AN AFTERNOON CALL.
Next afternoon Will put on his best clothes and walked up to the big
house.
On the way he was undecided whether to go to the front door or the back
one. Never before had he entered the place as a guest, and in the end
he wisely compromised by advancing to the side entrance that he had
observed was mostly used by the children.
Annabel saw him from the window and beckoned him in, her face all
smiles of welcome, and that helped him to retain his composure.
“Come right in, sir,” said Fanny, the maid who admitted him. “Miss
Annabel’s not allowed to go to the door yet.”
“Hello, Will,” said the girl, shyly slipping her hand in his. “I’m
awful glad you’ve come for everybody has gone out and left me today.”
“Why, Nan, how white you look!” he exclaimed. “That water in the pond
must have been pretty cold for you.”
“No more than for you, Will,” she replied. “But it wasn’t the cold, you
know; ’twas the awful fear of dying--of being drowned and lost under
the ice,” and she looked at him with big eyes into which a shade of
fear crept at the very recollection of that dreadful moment.
“There, there, Nan,” said he, soothingly; “let’s sit down and talk
about something else,” and he led her to a sofa, still holding her
small white hand in his brown one.
The girl glanced at him gratefully. Will seemed to understand her even
better than Mary Louise did; and he had a gentle way with her that was
at once pleasant and comforting.
“Where did the folks go?” he asked, with well assumed cheerfulness.
“Out coasting. The hill back of Thompson’s is just fine, now--as smooth
as glass, Ted says. I’d like to be with them, for my sled’s the
swiftest of them all; but,” with a sigh, “Doctor Meigs says I must stay
in the house for three days. Isn’t it dreadful, Will?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Nan. He’s usually right about these things; and it
seems mighty pleasant in here,” glancing around at the cozy room with
its glowing fire in the grate.
“It’s nice--now,” she answered, sweetly, and Will looked at her with
sudden interest. He had never before noticed how bright and fair
Annabel’s face was. The freckles didn’t seem to mar it a bit, and the
nose turned up just enough to make her expression jolly and spirited.
And as for the hair, the red was almost pretty where the firelight fell
upon it.
Will had paid no attention until now to girls’ looks. A girl had seemed
to be “just a girl” to him. And he, as well as her brothers and the
other boys, had often teased Nan about her red hair and pug nose,
without observing either of them very closely. But today he began to
think all the fellows must have been blind, and that the girl’s claim
to beauty was greater than any of them had ever suspected.
Somehow, too, Annabel’s accident and near approach to death seemed to
have changed her. At any rate she was never the same to Will afterward.
He couldn’t well have explained how she was different; but the large
blue eyes had a new look in them, she was less romping and boisterous
in her ways, and gentler in her speech.
She sat quietly in her corner of the sofa, a demure and almost bashful
look upon her pleasant face. But in her natural and simple way she
entertained her boy friend so cleverly that he never suspected he was
being entertained at all.
“Papa says you’ve been to see him, and that you two have become great
friends,” she remarked.
“Mr. Williams was surely very nice to me,” he answered, with
enthusiasm. “I’m sure your father’s a good man, Annabel.”
“The best in the world, Will. We’re always happy when father’s home.
But that isn’t very often, you know, he’s so busy.”
There was a pause, after that, which neither noticed.
“Nora says you grow those lovely mushrooms we’ve been having lately,”
she said. “Do you, Will?”
“Yes; didn’t you know it? In the old barn. Doctor Meigs and I are
partners. Do you like mushrooms, Nan?”
“Very much; and so does papa.”
“I’ll bring you some tomorrow,” he promised, greatly delighted to find
something he could do for her.
“That will be fine,” she answered; “because, if you bring them, we can
have a talk, you know. And it’s sort of dull, staying in the house all
day. The others are out every minute of the time, for school begins
again next Monday, and they want to have all the fun they can while
vacation lasts.”
“That’s natural,” said Will. “It’s too bad you have to stay in during
vacation. Say, Annabel; do you like to read Indian stories?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never read any.”
“I’ve got a swell Indian book at home; one that the Doctor gave me on
my birthday. It’s all about Dick Onslow among the red-skins, and I call
it a corker!”
“I’d like to read it,” said Annabel, smiling at his enthusiasm.
“Well, I’ll bring it over,” he agreed. “Then when you’re alone, you can
read it.”
“Thank you,” said the girl, dreamily.
