“WAS THAT THE REASON?”
After breakfast the next morning Miss Roy felt a strong desire to go
into Nancy’s bedroom. The fact was, she had dreamt of the starving
bird the night before. She quite longed to see for herself that the
little prisoner was attended to, that he was bright and cheerful and
happy. But she scarcely liked to do this, for it seemed like doubting
Nancy.
Nancy was avoiding Miss Roy. She was spending most of her time in the
open air, and very often she would go away quite by herself. As she
complained of nothing, however, and ate her meals all right, no one
remarked on her strange conduct. Miss Roy said to herself that Nancy
was repenting of what she had done.
“I shall try to find out from her if she has ever neglected the bird
before,” she thought.
The morning pursued the even tenor of its way. The four girls went out
on the water with Captain Richmond; and Miss Roy, at last overcome by
her desire to see the canary, went into Nancy’s bedroom. She uttered
an exclamation when she saw the hook on which the cage used to hang.
What could have happened? Where was the bird? She went downstairs to
see if it had been removed to the schoolroom. It was not there. She
then questioned the housemaid, but beyond the fact that she had not
seen the bird when she went to draw down the blinds on the previous
evening, the girl could tell her nothing.
“This must be inquired into,” said Miss Roy to herself; and when the
girls came in she spoke to Nancy, doing so openly before the others.
“Nancy,” she said, “I happened to go into your bedroom, and I could
not see your bird there. What have you done with Sunbeam?”
Augusta immediately fixed her bold eyes on Nancy’s face. The other
girls looked up, wondering. They knew how passionately Nancy adored
her bird.
“Well, Nancy, why don’t you speak?” said her governess.
Just then Captain Richmond appeared.
“Why, Miss Roy,” he said, “what is this solemn conclave? I heard you
ask Nancy something.—What is it, Nancy?”
“You asked me about my bird,” said Nancy, raising her head and
speaking bravely. “I have given him away.”
“Nancy! you have given Sunbeam away?” cried Kitty.
“Yes. I took him yesterday to a little girl—you know her, Nora—you
remember her, Kitty—Grace Hammond. She wanted a bird, and I gave her
Sunbeam. He was my own, and I could do what I liked with him. Don’t
keep me, please.”
She pushed past the girls. Her manner was almost rude. Before any one
could utter an additional word she had left the room.
“What does this mean?” said Captain Richmond.
“I think it is very generous of Nancy,” here exclaimed Augusta.
But no one else applauded Nancy for her generosity. There was a weight
in the air which every one felt.
Immediately after lunch Captain Richmond went away to pay a round of
calls. Miss Roy retired to her own room—she happened to have a very
acute headache—and the four girls were alone.
Kitty fixed her eyes on Nan. Nan shuffled uncomfortably with her feet.
“Where are you going?” cried Nora. “It is such a lovely day,” she
continued, “can we not all go for a ramble on the seashore?”
“I am not going with you,” replied Nancy. Her tone was almost rude.
She left the room, slamming the door after her.
Augusta raised her brows. Getting up daintily, she went out by the
open window. The two little Richmond girls thus found themselves
alone.
“Oh Kit,” cried Nora, “what can be happening? I am quite unhappy; I
don’t like this at all.”
“Come out, Nora,” answered Kitty; “we can talk better in the open
air.”
They went out, linking their arms round one another, and paced slowly
up and down. Augusta was lying lazily in a hammock near by. She
watched them.
“How they love each other!” she said to herself. “I never saw such
affectionate sisters. But they are a dull little pair all the same.
They are the sort of girls who will never do anything very wrong, and
perhaps, on the other hand, never do anything very good. I know the
sort. They will be medium all their days—medium pretty, too. Even Nan
is better fun than Kitty and Nora. Now they are discussing her. I see
it by the way Kitty nods her head, and Nora looks at her and then
looks away again; and they are twining their arms tighter round each
other. They are very sorry for Nan, but they don’t understand her.
Even I understand that poor, miserable mite better than they do. I
have a hold over my little lady, and I must tighten the knot—and very
quickly, too, for Miss Nancy must help me to-morrow night. But now to
find out what they are really saying, for Nancy will have to be
protected by me in one sense in order that I may use her in another.”
