Blanchard Amy Ella
The Four Corners

"They're just like company," was the remark with which she greeted Mary Lee. "They don't act a bit as if they belonged to us. The little one, Ashby, hardly opened his lips, and the other one was polite enough but acted as if we weren't kinsfolk at all, but just strangers who were going to take them to board. I'm going to have bacon and eggs for supper. I wish you'd see if Unc' Landy is around anywhere; he can cut the bacon for us. I'm afraid I could not do it well, and I shall have to try some biscuits. I've made the fire, Mary Lee, and I wish you'd put a few potatoes in the oven. Where's Jack? There isn't a speck of cake in the house and they look as though they were used to having it."

"How can Jack do anything about it?" inquired Mary Lee, rolling the potatoes into a pan preparatory to washing them.

"I'm going to send her over to Cousin Mag's to see if she has any. I'd better write a note for Jack gets things mixed sometimes." She ran to her room and scribbled a note to Mrs. Lewis, as the two families often accommodated one another in this way. Having despatched Jack upon her errand, Nan turned her attention again to the supper. Unc' Landy had evidently been storm-stayed somewhere and had not yet returned, so the bacon was cut rather clumsily and set over the fire to sizzle. To Mary Lee was given the responsibility of preparing the peaches and setting the table. Nan suggested that she put on the very best of everything.

"Oh, need we do that?" she said. "We'll have to wash them up afterward, you know, for Mitty will not be here to do it, and it would be awful if we were to break anything."

"Never mind," returned Nan, "I'll take the risk. We must show them that we have nice silver and china. Go on and do as I say, Mary Lee."

Mary Lee obeyed and Nan turned to her other tasks. "I wonder how long it takes bacon to cook," she said to herself, "and I wonder how much flour I shall need for the biscuits. I'll have to guess at it. Dear me, how does any one ever learn all those things?" She carefully sifted her flour and then measured out her baking powder accurately. As she was hesitating as to the amount of lard required, she realized that the kitchen was full of smoke from burning bacon, and, hurrying to the stove, she discovered that every slice was hard and black.

"Oh, dear," she sighed, "it's ruined, and I'll have to cut more; it's such a trouble, too. I'll finish the biscuits first, for I see the bacon will cook while they are baking." The interruption made her forget the salt for her biscuits, and she set rather a rough, ragged looking panful in the oven.

The next lot of bacon was cooked more successfully, though some slices were thick at one end and thin at the other. Some were short, some were long, quite unlike the neat curly bits which usually appeared upon the table. Mary Lee came in as she was concluding her tasks and her comments upon the looks of the dish did not reassure Nan.

However, she rose to the occasion. "They won't show when I've covered them with the fried eggs," she declared. "Dear me, Mary Lee, I'll never lift the eggs without breaking them. I'll have to let them cook more, I reckon. Hand me the cake-turner, please; maybe I can do better with that, and won't you look at the biscuits? They ought to be done by this time."

Mary Lee announced that they looked done.

"Try the potatoes."

A squeal from Mary Lee followed this operation, for she squeezed one potato too hard and it burst with a pop, burning her thumb.

Nan dressed the burn with a plaster of baking soda and dished up the potatoes herself. "Where's Jean?" she asked.

"She put on her best frock and is in the living-room entertaining the gentlemen," returned Mary Lee. "It's time Jack came back, don't you think, Nan?"

"High time," returned Nan, carefully transferring the rest of the eggs from pan to dish. "I've only broken one, Mary Lee, and the bacon is quite covered. Everything is nearly ready, but, oh, dear, how does any one ever do it quickly and easily? It is impossible to keep your mind on bacon and eggs and biscuits and potatoes all at once, and how any one remembers more than that is beyond me. There, we came near forgetting the peaches. Get them out of the pantry, and bring some fine sugar to put over them."

"It's getting pretty late," remarked Mary Lee, looking down the street, "but here comes Jack at last."

