Moved on
THE next three days were filled with much hard work, heavy nursing, and
considerable anxiety for Nell.
Mrs. Munson was slowly mending, but now that she was on the high-road to
recovery, she was quite positive that she was on the point of dying, and
harassed her long-suffering nurse accordingly.
Since his aunt was getting better, Giles Bailey was able to turn his
attention to the outdoor work, which had been neglected before Nell’s
arrival, and he was abroad in his fields from dawn to dark, only coming
into the house to eat and to sleep.
This was a great comfort to Nell, who felt she could easily have too
much of his society, for on the brief occasions when he was in the
house, he would sit with his chubby round face propped on one hand,
silently gazing at her, until she became so nervous that she did not
know what to do with herself.
It never occurred to her that his silent gazing was prompted by deep
admiration for her active movements and resourceful ways, or she would
have been more uncomfortable still. But, as it was, she was thankful his
farm work kept him so busy that it left him scanty leisure for sitting
in the house.
The day before Nell expected the doctor to pay his second visit, she had
a scare which made her heart beat furiously.
She was looking out of the window in the afternoon, thinking how she
would love to go berry-gathering in the forest, if she could have left
her invalid, when a man on horseback rode in at the gate shutting off
the forest trail, and she instantly recognized him to be Joe Gunnage,
who had come to live on Blue Bird Ridge.
Giles Bailey, who was in the yard, came up and spoke to the man, and
talked to him for perhaps ten minutes; then, without dismounting, Joe
Gunnage rode back by the way he had come, and Giles came on towards the
house with news writ large across his fat round face.
Nell fled at his approach, taking refuge in the sick-room, where she
dropped into a chair on the far side of the bed, and, picking up a
half-darned stocking, worked away as if her whole attention were
absorbed in the effort to get the holes filled in with the utmost
dispatch.
Mrs. Munson was sitting up in bed, propped up with pillows and swathed
in shawls, for the day was cool, with a brisk wind blowing.
“It’ll be a warning to me if I pull through this, Miss Hamblyn, not to
let Giles get so short of socks and stockings,” she was saying, in a
plaintive tone. “It always seemed so prudent and economical to be just
doing with the three pairs, two off and one on, but a fit of sickness is
a regular eye-opener, I can tell you, and the poor lad would have gone
barefoot in a few days more if it had not been for you.”
“I say, aunt, here is news! May I come in? But I mustn’t stay more than
two minutes, for I’ve left the hosses hitched to the field gate, and
there ain’t much telling what mischief they will be up to if I ain’t
there to look after ’em. Whom do you think I’ve been talking to here,
just outside the window?”
“Not the President, I suppose, though I don’t know as you could look
more bursting with news if it had been him and half the senators from
Washington to keep him company,” Mrs. Munson replied, in a caustic
manner.
Her manner to her nephew was, as a rule, severely repressive. She
believed that he, in common with all other young people, required a
great deal of keeping in order.
“It was Joe Gunnage as we used to know at Lewisville ever so long ago,
and he has come to live at Blue Bird Ridge,” said Giles, taking off his
straw hat and rumpling his hair wildly, which had the effect of making
him look more foolish than before.
“Where’s that? I can’t remember that I’ve ever heard of the place,” Mrs.
Munson said feebly, for she was very weak still, and neither able to
speak nor think with her accustomed vigour.
“Why, you remember the Lone House on the long trail, where old Doss
Umpey used to live!” exclaimed Giles.
Mrs. Munson gave a start of surprise, but Nell sat like a figure carved
in stone—only her needle moved in and out of the stocking with a
mechanical, almost unconscious, action.
“If you’d said the Lone House, I should have knowed before; but Joe
Gunnage won’t be such a very near neighbour, for it’s a good thirty
miles from here, I should say. What has become of Doss Umpey? Is he
dead?”
“No; he has had to flit in a hurry, that’s all. It’s the inside of a
prison he ought to see, only Joe says it’s doubtful whether they’ll
catch him, because he’s such a slippery old rascal,” Giles remarked,
with an air of such intense enjoyment, that Nell, writhing in her secret
shame and misery, felt that she hated him.
