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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/25938-8.txt b/25938-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4deb9ce --- /dev/null +++ b/25938-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3722 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Nancy McVeigh of the Monk Road, by R. Henry +Mainer + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Nancy McVeigh of the Monk Road + + +Author: R. Henry Mainer + + + +Release Date: June 30, 2008 [eBook #25938] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NANCY MCVEIGH OF THE MONK ROAD*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 25938-h.htm or 25938-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/9/3/25938/25938-h/25938-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/9/3/25938/25938-h.zip) + + + + + +NANCY MCVEIGH OF THE MONK ROAD + +by + +R. HENRY MAINER + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal o' ours."] + + + +Toronto +William Briggs +1908 + +Copyright, Canada, 1908, by R. Henry Mainer. + + + + + + These few stories of a good old + woman I dedicate to the + memory of + + A. R. S. M. + + who sat beside me while I wrote + them and offered many happy suggestions. + + + + + "Her face, deep lined; her eyes were gray, + Mirrors of her heart's continuous play; + Her head, crowned with a wintry sheet, + Had learned naught of this world's deceit. + She oft forgot her own in others' trials, + And met the day's rebuffs with sweetest smiles." + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + I. THE WOMAN OF THE INN + II. THE ANTAGONISM OF MISS PIPER + III. JOHN KEENE'S EDUCATION + IV. THE WRECK AT THE JUNCTION + V. JENNIE + VI. NANCY'S PHILOSOPHY + VII. THE STRENGTH OF TEN + VIII. A DESERTER FROM THE MONK ROAD + IX. THE KERRY DANCERS + X. THE HOMECOMING OF CORNELIUS MCVEIGH + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +Cover art + +"Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal 'o ours." . . . . _Frontispiece_ + +"'Give me that gun, Johnny,' she called softly." + +"Ye can just pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own fixin'." + + + + +NANCY McVEIGH. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +_THE WOMAN OF THE INN._ + +During the _régime_ of Governor Monk, of Upper Canada, the military +road was cut through the virgin pine from Lake Ontario to the waters +leading into Georgian Bay. The clearings followed, then the +homesteads, then the corners, where the country store and the smithy +flourished in primitive dignity. The roadside hostelry soon had a +place on the highway, and deep into its centre was Nancy McVeigh's. + +Nancy McVeigh's tavern was famed near and far. In earliest days the +name was painted in letters bold across the high gabled face, but years +of weather had washed the paint off. Its owner, however, had so long +and faithfully dominated its destiny that it was known only as her +property, and so it was named. A hill sloped gently for half a mile, +traversed by a roadway of dry, grey sand, flanked on either side by a +split-rail snake fence, gradually widening into an open space in front +of the tavern. The tavern had reached an advanced stage of +dilapidation. A rickety verandah in front shaded the first story, and +a gable projected from above, so that the sill almost touched the +ridge-board. A row of open sheds, facing inwards, ranged along one +side of the yard, terminated by a barn, which originally had been a low +log structure, but, with the increase of trade, had been capped with a +board loft. Midway between the sheds and the house stood the pump, and +whilst the owners gossiped over the brimming ale mugs within the house, +the tired beasts dropped their muzzles into the trough. Some of the +passers-by were of temperate habits, and did not enter the door leading +to the bar, but accepted the refreshment offered by Nancy's pump, and +thought none the less of the woman because their principles were out of +sympathy with her business. The place lived only because of its +mistress, and an odd character was she. Fate had directed her life +into a peculiar channel, and she followed its course with a sureness of +purpose that brought her admiration. She was tall, raw-boned, and +muscled like a man. Her face was deeply lined, patient, and crowned +with a mass of fine, fair hair turning into silvery grey, and blending +so evenly that a casual observer could scarcely discern the change of +color. It was her eyes, however, that betrayed the soul within, their +harshness mocking the goodness which was known of her, and their +softness at times giving the lie to the roughness which, in a life such +as hers, might be expected. + +Nancy McVeigh, the tavern and the dusty Monk Road were synonymous, and +to know one was to know all three. + +Nancy was within the bar when two wayfarers, whose teams were drinking +at the trough, entered. + +"It's a foine day, Mistress McVeigh," greeted old Mr. Conors, at the +sight of her. + +"It is that, and more, too, Mr. Conors," she assented, including the +two men before her in her remark. + +"This spell o' weather's bad fer the crops. I'll have to stop at the +pump altogether if it don't rain soon." + +"You're welcome to your choice. If ye want a drink and can pay fer it, +I am pleased to serve ye, but I ask no man fer what he cannot afford," +was Nancy's rejoinder, as she wiped her hands on her apron after +drawing the mugs. + +"Been to town?" she inquired, after a minute's reflection. + +"Yes, and a bad place it is to save money. The women folk have so many +things to buy that I often wonder where the pay for the seed grain'll +come from. Had to buy the missus a shawl, and two yards of flannel for +the kids to-day, and heaven only knows what they will be wanting next +week, when school begins again," commented Mr. Conors. + +"'Tis a God's blessing to have your childer, the bright, wee things! +They keep us from fergittin' altogether," said Nancy, sighing, and +looking abstractedly out of the window. + +"She is thinkin', poor woman," observed Mr. O'Hagan, in a low tone. + +"Ye have quite a squad yerself, Nancy," ventured Mr. Conors. + +"Yes," she agreed, "there's Sam Duncan's little girl. You remember big +Sam, who was drowned in his own well?" Mr. Conors nodded. "And +Jennie--but she's a rare young lass now, and waits on table as well as +I can do. If I could spare her I'd send her to school, fer she needs +book learnin' more than she's got at present, but it's hard work I have +to keep up the old place, and I'm not as able fer it as I was the first +years after McVeigh died. Then I have Will Devitt's boy. He's past +eighteen now, and handy about the stables. If it was not fer him I'm +thinkin' old Donald would never manage at all." + +"An' you'd take in the very nixt waif that comes along," declared Mr. +O'Hagan. + +"Maybe," answered Mistress McVeigh, thoughtfully. + +Mr. Conors broke in with the question, "Where's yer own boy, Corney? +It's a long while since he was about the place with his capers and +curly head. Only t'other day my missus was talkin' about the time he +and my Johnny learned to smoke behind my barn, and almost burnt the +hull of us into the bargain." + +A smile flitted across Nancy McVeigh's face at the recollection. "My +Corney's a wonderful lad, Mr. Conors. He doesn't take after either of +his parents, fer he'd give over the best game in the world fer a book. +He's livin' in Chicago, and he writes home now and then. He's makin' +lots of money, too, the scamp, but he's like his father fer spendin'. +Sometimes he borrows from me, just to tide him over, but he says that +he will make enough money some day to turn the old tavern into a +mansion. Then I'll be a foine lady, with nothin' to do but sit about +and knit, with a lace cap on me head, and servants to do all the work. +Though I'm afraid me old bones would never submit to that." + +"Do ye believe the nonsense he writes, Mistress McVeigh?" questioned +Mr. Conors. + +"Aye, an' I do that, sir. It's me, his old mother, that knows the grit +o' him, and the brains he has." + +Tears were shining in Nancy's eyes, and she dried them on her apron, +under cover of a sharp order which she called to a maid in the +dining-room. + +"Ye have a rare good heart in ye, Nancy McVeigh," Mr. O'Hagan commented. + +"Heart, ye call it, sor. It's a mother's heart, and nothin' else," she +answered, quickly, and then continued, somewhat bitterly, "It's nigh +broke with anger and trouble this day. It's not that the work is hard, +nor the trade fallin' away, for it has kept me and mine these many +years, and it'll never fail while I have me health. But my interest +falls due this month." + +"It's a power o' interest ye hev paid that old miser, John Keene, since +McVeigh took over the tavern," Mr. Conors observed. + +"It is that, Mr. Conors, and he treats me none the better fer it. A +week come Tuesday he stalks into the bar here, and, before my +customers, he threatens to put me into the road if I fail to have the +amount fer him on the due date. I jest talked back to him with no fear +in me eye, and he cooled off wonderfully. I have since got the money +together, and a hundred dollars to pay on the principal, and to-morrow +I'm goin' to give it to him with me compliments." + +"Ye need not be afraid o' his puttin' ye out, Mistress McVeigh, +begorra. He knows right well the place wouldn't be fit to stable +horses in if ye were to leave it, and then who'd pay him his dirty +interest?" sagely remarked Mr. Conors. + +"Well, if that ain't James Bennet comin' along the road, and tipsy, +too," broke in Mr. O'Hagan, catching sight of a new arrival from +townwards. + +"The likes o' him!" sniffed Nancy, contemptuously. "Not a drop will I +serve him, the good-fer-nothin'! There's his poor wife with a +two-weeks-old baby, and two other childer scarce able to walk, and him +carryin' on and spendin' money as if he could afford it." + +The three waited, watching in silence, whilst the semi-intoxicated +fellow tumbled out of his rig and walked with uncertain footsteps to +the tavern door. + +"An' what be ye wantin' the night?" spoke up Nancy, barring his +entrance, and all the softness gone from her voice. + +"Wantin', ye silly woman! what d'ye suppose I'd chance breakin' me neck +gettin' out o' me buggy fer, but a drink o' yer best brewed?" + +"Not a drop, James Bennet. Ye needn't come round my door askin' fer +liquor. You, with a sick wife and a house full o' childer! It's a +wonder ye're not ashamed. Better put yer head under the pump and then +git ye home. Ye're no man at all, James, and I've told ye so before." + +"It's not refusin' an old frien', are ye, Mistress McVeigh?" Bennet +asked, coaxingly. + +"Ye're no frien' o' mine, I'd like ye to understand, and if Mary O'Neil +had taken my advice years ago, ye'd hev niver had the chance o' abusin' +her." + +"Ye're not doubtin' that I have the change?" pleaded Bennet, digging +his hands deeply into his pocket, as if to prove his statement. + +"More's the pity, then, fer it should be at home with yer wife, who'd +know how to keep it." + +"Ye're very hard on me," he whined, edging up the steps. + +"Ye may thank yer stars I'm no harder," threatened the unyielding Nancy. + +"I tell ye, Mrs. McVeigh, I'm burnin' with thirst, and I'm goin' to +have only one." + +"Ye're not, sor." + +"I will, ye old shrew! Out o' my way!" he exclaimed, with an ugly +showing of temper, and moved as if to force an entrance. But Nancy +McVeigh had learned life from the standpoint of a man, and, reaching +forward, she sent him tottering from the verandah. Nor did she +hesitate to follow up her advantage. With masculine swiftness and +strength she seized him by the collar, and in a trice had him head +downwards in the horse-trough. + +"Now will ye go home, ye vagabond?" she exclaimed, with grim certainty +of her power. The man spluttered and wriggled ineffectually for a few +minutes, and then called "Enough!" + +"Off with ye," she said, releasing him, but with a menace in her tones +which suggested that to disobey would mean a second ducking. The +drunken coward climbed into his buggy, muttering imprecations on the +head of the obdurate hostess of the tavern as he did so. But he had no +stomach for further resistance. Mr. Conors and Mr. O'Hagan had been +interested spectators, and now came forward to untie their own horses, +laughing loudly at the discomfiture of Bennet as they did so. + +In the quiet of the early evening, when the modest list of boarders had +eaten of the fare which the tavern provided, with small consideration +of the profits to be made, Mrs. McVeigh put on her widow's bonnet, and +a shawl over her gaunt shoulders, and, leaving a parting injunction to +old Donald to tend to the bar during her absence, she set off down the +road to the Bennets'. The night was setting in darkly and suggestive +of rain, and the way was lonely enough to strike fear into the heart, +but the old tavern-keeper apparently had no nerves or imagination, so +confidently did she pursue her intention to see how fared the sick wife +of her troublesome customer of the afternoon. + +Bennet met her at the door, and he held up his finger for quietness as +he made way for her to enter. He was sober now, and evidently in a +very contrite mood. He knew it was not for him that Nancy McVeigh had +come, and he expressed no surprise. "She be worse the night," he +whispered, hoarsely. Nancy shot a glance at him, half-pitying, +half-blaming, as she stepped into the dimly-lighted bedroom, where a +wasted female form lay huddled, with a crying baby nestled close beside +her. Two children in an adjoining bed peeped curiously from under the +edge of a ragged blanket, and laughed outright when they saw who the +visitor was. + +"Go to sleep, dears," Nancy said, kindly, to hush their noisy +intentions. + +"It's you, Mistress McVeigh?" a weak voice asked from the sick-bed. + +"It is, Mary, and how are ye?" + +Mrs. Bennet was slow in answering, so her husband spoke for her, and +his tones were tense with anxiety. + +"She's not well at all, at all." + +Nancy turned impatiently to Bennet and bade him light the kitchen fire. + +"I've brought somethin' with me to make broth, and it's light food I'm +sure that ye're wantin', Mary," she explained. + +As soon as Bennet's back was turned, Nancy took off her wraps and drew +a chair into the middle of the room. + +"Give me the baby, Mary; yer arms must be weary holdin' it, and I will +see if I can put it to sleep." + +One thing Mrs. McVeigh's widowhood had not spoilt, and that was her +motherly instincts in the handling of a baby, and the room seemed +brighter and more hopeful from the moment she began to rock, singing a +lullaby in a strange, soothing tone. + +Mrs. Bennet gazed in silent gratitude for awhile, then she spoke again. + +"The doctor was here." + +"And what did he say?" Nancy inquired. + +"I'm not goin' to get better," she faltered. + +"Tut, tut, Mary! Ye're jest wearied out and blue, and ye don't know +what ye say. Think of yer poor childer. What would they do without +their mother?" + +"I don't know," murmured Mrs. Bennet, beginning to cry. "The doctor +says I might recover if I had hospital treatment and an operation. But +it's a terrible expense. Just beyond us altogether. He said it would +cost a hundred dollars at least." + +"And would ye be puttin' yer life in danger fer the sake o' a sum like +that?" Nancy said, feigning great unbelief. + +"It may not seem much to such as you, Mrs. McVeigh, who has a business, +and every traveller spending as he passes by, but Jim is none too +saving, and with three crying babes and a rented farm it's more than we +can ever hope fer," answered Mrs. Bennet. + +"Don't you worry one bit more about it, Mary. Maybe the good Lord'll +find a way to help you fer the sake o' Jim and the childer," Nancy +said, encouragingly, and then she went into the kitchen to direct +Bennet in the preparation of the broth, the baby still tucked under her +arm, sleeping peacefully. + +It was almost midnight when Nancy arrived at the tavern. She carried a +key for the front door, and passed up through the deserted hallway to +her room. A child's heavy breathing a few feet away told her that +Katie Duncan was in dreamland. Jennie had left a lamp burning low on +her table, and Nancy carried it over to the cot and looked at the +little plump face of her latest adoption. "Her own mother would smile +down from Hiven if she could see her now," she thought. Presently she +set the lamp back on the table, and ensconced herself comfortably in +her capacious rocking-chair. Directly in front of her, two photos were +tacked on the wall, side by side, and her eyes centred upon them. One +was that of a boy, sitting upright, dressed in a suit of clothes +old-fashioned in cut and a size too large for his body. The other, +that of a young man with an open, smiling countenance, a very high +collar, and a coat of immaculate neatness of fit. It was a strange +contrast, but Nancy saw them through the eye of a proud mother. A +debate progressed within her mind for some time, and then she arose, +with decision prominently expressed in her every movement. She +unlocked a small drawer in the ancient black walnut bureau and withdrew +a tattered wallet. Returning to her seat, she carefully spread out the +contents, counting the value of each crumpled bill as she laid it on +her knee. + +"I'm not afeard o' old John Keene. There's sufficient to pay him his +interest, and plenty left to keep Mary O'Neil at the hospital for a +month or two," she muttered. She replaced the money with a sigh, but +it was of pleasure, for Nancy never felt a pang when she had a good +action to perform. + +Next morning she sent Jennie over for Father Doyle, the parish priest. +The good man was always pleased to call on Nancy, because she was a +life-long friend, and her solid common-sense often helped him over the +many difficulties which were continually cropping up in his work. + +"It's something that has to be done at once, Father Doyle, and I think +it lies with me to do it," she said, after they had gossiped awhile. + +"I've known Mary O'Neil since she was the size o' my Katie, and many a +day have I watched her and my boy Corney, as they played, before +McVeigh was taken. It's no fault o' hers that their cupboard is empty, +and it's something I can do that will not lose its value because of the +habits o' the husband. But ye must arrange a compact with Bennet not +to take another drop if I help him. He loves his wife and would be a +good man to her if he could control his appetite." + +"But ye will be damaging your trade with your precious sentiments," +Father Doyle remarked, to test, in a joking way, the principles of his +charitable parishioner. + +"I'm no excusin' my business, Father Doyle, and ye've known me long +enough to leave off askin' me such questions. I have never taken the +bread out o' a livin' creature's mouth yet, to my knowledge, and +another might run a much, rougher house, should I give it up." + +"It's only a joke, I'm telling you," put in the priest, hastily; then +he added, kindly, "You are a strange woman, Nancy McVeigh, and the road +is no longer for your open doorway and the free pump. I have a mind to +put in half of the amount with you in this case, though it is only one +of many that I would do something to help if I could." + +"Thank ye, Father Doyle. Ye have a keen understandin' o' what is good +yerself; but ye'll be sure to name the compact with Bennet," cautioned +Nancy, as she counted out fifty dollars from her assortment of bills. + +"That I will," he answered. + +The priest immediately went over to the Bennet place, and called the +husband aside before mentioning his errand. He had long waited for +some chance to secure an advantage over his thriftless neighbor, and +now that it had come he drove it home with all the solemnity and +earnestness that he could command. Bennet listened with eyes staring +at the earth, and the veins throbbing in his bared neck, until the talk +had reached a point where he must promise. + +"Father Doyle," he began, thickly, "I have been a sad failure since the +day ye married me to Mary O'Neil, and Nancy McVeigh's tavern has been a +curse to me an' mine; but, if ye will do this fer me, I'll swear never +to touch a drop again." + +"Say nothing against Mistress McVeigh. You owe her more than you +think," Father Doyle interjected sharply. + +"Perhaps," admitted Bennet, grudgingly. + +"It's a compact, then," the priest observed, smiling away the wrinkles +of severity, and they clasped hands over it. + +That afternoon a covered rig passed by the tavern while the hostess was +serving the wants of a few who had stepped in. + +"It's Jim Bennet, takin' his wife to the hospital. Poor thing, she'll +find a deal more comfort there than in her own home!" Nancy explained, +in answer to the exclamations of curiosity. + +"It's a wonder he doesn't stop for a drink," one of the bystanders +remarked. But Nancy did not heed it, for she was thinking of two +children playing in the road when she had a husband to shoulder the +heavier duties of life. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +_THE ANTAGONISM OF MISS PIPER._ + +Miss Sophia Piper had passed that period of life popularly known on the +Monk Road as the matrimonial age. She had reached that second stage of +unwed womanhood when interest in material things supersedes that of +sentiment. She no longer sighed as she gazed down the stretch of walk, +lined with rose hedge, that led from the verandah of her Cousin James' +home to the Monk Road gateway, for there was no one in the wide world +who might desire to catch her waiting on the step. Bachelors, +especially young ones, were a silly set to her, useful only to girls +who had time to waste on them. Her time was too precious, and she +prided herself somewhat on the fact. + +True, she had had her day. She well remembered that, and even boasted +of it. Off-hand she could name a half-dozen men who once would have +accepted the custody of her heart with alacrity, but she was too +discerning. The Piper standard on the feminine side of the family was +raised high, and he must be an immortal, indeed, who climbed to its +dizzy height. She was past thirty-five, and had no regrets. She was a +close student of the Bible, and brought one text from it into her own +life. "When I was a child I played as a child, but now that I am old I +have put aside childish things." She often quoted this in defence of +her industrious maidenhood. + +She really felt that she had an object in life to accomplish, one that +was wider than personal benefit. She occupied the chair as President +of the Church Aid. For five years she had been the delegate to the +County Temperance Convention. She was also a regular contributor to +the religious columns of a city newspaper, and she held many other +responsible duties within her keeping. Then, her cousin, James Piper, +had three children to bring up properly, and their mother was dead. +This work, along with the superintendence of the domestic features of +his home, gave her plenty to fill up any spare time which she might +have had. She took a pardonable pride in her station in the little +community that knew her, yet above all she strove to exercise a fitting +humility of spirit. + +Her face was a pleasant one to see, shapely almost to prettiness, but +growing thin and sharp-featured; though bright, smiling eyes made her +appear more youthful than her years. Her hair, smoothed back from her +forehead, was streaked with grey, and harmonized perfectly with the +purity of her countenance. + +Despite her brave front and ever-abundant faculty to console others, +she had known trouble of a kind that would have crushed others of +weaker nature. From early girlhood she had been alone, her parents +having died within a year of each other before she had passed her +fifteenth birthday. She had no sisters, and her only brother had +widened the gap between them by a life of recklessness. + +Tom Piper was the exact antithesis of his sister. A good fellow with +everybody, and liked accordingly; none too particular in his choice of +comrades; a spendthrift, and unable to apply himself for long at any +one occupation, 'twas a fortunate circumstance that Cousin James took +in his orphan sister, otherwise she would have had the additional +burden of poverty to harass her endeavors to sustain the respectability +of the family. Tom might also have made his home with his cousin, but +he showed no inclination to accept such charity. He was older than his +sister, and quite able to take care of himself, so he thought. He +secured work with a firm of timber contractors, and almost immediately +disappeared into the wide expanse of pine in northern Ontario. +Occasionally he wrote to his sister, and in his letters his big heart +stood out so clearly that even her strict code of propriety could not +stay the tears of sympathy which blotted his already bedaubed +scribbling. When spring came, and the logs had been rafted down the +river, leaving the timber men a few months of well-earned idleness, +Tom's first action was to hasten out to the Monk Road to visit Sophia, +and a very unconventional caller he proved to be. The rough life had +taken off much of his exterior polish, but otherwise he was the same +good-natured Tom, generous to a fault, and, therefore, blessed with but +little to give. These were grand opportunities for Sophia, and she +lectured him roundly for his loose habits. She told him that he could +have a good position in the neighboring town, and society more in +keeping with the ancestors of the Pipers, should he so desire. But he +always answered her with a laugh that echoed strangely through the +quiet decorum of Cousin Jim's big house, then he kissed her for her +advice. + +"Never fear, little girl, I will never do any great harm either to you +or the family. It is my way of enjoying life, and I guess I am a free +agent. But keep on in your good work, and it will do for the both of +us. I have brought something with me to brighten your eyes, sister. +This will buy new clothes for you." + +While he spoke, he counted out and handed over to her a large share of +his winter's wages. This always made Sophia cry, and she would forget +her scoldings for the balance of his stay. + +As Tom grew older, tales travelled ahead of him, of his reckless +spending and his drinking while in town. Cousin Jim heard them first, +and he took Tom to task sharply whenever he met him. Then Sophia +learned the truth, and her heart was almost broken. She prayed for her +brother, and wept over him when he came to see her, and was rewarded +with promises which were broken as soon as her influence had worn off. +Gradually a coldness grew between them. Tom, obstinately set in his +way, and angry at the continued interference of his sister and cousin; +Sophia hurt by his neglect and bitter from the sting of his disgraceful +conduct; and Cousin Jim, hard, matter-of-fact business man that he was, +refused to extend even the courtesy of a speaking acquaintance. So +affairs ran along very unhappily, until, at last, Sophia determined to +forget that Tom was her brother, and henceforth she put her whole soul +into a crusade against sin, and Nancy McVeigh's tavern soon came under +the ban of her displeasure. + +Nancy's place was four miles from town on the Monk Road, and Tom Piper +had found it a convenient spot for rest and refreshment, both going and +returning from his visit to Cousin Jim's. Sophia had often warned him +against the house, saying that it was an evil den, peopled with the +thriftless scourings of the countryside, and presided over by a sort of +human she-devil, who waited by the window to coax wayfarers in to buy +her vile drinks. Tom answered by repeating some of the good acts +traceable to Nancy McVeigh's door. He explained to her that the +hostess was just a poor, hard-worked woman, who reaped small reward for +her labors, and divided what she got with any who might be in need of +it. He also told of waifs whom Nancy had mothered and fed from her own +cupboard until they were old enough to shift for themselves. But +Sophia was firm in her convictions, and only permitted herself to know +one side of the story. + +"No good can come out of that tavern," she had said, with a stamp of +her foot and a fire in her eye that forbade contradiction. + +Through the vale of years Sophia never forgot the grudge, and when she +made herself an influence in the highest circles of reform, she turned +with grim persistence to the agitation for the cancelling of the tavern +license. + +Nancy McVeigh, the woman against whom this thunderbolt was to be +launched, kept patiently at her work. She had heard of the efforts +being put forth, and often wondered why the great people bothered about +one of so little consequence as herself. She did not fight back, as +she had nothing to defend, but waited calmly, telling her neighbors, +when they came to gossip, that they need not worry her with news of it +at all. + +Sophia championed her pet theme at the County Convention, and carried +it to an issue where she and a committee were empowered to wait on the +License Board with a strong plea in favor of the abolition of the +tavern. The three stout gentlemen who listened to their petition were +all good men who had families of their own and wanted as little evil as +possible abroad to tempt their boys from the better path. They gave a +long night's deliberation to the question, and then brought in a +verdict that they would extend Nancy's rights for another year. Sophia +was completely overcome by the decision, and straightway sought out one +of the Commissioners, a friend of Cousin Jim's, whom she knew quite +intimately. + +"Why did you do it?" she asked wrathfully. + +"My dear Miss Piper," he replied, "perhaps you have not realized that +Nancy McVeigh has a heart as big as a bushel basket, and we can find no +instance where she has abused the power which she holds. If we take it +away from her, some other will step into her place, and he might be ten +times worse." + +Sophia brought the interview to a close very abruptly, and went home +angry and unshaken in her resolve; but an unexpected event changed the +course of her meditation. Cousin Jim was planning a winter's stay in +California for her and his children. She needed the rest and change, +and so did the youngsters. Their preparations were completed in a few +days, and the big house was closed. Thus the questions which had +raised such an excitement were shelved for a more convenient season. + +It was in the spring of the next year that Jennie, Nancy McVeigh's +adopted daughter, brought her the news from town of Tom Piper's illness. + +"The poor fellow's goin' fast, wi' consumption, and he's at the +'ospital. It was Dan Conors who told me, an' he said, 'Tom hasn't a +dollar fer the luxuries he requires,'" Jennie explained. Nancy's face +relaxed somewhat from its habitually austere expression when Jennie had +finished. + +"The idee o' that lad dyin', forsaken like that, an' his own sister +gallivantin' about California. It's past me understandin' entirely," +she remarked, as she fastened on her widow's bonnet and threw her heavy +shawl over her shoulders. + +"Tell Will Devitt to harness the mare, and I'll go and see what can be +done fer him." + +Nancy arrived at the hospital late in the afternoon, and was admitted +to the sick man's bedside. She found him delirious and unable to +recognize her, but instead he called her "Sophia." + +"It's so good of you to come, Sophia. I knew you would," he kept +repeating as he clasped her hand in his. All that night Nancy stayed +by him, attending to his wants with the skill of a mother, and soothing +him by her words. + +In the morning he died. + +"I guess it will be the potter's field," the hospital doctor told her, +when she inquired about the burial. "He came here almost penniless, +and has been in the ward six weeks." + +Nancy gazed into space while she made some hasty mental computations. +"What balance is due ye?" she asked, suddenly. + +The doctor produced a modest bill, at half the current rate, amounting +to twenty-five dollars. It meant a good week's business out of Nancy's +pocket, but she paid it without objection. "I want the body sent to my +tavern out on the Monk Road, sir, and ye can complete all arrangements +fer a decent Christian funeral, an' I'll pay all the expenses," she +said, before leaving. She went to the telegraph office and left +instructions to wire to all the known addresses of Miss Sophia Piper; +then, satisfied with her day's work, she hurried home. + +The tavern bar was closed during the two days while the body lay in the +little parlor, and callers came and went on tiptoe, and spoke only in +whispers. A steady stream of roughly dressed people, river-men and +their friends, struggled over the four miles of snowy road to pay their +last respects to the dead, and some brought flowers bundled awkwardly +in their arms. + +The night preceding the funeral, two great, long-limbed fellows, +wearing top-boots, came stumbling into the tavern, more noisily because +of their clumsy efforts at gentleness. Nancy knew them as former +friends of Tom Piper, so she led them in at once. The men took the +limit of the time usually spent there, and yet they were loath to go, +and Nancy guessed that they had something further to say but scarcely +knew how to commence. She encouraged them a little, and finally one +spoke up. + +"Ye see, Mistress McVeigh, Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal o' +ours, an' we hate to see ye stuck for the full expenses o' this +funeral. God knows we owe him plenty fer the generous way he stayed by +his mates, an' we don't want him receivin' charity from no one. We had +a meetin' o' the lot o' us down town las' night, and every man put in +his share to make Tom right with the world. We've got fifty-five +dollars here, and we want ye to take it." + +The men counted out the money on the table, silver and bills of small +amounts, until it made quite an imposing pile, then they placed a piece +of paper upon it, with the words, written very badly, "For Tommy, from +his pals." + +They looked towards Nancy, and her averted face was wet. She did not +sob, yet tears were streaming down her cheeks. + +Sophia Piper was home in ten days, having received a message after +considerable delay. The resident minister met her at the station and +comforted her as well as his kindly soul knew how. He told her all the +circumstances connected with the death and burial of her brother, and +took particular pains to place Nancy McVeigh's part in it in its true +light, as he had a warm spot in his heart for the old tavern-keeper. +They drove together out to the home of Cousin Jim, where the servants +had opened the house in preparation for their coming. The +weather-stained gable of Nancy McVeigh's tavern, like some old familiar +face, came into view by the way, and Sophia asked to be set down at the +door. + +Nancy, tall, angular and sympathetic, walked into her parlor to meet +her guest. + +The minister did not stay, but left them together, the younger woman +sobbing on the breast of the older, who bent over and stroked the +troubled head softly. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +_JOHN KEENE'S EDUCATION._ + +"If the world had no mean people, there'd be little use fer kindness," +remarked Nancy McVeigh to Moore, the operator at the railway junction, +who always enjoyed a smoke and a half-hour chat with his hostess after +his midday meal. They were discussing the escapades of young John +Keene in the little parlor upstairs, whither Mistress McVeigh had gone +to complete a batch of home-knit socks for her son, Cornelius, who +lived in Chicago. + +"I can't understand such a difference in the natures of father and +son," Moore continued, after Nancy's interruption. "The father starts +life penniless, without education, friends or business training. He +settles in a locality where the majority of his neighbors find it a +heart-breaking struggle to make ends meet, and amasses a fortune. Such +a performance in a country where business is brisk and natural +facilities favorable to the manipulations of a clever man would not be +so surprising, but we all know the Monk Road has no gold mines or +streams of commerce to disturb its dreamlike serenity." + +A tone of irony pervaded Moore's words, for he was past forty, and had +but a paltry bank account and a living salary to show for his ten +years' sojourn in the place. + +"Compare the father's record with that of his son. The boy is given +all the advantages that money can obtain, and plenty of time for +growth, and he has also the example of his parent. Why, the lad was +the terror of the school, never out of mischief, and costing his father +a pretty sum to keep him from serious consequences. Before he was +fifteen he spent his Saturdays carousing with the wildest set in the +town, and incidentally built up a very unenviable reputation. Then he +was sent to a city college. Did you hear the rumors that came back of +what he did there?" + +"There was some talk," Nancy agreed. + +"Talk! Mistress McVeigh; downright scandal, I should call it! I know +he was expelled for attending a party at the Principal's own home in an +intoxicated condition, and afterwards fighting with a teacher who +undertook to reprimand him." + +Nancy looked up from her knitting, and an amused twinkle was in her +eyes. + +"The lad sowed wild oats sure enough, Mr. Moore, and good, tall ones, +with full heads at that, but he's only an image o' his father, in that +old John's recklessness runs to makin' money, and young John's to +spendin'. It's not that I like bringin' up bygones, but the father was +a bit loose in his day, too. I can remember, before old John married, +he would come from town takin' the width o' the road fer his path, and +singin' at the top o' his voice something he learnt out o' a Burns' +book o' poetry. It was the wife that he brought from the city, bless +her good soul, that turned his work into a gold-mine. She guided him +out o' his evil way and kept him hard at his dealin's from morning till +night. It'll be the same with young John. He's spendin' his money +now, and makin' the whole countryside ring with his pranks, but a foine +miss'll spy him out some day, and then his mind'll forget his throat +and dwell on his pocket. He'll never fail, fer he takes after his +mother in the face, and she was the envy of the people the length o' +the Monk Road, and farther. It's an old woman I'm gettin' now, an' +I've watched many young men developin' character, an' I'm just a bit o' +a judge. Ye'll admit I've had a grand opportunity to study their evil +side, and what I don't see is told me by the neighbors; then their good +side turns up after awhile, like a rainbow after a shower. I find it +takes wise men to be really bad ones, but, after they've learnt their +lesson, they see what a dried-up skeleton an evil life is, and then +it's a race to make up fer their wasted years. Course, if a fool is +led into idle habits, he must be led out again, and it's doubtful +whether the process is very purifyin'. But it's different when a man +like John Keene's son sees the error o' his ways. I tell ye, Mr. +Moore, it's only a question o' time, an' young John'll be as set as his +father, but he'll no be as tight, I'm thinkin'. He's got his mother's +heart, ye know." + +"You have rare assurance in the strength of human nature, Mistress +McVeigh. Perhaps it is because you're fairly strong in that quarter +yourself," commented Mr. Moore, after he had digested Nancy's crude +philosophy. + +A smile crept into the corners of Nancy's mouth at the compliment, and +she let it rest there a few minutes before replying. + +"Ye've noticed that young John's a regular visitor at the tavern +lately?" she asked. + +"I have." + +"Doubtless ye think I'm profitin' mightily with the money he passes +over my bar." + +"The gain will do you no good if you are," Moore declared, stoutly. +His hostess was a very plain-spoken woman, and he knew that he could be +equally outspoken and yet incur no disfavor. + +Nancy lingered over his remark, carefully revolving its significance in +her mind before attempting to defend herself. + +"Tavern-keepin' is a mighty peculiar business, Mr. Moore. Ye're open +to a lot o' criticism, and sometimes ye know in yer heart it's not +quite fair. When I was married, my friends thought the inn would be a +foine chance fer us to get along, so McVeigh bought it. I cooked good +vittals, and waited on table meself in those days, an' times were +brisk, because the railroad was bein' built past our door. Then +McVeigh died, an' I had to stay by the old place, because I had nowhere +else to go. 