"I know it's late and I expect those boys are starved, but I can't help it; I've done my best."

"I should think you had," said Mary Lee; "you oughtn't to have had so much."

"I'm sorry I had potatoes, for they made you burn yourself. Well, Jack," as that young person entered the kitchen mud-stained and tearful, "what have you been doing? What is the matter?"

Jack held out a flattened parcel. "I fell down," she sobbed, "and I fell plumb on the cake."

"Goodness!" cried Nan. "Do see, Mary Lee, if it's fit to eat. I can't, for my hands are all peach juice from cutting up the peaches. Did you hurt yourself, Jack?"

"I hurt my feelings awfully, 'cause I spoiled the cake."

Mary Lee anxiously examined the contents of the parcel. The cake, fortunately, had been sent on a tin plate, which saved it from utter destruction. "It is quite good in places," she declared. "We'll put the mashed pieces underneath."

Nan laughed in spite of fatigue and anxiety. "Then it will match the dish of bacon," she said. "Never mind, Jack, you did your best and we are much obliged to you; the cake will taste good and we girls can eat the flat pieces. Now, are we all ready?"

"I think so," said Mary Lee, nursing her injured thumb. And the flushed and anxious housekeeper arranged her dishes upon the carefully set table.

"It looks beautiful," said Jack.

"I'm glad you thought of the flowers for the middle of the table, Mary Lee," remarked Nan, who was critically examining her board. "Yes, I think it looks very well. Now, I'll go and call them."

The meal went off fairly well in spite of the chunks of bacon and the mashed cake. To be sure, it was rather a solemn affair. Conversation flagged, for both boys and girls felt ill at ease. Nan was covered with confusion when she tasted her biscuits, and was obliged to excuse herself when she suddenly remembered the tomatoes which she had sliced and placed on the ice and when she caught an odor of burning bread. She rescued the last pan of biscuits just in time, only one or two having burned at the bottom.

After supper there was the task of clearing away, and when this was over and the last dish safely put away, it was a tired Nan who sent her sisters off to bed and sat waiting for the boys who had gone out to have a look at the town. There was no hope of seeing Aunt Sarah that night, for the last train was in, and Nan curled herself up in her mother's big chair by the window, feeling quite desperate when she thought of breakfast without the help of either Mitty or Aunt Sarah.

After the boys had returned and Nan was at last lying by Mary Lee, the very thought of the dear absent one sent the tears coursing down her cheeks, so that the pillow her mother's head had so often pressed was wet before the tired child fell asleep. It began to rain again, and all through the night the sound of the pattering drops made Nan dream that her mother was weeping, and longing for home and children.

CHAPTER VI
CONCERNING JACK

The consciousness of her responsibilities made Nan awaken with a start quite early in the morning. After her festivities, Mitty could not be expected to appear before nine o'clock, consequently, the matter of breakfast depended entirely upon Nan. She was sufficiently rested after her night's sleep to look upon the day's prospects with more calmness than had seemed possible the night before. The storm had passed; all the fears and dreams vanished in the sunshine. The whole world appeared fairer. The heavy rain had washed the dust from the leaves; the grass sprang up in livelier green; the morning-glories over the porch were fresh and beautiful; the very earth looked refreshed. Birds were singing in the bushes; a rooster was lustily crowing from a fence rail.

"It has cleared off beautifully," said Nan as she opened the kitchen door to look out. "Good morning, Lady Gray," she greeted the big cat which came purring to rub against her. "I hope my stormy time is over, too," she went on. "It certainly was a gray day yesterday, but to-day Aunt Sarah will surely come and Mitty will be back, so there is only breakfast to trouble me. I haven't the least idea what I ought to have, or, I should say, what I can have. I thought Aunt Sarah would be here to decide all such things. I can't have bacon and eggs again! Unc' Landy! Ah, Unc' Landy!" she called to the old man who was just issuing from his cabin.

