NATHALIE’S LIBERTY BOYS
On and on she rode, peering through the gloaming until her eyes ached,
ever conscious of the “throb, throb,” of the car directly behind her.
What a mistake, she thought dismally, to have ventured on these lonely
roads alone. And, O dear! how her mother would worry when she failed to
arrive home on time.
Suddenly she stopped and stared fixedly through the gray light, and then
her heart leaped, for down the road a little distance, trudging slowly
and uncertainly beside the mountain-ditch, were four little figures. Oh,
they must be those boys, but she had sent for only three.
With a glad thrill of hope urging her forward, the machine responded to
her touch, and in a moment she had reached the boys, one of whom, at the
sound of the oncoming car, had swung around, and was staring at her with
large, liquid brown eyes. The girl suddenly decided that he must be the
Italian lad, who the ticket-agent had said wore an embroidered vest, and
carried a violin under his arm. Yes, there was the violin!
Nathalie brought her car to a sudden stop, and called out, “Hello there,
boys; hello!”
At the sound of the girl’s call all four swung about and faced her,
while a boyish, gruff voice answered: “Hello yourself. What do you
want?”
Nathalie laughed happily, for a sudden intuition told her that her
search was over. And then she said: “Why, I am looking for some little
boys, who were to have come from New York on the White Mountain express.
Are you the ones?”
A chorus of trebles piped excitedly, “Yes, mum; we comed off the train,”
while the tallest lad, to whom a smaller child of six or seven was
nervously clinging, stepped forward. As he lifted his ragged cap he
cried politely, “Be you Miss Nathalie Page?” The girl, as she stared
down at the questioner, saw a close-cropped head of reddish hair, and a
freckled face of an unhealthy pallor, from which two sharp blue eyes
were anxiously peering.
“Yes, I’m Miss Nathalie Page,” responded the girl, with a note of relief
in her voice, not only glad that she had found the boys, but at the
sudden thought that her tormentor would now let her alone, for, with
four boys to keep her company, he would not dare to molest her.
“I’m awfully sorry not to have met you at the station,” she went on
regretfully, “but something happened to my machine and I was detained on
the road. But I did not know that there would be four of you,” she added
a little doubtfully. But before she could finish her sentence, the lad
who had constituted himself the spokesman for the group, silently handed
her a letter.
Nathalie tore it open, and then hastily read it. She was so excited,
however, by the many events that had crowded one upon the other that she
did not sense its full meaning. Recognizing the signature, “Elizabeth
Van Vorst,” she cried hastily, “Well, it’s all right, boys; jump into
the car,” as she stuffed the letter into the pocket of her coat.
Nathalie immediately saw that a second invitation would not be needed,
as the boys made a wild lunge forward, scrambling and pushing each
other, as if to see which one would get there first, all but the little
chap, who stood whimpering by the side of the car.
“Now, boys, no pushing or pulling,” cried Nathalie with a laugh in her
voice, “for there’s plenty of room, and you’re all going home with me.
But here, you big one, get out and put that little kid up by me, for the
poor tot must be hungry and tired.”
“Sure, he is, Miss,” replied the older lad, who evidently was his
brother, jumping down and lifting him up into the seat by Nathalie,
despite his kicks and protests that he wanted to sit with Danny.
“Ah, there, kid,” coaxed the bigger boy softly, “don’t be a girl. Show
you’re a boy. Sit up there nice-like. Sure the leddy won’t eat yer.”
This suggestion of being a girl had a magical effect upon the child, for
he immediately ceased to whimper, and settled back in the seat with a
repressed sniffle.
Nathalie turned the car around,—the man who had been following her had
long since disappeared in the darkness,—and was soon speeding towards
home. She glanced every now and then at the three figures on the back
seat, who sat as still as three blind mice, snuggling up to each other
for warmth, while the little chap at her side clutched her frantically
as he lurched forward every time the car swung around a corner, or
bumped over a “thank-you-ma’am.”
“Here, kiddie,” cried the girl presently, suddenly looking down at the
child, whose big, reddish-brown eyes were staring up at her half
fearfully from out of a wan, white face. “Put your head on my lap!
There, that’s it,” as the child, to her surprise snuggled up to her, and
then silently obeyed. “Now look up,” she added laughingly, “and count
the stars.”
Although this injunction brought forth a chuckle from the back seat, it
sufficed to keep the little one quiet, and the girl, as she drove
rapidly on, could hear him droning, “One, two, three,—” until, with a
drowsy little sigh, the counting ceased, and the girl saw that he was
asleep.
