A Black Sheep
The one month in the winter camp had made more change in Nan Graham than
the entire preceding summer, and the influence exerted by Rose Dyer in so
short a time greater than all Miss McMurtry's conscientious efforts, so
does one character often affect another, so by a strange law of nature do
extremes meet. Unconsciously Nan had always cherished just such an ideal
as Rose represented. This uncouth young girl, untrained in even the
simple things of life, with her curious mixed parentage of an Italian
peasant mother and a ne'er-do-well father, who nevertheless was of good
old New England stock, wished to be like the lovely southern girl who had
nearly every grace and charm and had had every possible social advantage.
Yet in spite of the contrast Nan did wish to be like her and though even
to herself there seemed little chance of her succeeding, did try to mold
herself after Rose's pattern. The other girls quickly noted her attempts
to soften her coarse voice, to give up the use of the ugly expressions
that had so annoyed them and even to wear her clothes and to fix her
thick black hair in a soft coil at the back of her neck as their guardian
did. But fortunately they were kind enough not to laugh nor even to let
Nan know that they were watching her. The girl had a certain beauty of
her own with her dark coloring and sometimes sullen, sometimes eager,
face. Her figure, however, was short and square, indeed she showed no
trace of her New England blood and bore no resemblance to graceful Rose.
However, as the days went by Nan was growing to be more like the other
Camp Fire girls in her manner and behavior, and was probably learning
more than any one of them, since she had had fewer opportunities before.
Miss Dyer could hardly help suspecting Nan's devotion, for although she
was still faithful to Polly as her first friend in the club, always she
was at Rose's side ready to do anything she wished, and always accepting
her suggestions in the best spirit. It was therefore the new Camp Fire
guardian who was responsible for Nan's not separating herself from her
family as the young girl would like to have done during this time of her
effort at self-improvement. For Rose knew that the whole effort of the
Camp Fire organization was to make the girls more useful, to give better
and happier service to the people they loved. Therefore, because of
Rose's advice and after a long talk with her in which Nan explained the
conditions of her own home, it was decided that the young girl should
spend every Saturday with her mother helping her with the work of the
home and the care of the children, and trying to make practical the
lessons she was learning in the Camp Fire.
These days at home were not easy ones, and the girls were accustomed to
seeing Nan come back at night tired and cross or at least dispirited. Her
mother had no interest in her efforts. She was opposed to her oldest
daughter's living away from home if she were earning no money, and had no
desire to have her house disturbed by Nan's vigorous weekly efforts at
cleaning. Indeed, except for Nan's father, she would never have been
permitted to live at the cabin, where her share of the expenses were now
being paid by Rose Dyer. He, however, had a kind of sympathy with the
girl's efforts, and a slowly awakening sense that his daughter had the
right to wish to be a lady. Though he might not actually help her, at
least no one should stand in her way. So at his command Nan had been
allowed this winter with the girls at the cabin and was also to do what
she liked without interference when she returned home on Saturdays.
Personally he liked the smell of soap and water which her visits left
about his shack and greatly enjoyed the homemade bread and the weekly
pumpkin pie which was always cooked especially for him.
But Nan's most serious opposition came not from her idle but fairly
good-natured mother but from her older brother Antonio, or Anthony as he
preferred to be called. Having been given the Italian name he was less
Italian than any other member of the family. Indeed, he was a
good-looking American boy with hazel eyes and a fair skin and, except for
his curly dark hair and a certain unconscious grace, not different in
appearance from other American boys. Yet he shared the family weaknesses
and had refused to go to school for the past two years. Indeed, he would
not work at anything for a sufficiently long enough time to make it
count, so that probably because he was a boy, and a fairly capable one if
he had been more ambitious, his present reputation was now the worst in
the family. He appeared also to resent Nan's new friendships and new
efforts with the greatest possible bitterness.
On the Saturday morning when Polly and Betty started driving toward town
on their errand, about a quarter of a mile from the cabin they came
unexpectedly upon Nan. She was trudging steadfastly along with a bundle
of clothing which Rose had given her for the younger children under her
arm, looking resolute and yet none too cheerful.
Before catching up with her the two girls sighed and then smiled at one
another. They had wanted this drive together without any one else and had
waited until Saturday morning so that Betty's pony, Fire Star, would be
free for her use and they could have the small sleigh, which had been
well mended since the accident. Fire Star and a pony belonging to Sylvia
Wharton had made the trips back and forth to school each day and a return
journey was too much for them except for some special emergency. Both the
girls had particularly wanted to discuss certain features of their Camp
Fire play without interruption, but now the sight of Nan's faithful
figure awoke their sympathy.
"For goodness' sake, squeeze into the middle along with us, Nan," Betty
invited. "How selfish you must have thought Polly and me this morning
when we were planning right before you to drive into town and never said
a word about taking you as far as your home. The fact is we both had
something so important on our minds, or at least the thing seems
important to me, so that really we forgot about you."