He came toward her. "Mawnin,' miss," he said, taking off his battered hat with a bow. "Fine day arter de rain."

"It is indeed. Unc' Landy, I want you to cut some slices of ham for me."

"Yass, miss. Whar dat Mitty?"

"Now you know Mitty won't get back till nine o'clock. She never does after a festival or a picnic or a parlor social, as she calls it. She is too sleepy after staying up half the night."

"Po' miserble sinnah," grumbled Unc' Landy. "Bad man git her suah ef her foots keep on a-twitchen' when de banjo play."

"Oh, Mitty is all right," returned Nan smiling. "You are too hard on her, Unc' Landy."

"'Tain' no use talkin' to dese yer light-haided young uns," he replied. "Yuh jest bleedged to beat erligion inter 'em. Dey foots is on de broad road to destruction, and yuh bleedged to drive 'em back wid er stick, jest lak a sheep er a heifer er a pig when dey gits outer de parf. How much ham yuh reckon yuh wants, honey?"

"Oh, a couple of slices. I suppose you can tell how long to cook it. I had an awful time with my supper last night, and it wasn't very good after all. I forgot to put salt in the biscuits and the bacon was chunky."

"Whafo' yuh mek any fuss jest fo' yuh-alls?" said Unc' Landy. "Why yuh don' jest picnic till yo' Aunt Sarah come? 'Tain' no diffunce ef yuh chilluns ain' got a comp'ny brekfus."

"But it is a difference when we have two strangers."

"Strangers? Who dey?" Unc' Landy looked greatly surprised.

"The Gordon boys, Randolph and Ashby. They were to have come to-day, you know, but they got here yesterday instead."

"Law, honey, is dat so? An' de ole man ain' on han' to he'p yuh-alls out when dat fool chile Mitty away. Now, ain' dat scan'lous fo' Unc' Landy git ketched in de rain an' not git home in time fo' suppah? I clar it righ down owdacious. Nemmine, don' yuh werry, chile, I fix yo' brekfus. What yuh reckon yuh have?"

"Ham; you know I asked you to cut it."

"Brile ham. Yes'm, and a pone, aig pone. How dat do?"

"I used all the eggs last night."

"Dey mo' in de hen-house, I reckon. I git 'em. Coffee, yuh bleedged ter have a good cup of coffee."

"Well, yes, I suppose Randolph drinks it and maybe Ashby does. We'll have it, anyhow."

"Might fry some taters, er tomats," suggested Unc' Landy.

"Yes, they would be good."

"Den go 'long an' set de table, honey, whilst I git de aigs, an' den' yuh come tell ole Landy whar things is an' he git yo' brekfus. He cook, yass 'm, dat he kin. He domeskit, Landy are." And chuckling at this self praise the old man jogged down to the hen-house while Nan flew to set the table, greatly relieved at having so capable an assistant.

The breakfast turned out to be all it should. The ham was cooked to a turn; the egg pone, light and puffy, came to the table hot and delicious; the coffee was perfect; the tomatoes fried brown and surrounded by a tempting gravy. Nan tried to make conversation and her sisters ably assisted her, but the boys were not very responsive, though Nan concluded it was shyness and not pride which prevented them from being more talkative. They escaped as soon as the meal was over and Nan drew a sigh of relief. "They certainly aren't very good company," she remarked. "Jean seems the only one they will have anything to say to."

"You forget she dressed up in her best and entertained them yesterday," said Mary Lee, laughing. "What did you talk about, kitten?"

"Oh, fings to eat, and – and horses and – dogs."

"No wonder then they found something to say," laughed Nan. "Now run along and get ready for school. Mary Lee will start later and I may not get there at all."

"There isn't going to be any school to-day," returned Jean.

"Why not? Who said so?"

"Jack said so."

"How did she find out?"

"I don't know. She said this morning when we were getting dressed that there wasn't going to be any school to-day."