So Augusta slipped out of her hammock, and approached the little
girls.
“What a wonderful confab!” she said. “Shall I guess what it is all
about?”
“Oh no, Gussie; I wish you would go away,” exclaimed Nora. “Kitty and
I are having _quite_ a private talk all by ourselves.”
“But do let me guess what it is about,” answered Augusta. “Now then,
see if I am not right. You are talking about the little favourite and
her pet canary.”
“Yes; but what has that to do with you?” answered Kitty.
“My dear Kit, what a way to speak to your cousin! Now, let me tell you
that it has a great deal to do with me. If I were you I would not
worry Nancy; she has reasons for what she has done.”
“But why give her canary away?” said Kitty. “Nora and I subscribed
together and gave it to her, and she seemed so pleased. It was rather
difficult to get enough money, but when we saw how _awfully_
delighted she was, we felt that that made up for everything.”
“It was good-natured of you,” said Augusta. “I forgot that you had
given it to her. Poor old Nan!”
“But why do you call her poor old Nan? I don’t see that she is to be
pitied at all. We have always been very fond of her, but we cannot see
that she has done right in giving away her bird.”
“Dear me,” said Augusta, “what a fuss! If you gave her the bird it was
her own, to do what she liked with. She took a fit of pity for that
poor sick girl, Grace Hammond, and gave her the bird. Grace wants the
bird far more than Nancy does, for she lies on her back most of the
day in a shabby little room. I think it was extremely kind and
self-sacrificing of Nan, and she ought to be petted, not scolded.”
“I never thought of that,” said Nora. “Of course, Gussie, you are
right. Dear old Nan! Yes, it was sweet of her, and I suppose she felt
it awfully.”
“Couldn’t you see for yourselves? Why, she scarcely ate any lunch, and
ran off to her room soon afterwards. Oh, for goodness’ sake,” added
Augusta, “don’t make a mystery out of nothing! She gave the bird
because the girl was ill and wanted it, and there the matter ends.”
Augusta ran off, and Kitty and Nora owned that they felt considerably
cheered.
When they saw Nancy next, Kitty ran up to her, kissed her, and said:
“We are neither of us angry now.”
“What do you mean?” answered Nancy.
“About the bird, you know.”
“But were you angry with me, Kitty?”
“Why, yes, Nancy; we both were a little. We gave it to you, you know,
and we had to save up a good bit to get a really nice one.”
“I forgot about that,” said Nancy.
“But you did quite right, Nancy,” said Nora; “and we are not a scrap
angry now. We are so glad that the little girl should have it; she
must have wanted it far more than you did. It was very brave of you to
give it to her, Nan, and we both love you more than ever.”
“But I didn’t give it to Grace to comfort her—not for a single
moment,” said Nancy; and then she stopped short and faced the two
little Richmond girls, and said emphatically: “Don’t let us talk any
more about Sunbeam, for if you do I shall break my heart. Oh, how you
do stare, Kitty! You look quite silly with your mouth open. Come, who
will race me to the end of the avenue?”
Away the three went, flying as if on the wings of the wind. They came
bang up against Captain Richmond, who was returning from his calls.
“Hullo!” he said. “Well won, Nancy; you are considerably ahead of the
others. Is it a race or what?”
The three were now all laughing heartily; but when she got back her
breath, Nancy’s face looked paler than its wont. The Captain noticed
it, and holding out his hand, clasped hers.
“Come here,” he said. “Are you fretting about your bird? What is
wrong?”
Tears filled Nancy’s eyes; she could not speak.
“Don’t question her, please, Uncle Pete,” said Kitty. “She has been
quite, quite darling and sweet about Sunbeam. But she must not be
questioned. Only if you stoop down I will tell you in a whisper.—Go
on, Nancy; walk on with Nora.”
“Please don’t talk about it,” said Nancy in an imploring voice; but
she took Nora’s hand and walked on in front.
“Stoop, Uncle Pete; she must not hear,” said Kitty. “She gave her
darling Sunbeam, whom she loves so passionately, to that little sick
girl in the wood—Grace Hammond—because the little girl wants the
bird more than she does.”
“Was that the reason? Oh, how pleased I am!” said the Captain.