'Twas after that people began accusin' me o' fattenin' on +the bones o' their misfortunes. And d'ye know why?" + +Moore remained silent, but his looks were expectant, so Nancy +continued: "Because I was makin' enough money to pay me debts with and +keep a respectable house. I have always endeavored to give honest +value, and let no man go beyond his means in the spendin'. Of course, +I must have my trade, fer my expenses are high, seein' that I keep a +few children about me whom nobody else wants, an' I have my Corney to +do fer occasionally, but I never made more'n I could comfortably get +along with. My interest to John Keene is no such a small item, an' why +should I refuse if the son helps me to pay it with his trade? It's no +so unjust, ye see. But, for all that, I have a mother's love for young +John. Ever since he was ten years old I have carried him into town in +me buggy, wheniver he had a mind to go. Ye see, he an' me had some +great talks then, an' since he brings all his troubles to me. While +other people have been blamin' him fer his capers I've been makin' up +my mind whether he will turn into the right again or no." + +"And what think you about him now?" questioned Moore, won into a more +conciliatory frame of mind. + +"Ye can mark my words, Mr. Moore, the day is not far distant when young +John Keene'll be the most respected man in the country." + +Moore laughed doubtfully as he said, "I hope so," and then hurried out, +for it was past the hour when he should be at work. The day was very +warm, and the sun's rays smote the grey sand of the Monk Road, +reflecting back with trebled intensity. The traffic had ceased +completely, and the quietness of Nancy McVeigh's tavern was +undisturbed. Old Donald lay asleep in the haymow above the barn. Will +Devitt had gone to town early in the morning, and Jennie and Katie +Duncan were over at the cool edge of the lake, which lay a half-mile +down the side road. Nancy was still sitting in the little parlor, but +her knitting had dropped from her fingers, her eyes were closed, and +her head pillowed against the chair-back. + +A sudden noise awakened her, and going to the top of the stairs she saw +two ladies hesitating in the entrance, as if they wished to come in but +were somewhat doubtful of their welcome. One she recognized as Miss +Sophia Piper, the housekeeper for James Piper, who owned the big house +down the road; the other was a much younger woman and a stranger. + +"Come up to my parlor, ladies," she invited, wondering what meant this +unexpected visit. + +"Thank you, Mrs. McVeigh," called Miss Piper, and the two of them +ascended the stairs and took the seats which Nancy pushed into the +middle of the room, dusting them carefully with her apron as she did +so. Miss Piper had shown a kindly feeling to Nancy ever since the +death of her brother Tom, and she addressed the tall, grey-haired woman +before her with a cordiality of manner and a lack of reserve unusual in +her conversations with the commoners of the countryside. + +"I hope you are well, Mrs. McVeigh," she began, as she seated herself +comfortably. + +"I'm not complainin', miss," Nancy answered. + +"I've brought my dear friend Miss Trevor with me because we are both +very anxious to do a little missionary work for the benefit of a mutual +acquaintance whom we are interested in," Miss Piper explained with +winning directness. + +"Indade, Miss Piper, an' ye think I can help ye, doubtless." + +"Yes, we are sure of it. It's Mr. Keene that we wish to speak about." + +"Ye mean young John, of course," Nancy interrupted, as a smile gathered +slowly over her rugged face. + +"Young Mr. Keene, yes. I was his Sunday-school teacher, years ago, but +since then, I am afraid, I have lost touch with him, until recently, +when Miss Trevor brought him back to my mind." + +"It's about his drinking," Miss Piper continued, nervously, as if at a +loss to know how to broach the subject without giving offence. + +"Ye come to blame me fer servin' him, I suppose?" Nancy suggested, +without the slightest trace of animosity in her tones. + +"We don't blame you, Mrs. McVeigh. Please do not misunderstand our +intentions. The fact is, we know you to be--er--different from most +women, and your house is your living, but Mr. Keene is a young man with +an exceptionally bright future, if he will only settle down to it. I +have heard a great deal about you, Mrs. McVeigh, and I know the +goodness of your heart from the part you took at Brother Tom's death. +We were sure of your co-operation, and that is why we have come to you." + +"And what can I do?" Nancy asked, kindly. + +"Stop his drinking, please," burst out the younger woman, impetuously, +and then she blushed furiously, while Miss Piper frowned. Nancy, +however, let the remark pass unnoticed, and asked, with feigned +innocence, "Is he yer young man, Miss Trevor?" + +The girl, for she was easily under twenty-one, was more embarrassed +than ever at the keen intuition of the old tavern-keeper, and an +awkward silence ensued, during which Miss Piper vainly tried to say +something to bring the conversation back to more conventional lines. + +"Do you love him?" Nancy questioned further, relentless in her desire +to enjoy the privileges of being a confidant in Miss Piper's plans. + +Miss Trevor would have answered haughtily enough if it had been an +ordinary acquaintance who thus probed into her secrets, but the strong, +trustful influence of this woman humbled her into a school-girl +demeanor. + +"Yes," she answered, simply, and Miss Piper became more uncomfortable. + +"Does he know it?" Nancy persisted. + +"No,--er--perhaps. Oh, Mrs. McVeigh, you seem to have taken all my +sense out of me," the girl gasped, helplessly, and covered her crimson +face with her handkerchief. + +"I'm glad to know this. Begging your pardon, Miss Piper, but if you +come to me fer advice I must have more than half-truths. I've known +Johnny Keene since he was a baby, and it's little good I've to his +credit either, but I'm no sayin' it's not there. He takes after his +mother, ye know. He's about run his course, and if Miss Trevor will +take the word of an ould woman, who has learned from long experience, +I'm thinkin' he'll be a good man fer her." + +"You think so?" asked Miss Piper, brightening up. + +"I'm sure of it, miss; it's in the blood, so it is." + +The three women were now on a basis of plain understanding, and the +balance of the conversation was easier and productive of results. +After the two had departed, Nancy sat a long time gazing out of the +window, and pondering the situation which had arisen. She did not +entertain a doubt as to the ultimate fulfilment of her prophecies, but +she wondered how long. The afternoon waned into evening, and she had a +grand opportunity to knit and think, which two occupations were her +chief enjoyments. + +After supper, the usual company dropped into the bar. It was the +common meeting-place for gossip and good-fellowship, and during the +early hours Will Devitt did a lively business. But a curious change +was taking place within Nancy McVeigh. From her rocker, in the rear +apartment, where she and the girls spent their evenings, she could hear +the loud laughs and talking that passed between her customers, mingled +with the clink of glasses, and the noise was offensive to her. The +thought repeated itself in her mind, Was the continued harassing of her +teetotaller friends awakening a new phase in her life? For the first +time, perhaps, since her deceased husband had bought the tavern, her +surrounding's appeared distasteful, and almost sordid. More than once +she arose and walked into the bar, where her presence was the signal +for doffing of caps and a lowering of voices. She went for no +particular purpose, and the men who were buying her liquor were +surprised at the frown and curt replies which they received to their +greetings. + +"Nancy's in a bad humor," blurted one old fellow, who was a nightly +caller, as she turned her back. Mistress McVeigh heard the remark, and +it aroused her anger more than she would have cared to admit. She +retraced her steps, and her glance wandered severely over the +half-dozen men present. + +"Ye should be at home with yer wife, Mr. Malone, and not wastin' yer +toime waitin' about my premises fer some one to buy ye a drink," she +said to the man who had spoken. + +Malone laughed foolishly, and treated her words as a joke. He was on +the verge of a maudlin state, and prepared to contest his rights to be +there. + +"Another drink, Mr. Devitt, and a glass all round," he blustered, +throwing a piece of silver on to the bar. + +"No, Mr. Malone, ye have had yer fill, an' it's no more ye'll git the +night," Nancy insisted. + +Malone grumbled a reply, and some of the others took sides with him, +and their demands were aggressively loud. + +"I tell ye, it's no more liquor'll be served in this bar to-night," +Nancy again declared, and stepping from behind, she began a steady +movement towards the door. The men shot a few irresolute glances at +Will Devitt, but his face gave no encouragement to disobey, and +gradually they dispersed, all but Malone, who had a wish to be +troublesome. His mutiny was short-lived, however, for Nancy's fingers +suddenly clutched his collar, and she precipitated him on to the +verandah, with scarce an apparent effort. + +"I'm not well the night, Will, and the noise hurts my head," she +explained to Will Devitt, as she passed into her sitting-room. + +A crunching of wheels sounded from the roadway, and presently a rig +came to a stop in the open sheds. Boisterous talking ensued, and then +four young men came into the light of the hallway. They were all well +dressed, and of a different class to the usual run of custom. + +"Ho, Mistress McVeigh, a room please, and a few bottles of the best in +your house." Almost simultaneously Nancy appeared, and a tolerant +smile again hovered in the corners of her mouth. + +"Faith, an' are ye back again, John Keene?" she asked. + +"I am, most assuredly; who could pass your welcome doorway without +dropping in?" young John answered, laughing. + +"It's high time ye quit yer loose ways," Nancy commenced, trying to +frown, but her voice had none of the harshness of her previous +ill-humor. + +"No preaching, now, Mistress McVeigh," young John interposed, as he +flung his arm affectionately across her shoulders. + +"Ye're always takin' advantage of a poor ould woman," Nancy retorted, +good-naturedly, as she led the way upstairs to the parlor, where Jennie +had already placed a lamp. + +"I've a bad head the night, sirs, so I'll be thankful if ye make no +noise," she said, before descending the stairs. + +The hours passed quietly enough, and, when it was closing time, she +ordered Will Devitt to lock up the house and blow out the lights. The +four young men still occupied the parlor, and the steady cadence of +their voices came down to her. Will Devitt had supplied their order at +the commencement, so that it was unnecessary to give them any further +attention. It had been the rule for young John Keene and his +companions to stay as long as it pleased them, and, when they had +finished, to let themselves out with a key which he had coaxed out of +the indulgent hostess. Nancy knew that young John was using her rooms +for gambling purposes. At first the knowledge disturbed her peace of +mind, and she had determined to speak to him about it, but after mature +consideration, her theory that until his sin had lost its pleasure it +would be only driving him away from under her watchful eye to +interfere, made her decide to wait. + +"Sin in the loikes o' young John Keene is the same as a person +sufferin' from the fever, and no remedy can successfully combat its +ravages until the poison has worn itself out," she declared to Jennie, +who had mildly criticised the appearance of the room after a night's +occupation. The night previous to the call of Miss Piper and her +friend young John had held Nancy in a serious conversation. From it +she gathered that his conscience was disturbed, for he had made +repeated references to his losses at the game, and vowed that could he +forsake his idle habits without running the gauntlet of his friends' +derision, he would be better pleased with himself. + +"'Tis the work of a lady, Mistress McVeigh," he had confessed, and +Nancy went to her bed with a light heart when she heard of it. + +Nancy did not retire after Will Devitt had reported everything closed +for the night. Instead, she went to her room and started a letter to +Corney, her second effort in that direction in three months. Her +correspondence was one of the sweetest trials of her existence. She +took weeks of silent reflection between her busy spells to plan out +what she would write before she was satisfied to take up her pen, and +then her trouble began in earnest. This night it was next to +impossible to compose her thoughts, as young John Keene's affairs had +been thrust before her with startling vividness. The midnight hour +passed, and still she sat by her little table, with pen lying flat on +the paper and a great daub spreading outward from its point. Her head +dropped upon her arm, and she was dreaming of Corney. The disturbance +of the party breaking up in the adjoining room made her eyes open, and +she listened intently, for she had a premonition that she had not seen +the last of them. The men were talking in low tones, but with evident +suppressed passion. Presently one spoke up clearly, as if in temper, +and then she heard John Keene laugh, but it was a bitter, mirthless +sound, as he replied, "I tell you, lads, I'm done with you all, so +clear out; and I'll bide here till morning." + +"Well, do as you d---- please," the one addressed answered, and then +a scuffling of feet echoed in the passage and went noisily down the +stair. Nancy waited until they had closed the entrance door behind +them, and then she stole out on tiptoe into the hallway. The door of +the room which they left was ajar, and the lamp's rays struck out +brightly from it. She stepped over and looked in cautiously. As she +expected, young John was still there, seated tightly against the table, +a pile of cards and some stained glasses in front of him. Something in +his hand, and on which he was bestowing much attention, made her gulp +down a sudden choking sensation. + +"Give me that gun, Johnny," she called, softly. + +[Illustration: "'Give me that gun, Johnny,' she called, softly."] + +"God! how you frightened me!" the young man ejaculated, as he wheeled +around, and then continued shamefacedly: "I was just thinking of my +mother, and wondering if she could see me now, when you spoke. I +almost thought it was her voice." + +Nancy stood over him, her masterful eyes looking into his, and her +great hand reaching outwards. He laughed recklessly, but he handed her +the weapon. + +"Now, Johnny, I want ye to tell me all about it," she said, quietly. + +"Mrs. McVeigh, I don't deserve your kindness. I'm not fit. But you +are the only person in the world to whom I can turn. Those cads who +just left me fleece me to my face, and then tell me I'm a fool to let +them do it. My father has no faith in me. He never tried to find out +if there was any good in my rotten carcass. And there is another who +has weighed me in the balance of her judgment and found me sadly +wanting." + +"Now, Johnny, it's no like yerself to be talkin' like that. Haven't I +told ye that yer conscience would rise up and smite ye. It's yer own +fault that yer frien's are droppin' from ye like rats from a sinkin' +ship. Yer plan o' life has been wrong, an' yer friends have been a +curse to ye, an' it's only yer manhood and that gal who kin save ye +now." A fire burned in Nancy's eyes as she gazed at him, and John +Keene felt a thrill of power, as if her strength was eating into his +veins. + +"You don't know the worst, Mrs. McVeigh, but I am ready to confess, and +I don't expect you to pity me after I have spoken. I have cashed a +forged note against my father at the bank for three hundred dollars, +and the money is gone." + +Nancy bent near to him and whispered as if telling her unspoken +thoughts, "Ye have done wrong by yer father's money, John!" + +The young man put his face in his hands and rocked to and fro for some +minutes, while his body shook with suppressed emotion. A great joy +surged through Nancy McVeigh's being, and her hand stole lovingly over +his head and rested there. She knew that the change was upon him, and +if victory came of it, John Keene of the past would be forgotten. + +"Johnny, I've a letter from Corney in Chicago, and he says he could +find a place fer just such a man as you. Ye must take it and work +hard, and the first money ye earn ye must use it to make it right with +your father." + +"'Twould be sending me to hell to go there," John replied, looking up: +and then, as if his answer was not as he wished, he was about to speak +again, but Nancy continued in even tones: + +"There was a certain young lass--I'll no tell ye her name, but she is +fit fer the best man in the world--came to me to-day and asked me to +speak to ye fer her sake. Man, ye must be up and doin', fer she loves +ye. She told me so with her own lips. Ye can go away fer two years. +It's no time fer youngsters to abide, and when ye have proved yerself, +come back an' she'll be waitin' and proud o' ye." + +Young John Keene slowly rose to his feet. He took Nancy's hand in his +and looked her squarely in the eye. + +"You are not joking, Mrs. McVeigh?" he asked. + +"As I hope to live, John Keene, I'm tellin' ye the honest truth," she +replied. + +"I'll do it," he muttered, hoarsely. + +When Nancy went to her bed she gazed awhile at the two photos tacked on +the wall, then at the sleeping face of Katie Duncan. "I've won him, +thank God!" she murmured, and fell asleep smiling. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +_THE WRECK AT THE JUNCTION._ + +The widow McVeigh's face was a picture of sobriety, in fact, almost +severity. The features were conspicuous because of the abrupt falling +in of her cheeks, and her grey eyes were deep set and touched at the +corners by plenteous crowsfeet. Yet when the world looked at her +casually it saw a smiling countenance. Some thought her face hard, and +the smile bold rather than a kindly one; others, that she was of coarse +intellect and smiled because she could not appreciate the daily trials +and troubles of the poor. These opinions were more generally shared by +the good temperance folk of the neighborhood and in the town. They +only saw a tall, grey-haired woman, standing amidst the surroundings of +a ramshackle inn of the country road, and taking toll from the rougher +classes that passed to and fro. But had they probed farther into her +life they might have unearthed the beautiful from the clay. + +Moore, the operator at the railroad junction, was a patron of Nancy +McVeigh's tavern, of ten years' duration. He was a quiet fellow, a +plodder at his work, and without great ambitions. He knew his signals, +the hour when trains were due, the words that the ticker in his little +glass office spoke occasionally, and so far he was valuable to the +Company. He never had had an accident, and because of his reliability +his employers thought of him once every two or three years and added a +hundred dollars to his salary. They made no allowance for illness or +holidays, and it was Moore's proudest boast that he had never missed a +day in all that time. One afternoon the superintendent stopped his car +at the Junction and called the little man into his sanctum. Moore +chatted with him for an hour or so, and that night his face was radiant +as he smoked a pipe after supper and retold the conversation to Mrs. +McVeigh. "It will mean higher pay and more responsibility," he +observed, with a self-satisfied smile. + +"And they'll make it a reg'lar station, ye say?" Nancy asked. + +"That they will, Mrs. McVeigh. A company of city men are going to buy +a large portion of the point and build on it a summer hotel. Then the +people will be coming by the hundreds during the hot season, and +there'll be baggage to check, tickets to sell, and a great deal of +extra work. I am to have assistants, and a young fellow to handle the +key, and I'll be stationmaster. + +"Ye'll be gettin' married, surely?" suggested Nancy, with a sly twinkle +in her eye. + +"Well, no saying, but it will be a sore trial for me to quit your +board," Moore answered. + +"Ye understand I'm becomin' fairly old fer the tavern, and if those +city men build a big house an' put in a big stock of liquors I guess +there'll be no more fightin' about the license." + +Moore deprecated any such result, and endeavored to argue Nancy into a +like belief, but in his heart he knew that she was speaking the truth, +and he really felt sorry for her. + +From that day Moore began to study his work with greater zeal. +Morning, afternoon and nighttime found him at his post, and the +thoughts of his prospective advancement seemed to worry him. He grew +thin on it, and also took a severe cold while tramping back and forth +during bad weather. He would not take time to secure a doctor's +advice, nor would he listen to Nancy when she scolded him for his +neglect. The summer passed and the first brush of snow had come and +yet he would not give in. His chief sent a letter explaining that the +planned changes would go into effect the following spring. The news +only added a glitter to his eye and a stimulant to his anxiety to prove +his worth, but his cough still remained. + +"The man'll break down and spoil everythin'," Nancy predicted to a +crowd of gossips in her bar. Her prophecy came true sooner than she +expected. + +Moore received orders to throw the switch over to the sidetrack at the +Junction, so that a work train might leave a few cars of gravel for the +section-men to use the following morning. This train was due during +the half-hour which he took for his supper at the tavern. He shifted +the rails ready before leaving, intending to hasten back in plenty of +time to connect the main line over which the No. 4 passenger would pass +about nine o'clock. It was quite a usual occurrence in his routine of +work, so that the matter did not cost him a second thought. + +Nancy noticed the tired look about his eyes as he sat at his meal, and +she determined to talk to him seriously about his health at the first +favorable opportunity. Out of doors the night was intensely black, and +a drizzling rain added to its inclemency. + +"It's just sich a spell o' weather as'll make his cough very much worse +if he don't attend to himself," Nancy told Jennie, her adopted +daughter, as they saw Moore go to his room before setting out for the +Junction. The tavern settled down to its accustomed quietness, Nancy +and the girls knitting in the kitchen, Will Devitt leaning over the bar +and talking to a few who found it more comfortable there than in the +raw dampness without. Old Donald was in the stables finishing up, and +a chance wayfarer snored upon the sitting-room lounge. Katie Duncan +had occasion to go upstairs, and she came down with the startling news +that Mr. Moore had not left his room. + +"He'll no git to be the station-master if he continues the likes," +Nancy remarked, as she ascended to see what was the matter with him. +She found him lying on his bed apparently asleep, so she shook him, in +righteous indignation at his conduct. A bottle from her bar, standing +on the table, added suspicions to her wrath. Moore did not respond to +her efforts as a healthy man should. Instead he turned a sickly white +face to her and groaned. + +"Are ye sick?" she asked. + +"I must be. I can't stand up, I'm so weak," he answered faintly. + +"Have ye been drinkin'?" Her eyes snapped as she asked the question. + +"I've taken a little, because I'm ill, but-- Heavens, woman! what is +the time?" he almost shrieked. + +"It's about nine o'clock," she answered. + +"Nine," he spoke as if struggling with a failing memory. "The switch +is wrong, and there's a gravel train on the sidetrack. God! Mistress +McVeigh, help me to get up." He tottered to his feet, groping for the +door like a blind man, and then Nancy caught him in her strong arms and +laid him back on the bed. + +"Jennie, Mr. Moore's sick. Ye'll attend to him," she called, as she +threw a heavy shawl over her head. + +If those who doubted Nancy's unselfish heart and courage could have +seen her plodding through the darkness, with the rain pelting down upon +her, and the mud halfway to her knees, they might have forgiven much +that they had believed against her. She knew the turnings of the +switches and the different tracks, and it was to save Moore from +disgrace, rather than to avert a disaster, that caused her to tax her +old bones to their utmost, as she climbed over the fences and ran +across the fields. A whistle sounded far over on the town side, and +she was conscious of a dull throbbing in the air. Foot by foot she +counted her chances, listening to the approaching train and exerting +herself to the limit. The headlight of the locomotive was glaring at +her as she climbed the sandy embankment of the track, and then, as her +hands closed over the lever, the great machine went thundering by over +the wrong rails. The engineer evidently had read that the signals were +somewhat amiss, for his air brakes were already screaming, and he was +leaning far out of his cab with his hand shading his eyes. The sand +cars were a short distance up the track, and the moving train struck +them with a terrific rending of iron and hissing of escaping steam. +The force of the contact was lessened because of the sudden slowing up +of No. 4, but it was sufficient to send two of the passenger coaches +tumbling on to the boggy earth six or eight feet below the track level. +The engine stood still on the rails in a cloud of steam, and the +engineer was out of his cab limping towards Nancy before her mind had +regained its normal conception of things. His appearance roused her to +instant action. She made no explanations, nor were any questions asked +of her, but the two of them ran to where the crying of pain-stricken +humanity came from the derailed cars. A chaos of confusion reigned. +People who were not hurt were shouting hysterically, others were making +efforts to liberate the wounded. Nancy was strangely cool. She sent +one to the tavern to summon help, another to the Junction to telegraph +into town for doctors, and then she turned to those in the wreckage. +One after another was extricated from the mass, and as they came before +her on the wet grass, where coats and everything that could be found +were used to lay them upon, she examined their hurts, bound up bleeding +cuts, and did all that her knowledge could suggest. Soon a crowd from +the neighborhood gathered and they joined in the work, and then the +doctors came. By this time a second woman was helping by Nancy's side. +The old inn-keeper paused once to see who it was, and nodded in +recognition. + +"It's a sad business, Miss Piper," she remarked, huskily. + +Soon a long procession slowly wound its way across the fields to the +tavern, men carrying those unable to walk, and the others who were not +so badly hurt leaning on the shoulders of their companions. Nancy and +Miss Piper went with the first to prepare beds and other necessaries, +and all that night the two women stayed by their grim task. + +"You should be a nurse," young Dr. Dodona observed to Sophia Piper, +during a moment's respite. + +"I would, gladly, if I had that woman to help me," she answered, and +they both turned to watch Nancy, who was deftly binding a fresh bandage +on the crushed leg of an elderly gentleman who seemed more concerned +over the soiling of his clothes than his wound. + +"Are you tired, Mrs. McVeigh?" she asked, kindly. + +Nancy only smiled back a reply, and bent her grey head over her patient +again. + +Thirteen slightly injured, three seriously, and no deaths, was the +result of the accident, and after a few days everything at the Junction +was as it had been always, excepting that Nancy McVeigh's tavern had +won a new guest and lost an old one. Moore had recovered from his +attack a few hours after his seizure, and was taken into custody by the +law to stand his trial for wilful neglect of duty, and Mr. Lawrence +Hyden lay in his room with a very impatient temper and a badly crushed +leg. The Wednesday of the following week was set as the day for +Moore's trial, and Nancy received a summons to appear as a witness. + +"I'll do that with pleasure, sure, fer it's meself that's doubtin' the +senses of yon pack o' lawyers. It's jist capital they are tryin' to +make out o' this affair to injure me in the eyes of the Commissioners, +I'm thinkin'," she said, when the blue paper was handed to her. + +The scene in the courtroom was highly interesting to her, and she +wondered, as she listened to the learned talking, how their charge +against Moore could have any foundation. When her name was called she +was fully prepared to give them all a piece of her mind. + +"Now, Mrs. McVeigh, the whole case against Mr. Moore rests on your +testimony. We want to know from you if the accused was addicted to the +use of liquor," the presiding counsel asked, in suave tones. + +"He was not, yer worship," she answered, promptly. + +"But one witness states that liquor was found in the accused man's +room, and also that his breath was strongly tainted shortly after the +time of the accident," the counsel continued. + +The whole truth of the misunderstanding suddenly came home to Nancy, +and after some bickering between the lawyers, she was allowed to +narrate, in her own homely way, the current of events from the first +time she had noticed the illness coming over Mr. Moore, until she had +stood by the switch watching the train going to destruction. Every man +in the room had heard somewhat of Nancy's peculiar existence, and they +listened with doubly aroused interest to her simple tale. Suddenly an +interruption came from a very unexpected quarter. Moore was swaying +unsteadily, and but for the timely arm of the officer near him, would +have collapsed on the floor. The court immediately adjourned whilst a +doctor was sent for. + +"There'll be no case, Mrs. McVeigh. It is clear in my mind that the +prisoner is a very sick man and should be sent at once to the hospital. +If I have my way the verdict of this examination will be a testimonial +of some substantial nature to be given to a very generous-hearted old +lady," the counsel said, shaking her hand warmly. + +"An' who are ye blarneyin' now, Judge?" Nancy asked, not the least bit +abashed at the learned man's importance. + +"A certain Widow McVeigh, of the Monk Road," he answered, laughing. + +'Twas a short time after this that ugly rumors of rowdyism were spread +over the countryside, and while matters were at white heat the question +of cancelling Nancy McVeigh's tavern license was again brought before +the Commissioners. Miss Sophia Piper heard of the complaint, and made +it her business to interview the stout gentleman on the Board with whom +she was on friendly terms. + +"You came to me once to urge the abolition of this license, but now you +defend the woman," he said to her, in surprise. + +"I know that Mrs. McVeigh is honorable and good, and this report is +being circulated by parties who wish to secure her rights for their own +purposes. If liquor is to be sold on the Monk Road, then, sir, I can +speak for the whole temperance people of that section. Let Mrs. +McVeigh have the selling," she answered, pleadingly; and so the license +was extended for another year, as usual. But Moore did not receive the +appointment as master at the new station of Monk the following spring. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +_JENNIE._ + +Mr. Lawrence Hyden stayed at Nancy McVeigh's tavern on the Monk Road +while his leg, which had received a severe crushing in the railroad +accident at the Junction, healed sufficiently for him to depart for his +home in the city. During his sojourn the widow McVeigh was ofttimes +sorely tempted to take him out and stand him on his head in the +horse-trough, so cantankerous was he over his enforced idleness. She +had plenty and to spare of compassion for weaklings, who had not +physical strength such as hers to carry them through troubles, but this +irate old man only annoyed her. She had not been well herself since +that long night's work in the rain, when half of the passenger train +had toppled into the ditch, and her patience was correspondingly +short-lived. The doctor who attended Mr. Hyden noticed the weary look +about her eyes, and offered his advice. + +"You should go to bed for at least a fortnight," he suggested. + +Nancy smiled as she replied: "'Twould be a merry riot, surely, doctor, +if I gave in to my complaints, with noisy customers downstairs and two +cranky patients above." + +However, she gave over the attendance on the obdurate old gentleman, +who from force of necessity was her guest, to Jennie, her adopted +daughter. + +"If he finds too many faults, Jennie, just leave him a spell without +his food. That'll teach him to value the fare with a kinder grace," +she explained. + +Contrary to Nancy's expectations, Jennie wrought a wonderful change for +the better in her patient. Mr. Hyden seemed to form an attachment for +the girl from the very beginning. + +"You remind me of someone," he remarked during the first few hours of +her service; and afterwards he would listen to Jennie for a whole +evening while she struggled through some reading matter. One evening +he told her about a grandchild of his whom he had lost through being +over-harsh with the mother, and his words impressed Jennie so much that +she retailed them to Mistress McVeigh the very next morning. + +"It's no unloike yer own mother's troubles," Nancy observed, critically. + +"And will ye tell me of them, Granny?" Jennie asked, eagerly, for it +had often been hinted to her that Nancy McVeigh was not her grandmother. + +"It's a burden o' sorrow, dear, and not fit for young ears to listen +to," Nancy replied, evasively. Jennie, however, was not satisfied, and +the next time that Mr. Hyden was in a talkative mood she introduced the +subject to him. He seemed deeply interested, and promised that he +would endeavor to persuade Mistress McVeigh to divulge her secret. +After Mr. Hyden could hobble from his room to other parts of the house, +a photo of Jennie's, taken when she was a very young child, disappeared +from the upstairs parlor, and Nancy suspected at once that her guest +had taken it. She told Jennie to look for it when she was cleaning up +his room, and sure enough, she found it amongst a miscellany of papers +and letters which littered his table. This was enough to rouse Nancy's +ire to a point where an understanding of all grievances up-to-date was +necessary, so she proceeded upstairs, with a sparkle in her eye which +boded ill for the victim of her wrath. He was in his room, writing, +and without waiting for him to finish, as was her custom, she demanded +the lost photo. + +"I have it, Mistress McVeigh. I meant to put it back in its place, but +it slipped my memory," he stammered, guiltily; and then he asked her, +frankly, "May I keep it?" + +"Kape the swate child's picture, the only wan I have, barrin' her own +silf! Ye have great assurance to ask it!" Nancy exclaimed, though +somewhat mollified at his mild explanation. + +"My son married beneath him, and I treated his wife very badly. They +had one child, a girl, and I have often wished since that I could +discover her whereabouts. I have a sort of guilty feeling that I was +not exactly honorable in my dealings with my daughter-in-law, and it +has so preyed on my mind that I think every strange child may be hers. +I remember seeing the mother two or three times, and her face peers at +me now when I am in reverie. A vengeance of fate for a social crime, I +expect," he said, laughing nervously. Then he continued: "You may +wonder, Mistress McVeigh, why I am telling you this, but your Jennie's +face is that of my son's wife. It may be the result of long years of +remorse which have created a myth in my brain, but when she comes to +wait on me the likeness is very real. I hope you will excuse my action +in taking that photo, and perhaps you will sell it." Mr. Hyden spoke +seriously, lest Nancy should suspect him of subterfuge. + +"Sure, sir, ye think it is like yer own flesh and blood?" Nancy +questioned, softly, her eyes filling suddenly. + +Mr. Hyden's brow contracted into a frown, and he seemed on the point of +regretting the confidences which he had spoken, but Nancy interrupted +him. + +"Jennie is not my own," she said, sadly. + +"Not your own!" he ejaculated, pausing in the act of handing back the +photo. "I knew it, for that child is no more of your family than I am, +even to the eyes of a stranger, begging pardon if I speak too freely." + +"Perhaps ye would care fer the story?" Nancy asked, beaming with +renewed friendliness. + +"Please tell it, Mistress McVeigh," he answered, eagerly, as he pushed +a chair towards Nancy and seated himself. Nancy gave herself over to +silent musing for a few minutes, and Mr. Hyden prepared his pipe in the +interval. + +"Jennie'll be eighteen come twentieth o' March," Nancy began, then +checked herself while she counted on her fingers. "No, maybe +nineteen," meditatively. "Ye see, Mr. Hyden, times on the Monk Road +are so much the same that one fergits the exact date o' things. +Anyhow, it all occurred the year before the railroad was completed +through these parts, fer well I remember takin' Jennie in me arms +across the fields to see the first passenger train go by the Junction, +with her engine all flags, and banners hung the length o' the cars with +mottoes in big red letters on them. Dan Sullivan, Heaven rest his +soul, was the engineer that day, and fer five years afterwards he took +time fer lunch at the tavern until he was killed up the line +somewheres. There were a lot o' officials on board that day, too, and +the Superintendent