"It isn't a holiday. I'd like to know why," said Nan reflectively. "Are you sure, Jean?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I asked Jack twice and both times she said: 'There isn't going to be any school.'"

"To be sure we weren't there yesterday," said Nan, "and she probably heard from some one over at Cousin Mag's. Where is Jack?"

"I don't know."

"Go find her, there's a good girl."

Jean went out. She saw nothing of her twin, so she sought the dog who would be a willing and able help in finding Jack.

As she stood at the gate, looking up and down the street, the two boys came out. "What are you looking for?" asked Randolph.

"I'm looking for Trouble," she replied.

The boy gave a short laugh. "You'll find it soon enough if you look for it," he said, passing on and leaving Jean much puzzled by his remark. Finding neither Jack nor Trouble in this direction, she sought Unc' Landy and Trouble was discovered gnawing a ham bone by the old man's cabin door. "Come, Trouble, find Jack," called Jean.

The dog dropped his bone, cocked his head to one side, flopped an ear over one eye and looked at her brightly.

"Find Jack. Come, where's Jack?" repeated Jean. Then Trouble understood, and set off down the street, Jean following.

Just before the schoolhouse was reached, Jack was discovered sitting on the steps of a vacant house. She had settled herself there before any of the school children came that way. There were too many interesting things occurring for Jack to wish to waste her time at school, and she had argued out a plan of proceeding which ought to satisfy everybody, she reflected. There could be no school without scholars and she would see to it that there were no scholars. As each child came along she promptly called out: "There isn't going to be any school to-day." She felt that this was strict truth. The first arrivals turned back all too readily and repeated Jack's words to the others they met, so that within the schoolroom the teacher wondered and waited till ten o'clock. By that time Jack, feeling that the day was saved, left the steps where she had been sitting and went to the station to wait the first train in from Washington.

Before this, however, Trouble had discovered her to Jean in his most polite manner. "Nan wants you, Jack," announced Jean, running up.

"I don't care. She's not my mother," returned Jack.

"You'd better come."

"I will when I'm ready."

"I'm going straight home to tell her."

"I don't care."

"I don't see what you want to sit here for all by yourself."

"Because I choose."

In this mood Jack was not companionable, as Jean knew to her sorrow, and so, after a look of virtuous reproach at her sister, and a lifting of her head in scorn, she walked off with switching skirts, pounding down her heels very hard and calling back: "I'll tell Aunt Sarah too."

"She hasn't come yet," called Jack in return.

"You don't know whether she has or not," came the reply in fainter tones.

"I do so. The train doesn't get in till eleven. Ba-ah!" Then Jean indignantly pursued her way to pour forth her grievance in Nan's ear.

"She was sitting on the steps of the old Southall house," she reported, "and she wouldn't come when I said you wanted her. She said 'Ba-ah!' too, and she told me she'd come when she was ready."

Nan knew Jack's eccentricities of old, and that she should choose to be sitting on the steps of the Southall house was not a matter of surprise, though she wondered why Jack preferred to be there to enjoying her own home garden on a holiday. But she did not think it wise to try to force an obedience which very likely would not be given, so she said: "Well, never mind, let her stay there if she likes it. Perhaps she is waiting for some one. Isn't that Mitty coming? It looks like her yellow hat."

"It is Mitty," Jean assured her, "but her hat looks funny and she's got on an old calico wrapper."

Mitty entered rather shamefacedly. She had a tale of woe to tell. She had been caught in the rain and her clothes had suffered. She had gone to the "fessible," however, but it rained so hard that she, with most of the others, had to stay all night. There was a fight which scared her nearly to death, and there was no place to sleep, for the older persons took up all the floor space. She had walked home when daylight came, and had gone to bed at her mother's, but she was "clean tuckered out." And, indeed, at intervals during the rest of the day, one or another of the girls came upon her sound asleep over her work.