It was almost nine o’clock when Nathalie whirled under the dimly burning
lantern of the porte-cochère at Seven Pillars, where, on the veranda,
Janet and her mother were anxiously watching for her.
“Oh, Nathalie, I have been so worried about you,” began her mother
plaintively. “I will never let you go off this way again.” But her
lamentations were cut short as her daughter cried, “Oh, it’s all right,
mumsie; something happened to the car and detained me. But do help me
get these hungry boys into the house, for the poor things are just dead
with the long ride and for something to eat.”
Several minutes later, as the girl came hurrying from the kitchen, where
she had been to see if the boys’ supper was ready, she found them lined
up in the hall, four pathetically weary little figures. Their pale faces
were smeared with railroad dust, and their foreheads oozed perspiration,
but their eyes were bright and expectantly keen, on the alert for the
something good that they knew was coming.
As her eyes swept smilingly down the line, the smile suddenly wavered,
as her glance was arrested by the thin, emaciated face of a strange
grayish whiteness,—of a peasant lad, who, bewildered with dumb
amazement, was staring at her with a dogged look, his dark eyes haunted,
as it were, by an expression of fear.
He was huddling something in his right arm, a yellowish-brown thing that
squirmed and twisted uneasily, while the left sleeve of his soiled
shirt-waist, strapped with one suspender, was pinned to his shoulder in
an empty, flat way that was infinitely pathetic, for the little lad had
only one arm!
The girl stared back at the boy with a suppressed cry, as into memory
flashed the many stories she had heard of the Belgian and French
children who had been so mercilessly ill-treated and maimed by the
German soldiers. Oh, this must be one of those refugees. Yes, she dimly
remembered now, seeing the word “Belgian” in Mrs. Van Vorst’s letter,
which she had read so quickly. With sudden effort, her natural
kindliness coming to her aid, she smiled into the fear-haunted eyes,
crying gently, as she softly touched him on the one arm, “Is that your
dog? Oh, I love dogs. What is his name?”
A sudden flash of joyful relief radiated from the boy’s face,
momentarily driving away that dulled, cowlike bewilderment from his
eyes. It was a look that caused Nathalie’s heart to quiver with pain,
for it was the look of some dumb animal that had been wantonly punished
or brutally hurt by the hand it loved; a look that haunted her for many
days, constantly urging her to try and say something, or do something,
so as to drive it away.
The next moment a little yellow-brown terrier was crouching on the floor
at his master’s feet, while thumping the floor with his tail, and
licking his hand, then trying to crawl up his trousers’ leg, as if to
get back to the shelter of that one lonely arm.
[Illustration: “Is that your dog? Oh, I love dogs!”—_Page 184_.]
“Oh, the poor animal must be hungry,” exclaimed Mrs. Page, just as the
boy had given his name as Tige. “But come, children,” she added, “and
get your suppers; and the dog, too,” patting the brown head of the
refugee, while a look of infinite pity shone from her kindly eyes.
The boys needed no further urging, as Danny, with a wild hoot of
delight, yelled, “Come on, fellers; it’s eats.” And then,
notwithstanding Nathalie’s well-laid plans that each one should have a
good wash-up before eating, they made a straight run for the kitchen.
Here they were soon putting down everything in sight in a way that
almost frightened the girl, as she suddenly realized the care and
responsibility she had taken upon herself. And that _one-armed boy_! O
dear! she had never thought of such a thing as _that_.
But if they didn’t have their wash before supper, they had it very soon
after, as the girl marched each one separately to the washbowl in the
bathroom, and, after making him duck his head in the water, proceeded to
give it a vigorous shampoo, notwithstanding sundry squirms and twists,
for Nathalie believed in taking things by the forelock, and they just
_must be clean_.
Then the scrubbed one, after being supplied with towels and soap, was
informed that he must give himself a good scrubbing in the tub, and if
he failed to do it properly, he would have to do it all over again.
Nathalie’s somewhat severe admonition was met with stony silence on the
part of her victims, unless it was a rather loud, “Gee whiz, fellers;
here’s me for a swim!” that involuntarily escaped Danny, the older boy,
when he found himself before the well-filled bath-tub.
When it came to the little chap’s turn, Nathalie’s young heart revolted
at letting him go through the washing process all by himself, as he was
so little, tired, and sleepy, so she said that she would give him his
bath. To her surprise he began to whimper, while his older brother
protested most vehemently that he could bathe him.
