A LETTER FROM THE MASTER
Four days had passed since Nancy had written her confession and sent it
off to Peter Hyde. They had seemed endless, too, in spite of all the
strange changes at Happy House. Aunt Sabrina and Aunt Milly were
pathetically and helplessly busy over the new member of the family, and
his coming had necessitated momentous reforms in the habits of the
household and long arguments as to the proper care of infants. B'lindy
had finally found somewhere in the back of a "Household Helper" a
chapter on the "Care of the Child," and went about all day with a
finger between its pages and a superior look on her face.
Nancy had spent one entire afternoon at the Hopworth's. Nonie and Davy
had come for her and had dragged her back with them to see their "Dad."
"Ask him to tell you 'bout----" and Davy had breathlessly, rattled off
a dozen or more of the war tales that he had liked best.
Nancy had thought, that afternoon, that, somehow or other, the Hopworth
kitchen had changed since that first day she had visited it. It was
cleaner, homier; there was less litter, the air was not so heavy with
the stale odors of cooking. Old Dan'l sat near the open door smoking
the pipe Eric had brought him, his eyes following Eric's every
movement. Liz, fussing about over household tasks, was less dominant,
less forbidding, and the tired look had gone from her face.
With the children's chatter Eric Hopworth's shyness soon wore off.
Nonie had told him of the pleasant days at Happy House with Nancy; he
felt a deep gratitude to these people who had been doing for his two
"kiddies" what he should have done. At Davy's coaxing he had repeated
for Nancy some of the incidents of the war in which he had shared.
Davy had proudly exhibited the precious trophies that had come home in
his father's luggage.
"And Dad's going to stay home always and always now," Nonie had
announced. Then Eric Hopworth explained that he had taken a position
in a big manufacturing plant at Burlington.
"The boss there was my captain. It'll do for a start. After a bit,
maybe, I can take the family there, though Pa'll likely want to always
stay here in Freedom," he had added with a squaring of the shoulders
that said plainly that the burdens of the household now rested upon him.
Nancy had gone away from the cottage that afternoon with a feeling in
her heart that Nonie and Davy would no longer need her. Davy, with his
first-hand war stories and trophies and a real hero for a father, from
now on had an assured standing among the youths of the village, and
Nonie had some one to love and to love her.
So the little loneliness that this thought created added to Nancy's
restlessness and made the hours seem endless. And it made her, too,
haunt the doorway watching for Jonathan and possible letters.
She told herself, sternly, that, of course, it was silly to expect
Peter Hyde to write--that was a closed chapter. But she had written a
long letter to Anne, telling her of the strange things that had
transpired at Happy House and of the two dear little sisters who were
undoubtedly Anne's relatives. Surely Anne must answer that letter.
Old Jonathan was too simple-hearted to wonder why Nancy ran out each
day to greet him or why she asked, each day, in a manner she tried to
make casual, if "Mr. Judson had anyone to help him yet?" But on this
fourth day, his smile was broad with satisfaction as he proudly placed
in her hand a big, flat envelope.
A week before Nancy would have exclaimed--for it was from Theodore
Hoffman. Now she turned away in disappointment.
In the excitement of the last few days she had forgotten her play. She
opened the envelope now with steady fingers. By some intuition she
knew just what she would find inside. There they were--all the sheets
over which she had toiled so long, familiar, yet unfamiliar, their
freshness gone from handling--tired-looking. Before she opened the
master's letter she gave them a tender little pat, as though she felt
very sorry for them.
The master's letter told her that her play had much merit and a great
deal of promise, but that it was "young." "You must know more of life,
my dear young lady, live close to love and close to sorrow and learn
life's lessons, before you can portray them.... And never lose faith
in your work. After failure, try again--and again--and again....
Work, work, work, greatness is in effort."
Nancy read the words with a thrill--it was as though he was speaking to
her.
Her labor of the last few months should not be in vain; her little
play, though it had been a failure, had brought her this golden message
from the one who had, through the effort he preached, risen to the very
top.
Then the last two paragraphs of the master's letter made her forget
everything else.
"I have had constantly in my mind that strange child who played and
danced in your garden. She has haunted me. You told me her name was
Nonie Hopworth. I have looked up records and have learned that the
young student who, fifteen years ago, gave such promise of dramatic
ability, was Ilona Carr and that she married an Eric Hopworth. This
Nonie is without doubt her child.
"Will you ask the child's guardians if they will allow her to come to
my school at Tarrytown for a few years? There she will have the best
schooling and dramatic training that my teachers can give and her
talent will have an opportunity for development and growth. When she
is older she shall choose for herself whether or not she will follow
the calling----"
"The fairy godmother has come," declared Nancy, later, bursting in upon
the Hopworth family with her strange news. She had to read and re-read
the letter so that they could understand and Eric Hopworth had to hear
all about the afternoon at Happy House when the great Theodore Hoffman
had called.
At first he had decidedly opposed the plan. Liz had snorted in
disapproval. Nonie had stared at first one, then another, with round,
bewildered eyes.