At eleven o'clock came Aunt Sarah, accompanied by Jack, who had met her at the train. Ordinarily Nan would not have been so overjoyed to see Aunt Sarah. There were too frequent passages of arms between them for the girl to look forward to her great aunt's visit with unalloyed pleasure, but this time Miss Dent was given an exuberant welcome, not only by Nan, but by the others. "We thought you would never get here," said Nan.

"I thought so myself," returned Aunt Sarah. "Henry Dent made me miss the train by five minutes yesterday morning, so I had to take the afternoon train. That was an hour late owing to a washout, so I couldn't make connection in Washington, but had to stay all night there with Cousin Lou, though I did get the earliest train this morning. Your mother got off safely, Jack tells me. Why aren't you children at school?"

"There wasn't any school to-day," promptly replied Jean.

"How's that?" Miss Dent turned sharply.

"I don't know," said Jean.

"Did you hear the reason?" asked Nan, turning to Jack. She had been so occupied that the question of school had given her very little thought that day.

"There wasn't one of the scholars there," replied Jack truthfully and with a guileless look.

"How do you know?"

"I was down there and saw."

"Down where? Did you go to the schoolhouse?"

"I didn't go in."

"Didn't Miss Lawrence come?"

Jack hesitated, but she was equal to the emergency. "I didn't see her," she made answer.

"I wonder if she is ill," said Mary Lee. "We didn't hear that she was yesterday, and yet Jack knew this morning before breakfast that there wasn't to be any school. She told us so."

"How did you find out?" Aunt Sarah fixed a keen look upon Jack. "Look here, Jacqueline Corner, it strikes me that there is a screw loose somewhere. Did you tell your sister that there wouldn't be any school so you could have a holiday?"

Jack faced her questioner unflinchingly. "It's just as I said, Aunt Sarah. There wasn't truly any school to-day."

"I'll find out the why and wherefore," replied Aunt Sarah, shaking her head warningly. "How did you get along, Nan? I suppose with Mitty and Unc' Landy you have had no trouble."

"We had an awful time," Nan answered. "Mitty took an afternoon and evening off. Mother promised her long ago that she should go to the festival of the Sons and Daughters of Moses and Aaron and we had a terrible thunder-storm that scared us nearly to death and that kept Unc' Landy from getting back from the mill where he had gone for some feed. Then the boys came and it was pitch dark before I could get supper ready."

"Yes, and Jack fell down and mashed the cake so some of it was crite flat," put in Jean.

"I don't care; it was dreadfully slippery coming up the hill and, anyhow, it tasted good. Randolph ate two pieces," protested Jack.

"So did you," retorted Jean.

"Hush, hush your squabbling, children," said Aunt Sarah. "Well, Nan, you did have your hands full. I'd have been more put out than I was if I had known those boys were here. I suppose, though, you didn't make any difference for them, just two youngsters like them."

"Indeed we did make a difference," Jack told her proudly. "We had out all the best china and silver, and Nan made biscuits, and we borrowed cake from Cousin Mag, and all that."

"For pity's sake, what did you make all that fuss for over two young cubs of boys?"

"We wanted to give them a good impression," said Nan, with dignity. "Mother says so much depends upon the first impression."

Aunt Sarah laughed. "Well, you might have saved yourselves in my opinion. What are the lads like? Nice fellows?"

"I suppose so," returned Nan doubtfully. "They haven't given us much of a chance to find out. Randolph says very little and Ashby nothing at all except: 'Please pass the bread' or 'Please pass the butter.'"

"Those remarks don't furnish much of a clue to character," remarked Aunt Sarah with a little smile. "Probably they are bashful and are not used to girls. Here in a houseful of them with no older person they feel mighty queer, I have no doubt. Their tongues will loosen up after a few days. You put them in your room? Your mother wrote that you wanted to."

"Yes, and we made it look pretty well. There is a broken chair that Unc' Landy is going to mend, and some of our clothes are still in the press."

"Well, I'll get myself settled and we'll soon have things in running order," returned Aunt Sarah, rising to go to her room.