“Oh, no,” returned the young lady decidedly; and a few moments later her
charge was standing in the bath-tub, ready for his scrubbing, Nathalie
meanwhile talking to him gently, as if to quiet his fears.
Some time later, with a red, heated face, the young girl emerged from
the room, dragging a little white-robed figure by the hand, whose face
was, strange to say, wreathed in dimples. “Here, dear, you get into Miss
Natty’s bed,” said the girl, leading the child into her room, “and
brother will stay with you until I return,” motioning to Danny, who had
been waiting outside the bathroom, with a strange, worried look on his
face.
“Oh, mother,” exclaimed Nathalie a moment later, as she came rushing out
to the porch. “What do you think? Oh, I never was so surprised in my
life!”
“Why, Nathalie, what is the matter with you?” ejaculated Janet, as she
placed her arm caressingly around the girl. “You are as white as a
ghost, and you’re all of a tremble.”
“Oh, I’ve had such a scare,—such a _terrible_ surprise,” stammered the
girl. And then she broke into a little laugh as she cried: “Oh, mother,
you know the littlest chap? Well, he isn’t a boy at all; he’s a girl!”
“A girl!” echoed three voices simultaneously, and then Mrs. Page gave a
laugh, a laugh in which every one joined.
It did not take Nathalie long to relate her experiences in the bathroom,
and then she remarked: “I wonder if Mrs. Van Vorst knew he was a girl.
It’s awfully funny. Oh, I’ll read her letter again.”
The next moment, with the letter opened before her, she was slowly
reading aloud:
“Dear Nathalie:
“I am sending you four boys instead of three. The fourth lad is
a one-armed Belgian refugee, and his story is so pitiful I am
sure, when you come to learn it, you will be glad I sent him to
you. A Buffalo lady sent word to the Belgian Relief Committee
that she would take one of a number of refugees recently arrived
from France. But when she found that the poor lad had been
mutilated by the Germans, her heart weakened. She claimed that
she could not stand unpleasant things—what about the sufferings
of the boy?—and returned him to the committee.
“A member of the committee, hearing that I was looking for some
boys, and being greatly distressed over the cruelty of the case,
begged me to send him to you, if only for a little while, so as
to give them a chance to place him later. I, of course, will be
responsible for any expense he will be to you. I am sorry, but I
had no opportunity to clothe him. He seems a strange, docile
child. I think he is still living in the horrors of hell, from
those terrible eyes of his. Oh, it is heart-breaking, but I know
that you love children, dear, and I am sure that you are just
the one to bring something of the child in him back to his face
again.
“His story is one of many. His village was overrun by the German
soldiery, and the brave little lad, while trying to defend his
mother from the atrocity of a German officer, was bayoneted, and
finally lost his arm. His mother was carried away into Germany,
but the boy believes her dead. I will not tell you the rest of
the story, for some day he may want to unburden his child mind
and tell you his pitiful take himself. His little yellow dog has
been his comrade through all of his weary wanderings, the _only
thing_ that remains to him of his once happy home, and no one
had the heart to take it from him.
“The Italian lad was found wandering in the streets on the East
Side, making an effort to support himself by playing on his
violin, as his aged grandfather,—he seems to have been an
orphan,—who was a hurdy-gurdy man, had just died. The two
brothers were found living in a cellar, where Danny, the older
one, had been trying to support his brother, after the death of
the aged woman who had had charge of them. He sold papers, but,
when sick and unable to do so, was found half-starved in the
cellar. It is hoped that the bracing breezes of the mountain
air, with good healthy food, will make new children of these
boys.
“Dear Nathalie, if you could only realize the bigness of the
work you have undertaken in taking these slum children into a
wonder-land of healthy living, the beauties and wonders of which
will mean to them a new and glorified world. God bless you,
dear, is all I can say and pray.
“Your friend,
“Elizabeth Van Vorst.”
“No, this letter proves that Mrs. Van Vorst did not know that the child
was a girl,” said Nathalie, as she tucked the letter in her shirt-waist.
“But, mother, what _shall_ I do about it?” she continued, in such a
dejected voice that her mother burst out laughing.
“Don’t do anything about it, daughter,” Mrs. Page replied, still
laughing. “A girl is as good as a boy any day, and we will just set to
work, this very minute, and rig up some clothes from some of your old
things, for the child to wear.”
