BIRD'S-NEST
"Joshua Leavitt was Justin's son and he married Abigail Clark over at
Isle Le Motte, and they had three sons, Joshua and John and Jacob, all
upright, settled young men. Let me see, it was either John or Jacob
was killed in the war of 1812, wasn't it, B'lindy?"
Nancy's mind was working faster than the knitting needles in her
fingers. For three days now she had sat very close to Aunt Sabrina,
learning "all about the Leavitts."
"It's lucky I have a good head for history," she said to herself,
nodding to show Aunt Sabrina that she was deeply interested in these
Joshuas and Johns and Jacobs. "If I'm here long enough she _may_ get
down to the present generation! Joshua--John--Jacob," she repeated
softly.
"Dear me, where _is_ B'lindy? My memory isn't as good as it used to
be. I'm growing to be an old woman. But the Bible in there tells how
either John or Jacob fell at Fort Niagara. The Leavitts have always
been brave men--and men of honor!"
At this point Nancy, quite involuntarily, dropped a stitch. The sudden
color that flushed her cheeks escaped Aunt Sabrina's notice, for
B'lindy's voice came suddenly through the open door.
"Miss Sabriny, if Jon'than don't get that cornstarch from Eaton's there
won't be no cornstarch puddin' for dinner. He's worse than no good
round the house and a body takes more steps huntin' him than doin' all
his chores for him!"
Nancy sprang to her feet. "Oh, _please_ let me find him! I--I'd love
to walk around a bit, too. I'll speak very sternly, B'lindy--you just
see if he doesn't go at once!" Tossing her red wool into the cushion
of the old rocker she had been occupying, Nancy was off before the
astonished B'lindy or Aunt Sabrina could utter a protest.
She found Jonathan at his everlasting digging. Nancy shook him
playfully by the arm. Jonathan could not guess that her eyes were
bright because, for a few moments at least, she had escaped from the
oppressiveness of Aunt Sabrina and her ancestors; his old heart warmed
to her infectious smile.
"B'lindy's as cross as can _be_! She must have the cornstarch at
_once_! I hate cornstarch pudding worse than poison, but you must
hurry as fast as you can, and _please_ go by the lilac side of the
house, because Miss Sabrina is sitting over on the hollyhock porch
talking ancestors and I want her to think that it's taking me forever
to find you!"
"Cornstarch! Bless my boots!" A hundred wrinkles crossed the weather
beaten old face. "I'll go off to Eaton's fast's ever I can, Missy."
"Nice Jonathan," and picking a posy, Nancy stuck it into the buttonhole
of the gardener's sweater. "And _I'm_ going fast's ever I can,
straight out to the lake."
With a wave of her hand she flew down the path through the row of old
apple trees. She wanted to shout and to sing, but as that might
startle the entire island, she indulged in a joyous handspring instead!
"Of course, Anne, darling, if _you_ could see me you'd look
shocked--you'd say, 'Nancy Leavitt, when _are_ you going to grow up!'
But, Annie, if growing up and up and up is going to be to grow like
your Aunt Sabrina, sitting all the day long dwelling on the glories
that are past and gone--never--never--_never_!" The girl flung her
arms out toward the blue waters of the lake. "If I had a wish I'd wish
that I could swim straight out across you--to those purple
mountains--over there!"
It was very still in the orchard; cool, too, for the hot June sun only
penetrated in spots the outspreading branches of the old trees.
Gradually the tumult of longing in Nancy's mind quieted; a sense of
delicious quiet inspired her.
"It's heavenly here--just as though I was all alone in the world." She
turned slowly around. Not a glimpse of any habitation could be seen,
the rows of trees hid even Happy House. And beyond was the stretch of
sparkling water, with its rim of hazy, purple hills.
Nancy ran to the apple tree nearest the cliff. It was very old, its
branches grew close to the ground. In a moment she had climbed them
and had perched herself comfortably upon one with her back resting
against another.