came out o' his car to pat Jennie's head. He could +not help it, fer the child had a winsome mass o' golden curls, if I do +say it meself." Nancy paused to sigh, and Mr. Hyden interposed: + +"I was on that train, Mistress McVeigh, and I remember the scene, now +you mention it." + +"Were ye?" Nancy exclaimed, incredulously. + +"To finish about Jennie's comin' to me. It was the previous year that +they built the bridge over the Narrows a mile or two back from the +Junction. I had most o' the men stayin' at the tavern, and the likes +o' the business I have never had since. But I was younger then, and +the work never tired me. The foreman's name was Green, and he occupied +the big room with the gable window." + +"The scamp--er--I beg your pardon, Mistress McVeigh, but I knew that +fellow, and his name wasn't Green," interrupted Mr. Hyden. + +"I thought as much, sir," continued Nancy, "for he carried on something +awful with the table help and the girls along the road, and it was just +his way to leave no traces o' his real name behind him. But he was not +a bad fellow, mind ye. As liberal in his spendin' as if he couldn't +abide the feelin' o' money, and as nice a gentleman about the house as +any one could wish fer. He was a handsome chap, too, and lively with +his tongue. The pick o' the whole countryside was his, and it was the +joke o' the tavern, who'd be his next love. I was terrible busy at the +time, but I heard the men talkin' at the bar and at their meals, an' I +knew there was scarcely two girls on speakin' terms with each other +over him. Finally he settled down to courtin' Florence Raeburn, the +daughter of old Silas, who owns the big stock farm on the fourth +concession. The Raeburns were English, an' they had high notions o' +their position. The mother was dead, and the three girls managed the +home. Florence was the youngest, and the other two were older than her +by ten years or more. Consequently, they thought her a bit flighty, +an' needin' o' some restriction. They did not let her associate with +any o' the neighbors, an' a great fuss they raised when she made +friends with me while her horse took a drink at the trough when she was +passing. I pitied the child, fer she had a pretty face, an' big, sad +eyes that seemed to yearn fer companions. After that, the sisters +drove her in to town to school in the old buggy which their father had +brought from England. However, she managed to see me quite often, and +I encouraged her, although, mind ye, I never let her know the looseness +o' the ways o' a tavern. The sisters had the Methodist parson picked +out fer her, an' he, poor man, was fair crazy fer her heart, too, but +she had the givin' o' it herself, and this it was that caused all the +trouble. + +"Green, the foreman, spied her talkin' to me on the verandah one day, +an' he came out an' praised her horse--a sure way to win her approval, +fer she was very fond o' the animal. I believe the young minx had seen +him before, fer she was over-ready to converse with him, an' whin I +left them they were talkin' and laughin' like old friends. That was +the beginnin', and soon the rumor went about that the foreman had at +last met his match. She occupied his time so much that the bridge work +was like to suffer, an' I heard that a letter came from the city askin' +about the delay. The sisters bitterly resented the clandestine +meetings when they heard o' them, an' Florence had a weary time o' it +between their scoldin's and the tongues of envious neighbors, but she +was a wilful child an' liked to have her own way regardless o' their +interferin'. I was afeard o' the outcome mesel', an' I spoke my mind +freely to Mr. Green. He resented my words at first, an' then, whin he +saw that I was really anxious, he told me that he loved her an' would +do what was honorable in the matter. I knew that he was earnin' big +pay, an' was well brought up an' educated, so I tried to convince +meself that he would make Florence a good husband; but I can't abide +people flyin' in the faces o' their families in such matters, an' I +told Florence so one day when she had dropped in fer a drink o' +buttermilk. She just took my hands in hers, an', lookin' me in the +eye, said, 'Mrs. McVeigh, ye do not understand. He is a fine, strong +man, an' will take me away to the city, where my sisters can't make my +life a burden. They are like ye, and doubt the worth o' him, but I +have had more chance than any o' ye to study his character, and I know +that he can make me happy.' I just couldn't reason with her against +that opinion, so I prayed every night that she wouldn't be +disappointed, and every day I lectured Green about his sinful habits, +an' impressed him with the sweet smile that fortune was beamin' upon +him, and how careful he must be not to shake the maid's faith in him. +'Never fear, Mistress McVeigh, I'm solid forever now,' he answered, +laughing at my seriousness. + +"'Twas only a short while afterwards that a telegram came to Green to +go to the city. He told me o' it with a very grave face, an', says he, +'We must be married to-night, an' I will return in a week, after I have +completed my arrangements in the city.' I knew he meant it to be a +secret ceremony at my tavern, fer the sisters would niver permit it at +home. I worried all day long, wonderin' what was my duty in the +matter, one moment ready to go over an' tell the family o' their plans, +an' nixt feelin' guilty at my disloyalty to the brave girl. The +preacher came, an' they were married that night." + +"They were married that night?" interrogated Mr. Hyden, who had been +following Nancy's story intently. + +"They were, surely," declared Nancy, positively, as if resenting the +interruption. + +"Thank God!" he muttered, as he resumed the smoking of his pipe. + +Nancy gazed at him queerly for a few moments, and then continued: +"Green left for the city nixt mornin', an' Florence went back to her +home with my kiss on her lips as a weddin' gift. A month passed, an' I +was wonderin' why Florence had not been over to see me, an' then Silas +Raeburn came into my tavern in a mighty rage. 'Ye old witch, where's +my girl?' he roared. + +"I was so surprised at his words that I didn't know what to say, but I +knew my face was a guilty one to him. + +"'Ye have encouraged her in her disobedience against her own family, +and then ye let a drunken rascal steal her from me to crown our +disgrace,' he went on fiercely. Fer once in my life I stood silent, +too ashamed to answer him, while he heaped words upon me that would be +unfit to repeat in decent company. He was fair torn with anguish and +temper, an' I let him have his say. Then, when he was calmer, I told +him all I knew, from the first meetin' o' Florence with the bridge +foreman. He listened, breathing sort o' sharp, as if my words hurt +him, an' then of a sudden he went white an' tremblin', an' dashed out +into the darkness o' the night. + +"I hoped that Florence had met her husband in the city, an' that they +were happy, an' I comforted myself with these reflections, but always +had to fight a doubtin'. The people talked o' it fer a long while, but +it was a forbidden subject in my house, an' one man went out o' my bar +with more speed than dignity, for mentionin' her name in my hearin'. + +"One bitterly cold night in December, a farmer came in from the road +with strange news. 'I found a woman an' child freezin' by the +roadside, an' I just brought them on to ye,' he said. 'Bring them in +an' welcome,' I answered, an' then the woman slipped by him an' was +sobbin' in my arms. + +"'Florence, darlin', is it ye?' I asked, with my own feelin's stirred +so that I could scarcely speak. She pushed me away from her with a +sort o' frenzy, an' she says, 'Ye should not shelter the likes o' me, +whose own people have turned their backs fer the shame o' it.' + +"'Ye trust me, surely, darlint,' I answered, takin' her baby from her +arms, an' leadin' the way to the kitchen, where we would be alone, with +a great, cracklin' fire in the stove to sit by. I gave her food and +comforted her, an' tended the baby, while she told me about hersilf, +with an occasional spell o' cryin' an' a wild, weird expression on her +face that gave me bad dreams fer many a night. + +"'He was more than bridge foreman,' she said, 'he was a son o' the +contractor himself, an' when he left for the city, the mornin' after +our marriage, it was to go away to forrin parts, South America or some +other outlandish place. His father made him do it, fer he was full o' +pride, and wanted no country lass as a wife fer his son. I stayed at +home as long as I could, an' then my sisters discovered the truth. +They scolded me dreadfully, an' my father threatened to lock me up. +That evening I walked into town, an' took the train fer the city. I +searched fer two or three days before I learned the true name o' my +husband, an' when I went to his home, which was grander than any +building I had seen before, they told me I was crazy. I had married a +man named Green, and he was not their son. I knew that they were +deceivin' me, but I was frightened an' I hurried away. I struggled fer +a while alone, an' then, when the baby came, a good woman out o' pity +took me in an' kept me till I could go to my work again. Then his +family heard o' the child an' sent fer me. When I called, they told me +that they were sorry for me an' wished to help me, although they would +not admit that they were bound by law to do so. They had secured +permission to place my baby in a home, an' I was glad enough o' the +chance, fer I was afeared that I could never support it myself. I had +the privilege of seeing her once or twice a week, an' those visits were +the bright spots in my life. I worked very hard, thinkin' that it +would cure my broken spirit an' the yearnin' which I had fer my child. +But it seemed useless to try, fer my will power was weakened by my +sufferin', so I went over to the home, an' the good people, knowin' +that I was her mother, let me take her out with me for an airin'. I +just couldn't part with her again, so I went to my rooms, gathered my +clothes into a bundle, and started fer home. I was sort o' wild then, +an' did not know what I was doing, but now I know that I did wrong, fer +there is no welcome fer me under my father's roof. + +"'Will ye keep me fer a week, till I am stronger, Nancy McVeigh?' says +she, 'an' then I'll go back, an' perhaps I'll be more content.' + +"I tell ye, Mr. Hyden, my heart bled fer the lass. The likes o' her +pleadin' with a rough old tavern-keeper fer her very livin'. 'Ye did +right to come home to me, Florence Raeburn. I'm not ashamed to have ye +here,' I answered her." + +Mrs. McVeigh paused in her story to wipe away the tears which were +stealing down the furrows in her cheeks, but Hyden, in a strange, hard +voice, bade her proceed. + +"The mother died two weeks afterwards, sir. I think it was her lungs +that were affected, but never a word of it did I send to Silas Raeburn +or his people. I could not fergit the sting of the words he had spoken +to me. I felt that it was my secret, an' when I took the baby from +Florence's arms fer the last time, she smiled and whispered, 'Ye'll no +give Jennie up, Nancy. Ye'll be a mother to her yersilf?'" + +"I am judged! I am judged!" broke in Mr. Hyden, standing before her, +his features working in a desperate struggle with his emotions. Then +he spoke with more calmness. "She is my grandchild," he said. + +The days that followed were full of torture for the old keeper of the +inn. Mr. Hyden wanted to take Jennie back to the city with him to be +educated. He would do for her all that he could, as the repentance for +his harshness to Jennie's mother was upon him. He waited day by day, +until Nancy could make up her mind. Of all Nancy's troubles this was +the sorest, for Jennie had been closer to her than her own son. Her +years were creeping over her, and she leaned on the young girl for +sympathy and advice. Yet in her heart she knew that Jennie must go, +and it was her duty to permit it. Her victory came suddenly, and one +morning saw her face free from clouds, and in their place a glimpse of +her old kindly smile. + +"Take her, Mr. Hyden, an' make her a lady, fer the lass is above the +best that I can give her. You'll let her come to see me sometimes, an' +ye'll promise to be good to her?" she asked, wistfully. So it was that +Jennie left the old tavern on the Monk Road, jubilant in her innocent +way at the happy prospects which old Nancy painted for her, but when +she was gone Nancy turned to her work again with a heavy heart. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +_NANCY'S PHILOSOPHY._ + +Nancy McVeigh was in her garden behind the tavern when young John Keene +called on her for the first time since his return from Chicago, after +two years' absence from the homely atmosphere of the Monk Road. + +Nancy's garden was a source of great enjoyment to her, and many happy +hours she spent within the enclosure, which old Donald had built so +securely that not even a chick could trespass to harm the sprouting +seeds. Early spring saw her with tucked-up skirt, a starched +sun-bonnet on her head, and hoe or rake in her hand, availing herself +of every quiet hour in the day to plant and mark out the beds. Then +followed a ceaseless watchfulness, throughout the hot summer, to +regulate the watering and weeding, interspersed with pleasant +speculation as to the results, and in the later months her well-merited +boastings over her success. + +She was picking beans for the dinner, and incidentally noting the +progress of her early vegetables, when Katie Duncan ushered young John +Keene through the tavern to the rear door and into the garden. + +"At your old tricks, Mistress McVeigh," the new-comer called, cheerily, +as he advanced with out-stretched hand. + +"Well, bless me soul, Johnny!" she exclaimed, rising and kissing him +with motherly blindness to his manly appearance. "I heard yesterday +that ye had returned. Mrs. Conors told me, an' she said ye might be +takin' a wife before ye leave. She's a rare gossip, that body, an' +knows a thing a'most before it happens," Nancy added, in an explanatory +way. + +"As if you didn't know that yourself," young John answered, laughing. + +"The two years went by so quick like, that I scarce felt the loss o' +ye. Faith, an' the older one gets the shorter the days, it seems. The +garden's lookin' promisin'," she observed, inviting his opinion. + +"Splendid!" he replied, giving it a hasty scrutiny. + +"I've beans, an' radishes, an' new potatoes already, an' the cucumbers +and corn'll be fit to pick in a week," Nancy said, proudly. Then she +remembered her hospitality. + +"We'll go in the house, fer it's not a very clean place fer ye to be +wi' all yer fine clothes." + +"I'd rather we just sit down on those two chairs by the porch and have +a good talk," he suggested. They seated themselves in the shade, for +the morning sun was very warm, and young John lighted a cigar. + +"Have ye been doin' well since ye left?" Nancy inquired. + +"Aye, Mistress McVeigh. Corney helped me, you know. I went to work in +his office the very day of my arrival in Chicago, and, thanks to your +advice, I never allowed my old habits to interfere with my progress." + +"Ye didn't think I doubted yer ability to do that?" she asked, +reproachfully. Then, with a twinkle of humor in her eyes, she added, +"It was yer love fer a certain young lady that kep' ye at it." + +"Maybe," he assented, meditatively. + +"An' I suppose Corney has a grand place, wi' a desk and books as thick +as a family Bible?" + +Young John laughed. "His office is as big as your house. He has +twenty desks and a clerk for each one, and a private room, all glass, +and leather-bound furnishings. I tell you, Mrs. McVeigh, your son has +developed a wonderful business, and you will live to see him a rich +man, too," he remarked, enthusiastically. + +"Well, d'ye hear that now, the brains o' him! I always knew it!" Nancy +ejaculated, with tears of pride glistening for a moment in her eyes. +"It's been in me mind these ten years to go there an' see him. D'ye +think he'll likely be Mayor o' Chicago?" she asked, wistfully. + +Young John quibbled with an easy conscience. "His chances are as good +as the best of them," he said. "But tell me about yourself, Nancy. +How have you been keeping? And have you had any more young men to +reform since I left?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject. + +"Oh, barrin' the cold I got whin Moore left the switch open at the +Junction, an' the pain at me heart over losin' Jennie, I'm as fit as +iver," she answered, complacently. "Ye heard about Jennie's leavin'?" + +"Corney read your letter to me," young John replied, sympathetically. + +"It was a trial, to be sure, but I'm not complainin'. It's better fer +the lass, and Katie Duncan helps me a'most as much. Ye see, Johnny, +I'm goin' to be satisfied in this life, no matter what troubles I meet. +I've plinty o' belongin's, an' a deal o' honest work to do, which +leaves no time fer frettin'. I've had me ups and downs, an' it seems +I've known all the sorrows o' me neighbors as well as me own, but I +just keep smilin' an' fergittin'. There's so many bright spots whin +one looks hard fer them. It's one thing to be wishin' fer somethin' in +the future that never comes, and another to be content wi' the +blessin's that we get every day. I try fer the last. Some people, if +they had me tavern, would be wantin' a better house, or a fresh coat o' +paint every year er two. If they had me garden they'd hope that a good +angel would grow them enough fer themselves and a profit on what they +could sell. They'd be always envyin' the Raeburns' fine horses, an' +the grand house o' James Piper, an' their servants, and thinkin' the +world was treatin' them unkindly because wishin' wouldn't satisfy their +desires. But it's me honest pride in makin' the best o' things, and +bein' thankful they're no worse, that keeps me smilin'." + +"You are quite a philosopher," observed young John, gazing at her with +the old affection lighting up his features. + +"Philosopher or not, I care not a whit, but so long as Nancy McVeigh +runs a tavern on the Monk Road there'll be no lost sunshine," she +declared. + +"Father tells me that the city company are building a summer hotel on +the Point, and also that you may have to sell out," young John +remarked, cautiously, lest he hurt the old inn-keeper's feelings. + +"Faith, an' he's speakin' the truth, too," Nancy replied quite +unconcernedly, and then she laughed quickly to herself at some +recollection. + +"I must tell ye about it, Johnny," she explained. "When the agent came +up from the city to go over the property, he walks up and down past the +tavern wi' a sheet o' paper in his hand, an' a map, or somethin' o' +that nature. I went out on the verandah to see if he had lost his way, +an' he comes over an' takes off his hat as politely as if I was the +Queen. + +"'Your tavern stands just where we want to put the gateway,' he +remarked, consultin' his paper. + +"'Is that so?' says I, my temper suddenly risin', fer I had heard a lot +o' talk about the big hotel an' the driveway fer the carriages, an' the +parks. + +"'Of course, we will allow ye a fair price fer yer property when we +need it,' he explained. + +"'If ye think yer price'll put a gateway here, ye're sadly mistaken,' I +said. 'Ye can put up yer hotel, an' every drop o' spirits that's sold +in the country can go to ye, an' I'll no complain, but I warn ye that +I've spent thirty-five years gettin' this tavern into my keepin', an' +it'll take forty more to get it out again.' I jist let him have it +straight, an' then I wint in an' slammed the door to show me contempt +fer the loikes o' him. + +"Then, a few days afterwards, two gentlemen called on me, an' they said +they wanted to make a proposition to me, but I just told them to see me +lawyers about it, an' they sort o' fidgitted awhile, an' then they +asked me who I was employin' to look after my interests. I just bid +them go and find out if they thought it worth while, an' I left them +sittin' there like two bad boys in school," Nancy stopped while she +laughed again, and young John broke in with a question. + +"Was my father one of those two men?" + +"Now, Johnny, ye needn't be mixin' yer father in the talk at all. Ye +know he an' I never agreed," Nancy demurred. + +"But I want to know for a reason," he persisted. "You have a +payment--the last, I believe--on the mortgage falling due shortly?" he +inquired. + +"I have," she answered, somewhat perplexed. + +"Well, my father would like you to miss making that payment, because he +wants to get a commission for securing the sale of your property, and +that would give him a hold on you. I can appreciate your desire to +stay with the old place, so I would advise you to be early in sending +him this amount. Can you raise it?" young John asked. + +Nancy sat for awhile in mental perturbation, and then somewhat +dubiously answered, "Yes." + +"Oh, that just reminds me that Corney bade me give you a hundred +dollars," young John said, hurriedly, his face lighting up. + +"Now, John, it's yer wish to help me that's makin' ye talk nonsense," +Nancy put in, but young John did not heed her. + +"You will take the money?" he asked, pleadingly. + +Nancy gazed back at her old ramshackle hotel, and then her eyes rested +softly on young John's face. + +"You made me promise once, now it's your turn," he continued. + +"Ye're not deceivin' me, John?" she said, hesitatingly. + +"It's from Corney, sure," he affirmed, handing her the roll of bills. + +"It's in me will fer Corney an' the girls, an' it's all I have to leave +them. I couldn't give it up," she said, brokenly, as she took the +money. + +"Faith, it's dinner time, an' I'm sittin' out a-gossipin' when I should +be at work," she announced, springing up. "Ye'll stay fer dinner, +surely?" she asked of young John. + +"I will with pleasure, Nancy," he assented. + +Miss Sophia Piper dropped into the tavern during the afternoon. She +could not help it, for she was full of news, and her aversion to the +premises was fast drifting from her. In her heart she loved the +strange old woman with the kindly eyes and rugged manner. Her talk was +all of young John Keene's return, and she confided with happy tears +stealing down her cheeks that his marriage with Miss Trevor would take +place the following week. + +"The wedding will take place at our house, and I'm here especially to +ask you to come," she added. + +"And what would ye be thinkin' o' me, without fittin' clothes, a-mixin' +wi' all yer foine folk?" Nancy asked. + +"You are my friend, Mrs. McVeigh, and your dress will not alter that. +Promise you'll come." + +"Well, it's more than loikely I will," Nancy assented. "I'm thinkin' +o' givin' up the bar and livin' quiet loike fer the rest o' me days," +she remarked, reflectively. + +Sophia Piper's heart gave a bound of delight, and she seized Nancy's +hands in both of hers. + +"I'm so glad to hear you say it," she burst out, and then she added, +seriously, "Can you afford it?" + +"Ye see," Nancy explained, "I've had a letter from my son Corney, an' +he says he is goin' to make me a steady allowance. Anyhow, I'm tired +o' the noise o' drunken men and the accusin' glances o' the good folk +that passes. I've decided that it's not a fittin' occupation fer the +mother o' the future mayor o' Chicago to be sellin' the stuff. Others +want the license, an' they can have it. I used to like the servin' o' +the public, but somehow me mind has been changed o' late," she sighed. + +When young John Keene and Miss Mary Trevor were made a happy unit the +next week, Nancy was there with a new silk dress, which she and Katie +Duncan had worked long into the previous nights to finish. Her sweet +old face was radiant with smiles, and when it was all over, and she had +a chance to speak alone to Sophia Piper, she whispered: + +"I'm celebratin' doubly, ye see, miss; I've just sold me stock o' +spirits to the summer hotel people and had a big sign put over the bar +door marked 'Privit.'" + +"God bless you, Nancy McVeigh," Sophia Piper whispered back. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +_THE STRENGTH OF TEN._ + +It was the sudden termination of the jingling of sleigh-bells that +caused Nancy McVeigh to look curiously from her window. People seldom +stopped before the old tavern since the transfer of the license to the +summer hotel back on the lake shore. At one time it was an odd thing +for anyone to pass without dropping in, if only for a chat or an excuse +to water his horses at the pump trough. Nancy sighed when she +remembered it, for it had brought much gossip and change into her daily +existence. When a chance visitor did intrude upon her quietude, his +welcome was assured. Also she did much of her knitting by the front +window, so that she could catch glimpses of her old customers, even if +she could not speak to them. + +On this wintry day in the early January, it was Dr. Dodona, from town, +who tied his horse to a verandah post and rapped briskly at her door. + +"It's a real pleasure to see ye, doctor," Nancy exclaimed, as she gave +him admittance. "Ye must be cold. I'll just give ye me best chair by +the fire, an' ye can smoke a pipe while ye're tellin' yer errand." + +"You're very kind, Mistress McVeigh. People like yourself make a +doctor's work less arduous," the doctor answered, heartily. + +"It's good of ye to say so, doctor, fer it's little demand fer service +ye get out o' me an' mine." + +"I'm on my return from James Piper's, down the road. His two children +are ill with the cold, and I am afraid something more serious may be +expected. Miss Sophia has them well in hand, and I have left a course +of treatment, but I'm not at all satisfied." + +"Did ye recommend goose grease and turpentine? The winter Jennie had a +bad throat I used them in plenty, an' it's what saved her," Nancy +remarked, sagaciously. + +"Well, not exactly those remedies, but they are very good," the doctor +admitted, laughing. "Miss Sophia bade me tell you about the children, +as you were expecting her to call some day this week," he continued. + +Nancy nodded her head understandingly. "An' what d'ye expect will +develop from their colds?" + +"You needn't be frightened, Mistress McVeigh, as your children are all +grown up. The boy Willie has a very weak throat, and it was terribly +inflamed to-day. I am quite worried about it." + +"It's bad news ye're bringing to-day, doctor, but niver expect trouble. +Maybe they'll change fer the better before mornin'. Ye'll have some +tea?" she asked suddenly. + +"It's putting you to a lot of trouble," the doctor said, reluctantly, +but Nancy was gone before he had finished his sentence. + +When the doctor was ready to depart, she asked, anxiously, "Ye'll let +me know how they are tomorrow?" + +"Most assuredly," the doctor called from the verandah. + +Two or three days followed, and each brought Dr. Dodona to Nancy's door +with a brief message as to the condition of his patients. His visits +were very short, however, but he remained longer at the Piper +household, and Nancy missed the smile from his face. She discussed the +trend of affairs with Katie Duncan, who was her only confidant now that +Will Devitt had gone out West because Nancy McVeigh's bar no longer +needed his services, and she was somewhat pessimistic in her remarks. +A week went over, and they only saw Dr. Dodona as his big sorrel mare +drew his cutter over the Monk Road in a whirl of snow. Then one day he +passed, accompanied by James Piper, and Nancy could endure the suspense +no longer. + +"We'll just have an early supper, an' I'll go over an' ask at the +house," she said, decisively, to Katie Duncan. But a heavy rap at the +door disturbed them at their meal. Nancy hastened to answer the +summons, for she knew it was the doctor. + +"I regret my not keeping to my word, Mistress McVeigh, but I am +travelling fast these days. I have a lot of sick people to attend to, +and the Pipers are in very bad shape." + +Nancy's eyes bespoke her sympathy as he continued: "Willie Piper has +diphtheria. Little Annie has it also, and to-day Miss Sophia has +broken down. I'm afraid she is in for it, too." + +"Fer land sakes, ye don't say so!" Nancy exclaimed, more to punctuate +his words, so that she could digest their import thoroughly. + +"They've got to have a nurse, and at the present moment I don't know +where such a person can be secured," the doctor declared, desperately. + +"An' have ye fergotten the blarney ye gave me the night o' the +accident?" Nancy inquired, in a hurt tone. + +"You don't mean you will go?" he asked, his face lighting up suddenly. + +"An' why not? Faith, an' I'm fair sick meself stayin' about the house +doin' nothin' but keepin' comfortable; an' my experience with Jennie +will help me. Old Mrs. Conors is at the p'int of starvation since her +husband died, an' I've been thinkin' o' takin' her in fer company. +I'll just send Katie over the night to tell her to come in the mornin', +so that the child won't be alone." + +"I knew that you would help me out of this difficulty, Mistress +McVeigh. I don't want anything to happen to Miss Sophia, she is such a +great friend of mine." + +Nancy was about to speak, then checked herself and looked at him +keenly. "The wonders o' the world are no dead yit," she ejaculated, +under her breath. + +"I took the liberty of mentioning your name to James Piper before I +came here to-day, and he will see that you are well paid for your +work," the doctor added, hurriedly, guessing what was passing in the +mind of the old woman. + +"Ye can just tell James Piper I'll have none o' his money. The very +impudence o' him to offer it! It's to help the children and Miss +Sophia, an' not fer any consideration o' that sour-faced dragon, that I +go," Nancy flung back her reply in a somewhat scornful manner. + +"I'll go now, but will see you there in the morning," Doctor Dodona +called, as he hastened away. + +"So that's how the wind blows," Nancy muttered, thoughtfully, as she +watched him depart; then she laughed softly in spite of the bad news. + +Mrs. Conors, growing very feeble, was garrulously comfortable before +the fire in Nancy McVeigh's kitchen. She was in a happy frame of mind, +as her worldly anxieties were now very much a dream of the past. Nancy +herself, with her strong, resolute face, her kindly eyes and tall gaunt +frame, enrobed in a plain, home-made black dress, was setting things to +rights in the home of James Piper. Her coming brought order, and a +fearless performance of the doctor's commands. She was a herald of +fresh hope, and carried into the gloomy house her sense of restful +security. Her sixty-five years of life, a portion of which was spent +as proprietress of a tavern, wherein the worst element of a rough +countryside disported itself, had given her nerves of steel, and yet +the chords to her heart were tuned to the finest feelings of sympathy. +Sophia Piper felt the glow of her presence as she lay tossing and +moaning in the first grips of the malady. The children cried less +frequently, and Willie's temperature lowered two points by the doctor's +thermometer after the first day's service of the new nurse. And yet +Nancy only went about doing the doctor's wishes and whispering to each +in her motherly way. Her confidence in herself seemed to exert a +pleasing influence with the sick ones, and then she was so strong. The +hours of night found her wakeful to the slightest noise, yet patient +with their fretful humors, and in the morning she came to them as fresh +as a new flower in spring. + +Doctor Dodona noticed the change, and marvelled. He came morning and +evening, and each time sat a long while by Miss Sophia's bedside. He +was wondering why he had never guessed something long before, and he +did not suspect that Nancy read him like an open book. He had known +Sophia for years, had gone to the same school with her, had worked by +her side on committees of the charitable and religious organizations of +the county, and here he was on the verge of confirmed bachelorhood and +only learning the rudiments of love. + +"His heart's fair breakin' fer her," was Nancy's muttered comment. + +Then came the long night's fight for the life of Annie, the little +daughter of James Piper. A struggle where only two could join, the +doctor and the Widow McVeigh, as the infectious nature of the disease +forbade any assistance from without. Annie's illness had taken a very +serious turn just as the doctor arrived on his evening call. He +studied her case for a long ten minutes, and then he remarked to Nancy, +"It is the crisis." Nancy smiled, not that his words amused her, but +rather as an expression of her confidence in her powers to hold the +spark of life in the little body. From then until early dawn they +watched her, the life flickering like a spent torch in the wind. The +doctor had taken extreme measures to combat the disease, and his +greatest fear was that his efforts to cure might have a contrary effect +by reason of the frailty of the child. Once he despaired, but, looking +up, caught a momentary glint of steel in Nancy's eyes. His very fear +that she might detect his weakness compelled him to continue. For ten +hours she sat with the child on a pillow in her lap, apparently +impassive, yet conscious of the slightest change in the hot, gasping +breathing. Occasionally the doctor arose and passed into the room +where the others lay, to see that they were not suffering through lack +of attention. Returning from one of these silent visits, just as the +sun shot its first shafts of light under the window blind, he noted a +change in the little maid. + +"She'll live," he declared. + +"I've not been doubtin' the fact at all, at all," Nancy responded, +bravely trying to cover her weariness. + +From that night both children began to mend rapidly, and more time was +left for the care of the elder patient. The case of Miss Sophia was +somewhat different. Her age made it a much more difficult problem to +unseat the poison from her system. It had committed sad ravages with +her constitution before she had given in, and though Dr. Dodona felt +reasonably certain that he could check the trouble, yet it seemed +doubtful if her strength would sustain the fight. + +As the days passed he could see plainly that she was unimproved. His +professional training told him that, and he threw into the work all the +skill that he possessed. He suddenly became conscious that he had lost +some of the assurance in himself which had been the backbone of his +former successes, but it took him a short while to comprehend fully his +own incapacity. As he drove over the miles of snowy road into town, +after an evening at her bedside, the truth became a conviction in his +mind. His heart was too deeply concerned, and it had shattered his +nerves. + +He wired to the city for a specialist before going to his home. Next +morning he told Nancy McVeigh of his action. That good old soul fell +in with the idea on the spot, and her comments caused him to turn away +his face in foolish embarrassment. + +"It's what I have been expectin' ye to do all along, but I didn't care +to suggest it to ye before, as yer professional pride might not welcome +my interference. It's her poor, thin face an' her smile that kapes yer +mind from the rale doctorin'. Ye just git a smart man from the city, +an' it'll do ye both a power o' good," she said. + +When he was gone Nancy went to the sick-chamber. + +"Are ye able to stand good news?" she inquired. + +Miss Sophia turned her face towards her, and smiled encouragingly. + +"Surely, if it is really bright and hopeful," she replied, weakly. + +"Ye may suppose I'm takin' liberties wi' yer privit concerns, but ye +will learn to fergive me whin ye are well an' the spring is here again +wi' its quiet sunshine, its flowers an' the grass growin' by the +roadside wi' patterns worked in dandelions like a foine carpet." + +"I love the spring!" Miss Piper exclaimed, with animation. + +It had seemed a wonderful thing to the doctor, the power to rouse the +suffering woman contained in the homely phrases of Nancy McVeigh. + +"As if that was all to love," Nancy impatiently returned. "Did it ever +come right home to yer heart that ye loved a man an' ye didn't +recognize the feelin' fer a long time afterwards. Fer instance, one +who is makin' piles o' money out o' the ills o' others?" she added, +pausing in her dusting to gaze shrewdly at her friend. + +"It's all a riddle to me," Miss Sophia answered, although her words +betrayed a rising interest. + +"Aye, a foine riddle, to be sure, an' one that has its answer in the +face of Doctor Dodona." + +Sophia Piper's pallid face suddenly changed color, and she frowned +irritably. Nancy sat down on the foot of the bed and took the sick +woman's hand in her own long, hardened fingers. + +"Ye must get well soon, dearie; the doctor's fair beside himself +thinkin' he might lose ye, an' he can scarce compose himself long +enough to mix his own medicines. He's a lonely man; can't ye see it, +child?" + +"Do you think so?" Miss Sophia whispered, wonderingly. + +"It's not a matter o' thinkin', it's the rale truth, so it is. What is +that rhyme I hear the young ones say, 'Somethin' borrowed, somethin' +blue, somethin' old and somethin' new'? May I be somethin' old at yer +weddin'?" Nancy asked, tenderly. + +Miss Sophia drew the old woman's hand to her cheek and kissed it +affectionately. + +'Twas after the above conversation that Sophia Piper began to evince a +determined desire to recover her health. + +"Will the doctor be here this afternoon?" she asked. + +"Ye couldn't kape him away. He's bringin' a friend wi' him, too," +Nancy vouchsafed. + +"Then you'll please tidy my hair, and have the curtains drawn back from +the windows so that the sun can shine in the room," she ordered, +sweetly. + +"An' I'll put some fresh flowers on yer table," Nancy agreed. + +The specialist came in the afternoon. He was a portly man, with +iron-grey hair, clean-shaven face and a habit of emphasizing his +remarks by beating time to them with his spectacles. He examined the +patient thoroughly, whilst Dr. Dodona stood by deferentially, though +impatiently, awaiting his opinion. Then they adjourned to another +apartment, and the great man carefully diagnosed the case to his +_confrčre_. "She has been very ill," he admitted, summing up the loose +ends of his notations, "but I see no necessity for a change in your +remedies. + +"Do you not see a recent improvement?" he asked, shortly. + +Dr. Dodona shrugged his shoulders. "Since last night, yes." + +"Continue as you have been doing. I will give you a few written +suggestions as to diet and tonic," the specialist explained, and then +he dropped his professional air and slapped his fellow-practitioner +familiarly on the shoulder. + +"You were afraid because you have lost your heart as well as your +nerve. Is that a correct diagnosis?" he asked jovially. + +"Evidently you have diagnosed symptoms in the wrong party," Dr. Dodona +answered, drily. + +"You had better settle it while I am here," advised the city medical +man, who showed much aptitude for other things than cases of perverse +illness. + +"By Jove, I will!" the doctor burst out, and in he went with a rash +disregard of the noise he was making. He did not heed the warning +"Sh-h!" of the widow McVeigh, so engrossed was he in his mission. + +Sophia Piper's face lit up with a glad welcome, and she held her hands +towards her lover in perfect understanding. + +"Hivin bless them! In all me experience I have niver met with such a +love-sick pair before. They're old enough to be more discreet," Nancy +observed to the specialist, who chatted with her whilst the two were +settling their future happiness. + +"And you are a judge of human nature, too?" put in the learned man, +admiringly. + +"The older we git the wiser we grow, sometimes," was Nancy's retort. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +_A DESERTER FROM THE MONK ROAD._ + +Father Doyle had just stepped from the white heat of an August day on +the Monk Road into the modest parlor of the widow McVeigh. He was +growing very stout as his years advanced upon him, and trudging through +the dust was warm exercise. But the sultriness without made the cool +interior of the tavern (for such the people still called the old place, +although Mrs. McVeigh no longer extended hospitality to the public) +more appreciable. Wild pea vines clambered over the windows, and the +ancient copings protruded outwards far enough to cast a shade, so that +the breeze which entered was freshened and sweetened with a gentle +aroma of many-colored blossoms. + +Nancy McVeigh was unburdening a whole week's gossip whilst the priest +helped himself generously to the jug of buttermilk which she had +brought in from her churning. + +"I have seen wonderful changes on the Monk Road in my time," he said, +reflectively, in answer to Nancy's observations concerning the summer +hotel on the Point, now filled to overflowing with people seeking +health and pleasure in its picturesque surroundings. + +"One would scarcely know the place. What with grand rigs full o' +chatterin' women and children a-drivin' past the door, and the whole +Point a picture o' lawns an' pretty dresses," sighed Nancy. "But it +does me heart good to see the brown on the cheeks o' the little 'uns +after they've been here awhile." + +"Doubtless you find some trade with them?" the priest surmised. + +"Considerable; first in the mornin' it's someone askin' if I have fresh +eggs, then it's milk or butter or home-made bread, and so it keeps +agoin' all day long. I'm no needin' much o' their money, now that +Corney sends me my allowance once a month as regular as the sun, but +I've still quite a family to support, so I just charge 'em enough to +make them appreciate what they're gettin'. I've got Mrs. Conors an' +old Donald still on me hands, an' Katie Duncan's at an age whin she +wants a little spendin' fer ribbons and fancy things. So many foine +people about just pricks the envy o' the child, an' I wouldn't, fer the +sake o' a dollar or two, have her ashamed o' her position. It's +different from the old days, as ye say, Father Doyle." + +"It is that, sure enough," he agreed. + +"I'm thinkin' o' takin' a trip," she remarked, with an air of mystery. + +"And where are you going?" he asked, in surprise. + +"To Chicago," she vouchsafed, proudly. + +"Is that not rather far for your old bones?" he inquired, with a merry +twinkle. + +"Ye're fergittin', Father Doyle, that I'm only as ould as I feel, an' +that's not beyond a bit o' pleasure an' the sight o' my boy. It's such +a time since I've seen the lad that I'm most afeared I'll not be +knowin' me own son." + +"Tut, tut! You don't think that. I'd know a McVeigh anywhere if I met +him," the priest expostulated. + +"I've been savin' me odd change these two or three years, an' I've +plinty to pay me way comfortably. I'm wonderin', though, how the ould +place would git on without me!" Nancy remarked, dubiously. + +"Never suffer in the least," the priest affirmed. + +"Ye may think so, but whin I've been here day in an' day out since me +hair was as fair as Katie Duncan's, ye can understand it takes a deal +o' courage fer me to trust to others," she retorted. + +The priest nodded his head slowly in acquiescence. + +Two weeks of laborious calculations and preparations preceded the day +set for Nancy's departure, and during the interval her many friends +discussed the journey so fully with her that her mind was a maze of +conflicting doubts. But her contumacious nature did not permit a +retreat from her decision, and to make it utterly impossible she went +over to the new station and gave over forty-eight dollars for a ticket. +It seemed a reckless expenditure, but a peep every night at the +photographs on the wall of her room drove the mercenary aspect of it +from her and left her firmly resolved and intensely happy. + +The fateful hour came at last, and quite a gathering of familiar faces +was at the station to see her depart. Father Doyle, Mrs. Jim Bennet +and family, Katie Duncan, Mrs. Conors, old Donald, Dr. Dodona and wife, +the two Piper children and a host of others saw that she was +comfortably established in the big car, much to the evident amusement +of the loitering tourists. She must have kissed at least twenty people +before the conductor came briskly on the scene and sent them pell-mell +on to the platform. The whistle shrieked and the train glided slowly +away. Nancy, a strange figure, with widow's bonnet, bright colored +shawl and face wreathed in smiles, leaned far out of the window, waving +an answer to the shouted farewells. + +Mistress McVeigh spent a major portion of the evening in getting +acquainted with her environments. Her previous ride in the cars had +been her honeymoon, but that was so long ago that she had forgotten +even the sensation. Its novelty now intruded on her peace of mind, and +she enjoyed it, although it was tiring. She sat gazing about in silent +contemplation until the lamps had been lighted and the negro porter was +shouting his evening dinner call. His words reminded her that she had +a basket of good things, so she took off her bonnet, spread her shawl +on the adjacent seat and proceeded to lay out the contents. Most of +the people in the coach were going forward to the diner, but such +extravagance did not appeal to her. But she did notice that a very +delicately featured lady, with a small baby and a boy of two or three, +was endeavoring with patient though apparently ineffectual effort to +satisfy the fretful wants of her little ones. The worried flush in the +young mother's cheek, and the trembling of her lips, roused Nancy's +compassionate nature, and, although she would not have confessed it, +she was lonesome. To be amongst people unspoken to and unnoticed was a +revelation that had never existed in her tiny world. She watched the +struggling woman covertly for a short time, while she nibbled at her +lunch, and then she could bear it no longer, so she stepped across the +aisle. + +"If ye please, ma'am, I'll take the baby fer a spell, while ye give the +boy his supper," she volunteered. + +The lady shot a grateful glance at the queer old body who had accosted +her. + +"If you don't mind the bother," she replied, sweetly. + +"It's no bother, sure," Nancy declared, emphatically, and her eyes +dwelt over-long on her new acquaintance. The lady reminded her of +someone, then like a flash it came to her, and she looked again so +persistently that the lady was embarrassed. It was Jennie's mother she +remembered, the night she came, sick and broken, into the tavern, with +her baby in her arms. + +"The poor wee thing's fair excited," she murmured, as she cuddled the +tiny bundle against her breast. + +"Won't you take tea with us?" the mother inquired, her face lighting up +at the prospect. + +"Ye must just help yerselves from my basket, then," Nancy protested, as +she brought it over. + +Mrs. Morris, for such was the lady's name, proved an excellent +travelling companion. She was not only a splendid conversationalist, +but also she knew how to procure warm tea from the porter. Soon she +and Nancy were quite at ease with each other, Nancy contributing her +share at the entertaining, with her homely gossip of the Monk Road and +its people. The baby was her chief solace, however, and its mother +only had it during the midnight hours, so constant a nurse was she. +And the atom itself was tractable beyond its own mother's belief. + +The process of making up the beds in the sleeper gave Nancy an +unpleasant half-hour. She did not admire the masculine performances of +the porter. + +"It's no work for an ignorant black man," she informed Mrs. Morris, in +a deprecatory tone. Then she spoke directly to the negro: "Ye can just +pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own fixin'." + +[Illustration: "Ye can just pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own +fixin'."] + +"Yes, mum," he answered, grinning, but he did not desist from his +duties. + +"He's one of thim furriners, who don't know what ye're sayin', I +suppose," she observed, resignedly. + +When the conductor made his last round of the cars, before the lamps +were extinguished, Nancy stopped him and questioned anxiously, "Ye'll +be sure to waken me at Chicago?" + +"Why, ma'am, we won't arrive there until tomorrow evening," he answered. + +"So ye say, but I'm strange to the run o' trains, an' I don't want to +be goin' miles past the place and niver know it," she objected. + +"Never fear, missus, you'll be looked after properly," he said, +consolingly. + +The night and day journey to Chicago was so full of pleasant happenings +that Nancy could scarcely realize it was almost over. With the Morris +baby asleep in her arms, she would gaze from the window at the panorama +of country drifting past, interested in its strangeness only in a +superficial sort of way, while her inmost thoughts pictured the great +city to which she was going, and wherein she expected her son to be the +most predominant figure. Each hour seemed to be bringing him closer to +her, and a mild yearning centred about her heart. Occasionally a +twinge of apprehension would mar her tranquillity. She wondered if he +would know her, and if he had received the postcard which she had +written with so much care a week previous. She was too conscious of +her happiness to let such thoughts disturb her for long, and then Mrs. +Morris lived in Chicago and had promised to watch over her welfare +until she was safe in Corney's keeping. + +The gradual increase in houses clustered into villages along the way +warned her of the near approach to her destination. + +"I hope I may see more of ye," she observed to Mrs. Morris, after a +long silence of reflection. + +"It's a big city, and you will be very busy," the little lady +explained. "But I shall never forget your kindness to me. I should +have been very lonely and tired if you hadn't made friends," she +continued. + +"It's been a God's blessin', the knowin' o' ye an' the kiddies," Nancy +assured her. + +This simple-minded old body had made a deep inroad into the city +mother's affections, and her joy at the early prospect of meeting her +husband was tempered with a sincere sadness at the parting which it +would entail. + +The evening was growing quickly into darkness as they sped along, and +an unusual bustle amongst the other passengers had commenced. Now that +the hugeness of the outlying districts of Chicago were being unfolded +to Nancy with the long lines of lighted street, and starry streaks of +electric cars flashing by like meteors in a southern sky, she became +aware of a keen sense of fear. It was all so different from anything +in her past experience. It seemed as if she had broken ties with +everything familiar except the sweet face of her companion and the two +sleeping children. The roar of the city had now enveloped the train, +and presently it began to slacken speed, as it had done a score of +times before in the last hour. The conductor came into the car, +calling out, "Chicago!" and Nancy's heart beat so that it almost choked +her. The bright glare of the station came down into their window from +the roofs of adjacent trains, and then, before she rightly understood +what was happening, she was out on to the platform with her arms full +of her own and Mrs. Morris' bundles. A short man detached himself from +a crowd that waited without the gates far in front, and came dashing +towards them. + +"It is my husband," Mrs. Morris whispered, breathlessly. Next moment +she was locked in his arms. Nancy gazed furtively about, peering at +the faces, and hoping that one might be her son. After a long +scrutiny, she turned a despairing, helpless face to her late travelling +companion. Mrs. Morris understood, and came to her rescue quickly. + +"You are a stranger in this big city, so you had better come home with +us for to-night," she suggested. + +"I wrote him to be waitin' fer me, but he must have forgotten," Nancy +returned, brokenly. + +"Yes, you must come, Mrs.--" Mr. Morris began, then hesitated. + +"Mrs. McVeigh, from the Monk Road," his wife told him, with a happy +smile. + +"The Monk Road, where is that, pray?" Mr. Morris asked, in puzzled +tones. + +"D'ye not know that?" Nancy exclaimed, incredulously. + +The man shook his head. + +She considered awhile, then made a gesture of utter helplessness. She +knew no adequate description of the geographical position of her home. +It was just the Monk Road, running from an indefinite somewhere to an +equally mysterious ending, and anyone who did not know that was lacking +in their education. They threaded their way through the press of +people to the narrow street, and entered a cab. Then, while the +husband and wife talked in subdued tones, Nancy listened to the babel +of clanging gongs and footsteps of many people on the pavements over +which they were passing. She suddenly bethought herself of questioning +Mr. Morris as to his knowledge of her son Cornelius. His answer was as +perplexing as everything else she had encountered in that strange new +world. He had never heard of him. Fortunately she had a business card +of her son's firm, and after much cogitation Mr. Morris decided that he +could find the establishment in the morning. + +Nancy secured a much-needed night's rest at the home of the Morris +family, and was up and had the kettle boiling on the range before the +appearance of the household. + +"I'd no enjoy the day at all if I wasn't doin' somethin' o' the sort! +An' ye're tired," she responded to Mr. Morris' surprised ejaculation. +She had to curb her anxiety to be off until after the noon hour, and +then, with a promise to return, if her plans miscarried, she was +piloted aboard the Overhead by Mr. Morris. + +"I'll drop you off in front of the block in which your son's offices +are situated," he informed her by the way. The run through the city +was perhaps a distance of four miles, and while Nancy gazed in +open-mouthed wonder, the little man pointed out to her the places of +note along the route. + +"It's all just wonderful," was the text of her replies. + +They drew up at a little station, and from it descended to the +pavement, and at a great door in a block that made her neck ache to see +its top, he left her, with a list of directions that only served to +shatter the remnant of location which her mind contained. She looked +uncertainly about her until her eyes rested on the sign, "Beware of +Pickpockets!" then she clutched her old leathern wallet, and with +frightened glances hurried inside. But here a second labyrinth opened +to her. A glass door led into a very spacious apartment, where a +number of men were counting money in little iron cages. She boldly +marched in and asked the nearest one, "Please, sir, is this Cornelius +McVeigh's office?" The man addressed stopped his counting and scowled +at her, but something in her wrinkled, serious face caused him to +relent of his churlishness. + +"A moment, ma'am," he replied. + +Next instant he was by her side, and very gallantly led her to the +outer hall and over to the elevator man. That Mecca of information +scratched his head before venturing to assist them, then he hazarded, +briskly, "Fifth floor, No. 682." + +"If that's wrong, come back," the young man said, kindly, as he left +her. + +The elevator drew her up almost before she could catch her breath, and +landed her on the fifth floor. The man pointed along a hallway, and +she followed this until a name in big gilt letters arrested her +attention and caused her heart to flutter spasmodically. "Cornelius +McVeigh--Investments," it read. And this was really her son's +Eldorado! A mist crept over her eyes as she turned the brass knob and +entered. A score of young men and women were before her, busily +engaged at desks, writing and sorting over papers. Beyond them, other +doors led to inner offices, and from some invisible quarter a peculiar +clicking cast a disturbing influence. Whilst she was taking it in, in +great sweeping glances, a small boy stepped saucily up and demanded her +wishes. + +"I'm Mistress McVeigh, o' the Monk Road, an' I've come to see +Cornelius," she told him. + +The boy looked at her, whistled over his shoulder and grimaced. + +"What yer givin' us, missus?" he asked. + +"I'll have ye understand I'll take no impudence," she retorted, +wrathfully, shaking her parasol handle at him. + +"If yer wants the boss, he's out," he informed her, with more civility. + +"Is there anything I can do?" a young lady asked, coming over to her +from her desk. + +"It's just Mister McVeigh that I want to see. I'm his mother," Nancy +replied, simply. + +"You are his mother!" the girl exclaimed, doubtfully. + +"That I am," Nancy declared, emphatically. + +"Mr. McVeigh is out of the city, but Mr. Keene is here. Will he do?" +she again questioned. + +At this juncture someone stepped briskly from an inner room, and then a +man dashed impetuously across the general office, scattering books and +clerks in his eagerness, and crying, "Why, it's Mrs. McVeigh!" as he +caught her gaunt body in his arms. + +"Johnny, me lad, is it yerself?" she gasped, after he had desisted from +his attempts to smother her. + +Young John Keene held Nancy's hand within his own whilst he showed her +everything of interest in the office, for the mother loved it all +because it was her son's. The clerks were courteous and attentive, and +the girls fell in love with the quaint old lady on the spot. + +"It's fer all the world like a school," she murmured in young John's +ear. + +"And I'm the big boy," he answered, laughing. + +A telegram searched the far corners of Mexico that afternoon, and at an +unheard-of place, with an unpronounceable name, it found Cornelius +McVeigh, the centre of a group of gentlemen. The party had just +emerged from the yawning mouth of a mine, and were resting in the +sunshine and expelling the foul air from their lungs, whilst the young +promoter of the western metropolis was explaining, from a sheet of +paper covered with figures, the cost of base metal to the producer. +The mine foreman suddenly interrupted his remarks with a yellow +envelope, which he thrust respectfully forward. "A telegram, sir," he +said, and withdrew. The array of men sighed gratefully at the respite, +and Cornelius McVeigh hastily scanned the message. + +"Your mother in Chicago, much disappointed at your absence. When may +we expect you?" so it read. + +The young man folded it carefully, put it into his pocket and continued +his discourse, but his words were losing their pointedness, and he was +occasionally absent-minded. + +"It's dinner-time. I move an adjournment to the hotel," one of the +grey-haired capitalists suggested, and, with scant dignity for men of +such giant interests, they hurried to take advantage of the break in +the negotiations. Cornelius McVeigh did not go in to lunch, but +strolled the length of the verandah for a full hour, absorbed in +thought, then with characteristic energy he hastened to the little +telegraph room and wrote a reply to his home office: + +"Will close a great deal if I stay. Cannot leave for a week at least. +Persuade mother to wait." + +He then walked to the smoking apartments, where his late associates +were trying to forget business. + +"I am ready, gentlemen," he observed, in his crisp, convincing manner +of speech. + +Young John Keene handed the message to the Widow McVeigh. He knew it +would hurt, and his arm stole about her shoulders as it did when he was +the scamp of the Monk Road gossip. + +"I'm tired o' this great noisy city," she faltered, after she had +studied the message a long time. "I'm no feelin' meself at all, at +all, an' my head hurts. I must be goin' home." + +"You shall stay with me, Nancy. Corney will be back in ten days at the +least. My wife wishes it, as well as myself, and we want you to see +our little Nancy. That's our baby," he said, in lower tones. + +Nancy gazed at the hurrying people on the hot pavements below, at the +buildings that shot upwards past her line of vision, at the countless +windows and tangled wires; then she turned to young John and he knew +that she had seen none of them. + +"I'll try, Johnny," she answered. + +The days that followed were battles with weariness to Nancy McVeigh. +She did not complain, but her silence only aggravated the loneliness +which had crept into her soul. Young John Keene talked to her, amused +her, cajoled her, pleaded with her, and yet her mood was impenetrable. +Even tiny Nancy Keene's dimpled fingers could not take away the strange +unrest in her eyes. Then, when the ten days had elapsed, a second +message came: "Kiss mother and tell her to wait. Can't return for +another week. Am writing." Nancy read it and cried; not weakly, like +a woman, but with harsh, dry sobs. + +"I'll be goin' home in the mornin'," she said, firmly. + +The train took her away in the damp, sunless early hours, when the city +was just awakening. + +"She's crazed with homesickness," young John's wife confided to her +husband, in a hushed, sad voice. + +The way home was long, and Nancy chafed at the slowness of the express. +So long as it was light she watched from the car window, and not till +the pleasant quiet of the vicinity of Monk Road was reached did the +gloom-cloud rise from her face. Her heart seemed to beat free once +more, and her eyes were full of tears, but they were tears of +happiness. She left the train at Monk, and the first person to greet +her was Father Doyle, who by chance was at the station. He read a tale +of disappointment in his old friend's appearance, and he remarked, +sympathetically, "You are looking thin and tired, Mistress McVeigh." + +"It's a weary day, sure enough," she admitted. The two walked side by +side, the stout priest carrying her heaviest travelling bags, until +they came to the road which the summer hotel management had built in a +direct line from the station to their gate, and here Nancy stopped +abruptly. + +"Well, if the old tavern isn't right over there, just as I left it," +she ejaculated, and a smile broke over her countenance the like of +which it had not known for days past. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +_THE KERRY DANCERS._ + +Nancy McVeigh treasured her disappointment over the visit to Chicago +for many months, but only Katie Duncan and those who saw her daily knew +of it. She was not the strong, self-reliant Nancy whom people had so +long associated with the ramshackle inn of Monk Road. But her smile +grew sweeter and her sympathies ran riot on every side where little +troubles beset her less fortunate neighbors. Her mind turned oftener +to the church which stood on the side-road, beyond the home of Father +Doyle, and her influence for a better life was remarkable with the +younger generation. The stormy period of her own existence was past, +and like a silvery rivulet twinkling in the sun at the mountain crest, +speeding downward until it roars and foams in an angry cataract, then +emerging into the cool, placid stream, lazily flowing past the village +cottages and on through the silent woodland, she had reached a stage +where only goodness and friendship mattered. + +Her great neighbor, the summer hotel proprietor, was perhaps the +solitary person who did not understand her. In vain he waited +patiently, as the seasons opened and closed, for her to accede to his +importunities to sell her property. There the old inn stood, a blot +within the terraced grounds and clean-cut park, unsightly to his eyes, +and the humorous butt of his patrons. But Nancy had made her plans +when the new order of things was first suggested, and she turned her +rugged face to the sandy Monk Road and held her peace. + +Cornelius, her son, had written her often and voluminously since her +trip southwards. He had also made a definite promise that he would +come home the very next summer. 'Twas this that brightened her eyes +and put a lightness into her step. It also provided a subject of +constant conversation between herself and Katie Duncan. Together they +would count out the months and weeks and days to the time when he +should arrive. + +"The lad's worried, so he is, an' he wants to see his ould mother, in +spoite o' his foine clothes an' his dealin's," she repeated, during +those happy confidences. + +Although Nancy had abandoned the public service, yet hers was no +humdrum existence. She still had duties to perform which occupied her +thoughts from daylight to dusk. She frequently visited the Dodonas, +who lived in the big Piper house. And the Piper children played about +her front door, much as her own son and Johnny Keene had done so many +years before. Other children, too, found the vicinity of the widow +McVeigh's a very tempting resort, and their parents were well +satisfied, for they had learned to love and respect the white-haired +woman who chose to be their guardian. + +"I'll niver get enough o' the dears," she would say to the mothers, and +they quite believed her. + +In the winter of the following year Will Devitt came home from the +North-West. He had been absent three years, and during that time had +secured a grant of land. He boasted of his possessions to his +foster-mother, and she was almost as proud of them as he was himself. + +"It's a grand country, sure, this Canada of ours, an' were I younger +I'd go back wi' ye, Will. D'ye think we could find business fer a +tavern?" she asked him one day. + +"You would just make your fortune," Will responded, enthusiastically. + +Nancy smiled and shook her head. + +"I'm only talkin' like a silly ould woman, laddie. In the first place, +I'm no fit to run a tavern, an' in the second, it's no fittin' +occupation fer the loikes o' me." + +Will had been home a short while when Nancy's suspicions were aroused, +and being unable to lay them bare to Katie Duncan, she told them to +Mrs. Doctor Dodona. + +"There's somethin' mysterious in the behavior o' the young folk," she +confided. "I'm uncommon versed in the language of sighs an' tender +looks, an' it's comin' to somethin' before long." + +"You don't mean that Will Devitt is in love?" the doctor's wife asked, +in mild surprise. + +"I'm afeard it's just that," Nancy admitted, regretfully. + +"And with whom, pray?" + +Nancy bent forward and whispered in her ear. + +"Your Katie!" Sophia Dodona exclaimed. + +Nancy nodded, and they both laughed. + +Nancy knew instinctively that her two foster-children had something +they wished to say to her, and she purposely kept them at arm's length, +whilst she enjoyed their discomfiture. + +"It's rare fun," she told Sophia. + +Will Devitt was becoming desperate, for he must soon get himself back +to his prairie farm. So, after a lengthy twilight consultation with +his heart's desire, he came tramping awkwardly into the presence of the +widow McVeigh. + +"Ye're lookin' serious the night," she greeted, as she paused with her +knitting. + +"I'm feeling that way, too," he conceded, sighing. + +"Maybe ye're thinkin' o' the closeness o' yer leavin'?" she questioned. + +"It's partly that," he admitted, sheepishly. + +"Only partly, ye say. Fer shame, to let anythin' else be a part o' +such thoughts," she observed, somewhat severely. + +"Now, granny, it is no use you being cross with me. I'm full of love +for you and the old place, and you know it," he expostulated. "There's +something else, all the same," he continued, with a forlorn pleading in +his voice. + +"Then ye had better out wi' it, lad," she replied, giving him her whole +attention. + +"It's about our Kate," he commenced. + +"I thought as much. Ye go away an' get a plot o' land somewhere, an' a +bit o' a cabin, an' then ye come back pretendin' it was yer love fer +yer poor granny. But ye had other plans, which ye wouldn't tell till +ye were driven to it," Nancy interrupted, with a strange lack of +sympathy. + +Her words aroused Will's latent passion, and drove him to a confession, +regardless of consequences. + +"Katie an' I have been lovin' each other fer years, in fact, ever since +we were children. We made it up then that we should marry some day. +When I went West it was to earn enough money to buy a home fer us. +I've got a farm now, an' I can keep her. We've talked it over every +night fer a month, an' she's willin' to go if ye will give yer +consent," he burst out, earnestly. + +Mistress McVeigh listened in silence, rocking her chair to and fro. As +the night became darker only her outline was visible to the youth, who +poured into her ears his love story with an unfettered tongue. He +talked rapidly of his plans, his chances and his faith in his ability +to maintain Katie Duncan as comfortably as she had been at the tavern. +When he had finished, Nancy called sharply to Katie, whom she rightly +guessed was not far away, to fetch a lamp. Katie obeyed with +commendable alacrity, and deposited it on the table. She had never +seemed so grown-up and pretty to her foster-parent as she did at that +moment. + +"Katie," began Nancy, with ominous slowness, "Will has been tellin' me +that ye have been courtin' under me very nose. Do ye love him truly, +lass?" + +"Yes, granny," the girl answered, almost defiantly. + +"God bless ye, children. The sooner ye're married, then, the better," +Nancy exclaimed, and she drew them both to her and kissed them again +and again. + +It was a real old-fashioned country dance that followed the wedding of +Katie Duncan and Will Devitt. The ceremony was performed by Father +Doyle in the early morning, and all afternoon the preparations for the +evening were being rushed to completion with tireless energy. + +"Katie's the last o' my children, an' I'll give her a fittin' +send-off," Nancy explained to Sophia Dodona, and her words were not +idly spoken. + +The doctor's wife was in the kitchen, superintending the baking. As a +result, such an array of good things to eat had never before graced the +modest board. The task of decorating was in the care of Will Devitt +and his bride, and a gay dress they were putting on the interior of +their old home. Flags were draped over the walls, evergreens fastened +to cover the door and window-tops, and flowers from the Piper +conservatory were placed wherever space would permit. Nancy had no +especial work, so she assumed the _rôle_ of general advisor and final +court of appeal. Such a concourse of guests had been invited that it +was doubtful if the accommodation was sufficient. But, as Will Devitt +suggested, they danced closer together nowadays, so that the room +required would not be so much. + +By eight o'clock the merry sleigh-bells were jingling over the Monk +Road. Boys and girls, some older than the term would imply, were +tumbling out of the robes in the glare of the big tin lamp, hung to the +gable end, which Nancy had borrowed from the church gate. The fiddlers +arrived early, and after a warm at the hall stove, began tuning up on +the improvised platform at the end of the parlor. The floor manager, a +tall young Irishman named O'Connell, raised his voice above the babel +of talking and laughing, and proclaimed the opening number. + +"Partners fer the Lancers!" he shouted. + +A hush ensued, and Sophia Dodona and her staff came from the kitchen to +see the start off. + +"No, doctor, I'm too ould," Nancy was saying to Dr. Dodona, who wished +to set the pace for the younger guests. But her words did not ring +true, and amidst the hearty plaudits of the rest she took the doctor's +arm. The others fell in line as if by magic, and then the fiddles +began with vim. Oh, how they danced! Everyone, old and +young--quadrilles, reels, polkas, Irish Washerwoman, Old Dan Tucker, +and all. Even Mrs. Conors, after much persuasion, did a jig as it was +performed "whin I was a gal in ould Ireland," and Patrick Flynn, the +aspiring County Member, was her partner. How the old tavern creaked +and groaned with the unusual tax upon its timbers, and how bright the +windows looked from every side of the rambling edifice! When midnight +was past the tables were set in the bar-room of ancient times, and the +cleverest productions of Sophia Dodona disappeared like snow before an +April sun. As Dr. Dodona remarked afterwards to his wife, "'Twould be +a round century of health to the bride and groom should the wishes of +the feasters be realized." + +When it was all over, and the last "Good-night" had passed the +threshold, Nancy went to her room. She sat a long while, resting in +her big rocking-chair and reflecting on the changes in the future which +the day had meant for her. Her eyes gradually centred on her +photographs of Cornelius, and her face immediately brightened. + +"Heigho," she sighed, "it's no my religion to worry." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +_THE HOME-COMING OF CORNELIUS McVEIGH._ + +Cornelius McVeigh sat in his private office, thinking. A telegram lay +open before him on the desk, and its contents had all to do with the +brown study into which he had fallen. Presently his senior clerk +appeared in answer to a summons he had given a moment before. + +"John, I'm going home for a holiday," he said. + +Young John Keene's face brightened perceptibly at the announcement. + +"It's the right thing to do, Corney, and the trip will do you a world +of good," he replied, with a familiarity which business rules could not +overcome. + +"I must go at once. You see, I've a telegram. Perhaps you would care +to read it," Cornelius McVeigh continued, moodily. + +Young John took up the missive and read it aloud: "Come home at once. +Mother seriously ill.--Dodona." He looked up to find his employer's +eyes searching his face anxiously. + +"You will go at once, Corney?" he said, quietly, but with a note of +challenge. + +"The train leaves at noon. Help me to pack up, John," the other +answered. + +The Tourist Express stopped at The Narrows for half an hour just at +lunch time. The Narrows was a pretty place. The peninsula jutting +from either way, separated only by a shallow strait, was spanned by the +railroad bridge. The station formed a centre at one end to a thickly +settled district of summer cottages, and quite close by stood two +rather pretentious hotels. East and west the glistening surface of the +lakes, dotted with islands, spread out like two great sheets of chased +silver. Out beyond, the white trail of the sandy Monk Road zigzagged +until it was lost in the trees. 