1 HAPPY HOUSE 11
^ By Jane D. Abbott I
COPYRIGHT, 1520, RY J. B. I.IPP1NCOTT COMPANY
larr—- --
Alone in her own room a storm
of anger shook her. ‘‘1 hate
her!'1 she cried out to the ugly
walls. “1 hate her! She’s—just
—stone!”
“I’m glad I’m not a real Leav
itt I We were so happy!”
Then, really frightened, Nancy
listened intently to catch some
word from the other room.
I CHAPTER VII.
Aunt Milly’s Story.
When Nancy could stand the
Interval of quiet no longer, she
went back to Miss Milly’s door.
.She did not ev(m knock. So sure
was she of finding a crushed and
heartbroken Aunt Milly within
that she stood dumfounded be
fore the little creature who sat
bolt upright upon the couch.
“Come in, my dear—and close
tho door’l”
Everything about Miss Milly
seemed to say that “the worm
has turned.” There was n glow
on her face different from that
it had worn out in the orchard;
it seemed to come from some fire
within.
“Open every blind in Hie room,
Nancy,” she commanded in a
tone (hat was new for Aunt
Milly. “I,might as well get what
light I can in here. Now come
andjiit beside me.”
C 4 moment Aunt Milly pat
ted Nancy’s hand and said noth
ing. Then she gave a little sigh,
i “I can’t tell you, Nancy, I
can’t even begin to tell you,
what you’ve done for me—tak
ing.me out there! If 1 never go
again, I’ve had it once. And it’s
sort of stiffened something in
side of me!”
She fell silent again. Nancy
was wishing that she could have
heard what had passed between
Aunt'Sabrina and Miss Milly that
had left. Miss Milly so defiant!
Aunt Milly seemed to read her
thought.
“She was dreadfully angry
and it was partly because she
was frightened—really fright
lirina thinks things must, always
go just so and that, it’s almost
wicked to try—different things.
She says—I’ve made my bed!”
“What does she mean, Aunt
Milly t”
“It’s a long story dear.”
“I’d like to hear it, Aunt
Milly.”
I < I -___-1. L 1 ~ I_
* VIOV J Vll I tv *» t*v »»
—someone else may tell you, old
Webb or B’lindy, or even Sa
brina, though she’d rather die
first! 1 think I used to bn some
thing like you, Nancy, or 1 would
have been,If it hadn’t been for—
the trouble!”
“Will it make you unhappy to
tell it, Aunt Millyt’’
“No, child. I used to lie here
by t he hour and think tilings over
and 'Over, but after awhile 1 got
so things sort of blured—I sup
pose I grow resigned and all the
fight inside of ine died. There
never was much. You see Sa
brina brought me up and she was
as stern then as she is now. Our
father was like that, too. My
mother died when l was a baby.”
“When father died Sabrina
bad the care of me. I suppose
she tried to bring me up well; she
was very strict nud—never
seemed to understand ! And when
I was quite young I began to
dream of getting away from the
islands. I wanted to go away to
school somewhere Imd learn to do
something—I did not much care
what—that would keep me out in
the world. Finally I decided that
I wanted Ito study music and
then, sometime, teach it. It wasn’t
much to want, was it, dear? But
goodness me, when I went to Sa
brina with my plan she was ter
ribly angry. You might have
thought I had suggested some
thing wicked! She simply
couldn’t understand! There was
enough money for us both to live
on and she said I was selfish and
inconsiderate to want to go away.
She talkedxa great deni about the
Leavitt position and being a lady
and learning contentment, and
the more she talked the more
restless and discontented 1 grew!
And the more I dreamed of what
waited out in the world beyond
those little islands.
’ “After along while, Nancy, I
made up my mind to go, anyway!
It was not easy to do, because 1 ’m
not very brave, and the trouble
we’d had sort of made me hate
to take any step that might make
$ break between Sabrina and me.
But I had to do it. 1 simply
couldn’t seem to face a life here.
That’s hard for you to believe,
1
isn't it, dear? But I was a dif
ferent creature, then. Well, one
night 1 packed some clothes and
slipped away. I walked to North
Hero and caught the train for
Burlington. I was going from
there to—to New York.
Breathlessly, Nancy whispered,
“What happened then?”
“The train was wrecked out
side of Burlington 1”
“Oh—Auid lUjlly!”
‘ ‘ I was 'terribly hurt. I lay for
weeks in a hospital in Burlington
and they didn’t know whether
I’d live or die! I wish-” she
stopped short. “No, I don’t!
I’m glad I didn't die. Then they
brought me home—like this!”
“Poor, poor little Aunt
Milly!”
