PETER
Nancy knew, with the instinct of a heart unfamiliar with coquetry, what
Peter had to tell her!
She had wanted dreadfully to have to stay away from the orchard--she
had hoped that Aunt Milly might need her, but Aunt Milly had gone to
bed directly after supper, exhausted by the day's happenings. Aunt
Sabrina's door had been shut ever since, with the wallet, she had gone
into her room, and from within no sound betrayed her tragedy. B'lindy
was fiercely struggling, with mop and broom, to remove all traces of
the "curse" from Happy House. "Now just keep out of my way! I'm that
upset," she answered Nancy, shortly.
The sunset was gorgeous. It flooded the garden with a soft, flaming
golden light.
Like all girls, Nancy had had her dream of that time when her Knight
should come riding to her; like all girls her dream-Knight was a
pleasantly hazy individual, changing with her changing moods. And she
had not wanted him to come quickly. Her young freedom was very
precious to her.
One or two others had proposed to Nancy in hot-headed, boyish fashion.
That had been part of girlhood's fun. One, a Junior, after begging her
to elope with him, had gone away crushed, and vengeful, only to send
her, two weeks later, a bunch of violets and a little note thanking her
for her "common-sense," explaining that "Pop had threatened to cut his
allowance in half unless he settled down and made his mid-years."
These had been boys; dear, sentimental, clean-hearted boys, but Peter
Hyde was different--
She had not dreamed of this--not for a moment, until she had seen it in
his eyes that afternoon as they sat under the maple tree with B'lindy's
lunch spread between them. He had been such a jolly comrade through
these weeks at Freedom, he had been so understandable, like Claire and
Anne and Daddy! He had never thought she was silly or
not-grown-up-enough, he liked children and animals and knew just what
to do to make Nonie and Davy happy; he had shared with her his
ambitions in his work as though she was a man but, with it all, he was
a farmer--his lot had been cast in the narrow confines of Judson's farm
and barns and piggery--except for these pleasant days at Happy House
she, Nancy Leavitt, with her heart set on a goal as distant as the
stars themselves, could have little in common with him.
All this flashed through her mind as she walked slowly, reluctantly
toward the orchard--and with it an annoyance that their pleasant
comradeship should end this way. So that when, a little later, a very
earnest Peter began to tell her in stumbling, awkward words how much
her going must mean to him, she wanted to cry out and beg him to stop.
"Nancy--_I'm_ clumsy as the devil. Don't you _know_ what I want to
tell you? I can't let you go without knowing it--and--and--Nancy,
_could_ you ever--ever love a fellow--like me--enough--to--want--to
marry him?"
Then the woman's heart within her made Nancy ages old.
"Oh, Peter!" she said with tender compassion. She _didn't_ want to
hurt this very dear friend!
"I'm not nearly good enough for you, Nancy, but then, _any_ fellow
isn't good enough! And, Nancy, there isn't anything in this whole
world I wouldn't do--if you cared."
"Oh, Peter!" Why _in_ the world couldn't she say something more, she
thought. Why couldn't she stem that flood she knew was coming? Why
could she not make him see instantly, how impossible it all was--and
say good-bye and go!
"I'll make you happy, Nancy--if loving will do it," he finished humbly.
"Peter--I wish--you hadn't--said this!"
"Do you mean you don't care--a bit?" he cried, protestingly. "Have I
frightened you? You said yourself that living one day up here was like
weeks somewhere else! Somehow I've not thought of your going
away--ever. You seemed such a part of it here. You're
so--different--from all the girls I've known! You're such a--_pal_.
That's the kind a man needs!"
Nancy was biting her lip to hide its trembling. Over her swept a
reverence for this that Peter Hyde was offering her--she knew that a
man's pure soul was being bared before her. His awkward words came
slowly because they were born of a deep feeling. She was not worthy!
"Oh, Peter! Peter! Please--I'm--I can't let you say all this! I'm
_not_--what you think me! I'm a _cheat_! You'd hate me if----"
He caught her hand. "I know what you are, Nancy--you're the best,
truest, straightest-hearted little girl that ever lived!"
With an effort that hurt Nancy pulled herself together. She looked
away so that she might not see that it hurt Peter Hyde when she pulled
her hand from his close clasp.
"Peter--we must be--sensible." She hated her own words, but something
within her, told her that she must say them. "We've been jolly
comrades--here, but--I'm not cut out for--this sort of life. I'd hate
it--after a little; I'd go mad on a farm with just cows and pigs and
things around," she caught her breath; "I'm really an awfully selfish
girl, Peter, and I've set my heart on my career! I'll always put that
before anything--_anyone_ else! That wouldn't be fair--to you. You
must forget me and find someone who will help you in your work."
His face was turned from her--his silence frightened her. She tried to
make her tone light. "You've been a fine pal, Peter, you've helped me
a lot. You've taught me a great many things, too. I've always thought
that farmers and--and----"
He wheeled suddenly.
"Nancy, you haven't said you _didn't_ care for me, any!" he cried.
Nancy flushed in vexation.
"Well, I'm _trying_ to--the best way I know how! I _do_ like you--I'm
going to be as honest as I can be! I just couldn't _ever_--no matter
how much I might like the _farmer_--stand for--for a farm like
Judson's!"
To Nancy's unutterable amazement Peter Hyde commenced to laugh, very
softly, with a look in his eyes that caressed her. What an
unexplainable creature he was--anyway!
"When my play is produced," Nancy went on, airily, "I shall invite you
to come down and sit in a box and see it--and maybe, you'll bring Miss
Denny with you!" She wanted to punish him.
But Peter Hyde, the incorrigible, was looking neither crestfallen nor
disheartened. He seized both of Nancy's hands and held them very close.
"I'll come! When that play is produced you can just bet I'll be in the
stage box and it won't be Miss Denny that's with me either! You
haven't told me, Nancy--that you did not love _me_! You've just said
you didn't like--pigs and cows and hired men and Judson's in general.
Dear, I'm not going to let you answer me--now! I'm not even going to
say good-bye! You're a tired little girl. If I go, will you promise
me to go straight to bed?"
In her astonishment Nancy submitted to the impetuous kiss he pressed
against her fingers. When but a few moments before her heart had been
torn with pity that she must hurt this man, now he was, in a masterful
way, sending her off to bed as though she was a very little girl! And
nothing in his tone or manner suggested _anything_ but utter peace of
mind and heart.
But Nancy _was_ tired--so very tired that it was pleasant to be led up
the path toward the house, to think that someone--even Peter
Hyde--cared enough about her to beg her "not to open an eye for
twenty-four hours."
And of course it was because the day had held so much for her that upon
reaching her room, she threw herself across her bed and burst into a
passion of tears.