Bishop's Shadow

by Joel Chandler Harris

  XII. NAN FINDS FRIENDS

  So the spring days slipped away until March and April were gone andthe middle of May had come. Theodore was counting the days now, for itwas in May that the bishop was to return--so Mrs. Martin had toldhim--and the boy began to watch eagerly for the word that thehousekeeper had promised to send him. So full of this were histhoughts and so busy was he with his work for himself and for others,that he spent much less time than usual with Nan and Little Brother.

  About this time there was a week of extremely hot weather. One daytoward the close of this week as Theodore was passing Mrs. Hunt'sdoor, she called him in.

  "You'd better come here for your supper to-night," she said.

  Theodore looked at her with a quick, startled glance.

  "Why--where's Nan?" he inquired.

  "Nan's in her room, but she can't get you any supper to-night. She'ssick. I've seen for weeks past that Nan was overworkin' with all thatcooking she's been doin', and to-day she just gave out--an' she's flaton her back now."

  Theodore was silent in blank dismay. Until that moment he had notrealised how much he had come to depend upon Nan.

  "Has she had a doctor, or anything?" he asked, in such a troubledvoice that Mrs. Hunt could not but be sorry for him.

  "No, I offered to send Jimmy for a doctor, but she said she onlywanted to rest, but I tell you what, Theo, she ain't goin' to get muchrest in that room, hot's an oven with the constant cooking, an' what'smore that baby can't stand it neither."

  "I'll go an' see her," replied the boy, slowly, "an'--I guess I don'twant any supper to-night, Mrs. Hunt."

  "Yes, you do want supper, too, Theodore. You come back here in halfan hour an' get it, an' look here--Don't worry Nan, talkin' 'bout herbeing sick," Mrs. Hunt called after him in a low voice, as he turnedtoward the girl's door.

  It seemed strange enough to Theodore to see bright, energetic Nanlying with pale face and idle hands on the bed. She smiled up at theboy as he stood silent beside the bed finding no words to say.

  "I'm only tired, Theo," she said, gently. "It has been so hot to-day,and Little Brother fretted so that I couldn't get through my work sowell as usual."

  "He's sick too," answered Theodore, gravely.

  Nan turned her head to look at the little white face on the pillowbeside her.

  "Yes, he's sick. Oh Theo"--and then the girl covered her face with herhands, and Theodore saw the tears trickling through her fingers.

  "Don't Nan, don't!" he cried, in a choked voice, and then he turnedand ran out of the room and out of the house. Straight to his teacherhe went, sure of finding there sympathy, and if possible, help.

  He was not disappointed. Mr. Scott listened to what he had to say, andwrote a note to a friend of his own who was a physician, asking him tosee Nan and the baby at his earliest convenience. Then havingcomforted Theodore, and compelled him to take some supper, Mr. Scottsent him away greatly refreshed, and proceeded to talk the matter overwith his aunt, Mrs. Rawson.

  "Those two children ought to be sent away into the country, AuntMary," he began.

  "Nan and Theodore, do you mean?"

  "No, no! Theodore's all right. He's well and strong. I mean Nan andher little brother. Aunt Mary, it would make your heart ache to seesuch a girl as that working as she has worked, and living among suchpeople. I wish you would go and see the child."

  "I'll try to go to-morrow, Allan. I've been intending to ever sinceyou told me about her, but the days do slip away so fast!" answeredthe lady.

  But she found time to go the next day, and the first sight of Nan'ssweet face was enough to make her as deeply interested in the two asher nephew had long been.

  "But what an uncomfortable place for a sick girl!" Mrs. Rawsonthought, as she glanced at the shutterless windows through which thesun was pouring, making the small room almost unbearably hot, althoughthere was no fire in the stove. She noticed that the place wasdaintily clean and neat, though bare as it well could be, but noisychildren were racing up and down the stairways and shouting throughthe halls, making quiet rest impossible. Mrs. Rawson's kind heartached as she looked from the room to the pure face of the girl lyingthere with the little child beside her.

  "She must be a very unusual girl to look like that after living formonths in this place," she thought to herself.

  While she was there the doctor came, and when he went away,Mrs. Rawson went with him that she might tell him what she knew aboutthe girl's life and learn what he thought of the case.