“Oh! Has he been doing anything fresh, or was it the old business up
again?” Mrs. Munson asked, with eager interest.
“A bit of both so far as I could make out. It seems that Brunsen has
been talking a good deal, and that has stirred the police up. Then Joe
has been grubbing out a hole at the back of the Lone House, and he has
come on some things as had best be reported to the border police; that
is what made him ride this way.”
“Why didn’t you ask him to come in and see me?” demanded Mrs. Munson.
“I did; but when I told him you were sick with fever, he said he’d
rather not, for it was hard enough for well folks to get on at the Lone
House, but sick ones would have no sort of a chance at all.”
“That Joe Gunnage always were a regular downright coward,” replied Mrs.
Munson, with a snort of disgust. Then she lay back on her pillows,
looking so white and spent with the brief excitement, that Nell nodded
an emphatic command to Giles to go away and leave the invalid quiet.
In her own heart a storm of fear and misery was raging. What was this
old business connected with her grandfather and the man named Brunsen,
about which Giles Bailey and his aunt talked so glibly? Was there some
law-breaking connected with his life, concerning which she knew nothing?
A vague unreasoning terror seized upon her then, and she quailed at
heart as nothing had ever made her quail before.
Ever since she could remember she had had to face hard, grinding
poverty, but there had been no shame in that. The father whose memory
she cherished so fondly had been a preacher, a scholar, and a gentleman;
and although Doss Umpey had been none of these, she had always supposed
him to be a straight man according to his lights.
How intensely thankful she felt that she had so carefully hidden the
secret of her identity from these people, among whom she had been flung
by accident! Of course, the fact might leak out yet; indeed, it must, if
Joe Gunnage called at the farm on his way back from the frontier.
Then she thought of the strange manner in which her secret had been so
far protected. Both Giles and his aunt had at first supposed her to be
Gertrude Lorimer, the other girl; then when the doctor came and
explained why the other girl had not been able to come, they had still
looked upon the stranger nurse as having come from the neighbourhood of
Nine Springs, some one sent by the doctor.
“If only I can get away from here quickly, and hide myself in some place
where no one has ever heard of Doss Umpey or the Lone House on the long
trail, how thankful I shall be!” Nell exclaimed to herself, and little
thought how hard she was to find the task of escaping from this
unenviable notoriety.
When Dr. Shaw appeared on the next day, he was greatly pleased with Mrs.
Munson’s progress, and said so many complimentary things about Nell,
that her cheeks flamed and burned at the unaccustomed praise.
“How is the other girl, if you please?” she asked shyly, when she
brought the doctor’s horse for him to mount.
“Gertrude Lorimer? Oh, I was there to-day, and I don’t like the look of
her. I never saw a girl who tried harder to do what was expected of her,
and to rise to the needs of the occasion; but she hasn’t got it in her,
and she can’t do it. Mrs. Lorimer is in bed, and her husband ought to
be; the boy Patsey has got a bad chill and is in bed too. Those children
will go bathing when they are hot, in the icy cold springs on the
clearing, and they always are getting chills,” he answered, with a
disapproving shake of his head, and was about to ride away. But Nell had
not done with him yet.
“Could you—would you mind looking round for some work for me to do?
Mrs. Munson will soon be well enough to spare me now, and I have nowhere
to go. I am very strong, and I can do outdoor work, or anything rough,”
she said, flushing from sheer nervousness, lest he should ask her
questions difficult to answer.
“I will see what I can do. Don’t they treat you kindly here?” he asked,
with a jerk of his head towards the house.
“Oh yes; it isn’t that. But I came without being asked, and so, as soon
as I can be spared, I would rather move on. Can’t you see that I must?”
she said earnestly.
He laughed at this; then said in a graver tone, “Well, have patience
until I come again; I shall be this way in a week, I dare say.