“I3ut, listen, child—that isn’t
half all. It seems that on the
same train was a young man
from North Hero whom I had al
ways known—and liked. But
Aunt Sabrina had never ap
proved of him, and long before
she had forbidden his coming
here. I did see him sometimes,
though—I loved company and he
was entertaining. There had
never been more than a pleasant
friendship between us, and I had
not dreamed that he was going
to Burlington on that train. IIo
was killed. And when I came
back from the hospital the story
was on every tongue that I had
been running away with Charlie
Prince!”
Oh, I was hurt in every part I
of me—my body and my soul and
my mind! My precious dreams
had crumbled forever and ever.
And I had to face that dreadful
scandal! Not that I ever saw a
soul—Sabrina took care of that!
She kept mo shut up as though I
had the plague. But through her
reproachful eyes I mas made to
see the accusations of every man,
woman and child on the Hero Isl
ands. And I couldn’t make her
believe it wasn’t so! She simply
wouldn’t talk about it. She went
around with that dreadful look,
day after day, aiul when she’d
sny anything at all, it was how I
had brought shame fo the Leavitt
name. And after awhile I began
to feel ns though I had done
something—more than just run
away to study music. She made
me understand that the only way
I could atone for it all was by
burying myself within these four
walls."
‘'Then that’s what she means
by ‘making your bed.’ ’’
“Yes, dear, I was so crushed
that l came to believe she was
right. God knew that all I had
wanted when I went away was a
right to my own way of living,
hut His ways are inscrutable and
His will has to bo done; Sabrina
called it the sword of wrath and
th? justice of the Almighty, and
it didn’t make much difference to
me what it. was called- -I was
here. That’s my story, dear,
that’s the way I’ve lived until—
today. But you’ve changed it.
Something inside of me that I I
thought was dead—isn't dead at |
all! Do you know what I told !
Sabrina! I told her I didn’t-care
what she thought, that I guessed
when a woman was 40 years old
and over she could decide things
for herself and if just going out
there in the orchard was wicked,
then I’d go on being wickeder! j
That’s what 1 told her. Dear, '
dear, you should have seen her j
face!" I
“Hurrah, hurrah, Aunt Mil
ly!”
“Poor Sabrina, I never spoke
like that in iny life to her! I’ve
always been so—afraid, until to
day! I don’t know what she’ll
do now. You must not blame her
too much, Nancy dear, it’s the
Leavitt trouble that has made her
wlmt she is—it shadowed all our
lives! ’ ’
“Aunt Milly, wha was the i
Leavitt trouble?”
“Aunt Milly, what was the
“Then you don’t know? I
shouldn’t have spoken of it! I
promised Sabrina I wouldn’t
speak to you—about it.”
“But, Aunt Milly, I have a— |
a right to know, haven’t 1? Even
Webb hinted about it, and it
makes me feel as though I was
—well, on the outside of things,
to be kept in ignorance.”
Miss Milly regarded her for a
moment. “I told Sabrina that
you wouldn’t know! But may be
you ought to. Somehow, telling
things, too, makes them seem not
so dreadful! I believe we Leav
itts lock troubles away too much
—don’t air them enough, maybe.
Sabrina things it’s as dreadful
now as it was the da} ft hap
pened- It was about our broth
er. He was a year older than
Sabrina. He wasn’t at all like
her, though, nor like my father.
He was a gay and handsome, and
high spirited and dreadfully ex
travagant. When 1 was very
small I used to be frightened at
the quarrels between him and my
father—and they were* always
over money.
“One night—he had come
home just before supper after be
ing away for a week, no one
knew where, and my father wa3
very angry about that—they had
a quarrel that seemed more bit
ter than any other. Besides,
there was a thunder storm that
made it seem y'qrse, I h|d been
sent to bed, but the lightning fiad
/rightened nje, juid I had crejat
doWnstairs to the sitting room.
I opened the door. They were
all there—for Sabrina always sid
ed with my father—talking so
loudly they did not hear me. My
father’s face frightened me more
than the lightning and my broth
er’s had turned dead white. I
think my father had just offered
him some money, for his wallet
was in his hand and on the floor
lay a bill, as though my brother
had thrown it back. I began to
cry and ran back to my room,
more frightened by them than by
the storm. And I lay there in
my bed for hours, waiting for
something to happen!”
ADout mianignt one areatul
bolt of lightning struck the
house. It shattered the chimney
all to pieces on the outside and
inside, filled the sitting room
with dust and pieces of mortar,
cracked the mantel and moved it
an inch and a half from the wall.
But no one thought much of all
that, because something far more
dreadful had happened 1 My
brother was gone and my fath
er’s wallet, the one I had seen
in his hand, was missing. He re
membered laying it on the man
tel and my brother and Sabrina
had seen him do it. It had con
tained over $1,000 in bank notes.