Then came another pause. It didn’t seem to them necessary to talk all
the time; but finally Annabel gave a little start and began speaking of
the school, and their mutual friends in the village so that the time
passed swiftly away and it began to grow dark before either of them
noticed it.
But bye and bye Will chanced to remember that Egbert had been left to
tend the fires alone, so he jumped up and said he must go. And Annabel
made no attempt to keep him, but stood at the window and waved her
hand in farewell as he passed down the walk.
Mrs. Williams had another of her bad headaches that day, so she did not
join the family at the evening meal, a circumstance that filled the
children with thoughtless delight.
Mr. Williams was with them, however, for whenever he could be in
Bingham he loved to have his family about him, and all the little folks
were very fond of him indeed.
“Will was here today,” said Annabel; whereat there was an uproar from
the others because they had missed their favorite playmate. And Gladys
added:
“I’se busted my top, so Will’s got to make it fixed.”
“He’s coming again tomorrow,” Annabel announced, “to bring me a book,
and some mushrooms. Then he can fix the top, Gladys.”
Mary Louise looked at her sister curiously, and even Ted smiled at the
wave of red that dyed Nan’s cheeks.
“Seems to me you’re getting pretty thick, just because he dragged you
out of the pond,” cried Reggie, mischievously.
“Will’s a fine fellow,”, said Mr. Williams, gravely, “and I hope he’ll
come often!”
“So does I!” declared Gladys; and then the conversation shifted to
another subject, greatly to Annabel’s relief.
Mary Louise was nearer Will’s age than Annabel, being now fifteen and
almost on the verge of young womanhood. And Annabel, although little
more than a year her junior, had until now been considered merely a
romping, careless girl, although it was true she was scarcely behind
her sister in the high school classes. Big Will Carden, taller at
sixteen than Mr. Williams himself, and strong and manly in build,
seemed so much older and more matured than Annabel that it was really
absurd for Reginald to couple their names, even in a joking way.
Will came the next day, to find Annabel again alone; but presently
little Gladys toddled in and brought her top to be mended, and when
he had succeeded in making it spin the little one nestled in his lap
with a sigh of contentment.
“Will,” she asked, after a moment of earnest thought, “is you Nan’s
beau?”
“Of course!” he replied, laughing gaily. “And yours, too, Gladie!”
That made the wee one smile with satisfaction, and it pleased Annabel
also, although she hastened rather awkwardly to talk of Dick Onslow and
declare she would enjoy reading of his adventures.
On Monday the holidays ended, and Mr. Williams regretfully returned to
his office in the city, where most of his time was spent.
Annabel was by this time fully recovered, and went to school with
the others; but Will walked home with her that afternoon, and the
next afternoon also, and this was enough to start all the older
scholars plaguing them, as young folks will do in case of boy and girl
friendships, and calling them “sweethearts.”
[Illustration: Will came every morning across lots to
meet her. Page 109.]
Will merely laughed and replied good naturedly to the taunts, and
Annabel tossed her tawny head half in pride and half in defiance and
told the other girls they were jealous. So it was not long before their
comrades tired of teasing them and they were left to do as they pleased.
When spring came on and the weather grew warmer, Will Carden not only
walked home from school with Annabel, but came every morning across
lots to meet her at the corner of the street near the big house and
accompany her to the school. Sometimes Mary Louise or Theodore joined
them, but more often they were left to themselves, the boys growling
that “Will wasn’t half as much fun as he used to be,” and the girls
wondering what he could see in “that freckled-faced Nan Williams” to
interest him so greatly.
But the truth was that the two had grown very congenial, and liked to
be together. Annabel had learned all about Will’s life and ambitions
and understood him as no other companion had ever been able to do. He
was sure of her sympathy whenever anything went wrong, and knew she
would share his joy when he was “in luck.”
It was Annabel who advised him to “make a nest-egg” of the forty-three
dollars which the doctor paid him in dividends the first of the year,
and the girl planned shrewdly in many ways to encourage him and give
him confidence in his future. In addition to this, she was more clever
in her studies than Will, and often she was of great assistance to him
in explaining the lessons, when his slower mind failed to grasp the
details.
I can’t pretend to explain how so much real wisdom came to lurk in
Annabel’s childish head; but people said she was more like her father
than any of the other children. During the months that followed her
rescue from the icy pond she grew much more sedate in demeanor than
before, and more considerate of her brothers and sisters, so that they
soon came to look upon her as their mentor, in a degree, and asked her
advice about many of the little trials of their daily lives.