What the New Day brought
NELL sobbed and cried in a childish abandonment of grief when she found
that Pip had died whilst she slept. But as no tears could restore the
animal to life, the womanliness in her presently re-asserted itself, and
she set to work to make the house clean and tidy, pending her
grandfather’s return. After that she would dig a deep grave for poor
faithful old Pip, in which she would lay the creature in readiness for
burial, when Doss Umpey returned.
The exercise did her good, and as the sun was shining more brightly than
ever, her mood grew almost cheerful as the day went on.
While sweeping under the settle, her broom—a home-made affair,
consisting of rushes bound together—brushed out from under the settle a
little leather case, which she had certainly never seen before.
Picking it up, she brushed the dust from it with her sleeve, then opened
it to examine the contents.
At first sight it seemed to be quite empty, and the leaves of the
memorandum book inside were innocent of pencil marks or writing of any
description. There was a pocket in the case behind the book, however,
and from this Nell drew out the photograph of a middle-aged lady, with
the sweetest face she had ever seen. Something else the pocket contained
also, and this was a packet of three clean ten-dollar notes.
“Oh, how could the case have come there?” she cried, peering under the
settle to see that no more treasure-trove was lurking in the obscurity
there.
But nothing else remained, not even dust, so effectually had the
rush-broom done its work.
“Mr. Bronson must have dropped it from his pocket in the night. He was a
bit restless some of the time,” she muttered, shivering a little as she
thought of her uncomfortable vigil, sitting on the floor of the loft.
Then she wondered how she could possibly restore his property to him
without the knowledge of her grandfather. There was an uncomfortable
feeling in her heart that, if her grandfather knew of the money, he
would want to keep it, and that course of procedure did not march with
her ideas of honesty.
So she resolved for the present to hide the money. Perhaps Mr. Bronson
would write to her. He had spoken of doing so, and of sending her some
books, in which case she would be able to write to him in return, and
send the packet.
“Only I’ll post the letter myself, even if I have to walk to Button End
and back,” she said, with great decision. Then she returned to her work
with a will, being anxious to have the house as clean and tidy as hands
could make it before the old man’s return.
She had dragged the mat, with Pip’s dead body resting on it, to the cool
shade at the back of the house; and there, in the hot noontide, she dug
the grave, perspiring a great deal, but working with great energy, to
get her task completed.
The hole was ready at last, and she climbed out of it with a sigh of
relief, dropping on to the ground for a brief rest.
Then she heard sounds of talking—a woman’s voice high-pitched and
complaining, children’s tones eager and excited, and the tramp of
horses’ feet.
With a fluttering at her heart, she ran round to the front of the house.
As a rule, hardly one person in a month passed along the trail, except
in winter, when lumbering was being carried on—even then it was only
men and boys who came; but these arrivals, by the sound of their voices,
were plainly womenfolk, or at least there was one woman.
When she turned the corner of the house she saw a little procession of
three horses, just halting under the big Valparaiso oak. A woman, lean
and shrewish of aspect, was mounted on the first animal, in company with
many bags and bundles, among which a fryingpan and two new tin saucepans
showed conspicuously.
Two children—a boy and a girl—shared the next horse, their steed also
being hung round with trappings of the same description; while the third
horse was heavily laden with more household stuff.
A man and a big boy completed the party, which looked hot and tired, as
well they might after the ten miles’ journey from Button End, for in
this glowing September noontide the forest trail was hot as a furnace.
Nell approached with a bewildered look on her face, and some dismay in
her heart, wondering how she could contrive to offer hospitality to so
many people. Her household stores were at a painfully low ebb at the
present moment—indeed, she had neither tea, sugar, nor coffee to offer
them, and the remaining flour in her barrel had been made into bread
that morning—two small loaves, which would not half suffice to feed
this party of five.
Then she remembered the great basket of berries which she had gathered
two hours before, and that the early apples were already quite eatable,
so she quickened her steps to greet the arrivals, a little comforted on
the score of hospitality.
“Are you Doss Umpey’s gal?” called out the woman, in high-pitched,
querulous tones.
“I am his granddaughter,” Nell answered, with as much dignity as she
could muster, yet all the while conscious that her dreadful old clothes
detracted very much from the cold aloofness of her bearing.
“It’s about the same thing in the end, I guess,” rejoined the woman,
with a cackle of harsh laughter. “Well, there’s a letter from the old
man to tell you why we’ve come, and are going to stop.”
And she tossed a smudged envelope to the ground, directed in Doss
Umpey’s straggling writing, to “Miss Nell Umpey, at Blue Bird Ridge.”
It was really too bad, and poor Nell could have cried with vexation,
that her grandfather, who was too lazy to spell his own name properly,
should call her by it also. But when she had read the letter, she was
thankful indeed that he had not addressed her by her right name.