The next day my father found
out that my brother had taken
the early |trai» out of North
Hero. I was too youug to un
derstand much about it, but I
used to pray, first, that my broth
er would come back and tell them
he didn’t take the wallet and
then I’d pray that he’d never,
never come back, so that they
couldn't put him in prison.”
“That must have been Anne’s
grandfather,” Nancy was think
ing.
“He did come back, three
weeks later,” Miss Milly went
on, ‘ ‘ and there was a scene much
.vorse than the night of the storm.
They forgot I was in the room.
My father accused my brother
of stealing the wallet and re
fused to let him say a word. ‘I
want no lies added to your other
sins,’ was what he said—I can
hear him now. And my brother
looked as though something had
struck him. Then my father told
him that if he’d take himself off
and never darken the doors of
Happy House again, nor com
municate with his family in any
way, the matter would be
dropped forever—for the sake of
the Leavitt name. My brother
stood there for a moment; I re
member, I wanted to run to him I
Oh, I’ve wished I had—so often!
But I was afraid of Sabrina—
and my father. And then my
brother turned and walked out
of the room—and out of the door
—and—down the path—and—”
Poor Miss Milly, worn out by^
the excitement of the day, began
Nancy had to jerk herself to
break the spell of the story. Her
face winkled in a frown. “It
—is—dreadful, isn’t it, Aunt
Milly? I don’t mean his spend
ing money and running debts and
things, I mean—your—your fath
er’s horrid—mercilessness! Why,
the •ourts don’t treat the worst
criminals like that! And they
call it Leavitt pride—and honor!
I call it injustice. I wish you
had just run up and kissed him,
then. It might have made every
thing so different!”
“So that’s why I can’t speak
of Anne’s father or grandfath
er,” Nancy was thinking back of
her frown. “And that’s why
Anne knew so little about her
aunts!” Then aloud: “I’m glad
you told me, Aunt Milly. It’ll
help us—be pals. We’ll have oth
er afternoons—like today—out in
the sunshine. But now you must
rest. And I’ll get ready to face
Aunt Sabrina!”
“She’ll be dreadfully cross,”
sighed Miss Milly, with the glow
all gone from her face.
“I’m not a bit afraid,” and
Nancy meant it, for within her
breast smouldered such righte
ous indignation at Miss Sabrina
and her precious ancestors that
she welcomed the challenge.
Dressing hurriedly for supper
Nancy’s eye caugnt the letter to
Claire lying on her bureau. It
seemed to her as though hours
and hours had passed since she
had so flippantly bade Claire
“pray for me!”
She wanted to open the letter
and dash off another page to tell
Claire of all that had happened
and how the “mystery” was a
mystery no longer. Then, with
the envelope in her hand, she
remembered that it concerned
Aunt’s grandfather and that,
perhaps, she had no right to tell I
But she did open the sheet and
scribble across the top: “All
sorts of things have happened
since I wrote this, and I may be
back with you any moment. 1
C8n’t tell you yet ail about, it, but
I can ka? this that I hate Happy
House and Fra glad as can be
that I’m only a pretend Real
Lea vitt I Everybody isn’t horrid,
though, that nice old Webb built
the cosiest seat up in my tree and
surprised me.”
In exactly 20 minutes, by the
hands of her small watch, she
must meet Miss Sabrina! Any
way, she could tell her just what
she thought about the whole
thing, for, without any doubt
she’d be sent away! But there
was Aunt Milly—she had prom
ised Aunt Milly that there would
be more afternoons in the orch
ard. Somehow she must fix that.
“1 know,” she waved her
brush in mid air, “I’ll bet Be
linda!”
CHAPTER VIII,
B’lindy’s Triumph.
No great general of war ever
mapped out a plan of attack more
carefully than Nancy laid liersl
First she begged B’lindy to let
her pick over the raspberries for
supper. While doing this in the
chummiest sort ,of way, it was
very easy to tell B’iindy that she
had eaten lots of raised biscuits
but never any raised biscuits like
she’d had at Happy House!
The last raspberry in the glass
dish, Nancy in departing, whis
pered with a little laugh;
Wern’t you dreadfully fright
j ened this afternoon when you
i saw Aunt Sabrina ? O! of course
,you wern’t—Webb told me you
| were the only one who could
j really make Aunt Sabrina do
anything, but goodness, I was!”
j Which was balm to B’lindy’s in
jured pride; as the afternoon
wore on B’lindy had been grow
ing more and more indignant be
cause she had not “stood on her
two feet and spoke up to Sa
briny Leavitt” instead of “turn
ing tail like old Jonathan!”
Throughout the supper, by eat
ing very fast, Nancy managed
to conceal her nervousness and
expectancy. Aunt Sabrina sat
stiffly and looked very old and,
somehow, by a twist of her lips
managed to make Nancy under
stand that she, Nancy, was in
deep disgrace and that in due
time sentence of punishment
would be passed. Between
B’lindy and her mistress not a
word was exchanged; B’lindy’s
head was tossed high and there
was an air of “sniffing” about
her that, if it had not all been
so tragic, would have made the
entire situation funny.
