REAL LEAVITTS AND OTHERS
The storm overtook Peter and Nancy on a lonely road that Peter had
taken as a short-cut home.
At a sharp flash of lightning Nancy clutched Peter's arm.
"Pe-ter! Oh-h! It's silly for me to be afraid! It's only when it
crackles!"
"I thought we could make Freedom before it broke. But I guess not.
Here comes the rain!"
It came, in a blinding deluge.
"Sit close to me, Nancy. We must get to a house _somewhere_ along this
road!"
"B'lindy's bones certainly did feel right," Nancy giggled, excitedly.
"Oh-h!" at another flash. "_Pe-ter_! I'm--I'm such a coward. Don't
you think that's the worst?"
Peter hoped that it wasn't. He did not mind at all the flashes that
sent little quivers of alarm through Nancy and made her huddle closer
to him; he enjoyed the sense of protecting her, though his face, bent
grimly upon the puddled road ahead, gave no hint of his real feeling.
"If this bus only had its curtains! Are you soaked?"
"You are, too, Peter! Do you suppose this is a cloudburst? Can the
car make it?" For the little Ford was floundering uncertainly along
the flooded road.
"What an end to our picnic," declared Peter, disgustedly. "Ha--a
house, as I live! See ahead there."
Through the sheet of rain Nancy made out a low-gabled cottage almost
hidden by the trees.
"It looks deserted," she declared, disappointedly.
"It'll be shelter, anyway. Deserted nothing--hear the dog! When I
stop make a dash for the door."
The dog's bark was by way of a welcome rather than a warning, for, as
he bounded toward the road, his shaggy tail wagged in a most friendly
way. As Nancy, following Peter's command, made a dash for shelter, the
door of the cottage opened hospitably and a little old woman, unmindful
of the fury of the rain, reached out to draw Nancy in.
"Come right in! Bless me, you're soaked." She had a cheery, piping
voice and a way of repeating, "well, well, well," as though everything
on earth was an exciting surprise.
"Won't your young man come in, too. Sit right over here by the fire!
I told sister Janie that I'd light a few sticks of wood to keep it
cheery. It got so dark-like. I'll set the kettle over and have a cup
of tea in the shake of a dog's tail. When it storms in these parts it
_does_ storm, dearie! How wet you are!" She fussed over the fire and
over her kettle and over Nancy's wet blouse. "Now, Janie, isn't it
nice to have folks come here out of the storm?"
Then Nancy, through the gloom of the storm, made out that Janie was
another little old woman sitting in an old arm chair in the window.
Quite unmindful of the storm, she was tranquilly knitting.
"Folks don't come by this road so often," she smiled back.
"Aren't you afraid--sitting there?" Nancy cried. As she spoke there
came a flash of lightning followed almost simultaneously by a roar of
thunder that threatened the weather-beaten walls.
The sister called Janie waited smilingly, her head cocked on one side
as though she enjoyed the storm. "Afraid, honey? Goodness, no.
Saphrony and I've lived through too many of these storms to be afraid!
Isn't the Lord watching over us just like all folks?"
"And didn't He just bring you poor souls here out of the storm?" added
the older woman. "This tea will steep in a minit and I'm goin' to call
that boy in!"
Peter had been trying to fasten a makeshift arrangement that would keep
Nancy's seat dry. He was glad enough to give it up at their hostess'
call. He looked so much like a drowned cat with the water dripping
from his hat and shoulders that Nancy was as concerned as Saphrony and
Janie.
"You poor children," Saphrony cried, running around Peter in a flutter
of worry. "Take your coat right off this minit! Ain't I _glad_ I
started that fire! Fetch another stick, Janie. Well, well, well, now
ain't it a nice storm that brings folks here for shelter?"
The fire did feel good against their soaked backs and Nancy and Peter
enjoyed the chatter of the two funny, fussy little old women. The
kettle sang merrily, too, and steamed invitingly. Janie, at her
sister's bidding, opened a treasure-chest in the other room and brought
from it a piece of fruit cake, wrapped in a red and white napkin.
"A bite'll taste good with our tea," Saphrony explained, apologetically.
"Aren't they the cutest pair?" Nancy whispered to Peter. "And isn't it
the funniest little house?"
There seemed to be only the living room and kitchen combined and the
bedroom adjoining. The furniture in it was very old and very worn, but
everything was spotlessly clean. The red and white cover on the table,
the braided rugs on the uneven floor; and the piece-work cushions in
the armed chairs added a homey, cosy touch that made up for the little
luxuries lacking. Even in the storm the room was cheery.
Nancy forgot the storm in her enjoyment of the situation. Janie
removed the red and white cover and spread a very worn white cloth.
Saphrony took from a cupboard built in the wall a shiny pewter
sugar-bowl and cream pitcher. Peter, amid a storm of protest from both
little women, drew up some chairs.
"Now you stay right there by the fire," cried Saphrony. "We like to
fuss! Janie and I don't have folks here often. The hot tea'll warm
you."
