Stroll as slowly as he would, stop as often as he dared, Caleb Whitman
reached the village streets without being overtaken by Nancy. Aunt
Roxana had decided to keep her at home, he concluded rebelliously, and
he remembered with concern how soon he was due in New York.
As he passed the post office, he remembered his promise to Sister Abby
to ask for the package of Chinese lanterns. Upon entering the building,
he found that the distribution of a late mail was in progress, so that
he was obliged to await the completion of that work before he could
hope for attention. With interest that bordered on excitement, he
watched the Captain’s box, and drew a breath of relief when a letter on
the granite gray paper Radding affected was thrust into the pigeon hole.
A moment later the postmaster appeared at the delivery window and
Whitman remembered to ask for his own mail as well as for the lanterns.
The single letter the postmaster produced was enclosed in a granite
gray envelope like the one that awaited Nancy.
“New York, Sept. 1, 191--
“Dear Caley:” (Rad had written in his small, crabbed hand)
“I have sent the fifty per instructions. I hate to take the
Captain’s bracelet and cameo pin from him. I am sure they were
becoming or you wouldn’t be so philanthropic.
“Yours,
“RAD.”
The note made the reader laugh in spite of himself. “That letter is
like Rad,” he said to himself. “I’d give a good deal to know if he
followed my instructions about writing to Nancy.”
“Here are the lanterns you were asking for,” the postmaster reminded
him, and pushed a clumsy bundle out the little window.
“I’ll take them to the minister’s and be rid of them,” Whitman
concluded; and, leaving the post office, he went slowly down the one
business street, peering into the grocer’s, the milliner’s, the store
of small wares, in search of a shopper in a poke bonnet. So far she was
still nowhere in sight.
It was not until after he had left the bundle at the minister’s that
he remembered that Nancy had been bidden to go to the library. Where
was it? He looked in vain down the long shady street, sloping to the
wharfs. He searched his memory. “Where’s the library?” he finally asked
a solitary passer-by.
The woman pointed to the church. “There,” she said, and plodded on her
way. “The church?” Whitman called after her. “The tower,” she said.
The church did indeed boast a tower, and upon approach Whitman saw
that a sign on the door announced that the library was open Tuesday
and Thursday afternoons. He determined to wait here for Nancy. From
the windows in the church’s square tower he could sweep half the
countryside. He entered eagerly, and following the directions of a
painted arrow, ran up a winding stair. At the top of the first flight
he paused at the door of a small room stacked with books. An attendant
rose as he entered.
“I’m a stranger in Deep Harbor--” he began.
“Boarding with the Captain,” she supplied glibly.
“Yes,” Whitman admitted, wondering if anything above the earth or under
the waters of the earth was hidden from the inhabitants of a small
village.
“Look around and make yourself at home,” the attendant looked up from
her crocheting to say.
It occurred to the visitor that this would not take long to do, as the
tower room was only some ten feet square.
“Any book you want particular?” the attendant asked.
“No, I just came to make a general survey.”
“Like to go upstairs?”
“Upstairs?”
“Yes, the library goes on up the tower; next floor is Religion and
Non-Fiction; top floor Juvenile.”
“I’d like to look over the religious books,” said Whitman.
This pious desire sprang from a sudden recollection of the book Aunt
Roxana had put on Nancy’s list.
“Shall I go with you?” the attendant asked, as the visitor started up
the second flight.
“No, indeed, I just want to look about a bit. I fancy there’s a fine
view up higher?”
“I suppose there is,” the girl conceded indifferently. “You can see out
as far as the cemetery, and all over the town.”
As these were the points of interest to Whitman, he quickly ascended
another flight of stairs and stationed himself in the window. As the
girl had promised, his view commanded the country side. He looked down
on the beautiful little village, with its white spires and gray roofs
peeping through the trees. He identified the Captain’s cottage on its
lonely bluff. He found the chimney of the mansion where Nancy lived.
Dear old town, steeped in memories! He had grown to love it. There
was a charm in the sagging wharfs, in the sleepy street bordered with
little stores with diamond paned shop windows.
Abruptly his revery ended. A little figure in a poke bonnet, whose
presence lent enchantment to every corner of the town, had just come
out of the post office. She was hastening down the street, a basket on
her arm, walking rapidly in the direction of the tower. A few minutes
later Whitman heard her step on the stair. Evidently she knew the
library sufficiently well to come directly to the shelves where the
religious books were stacked, for she did not pause on the floor below.
“Oh,” she said, breathlessly, appearing in the doorway and discovering
the young man, “I thought there was no one here.”
The man in the window seat arose. “I’ll go, Nancy, if you want to be
alone.”
“No,” she said, after a momentary pause, “I don’t mind; but go on
reading, please. I want to look over a letter.”
She took a hat pin from her bonnet and slit open a gray envelope as she
spoke. Caleb Whitman did not raise his eyes from his book.
“Oh!” cried Nancy, after a long moment, as if she were smothering,
“oh!” and again, “oh!”
Whitman sprang from his seat and hurried to her side. The face she
lifted to his was bathed in tears. She let them fall quite openly as
she pressed the letter to her breast.
“What’s the matter, dearest?” Whitman cried, unconscious of using the
endearing term. “Tell me Nancy, has something hurt you?”
His hands clenched. If Radding had played false, he would not be
forgiven in a hurry.
“Matter!” she sobbed. “I’m just smothering with joy, that’s all.”
She let him seize her hand, without protest, her pink fingers curling
around his, her overflowing eyes on his eager face.
“If you are happy, Nancy,” he pleaded, “why do you cry?”
He stooped over her trembling little form, and taking out a generous
sized handkerchief, he wiped her eyes as if she had been a child.
“I don’t know,” she sobbed on a long, uneven breath. “Don’t you ever
cry when you are happy?” An uncertain smile broke through her tears.
“April is the happiest month of all, and she cries all the time.”
He laughed his delight in her fancy. “Is it the Great Happiness, Nancy?”
“It’s the key to it,” she said. “Everything is going to begin now, for
me and for those I love.”
“I’m so glad, so glad,” he glowed, his warm hand enclosing hers. “Will
it mean anything for me, Nancy, or am I quite on the outside?”
Two eyes like stars were raised to his. “The gate of the garden will
open,” she said.
“When it does, Nancy, may I be the first to enter?”
“I want you to be,” she murmured....
“Get what you wanted, Miss Rose?” The voice was that of the attendant
at the bottom of the stairs. Nancy dried her eyes.
“I forget what I came for,” she whispered to Whitman in consternation.
“‘Bunyan’s Holy War,’” he prompted, and he found the volume on the
shelf and gave it into Nancy’s keeping before the head of the attendant
had more than appeared at the top step of the stairs.
“Yes,” said Nancy, handing over the heavy volume for registration,
“I’ve found it.”
“Going to the box social?” the girl asked, stamping Nancy’s card.
“Yes.” Nancy stole a glance at the summer visitor, fumbling among the
book shelves.
“That’s good,” said the attendant. “I hope for your sake the minister
doesn’t draw your box again. It’s awful dull for you to eat with him
every year.”
“He’ll always draw my box,” said Nancy in a clear, sweet voice.
“How’s that?”
“Because Aunt ties it up herself, and tells him the color of the
ribbon. It’s the only way she’ll let me go. She says she couldn’t
consider leaving it to chance.”
“I see,” said the girl.
“Good-bye,” said Nancy, with a glance so tender, a face so suffused
with joy that it was like an April sun.
“Going straight home?” the attendant called after her.
“No,” said Nancy; and her voice rang clear. “I’ve another errand to do
first. I have to get some seal brown ribbon at the store.”