“Oh, I think she will make a lovely girl, with those great brown eyes of
hers,” cried Janet, enthusiastically. “And she has dimples, too. I know
we can make the sweetest thing of her, and—”
But Nathalie didn’t wait to hear the rest. She was so overjoyed to think
it had turned out all right, that she was in a hurry to reassure Danny,
whom she realized had been greatly worried over the circumstance. But
how did they come to dress the child as a boy? she queried as she
hurried into the room, where the now little girl had fallen fast asleep
in Nathalie’s bed, while her brother watched beside her with a white,
frightened face.
“Tell me, Danny,” inquired Nathalie gently, as she laid her hand on the
boy’s head, “how did you come to make a boy of your sister?”
A quick sob broke from the lad. And then, with a stiffening of his chin,
as if with the resolution that he would not give way, while furtively
wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he told how, when Granny
Maguire died, and his little sister’s clothes, after a time, wore out,
he had been compelled to clothe her in his cast-off rags, because he had
no others, and he didn’t know where to get them.
“She didn’t like it no way at first,” the lad’s blue eyes twinkled, “but
she got kind o’ used to it, an’ then I promised that when she growed big
I’d let her be a girl. And whin the leddy that does the settlement work
comed round and wanted me to go ter the country I couldn’t leave the
kid, and when she said he could come too, I didn’t squeal on meself, but
jest kept mumlike, for they wouldn’t have let her come wid me if they
knowed she was a girl. Sure, marm, we’ll have ter wait till morning to
go back,” the lad tried to steady his voice, “fur the boss wid the brass
buttons on the train told me there ain’t no train till then. Can we walk
to the station, do yer think?” he inquired pleadingly.
“But you’re not going back, Danny,” replied Nathalie. “You’re going to
stay right here with me, as long as you’re good and mind me. It doesn’t
make a bit of difference if your sister is not a boy. I wrote for three
boys, for I thought boys could take care of themselves in a way. Then,
as we have no servants here, and I get tired sometimes with so much to
do, I thought that boys would be more of a help. But we’ll dress your
sister as a girl, and—Oh, don’t cry, Danny,” for the boy had turned his
head aside, and was silently struggling with his sobs.
But they were sobs of joy, as Nathalie soon discovered, as, with a final
shake of his thin shoulders, he faced about and cried: “Oh, thank you,
ma’am. No, I ain’t no blubberin’ calf, but sure I just couldn’t let the
kid go back alone—and—But Gee, leddy, it sure is heaven up here with
these big hills—and the green trees—and the flowers—And, leddy,” he
pulled at Nathalie’s sleeve as she turned to go away, “I kin be a sight
o’ help ter yer, for I knows how to wash dishes, and I kin cook too, a
good bit.”
“Oh, that will be just fine, Danny,” enthused Nathalie, “for I am wild
to have a man chef, and I’ll let you wash all the dishes you want to,
for that’s a job I hate. And, Danny,” said the girl, patting the boy’s
shoulder gently, “we are going to make it as near like Heaven up here as
we can. But come, son, you must be tired.” And then she led the boy
up-stairs to the upper floor, where, in a large corner-room, she had
taken the other boys, who were undressed and ready to tumble into the
three beds.
After directing Danny to sleep in the double bed, as he was the largest,
so that each one of the smaller boys could have a bed to himself, she
showed them the closet and how to hang up their clothes,—what little
they had, they had brought tied up in handkerchiefs, or on their
backs,—she turned to go. “Yes, and you must be sure to get up, _every
one of you_, when you hear the big bell ring in the morning.”
She had reached the door, after bidding them goodnight, when a sudden
thought turned her back. And then Nathalie had her first solemn moments
with her boys, as she told each one that, before getting in bed, he must
say his prayers, so as to thank God for the good things that had been
given them that day. The little Italian lad immediately drew out his
rosary and began to say his beads, but Danny scratched his head in a
dubious sort of way, and mumbled that it was so long since he had said
his prayers that he couldn’t remember what he was to say.
But this forgetfulness on Danny’s part was soon remedied, as the girl
made him kneel by her in the moonlight that streamed through the window,
and solemnly repeat, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” adding a few words as
a suggestion to the boy as to what he should add to the prayer. Danny,
with a brighter face, now began to prepare for bed, and Nathalie, as she
again turned to leave the room, stopped to speak with the refugee. And
then the girl’s eyes grew moist, for he had stolen into the darkest
corner of the room, and, with his one hand solemnly upraised, was
repeating a prayer softly to himself, while the little yellow cur stood
at attention by his side.