Nan gave a sigh of relief. It lifted a great weight from her shoulders to have capable Aunt Sarah on hand, to know that in a few minutes the black cashmere would be substituted by a neat calico and that, in her working garb, Aunt Sarah would take control.

"Come, Mary Lee," said Nan, "Aunt Sarah will see to everything. There is really nothing for us to do, so let's go work in our gardens. It's a splendid day for weeding."

The girls' gardens were side by side. In Nan's grew currant bushes, a dwarf apple-tree, tiny tomatoes, yellow and red, sweet corn, and in one corner, pleasant smelling herbs, thyme, tansy, sage, lavender and bergamot. Flowering beans ran over her share of the fence, and a rollicking pumpkin vine sprawled its length along the line between this and Mary Lee's garden. All in Nan's garden appealed to the senses. She gloated over the delicate pink blooms which covered her small tree in the spring. She reveled in the shining red currants hanging in clusters among the green leaves. She delighted in the scarlet and yellow tomatoes, in the delicate bloom of the lavender, the graceful green of the tansy, the perfume of the bergamot. These gardens were theirs provided they raised something useful, and Nan had kept within the limits, but her mother smiled to see how she had chosen.

Mary Lee, on the contrary, showed a practical utilitarianism. Potatoes, onions, large lusty tomatoes, solid cabbages, mighty turnips, radishes and lettuce were what she aspired to cultivate, and right well did the crops show.

"I think I'll have an asparagus bed next year," said Nan bending down to gather a leaf of bergamot. "It looks so pretty and feathery, and after it is once started it is no trouble at all."

"It will take up a lot of room," returned Mary Lee. "I do wish you'd pull up that old pumpkin vine; it's getting all in among my turnips."

"It's too late in the season for it to hurt them," returned Nan nonchalantly, "and I really can't keep it on my side, Mary Lee, unless I sit here all day and all night watching it, for it grows so fast I'm continually having to unwind it from something. I believe it is a fairy vine, an ogre – no, it's too jolly to be an ogre. It may be a playful giant that grabs at everybody just to be funny."

"I don't think it's a bit funny," replied Mary Lee, not possessing Nan's humor. "I just wish you'd come and get it away from my side."

Nan stepped across the twig fence which separated the two gardens. "Come here, old Giant Pumpkin-head," she said. "You must stop curling your fingers around everything you see. Stay on your own side." She dragged the obtrusive length of vine across to her own garden. "He does spread mighty near over the whole place," she continued. "I'm afraid I shall have to put a spell on him another year. Oh, I know where I'll have him next season."

"Where?" asked Mary Lee industriously pulling up weeds which yielded easily after the rain.

"Oh, never mind where. I can't tell just yet," Nan hastened to say, for her thought was to allow a pumpkin vine to have its own way upon the edge of the field where she had her retreat. She, too, fell to pulling weeds, but presently she cried: "Mary Lee, Mary Lee, Miss Lawrence is coming up the street and I believe she is coming to our house."

"Then she isn't ill," returned Mary Lee, brushing the earth from her hands.

"No, and here comes Jack running for dear life. I must go see what she wants. Heigho, Jack!"

The child came tumultuously toward them. "Oh, Nan, don't let her see me," she cried.

"Let who see you?"

"Miss Lawrence. She's coming after me."

"Coming after you? and why? You know she's not bothering about you unless you have been up to some trick. Have you, Jack?"

Jack clung to Nan's hand. "I didn't tell a story. There couldn't be any school when there were no scholars, could there?"

"No, I suppose not."

"I did so want to help," said Jack. "I knew you would have to stay home and get dinner if Aunt Sarah didn't come, and I wanted to go and meet her if she did."

"But what did you do?" Nan drew the child to one side. "Now tell sister the whole truth, Jack, and unless it is something perfectly dreadful, I'll try to get you let off. What did you do?"