"You ought not to throw away such a chance. It's a wonderful
school--I've visited there. Nonie will have splendid training----"
"I know all about it," Eric Hopworth had broken in, and Nancy suddenly
remembered what the master had told her.
"Tell me about Nonie's mother," she begged.
There was not much to tell--she had come into Eric Hopworth's life and
gone out again, in a few years.
"I always had a feelin' I'd cheated her of a lot," Eric Hopworth said
humbly, turning in his hand the photograph he had brought out from old
Dan'l's bureau to show Nancy.
It was a cheap little photograph, taken a few months after they had
been married. But the pretty face that smiled out of it was a happy
face. Nancy, as she studied it closely, wondered if it had ever been
shadowed by a regret for the dreams she had sacrificed by her marriage.
"Then--don't cheat Nonie now," Nancy answered.
So before she went away it was decided that Nonie should go to
Tarrytown and while little Nonie was pinching herself to be sure she
was awake and not dreaming, Nancy's and Liz's minds, in true feminine
fashion, leaped ahead to the question of "clothes." Upon their
perturbed planning came Mrs. Cyrus Eaton, walking into the Hopworth
kitchen with the air of one familiar with its threshold.
Too many strange things had happened for Nancy to be amazed at this.
And when she saw Mrs. Eaton pat Eric Hopworth's arm as she sat down
beside him, Nancy knew that in the woman's heart, all silly prejudices
had been swept away by a deep affection for the man who had saved her
boy's life.
Mrs. Eaton had to hear all about the master's letter and Nonie's
wonderful chance to go to the school at Tarrytown.
"Clothes--land sakes, Liz Hopworth, you've got enough to do without
fussing over clothes. Let me get the child ready. I always did want
to sew for a girl. Besides, it isn't much for me to do,
considering----" she could not finish, but she laid her hand, again, on
Eric Hopworth's arm.
Nancy realized, more than Liz, how much Mrs. Eaton wanted to have this
opportunity to do something for Nonie, so she answered quickly, before
anyone could make a protest:
"That will be splendid if you will help out that way, Mrs. Eaton," and
she made her tone very final, as though they must all consider the
matter settled.
Nancy left Mrs. Eaton and Liz fussing over the wearing qualities of
various fabrics hitherto absolutely unknown to Nonie and walked slowly
homeward. It was a sunny, still afternoon, conducive to meditation.
And Nancy, in a pensive mood, had much to meditate over.
A moment's whim had brought her to Happy House and how much had
happened because of her coming. How curiously intermixed everything
had been; her acquaintance with Judson's hired man had brought her in
touch with the great Theodore Hoffman and then he, through her, had
found Nonie.
Life was so funny--Nancy suddenly remembered a game she had played when
she was very, very small. She had had a box of queer shaped and many
colored Japanese blocks, that, if placed together in just the right
way, made a beautiful castle upon the highest peak of which she could
place a shining red ball. But it had been very difficult to build;
Nancy had, often, in impatience, thrown the blocks down, but her father
had always come, then, to her help and had laughingly coaxed her to try
again.
Life was like that--if one could successfully fit all the queer edges
together and build up, piece by piece, one could have the reward of the
shining ball at the top. But Nancy, thinking of it now, felt the
tugging impatience that she had used to feel toward the pile of colored
blocks.
A few weeks had so changed her own life--she must take up the little
pieces and begin to build again.
At the gate of Happy House she paused, and turning, looked down the
road. In the last few days she had caught herself often looking down
that road and yet she would not admit to herself--she was too proud to
admit it that she was always wishing that she would see Peter Hyde
coming. It was very lonesome at Happy House without him.
Suddenly, in a swirl of dust, a motor turned the corner at the smithy
and approached toward her at a tremendous speed, its outline barely
distinguishable because of the cloud that enveloped it. No one came up
that road unless they were coming to Happy House.
Then someone, swathed in linen and green, floating veiling, spied Nancy
and waved wildly from the tonneau.
Scarcely believing her eyes, Nancy took a step forward. With a swerve
and a roar the car came to a stop and from the front seat, throwing off
goggles and cap, sprang Eugene Leavitt.
"Daddy!" cried Nancy, throwing herself into his arms.
"I thought it was Anne, but I couldn't----"
she began, finally withdrawing from his tight clasp to greet the
others. "I just--couldn't believe it."
Anne was standing now beside her, and behind Anne, unwinding yards and
yards of dust-covered veiling, laughed Claire.
"Oh, it's too good, good, good to be true," Nancy cried, trying to
embrace them both at the same time. "To have you all come--at once.
I'm so happy, I just want to cry."
"And, Nancy, at last you're going to meet my brother Barry,"
interrupted Claire, her eyes sparkling. "You wouldn't come to
Merrycliffe, so you see I had to bring him here."
Nancy was so happy that she could even turn to greet the despised
"lion" with a radiant smile. Claire's brother, who, forgotten by the
others in their joyous reunion, had been busying himself with the
engine of his car, now turned and removed from a dust-stained face the
goggles that had almost completely hidden it.
"Pe-ter. You----" and Nancy, her face crimson, put her two hands
behind her back.