  "It is a plain case of overwork," he said. "From what you tell me thegirl has been doing twice as much as she was able to do, and living inthat little oven of a room with nothing like the fresh air andexercise she should have had, and very likely not half enough toeat. The baby seems extremely delicate. Probably it won't live throughthe summer, and a good thing too if there's no one but the girl toprovide for them. What they need is--to go straight away into thecountry and stay there all summer, or better yet, for a year or two,but I suppose that is out of the question."

  "I must see what can be done, doctor. Such a girl as that surely oughtnot to be left to struggle along unfriended."

  "No, but there are so many such cases. Well, I hope something can bedone for her. I'll call and see her again to-morrow, but medicine isof little use in a case like this," the doctor replied.

  Mrs. Rawson was not one to "let the grass grow under her feet," whenshe had anything to do, and she felt that she had something to do inthis case. She thought it over as she went home, and before night shehad written to a relative in the country--a woman who had a big farmand a big heart--to ask if she would board Nan and her little brotherfor the summer. She described the two, and told how bravely the girlhad battled with poverty and misfortune until her strength hadfailed. The letter went straight from the warm heart of the writer tothat of her friend and the response was prompt.

  "Send those two children right to me, and if rest and pure air andplenty of wholesome food are what they need, please God, they shallsoon be strong and well. They are surely His little ones, and you knowI am always ready and glad to do His work."

  Such was the message that Mrs. Rawson read to her nephew two daysafter her visit to Nan, and his face was full of satisfaction as helistened to it.

  "Nothing could be better," he said. "It will be a splendid place forthose children, and it will be a good thing too for Mrs. Hyde to havethem there."

  "Yes, I think so," replied Mrs. Rawson, "but now the question is--willNan consent to go? From what little I have seen of her I judge thatshe will not be at all willing to accept help from strangers."

  "She will shrink from it, perhaps, for herself, but for the sake ofthat little brother I think she will consent to go. Theo tells me thatshe has been exceedingly anxious about the child for weeks past,"answered Mr. Scott.

  "Well, I'll go to-morrow and see if I can prevail upon her to acceptthis offer, but Allan, one thing you must do, if Nan does consent togo--and that is, you must break it to Theodore. It's going to be ablow to him, to have those two go away from the city. He'll be leftentirely alone."

  "So he will. I hadn't thought of that. I must think it over and seewhat can be done for him. He certainly must not stay there, with noplace but that dark little closet in which he sleeps," replied thegentleman.

  Mrs. Rawson's kindly sympathy and gentle manners had quickly won Nan'sconfidence and the girl welcomed her warmly when she appeared in thelittle room the next morning. She found Nan sitting by the openwindow, with her pale little brother in her arms.

  "Oh, I'm ever so much better," she said, in reply to Mrs. Rawson'sinquiries. "The doctor's medicine helped me right away, but I don'tfeel very strong yet--not quite well enough to begin my cookingagain. I'm going to begin it to-morrow," she added.

  "Indeed, you'll not do any cooking to-morrow, Nan," said the lady,decidedly. "You're not fit to stand over the stove or the mixingboard, and besides, it would make the room too hot for the baby."

  Nan glanced anxiously at
the little face on her arm.

  "I can carry him in to Mrs. Hunt's. He's no trouble, and she's alwayswilling to keep him," she answered.

  "Now, my child, I want you to listen to me," Mrs. Rawson began, andwent on to tell the girl about the plans she had made for her and herlittle brother.

  Nan listened, with the colour coming and going in her face.

  "It is so good--so kind of you to think of this," she exclaimed,earnestly, "and I'd _love_ to go. Mrs. Rawson, you don't know howI hate living in a place like this," she shuddered, as she spoke, "andit would be like heaven to get away into the sweet clean country, withgood people--but I can't go unless there is something I can dothere. I _couldn't_ go and live on charity, you know."

  "It wouldn't be charity, Nan; it would be love," answered Mrs. Rawson,gently. "Mrs. Hyde keeps one room in her house always ready for anyguest whom the Lord may send her and I think He is sending you therenow. Remember, my child, you have this dear sick baby to think of, aswell as yourself. Nan, the doctor thinks Little Brother will not livethrough the summer unless he is taken away from the city."

  Nan gave a quick, gasping breath, as she drew the baby closer and benther face over his. When she looked up again her eyes were wet, andshe said, in a low tone,

  "If that is so, I can't refuse this kind offer, and I will try to findsome way to make it right."