"I just told Carrie Duke and Laura Fitchett there wouldn't be any school, and they went and told a whole lot of the others, and when any one else came along I told them, too. There wasn't any school, so I didn't tell a story."

Nan giggled outright. She couldn't help it. Of course, it was not right, but the plan was so ingenious and the logic so like Jack's that she couldn't be angry. Moreover, she was but a child herself who liked a holiday. "I'll tell you what to do," she advised. "You go over to Cousin Mag's and tell her I'll send back some cake to-morrow, that I am very much obliged to her for helping us out, that Aunt Sarah has come and that we shall have no more trouble. Then I'll go up to the house and say I have sent you on an errand. You may stay over there for a little while, if you like. Of course," she added, feeling that perhaps she was too lenient, "you did very wrong, and if Miss Lawrence asks me I shall have to tell her what you did, but if she is very mad you'd better not be on hand, especially as Aunt Sarah is there, too. Now, run along."

"Oh, Nan, you are so dear," cried Jack, giving her a hug. "I haven't been comfortable all day, and when I saw Miss Lawrence coming, and I felt so afraid, like Adam and Eve in the garden, I knew I hadn't done right. It didn't seem very wrong when I first thought about it this morning."

"I can't say it was right," said Nan with decision, "but go now." And Jack took the benefit of her advice.

"I'm going up to the house to see Miss Lawrence," Nan called to Mary Lee. "Will you come, too?"

"Not unless she particularly wants me. My hands are a sight, and I do want to finish this weeding while the ground is so nice and soft."

Nan went slowly toward the house. She did not mean to excuse Jack but she meant to shield her. It was always Nan's way and Jack realized that her eldest sister was her most tolerant friend. There were occasions when even Nan's patience gave out, but her mother feeling for her little sister was too strong for her not to love this wayward one, perhaps, best of all.

She found Miss Lawrence and Miss Dent in animated conversation. Miss Lawrence was hardly through her greeting before she began to question. "Why weren't you at school to-day, Nan?" she asked.

"I couldn't come, Miss Lawrence. Mother went yesterday, and our girl was away, too, so I just had so much to do I couldn't come."

"Oh, I see. Miss Dent has been telling me of your mother's absence. I am sorry."

"Nan, where is Jack?" asked Miss Sarah.

"I sent her on an errand, Aunt Sarah. She'll be back after a while."

"Do you know anything of her having reported that there would be no school to-day?" asked Miss Lawrence severely. "Not a scholar came though I waited till after ten. I could not imagine why it was and have tried to trace the cause. From what I learned Jack was the first one who started the report. Why did she think there would be no school?"

Nan glanced at her Aunt Sarah and was relieved to see that she did not wear her severest look though Miss Lawrence looked sternly unsmiling. "I don't think the way Jack looked at it," began Nan, addressing Miss Lawrence, "that she meant to tell a story. She said there couldn't be any school if there were no scholars, and so she saw to it that there were no scholars. She always wants to help and she knew how busy I would be, but she knew, too, that I would insist upon her going to school and so she thought out this plan for having a holiday."

There was actually a smile on Aunt Sarah's face.

"That's Jack all over," she said. "And I know full well that from her point of view she believed she wasn't telling a story."

"That's what she said to me," Nan again asserted.

"It's most astonishing," said Miss Lawrence, but even in her eyes there was a flicker of amusement as she glanced at Miss Dent. "Of course, she must be punished," she went on, "for she must realize how wrong it was and such things cannot be overlooked."

"She didn't really think about its being wrong till she saw you coming," said Nan, "and then she was scared to death, poor little Jack."

This was most tactful of Nan, for Miss Lawrence had a great horror of being dreaded and disliked. She believed in firmness but in gentle and loving control, so she said, "She should not have been scared of me, Nan. I am never unjust, I hope."

"What are you going to do to her?" asked Nan, feeling that she must learn the worst. "If it's very bad, Miss Lawrence, please let me take the punishment; I'm bigger, you know."