarah sings. Never mind, dear, I was only
quoting 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and you mustn't be scared. Piggy Wee
shan't eat little Jack Corner. Jump, jump, jump, froggy. There you
go. Splash about and I'll run home for some dry things while you are
soaking off the worst."
It was pleasant and warm in the sun and Jack splashed about manfully,
rather enjoying it, until Nan returned with the dry clothes in which
she was invested after being stripped of the foul garments and washing
herself well in the pool into which Nan poured a quantity of ammonia.
"Now you are clothed in the King's robes," said Nan, continuing
her simile of the pilgrim. "I think you'll do. We'll leave these
earth-stained garments to sweeten in the sun and you can tell me how
it all happened."
"I wanted to help Piggy Wee to get some parings that had fallen
outside. I was climbing up and throwing them over when I slipped and
fell in and he didn't like it," said Jack, mournfully. "It was real
ungrateful of him, too, for I was doing it for his sake and he squealed
and did his ears funny and looked like he wanted to gobble me up."
"Somebody will gobble him up some day," said Nan, comfortingly, "for
he will have to be killed in the fall and made into sausage meat for
ground-hog day. Now let me tell you something perfectly lovely that
will make you forget all about pigs. Come, Jean! Ah, Jean!" for this
one of the twins had wandered further up the brookside.
With one of the little girls each side of her, Nan poured forth her
news as they sat by the purling little stream. She had two absorbed
listeners who at first thought she was telling them a make-believe
story, but she ended by assuring them that it was every word true and
concluded by saying: "So now, my sweet pilgrims, we shall soon be going
to the Delectable Land where there will be no pig-pen to fall in and
where we can sit under orange trees and eat oranges all day."
For a time, the children gave themselves up to pleasant dreams.
Overhead the leaves softly whispered, at their feet sang the little
brook; in the distance Unc' Landy was crooning an old camp-meeting
hymn. "I'm sure, after all, it's pleasant enough here," said Jack,
breaking the silence.
Nan raised her eyes to the charred ruins of Uplands' house rearing
themselves upon the hill opposite. She drew a long breath. "If as much
happens next year as has happened this," she said, "I don't know what I
shall do. I feel as if I had grown three feet and that all the little
shelves in my brain where I store away things were piling up so fast
that it will be necessary to build an extra room pretty soon."
Jack laughed. "You do say such funny things, Nan."
"So do you," returned Nan. "There come Mary Lee and the boys. Let's go
meet them."
They passed by the little gardens where the boys had lent a hand in
spading and hoeing. The young green of shoots appeared above the brown
earth; green peas were filling in their pods, beans were climbing their
poles; even the asparagus bed was started, and on the currant bushes
hung bunches of green currants. Giant Pumpkin Head had begun to stretch
his lusty limbs outside Place o' Pines. To Nan's fancy, he was guardian
of the place.
"I am glad we aren't going away in summer," she said, observing all the
familiar things. "I'm glad, too," she went on, "that the boys have to
be here several years longer, so it isn't as if we shouldn't come back
to just the same things."
"We shan't come back to the old fence," said Jean; "that's gone."
"And a good riddance that was. Aunt Helen says next thing the house
must be painted, but I don't know that I want it to be," said Nan half
regretfully; "it won't seem like our own old dingy dear home. I don't
like spick and span things always."
"I am sure the sofa looks fine in its new cover," said Jean.
"Yes, but you have to keep your feet off it," said Jack, resentfully.
There was a sober look on Ran's face as he came up with the other two
boys and Mary Lee.
"What do you think of our good news?" said Nan.
"I don't think it is very good news," he replied.
"You don't? Why not?" asked Nan, opening wide her eyes.
"Because we shall miss you all so awfully when we come back next year,
and the house is going to be painted, too, so it won't seem a bit the
same."
"That's just what I've been saying," Nan told him. "Oh, well," she
added, philosophically, "I suppose we shall get used to it, and will
forget that the house ever was no color. You'll get used to doing
without us, too, and think what a lot we shall have to tell when we get
back."
Ran still looked gloomy. It did not add to the pleasure of his thoughts
to feel that the girls would outdo him in experiences. "I mean to go to
Europe when I finish college," he said.
"But first," said Nan, "you're going home, so I don't see but that we
are the first ones to be left behind, Mr. Longface. Cheer up, cheer up,
we've a whole week yet before the holidays begin. Let's all go for a
ride up the mountain; it's just the day for it."
An hour later the seven had turned their faces toward the steadfast
mountains upon which no changes were ever wrought.