The tea tasted very good, both Peter and Nancy declared over and over.
"It's just like a party," Nancy added, nibbling on the thinnest shaving
of fruit cake. Her evident pleasure set both little old ladies off in
a soft cackling of satisfaction.
"Do you two live here all alone?" Nancy asked, passing her cup for more
tea. "It seems so lonely."
"Lonely--not a bit! Janie and I've lived here all our lives. Not many
folks come 'long this road, but we don't get lonesome--not a bit!
There's always something to do. Folks just gets lonesome and miserable
when they're idle, I always tell Janie. A little more cake, Mister----"
"Peter," laughed Nancy. "Well, I shall remember this storm because
it's given us such a jolly half-hour, as well as a drenching! Oh,
_look_--the sun!"
Through the mist of rain and the purple gloom the sun burst warm and
golden, pouring through the bare windows into the little room, touching
every corner and cranny with a cheerful glow.
"How wonderful," Nancy exclaimed. "It's the bright lining, all
right--the cloud has turned inside out! I believe," she turned to
Peter, "that when the sun does shine it shines brighter--here! You two
have magic."
"Janie and I never shut it out," laughed the sister Saphrony. "We say
it's God's way of smiling and frowning. There's no storm but what
passes and we're just mighty glad you two children came 'long this way.
Goin' to Freedom?"
Afterwards Nancy said to Peter that that had been the most curious
thing about the two friendly little old women--that they had not right
at first asked who they were nor where they were going!
Peter answered from the window. "Yes--we thought this road would be
shorter." Then, to Nancy: "Do you think we can venture now? I guess
the storm's passed."
Nancy nodded. "We'd better start. My aunts are worrying dreadfully,
I'm afraid. But we've loved it--here. May we come again sometime?
And may we not know who it is that has given us shelter?"
"Why, yes--I never thought to tell! Most folks know us, but maybe
you're new in these parts. We're Saphrony and Janie Leavitt."
"_What!_" cried Nancy with such astonishment that Peter turned from the
door. "Why, I--_I_ am Anne Leavitt!" she said in very much the same
way she had spoken in the French class, four years before.
The two little old women laughed. "I guess you're one of the Happy
House Leavitts--they're _real_ Leavitts. Sister Janie and I are only
plain Leavitts," Saphrony explained with a twinkling in her eyes that
seemed to say that to confuse real Leavitts with plain Leavitts was
very, very funny. "Are you Miss Sabriny's niece?"
Nancy avoided the question. "Aren't you any relation to us--up at
Happy House?"
"Not as anybody ever knew of. There's Leavitts and Leavitts all over
New England, I guess. We've always been poor as Job."
"Well, I shall always pretend we're related," declared Nancy, warmly,
"because it's been so nice here!"
While Peter was carefully tucking her into the seat with much lamenting
that it had gotten so wet, Nancy was staring reflectively at the funny
little weather-beaten cottage. From the door smiled the two sisters.
"I wish," she said, "that I could take a piece of their philosophy back
to Happy House!" She leaned out to wave her hand once more. "Hasn't
it been fun? I'm glad now that it stormed."
As they splashed along toward Freedom, Nancy fell into a sudden quiet.
Her mind was held by an overwhelming desire to tell Peter, in this last
hour she might have alone with him, the whole truth--that she, like the
two sisters they had left, was not a real Leavitt, of that day back in
college, of Anne's pleading and her yielding. Twice she opened her
lips to speak, then shut them quickly. There was something in Peter's
strong profile that made her afraid. Once he turned quickly and saw
her eyes upon him with a frightened, troubled expression in their
depths.
"What is it, Nancy?" he asked tenderly.
She couldn't tell him--she could not bear to see his face when he knew
the truth! She tried to speak lightly.
"I was thinking how much I'd grown to like--things--around here and how
I hate to--go away. Peter, will you keep Nonie and Davy doing happy
things--like other children. And, Peter--do you hate people that--act
lies?"
Peter laughed--Nancy was so deliciously child-like. Then he suddenly
colored to the very roots of his hair.
"Generally--I haven't much use for people that can't stick pretty well
to the truth. But when there may be some reason--someone may start
doing it for someone else----" he stopped abruptly. Nancy stared ahead
with startled eyes. Did he know? But, no, how could he! It had only
been an accident that he had so nearly hit upon the truth.
She could not tell him--she need not tell him; in a few days she would
say good-by and go away and never see him again! Theirs had been a
pleasant friendship, for awhile she would miss it, but she'd be just
plain Nancy Leavitt again, playing with Claire at Merrycliffe or with
Daddy somewhere in the mountains or at the seashore, working,
too--beginning life. After a while these weeks at Happy House would
seem a curious memory--a dream!
Suddenly she shivered.
"Freedom--at last!" exclaimed Peter, increasing his speed. Ahead they
saw the gleam of roofs through the trees. "And it looks as though
they'd caught the storm worse than we did!"