  "There's nothing to make right, dear; you've only to go and be just ashappy and contented as you can be. I know you will be happy there.You can't help loving Mrs. Hyde. And now, my child, there's anothermatter." She paused and added, in a low tone, "I had a little girlonce, but God took her away from my home. She would have been aboutyour age now if she had staid with me. For her sake, Nan, I want youto let me get a few things that you and the baby will need. Will you,dear?"

  Nan was proud. She had never gotten accustomed to poverty and itspainful consequences, and she would have preferred to do without, anytime, rather than accept a gift from those on whom she had no claim;but she realised that she could not go among strangers with only thefew poor garments that she now had, so, after a moment's silence, sheanswered, in a voice that was not quite steady,

  "You are very, very good to me, Mrs. Rawson. I'll try to be good too,only, please don't get a single thing that I can do without."

  "Nan, if you had plenty of money and you found a girl who had beenleft all alone in the world, with no one to do anything for her--wouldyou think it was any wonderful kindness in you to spend a few dollarsfor her?"

  "N--no, of course not. I'd just _love_ to do it," replied Nan,"but"--

  "That's enough, then, and now there's only one more thing I have tospeak about. I know some girls, who have formed themselves into a bandcalled a 'King's Daughter Circle,' and they meet once a week to sewfor somebody who is not able to do her own sewing. I've told thesegirls a little about you and they want very much to do some sewing forLittle Brother and you. Now, would you be willing to let them comehere to-morrow afternoon? Would it trouble you?"

  The colour rose in Nan's cheeks and her lips trembled, and for amoment she seemed to shrink into herself as she thought what acontrast her poor surroundings would be to these other girls, wholived such different lives from hers, but she saw that Mrs. Rawson wasreally desirous that they should come, and she was not willing todisappoint one who was doing so much for her; so after a moment'ssilence she answered,

  "Of course they can come, if you think they won't mind too much." Sheglanced about the room as she spoke.

  Mrs. Rawson leaned over and kissed her. "Child," she said, "they knownothing about the trials that come into other lives--like yours. Iwant them to know you. Don't worry one bit over their coming. They aredear girls and I'm sure you will like them--as sure as I am that theywill all love you--and Nan, one thing more, leave Mr. Scott to tellTheodore about your going."

  Then she went away, leaving Nan with many things to think about. Shecould not help worrying somewhat over the coming of those girls. Asshe recalled her own old home, she realised how terribly bare and poorher one room would look to these strangers and she shrank nervouslyfrom the thought of meeting them. More than once, she was tempted toask Theo to go to Mrs. Rawson and tell her that the girls could notcome there.

  Mrs. Rawson went straight from Nan's room to the shopping district,where she purchased simple but complete outfits for Nan and thebaby. The under garments and the baby's dresses she bought ready-madeand also a neat wool suit for the girl and hats and wraps for both,but she bought enough pretty lawn and gingham to make as many washdresses as Nan would require, and these she carried home and cut outthe next morning. That evening too she sent notes to the members ofthe circle telling them to meet at her house before one o'clock thenext day, which was Saturday.

  They came promptly, eleven girls between fifteen and seventeen, eachwith her sewing implements. Bright, happy girls they were, as Nanmight have been, had her life been peaceful and sheltered like theirs,Mrs. Rawson thought, as she welcomed them.

  "Sit down, girls," she said, "I want to tell you more about my poorlittle Nan before you see her."

  She told the story in such fashion that the warm, girlish hearts werefilled with a sweet and tender sympathy for this other girl, and theywere eager to do all that they could for her.

  Not one of them had ever before been in a tenement house like the oneto which Mrs. Rawson led them, and they shrank from the rude childrenand coarse women whom they encountered in the halls and on the stairs,and pressed closer together, grasping each other's hands.

  Nan's face whitened and her thin hands were clasped tightly togetheras she heard them coming along the hall. She knew it was they, sodifferent were their quiet footsteps from most that passed her door.

  Nan opened the door in response to Mrs. Rawson's knock and the girlsflocked in, looking so dainty and pretty in their fresh shirt-waistsand dimities, and their gay ribbons. As Nan looked at them she waspainfully conscious of her own faded calico and worn shoes, and hercheeks flushed, but the girls gave her no time to think of thesethings. They crowded about her, introducing each other with merrylaughter and gay little jokes, seeming to take Nan right in among themas one of themselves, and taking prompt possession of the baby, whowasn't a bit shy, and appeared to like to be passed from one toanother, and kissed, and called sweet names.