"It must be nice to be a bird," she mused, touching lightly the glossy
leaves about her. "Playing in tree-tops and when you're bored to
death, simply flying off without so much as an excuse! Or a
wood-nymph," wistfully. Then her drooping shoulder suddenly
straightened, under the stimulation of an idea. She sprang to the
ground. "Oh, _rapture_!" she cried, and raced back toward Happy House.
Half an hour later Jonathan, having made peace with B'lindy, found her
in the old carriage house. Two shiny nails protruding from her teeth
and a hammer in her hands betrayed that she had found his tool-box.
Her face, through smudges of dust, wore a look of determination.
"You've come just in time to help me, Jonathan. I must get the top of
_this_ box off and fasten it to _that_ box--so it'll open and shut.
Then you must find a piece of leather for hinges and some oil cloth. I
think that you have everything on earth hidden in this place--except
carriages!"
Because, with Jonathan, it had been love at first sight, he obeyed with
only a "well, well, Missy." With the boards of one box he made a snug
door for the other box and he found, hidden away, some precious leather
that could be cut into strips for hinges, and a square of oil cloth and
canvas, too. There were more nails in the tool-box, and though old
Jonathan guarded that tool-box like a treasure-chest, he'd give Nancy
anything it held!
They labored feverishly, and within an hour Nancy declared their work
done.
"Now come with me, Jonathan, and I'll show you my secret." She lifted
the box and started toward the orchard, Jonathan trudging after her.
When they reached the last tree near the cliff Nancy set her burden
down. She turned to her companion with a solemn face.
"Jonathan, no one is going to know this secret but you and me! I am a
dramatist. You don't look as though you knew what that was, but it is
something that it's very, _very_ hard to be, and I shall have to
work--like everything! Right up on the branch of that tree is where
I'm going to work. I want you to take those nails I put in your pocket
and fasten this box securely to the trunk of the tree. Then I'm going
to keep all my things right in it and fasten it with this padlock
I--borrowed--from your tool-box. It'll be just like a nest--and I'll
steal out here and work and work and then, some day, when I'm famous,
all the newspapers will print a story telling how I wrote my first play
in an apple tree and that it was a secret between you and me, and
they'll want _your_ picture! Now, right here, Jonathan. I'll hold it
and you nail it tight."
Jonathan _didn't_ know what a dramatist was, but he did know that his
"little Missy," perched on the old branch, was as pretty as any bird
and her eyes as bright as the sunshine that filtered through the leaves
of the tree.
"Oh, that's just fine," cried Nancy, springing to the ground to survey
their work. "It's as safe as can be and you've helped me a _lot_, you
dear old thing, you. Now we must hurry home or B'lindy's dinner will
be cold and remember, cross your heart, this is a solemn, solemn
secret!"
She drew her fingers across his worn, gray sweater, and he nodded in
acceptance of the mysterious sign. And as he followed her back through
the orchard to the house something within his breast seemed to sing the
way it did each spring when he found the first crocus peeping up
through the frosty earth.
Nancy found it difficult to keep from bolting through her dinner. But
a tiny sense of guilt at having left "Joshua and Jacob" so abruptly
made her very attentive to Aunt Sabrina's long story of how the blue
china was first brought to Happy House.
Scarcely had Miss Sabrina's door closed upon her for her hour of rest,
however, than Nancy flew to her own room. She gathered up her precious
paper and pencils, a knife and a worn manuscript case, a few favorite
books and a tattered dictionary, and started out on tip-toe through the
hall toward the stairs. But, though her step was light, its sound
caught a certain patient ear nearby.
"Nancy! Oh, Nancy!"
Nancy remembered, then, remorsefully, that not once that day had she
run in to see poor little Aunt Milly. With her treasures in her arms
she went straight to her. In the smile that greeted her from the couch
by the window, there was not one sign to indicate that Aunt Milly had
been waiting the whole long morning for her to come.
"I've been so busy," explained Nancy, dropping her load. "I have a
mind to tell you, Aunt Milly. I meant it to be a secret, only Jonathan
knows, because he had to help me. And I'd like _you_ to know, too.
