Chapter XIII. MARGARET LLEWELLEN
"If Momsey or Papa Sherwood knew about this they'd be awfully sorry forme," thought Nan, still sitting on the trunk. "Such a looking place!Nothing to see but snow and trees," for the village of Pine Camp wasquite surrounded by the forest and all the visitor could see from thewindows of her first-floor bedroom were stumps and trees, with deep snoweverywhere.
There was a glowing wood stove in the room and a big, chintz-coveredbox beside it, full of "chunks." It was warm in the room, the atmospherebeing permeated with the sweet tang of wood smoke.
Nan dried her eyes. There really was not any use in crying. Momsey andPapa Sherwood could not know how bad she felt, and she really was notselfish enough to wish them to know.
"Now, Nanny Sherwood!" she scolded herself, "there's not a particle ofuse of your sniveling. It won't 'get you anywhere,' as Mrs. Joyce says.You'll only make your eyes red, and the folks will see that you're nothappy here, and they will be hurt.
"Mustn't make other folks feel bad just because I feel bad myself," Nandecided. "Come on! Pluck up your courage!
"I know what I'll do," she added, literally shaking herself as shejumped off the trunk. "I'll unpack. I'll cover up everything ugly that Ican with something pretty from Tillbury."
Hurried as she had been her departure from the cottage on Amity Street,Nan had packed in her trunk many of those little possessions, dear toher childish heart, that had graced her bedroom. These appeared from thetrunk even before she hung away her clothes in the unplastered closetwhere the cold wind searched through the cracks from out-of-doors. Intothat closet, away back in the corner, went a long pasteboard box, tiedcarefully with strong cord. Nan patted it gently with her hand beforeshe left the box, whispering:
"You dear! I wouldn't have left you behind for anything! I won'tlet them know you are here; but sometimes, when I'm sure nobody willinterrupt, you shall come out."
She spread a fringed towel over the barren top of the dresser. Itwould not cover it all, of course; but it made an island in a sea ofemptiness.
And on the island she quickly set forth the plain little toilet-set hermother had given her on her last birthday, the manicure set that was apresent from Papa Sherwood, and the several other knickknacks thatwould help to make the big dresser look as though "there was somebody athome," as she whispered to herself.
She draped a scarf here, hung up a pretty silk bag there, placedMomsey's and Papa Sherwood's portraits in their little silver filigreeeasels on the mantelpiece, flanking the clock that would not run andwhich was held by the ugly china shepherdess with only one foot anda broken crook, the latter ornament evidently having been at one timeprized by the babies of her aunt's family, for the ring at the top wasdented by little teeth.
Nothing, however, could take the curse of ugliness off the staringgray walls of the room, or from the horrible turkey-red and whitecanton-flannel quilt that bedecked the bed. Nan longed to spill thecontents of her ink bottle over that hideous coverlet, but did not dare.
The effort to make the big east room look less like a barn made Nan feelbetter in her mind. It was still dreary, it must be confessed. Therewere a dozen things she wished she could do to improve it. Therewere nothing but paper shades at the windows. Even a simple scrimcurtain-----
And, in thinking of this, Nan raised her eyes to one window to see aface pressed close against the glass, and two rolling, crablike eyesglaring in at her.
"Mercy!" ejaculated Nan Sherwood. "What is the matter with that child'seyes? They'll drop out of her head!"
She ran to the window, evidently startling the peeper quite as much asshe had been startled herself. The girl, who was about Nan's own age,fell back from the pane, stumbled in the big, men's boots she wore, andungracefully sprawled in the snow upon her back. She could not get awaybefore Nan had the window open.
The sash was held up by a notched stick. Nan put her head and shouldersout into the frosty air and stared down at the prostrate girl, whostared up at her in return.
"What do you want?" Nan asked.
"Nothin'," replied the stranger.
"What were you peeping in for?"
"To see you," was the more frank reply.
"What for?" asked Nan.
"Ain't you the new gal?"
"I've newly come here, yes," admitted Nan.
"Well!"
"But I'm not such a sight, am I?" laughed the girl from Tillbury. "Butyou are, lying there in the snow. You'll get your death of cold. Get up."
The other did so. Beside the men's boots, which were patched and old,she wore a woollen skirt, a blouse, and a shawl over her head andshoulders. She shook the snow from her garments much as a dog freeshimself from water after coming out of a pond.
"It's too cold to talk with this window open. You're a neighbor, aren'tyou?"
The girl nodded.