'Twas a half-hour well spent to lounge +about the platform and take in the grandeur of the landscape. + +The usual crowd of gaily dressed humanity was waiting for the train, +surging about it as the passengers alighted. + +Cornelius McVeigh stepped from the parlor car and looked at his watch +irritably. Thirty minutes seemed an age to his impatient mind, and the +richly upholstered car was too confining for him to think properly. To +the outward eye he was the Cornelius McVeigh of the city, tall, of +military bearing and faultlessly attired, who gave his fellow-beings +the privilege of calling at his office between the hours of ten and +four each business day, that they might lay before his highly trained +faculties their little monetary affairs, and also the fee which his +wide reputation for successful manipulating could demand. He moved +only until he was free of the people, then paused whilst his gaze +shifted from his late companions to the station and on to the dim, +sunny, leafy country beyond. Disappointment lurked in the corners of +his eyes and gradually spread over his entire countenance. Suddenly he +realized that it was exceedingly warm on the unsheltered platform. He +wished to think quietly, so he shifted his raincoat to his other arm +and sought a shaded place against the railing. His mind was struggling +in a vortex of ancient history, and this was the picture which arose +from the strife. A very commonplace, bare-legged lad, with curly, +uncombed hair and face so freckled that a few yards' distance merged +them into one complete shade of reddish brown. He surveyed the +neighboring bridge, and it came into his mental vision unconsciously. +The long, lean girders he had once trod with the careless ease of a +Blondin. Farther out, the rotting tops of the piles of the old +foot-bridge had been his seat from which he caught the crafty pickerel. +Beyond, the opening in the shore reeds marked the passage to the secret +feeding-ground of the black bass. He remembered it perfectly. A +fleeting sarcastic smile dwelt on his deeply-lined features as he +watched a number of boats, filled with noisy, gesticulating campers, +who fished in the open water where no fish lived. A small lad, +certainly a native of the place, dressed in knee trousers and a shirt +which let in the air in places, was holding high carnival with the +nerves of the onlookers. He was performing daring feats on the +trestle-work of the bridge. Suddenly, accidentally, or maybe +purposely, the expected catastrophe occurred, and he plunged head +foremost into the running water twenty feet below. A chorus of +feminine shrieks greeted the termination of his exploits, but his +grinning face as he reappeared, treading water and rubbing his eyes, +turned their consternation into laughter. Then, with a final howl of +boyish delight, he struck out for the nearest pier. + +Cornelius McVeigh awoke from his reverie as the express began to move. +He swung aboard and proceeded to gather his baggage together. He had +scarcely finished when the train slowed up at the end of his journey. +He stepped out with a feeling of expectation. Home at last! The +thought was predominant, and he let it sway him with a selfish +disregard to other influences. Everything had changed during his +twenty years of absence; and the strangeness broke in upon him as if in +condemnation. Here again was the chattering, light-hearted throng, and +their presence only added additional pangs. Not a familiar face to +greet him. Even the fields and woodlands had a different aspect. All +the success of the past decade, which had given wealth and a recognized +place in the world of business, could not wipe out the impression of a +youth of dreamy idleness and simplicity. Where he had hunted rabbits +and slept under a tent of tattered carpet during the warm summer nights +stood a gaudily-painted hotel, flanked with wide verandahs and terraced +lawns. And all about were people, in hammocks, on chairs or rustic +seats, or wandering about enjoying the cool freshness of the lake +breezes. He hurried along the wide newly-cut road which led from the +station. At the high wire gate, erected so recently that the sods from +the post-holes were yet green, he stopped. The successive changes of +the place were so startling to him that he wished to contemplate them +more slowly. It was an ideal spot and filled the soul with pleasurable +anticipation. The children played on the grass, and the hotel +employees sang as they dawdled by in pursuit of their duties. +Everything bespoke luxury and ease. In the entrance doorway of the +hotel stood a stout man, probably the proprietor. He was looking from +under his hand in a speculative way at the stranger by his gate. +Cornelius saw these things mechanically. Then, as his eyes passed from +one point to another, his mother's tavern came within the circle of his +vision. He looked no farther. There it stood, the oddest, drollest +structure that ever marred so perfect a landscape. Its weather-beaten +shingles curled to the sky. Its cracked chimneys and protruding gable +leaned towards the roadway, and every board was rusted to a natural +paintless hue. The pump stood apart, the trough green with moss and +the handle pointing outwards threateningly, like a grim sentry guarding +against the curious passers-by. A grove of trees generously shaded the +rear porch, and beyond them, behind the high fence, he knew, was the +garden. The log barn, with its plastered chinks, had not altered a +particle, and the cow might have been the same one he had milked, so +like her she appeared as she munched at the trailing wisps of hay +hanging from the loft. The outspoken cackle of hens also added to the +rustic environments. It filled his heart with gladness to see the old +place, but it was not complete. The quaintest figure of all was +missing--his mother, tall and white-headed, standing on the verandah +watching down the road for his return. Something was hanging to the +soiled brass knob of the front door, and as he approached he saw that +it was a streamer of black crepe. His heart, which for twenty long +years had thrilled only to the hard-won successes of a self-made man, +beat with a sudden passionate fear, and a tear stole out upon his +cheek. A new-born awkwardness grappled with him as he stumbled along +the roadway. Somehow he saw a pair of dirty, sun-scorched feet encased +in his shining leather shoes. The languid eyes of the hotel guests +followed him, and some wondered as to the nature of his errand. +Arriving at the door, he knocked lightly. An old woman, with +dishevelled grey hair and shoulders enveloped in a bright homespun +shawl, answered his summons and shrilly demanded what he wanted. + +"Is it Mrs. Conors?" he asked, scrutinizing her face earnestly. She +turned with a look of open-mouthed wonder upon him, and hesitated +before speaking, so he continued: + +"Have you forgotten Corney?" He trembled with a vague fear, and the +old woman's failing memory smote him painfully. + +"Be ye Corney McVeigh? A-comin' home to see yer poor dead mammy, an' +ye the ounly boy she had? But surely Corney wouldn't have sich foine +clothes. I can scarcely believe ye," she muttered, doubtingly. + +"Dead! Mother dead!" he ejaculated, passing his hand across his +forehead. He swayed a moment as if struck, and then he answered, with +forced calmness: + +"Yes, Mrs. Conors, I am Corney, and I want to see my mother. I've been +coming home these many years, but something always turned up to spoil +my plans. I knew the money I sent her every month was sufficient to +keep her in comfort, but I didn't think it would be like this--not like +this!" + +Corney McVeigh stepped across the ancient threshold and gazed long and +searchingly at the face in the darkened parlor; a face seamed and thin +with toil and worry, yet infinitely sweet and motherlike to the +world-lost man who choked back the tears as he felt again that almost +forgotten child-love. + +Mrs. Conors broke the silence. + +"I put her ould spinning-wheel there in the corner, where she could see +it 'fore she went. Those socks on the table was her last work fer ye, +Corney. She said to keep yer father's pictur' an' hers togither in the +album. I was also tould to warn ye 'gainst sleepin' in the draught, +'cause ye were always weak about the lungs, an' yer father died o' thet +complaint. She thought maybe ye wouldn't be wantin' the ould house, so +if the hotel man offered ye a good figure ye could sell it. The cow +and the chicks were to go to me, an'--well, bless me heart, if he +hasn't fainted!" + +Mrs. Conors ceased her explanations and called to the occupants of the +rear room, whose conversation came in to her in low monotones. "Mrs. +Dodona! Jennie! it's Corney, and the lad's fainted." + +The blindness, for that was all that Corney experienced, passed off in +a few minutes, and when his eyes could notice he saw that they had +carried him to the little room which had once been his own bed-chamber. +Two women were placing cool cloths on his head. When he revived, one +stepped quietly out. The other remained. She was young and decidedly +pretty, but her face showed plainly the effects of recent grief. +Cornelius McVeigh noticed her appearance particularly because it was +peculiarly familiar to him. The harsh shock of his bereavement had +passed, leaving him weakened but calm. + +"Corney, do you remember me?" the girl asked him, gently. + +"Jennie," he answered, hesitatingly, as if it was an effort for him to +collect his thoughts. + +"We have lost our mother--ours," she said, tremulously, and lowered her +head, weeping. + +He hastily arose, and his arm clasped her shoulder with brotherly +affection. It seemed to him the only way to comfort her. She did not +resist him, and they sorrowed together. + +Cornelius McVeigh did not hasten away from the scene of his great +sorrow. To tell the truth, he had lost for the time being his craving +for the bustling of the city and the subdued activity of his office. +In the place of the latter came hours of quiet, apathetic reverie while +he lingered beneath the roof-tree of home. He modified his dress and +waylaid sundry travellers who passed the door in lumbering farm wagons. +Ofttimes he clambered aboard and went a-visiting, and in exchange for +his city stories received tales of the Monk Road and his mother that +were as balm to his wounded heart. + +Jennie was also loath to leave the peaceful spot. Her grandparent, who +found a new joy in living because of his affection for her, came to the +neighboring hotel and hired a suite of rooms for an indefinite period. +He proved a worthy comrade in idleness for the jaded business man, and +the three of them, Jennie, Cornelius McVeigh and Mr. Hyden, were always +together. + +Jennie had been an apt pupil, and the few years of education which her +grandparent had provided for her had transformed her from an +uncultivated country girl into an accomplished young woman. Nor was +she lacking in comeliness. Ofttimes the eyes of Cornelius McVeigh +followed her with a strange light glistening in their depths. + +The boy and girl love of years gone by, so prematurely blighted and so +long dormant, was struggling again to the surface, and who knows but +another wedding, the last of so many which have been recorded in the +previous chapters, may yet be an accomplished fact? But that involves +another story, and it has not the presence of Nancy McVeigh. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NANCY MCVEIGH OF THE MONK ROAD*** + + +******* This file should be named 25938-8.txt or 25938-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/9/3/25938 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Henry +Mainer</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Nancy McVeigh of the Monk Road</p> +<p>Author: R. Henry Mainer</p> +<p>Release Date: June 30, 2008 [eBook #25938]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NANCY MCVEIGH OF THE MONK ROAD***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Al Haines</h3></center><br><br> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p> </p> + +<A NAME="img-cover"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-cover.jpg" ALT="Cover art" BORDER="2" WIDTH="479" HEIGHT="742"> +<H3 CLASS="h3center" STYLE="width: 479px"> +Cover art +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT=""Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal o' ours."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="404" HEIGHT="584"> +<H3 CLASS="h3center" STYLE="width: 404px"> +"Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal o' ours." +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +Nancy McVeigh +</H1> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OF THE MONK ROAD +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +R. Henry Mainer +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +Toronto +<BR> +William Briggs +<BR> +1908 +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Copyright, Canada, 1908, by R. Henry Mainer. +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +These few stories of a good old<BR> +woman I dedicate to the<BR> +memory of<BR> +<BR> +A. R. S. M.<BR> +<BR> +who sat beside me while I wrote<BR> +them and offered many happy suggestions.<BR> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Her face, deep lined; her eyes were gray,<BR> +Mirrors of her heart's continuous play;<BR> +Her head, crowned with a wintry sheet,<BR> +Had learned naught of this world's deceit.<BR> +She oft forgot her own in others' trials,<BR> +And met the day's rebuffs with sweetest smiles."<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS. +</H2> + +<BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">THE WOMAN OF THE INN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">THE ANTAGONISM OF MISS PIPER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">JOHN KEENE'S EDUCATION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">THE WRECK AT THE JUNCTION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">JENNIE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">NANCY'S PHILOSOPHY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">THE STRENGTH OF TEN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">A DESERTER FROM THE MONK ROAD</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">THE KERRY DANCERS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">THE HOMECOMING OF CORNELIUS MCVEIGH</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATIONS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-cover"> +Cover art +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-front"> +"Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal 'o ours." . . . . <I>Frontispiece</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-046"> +"'Give me that gun, Johnny,' she called softly." +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-098"> +"Ye can just pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own fixin'." +</A> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +NANCY McVEIGH. +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE WOMAN OF THE INN.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +During the <I>régime</I> of Governor Monk, of Upper Canada, the military +road was cut through the virgin pine from Lake Ontario to the waters +leading into Georgian Bay. The clearings followed, then the +homesteads, then the corners, where the country store and the smithy +flourished in primitive dignity. The roadside hostelry soon had a +place on the highway, and deep into its centre was Nancy McVeigh's. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy McVeigh's tavern was famed near and far. In earliest days the +name was painted in letters bold across the high gabled face, but years +of weather had washed the paint off. Its owner, however, had so long +and faithfully dominated its destiny that it was known only as her +property, and so it was named. A hill sloped gently for half a mile, +traversed by a roadway of dry, grey sand, flanked on either side by a +split-rail snake fence, gradually widening into an open space in front +of the tavern. The tavern had reached an advanced stage of +dilapidation. A rickety verandah in front shaded the first story, and +a gable projected from above, so that the sill almost touched the +ridge-board. A row of open sheds, facing inwards, ranged along one +side of the yard, terminated by a barn, which originally had been a low +log structure, but, with the increase of trade, had been capped with a +board loft. Midway between the sheds and the house stood the pump, and +whilst the owners gossiped over the brimming ale mugs within the house, +the tired beasts dropped their muzzles into the trough. Some of the +passers-by were of temperate habits, and did not enter the door leading +to the bar, but accepted the refreshment offered by Nancy's pump, and +thought none the less of the woman because their principles were out of +sympathy with her business. The place lived only because of its +mistress, and an odd character was she. Fate had directed her life +into a peculiar channel, and she followed its course with a sureness of +purpose that brought her admiration. She was tall, raw-boned, and +muscled like a man. Her face was deeply lined, patient, and crowned +with a mass of fine, fair hair turning into silvery grey, and blending +so evenly that a casual observer could scarcely discern the change of +color. It was her eyes, however, that betrayed the soul within, their +harshness mocking the goodness which was known of her, and their +softness at times giving the lie to the roughness which, in a life such +as hers, might be expected. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy McVeigh, the tavern and the dusty Monk Road were synonymous, and +to know one was to know all three. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy was within the bar when two wayfarers, whose teams were drinking +at the trough, entered. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a foine day, Mistress McVeigh," greeted old Mr. Conors, at the +sight of her. +</P> + +<P> +"It is that, and more, too, Mr. Conors," she assented, including the +two men before her in her remark. +</P> + +<P> +"This spell o' weather's bad fer the crops. I'll have to stop at the +pump altogether if it don't rain soon." +</P> + +<P> +"You're welcome to your choice. If ye want a drink and can pay fer it, +I am pleased to serve ye, but I ask no man fer what he cannot afford," +was Nancy's rejoinder, as she wiped her hands on her apron after +drawing the mugs. +</P> + +<P> +"Been to town?" she inquired, after a minute's reflection. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and a bad place it is to save money. The women folk have so many +things to buy that I often wonder where the pay for the seed grain'll +come from. Had to buy the missus a shawl, and two yards of flannel for +the kids to-day, and heaven only knows what they will be wanting next +week, when school begins again," commented Mr. Conors. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis a God's blessing to have your childer, the bright, wee things! +They keep us from fergittin' altogether," said Nancy, sighing, and +looking abstractedly out of the window. +</P> + +<P> +"She is thinkin', poor woman," observed Mr. O'Hagan, in a low tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye have quite a squad yerself, Nancy," ventured Mr. Conors. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she agreed, "there's Sam Duncan's little girl. You remember big +Sam, who was drowned in his own well?" Mr. Conors nodded. "And +Jennie—but she's a rare young lass now, and waits on table as well as +I can do. If I could spare her I'd send her to school, fer she needs +book learnin' more than she's got at present, but it's hard work I have +to keep up the old place, and I'm not as able fer it as I was the first +years after McVeigh died. Then I have Will Devitt's boy. He's past +eighteen now, and handy about the stables. If it was not fer him I'm +thinkin' old Donald would never manage at all." +</P> + +<P> +"An' you'd take in the very nixt waif that comes along," declared Mr. +O'Hagan. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe," answered Mistress McVeigh, thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Conors broke in with the question, "Where's yer own boy, Corney? +It's a long while since he was about the place with his capers and +curly head. Only t'other day my missus was talkin' about the time he +and my Johnny learned to smoke behind my barn, and almost burnt the +hull of us into the bargain." +</P> + +<P> +A smile flitted across Nancy McVeigh's face at the recollection. "My +Corney's a wonderful lad, Mr. Conors. He doesn't take after either of +his parents, fer he'd give over the best game in the world fer a book. +He's livin' in Chicago, and he writes home now and then. He's makin' +lots of money, too, the scamp, but he's like his father fer spendin'. +Sometimes he borrows from me, just to tide him over, but he says that +he will make enough money some day to turn the old tavern into a +mansion. Then I'll be a foine lady, with nothin' to do but sit about +and knit, with a lace cap on me head, and servants to do all the work. +Though I'm afraid me old bones would never submit to that." +</P> + +<P> +"Do ye believe the nonsense he writes, Mistress McVeigh?" questioned +Mr. Conors. +</P> + +<P> +"Aye, an' I do that, sir. It's me, his old mother, that knows the grit +o' him, and the brains he has." +</P> + +<P> +Tears were shining in Nancy's eyes, and she dried them on her apron, +under cover of a sharp order which she called to a maid in the +dining-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye have a rare good heart in ye, Nancy McVeigh," Mr. O'Hagan commented. +</P> + +<P> +"Heart, ye call it, sor. It's a mother's heart, and nothin' else," she +answered, quickly, and then continued, somewhat bitterly, "It's nigh +broke with anger and trouble this day. It's not that the work is hard, +nor the trade fallin' away, for it has kept me and mine these many +years, and it'll never fail while I have me health. But my interest +falls due this month." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a power o' interest ye hev paid that old miser, John Keene, since +McVeigh took over the tavern," Mr. Conors observed. +</P> + +<P> +"It is that, Mr. Conors, and he treats me none the better fer it. A +week come Tuesday he stalks into the bar here, and, before my +customers, he threatens to put me into the road if I fail to have the +amount fer him on the due date. I jest talked back to him with no fear +in me eye, and he cooled off wonderfully. I have since got the money +together, and a hundred dollars to pay on the principal, and to-morrow +I'm goin' to give it to him with me compliments." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye need not be afraid o' his puttin' ye out, Mistress McVeigh, +begorra. He knows right well the place wouldn't be fit to stable +horses in if ye were to leave it, and then who'd pay him his dirty +interest?" sagely remarked Mr. Conors. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if that ain't James Bennet comin' along the road, and tipsy, +too," broke in Mr. O'Hagan, catching sight of a new arrival from +townwards. +</P> + +<P> +"The likes o' him!" sniffed Nancy, contemptuously. "Not a drop will I +serve him, the good-fer-nothin'! There's his poor wife with a +two-weeks-old baby, and two other childer scarce able to walk, and him +carryin' on and spendin' money as if he could afford it." +</P> + +<P> +The three waited, watching in silence, whilst the semi-intoxicated +fellow tumbled out of his rig and walked with uncertain footsteps to +the tavern door. +</P> + +<P> +"An' what be ye wantin' the night?" spoke up Nancy, barring his +entrance, and all the softness gone from her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Wantin', ye silly woman! what d'ye suppose I'd chance breakin' me neck +gettin' out o' me buggy fer, but a drink o' yer best brewed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a drop, James Bennet. Ye needn't come round my door askin' fer +liquor. You, with a sick wife and a house full o' childer! It's a +wonder ye're not ashamed. Better put yer head under the pump and then +git ye home. Ye're no man at all, James, and I've told ye so before." +</P> + +<P> +"It's not refusin' an old frien', are ye, Mistress McVeigh?" Bennet +asked, coaxingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're no frien' o' mine, I'd like ye to understand, and if Mary O'Neil +had taken my advice years ago, ye'd hev niver had the chance o' abusin' +her." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're not doubtin' that I have the change?" pleaded Bennet, digging +his hands deeply into his pocket, as if to prove his statement. +</P> + +<P> +"More's the pity, then, fer it should be at home with yer wife, who'd +know how to keep it." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're very hard on me," he whined, edging up the steps. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye may thank yer stars I'm no harder," threatened the unyielding Nancy. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell ye, Mrs. McVeigh, I'm burnin' with thirst, and I'm goin' to +have only one." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're not, sor." +</P> + +<P> +"I will, ye old shrew! Out o' my way!" he exclaimed, with an ugly +showing of temper, and moved as if to force an entrance. But Nancy +McVeigh had learned life from the standpoint of a man, and, reaching +forward, she sent him tottering from the verandah. Nor did she +hesitate to follow up her advantage. With masculine swiftness and +strength she seized him by the collar, and in a trice had him head +downwards in the horse-trough. +</P> + +<P> +"Now will ye go home, ye vagabond?" she exclaimed, with grim certainty +of her power. The man spluttered and wriggled ineffectually for a few +minutes, and then called "Enough!" +</P> + +<P> +"Off with ye," she said, releasing him, but with a menace in her tones +which suggested that to disobey would mean a second ducking. The +drunken coward climbed into his buggy, muttering imprecations on the +head of the obdurate hostess of the tavern as he did so. But he had no +stomach for further resistance. Mr. Conors and Mr. O'Hagan had been +interested spectators, and now came forward to untie their own horses, +laughing loudly at the discomfiture of Bennet as they did so. +</P> + +<P> +In the quiet of the early evening, when the modest list of boarders had +eaten of the fare which the tavern provided, with small consideration +of the profits to be made, Mrs. McVeigh put on her widow's bonnet, and +a shawl over her gaunt shoulders, and, leaving a parting injunction to +old Donald to tend to the bar during her absence, she set off down the +road to the Bennets'. The night was setting in darkly and suggestive +of rain, and the way was lonely enough to strike fear into the heart, +but the old tavern-keeper apparently had no nerves or imagination, so +confidently did she pursue her intention to see how fared the sick wife +of her troublesome customer of the afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Bennet met her at the door, and he held up his finger for quietness as +he made way for her to enter. He was sober now, and evidently in a +very contrite mood. He knew it was not for him that Nancy McVeigh had +come, and he expressed no surprise. "She be worse the night," he +whispered, hoarsely. Nancy shot a glance at him, half-pitying, +half-blaming, as she stepped into the dimly-lighted bedroom, where a +wasted female form lay huddled, with a crying baby nestled close beside +her. Two children in an adjoining bed peeped curiously from under the +edge of a ragged blanket, and laughed outright when they saw who the +visitor was. +</P> + +<P> +"Go to sleep, dears," Nancy said, kindly, to hush their noisy +intentions. +</P> + +<P> +"It's you, Mistress McVeigh?" a weak voice asked from the sick-bed. +</P> + +<P> +"It is, Mary, and how are ye?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bennet was slow in answering, so her husband spoke for her, and +his tones were tense with anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"She's not well at all, at all." +</P> + +<P> +Nancy turned impatiently to Bennet and bade him light the kitchen fire. +</P> + +<P> +"I've brought somethin' with me to make broth, and it's light food I'm +sure that ye're wantin', Mary," she explained. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as Bennet's back was turned, Nancy took off her wraps and drew +a chair into the middle of the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me the baby, Mary; yer arms must be weary holdin' it, and I will +see if I can put it to sleep." +</P> + +<P> +One thing Mrs. McVeigh's widowhood had not spoilt, and that was her +motherly instincts in the handling of a baby, and the room seemed +brighter and more hopeful from the moment she began to rock, singing a +lullaby in a strange, soothing tone. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bennet gazed in silent gratitude for awhile, then she spoke again. +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor was here." +</P> + +<P> +"And what did he say?" Nancy inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not goin' to get better," she faltered. +</P> + +<P> +"Tut, tut, Mary! Ye're jest wearied out and blue, and ye don't know +what ye say. Think of yer poor childer. What would they do without +their mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," murmured Mrs. Bennet, beginning to cry. "The doctor +says I might recover if I had hospital treatment and an operation. But +it's a terrible expense. Just beyond us altogether. He said it would +cost a hundred dollars at least." +</P> + +<P> +"And would ye be puttin' yer life in danger fer the sake o' a sum like +that?" Nancy said, feigning great unbelief. +</P> + +<P> +"It may not seem much to such as you, Mrs. McVeigh, who has a business, +and every traveller spending as he passes by, but Jim is none too +saving, and with three crying babes and a rented farm it's more than we +can ever hope fer," answered Mrs. Bennet. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you worry one bit more about it, Mary. Maybe the good Lord'll +find a way to help you fer the sake o' Jim and the childer," Nancy +said, encouragingly, and then she went into the kitchen to direct +Bennet in the preparation of the broth, the baby still tucked under her +arm, sleeping peacefully. +</P> + +<P> +It was almost midnight when Nancy arrived at the tavern. She carried a +key for the front door, and passed up through the deserted hallway to +her room. A child's heavy breathing a few feet away told her that +Katie Duncan was in dreamland. Jennie had left a lamp burning low on +her table, and Nancy carried it over to the cot and looked at the +little plump face of her latest adoption. "Her own mother would smile +down from Hiven if she could see her now," she thought. Presently she +set the lamp back on the table, and ensconced herself comfortably in +her capacious rocking-chair. Directly in front of her, two photos were +tacked on the wall, side by side, and her eyes centred upon them. One +was that of a boy, sitting upright, dressed in a suit of clothes +old-fashioned in cut and a size too large for his body. The other, +that of a young man with an open, smiling countenance, a very high +collar, and a coat of immaculate neatness of fit. It was a strange +contrast, but Nancy saw them through the eye of a proud mother. A +debate progressed within her mind for some time, and then she arose, +with decision prominently expressed in her every movement. She +unlocked a small drawer in the ancient black walnut bureau and withdrew +a tattered wallet. Returning to her seat, she carefully spread out the +contents, counting the value of each crumpled bill as she laid it on +her knee. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not afeard o' old John Keene. There's sufficient to pay him his +interest, and plenty left to keep Mary O'Neil at the hospital for a +month or two," she muttered. She replaced the money with a sigh, but +it was of pleasure, for Nancy never felt a pang when she had a good +action to perform. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning she sent Jennie over for Father Doyle, the parish priest. +The good man was always pleased to call on Nancy, because she was a +life-long friend, and her solid common-sense often helped him over the +many difficulties which were continually cropping up in his work. +</P> + +<P> +"It's something that has to be done at once, Father Doyle, and I think +it lies with me to do it," she said, after they had gossiped awhile. +</P> + +<P> +"I've known Mary O'Neil since she was the size o' my Katie, and many a +day have I watched her and my boy Corney, as they played, before +McVeigh was taken. It's no fault o' hers that their cupboard is empty, +and it's something I can do that will not lose its value because of the +habits o' the husband. But ye must arrange a compact with Bennet not +to take another drop if I help him. He loves his wife and would be a +good man to her if he could control his appetite." +</P> + +<P> +"But ye will be damaging your trade with your precious sentiments," +Father Doyle remarked, to test, in a joking way, the principles of his +charitable parishioner. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm no excusin' my business, Father Doyle, and ye've known me long +enough to leave off askin' me such questions. I have never taken the +bread out o' a livin' creature's mouth yet, to my knowledge, and +another might run a much, rougher house, should I give it up." +</P> + +<P> +"It's only a joke, I'm telling you," put in the priest, hastily; then +he added, kindly, "You are a strange woman, Nancy McVeigh, and the road +is no longer for your open doorway and the free pump. I have a mind to +put in half of the amount with you in this case, though it is only one +of many that I would do something to help if I could." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank ye, Father Doyle. Ye have a keen understandin' o' what is good +yerself; but ye'll be sure to name the compact with Bennet," cautioned +Nancy, as she counted out fifty dollars from her assortment of bills. +</P> + +<P> +"That I will," he answered. +</P> + +<P> +The priest immediately went over to the Bennet place, and called the +husband aside before mentioning his errand. He had long waited for +some chance to secure an advantage over his thriftless neighbor, and +now that it had come he drove it home with all the solemnity and +earnestness that he could command. Bennet listened with eyes staring +at the earth, and the veins throbbing in his bared neck, until the talk +had reached a point where he must promise. +</P> + +<P> +"Father Doyle," he began, thickly, "I have been a sad failure since the +day ye married me to Mary O'Neil, and Nancy McVeigh's tavern has been a +curse to me an' mine; but, if ye will do this fer me, I'll swear never +to touch a drop again." +</P> + +<P> +"Say nothing against Mistress McVeigh. You owe her more than you +think," Father Doyle interjected sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," admitted Bennet, grudgingly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a compact, then," the priest observed, smiling away the wrinkles +of severity, and they clasped hands over it. +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon a covered rig passed by the tavern while the hostess was +serving the wants of a few who had stepped in. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Jim Bennet, takin' his wife to the hospital. Poor thing, she'll +find a deal more comfort there than in her own home!" Nancy explained, +in answer to the exclamations of curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a wonder he doesn't stop for a drink," one of the bystanders +remarked. But Nancy did not heed it, for she was thinking of two +children playing in the road when she had a husband to shoulder the +heavier duties of life. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE ANTAGONISM OF MISS PIPER.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Miss Sophia Piper had passed that period of life popularly known on the +Monk Road as the matrimonial age. She had reached that second stage of +unwed womanhood when interest in material things supersedes that of +sentiment. She no longer sighed as she gazed down the stretch of walk, +lined with rose hedge, that led from the verandah of her Cousin James' +home to the Monk Road gateway, for there was no one in the wide world +who might desire to catch her waiting on the step. Bachelors, +especially young ones, were a silly set to her, useful only to girls +who had time to waste on them. Her time was too precious, and she +prided herself somewhat on the fact. +</P> + +<P> +True, she had had her day. She well remembered that, and even boasted +of it. Off-hand she could name a half-dozen men who once would have +accepted the custody of her heart with alacrity, but she was too +discerning. The Piper standard on the feminine side of the family was +raised high, and he must be an immortal, indeed, who climbed to its +dizzy height. She was past thirty-five, and had no regrets. She was a +close student of the Bible, and brought one text from it into her own +life. "When I was a child I played as a child, but now that I am old I +have put aside childish things." She often quoted this in defence of +her industrious maidenhood. +</P> + +<P> +She really felt that she had an object in life to accomplish, one that +was wider than personal benefit. She occupied the chair as President +of the Church Aid. For five years she had been the delegate to the +County Temperance Convention. She was also a regular contributor to +the religious columns of a city newspaper, and she held many other +responsible duties within her keeping. Then, her cousin, James Piper, +had three children to bring up properly, and their mother was dead. +This work, along with the superintendence of the domestic features of +his home, gave her plenty to fill up any spare time which she might +have had. She took a pardonable pride in her station in the little +community that knew her, yet above all she strove to exercise a fitting +humility of spirit. +</P> + +<P> +Her face was a pleasant one to see, shapely almost to prettiness, but +growing thin and sharp-featured; though bright, smiling eyes made her +appear more youthful than her years. Her hair, smoothed back from her +forehead, was streaked with grey, and harmonized perfectly with the +purity of her countenance. +</P> + +<P> +Despite her brave front and ever-abundant faculty to console others, +she had known trouble of a kind that would have crushed others of +weaker nature. From early girlhood she had been alone, her parents +having died within a year of each other before she had passed her +fifteenth birthday. She had no sisters, and her only brother had +widened the gap between them by a life of recklessness. +</P> + +<P> +Tom Piper was the exact antithesis of his sister. A good fellow with +everybody, and liked accordingly; none too particular in his choice of +comrades; a spendthrift, and unable to apply himself for long at any +one occupation, 'twas a fortunate circumstance that Cousin James took +in his orphan sister, otherwise she would have had the additional +burden of poverty to harass her endeavors to sustain the respectability +of the family. Tom might also have made his home with his cousin, but +he showed no inclination to accept such charity. He was older than his +sister, and quite able to take care of himself, so he thought. He +secured work with a firm of timber contractors, and almost immediately +disappeared into the wide expanse of pine in northern Ontario. +Occasionally he wrote to his sister, and in his letters his big heart +stood out so clearly that even her strict code of propriety could not +stay the tears of sympathy which blotted his already bedaubed +scribbling. When spring came, and the logs had been rafted down the +river, leaving the timber men a few months of well-earned idleness, +Tom's first action was to hasten out to the Monk Road to visit Sophia, +and a very unconventional caller he proved to be. The rough life had +taken off much of his exterior polish, but otherwise he was the same +good-natured Tom, generous to a fault, and, therefore, blessed with but +little to give. These were grand opportunities for Sophia, and she +lectured him roundly for his loose habits. She told him that he could +have a good position in the neighboring town, and society more in +keeping with the ancestors of the Pipers, should he so desire. But he +always answered her with a laugh that echoed strangely through the +quiet decorum of Cousin Jim's big house, then he kissed her for her +advice. +</P> + +<P> +"Never fear, little girl, I will never do any great harm either to you +or the family. It is my way of enjoying life, and I guess I am a free +agent. But keep on in your good work, and it will do for the both of +us. I have brought something with me to brighten your eyes, sister. +This will buy new clothes for you." +</P> + +<P> +While he spoke, he counted out and handed over to her a large share of +his winter's wages. This always made Sophia cry, and she would forget +her scoldings for the balance of his stay. +</P> + +<P> +As Tom grew older, tales travelled ahead of him, of his reckless +spending and his drinking while in town. Cousin Jim heard them first, +and he took Tom to task sharply whenever he met him. Then Sophia +learned the truth, and her heart was almost broken. She prayed for her +brother, and wept over him when he came to see her, and was rewarded +with promises which were broken as soon as her influence had worn off. +Gradually a coldness grew between them. Tom, obstinately set in his +way, and angry at the continued interference of his sister and cousin; +Sophia hurt by his neglect and bitter from the sting of his disgraceful +conduct; and Cousin Jim, hard, matter-of-fact business man that he was, +refused to extend even the courtesy of a speaking acquaintance. So +affairs ran along very unhappily, until, at last, Sophia determined to +forget that Tom was her brother, and henceforth she put her whole soul +into a crusade against sin, and Nancy McVeigh's tavern soon came under +the ban of her displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy's place was four miles from town on the Monk Road, and Tom Piper +had found it a convenient spot for rest and refreshment, both going and +returning from his visit to Cousin Jim's. Sophia had often warned him +against the house, saying that it was an evil den, peopled with the +thriftless scourings of the countryside, and presided over by a sort of +human she-devil, who waited by the window to coax wayfarers in to buy +her vile drinks. Tom answered by repeating some of the good acts +traceable to Nancy McVeigh's door. He explained to her that the +hostess was just a poor, hard-worked woman, who reaped small reward for +her labors, and divided what she got with any who might be in need of +it. He also told of waifs whom Nancy had mothered and fed from her own +cupboard until they were old enough to shift for themselves. But +Sophia was firm in her convictions, and only permitted herself to know +one side of the story. +</P> + +<P> +"No good can come out of that tavern," she had said, with a stamp of +her foot and a fire in her eye that forbade contradiction. +</P> + +<P> +Through the vale of years Sophia never forgot the grudge, and when she +made herself an influence in the highest circles of reform, she turned +with grim persistence to the agitation for the cancelling of the tavern +license. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy McVeigh, the woman against whom this thunderbolt was to be +launched, kept patiently at her work. She had heard of the efforts +being put forth, and often wondered why the great people bothered about +one of so little consequence as herself. She did not fight back, as +she had nothing to defend, but waited calmly, telling her neighbors, +when they came to gossip, that they need not worry her with news of it +at all. +</P> + +<P> +Sophia championed her pet theme at the County Convention, and carried +it to an issue where she and a committee were empowered to wait on the +License Board with a strong plea in favor of the abolition of the +tavern. The three stout gentlemen who listened to their petition were +all good men who had families of their own and wanted as little evil as +possible abroad to tempt their boys from the better path. They gave a +long night's deliberation to the question, and then brought in a +verdict that they would extend Nancy's rights for another year. Sophia +was completely overcome by the decision, and straightway sought out one +of the Commissioners, a friend of Cousin Jim's, whom she knew quite +intimately. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you do it?" she asked wrathfully. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Miss Piper," he replied, "perhaps you have not realized that +Nancy McVeigh has a heart as big as a bushel basket, and we can find no +instance where she has abused the power which she holds. If we take it +away from her, some other will step into her place, and he might be ten +times worse." +</P> + +<P> +Sophia brought the interview to a close very abruptly, and went home +angry and unshaken in her resolve; but an unexpected event changed the +course of her meditation. Cousin Jim was planning a winter's stay in +California for her and his children. She needed the rest and change, +and so did the youngsters. Their preparations were completed in a few +days, and the big house was closed. Thus the questions which had +raised such an excitement were shelved for a more convenient season. +</P> + +<P> +It was in the spring of the next year that Jennie, Nancy McVeigh's +adopted daughter, brought her the news from town of Tom Piper's illness. +</P> + +<P> +"The poor fellow's goin' fast, wi' consumption, and he's at the +'ospital. It was Dan Conors who told me, an' he said, 'Tom hasn't a +dollar fer the luxuries he requires,'" Jennie explained. Nancy's face +relaxed somewhat from its habitually austere expression when Jennie had +finished. +</P> + +<P> +"The idee o' that lad dyin', forsaken like that, an' his own sister +gallivantin' about California. It's past me understandin' entirely," +she remarked, as she fastened on her widow's bonnet and threw her heavy +shawl over her shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell Will Devitt to harness the mare, and I'll go and see what can be +done fer him." +</P> + +<P> +Nancy arrived at the hospital late in the afternoon, and was admitted +to the sick man's bedside. She found him delirious and unable to +recognize her, but instead he called her "Sophia." +</P> + +<P> +"It's so good of you to come, Sophia. I knew you would," he kept +repeating as he clasped her hand in his. All that night Nancy stayed +by him, attending to his wants with the skill of a mother, and soothing +him by her words. +</P> + +<P> +In the morning he died. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess it will be the potter's field," the hospital doctor told her, +when she inquired about the burial. "He came here almost penniless, +and has been in the ward six weeks." +</P> + +<P> +Nancy gazed into space while she made some hasty mental computations. +"What balance is due ye?" she asked, suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor produced a modest bill, at half the current rate, amounting +to twenty-five dollars. It meant a good week's business out of Nancy's +pocket, but she paid it without objection. "I want the body sent to my +tavern out on the Monk Road, sir, and ye can complete all arrangements +fer a decent Christian funeral, an' I'll pay all the expenses," she +said, before leaving. She went to the telegraph office and left +instructions to wire to all the known addresses of Miss Sophia Piper; +then, satisfied with her day's work, she hurried home. +</P> + +<P> +The tavern bar was closed during the two days while the body lay in the +little parlor, and callers came and went on tiptoe, and spoke only in +whispers. A steady stream of roughly dressed people, river-men and +their friends, struggled over the four miles of snowy road to pay their +last respects to the dead, and some brought flowers bundled awkwardly +in their arms. +</P> + +<P> +The night preceding the funeral, two great, long-limbed fellows, +wearing top-boots, came stumbling into the tavern, more noisily because +of their clumsy efforts at gentleness. Nancy knew them as former +friends of Tom Piper, so she led them in at once. The men took the +limit of the time usually spent there, and yet they were loath to go, +and Nancy guessed that they had something further to say but scarcely +knew how to commence. She encouraged them a little, and finally one +spoke up. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye see, Mistress McVeigh, Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal o' +ours, an' we hate to see ye stuck for the full expenses o' this +funeral. God knows we owe him plenty fer the generous way he stayed by +his mates, an' we don't want him receivin' charity from no one. We had +a meetin' o' the lot o' us down town las' night, and every man put in +his share to make Tom right with the world. We've got fifty-five +dollars here, and we want ye to take it." +</P> + +<P> +The men counted out the money on the table, silver and bills of small +amounts, until it made quite an imposing pile, then they placed a piece +of paper upon it, with the words, written very badly, "For Tommy, from +his pals." +</P> + +<P> +They looked towards Nancy, and her averted face was wet. She did not +sob, yet tears were streaming down her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +Sophia Piper was home in ten days, having received a message after +considerable delay. The resident minister met her at the station and +comforted her as well as his kindly soul knew how. He told her all the +circumstances connected with the death and burial of her brother, and +took particular pains to place Nancy McVeigh's part in it in its true +light, as he had a warm spot in his heart for the old tavern-keeper. +They drove together out to the home of Cousin Jim, where the servants +had opened the house in preparation for their coming. The +weather-stained gable of Nancy McVeigh's tavern, like some old familiar +face, came into view by the way, and Sophia asked to be set down at the +door. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy, tall, angular and sympathetic, walked into her parlor to meet +her guest. +</P> + +<P> +The minister did not stay, but left them together, the younger woman +sobbing on the breast of the older, who bent over and stroked the +troubled head softly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>JOHN KEENE'S EDUCATION.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +"If the world had no mean people, there'd be little use fer kindness," +remarked Nancy McVeigh to Moore, the operator at the railway junction, +who always enjoyed a smoke and a half-hour chat with his hostess after +his midday meal. They were discussing the escapades of young John +Keene in the little parlor upstairs, whither Mistress McVeigh had gone +to complete a batch of home-knit socks for her son, Cornelius, who +lived in Chicago. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't understand such a difference in the natures of father and +son," Moore continued, after Nancy's interruption. "The father starts +life penniless, without education, friends or business training. He +settles in a locality where the majority of his neighbors find it a +heart-breaking struggle to make ends meet, and amasses a fortune. Such +a performance in a country where business is brisk and natural +facilities favorable to the manipulations of a clever man would not be +so surprising, but we all know the Monk Road has no gold mines or +streams of commerce to disturb its dreamlike serenity." +</P> + +<P> +A tone of irony pervaded Moore's words, for he was past forty, and had +but a paltry bank account and a living salary to show for his ten +years' sojourn in the place. +</P> + +<P> +"Compare the father's record with that of his son. The boy is given +all the advantages that money can obtain, and plenty of time for +growth, and he has also the example of his parent. Why, the lad was +the terror of the school, never out of mischief, and costing his father +a pretty sum to keep him from serious consequences. Before he was +fifteen he spent his Saturdays carousing with the wildest set in the +town, and incidentally built up a very unenviable reputation. Then he +was sent to a city college. Did you hear the rumors that came back of +what he did there?" +</P> + +<P> +"There was some talk," Nancy agreed. +</P> + +<P> +"Talk! Mistress McVeigh; downright scandal, I should call it! I know +he was expelled for attending a party at the Principal's own home in an +intoxicated condition, and afterwards fighting with a teacher who +undertook to reprimand him." +</P> + +<P> +Nancy looked up from her knitting, and an amused twinkle was in her +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"The lad sowed wild oats sure enough, Mr. Moore, and good, tall ones, +with full heads at that, but he's only an image o' his father, in that +old John's recklessness runs to makin' money, and young John's to +spendin'. It's not that I like bringin' up bygones, but the father was +a bit loose in his day, too. I can remember, before old John married, +he would come from town takin' the width o' the road fer his path, and +singin' at the top o' his voice something he learnt out o' a Burns' +book o' poetry. It was the wife that he brought from the city, bless +her good soul, that turned his work into a gold-mine. She guided him +out o' his evil way and kept him hard at his dealin's from morning till +night. It'll be the same with young John. He's spendin' his money +now, and makin' the whole countryside ring with his pranks, but a foine +miss'll spy him out some day, and then his mind'll forget his throat +and dwell on his pocket. He'll never fail, fer he takes after his +mother in the face, and she was the envy of the people the length o' +the Monk Road, and farther. It's an old woman I'm gettin' now, an' +I've watched many young men developin' character, an' I'm just a bit o' +a judge. Ye'll admit I've had a grand opportunity to study their evil +side, and what I don't see is told me by the neighbors; then their good +side turns up after awhile, like a rainbow after a shower. I find it +takes wise men to be really bad ones, but, after they've learnt their +lesson, they see what a dried-up skeleton an evil life is, and then +it's a race to make up fer their wasted years. Course, if a fool is +led into idle habits, he must be led out again, and it's doubtful +whether the process is very purifyin'. But it's different when a man +like John Keene's son sees the error o' his ways. I tell ye, Mr. +Moore, it's only a question o' time, an' young John'll be as set as his +father, but he'll no be as tight, I'm thinkin'. He's got his mother's +heart, ye know." +</P> + +<P> +"You have rare assurance in the strength of human nature, Mistress +McVeigh. Perhaps it is because you're fairly strong in that quarter +yourself," commented Mr. Moore, after he had digested Nancy's crude +philosophy. +</P> + +<P> +A smile crept into the corners of Nancy's mouth at the compliment, and +she let it rest there a few minutes before replying. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye've noticed that young John's a regular visitor at the tavern +lately?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I have." +</P> + +<P> +"Doubtless ye think I'm profitin' mightily with the money he passes +over my bar." +</P> + +<P> +"The gain will do you no good if you are," Moore declared, stoutly. +His hostess was a very plain-spoken woman, and he knew that he could be +equally outspoken and yet incur no disfavor. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy lingered over his remark, carefully revolving its significance in +her mind before attempting to defend herself. +</P> + +<P> +"Tavern-keepin' is a mighty peculiar business, Mr. Moore. Ye're open +to a lot o' criticism, and sometimes ye know in yer heart it's not +quite fair. When I was married, my friends thought the inn would be a +foine chance fer us to get along, so McVeigh bought it. I cooked good +vittals, and waited on table meself in those days, an' times were +brisk, because the railroad was bein' built past our door. Then +McVeigh died, an' I had to stay by the old place, because I had nowhere +else to go. 'Twas after that people began accusin' me o' fattenin' on +the bones o' their misfortunes. And d'ye know why?" +</P> + +<P> +Moore remained silent, but his looks were expectant, so Nancy +continued: "Because I was makin' enough money to pay me debts with and +keep a respectable house. I have always endeavored to give honest +value, and let no man go beyond his means in the spendin'. Of course, +I must have my trade, fer my expenses are high, seein' that I keep a +few children about me whom nobody else wants, an' I have my Corney to +do fer occasionally, but I never made more'n I could comfortably get +along with. My interest to John Keene is no such a small item, an' why +should I refuse if the son helps me to pay it with his trade? It's no +so unjust, ye see. But, for all that, I have a mother's love for young +John. Ever since he was ten years old I have carried him into town in +me buggy, wheniver he had a mind to go. Ye see, he an' me had some +great talks then, an' since he brings all his troubles to me. While +other people have been blamin' him fer his capers I've been makin' up +my mind whether he will turn into the right again or no." +</P> + +<P> +"And what think you about him now?" questioned Moore, won into a more +conciliatory frame of mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye can mark my words, Mr. Moore, the day is not far distant when young +John Keene'll be the most respected man in the country." +</P> + +<P> +Moore laughed doubtfully as he said, "I hope so," and then hurried out, +for it was past the hour when he should be at work. The day was very +warm, and the sun's rays smote the grey sand of the Monk Road, +reflecting back with trebled intensity. The traffic had ceased +completely, and the quietness of Nancy McVeigh's tavern was +undisturbed. Old Donald lay asleep in the haymow above the barn. Will +Devitt had gone to town early in the morning, and Jennie and Katie +Duncan were over at the cool edge of the lake, which lay a half-mile +down the side road. Nancy was still sitting in the little parlor, but +her knitting had dropped from her fingers, her eyes were closed, and +her head pillowed against the chair-back. +</P> + +<P> +A sudden noise awakened her, and going to the top of the stairs she saw +two ladies hesitating in the entrance, as if they wished to come in but +were somewhat doubtful of their welcome. One she recognized as Miss +Sophia Piper, the housekeeper for James Piper, who owned the big house +down the road; the other was a much younger woman and a stranger. +</P> + +<P> +"Come up to my parlor, ladies," she invited, wondering what meant this +unexpected visit. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Mrs. McVeigh," called Miss Piper, and the two of them +ascended the stairs and took the seats which Nancy pushed into the +middle of the room, dusting them carefully with her apron as she did +so. Miss Piper had shown a kindly feeling to Nancy ever since the +death of her brother Tom, and she addressed the tall, grey-haired woman +before her with a cordiality of manner and a lack of reserve unusual in +her conversations with the commoners of the countryside. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you are well, Mrs. McVeigh," she began, as she seated herself +comfortably. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not complainin', miss," Nancy answered. +</P> + +<P> +"I've brought my dear friend Miss Trevor with me because we are both +very anxious to do a little missionary work for the benefit of a mutual +acquaintance whom we are interested in," Miss Piper explained with +winning directness. +</P> + +<P> +"Indade, Miss Piper, an' ye think I can help ye, doubtless." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, we are sure of it. It's Mr. Keene that we wish to speak about." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye mean young John, of course," Nancy interrupted, as a smile gathered +slowly over her rugged face. +</P> + +<P> +"Young Mr. Keene, yes. I was his Sunday-school teacher, years ago, but +since then, I am afraid, I have lost touch with him, until recently, +when Miss Trevor brought him back to my mind." +</P> + +<P> +"It's about his drinking," Miss Piper continued, nervously, as if at a +loss to know how to broach the subject without giving offence. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye come to blame me fer servin' him, I suppose?" Nancy suggested, +without the slightest trace of animosity in her tones. +</P> + +<P> +"We don't blame you, Mrs. McVeigh. Please do not misunderstand our +intentions. The fact is, we know you to be—er—different from most +women, and your house is your living, but Mr. Keene is a young man with +an exceptionally bright future, if he will only settle down to it. I +have heard a great deal about you, Mrs. McVeigh, and I know the +goodness of your heart from the part you took at Brother Tom's death. +We were sure of your co-operation, and that is why we have come to you." +</P> + +<P> +"And what can I do?" Nancy asked, kindly. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop his drinking, please," burst out the younger woman, impetuously, +and then she blushed furiously, while Miss Piper frowned. Nancy, +however, let the remark pass unnoticed, and asked, with feigned +innocence, "Is he yer young man, Miss Trevor?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl, for she was easily under twenty-one, was more embarrassed +than ever at the keen intuition of the old tavern-keeper, and an +awkward silence ensued, during which Miss Piper vainly tried to say +something to bring the conversation back to more conventional lines. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you love him?" Nancy questioned further, relentless in her desire +to enjoy the privileges of being a confidant in Miss Piper's plans. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Trevor would have answered haughtily enough if it had been an +ordinary acquaintance who thus probed into her secrets, but the strong, +trustful influence of this woman humbled her into a school-girl +demeanor. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she answered, simply, and Miss Piper became more uncomfortable. +</P> + +<P> +"Does he know it?" Nancy persisted. +</P> + +<P> +"No,—er—perhaps. Oh, Mrs. McVeigh, you seem to have taken all my +sense out of me," the girl gasped, helplessly, and covered her crimson +face with her handkerchief. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad to know this. Begging your pardon, Miss Piper, but if you +come to me fer advice I must have more than half-truths. I've known +Johnny Keene since he was a baby, and it's little good I've to his +credit either, but I'm no sayin' it's not there. He takes after his +mother, ye know. He's about run his course, and if Miss Trevor will +take the word of an ould woman, who has learned from long experience, +I'm thinkin' he'll be a good man fer her." +</P> + +<P> +"You think so?" asked Miss Piper, brightening up. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure of it, miss; it's in the blood, so it is." +</P> + +<P> +The three women were now on a basis of plain understanding, and the +balance of the conversation was easier and productive of results. +After the two had departed, Nancy sat a long time gazing out of the +window, and pondering the situation which had arisen. She did not +entertain a doubt as to the ultimate fulfilment of her prophecies, but +she wondered how long. The afternoon waned into evening, and she had a +grand opportunity to knit and think, which two occupations were her +chief enjoyments. +</P> + +<P> +After supper, the usual company dropped into the bar. It was the +common meeting-place for gossip and good-fellowship, and during the +early hours Will Devitt did a lively business. But a curious change +was taking place within Nancy McVeigh. From her rocker, in the rear +apartment, where she and the girls spent their evenings, she could hear +the loud laughs and talking that passed between her customers, mingled +with the clink of glasses, and the noise was offensive to her. The +thought repeated itself in her mind, Was the continued harassing of her +teetotaller friends awakening a new phase in her life? For the first +time, perhaps, since her deceased husband had bought the tavern, her +surrounding's appeared distasteful, and almost sordid. More than once +she arose and walked into the bar, where her presence was the signal +for doffing of caps and a lowering of voices. She went for no +particular purpose, and the men who were buying her liquor were +surprised at the frown and curt replies which they received to their +greetings. +</P> + +<P> +"Nancy's in a bad humor," blurted one old fellow, who was a nightly +caller, as she turned her back. Mistress McVeigh heard the remark, and +it aroused her anger more than she would have cared to admit. She +retraced her steps, and her glance wandered severely over the +half-dozen men present. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye should be at home with yer wife, Mr. Malone, and not wastin' yer +toime waitin' about my premises fer some one to buy ye a drink," she +said to the man who had spoken. +</P> + +<P> +Malone laughed foolishly, and treated her words as a joke. He was on +the verge of a maudlin state, and prepared to contest his rights to be +there. +</P> + +<P> +"Another drink, Mr. Devitt, and a glass all round," he blustered, +throwing a piece of silver on to the bar. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mr. Malone, ye have had yer fill, an' it's no more ye'll git the +night," Nancy insisted. +</P> + +<P> +Malone grumbled a reply, and some of the others took sides with him, +and their demands were aggressively loud. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell ye, it's no more liquor'll be served in this bar to-night," +Nancy again declared, and stepping from behind, she began a steady +movement towards the door. The men shot a few irresolute glances at +Will Devitt, but his face gave no encouragement to disobey, and +gradually they dispersed, all but Malone, who had a wish to be +troublesome. His mutiny was short-lived, however, for Nancy's fingers +suddenly clutched his collar, and she precipitated him on to the +verandah, with scarce an apparent effort. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not well the night, Will, and the noise hurts my head," she +explained to Will Devitt, as she passed into her sitting-room. +</P> + +<P> +A crunching of wheels sounded from the roadway, and presently a rig +came to a stop in the open sheds. Boisterous talking ensued, and then +four young men came into the light of the hallway. They were all well +dressed, and of a different class to the usual run of custom. +</P> + +<P> +"Ho, Mistress McVeigh, a room please, and a few bottles of the best in +your house." Almost simultaneously Nancy appeared, and a tolerant +smile again hovered in the corners of her mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"Faith, an' are ye back again, John Keene?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I am, most assuredly; who could pass your welcome doorway without +dropping in?" young John answered, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"It's high time ye quit yer loose ways," Nancy commenced, trying to +frown, but her voice had none of the harshness of her previous +ill-humor. +</P> + +<P> +"No preaching, now, Mistress McVeigh," young John interposed, as he +flung his arm affectionately across her shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're always takin' advantage of a poor ould woman," Nancy retorted, +good-naturedly, as she led the way upstairs to the parlor, where Jennie +had already placed a lamp. +</P> + +<P> +"I've a bad head the night, sirs, so I'll be thankful if ye make no +noise," she said, before descending the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +The hours passed quietly enough, and, when it was closing time, she +ordered Will Devitt to lock up the house and blow out the lights. The +four young men still occupied the parlor, and the steady cadence of +their voices came down to her. Will Devitt had supplied their order at +the commencement, so that it was unnecessary to give them any further +attention. It had been the rule for young John Keene and his +companions to stay as long as it pleased them, and, when they had +finished, to let themselves out with a key which he had coaxed out of +the indulgent hostess. Nancy knew that young John was using her rooms +for gambling purposes. At first the knowledge disturbed her peace of +mind, and she had determined to speak to him about it, but after mature +consideration, her theory that until his sin had lost its pleasure it +would be only driving him away from under her watchful eye to +interfere, made her decide to wait. +</P> + +<P> +"Sin in the loikes o' young John Keene is the same as a person +sufferin' from the fever, and no remedy can successfully combat its +ravages until the poison has worn itself out," she declared to Jennie, +who had mildly criticised the appearance of the room after a night's +occupation. The night previous to the call of Miss Piper and her +friend young John had held Nancy in a serious conversation. From it +she gathered that his conscience was disturbed, for he had made +repeated references to his losses at the game, and vowed that could he +forsake his idle habits without running the gauntlet of his friends' +derision, he would be better pleased with himself. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis the work of a lady, Mistress McVeigh," he had confessed, and +Nancy went to her bed with a light heart when she heard of it. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy did not retire after Will Devitt had reported everything closed +for the night. Instead, she went to her room and started a letter to +Corney, her second effort in that direction in three months. Her +correspondence was one of the sweetest trials of her existence. She +took weeks of silent reflection between her busy spells to plan out +what she would write before she was satisfied to take up her pen, and +then her trouble began in earnest. This night it was next to +impossible to compose her thoughts, as young John Keene's affairs had +been thrust before her with startling vividness. The midnight hour +passed, and still she sat by her little table, with pen lying flat on +the paper and a great daub spreading outward from its point. Her head +dropped upon her arm, and she was dreaming of Corney. The disturbance +of the party breaking up in the adjoining room made her eyes open, and +she listened intently, for she had a premonition that she had not seen +the last of them. The men were talking in low tones, but with evident +suppressed passion. Presently one spoke up clearly, as if in temper, +and then she heard John Keene laugh, but it was a bitter, mirthless +sound, as he replied, "I tell you, lads, I'm done with you all, so +clear out; and I'll bide here till morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, do as you d— please," the one addressed answered, and then a +scuffling of feet echoed in the passage and went noisily down the +stair. Nancy waited until they had closed the entrance door behind +them, and then she stole out on tiptoe into the hallway. The door of +the room which they left was ajar, and the lamp's rays struck out +brightly from it. She stepped over and looked in cautiously. As she +expected, young John was still there, seated tightly against the table, +a pile of cards and some stained glasses in front of him. Something in +his hand, and on which he was bestowing much attention, made her gulp +down a sudden choking sensation. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me that gun, Johnny," she called, softly. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-046"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-046.jpg" ALT=""'Give me that gun, Johnny,' she called, softly."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="403" HEIGHT="588"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 403px"> +"'Give me that gun, Johnny,' she called, softly." +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"God! how you frightened me!" the young man ejaculated, as he wheeled +around, and then continued shamefacedly: "I was just thinking of my +mother, and wondering if she could see me now, when you spoke. I +almost thought it was her voice." +</P> + +<P> +Nancy stood over him, her masterful eyes looking into his, and her +great hand reaching outwards. He laughed recklessly, but he handed her +the weapon. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Johnny, I want ye to tell me all about it," she said, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. McVeigh, I don't deserve your kindness. I'm not fit. But you +are the only person in the world to whom I can turn. Those cads who +just left me fleece me to my face, and then tell me I'm a fool to let +them do it. My father has no faith in me. He never tried to find out +if there was any good in my rotten carcass. And there is another who +has weighed me in the balance of her judgment and found me sadly +wanting." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Johnny, it's no like yerself to be talkin' like that. Haven't I +told ye that yer conscience would rise up and smite ye. It's yer own +fault that yer frien's are droppin' from ye like rats from a sinkin' +ship. Yer plan o' life has been wrong, an' yer friends have been a +curse to ye, an' it's only yer manhood and that gal who kin save ye +now." A fire burned in Nancy's eyes as she gazed at him, and John +Keene felt a thrill of power, as if her strength was eating into his +veins. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know the worst, Mrs. McVeigh, but I am ready to confess, and +I don't expect you to pity me after I have spoken. I have cashed a +forged note against my father at the bank for three hundred dollars, +and the money is gone." +</P> + +<P> +Nancy bent near to him and whispered as if telling her unspoken +thoughts, "Ye have done wrong by yer father's money, John!" +</P> + +<P> +The young man put his face in his hands and rocked to and fro for some +minutes, while his body shook with suppressed emotion. A great joy +surged through Nancy McVeigh's being, and her hand stole lovingly over +his head and rested there. She knew that the change was upon him, and +if victory came of it, John Keene of the past would be forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +"Johnny, I've a letter from Corney in Chicago, and he says he could +find a place fer just such a man as you. Ye must take it and work +hard, and the first money ye earn ye must use it to make it right with +your father." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twould be sending me to hell to go there," John replied, looking up: +and then, as if his answer was not as he wished, he was about to speak +again, but Nancy continued in even tones: +</P> + +<P> +"There was a certain young lass—I'll no tell ye her name, but she is +fit fer the best man in the world—came to me to-day and asked me to +speak to ye fer her sake. Man, ye must be up and doin', fer she loves +ye. She told me so with her own lips. Ye can go away fer two years. +It's no time fer youngsters to abide, and when ye have proved yerself, +come back an' she'll be waitin' and proud o' ye." +</P> + +<P> +Young John Keene slowly rose to his feet. He took Nancy's hand in his +and looked her squarely in the eye. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not joking, Mrs. McVeigh?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"As I hope to live, John Keene, I'm tellin' ye the honest truth," she +replied. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll do it," he muttered, hoarsely. +</P> + +<P> +When Nancy went to her bed she gazed awhile at the two photos tacked on +the wall, then at the sleeping face of Katie Duncan. "I've won him, +thank God!" she murmured, and fell asleep smiling. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE WRECK AT THE JUNCTION.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +The widow McVeigh's face was a picture of sobriety, in fact, almost +severity. The features were conspicuous because of the abrupt falling +in of her cheeks, and her grey eyes were deep set and touched at the +corners by plenteous crowsfeet. Yet when the world looked at her +casually it saw a smiling countenance. Some thought her face hard, and +the smile bold rather than a kindly one; others, that she was of coarse +intellect and smiled because she could not appreciate the daily trials +and troubles of the poor. These opinions were more generally shared by +the good temperance folk of the neighborhood and in the town. They +only saw a tall, grey-haired woman, standing amidst the surroundings of +a ramshackle inn of the country road, and taking toll from the rougher +classes that passed to and fro. But had they probed farther into her +life they might have unearthed the beautiful from the clay. +</P> + +<P> +Moore, the operator at the railroad junction, was a patron of Nancy +McVeigh's tavern, of ten years' duration. He was a quiet fellow, a +plodder at his work, and without great ambitions. He knew his signals, +the hour when trains were due, the words that the ticker in his little +glass office spoke occasionally, and so far he was valuable to the +Company. He never had had an accident, and because of his reliability +his employers thought of him once every two or three years and added a +hundred dollars to his salary. They made no allowance for illness or +holidays, and it was Moore's proudest boast that he had never missed a +day in all that time. One afternoon the superintendent stopped his car +at the Junction and called the little man into his sanctum. Moore +chatted with him for an hour or so, and that night his face was radiant +as he smoked a pipe after supper and retold the conversation to Mrs. +McVeigh. "It will mean higher pay and more responsibility," he +observed, with a self-satisfied smile. +</P> + +<P> +"And they'll make it a reg'lar station, ye say?" Nancy asked. +</P> + +<P> +"That they will, Mrs. McVeigh. A company of city men are going to buy +a large portion of the point and build on it a summer hotel. Then the +people will be coming by the hundreds during the hot season, and +there'll be baggage to check, tickets to sell, and a great deal of +extra work. I am to have assistants, and a young fellow to handle the +key, and I'll be stationmaster. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye'll be gettin' married, surely?" suggested Nancy, with a sly twinkle +in her eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, no saying, but it will be a sore trial for me to quit your +board," Moore answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye understand I'm becomin' fairly old fer the tavern, and if those +city men build a big house an' put in a big stock of liquors I guess +there'll be no more fightin' about the license." +</P> + +<P> +Moore deprecated any such result, and endeavored to argue Nancy into a +like belief, but in his heart he knew that she was speaking the truth, +and he really felt sorry for her. +</P> + +<P> +From that day Moore began to study his work with greater zeal. +Morning, afternoon and nighttime found him at his post, and the +thoughts of his prospective advancement seemed to worry him. He grew +thin on it, and also took a severe cold while tramping back and forth +during bad weather. He would not take time to secure a doctor's +advice, nor would he listen to Nancy when she scolded him for his +neglect. The summer passed and the first brush of snow had come and +yet he would not give in. His chief sent a letter explaining that the +planned changes would go into effect the following spring. The news +only added a glitter to his eye and a stimulant to his anxiety to prove +his worth, but his cough still remained. +</P> + +<P> +"The man'll break down and spoil everythin'," Nancy predicted to a +crowd of gossips in her bar. Her prophecy came true sooner than she +expected. +</P> + +<P> +Moore received orders to throw the switch over to the sidetrack at the +Junction, so that a work train might leave a few cars of gravel for the +section-men to use the following morning. This train was due during +the half-hour which he took for his supper at the tavern. He shifted +the rails ready before leaving, intending to hasten back in plenty of +time to connect the main line over which the No. 4 passenger would pass +about nine o'clock. It was quite a usual occurrence in his routine of +work, so that the matter did not cost him a second thought. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy noticed the tired look about his eyes as he sat at his meal, and +she determined to talk to him seriously about his health at the first +favorable opportunity. Out of doors the night was intensely black, and +a drizzling rain added to its inclemency. +</P> + +<P> +"It's just sich a spell o' weather as'll make his cough very much worse +if he don't attend to himself," Nancy told Jennie, her adopted +daughter, as they saw Moore go to his room before setting out for the +Junction. The tavern settled down to its accustomed quietness, Nancy +and the girls knitting in the kitchen, Will Devitt leaning over the bar +and talking to a few who found it more comfortable there than in the +raw dampness without. Old Donald was in the stables finishing up, and +a chance wayfarer snored upon the sitting-room lounge. Katie Duncan +had occasion to go upstairs, and she came down with the startling news +that Mr. Moore had not left his room. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll no git to be the station-master if he continues the likes," +Nancy remarked, as she ascended to see what was the matter with him. +She found him lying on his bed apparently asleep, so she shook him, in +righteous indignation at his conduct. A bottle from her bar, standing +on the table, added suspicions to her wrath. Moore did not respond to +her efforts as a healthy man should. Instead he turned a sickly white +face to her and groaned. +</P> + +<P> +"Are ye sick?