Anyway, a secret's more fun when more of us know it! You see, I'd
gotten as far as Jacob in my lessons on Leavitts, and then Aunt Sabrina
couldn't remember whether it was he or his brother that was killed in
the war of 1812, and B'lindy rudely interrupted just because she had no
corn starch! Oh, Aunt Milly, I'm dreadful, but I couldn't have stood
it another _minute_--I could have hugged B'lindy and her pudding! Why,
I've sat for three days straight in a horrible stiff chair listening to
musty, dusty tales, and I wanted to scream! So I said _I'd_ find
Jonathan and I bolted--and I _stayed_ away! And out in the orchard,
right close to the bank, the grandest idea came to me. To fix a nest!
And Jonathan helped me. We made a little box, all waterproof, and
nailed it to the tree to keep my things in--these," indicating the pile
at her feet. "And I'm going to hide there--and work! And that's
another secret. I'm writing a play! I wrote two in college and the
English professor said they were unusual and the Senior class gave one.
And I have a _real_ one, almost done. _Now_ you know the secret."
"Oh, _Nancy_!" said Aunt Milly softly, two bright spots of color on her
cheeks.
"You see I can steal out there and sit on that comfy branch and think
I'm all alone in the world. Such beautiful thoughts will come to me!
It'll be like a bird's nest."
"Oh, Nancy," Aunt Milly said again, with a tragic look in her eyes that
the youthful Nancy could not read. "I wish I could see you there--just
once! Are the trees big, dear? And is the grass real green?" There
was a little tremble in the sweet voice. "Seems to me it used to be
ploughed up 'round the apple trees."
Over Nancy rushed the heartbreaking thought that poor Miss Milly had
not seen the orchard for years and years. She threw both arms about
the frail form. With a torrent of words she pictured the raspberry
patch, old Jonathan's lettuce and radishes and beets and beans and
slender cornstalks working up through the soft earth, and the giant
apple trees beyond, the lake "just like diamonds sprinkled over
sapphire blue velvet" and the purple hills in the background. And all
the while she talked, Nancy felt little quivers passing through the
form she held.
"It--isn't--_fair_!" she ended, enigmatically. She sat still for a
moment, staring at Miss Milly. With her bright color Aunt Milly didn't
look at all like a helpless invalid. "Maybe----" began Nancy, then
stopped short. She rose abruptly to her feet. "I've got an idea that
beats my bird's-nest all to pieces! I can't tell you now because you'd
be frightened to death, but it's going to be wonderful! Let me hide
this truck under your couch and now be very, very good until I come
back. I must find B'lindy at once."
Nancy, fired by her sudden purpose, interrupted B'lindy in the last of
her "drying up" and demanded to know where she could find Mr. Webb.
When B'lindy "'lowed she wa'n't his keeper, but he's most al'las
hangin' 'round the smithy or Eaton's or the post-office or the hotel,
'cept when you wanted him, and then he wa'n't hangin' 'round nowhere,"
Nancy started off down the path, bareheaded.
Fortune favored her, for Mr. Webb was "hangin' round the smithy and
very delighted to see Miss Anne!" He had been wondering a lot about
the coming of the girl to Happy House. "Somethin' sure to come of it,"
he had reflected again and again.
Of course, he assured Nancy, he'd do anything he could for her. And
Nancy was sure they might find all that they needed right there in the
smithy.
"It must be very comfortable and have some springs--and be safe, too.
And if you can find some wheels with rubber tires--off an old baby
carriage, they'll run more smoothly. And the seat must be big enough
for a lady--but she's a _small_ lady!"
Jonathan thought he "caught her idee. Old Mrs. King, over at North
Hero, couldn't walk a step 'count of rheumatism, and she had a rig-up
such as Nancy was describing." Yes, Timothy Hopkins at the smithy had
most every kind of a thing about and he'd see what he could do, and
Miss Anne could run down in the morning, early, before the stage
started for North Hero.
"And, Webb," Nancy levelled her sweetest smile, "don't even _try_ to
think whom it's for--it's a secret."