“Oh, what a place—what fun
ny people!” cried Nancy to the
stars as she leaned that night far
out of her window, “llow can I
stand it! And why does not
something happen quickly? It’s
just like Aunt Sabrina not to say
a word and to keep me on pins
and needles! That’s the same
way she treated Aunt Milly and
that poor boy—years ago!”
Thereupon Nancy let her fancy
wander back to the “gay spirit
ed, extravagant” brother and his
story-—Anne’s grandfather. Had
he cared, she wondered, had ho
died longing to see again the old
Island home, or had it been a
blessing—casting him out in the
wide world. He must have met
fortune somewhere, for Anne’s
father had been wealthy. Dear
Anne—Nancy picked out the star
that was farthest in the east and
addressed it reverently. * ‘ If you
can see Anne and she can see you
will you tell her that she mustn’t
feel cross at the mess I’ve made
of tilings. I tried to be careful
but I’m me and, anyway, all the
ignorance of her blessed peas
ants isn’t any worse than the
pride and narrowness of her own
relatives! Good night, dearest
Anne, for the last time I go to
sleep in my prison walls—tomor
row I die!”___
(Continued next week.)
A Wilkes-Barre, Fa., man spent $417
on a trousseau for his fiance, then she
became the wife of another man. H*
caused her arrest and charged her with
receiving money under false pretenses.
"Ay yoost want a yob." said a big
husky sailor applying at an employment
agency in San Francisco. "Ladles take
man's yob, so 1 take ladies' yob.” Then
he explained his specialty would be tak
ing care of bablgs and doing upstairs
work.
His Slowness.
“Doctor Itnve. the popular evange
list, emphatically declares that there
Is a hell."
“Dear si’.zz!” answered -T. Fuller
Gloom. “Iras lie just found it out?
Why, almost Immediately after my
marriage more than twenty years ago
I advised my brother-in-law to go
there!”—Kansas City Star.
Dusims Have Women Priests.
Women priests dominate the Du
suns, a curious tribe of people Inhab
iting a section of British North
Borneo.
r. 1 11 i
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lev. Sparrow Jones Had Ingenious
Reasoning With Which to Satisfy
Aunt Miranda.
Whenever Rev. Sparrow Jones called
m Aunt Miranda, it was her custom
o set a plate of gingerbread before
lira and then ply him with what she
railed “ ’llgious ’spoundings.”
“What to' does de Lawd send epl
iemies onto de land?” she asked him
me day.
“When folks get so bad dey must
»e removed, some of ’em, Sister Mir
inda, den de Lawd permits de cornin’
if an epidemic,” said the preacher; and
le took a large bite of gingerbread.
“Uh,” said Aunt Miranda. “Ef dat’s
to, how come de good people gits re
noved along wld de bad ones?”
"De good ones Is summoned fo’
witnesses,” said Rev. Sparrow Jones.
‘De Lawd gibs every man a fair trial.”
—Philadelphia Ledger.
Remembrance.
1 once wrote a verso to my lady’s
ryehrow.
J It was beautiful, a charming bit of
| joetic fancy. Everybody admired It.
J Now, live years later, this little
jioem lias grown enormously In value,
i ily lady herself treasures it—a sort of
'nemento, I suppose, because—
She has no eyebrow' to speak of.—
iVnyside Tales.
The ambitious mnn doesn't worry
nuch about bis grny matter.
Clear Case.
"I don’t take prohibition cases," said
the lawyer.
“But I’m an Innocent man, I tell
you. I’m charged with having liquor
In my possession, but I’m the person j
who called up the police department
and stated that I had found twenty
four quarts of Scotch burlbd In my
backyard.”
“You say you called up the pollen
and let them carry off that Scotch
when you might have concealed it In
a hundred different places and deded
the true owner to get possession of
It?”
“Certainly.” o
“Well, you must be Innocent. I'll
engage to defend you."—Birmingham *
Age-Herald.
Truf Sympathy.
MacTaggart, a canny Scot, went t«
a motion picture show and sat down
on the hat of the man next Mm.
"Get up! You’re on my hat I Why
don’t you look before you sit
down?” agonizingly cried the hat’s
owner.
MacTaggart arose and picked up tbs
hnt. “Ah, well,” he remarked gently,
"It might have been worse.”
“Worse!" exclaimed the wrathful
one. “It’s ruined, man! How coult
It possibly be worse?"
“It might have been my aln,” an
swered MacTaggart thoughtfully.
A young man In love resembles ■
map of tbt! world—he embraces a good
deal.
You wouldn’t put on hobbles
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*
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ffThere’s a Reason” ^
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