"Then come in," urged Nan. "I'm sure my aunt will let you."
The girl shook her head in a decided negative to this proposal. "Don'twant Marm Sherwood to see me," she said.
"Why not?"
"She told me not to come over after you come 'ithout I put on my newdress and washed my hands and face."
"Well!" exclaimed Nan, looking at her more closely. "You seem to have aclean face, at least."
"Yes. But that dress she 'gin me, my brother Bob took and put on OldBeagle for to dress him up funny. And Beagle heard a noise he thoughtwas a fox barking and he started for the tamarack swamp, lickety-split.I expect there ain't enough of that gingham left to tie around a sorethumb."
Nan listened to this in both amusement and surprise. The girl was a newspecimen to her.
"Come in, anyway," she urged. "I can't keep the window open."
"I'll climb in, then," declared the other suddenly, and, suiting theaction to the word, she swarmed over the sill; but she left one hugeboot in the snow, and Nan, laughing delightedly, ran for the poker tofish for it, and drew it in and shut down the window.
The strange girl was warming her hands at the fire. Nan pushed a chairtoward her and took one herself, but not the complaining spring rockingchair.
"Now tell me all about yourself," the girl demanded.
"I'm Nan Sherwood, and I've come here to Pine Camp to stay while myfather and mother have gone to Scotland."
"I've heard about Scotland," declared the girl with the very prominenteyes.
"Have you?"
"Yes. Gran'ther Llewellen sings that song. You know:
"'Scotland's burning! Scotland's burning! Where, where? Where, where?Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! Pour on water! Pour on water! Fire's out! Fire'sout!'"
Nan laughed. "I've heard that, too," she said. "But it was anotherScotland." Then: "So your name is Llewellen?"
"Marg'ret Llewellen."
"I've heard your grandfather is sick," said Nan, remembering Tom'sreport of the health of the community when he had met her and her uncleat Hobart Forks.
"Yes. He's got the tic-del-rew," declared Margaret, rather unfeelingly."Aunt Matildy says he's allus creakin' round like a rusty gate-hinge."
"Why! That doesn't sound very nice," objected Nan. "Don't you love yourgrandfather?"
"Not much," said this perfectly frank young savage. "He's so awfullywizzled."
"'Wizzled'?" repeated Nan, puzzled.
"Yes. His face is all wizzled up like a dried apple."
"But you love your aunt Matilda?" gasped Nan.
"Well, she's wizzled some," confessed Margaret. Then she said: "Idon't like faces like hern and Marm Sherwood's. I like your face. It'ssmooth."
Nan had noticed that this half-wild girl was of beautifully faircomplexion herself, and aside from her pop eyes was quite petty. But shewas a queer little thing.
"You've been to Chicago, ain't you?" asked Margaret suddenly.
"We came through Chicago on our way up here from my home. We stayed onenight there," Nan replied.
"It's bigger'n Pine Camp, ain't it?"
"My goodness, yes!"
"Bigg
er'n the Forks?" queried Margaret doubtfully.
"Why, it is much, much bigger," said Nan, hopeless of making oneso densely ignorant understand anything of the proportions of themetropolis of the lakes.
"That's what I told Bob," Margaret said. "He don't believe it. Bob's mybrother, but there never was such a dunce since Adam."
Nan had to laugh. The strange girl amused her. But Margaret saidsomething, too, that deeply interested the visitor at Pine Camp beforeshe ended her call, making her exit as she had her entrance, by thewindow.
"I reckon you never seen this house of your uncle's before, did you?"queried Margaret at one point in the conversation.
"Oh, no. I never visited them before."
"Didn't you uster visit 'em when they lived at Pale Lick?"
"No. I don't remember that they ever lived anywhere else beside here."
"Yes, they did. I heard Gran'ther tell about it. But mebbe 'twas beforeyou an' me was born. It was Pale Lick, I'm sure. That's where they losttheir two other boys."
"What two other boys?" asked Nan, amazed.
"Didn't you ever hear tell you had two other cousins?"
"No," said Nan.
"Well, you did," said Margaret importantly. "And when Pale Lick burnedup, them boys was burned up, too."
"Oh!" gasped Nan, horrified.
"Lots of folks was burned. Injun Pete come near being burned up. Heain't been right, I reckon, since. And I reckon that's where MarmSherwood got that scar on the side of her neck."
Nan wondered.
Nan Sherwood at Pine Camp; Or, The Old Lumberman's Secret Page 13