The girls then said nothing of their errand while they were driving along
the road, where the snow was now beaten down into a hard, firm crust. But
when they had set Nan down in front of the ram-shackle hut at the edge of
the village which served as her home, Betty leaned out remarking
confidentially: "I am sorry we can't come back for you, Nan, but I am to
get my box of jewelry from the bank and take it to our cabin so that I
feel we ought to get back as soon as we can."
There was no point in Betty's making this confession at this special time
and Polly disapproved of it. They had taken no one into their confidence
except Mollie, and, of course, their guardian. However, since Nan had
been falsely suspected of stealing her money, Betty had never failed of
showing her faith in her.
And Nan understood this as she stood for several moments watching the
pony and sleigh out of sight and hearing. Polly was wearing a crimson
felt hat with a small black quill in it and a long red coat, and Betty, a
seal-skin cap with a knot of her favorite blue velvet on one side and a
fur coat. Nan could not help feeling the contrast between their lives and
hers as she stepped later into their crowded and untidy kitchen.
Nevertheless their friendship helped her to bear the fact that her
brother Anthony, whom she loved best in her family, would not even speak
to her. Indeed the thought of the Camp Fire club sustained her through
the long and specially trying day.
A slight flurry of snow fell during the morning, so that the four younger
children would not go out of doors but kept getting under Nan's feet
while she tried to clean. Her mother objected to each thing she did and
Anthony loafing in a corner smoking cigarettes tried his best to make her
lose her temper.
At lunch Mr. Graham, who usually came home then and made things easier
for Nan, did not return, so that by the time the dishes were washed the
girl had given up the attempt to do any further cleaning and turned to
her usual Saturday baking. This was usually more appreciated by her
family. Because of a possible failure if she were too much interrupted,
Mrs. Graham then removed the younger children to another room, leaving
Nan alone with her brother.
He did not torment her any further at first, but seeing that he was
unusually moody and out of sorts his sister turned to him.
"What is it, Tony?" she inquired good-naturedly, ignoring what had passed
between them.
The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Wasn't good enough to be elected a Boy
Scout," he sneered, "seems like the fellows around here said they didn't
like my record and wanted their camps kept up to the mark. Course I don't
care anything about joining but they might have given a fellow a chance.
Give a man a black name--I say, Nan," he broke off suddenly, "couldn't
you lend me some money, say five dollars or so?"
Nan stared at him in surprise. Anthony must know that she hadn't a cent
in the world to call her own and that she was having her expenses paid by
Miss Dyer at the cabin. Of course she meant some day to repay Rose, Betty
and Polly for all they had done for her but it might take a number of
years.
"Couldn't you borrow the money from some of your rich friends?" he
demanded, irritated and ashamed at his sister's silence. And then,
unexpectedly, seeming to feel a better impulse, he came closer to the
table where Nan was now mixing her pie crust and watched her quietly for
a few moments. In a measure he realized his own right to be a gentleman,
and resented the fact that they were everywhere looked down upon, and
that Nan's efforts to better herself had to be made outside her own
family.
"There ain't no use your trying to make something of yourself, Nan," he
said more kindly than he had spoken before during the day. "This Camp
Fire business don't mean anything _real_. These girls maybe are letting
you live with them and treating you fairly well but once you're grown up,
maybe they'll say 'Howdy do' to you on the street, but they won't ever
ask you into their houses or be your friends. I bet they didn't want you
driving into town and being seen on the street with them to-day. I was
watching and saw them set you down at your own door pretty prompt."
"It wasn't because they were ashamed of me," Nan defended promptly, and
yet although she knew that what she had said was true she could not help
feeling both sore and ashamed. For the other Camp Fire girls really had
the right to feel differently toward her when her own family would do
nothing to make themselves respected and when she found it so hard to
struggle with so much against her. For an instant Nan felt as if she
might have to give up. But only for an instant, for she raised her
flushed face and her brother saw the tears standing in her large dark
eyes.
"The girls would have been perfectly willing to take me into the
village," she explained more quietly, "only they knew I had to work at
home and they were going in on an important errand to get some money or
jewelry of Betty's from the bank before it closed. They wanted to get
back to the cabin before dark or else Betty said they would have stopped
by and taken me home with them."
The moment after these words passed Nan's lips she regretted them, not
because she believed any possible harm could come of them but because she
remembered that Betty and Polly had both told her no one else had been
told of their intention and she did not wish to be the one to betray
their confidence.
"Please don't tell anybody what I have just said?" she begged
beseechingly, but already her brother was lounging away as though he had
grown tired of the confinement of the kitchen and apparently had not even
heard her. But when Nan repeated her request he returned. "Oh, certainly
I won't tell, Nan. Who on earth would I mention such a silly thing to
anyway? It seems to me you Sunrise Camp Fire girls think every little
thing you do and say of importance to all the world."