Meanwhile, I will talk to Mrs. Shaw, and we will see what can be done
for you. In any case, you can’t be spared from here until Mrs. Munson is
able to leave her bed, you know.”
“That won’t be very long, for she talks of getting up to-morrow,” Nell
replied, drawing down the corners of her mouth, for she was clear
sighted enough to see that Mrs. Munson, able to get about the house,
would be a person to be reckoned with.
“Ah, I shouldn’t be surprised if she does, for she is one of the very
tough sort. You must humour her as much as possible, and she will get
better all the sooner.”
Nell went back to the house with a flutter of hope at her heart. Perhaps
when the doctor came again he would be able to tell her of some one in
need of a strong girl who was rather ignorant. Her thirst for knowledge
of all sorts made her value her own attainments at a very low figure,
although in reality she was not nearly so ignorant in matters domestic
as she supposed.
The next morning she commenced a very thorough cleaning of the
farmhouse. Starting with the loft where Giles slept, she routed out the
dust, scrubbing and scouring with such zeal and energy that Mrs. Munson
held up her hands in amazement, and the silent Mr. Bailey stared at her
more admiringly than ever.
When the house had been cleaned to her mind, and the clothes all washed,
she made a great batch of bread, and was taking the last loaf from the
oven when the doctor arrived, two days before he was expected.
He was not riding this time, but driving Dobbin in a high two-wheeled
cart, very light and strong, as indeed any vehicle would need to be that
was used on those forest trails.
Mrs. Munson was sitting in a rocking-chair by the stove, giving Nell a
great deal of advice on the baking of bread. But she held up her hands
in dismay at the sight of the doctor, and exclaimed about the length of
the bill which she would have to pay.
“You have no need to trouble yourself on that score, Mrs. Munson; I have
not come to see you this morning, but to fetch Miss Hamblyn away,” he
said gravely.
“What for?” demanded the invalid, in surprise, her tone resentful,
although an hour before she had been quietly planning to get rid of her
nurse as soon as possible, because it cost more to keep three people
than two.
“Because some one needs her even more than you do now,” he replied. Then
turning to Nell, who was standing mute with surprise, he went on, “I
have been over to Lorimer’s Clearing this morning, and find they are in
a terrible plight. Mrs. Lorimer is still in bed and unable to move,
although she is suffering more from the shock of losing her sons than
anything else. Abe Lorimer is ill this morning, only just able to creep
from one room to another, and Gertrude, poor child, can’t lift her head
from her pillow. There isn’t a soul to do anything except Flossie, the
little lame girl, and she has the baby to look after. Will you go and
help them, as you have helped Mrs. Munson?”
“Thank you; yes, I shall be pleased to go,” replied Nell, with a radiant
face, for her heart was strangely stirred to think that it was the other
girl whom she was going to help. Numberless were the fancies she had
cherished concerning that other girl, and she had greatly longed to see
her.
“I don’t know how I shall get on without you,” Mrs. Munson said, in a
grudging tone; and the radiance on Nell’s face faded out.
“I think you can manage now, if you don’t try to do too much,” she said
gently. “The house is all clean, you know; the washing is done up, and
I’ve baked enough bread to last a week.”
“I’ll have to do, I suppose, since you are so set on going, though Giles
will seem but a clumsy cook after you.”
“Go and get your bonnet on, and pack your things; I can’t wait more than
half an hour, and if you’ve got more than one trunk, you will have to
leave it behind,” Dr. Shaw said, with a nod of kindly dismissal to Nell.
She disappeared into Mrs. Munson’s room, donned her blue merino dress
and the bonnet with the pink roses; then, because there was a stiff
breeze blowing, and she was hot from her labours at bread-making, she
flung the black silk cape with the bead trimming round her shoulders,
and fairly held her breath with awe at the grandeur of her own
appearance.
A little sigh escaped her because her shoes were so worn, but they were
very black and shiny, which hid their shabbiness a little.
When her toilet was completed, she took up her bundle and went back to
the outer room, where Dr. Shaw sat talking to Mrs. Munson.