“DEAR NELL (so ran the letter),
“You will be surprised to hear that I have sold the Lone House
and the furniter to Joe Gunnage and his wife, and they are going
to live there. Mrs. G. says you can stop on as hired gal if you
like. But if you are wise and have got enuff pluck, you’ll just
git over the border into Canada as quick as you can; you are
safe to do better there than in the States. I’d have sent you
some money if I could, but the fac is I’m desperate hard-up all
along of harbouring wipers in my buzzom as have warmed up and
stung me. But I’m hopin’ to get on to something good soon, then
I’ll look you up and help you. Meanwhile don’t you let on to no
one what I’ve told you, nor nothin’ about me, as I don’t want
the perlice to get interested in what I’m doing.
“DOSS UMPEY.”
Nell was so long in getting at the sense of the old man’s badly written
letter that by the time she had done, the three horses had all been
unladen and hobbled so that they could feed in the open space before the
house, and the woman was carrying the bundles in at the door, assisted
by the children.
“Have you come here to live?” asked Nell, in a bewildered tone.
Although she had read the letter, she could not yet comprehend its
meaning, or realize that the old life was gone, and that she was
suddenly thrust upon her own resources, with no one to care what became
of her.
“It looks like it, don’t you think?” said the woman, with another
cackling laugh. “Now then, girl, what’s your name—Nell? Don’t stand
there staring as if you was short-witted; stir round lively, and help me
get these things inside.”
Nell came to assist in a half-mechanical fashion, still doubting the
evidence of her own senses. The man and the big boy had not spoken to
her, had hardly glanced in her direction indeed, but were absorbed in
looking round their new premises, grumbling loudly because the clearing
about the house was not so big as they had supposed.
The small boy and girl had likewise disappeared on a journey of
exploration, so Nell and Mrs. Gunnage were left alone.
“What! haven’t you got a cooking-stove?” cried the woman, in shrill
consternation.
“We did have one, but it dropped all to bits in the spring, and I’ve had
to bake bread in the ashes all summer. Granfer had said that he would
get a new one in the fall,” Nell answered.
“Well, it’s fall now, and I must have a stove, for I can’t bake bread in
the ashes, if you can. Joe will just have to go over to Button End
to-morrow, and get me one. What is up that ladder?” demanded Mrs.
Gunnage, sharply, having just caught sight of the rickety ladder in the
corner behind the door.
“It leads to my room,” Nell replied, then was instantly indignant
because Mrs. Gunnage prepared to mount and inspect the loft without
asking permission.
But the swaying, creaking ladder proved too much for the woman’s nerves.
“I will just have Joe make me a firmer ladder before I go up there, for
a fall would about shake me to bits. Is there any furniture up there?”
“An old camp bed and two boxes,” Nell answered, with characteristic
brevity. She had come to the conclusion that she simply detested Mrs.
Gunnage, and that nothing should induce her to remain at the Lone House
as hired girl to such a woman.
“I thought as much! But, my word! to hear Doss Umpey talk of his
furniture, a person might have looked to find marble-topped tables and
mahogany chairs. A downright swindle it is, to call this old truck
furniture.”
To this pronouncement Nell made no reply; she was quietly reserving
herself for what must come later, trying also, in some way, to shape and
plan her future, yet feeling all the time in such a whirling confusion
of mind as scarcely to be capable of meeting the needs of the moment.
“It is a puzzle to me where we are all going to sleep. Why, the house
isn’t big enough to swing a cat in!” exclaimed Mrs. Gunnage, scornfully;
and indeed the small interior did seem rather crowded, now that the
lading of the three horses had been brought in and dumped upon the
floor.
“For to-night the little girl can come to sleep with me in the loft. The
two boys would be very comfortable in the stable, for there is quite a
nice lot of hay there that I have been cutting and collecting for
Blossom in the winter, and the nights ain’t cold yet,” Nell answered,
with a desire to make things as pleasant as she could for these
interlopers, who had come into such sudden and unexpected possession of
her home.
Mrs. Gunnage turned upon her with an air of exasperation.
“To-night, indeed! Well, I’ve more than one night to think and plan for,
and I’m sure I don’t know how Miranda would manage to climb up that
shaking ladder. I shall keep her down here with us for to-night, and
after that we must see what can be done. I’m willing to keep you on
through the winter as hired girl, if you like to stay, for your board;
but, by the look of you, I shouldn’t say you’d be worth wages at
present.”
“Thank you, I could not stay for my board, and I will go away to-morrow
morning,” Nell said hurriedly.
“But where will you go? Your granfer said you hadn’t any friends, that
was why I sort of offered to take you out of charity,” the woman said,
measuring Nell’s lean length with her eye, and mentally resolving to
make her so-called charity a very paying investment indeed.
Nell flushed an angry red. To her, charity was the most hateful word she
knew, and synonymous with everything horrid and unkind.
“It is true that I have nowhere to go and no friends. But I am strong,
and can work, so that does not matter, and I have no need of charity,”
she answered, with her head held at a proud angle.