  Nan had borrowed all Mrs. Hunt's chairs, but still there were notenough, and three or four girls gleefully settled themselves on thebed. Every one of them had come with her hands full of flowers, andseeing these, Mrs. Rawson had brought along a big glass rose bowl,which the girls speedily filled and set in the middle of the table.

  A tap at the door announced the arrival of a boy with a box and a bagfor Mrs. Rawson, and out of the box she lifted a baby sewing machine,which she fastened to the table. Then from the bag she took the lawnand gingham as she said,

  "Now, girls, your tongues can run just as fast as your fingers sew,but remember this tiny machine works very rapidly and you've got tokeep it supplied. I'll hem this skirt first."

  In an instant every girl had on her thimble, and they all set to workwith right good will.

  "Can't I do some, too?" said Nan. "I don't want to be the only idleone."

  "You can gather some ruffles in a few minutes--as soon as I havehemmed them," answered Mrs. Rawson, smiling to herself, as she saw howbright and interested Nan looked already.

  All that long, bright afternoon tongues and needles were about equallybusy. Fortunately it was cooler, else the girls would have beenuncomfortable in the small room, but as it was, not even Nan gave morethan a passing thought to the bare room and its lack ofcomfort. Indeed, after the first few moments, Nan forgot all aboutherself and just gave herself up to the delight of being once more agirl among girls. She thought them lovely, every one, and indeed theywere lovely to her in every way, for her sweet face and gentle mannershad won them all at first sight. How they did chatter! Never beforehad that room--or indeed any room in that dreary building, held such acompany
as gathered there that day.

  At half-past five there came another rap on the door, and Mrs. Rawsonexclaimed, "Put up your sewing, girls. We've business of another sortto attend to now."

  The girls looked at her inquiringly as Nan opened the door again.

  "Bring them in," called Mrs. Rawson, and a man edged his way gingerlyamong the girls and set two big baskets and an ice cream freezerbeside the table.

  "A house picnic! Mrs. Rawson, you're a darling!" called one andanother of the girls.

  Mrs. Rawson nodded a laughing acknowledgment of the compliment, as shesaid, "Open the baskets, girls. The dishes are in the round one. Ithought Nan might not be prepared for quite such a family party."

  With quick, deft fingers the girls swept aside the sewing, unscrewedthe little machine, spread a fine damask cloth over the pine table,and on it arranged the pretty green and gold dishes and glasses,putting the big bowl of roses in the centre.

  Then from the other basket they took tiny buttered biscuits,three-cornered sandwiches, tied with narrow green ribbons, a dish ofchicken salad, and a big loaf of nut cake. All these quite covered thetable so that the cream had to be left in the freezer until it waswanted.

  How Nan did enjoy that feast! How her eyes shone with quiet happinessas she watched the bright faces and listened to the merry talk; notall merry either, for more than once it touched upon the deep thingsof life, showing that the girls had thought much, even if their liveshad been happy, sheltered ones.

  When the feast was ended, the dishes repacked in the basket, and theunfinished work put away, the girls gathered about Nan to say"good-bye," and she wondered how she could have dreaded theircoming,--for now it seemed as if she could not let them go. She feltas if all the joyous brightness would vanish with them. The quickyoung eyes read something of this feeling in her face, and more thanone girl left a kiss with her cordial farewell.

  The room seemed very still and lonely to Nan when the last flutter oflight dresses was gone and the last faint echo of girlish voices andfootsteps had died on her eagerly listening ears. She dropped into therocking-chair and looked about the room, trying to repeople it withthose fair, young, friendly faces. She could almost have imagined itall a dream but for the cake and sandwiches and ice cream on thetable.

  The sight of the fast melting cream suggested another thought toher. Hastily filling a plate with portions of everything on the table,she set it away for Theodore and then went across to Mrs. Hunt's roomsto tell her to come with the children and take all that was left.

  The eyes of the children gleamed with delight at sight of theunexpected treat, and they speedily emptied the dishes which theirmother then carried home to wash, while the children took back theborrowed chairs.

  By this time Nan began to feel very weary, and she threw herself downon the bed with the baby, but she kept in her hand some little scripsof the pretty lawns and ginghams that she had found on the floor. Itseemed hardly possible to her that she could be going to have suchdresses. Why--one of the scrips was exactly like a waist that one ofthose girls had worn. Nan gazed at it with a smile on her lips, asmile that lingered there until it was chased away by the remembranceof Theo's loneliness when she and Little Brother should be far away.