“Well, of all the surprising things! Why, what made you turn yourself
into such an old woman?” he asked, with a disapproving look at the
bonnet and cloak, which were better fitted in point of age for Mrs.
Munson.
“Don’t I look right? I’m very sorry, but I haven’t got anything else to
wear,” Nell said; then added, with a ripple of laughter, “But perhaps
the folks will like me all the better if I look old. They will think I’m
the more able to do things.”
“They will soon find that out without any telling,” the doctor said, as
he pushed back his chair and rose to go.
Mrs. Munson, who had all this time been fumbling with a yellow canvas
money-bag now asked, in a rather acid tone—
“How much am I in your debt, Miss Hamblyn, for the work you’ve done?”
An astonished look came into Nell’s dark eyes, and she answered
impulsively—
“Why, you are not in my debt at all, of course; and I am very much
obliged to you for letting me stay.”
“That is all nonsense!” broke in the doctor, as he shook his head at
Nell. “You must give Miss Hamblyn what you think fit, Mrs. Munson. She
has got her living to earn, and cannot afford to do her work for
nothing.”
“She has had her living, and good living too, for we don’t stint food in
this house,” Mrs. Munson said grudgingly, for she was very much disposed
to take Nell’s view of the matter, and restore the yellow canvas bag to
her pocket with its contents undisturbed.
But this the doctor would not permit. “Something you must pay, Mrs.
Munson, if only as a thank-offering, for, remember, it is the nursing
you have had which has saved your life,” he said, sticking to his point
with so much pertinacity that in the end Mrs. Munson produced two
dollars from the yellow bag, which she bestowed upon Nell with the air
of one who confers a very great favour indeed.
“It will help towards buying you a pair of boots, and it won’t be before
you need them either,” she said, in such pointed allusion to the worn
state of Nell’s footgear that the poor girl crimsoned with
mortification.
“Now that little ceremony is over, we will be moving,” said the doctor,
with an air of relief.
And in a very few minutes more Nell had taken leave of Mrs. Munson, and,
with her bundle, was mounting the step of the doctor’s high two-wheeled
cart.
Giles Bailey came up just as they were driving off, and protested
vigorously against Nell being spirited away in such a hurried fashion.
But the doctor only laughed at him. “If you are so anxious to provide
your aunt with a permanent nurse and helper, friend Giles, you should
get married, and bring your wife home to look after things.”
“She’d have a rather bad time of it, I’m afraid, shut up with aunt and
me,” he replied stolidly, and, as usual, staring hard at Nell.
“I’m afraid she would,” commented the doctor. Then he told Dobbin to
start; so the journey was commenced, and Nell was moved on further into
the wide world.
“I did not like to take that two dollars, but it is lovely to have some
money of my own,” she said, drawing deep breaths of satisfaction, as the
cart swayed and bumped over the inequalities of the trail.
“What! had you no money at all?” demanded the doctor, in a shocked tone.
“Not of my own. I have got thirty dollars with me, but it isn’t mine,”
she answered.
“Why have you got it, then?” he asked bluntly.
“I found it after the person had gone away to whom it belongs; and I
can’t send it to him, because I don’t know where he is,” she replied,
with disarming candour.
“I suppose, then, you feel entitled to keep it. Quite a lucky find for
you,” he said, darting a sharp glance at her, which made her flush in a
hot, uncomfortable fashion.
“Of course I should not keep what is not my own,” she answered, with a
gentle dignity. “I might have been forced to borrow a little of it if I
had been compelled to pay for my board at Mrs. Munson’s, but now there
will be no need to touch it.”
“I hope not,” said the doctor, gravely; then he began talking about
different things, showing Nell the big boulders of ironstone which stood
up among the tree growths like the ruins of some ancient castle. “The
Indians have a legend about those rocks,” he said. “When the frontier
was decided upon, the two nations agreed to build a wall, twice the
height of a man, from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic, and they
started here, where material was abundant. But the wind spirit and the
water spirit arose in their might, beating down the puny beginnings of
the great undertaking, and killing those who had planned it.”