“Oh, stuck up, are you? Well, a little hard work will soon take that out
of you, I reckon. Where are you off to now?” demanded Mrs. Gunnage, as
Nell moved towards the door.
“I am going to finish burying our poor old dog, which died last night. I
was digging a grave for it when you came,” Nell answered.
“Dead, is it? I remember Doss Umpey told my Joe the creature was pretty
bad. Well, there ain’t no need for you to go out fussing about burying
it. The men folks can see to that, and do you just stay here and help me
get a bit straight. I could fancy a cup of coffee and a bit of food if
it was got ready for me.”
“I would rather bury the dog myself, thank you,” Nell remarked, and was
passing out of the door when a shrill scream from the woman arrested her
steps.
“Come back, I say, and do as I told you. When I speak, I expect to be
obeyed.”
“I will come and help you presently, if I have time, but I am not your
hired girl, please remember,” Nell rejoined, civilly still, but with her
head held at a dangerous angle, and her eyes shining with the light of
battle. Then she walked away, disappearing round the corner of the
house, and set to work at covering Pip in the grave she had dug,
shovelling with tremendous energy in order to get her task completed
before any one should disturb her.
No interruption came, however, and when she went back to the house Mrs.
Gunnage was sullen, but civil.
Nell made up the fire, boiled some water, and made the tired woman some
coffee. But the two loaves of bread which were her own she quietly
carried up to the loft and put with the clothes from her mother’s box.
She would need that bread for her long journey next day, and did not
mean that it should be taken from her, by accident or otherwise.
For the remainder of the day, until darkness fell, she did her best to
help Mrs. Gunnage. She cooked supper for the family, and served them all
as meekly as if she were in truth the hired girl. She even shared their
supper, feeling that she had certainly earned it. When darkness fell,
she mounted up the swaying ladder to the loft, and then set to work on
her own preparations for the future. The night was moonless, and she had
no lamp or candle, but one can do a great deal by feeling when the
occasion demands it.
Only two of her treasured books could be taken,—the Bible, which had
been her father’s, and Longfellow; the dictionary and Bacon’s essays
must be left. Perhaps Miranda Gunnage or one of the boys would like to
have them.
When her preparations were quite complete, and, by the sense of touch,
she had taken leave of the few treasures she must leave behind, Nell lay
down on the broken camp-bed for the last time and fell asleep.
No dreams came to disturb her repose. No fears of her future stuck
thorns of unrest in her pillow that night, and when the first of a
family of blue birds came to twitter and stir in the great oak outside
her open shutter, Nell started up broad awake, quite prepared for her
plunge into the Unknown.
It was not daylight yet, for that was the western world, and the
towering heights of the Rocky Mountains blocked out the earliest
splendours of the rising sun. But morning would soon be here, and
meanwhile there was her toilet to consider; a great affair this, for she
had resolved to cast off her rags and clothe herself in the attire found
in her mother’s box.
Very softly she moved, through fear of waking the sleepers down below.
Yet she could not avoid little gasps and gurgles of delight as she
arrayed herself in the flowing, old-fashioned skirts, and buttoned the
blue bodice across her thin chest.
She had rolled her hair into a big knot at the back of her head, and
when the bonnet, with its bunch of pink roses, was tied on her head,
Nell felt that her appearance left nothing to be desired, and could not
possibly be improved.
By this time daylight had fully come, and she was able to survey herself
in the cracked piece of looking-glass, which was all the mirror she
possessed. The black silk cape she had packed in with the few garments
she had to carry. Her cast-off clothing was folded into a neat little
heap, and Nell was wondering how soon she might venture down the ladder,
to make her start out into the wide world, when a harsh voice called up
from below—
“Now then, gal; when are you going to bestir yourself, or do you mean to
lie there all day?”
It was the voice of Mrs. Gunnage, and, screwing her face into lines of
stern resolution, Nell picked up the old canvas bag containing her
clothes and the two books, then came slowly down the swaying ladder, her
blue skirt folded closely round her, and the pink roses nodding in her
bonnet.
“Well, you do look a figure of fun! What sort of game are you up to
now?” demanded the woman, sharply; but there was an anxious look in her
eyes, for she had counted rather considerably on retaining Nell as a
household drudge through the winter.
“I am going away. I told you last night that I shouldn’t stay here, now
that granfer has gone. And I’m obliged to start early because I’ve a
long way to go. It is going to be very hot presently, then walking will
be difficult.”
“You can’t go till you’ve had your breakfast.”
“Oh yes I can, thank you. I have two small loaves of bread, and I shan’t
want anything else,” Nell answered, moving towards the door.
“Look here, it shan’t be said I turned you adrift. You stay here all
winter, and I’ll give you a dollar a month for pocket money,” said Mrs.
Gunnage, spreading her hands out to emphasize the magnificence of her
offer.
“I can’t stay, thank you. I’d rather go. Good morning,” jerked out Nell.
Then, stepping across the threshold, she went out to face the future,
and all that it might bring.