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I must be. I can't stand up, I'm so weak," he answered faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Have ye been drinkin'?" Her eyes snapped as she asked the question. +</P> + +<P> +"I've taken a little, because I'm ill, but— Heavens, woman! what is +the time?" he almost shrieked. +</P> + +<P> +"It's about nine o'clock," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Nine," he spoke as if struggling with a failing memory. "The switch +is wrong, and there's a gravel train on the sidetrack. God! Mistress +McVeigh, help me to get up." He tottered to his feet, groping for the +door like a blind man, and then Nancy caught him in her strong arms and +laid him back on the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Jennie, Mr. Moore's sick. Ye'll attend to him," she called, as she +threw a heavy shawl over her head. +</P> + +<P> +If those who doubted Nancy's unselfish heart and courage could have +seen her plodding through the darkness, with the rain pelting down upon +her, and the mud halfway to her knees, they might have forgiven much +that they had believed against her. She knew the turnings of the +switches and the different tracks, and it was to save Moore from +disgrace, rather than to avert a disaster, that caused her to tax her +old bones to their utmost, as she climbed over the fences and ran +across the fields. A whistle sounded far over on the town side, and +she was conscious of a dull throbbing in the air. Foot by foot she +counted her chances, listening to the approaching train and exerting +herself to the limit. The headlight of the locomotive was glaring at +her as she climbed the sandy embankment of the track, and then, as her +hands closed over the lever, the great machine went thundering by over +the wrong rails. The engineer evidently had read that the signals were +somewhat amiss, for his air brakes were already screaming, and he was +leaning far out of his cab with his hand shading his eyes. The sand +cars were a short distance up the track, and the moving train struck +them with a terrific rending of iron and hissing of escaping steam. +The force of the contact was lessened because of the sudden slowing up +of No. 4, but it was sufficient to send two of the passenger coaches +tumbling on to the boggy earth six or eight feet below the track level. +The engine stood still on the rails in a cloud of steam, and the +engineer was out of his cab limping towards Nancy before her mind had +regained its normal conception of things. His appearance roused her to +instant action. She made no explanations, nor were any questions asked +of her, but the two of them ran to where the crying of pain-stricken +humanity came from the derailed cars. A chaos of confusion reigned. +People who were not hurt were shouting hysterically, others were making +efforts to liberate the wounded. Nancy was strangely cool. She sent +one to the tavern to summon help, another to the Junction to telegraph +into town for doctors, and then she turned to those in the wreckage. +One after another was extricated from the mass, and as they came before +her on the wet grass, where coats and everything that could be found +were used to lay them upon, she examined their hurts, bound up bleeding +cuts, and did all that her knowledge could suggest. Soon a crowd from +the neighborhood gathered and they joined in the work, and then the +doctors came. By this time a second woman was helping by Nancy's side. +The old inn-keeper paused once to see who it was, and nodded in +recognition. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a sad business, Miss Piper," she remarked, huskily. +</P> + +<P> +Soon a long procession slowly wound its way across the fields to the +tavern, men carrying those unable to walk, and the others who were not +so badly hurt leaning on the shoulders of their companions. Nancy and +Miss Piper went with the first to prepare beds and other necessaries, +and all that night the two women stayed by their grim task. +</P> + +<P> +"You should be a nurse," young Dr. Dodona observed to Sophia Piper, +during a moment's respite. +</P> + +<P> +"I would, gladly, if I had that woman to help me," she answered, and +they both turned to watch Nancy, who was deftly binding a fresh bandage +on the crushed leg of an elderly gentleman who seemed more concerned +over the soiling of his clothes than his wound. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you tired, Mrs. McVeigh?" she asked, kindly. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy only smiled back a reply, and bent her grey head over her patient +again. +</P> + +<P> +Thirteen slightly injured, three seriously, and no deaths, was the +result of the accident, and after a few days everything at the Junction +was as it had been always, excepting that Nancy McVeigh's tavern had +won a new guest and lost an old one. Moore had recovered from his +attack a few hours after his seizure, and was taken into custody by the +law to stand his trial for wilful neglect of duty, and Mr. Lawrence +Hyden lay in his room with a very impatient temper and a badly crushed +leg. The Wednesday of the following week was set as the day for +Moore's trial, and Nancy received a summons to appear as a witness. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll do that with pleasure, sure, fer it's meself that's doubtin' the +senses of yon pack o' lawyers. It's jist capital they are tryin' to +make out o' this affair to injure me in the eyes of the Commissioners, +I'm thinkin'," she said, when the blue paper was handed to her. +</P> + +<P> +The scene in the courtroom was highly interesting to her, and she +wondered, as she listened to the learned talking, how their charge +against Moore could have any foundation. When her name was called she +was fully prepared to give them all a piece of her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Mrs. McVeigh, the whole case against Mr. Moore rests on your +testimony. We want to know from you if the accused was addicted to the +use of liquor," the presiding counsel asked, in suave tones. +</P> + +<P> +"He was not, yer worship," she answered, promptly. +</P> + +<P> +"But one witness states that liquor was found in the accused man's +room, and also that his breath was strongly tainted shortly after the +time of the accident," the counsel continued. +</P> + +<P> +The whole truth of the misunderstanding suddenly came home to Nancy, +and after some bickering between the lawyers, she was allowed to +narrate, in her own homely way, the current of events from the first +time she had noticed the illness coming over Mr. Moore, until she had +stood by the switch watching the train going to destruction. Every man +in the room had heard somewhat of Nancy's peculiar existence, and they +listened with doubly aroused interest to her simple tale. Suddenly an +interruption came from a very unexpected quarter. Moore was swaying +unsteadily, and but for the timely arm of the officer near him, would +have collapsed on the floor. The court immediately adjourned whilst a +doctor was sent for. +</P> + +<P> +"There'll be no case, Mrs. McVeigh. It is clear in my mind that the +prisoner is a very sick man and should be sent at once to the hospital. +If I have my way the verdict of this examination will be a testimonial +of some substantial nature to be given to a very generous-hearted old +lady," the counsel said, shaking her hand warmly. +</P> + +<P> +"An' who are ye blarneyin' now, Judge?" Nancy asked, not the least bit +abashed at the learned man's importance. +</P> + +<P> +"A certain Widow McVeigh, of the Monk Road," he answered, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +'Twas a short time after this that ugly rumors of rowdyism were spread +over the countryside, and while matters were at white heat the question +of cancelling Nancy McVeigh's tavern license was again brought before +the Commissioners. Miss Sophia Piper heard of the complaint, and made +it her business to interview the stout gentleman on the Board with whom +she was on friendly terms. +</P> + +<P> +"You came to me once to urge the abolition of this license, but now you +defend the woman," he said to her, in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"I know that Mrs. McVeigh is honorable and good, and this report is +being circulated by parties who wish to secure her rights for their own +purposes. If liquor is to be sold on the Monk Road, then, sir, I can +speak for the whole temperance people of that section. Let Mrs. +McVeigh have the selling," she answered, pleadingly; and so the license +was extended for another year, as usual. But Moore did not receive the +appointment as master at the new station of Monk the following spring. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>JENNIE.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Mr. Lawrence Hyden stayed at Nancy McVeigh's tavern on the Monk Road +while his leg, which had received a severe crushing in the railroad +accident at the Junction, healed sufficiently for him to depart for his +home in the city. During his sojourn the widow McVeigh was ofttimes +sorely tempted to take him out and stand him on his head in the +horse-trough, so cantankerous was he over his enforced idleness. She +had plenty and to spare of compassion for weaklings, who had not +physical strength such as hers to carry them through troubles, but this +irate old man only annoyed her. She had not been well herself since +that long night's work in the rain, when half of the passenger train +had toppled into the ditch, and her patience was correspondingly +short-lived. The doctor who attended Mr. Hyden noticed the weary look +about her eyes, and offered his advice. +</P> + +<P> +"You should go to bed for at least a fortnight," he suggested. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy smiled as she replied: "'Twould be a merry riot, surely, doctor, +if I gave in to my complaints, with noisy customers downstairs and two +cranky patients above." +</P> + +<P> +However, she gave over the attendance on the obdurate old gentleman, +who from force of necessity was her guest, to Jennie, her adopted +daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"If he finds too many faults, Jennie, just leave him a spell without +his food. That'll teach him to value the fare with a kinder grace," +she explained. +</P> + +<P> +Contrary to Nancy's expectations, Jennie wrought a wonderful change for +the better in her patient. Mr. Hyden seemed to form an attachment for +the girl from the very beginning. +</P> + +<P> +"You remind me of someone," he remarked during the first few hours of +her service; and afterwards he would listen to Jennie for a whole +evening while she struggled through some reading matter. One evening +he told her about a grandchild of his whom he had lost through being +over-harsh with the mother, and his words impressed Jennie so much that +she retailed them to Mistress McVeigh the very next morning. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no unloike yer own mother's troubles," Nancy observed, critically. +</P> + +<P> +"And will ye tell me of them, Granny?" Jennie asked, eagerly, for it +had often been hinted to her that Nancy McVeigh was not her grandmother. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a burden o' sorrow, dear, and not fit for young ears to listen +to," Nancy replied, evasively. Jennie, however, was not satisfied, and +the next time that Mr. Hyden was in a talkative mood she introduced the +subject to him. He seemed deeply interested, and promised that he +would endeavor to persuade Mistress McVeigh to divulge her secret. +After Mr. Hyden could hobble from his room to other parts of the house, +a photo of Jennie's, taken when she was a very young child, disappeared +from the upstairs parlor, and Nancy suspected at once that her guest +had taken it. She told Jennie to look for it when she was cleaning up +his room, and sure enough, she found it amongst a miscellany of papers +and letters which littered his table. This was enough to rouse Nancy's +ire to a point where an understanding of all grievances up-to-date was +necessary, so she proceeded upstairs, with a sparkle in her eye which +boded ill for the victim of her wrath. He was in his room, writing, +and without waiting for him to finish, as was her custom, she demanded +the lost photo. +</P> + +<P> +"I have it, Mistress McVeigh. I meant to put it back in its place, but +it slipped my memory," he stammered, guiltily; and then he asked her, +frankly, "May I keep it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Kape the swate child's picture, the only wan I have, barrin' her own +silf! Ye have great assurance to ask it!" Nancy exclaimed, though +somewhat mollified at his mild explanation. +</P> + +<P> +"My son married beneath him, and I treated his wife very badly. They +had one child, a girl, and I have often wished since that I could +discover her whereabouts. I have a sort of guilty feeling that I was +not exactly honorable in my dealings with my daughter-in-law, and it +has so preyed on my mind that I think every strange child may be hers. +I remember seeing the mother two or three times, and her face peers at +me now when I am in reverie. A vengeance of fate for a social crime, I +expect," he said, laughing nervously. Then he continued: "You may +wonder, Mistress McVeigh, why I am telling you this, but your Jennie's +face is that of my son's wife. It may be the result of long years of +remorse which have created a myth in my brain, but when she comes to +wait on me the likeness is very real. I hope you will excuse my action +in taking that photo, and perhaps you will sell it." Mr. Hyden spoke +seriously, lest Nancy should suspect him of subterfuge. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure, sir, ye think it is like yer own flesh and blood?" Nancy +questioned, softly, her eyes filling suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Hyden's brow contracted into a frown, and he seemed on the point of +regretting the confidences which he had spoken, but Nancy interrupted +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Jennie is not my own," she said, sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not your own!" he ejaculated, pausing in the act of handing back the +photo. "I knew it, for that child is no more of your family than I am, +even to the eyes of a stranger, begging pardon if I speak too freely." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps ye would care fer the story?" Nancy asked, beaming with +renewed friendliness. +</P> + +<P> +"Please tell it, Mistress McVeigh," he answered, eagerly, as he pushed +a chair towards Nancy and seated himself. Nancy gave herself over to +silent musing for a few minutes, and Mr. Hyden prepared his pipe in the +interval. +</P> + +<P> +"Jennie'll be eighteen come twentieth o' March," Nancy began, then +checked herself while she counted on her fingers. "No, maybe +nineteen," meditatively. "Ye see, Mr. Hyden, times on the Monk Road +are so much the same that one fergits the exact date o' things. +Anyhow, it all occurred the year before the railroad was completed +through these parts, fer well I remember takin' Jennie in me arms +across the fields to see the first passenger train go by the Junction, +with her engine all flags, and banners hung the length o' the cars with +mottoes in big red letters on them. Dan Sullivan, Heaven rest his +soul, was the engineer that day, and fer five years afterwards he took +time fer lunch at the tavern until he was killed up the line +somewheres. There were a lot o' officials on board that day, too, and +the Superintendent came out o' his car to pat Jennie's head. He could +not help it, fer the child had a winsome mass o' golden curls, if I do +say it meself." Nancy paused to sigh, and Mr. Hyden interposed: +</P> + +<P> +"I was on that train, Mistress McVeigh, and I remember the scene, now +you mention it." +</P> + +<P> +"Were ye?" Nancy exclaimed, incredulously. +</P> + +<P> +"To finish about Jennie's comin' to me. It was the previous year that +they built the bridge over the Narrows a mile or two back from the +Junction. I had most o' the men stayin' at the tavern, and the likes +o' the business I have never had since. But I was younger then, and +the work never tired me. The foreman's name was Green, and he occupied +the big room with the gable window." +</P> + +<P> +"The scamp—er—I beg your pardon, Mistress McVeigh, but I knew that +fellow, and his name wasn't Green," interrupted Mr. Hyden. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought as much, sir," continued Nancy, "for he carried on something +awful with the table help and the girls along the road, and it was just +his way to leave no traces o' his real name behind him. But he was not +a bad fellow, mind ye. As liberal in his spendin' as if he couldn't +abide the feelin' o' money, and as nice a gentleman about the house as +any one could wish fer. He was a handsome chap, too, and lively with +his tongue. The pick o' the whole countryside was his, and it was the +joke o' the tavern, who'd be his next love. I was terrible busy at the +time, but I heard the men talkin' at the bar and at their meals, an' I +knew there was scarcely two girls on speakin' terms with each other +over him. Finally he settled down to courtin' Florence Raeburn, the +daughter of old Silas, who owns the big stock farm on the fourth +concession. The Raeburns were English, an' they had high notions o' +their position. The mother was dead, and the three girls managed the +home. Florence was the youngest, and the other two were older than her +by ten years or more. Consequently, they thought her a bit flighty, +an' needin' o' some restriction. They did not let her associate with +any o' the neighbors, an' a great fuss they raised when she made +friends with me while her horse took a drink at the trough when she was +passing. I pitied the child, fer she had a pretty face, an' big, sad +eyes that seemed to yearn fer companions. After that, the sisters +drove her in to town to school in the old buggy which their father had +brought from England. However, she managed to see me quite often, and +I encouraged her, although, mind ye, I never let her know the looseness +o' the ways o' a tavern. The sisters had the Methodist parson picked +out fer her, an' he, poor man, was fair crazy fer her heart, too, but +she had the givin' o' it herself, and this it was that caused all the +trouble. +</P> + +<P> +"Green, the foreman, spied her talkin' to me on the verandah one day, +an' he came out an' praised her horse—a sure way to win her approval, +fer she was very fond o' the animal. I believe the young minx had seen +him before, fer she was over-ready to converse with him, an' whin I +left them they were talkin' and laughin' like old friends. That was +the beginnin', and soon the rumor went about that the foreman had at +last met his match. She occupied his time so much that the bridge work +was like to suffer, an' I heard that a letter came from the city askin' +about the delay. The sisters bitterly resented the clandestine +meetings when they heard o' them, an' Florence had a weary time o' it +between their scoldin's and the tongues of envious neighbors, but she +was a wilful child an' liked to have her own way regardless o' their +interferin'. I was afeard o' the outcome mesel', an' I spoke my mind +freely to Mr. Green. He resented my words at first, an' then, whin he +saw that I was really anxious, he told me that he loved her an' would +do what was honorable in the matter. I knew that he was earnin' big +pay, an' was well brought up an' educated, so I tried to convince +meself that he would make Florence a good husband; but I can't abide +people flyin' in the faces o' their families in such matters, an' I +told Florence so one day when she had dropped in fer a drink o' +buttermilk. She just took my hands in hers, an', lookin' me in the +eye, said, 'Mrs. McVeigh, ye do not understand. He is a fine, strong +man, an' will take me away to the city, where my sisters can't make my +life a burden. They are like ye, and doubt the worth o' him, but I +have had more chance than any o' ye to study his character, and I know +that he can make me happy.' I just couldn't reason with her against +that opinion, so I prayed every night that she wouldn't be +disappointed, and every day I lectured Green about his sinful habits, +an' impressed him with the sweet smile that fortune was beamin' upon +him, and how careful he must be not to shake the maid's faith in him. +'Never fear, Mistress McVeigh, I'm solid forever now,' he answered, +laughing at my seriousness. +</P> + +<P> +"'Twas only a short while afterwards that a telegram came to Green to +go to the city. He told me o' it with a very grave face, an', says he, +'We must be married to-night, an' I will return in a week, after I have +completed my arrangements in the city.' I knew he meant it to be a +secret ceremony at my tavern, fer the sisters would niver permit it at +home. I worried all day long, wonderin' what was my duty in the +matter, one moment ready to go over an' tell the family o' their plans, +an' nixt feelin' guilty at my disloyalty to the brave girl. The +preacher came, an' they were married that night." +</P> + +<P> +"They were married that night?" interrogated Mr. Hyden, who had been +following Nancy's story intently. +</P> + +<P> +"They were, surely," declared Nancy, positively, as if resenting the +interruption. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God!" he muttered, as he resumed the smoking of his pipe. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy gazed at him queerly for a few moments, and then continued: +"Green left for the city nixt mornin', an' Florence went back to her +home with my kiss on her lips as a weddin' gift. A month passed, an' I +was wonderin' why Florence had not been over to see me, an' then Silas +Raeburn came into my tavern in a mighty rage. 'Ye old witch, where's +my girl?' he roared. +</P> + +<P> +"I was so surprised at his words that I didn't know what to say, but I +knew my face was a guilty one to him. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ye have encouraged her in her disobedience against her own family, +and then ye let a drunken rascal steal her from me to crown our +disgrace,' he went on fiercely. Fer once in my life I stood silent, +too ashamed to answer him, while he heaped words upon me that would be +unfit to repeat in decent company. He was fair torn with anguish and +temper, an' I let him have his say. Then, when he was calmer, I told +him all I knew, from the first meetin' o' Florence with the bridge +foreman. He listened, breathing sort o' sharp, as if my words hurt +him, an' then of a sudden he went white an' tremblin', an' dashed out +into the darkness o' the night. +</P> + +<P> +"I hoped that Florence had met her husband in the city, an' that they +were happy, an' I comforted myself with these reflections, but always +had to fight a doubtin'. The people talked o' it fer a long while, but +it was a forbidden subject in my house, an' one man went out o' my bar +with more speed than dignity, for mentionin' her name in my hearin'. +</P> + +<P> +"One bitterly cold night in December, a farmer came in from the road +with strange news. 'I found a woman an' child freezin' by the +roadside, an' I just brought them on to ye,' he said. 'Bring them in +an' welcome,' I answered, an' then the woman slipped by him an' was +sobbin' in my arms. +</P> + +<P> +"'Florence, darlin', is it ye?' I asked, with my own feelin's stirred +so that I could scarcely speak. She pushed me away from her with a +sort o' frenzy, an' she says, 'Ye should not shelter the likes o' me, +whose own people have turned their backs fer the shame o' it.' +</P> + +<P> +"'Ye trust me, surely, darlint,' I answered, takin' her baby from her +arms, an' leadin' the way to the kitchen, where we would be alone, with +a great, cracklin' fire in the stove to sit by. I gave her food and +comforted her, an' tended the baby, while she told me about hersilf, +with an occasional spell o' cryin' an' a wild, weird expression on her +face that gave me bad dreams fer many a night. +</P> + +<P> +"'He was more than bridge foreman,' she said, 'he was a son o' the +contractor himself, an' when he left for the city, the mornin' after +our marriage, it was to go away to forrin parts, South America or some +other outlandish place. His father made him do it, fer he was full o' +pride, and wanted no country lass as a wife fer his son. I stayed at +home as long as I could, an' then my sisters discovered the truth. +They scolded me dreadfully, an' my father threatened to lock me up. +That evening I walked into town, an' took the train fer the city. I +searched fer two or three days before I learned the true name o' my +husband, an' when I went to his home, which was grander than any +building I had seen before, they told me I was crazy. I had married a +man named Green, and he was not their son. I knew that they were +deceivin' me, but I was frightened an' I hurried away. I struggled fer +a while alone, an' then, when the baby came, a good woman out o' pity +took me in an' kept me till I could go to my work again. Then his +family heard o' the child an' sent fer me. When I called, they told me +that they were sorry for me an' wished to help me, although they would +not admit that they were bound by law to do so. They had secured +permission to place my baby in a home, an' I was glad enough o' the +chance, fer I was afeared that I could never support it myself. I had +the privilege of seeing her once or twice a week, an' those visits were +the bright spots in my life. I worked very hard, thinkin' that it +would cure my broken spirit an' the yearnin' which I had fer my child. +But it seemed useless to try, fer my will power was weakened by my +sufferin', so I went over to the home, an' the good people, knowin' +that I was her mother, let me take her out with me for an airin'. I +just couldn't part with her again, so I went to my rooms, gathered my +clothes into a bundle, and started fer home. I was sort o' wild then, +an' did not know what I was doing, but now I know that I did wrong, fer +there is no welcome fer me under my father's roof. +</P> + +<P> +"'Will ye keep me fer a week, till I am stronger, Nancy McVeigh?' says +she, 'an' then I'll go back, an' perhaps I'll be more content.' +</P> + +<P> +"I tell ye, Mr. Hyden, my heart bled fer the lass. The likes o' her +pleadin' with a rough old tavern-keeper fer her very livin'. 'Ye did +right to come home to me, Florence Raeburn. I'm not ashamed to have ye +here,' I answered her." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. McVeigh paused in her story to wipe away the tears which were +stealing down the furrows in her cheeks, but Hyden, in a strange, hard +voice, bade her proceed. +</P> + +<P> +"The mother died two weeks afterwards, sir. I think it was her lungs +that were affected, but never a word of it did I send to Silas Raeburn +or his people. I could not fergit the sting of the words he had spoken +to me. I felt that it was my secret, an' when I took the baby from +Florence's arms fer the last time, she smiled and whispered, 'Ye'll no +give Jennie up, Nancy. Ye'll be a mother to her yersilf?'" +</P> + +<P> +"I am judged! I am judged!" broke in Mr. Hyden, standing before her, +his features working in a desperate struggle with his emotions. Then +he spoke with more calmness. "She is my grandchild," he said. +</P> + +<P> +The days that followed were full of torture for the old keeper of the +inn. Mr. Hyden wanted to take Jennie back to the city with him to be +educated. He would do for her all that he could, as the repentance for +his harshness to Jennie's mother was upon him. He waited day by day, +until Nancy could make up her mind. Of all Nancy's troubles this was +the sorest, for Jennie had been closer to her than her own son. Her +years were creeping over her, and she leaned on the young girl for +sympathy and advice. Yet in her heart she knew that Jennie must go, +and it was her duty to permit it. Her victory came suddenly, and one +morning saw her face free from clouds, and in their place a glimpse of +her old kindly smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Take her, Mr. Hyden, an' make her a lady, fer the lass is above the +best that I can give her. You'll let her come to see me sometimes, an' +ye'll promise to be good to her?" she asked, wistfully. So it was that +Jennie left the old tavern on the Monk Road, jubilant in her innocent +way at the happy prospects which old Nancy painted for her, but when +she was gone Nancy turned to her work again with a heavy heart. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>NANCY'S PHILOSOPHY.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Nancy McVeigh was in her garden behind the tavern when young John Keene +called on her for the first time since his return from Chicago, after +two years' absence from the homely atmosphere of the Monk Road. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy's garden was a source of great enjoyment to her, and many happy +hours she spent within the enclosure, which old Donald had built so +securely that not even a chick could trespass to harm the sprouting +seeds. Early spring saw her with tucked-up skirt, a starched +sun-bonnet on her head, and hoe or rake in her hand, availing herself +of every quiet hour in the day to plant and mark out the beds. Then +followed a ceaseless watchfulness, throughout the hot summer, to +regulate the watering and weeding, interspersed with pleasant +speculation as to the results, and in the later months her well-merited +boastings over her success. +</P> + +<P> +She was picking beans for the dinner, and incidentally noting the +progress of her early vegetables, when Katie Duncan ushered young John +Keene through the tavern to the rear door and into the garden. +</P> + +<P> +"At your old tricks, Mistress McVeigh," the new-comer called, cheerily, +as he advanced with out-stretched hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, bless me soul, Johnny!" she exclaimed, rising and kissing him +with motherly blindness to his manly appearance. "I heard yesterday +that ye had returned. Mrs. Conors told me, an' she said ye might be +takin' a wife before ye leave. She's a rare gossip, that body, an' +knows a thing a'most before it happens," Nancy added, in an explanatory +way. +</P> + +<P> +"As if you didn't know that yourself," young John answered, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"The two years went by so quick like, that I scarce felt the loss o' +ye. Faith, an' the older one gets the shorter the days, it seems. The +garden's lookin' promisin'," she observed, inviting his opinion. +</P> + +<P> +"Splendid!" he replied, giving it a hasty scrutiny. +</P> + +<P> +"I've beans, an' radishes, an' new potatoes already, an' the cucumbers +and corn'll be fit to pick in a week," Nancy said, proudly. Then she +remembered her hospitality. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll go in the house, fer it's not a very clean place fer ye to be +wi' all yer fine clothes." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd rather we just sit down on those two chairs by the porch and have +a good talk," he suggested. They seated themselves in the shade, for +the morning sun was very warm, and young John lighted a cigar. +</P> + +<P> +"Have ye been doin' well since ye left?" Nancy inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Aye, Mistress McVeigh. Corney helped me, you know. I went to work in +his office the very day of my arrival in Chicago, and, thanks to your +advice, I never allowed my old habits to interfere with my progress." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye didn't think I doubted yer ability to do that?" she asked, +reproachfully. Then, with a twinkle of humor in her eyes, she added, +"It was yer love fer a certain young lady that kep' ye at it." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe," he assented, meditatively. +</P> + +<P> +"An' I suppose Corney has a grand place, wi' a desk and books as thick +as a family Bible?" +</P> + +<P> +Young John laughed. "His office is as big as your house. He has +twenty desks and a clerk for each one, and a private room, all glass, +and leather-bound furnishings. I tell you, Mrs. McVeigh, your son has +developed a wonderful business, and you will live to see him a rich +man, too," he remarked, enthusiastically. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, d'ye hear that now, the brains o' him! I always knew it!" Nancy +ejaculated, with tears of pride glistening for a moment in her eyes. +"It's been in me mind these ten years to go there an' see him. D'ye +think he'll likely be Mayor o' Chicago?" she asked, wistfully. +</P> + +<P> +Young John quibbled with an easy conscience. "His chances are as good +as the best of them," he said. "But tell me about yourself, Nancy. +How have you been keeping? And have you had any more young men to +reform since I left?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, barrin' the cold I got whin Moore left the switch open at the +Junction, an' the pain at me heart over losin' Jennie, I'm as fit as +iver," she answered, complacently. "Ye heard about Jennie's leavin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Corney read your letter to me," young John replied, sympathetically. +</P> + +<P> +"It was a trial, to be sure, but I'm not complainin'. It's better fer +the lass, and Katie Duncan helps me a'most as much. Ye see, Johnny, +I'm goin' to be satisfied in this life, no matter what troubles I meet. +I've plinty o' belongin's, an' a deal o' honest work to do, which +leaves no time fer frettin'. I've had me ups and downs, an' it seems +I've known all the sorrows o' me neighbors as well as me own, but I +just keep smilin' an' fergittin'. There's so many bright spots whin +one looks hard fer them. It's one thing to be wishin' fer somethin' in +the future that never comes, and another to be content wi' the +blessin's that we get every day. I try fer the last. Some people, if +they had me tavern, would be wantin' a better house, or a fresh coat o' +paint every year er two. If they had me garden they'd hope that a good +angel would grow them enough fer themselves and a profit on what they +could sell. They'd be always envyin' the Raeburns' fine horses, an' +the grand house o' James Piper, an' their servants, and thinkin' the +world was treatin' them unkindly because wishin' wouldn't satisfy their +desires. But it's me honest pride in makin' the best o' things, and +bein' thankful they're no worse, that keeps me smilin'." +</P> + +<P> +"You are quite a philosopher," observed young John, gazing at her with +the old affection lighting up his features. +</P> + +<P> +"Philosopher or not, I care not a whit, but so long as Nancy McVeigh +runs a tavern on the Monk Road there'll be no lost sunshine," she +declared. +</P> + +<P> +"Father tells me that the city company are building a summer hotel on +the Point, and also that you may have to sell out," young John +remarked, cautiously, lest he hurt the old inn-keeper's feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"Faith, an' he's speakin' the truth, too," Nancy replied quite +unconcernedly, and then she laughed quickly to herself at some +recollection. +</P> + +<P> +"I must tell ye about it, Johnny," she explained. "When the agent came +up from the city to go over the property, he walks up and down past the +tavern wi' a sheet o' paper in his hand, an' a map, or somethin' o' +that nature. I went out on the verandah to see if he had lost his way, +an' he comes over an' takes off his hat as politely as if I was the +Queen. +</P> + +<P> +"'Your tavern stands just where we want to put the gateway,' he +remarked, consultin' his paper. +</P> + +<P> +"'Is that so?' says I, my temper suddenly risin', fer I had heard a lot +o' talk about the big hotel an' the driveway fer the carriages, an' the +parks. +</P> + +<P> +"'Of course, we will allow ye a fair price fer yer property when we +need it,' he explained. +</P> + +<P> +"'If ye think yer price'll put a gateway here, ye're sadly mistaken,' I +said. 'Ye can put up yer hotel, an' every drop o' spirits that's sold +in the country can go to ye, an' I'll no complain, but I warn ye that +I've spent thirty-five years gettin' this tavern into my keepin', an' +it'll take forty more to get it out again.' I jist let him have it +straight, an' then I wint in an' slammed the door to show me contempt +fer the loikes o' him. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, a few days afterwards, two gentlemen called on me, an' they said +they wanted to make a proposition to me, but I just told them to see me +lawyers about it, an' they sort o' fidgitted awhile, an' then they +asked me who I was employin' to look after my interests. I just bid +them go and find out if they thought it worth while, an' I left them +sittin' there like two bad boys in school," Nancy stopped while she +laughed again, and young John broke in with a question. +</P> + +<P> +"Was my father one of those two men?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Johnny, ye needn't be mixin' yer father in the talk at all. Ye +know he an' I never agreed," Nancy demurred. +</P> + +<P> +"But I want to know for a reason," he persisted. "You have a +payment—the last, I believe—on the mortgage falling due shortly?" he +inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"I have," she answered, somewhat perplexed. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, my father would like you to miss making that payment, because he +wants to get a commission for securing the sale of your property, and +that would give him a hold on you. I can appreciate your desire to +stay with the old place, so I would advise you to be early in sending +him this amount. Can you raise it?" young John asked. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy sat for awhile in mental perturbation, and then somewhat +dubiously answered, "Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that just reminds me that Corney bade me give you a hundred +dollars," young John said, hurriedly, his face lighting up. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, John, it's yer wish to help me that's makin' ye talk nonsense," +Nancy put in, but young John did not heed her. +</P> + +<P> +"You will take the money?" he asked, pleadingly. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy gazed back at her old ramshackle hotel, and then her eyes rested +softly on young John's face. +</P> + +<P> +"You made me promise once, now it's your turn," he continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're not deceivin' me, John?" she said, hesitatingly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's from Corney, sure," he affirmed, handing her the roll of bills. +</P> + +<P> +"It's in me will fer Corney an' the girls, an' it's all I have to leave +them. I couldn't give it up," she said, brokenly, as she took the +money. +</P> + +<P> +"Faith, it's dinner time, an' I'm sittin' out a-gossipin' when I should +be at work," she announced, springing up. "Ye'll stay fer dinner, +surely?" she asked of young John. +</P> + +<P> +"I will with pleasure, Nancy," he assented. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Sophia Piper dropped into the tavern during the afternoon. She +could not help it, for she was full of news, and her aversion to the +premises was fast drifting from her. In her heart she loved the +strange old woman with the kindly eyes and rugged manner. Her talk was +all of young John Keene's return, and she confided with happy tears +stealing down her cheeks that his marriage with Miss Trevor would take +place the following week. +</P> + +<P> +"The wedding will take place at our house, and I'm here especially to +ask you to come," she added. +</P> + +<P> +"And what would ye be thinkin' o' me, without fittin' clothes, a-mixin' +wi' all yer foine folk?" Nancy asked. +</P> + +<P> +"You are my friend, Mrs. McVeigh, and your dress will not alter that. +Promise you'll come." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's more than loikely I will," Nancy assented. "I'm thinkin' +o' givin' up the bar and livin' quiet loike fer the rest o' me days," +she remarked, reflectively. +</P> + +<P> +Sophia Piper's heart gave a bound of delight, and she seized Nancy's +hands in both of hers. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm so glad to hear you say it," she burst out, and then she added, +seriously, "Can you afford it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ye see," Nancy explained, "I've had a letter from my son Corney, an' +he says he is goin' to make me a steady allowance. Anyhow, I'm tired +o' the noise o' drunken men and the accusin' glances o' the good folk +that passes. I've decided that it's not a fittin' occupation fer the +mother o' the future mayor o' Chicago to be sellin' the stuff. Others +want the license, an' they can have it. I used to like the servin' o' +the public, but somehow me mind has been changed o' late," she sighed. +</P> + +<P> +When young John Keene and Miss Mary Trevor were made a happy unit the +next week, Nancy was there with a new silk dress, which she and Katie +Duncan had worked long into the previous nights to finish. Her sweet +old face was radiant with smiles, and when it was all over, and she had +a chance to speak alone to Sophia Piper, she whispered: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm celebratin' doubly, ye see, miss; I've just sold me stock o' +spirits to the summer hotel people and had a big sign put over the bar +door marked 'Privit.'" +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you, Nancy McVeigh," Sophia Piper whispered back. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE STRENGTH OF TEN.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +It was the sudden termination of the jingling of sleigh-bells that +caused Nancy McVeigh to look curiously from her window. People seldom +stopped before the old tavern since the transfer of the license to the +summer hotel back on the lake shore. At one time it was an odd thing +for anyone to pass without dropping in, if only for a chat or an excuse +to water his horses at the pump trough. Nancy sighed when she +remembered it, for it had brought much gossip and change into her daily +existence. When a chance visitor did intrude upon her quietude, his +welcome was assured. Also she did much of her knitting by the front +window, so that she could catch glimpses of her old customers, even if +she could not speak to them. +</P> + +<P> +On this wintry day in the early January, it was Dr. Dodona, from town, +who tied his horse to a verandah post and rapped briskly at her door. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a real pleasure to see ye, doctor," Nancy exclaimed, as she gave +him admittance. "Ye must be cold. I'll just give ye me best chair by +the fire, an' ye can smoke a pipe while ye're tellin' yer errand." +</P> + +<P> +"You're very kind, Mistress McVeigh. People like yourself make a +doctor's work less arduous," the doctor answered, heartily. +</P> + +<P> +"It's good of ye to say so, doctor, fer it's little demand fer service +ye get out o' me an' mine." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm on my return from James Piper's, down the road. His two children +are ill with the cold, and I am afraid something more serious may be +expected. Miss Sophia has them well in hand, and I have left a course +of treatment, but I'm not at all satisfied." +</P> + +<P> +"Did ye recommend goose grease and turpentine? The winter Jennie had a +bad throat I used them in plenty, an' it's what saved her," Nancy +remarked, sagaciously. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, not exactly those remedies, but they are very good," the doctor +admitted, laughing. "Miss Sophia bade me tell you about the children, +as you were expecting her to call some day this week," he continued. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy nodded her head understandingly. "An' what d'ye expect will +develop from their colds?" +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't be frightened, Mistress McVeigh, as your children are all +grown up. The boy Willie has a very weak throat, and it was terribly +inflamed to-day. I am quite worried about it." +</P> + +<P> +"It's bad news ye're bringing to-day, doctor, but niver expect trouble. +Maybe they'll change fer the better before mornin'. Ye'll have some +tea?" she asked suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's putting you to a lot of trouble," the doctor said, reluctantly, +but Nancy was gone before he had finished his sentence. +</P> + +<P> +When the doctor was ready to depart, she asked, anxiously, "Ye'll let +me know how they are tomorrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Most assuredly," the doctor called from the verandah. +</P> + +<P> +Two or three days followed, and each brought Dr. Dodona to Nancy's door +with a brief message as to the condition of his patients. His visits +were very short, however, but he remained longer at the Piper +household, and Nancy missed the smile from his face. She discussed the +trend of affairs with Katie Duncan, who was her only confidant now that +Will Devitt had gone out West because Nancy McVeigh's bar no longer +needed his services, and she was somewhat pessimistic in her remarks. +A week went over, and they only saw Dr. Dodona as his big sorrel mare +drew his cutter over the Monk Road in a whirl of snow. Then one day he +passed, accompanied by James Piper, and Nancy could endure the suspense +no longer. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll just have an early supper, an' I'll go over an' ask at the +house," she said, decisively, to Katie Duncan. But a heavy rap at the +door disturbed them at their meal. Nancy hastened to answer the +summons, for she knew it was the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +"I regret my not keeping to my word, Mistress McVeigh, but I am +travelling fast these days. I have a lot of sick people to attend to, +and the Pipers are in very bad shape." +</P> + +<P> +Nancy's eyes bespoke her sympathy as he continued: "Willie Piper has +diphtheria. Little Annie has it also, and to-day Miss Sophia has +broken down. I'm afraid she is in for it, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Fer land sakes, ye don't say so!" Nancy exclaimed, more to punctuate +his words, so that she could digest their import thoroughly. +</P> + +<P> +"They've got to have a nurse, and at the present moment I don't know +where such a person can be secured," the doctor declared, desperately. +</P> + +<P> +"An' have ye fergotten the blarney ye gave me the night o' the +accident?" Nancy inquired, in a hurt tone. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean you will go?" he asked, his face lighting up suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"An' why not? Faith, an' I'm fair sick meself stayin' about the house +doin' nothin' but keepin' comfortable; an' my experience with Jennie +will help me. Old Mrs. Conors is at the p'int of starvation since her +husband died, an' I've been thinkin' o' takin' her in fer company. +I'll just send Katie over the night to tell her to come in the mornin', +so that the child won't be alone." +</P> + +<P> +"I knew that you would help me out of this difficulty, Mistress +McVeigh. I don't want anything to happen to Miss Sophia, she is such a +great friend of mine." +</P> + +<P> +Nancy was about to speak, then checked herself and looked at him +keenly. "The wonders o' the world are no dead yit," she ejaculated, +under her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"I took the liberty of mentioning your name to James Piper before I +came here to-day, and he will see that you are well paid for your +work," the doctor added, hurriedly, guessing what was passing in the +mind of the old woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye can just tell James Piper I'll have none o' his money. The very +impudence o' him to offer it! It's to help the children and Miss +Sophia, an' not fer any consideration o' that sour-faced dragon, that I +go," Nancy flung back her reply in a somewhat scornful manner. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go now, but will see you there in the morning," Doctor Dodona +called, as he hastened away. +</P> + +<P> +"So that's how the wind blows," Nancy muttered, thoughtfully, as she +watched him depart; then she laughed softly in spite of the bad news. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Conors, growing very feeble, was garrulously comfortable before +the fire in Nancy McVeigh's kitchen. She was in a happy frame of mind, +as her worldly anxieties were now very much a dream of the past. Nancy +herself, with her strong, resolute face, her kindly eyes and tall gaunt +frame, enrobed in a plain, home-made black dress, was setting things to +rights in the home of James Piper. Her coming brought order, and a +fearless performance of the doctor's commands. She was a herald of +fresh hope, and carried into the gloomy house her sense of restful +security. Her sixty-five years of life, a portion of which was spent +as proprietress of a tavern, wherein the worst element of a rough +countryside disported itself, had given her nerves of steel, and yet +the chords to her heart were tuned to the finest feelings of sympathy. +Sophia Piper felt the glow of her presence as she lay tossing and +moaning in the first grips of the malady. The children cried less +frequently, and Willie's temperature lowered two points by the doctor's +thermometer after the first day's service of the new nurse. And yet +Nancy only went about doing the doctor's wishes and whispering to each +in her motherly way. Her confidence in herself seemed to exert a +pleasing influence with the sick ones, and then she was so strong. The +hours of night found her wakeful to the slightest noise, yet patient +with their fretful humors, and in the morning she came to them as fresh +as a new flower in spring. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor Dodona noticed the change, and marvelled. He came morning and +evening, and each time sat a long while by Miss Sophia's bedside. He +was wondering why he had never guessed something long before, and he +did not suspect that Nancy read him like an open book. He had known +Sophia for years, had gone to the same school with her, had worked by +her side on committees of the charitable and religious organizations of +the county, and here he was on the verge of confirmed bachelorhood and +only learning the rudiments of love. +</P> + +<P> +"His heart's fair breakin' fer her," was Nancy's muttered comment. +</P> + +<P> +Then came the long night's fight for the life of Annie, the little +daughter of James Piper. A struggle where only two could join, the +doctor and the Widow McVeigh, as the infectious nature of the disease +forbade any assistance from without. Annie's illness had taken a very +serious turn just as the doctor arrived on his evening call. He +studied her case for a long ten minutes, and then he remarked to Nancy, +"It is the crisis." Nancy smiled, not that his words amused her, but +rather as an expression of her confidence in her powers to hold the +spark of life in the little body. From then until early dawn they +watched her, the life flickering like a spent torch in the wind. The +doctor had taken extreme measures to combat the disease, and his +greatest fear was that his efforts to cure might have a contrary effect +by reason of the frailty of the child. Once he despaired, but, looking +up, caught a momentary glint of steel in Nancy's eyes. His very fear +that she might detect his weakness compelled him to continue. For ten +hours she sat with the child on a pillow in her lap, apparently +impassive, yet conscious of the slightest change in the hot, gasping +breathing. Occasionally the doctor arose and passed into the room +where the others lay, to see that they were not suffering through lack +of attention. Returning from one of these silent visits, just as the +sun shot its first shafts of light under the window blind, he noted a +change in the little maid. +</P> + +<P> +"She'll live," he declared. +</P> + +<P> +"I've not been doubtin' the fact at all, at all," Nancy responded, +bravely trying to cover her weariness. +</P> + +<P> +From that night both children began to mend rapidly, and more time was +left for the care of the elder patient. The case of Miss Sophia was +somewhat different. Her age made it a much more difficult problem to +unseat the poison from her system. It had committed sad ravages with +her constitution before she had given in, and though Dr. Dodona felt +reasonably certain that he could check the trouble, yet it seemed +doubtful if her strength would sustain the fight. +</P> + +<P> +As the days passed he could see plainly that she was unimproved. His +professional training told him that, and he threw into the work all the +skill that he possessed. He suddenly became conscious that he had lost +some of the assurance in himself which had been the backbone of his +former successes, but it took him a short while to comprehend fully his +own incapacity. As he drove over the miles of snowy road into town, +after an evening at her bedside, the truth became a conviction in his +mind. His heart was too deeply concerned, and it had shattered his +nerves. +</P> + +<P> +He wired to the city for a specialist before going to his home. Next +morning he told Nancy McVeigh of his action. That good old soul fell +in with the idea on the spot, and her comments caused him to turn away +his face in foolish embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"It's what I have been expectin' ye to do all along, but I didn't care +to suggest it to ye before, as yer professional pride might not welcome +my interference. It's her poor, thin face an' her smile that kapes yer +mind from the rale doctorin'. Ye just git a smart man from the city, +an' it'll do ye both a power o' good," she said. +</P> + +<P> +When he was gone Nancy went to the sick-chamber. +</P> + +<P> +"Are ye able to stand good news?" she inquired. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Sophia turned her face towards her, and smiled encouragingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely, if it is really bright and hopeful," she replied, weakly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye may suppose I'm takin' liberties wi' yer privit concerns, but ye +will learn to fergive me whin ye are well an' the spring is here again +wi' its quiet sunshine, its flowers an' the grass growin' by the +roadside wi' patterns worked in dandelions like a foine carpet." +</P> + +<P> +"I love the spring!" Miss Piper exclaimed, with animation. +</P> + +<P> +It had seemed a wonderful thing to the doctor, the power to rouse the +suffering woman contained in the homely phrases of Nancy McVeigh. +</P> + +<P> +"As if that was all to love," Nancy impatiently returned. "Did it ever +come right home to yer heart that ye loved a man an' ye didn't +recognize the feelin' fer a long time afterwards. Fer instance, one +who is makin' piles o' money out o' the ills o' others?" she added, +pausing in her dusting to gaze shrewdly at her friend. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all a riddle to me," Miss Sophia answered, although her words +betrayed a rising interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Aye, a foine riddle, to be sure, an' one that has its answer in the +face of Doctor Dodona." +</P> + +<P> +Sophia Piper's pallid face suddenly changed color, and she frowned +irritably. Nancy sat down on the foot of the bed and took the sick +woman's hand in her own long, hardened fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye must get well soon, dearie; the doctor's fair beside himself +thinkin' he might lose ye, an' he can scarce compose himself long +enough to mix his own medicines. He's a lonely man; can't ye see it, +child?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think so?" Miss Sophia whispered, wonderingly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's not a matter o' thinkin', it's the rale truth, so it is. What is +that rhyme I hear the young ones say, 'Somethin' borrowed, somethin' +blue, somethin' old and somethin' new'? May I be somethin' old at yer +weddin'?" Nancy asked, tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Sophia drew the old woman's hand to her cheek and kissed it +affectionately. +</P> + +<P> +'Twas after the above conversation that Sophia Piper began to evince a +determined desire to recover her health. +</P> + +<P> +"Will the doctor be here this afternoon?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye couldn't kape him away. He's bringin' a friend wi' him, too," +Nancy vouchsafed. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you'll please tidy my hair, and have the curtains drawn back from +the windows so that the sun can shine in the room," she ordered, +sweetly. +</P> + +<P> +"An' I'll put some fresh flowers on yer table," Nancy agreed. +</P> + +<P> +The specialist came in the afternoon. He was a portly man, with +iron-grey hair, clean-shaven face and a habit of emphasizing his +remarks by beating time to them with his spectacles. He examined the +patient thoroughly, whilst Dr. Dodona stood by deferentially, though +impatiently, awaiting his opinion. Then they adjourned to another +apartment, and the great man carefully diagnosed the case to his +<I>confrčre</I>. "She has been very ill," he admitted, summing up the loose +ends of his notations, "but I see no necessity for a change in your +remedies. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you not see a recent improvement?" he asked, shortly. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Dodona shrugged his shoulders. "Since last night, yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Continue as you have been doing. I will give you a few written +suggestions as to diet and tonic," the specialist explained, and then +he dropped his professional air and slapped his fellow-practitioner +familiarly on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"You were afraid because you have lost your heart as well as your +nerve. Is that a correct diagnosis?" he asked jovially. +</P> + +<P> +"Evidently you have diagnosed symptoms in the wrong party," Dr. Dodona +answered, drily. +</P> + +<P> +"You had better settle it while I am here," advised the city medical +man, who showed much aptitude for other things than cases of perverse +illness. +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove, I will!" the doctor burst out, and in he went with a rash +disregard of the noise he was making. He did not heed the warning +"Sh-h!" of the widow McVeigh, so engrossed was he in his mission. +</P> + +<P> +Sophia Piper's face lit up with a glad welcome, and she held her hands +towards her lover in perfect understanding. +</P> + +<P> +"Hivin bless them! In all me experience I have niver met with such a +love-sick pair before. They're old enough to be more discreet," Nancy +observed to the specialist, who chatted with her whilst the two were +settling their future happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"And you are a judge of human nature, too?" put in the learned man, +admiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"The older we git the wiser we grow, sometimes," was Nancy's retort. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>A DESERTER FROM THE MONK ROAD.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Father Doyle had just stepped from the white heat of an August day on +the Monk Road into the modest parlor of the widow McVeigh. He was +growing very stout as his years advanced upon him, and trudging through +the dust was warm exercise. But the sultriness without made the cool +interior of the tavern (for such the people still called the old place, +although Mrs. McVeigh no longer extended hospitality to the public) +more appreciable. Wild pea vines clambered over the windows, and the +ancient copings protruded outwards far enough to cast a shade, so that +the breeze which entered was freshened and sweetened with a gentle +aroma of many-colored blossoms. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy McVeigh was unburdening a whole week's gossip whilst the priest +helped himself generously to the jug of buttermilk which she had +brought in from her churning. +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen wonderful changes on the Monk Road in my time," he said, +reflectively, in answer to Nancy's observations concerning the summer +hotel on the Point, now filled to overflowing with people seeking +health and pleasure in its picturesque surroundings. +</P> + +<P> +"One would scarcely know the place. What with grand rigs full o' +chatterin' women and children a-drivin' past the door, and the whole +Point a picture o' lawns an' pretty dresses," sighed Nancy. "But it +does me heart good to see the brown on the cheeks o' the little 'uns +after they've been here awhile." +</P> + +<P> +"Doubtless you find some trade with them?" the priest surmised. +</P> + +<P> +"Considerable; first in the mornin' it's someone askin' if I have fresh +eggs, then it's milk or butter or home-made bread, and so it keeps +agoin' all day long. I'm no needin' much o' their money, now that +Corney sends me my allowance once a month as regular as the sun, but +I've still quite a family to support, so I just charge 'em enough to +make them appreciate what they're gettin'. I've got Mrs. Conors an' +old Donald still on me hands, an' Katie Duncan's at an age whin she +wants a little spendin' fer ribbons and fancy things. So many foine +people about just pricks the envy o' the child, an' I wouldn't, fer the +sake o' a dollar or two, have her ashamed o' her position. It's +different from the old days, as ye say, Father Doyle." +</P> + +<P> +"It is that, sure enough," he agreed. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm thinkin' o' takin' a trip," she remarked, with an air of mystery. +</P> + +<P> +"And where are you going?" he asked, in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"To Chicago," she vouchsafed, proudly. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that not rather far for your old bones?" he inquired, with a merry +twinkle. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're fergittin', Father Doyle, that I'm only as ould as I feel, an' +that's not beyond a bit o' pleasure an' the sight o' my boy. It's such +a time since I've seen the lad that I'm most afeared I'll not be +knowin' me own son." +</P> + +<P> +"Tut, tut! You don't think that. I'd know a McVeigh anywhere if I met +him," the priest expostulated. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been savin' me odd change these two or three years, an' I've +plinty to pay me way comfortably. I'm wonderin', though, how the ould +place would git on without me!" Nancy remarked, dubiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Never suffer in the least," the priest affirmed. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye may think so, but whin I've been here day in an' day out since me +hair was as fair as Katie Duncan's, ye can understand it takes a deal +o' courage fer me to trust to others," she retorted. +</P> + +<P> +The priest nodded his head slowly in acquiescence. +</P> + +<P> +Two weeks of laborious calculations and preparations preceded the day +set for Nancy's departure, and during the interval her many friends +discussed the journey so fully with her that her mind was a maze of +conflicting doubts. But her contumacious nature did not permit a +retreat from her decision, and to make it utterly impossible she went +over to the new station and gave over forty-eight dollars for a ticket. +It seemed a reckless expenditure, but a peep every night at the +photographs on the wall of her room drove the mercenary aspect of it +from her and left her firmly resolved and intensely happy. +</P> + +<P> +The fateful hour came at last, and quite a gathering of familiar faces +was at the station to see her depart. Father Doyle, Mrs. Jim Bennet +and family, Katie Duncan, Mrs. Conors, old Donald, Dr. Dodona and wife, +the two Piper children and a host of others saw that she was +comfortably established in the big car, much to the evident amusement +of the loitering tourists. She must have kissed at least twenty people +before the conductor came briskly on the scene and sent them pell-mell +on to the platform. The whistle shrieked and the train glided slowly +away. Nancy, a strange figure, with widow's bonnet, bright colored +shawl and face wreathed in smiles, leaned far out of the window, waving +an answer to the shouted farewells. +</P> + +<P> +Mistress McVeigh spent a major portion of the evening in getting +acquainted with her environments. Her previous ride in the cars had +been her honeymoon, but that was so long ago that she had forgotten +even the sensation. Its novelty now intruded on her peace of mind, and +she enjoyed it, although it was tiring. She sat gazing about in silent +contemplation until the lamps had been lighted and the negro porter was +shouting his evening dinner call. His words reminded her that she had +a basket of good things, so she took off her bonnet, spread her shawl +on the adjacent seat and proceeded to lay out the contents. Most of +the people in the coach were going forward to the diner, but such +extravagance did not appeal to her. But she did notice that a very +delicately featured lady, with a small baby and a boy of two or three, +was endeavoring with patient though apparently ineffectual effort to +satisfy the fretful wants of her little ones. The worried flush in the +young mother's cheek, and the trembling of her lips, roused Nancy's +compassionate nature, and, although she would not have confessed it, +she was lonesome. To be amongst people unspoken to and unnoticed was a +revelation that had never existed in her tiny world. She watched the +struggling woman covertly for a short time, while she nibbled at her +lunch, and then she could bear it no longer, so she stepped across the +aisle. +</P> + +<P> +"If ye please, ma'am, I'll take the baby fer a spell, while ye give the +boy his supper," she volunteered. +</P> + +<P> +The lady shot a grateful glance at the queer old body who had accosted +her. +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't mind the bother," she replied, sweetly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no bother, sure," Nancy declared, emphatically, and her eyes +dwelt over-long on her new acquaintance. The lady reminded her of +someone, then like a flash it came to her, and she looked again so +persistently that the lady was embarrassed. It was Jennie's mother she +remembered, the night she came, sick and broken, into the tavern, with +her baby in her arms. +</P> + +<P> +"The poor wee thing's fair excited," she murmured, as she cuddled the +tiny bundle against her breast. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you take tea with us?" the mother inquired, her face lighting up +at the prospect. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye must just help yerselves from my basket, then," Nancy protested, as +she brought it over. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morris, for such was the lady's name, proved an excellent +travelling companion. She was not only a splendid conversationalist, +but also she knew how to procure warm tea from the porter. Soon she +and Nancy were quite at ease with each other, Nancy contributing her +share at the entertaining, with her homely gossip of the Monk Road and +its people. The baby was her chief solace, however, and its mother +only had it during the midnight hours, so constant a nurse was she. +And the atom itself was tractable beyond its own mother's belief. +</P> + +<P> +The process of making up the beds in the sleeper gave Nancy an +unpleasant half-hour. She did not admire the masculine performances of +the porter. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no work for an ignorant black man," she informed Mrs. Morris, in +a deprecatory tone. Then she spoke directly to the negro: "Ye can just +pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own fixin'." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-098"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-098.jpg" ALT=""Ye can just pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own fixin'."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="397" HEIGHT="589"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 397px"> +"Ye can just pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own fixin'." +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Yes, mum," he answered, grinning, but he did not desist from his +duties. +</P> + +<P> +"He's one of thim furriners, who don't know what ye're sayin', I +suppose," she observed, resignedly. +</P> + +<P> +When the conductor made his last round of the cars, before the lamps +were extinguished, Nancy stopped him and questioned anxiously, "Ye'll +be sure to waken me at Chicago?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, ma'am, we won't arrive there until tomorrow evening," he answered. +</P> + +<P> +"So ye say, but I'm strange to the run o' trains, an' I don't want to +be goin' miles past the place and niver know it," she objected. +</P> + +<P> +"Never fear, missus, you'll be looked after properly," he said, +consolingly. +</P> + +<P> +The night and day journey to Chicago was so full of pleasant happenings +that Nancy could scarcely realize it was almost over. With the Morris +baby asleep in her arms, she would gaze from the window at the panorama +of country drifting past, interested in its strangeness only in a +superficial sort of way, while her inmost thoughts pictured the great +city to which she was going, and wherein she expected her son to be the +most predominant figure. Each hour seemed to be bringing him closer to +her, and a mild yearning centred about her heart. Occasionally a +twinge of apprehension would mar her tranquillity. She wondered if he +would know her, and if he had received the postcard which she had +written with so much care a week previous. She was too conscious of +her happiness to let such thoughts disturb her for long, and then Mrs. +Morris lived in Chicago and had promised to watch over her welfare +until she was safe in Corney's keeping. +</P> + +<P> +The gradual increase in houses clustered into villages along the way +warned her of the near approach to her destination. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope I may see more of ye," she observed to Mrs. Morris, after a +long silence of reflection. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a big city, and you will be very busy," the little lady +explained. "But I shall never forget your kindness to me. I should +have been very lonely and tired if you hadn't made friends," she +continued. +</P> + +<P> +"It's been a God's blessin', the knowin' o' ye an' the kiddies," Nancy +assured her. +</P> + +<P> +This simple-minded old body had made a deep inroad into the city +mother's affections, and her joy at the early prospect of meeting her +husband was tempered with a sincere sadness at the parting which it +would entail. +</P> + +<P> +The evening was growing quickly into darkness as they sped along, and +an unusual bustle amongst the other passengers had commenced. Now that +the hugeness of the outlying districts of Chicago were being unfolded +to Nancy with the long lines of lighted street, and starry streaks of +electric cars flashing by like meteors in a southern sky, she became +aware of a keen sense of fear. It was all so different from anything +in her past experience. It seemed as if she had broken ties with +everything familiar except the sweet face of her companion and the two +sleeping children. The roar of the city had now enveloped the train, +and presently it began to slacken speed, as it had done a score of +times before in the last hour. The conductor came into the car, +calling out, "Chicago!" and Nancy's heart beat so that it almost choked +her. The bright glare of the station came down into their window from +the roofs of adjacent trains, and then, before she rightly understood +what was happening, she was out on to the platform with her arms full +of her own and Mrs. Morris' bundles. A short man detached himself from +a crowd that waited without the gates far in front, and came dashing +towards them. +</P> + +<P> +"It is my husband," Mrs. Morris whispered, breathlessly. Next moment +she was locked in his arms. Nancy gazed furtively about, peering at +the faces, and hoping that one might be her son. After a long +scrutiny, she turned a despairing, helpless face to her late travelling +companion. Mrs. Morris understood, and came to her rescue quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a stranger in this big city, so you had better come home with +us for to-night," she suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"I wrote him to be waitin' fer me, but he must have forgotten," Nancy +returned, brokenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you must come, Mrs.—" Mr. Morris began, then hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. McVeigh, from the Monk Road," his wife told him, with a happy +smile. +</P> + +<P> +"The Monk Road, where is that, pray?" Mr. Morris asked, in puzzled +tones. +</P> + +<P> +"D'ye not know that?" Nancy exclaimed, incredulously. +</P> + +<P> +The man shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +She considered awhile, then made a gesture of utter helplessness. She +knew no adequate description of the geographical position of her home. +It was just the Monk Road, running from an indefinite somewhere to an +equally mysterious ending, and anyone who did not know that was lacking +in their education. They threaded their way through the press of +people to the narrow street, and entered a cab. Then, while the +husband and wife talked in subdued tones, Nancy listened to the babel +of clanging gongs and footsteps of many people on the pavements over +which they were passing. She suddenly bethought herself of questioning +Mr. Morris as to his knowledge of her son Cornelius. His answer was as +perplexing as everything else she had encountered in that strange new +world. He had never heard of him. Fortunately she had a business card +of her son's firm, and after much cogitation Mr. Morris decided that he +could find the establishment in the morning. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy secured a much-needed night's rest at the home of the Morris +family, and was up and had the kettle boiling on the range before the +appearance of the household. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd no enjoy the day at all if I wasn't doin' somethin' o' the sort! +An' ye're tired," she responded to Mr. Morris' surprised ejaculation. +She had to curb her anxiety to be off until after the noon hour, and +then, with a promise to return, if her plans miscarried, she was +piloted aboard the Overhead by Mr. Morris. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll drop you off in front of the block in which your son's offices +are situated," he informed her by the way. The run through the city +was perhaps a distance of four miles, and while Nancy gazed in +open-mouthed wonder, the little man pointed out to her the places of +note along the route. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all just wonderful," was the text of her replies. +</P> + +<P> +They drew up at a little station, and from it descended to the +pavement, and at a great door in a block that made her neck ache to see +its top, he left her, with a list of directions that only served to +shatter the remnant of location which her mind contained. She looked +uncertainly about her until her eyes rested on the sign, "Beware of +Pickpockets!" then she clutched her old leathern wallet, and with +frightened glances hurried inside. But here a second labyrinth opened +to her. A glass door led into a very spacious apartment, where a +number of men were counting money in little iron cages. She boldly +marched in and asked the nearest one, "Please, sir, is this Cornelius +McVeigh's office?" The man addressed stopped his counting and scowled +at her, but something in her wrinkled, serious face caused him to +relent of his churlishness. +</P> + +<P> +"A moment, ma'am," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +Next instant he was by her side, and very gallantly led her to the +outer hall and over to the elevator man. That Mecca of information +scratched his head before venturing to assist them, then he hazarded, +briskly, "Fifth floor, No. 682." +</P> + +<P> +"If that's wrong, come back," the young man said, kindly, as he left +her. +</P> + +<P> +The elevator drew her up almost before she could catch her breath, and +landed her on the fifth floor. The man pointed along a hallway, and +she followed this until a name in big gilt letters arrested her +attention and caused her heart to flutter spasmodically. "Cornelius +McVeigh—Investments," it read. And this was really her son's +Eldorado! A mist crept over her eyes as she turned the brass knob and +entered. A score of young men and women were before her, busily +engaged at desks, writing and sorting over papers. Beyond them, other +doors led to inner offices, and from some invisible quarter a peculiar +clicking cast a disturbing influence. Whilst she was taking it in, in +great sweeping glances, a small boy stepped saucily up and demanded her +wishes. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm Mistress McVeigh, o' the Monk Road, an' I've come to see +Cornelius," she told him. +</P> + +<P> +The boy looked at her, whistled over his shoulder and grimaced. +</P> + +<P> +"What yer givin' us, missus?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have ye understand I'll take no impudence," she retorted, +wrathfully, shaking her parasol handle at him. +</P> + +<P> +"If yer wants the boss, he's out," he informed her, with more civility. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anything I can do?" a young lady asked, coming over to her +from her desk. +</P> + +<P> +"It's just Mister McVeigh that I want to see. I'm his mother," Nancy +replied, simply. +</P> + +<P> +"You are his mother!" the girl exclaimed, doubtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"That I am," Nancy declared, emphatically. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. McVeigh is out of the city, but Mr. Keene is here. Will he do?" +she again questioned. +</P> + +<P> +At this juncture someone stepped briskly from an inner room, and then a +man dashed impetuously across the general office, scattering books and +clerks in his eagerness, and crying, "Why, it's Mrs. McVeigh!" as he +caught her gaunt body in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Johnny, me lad, is it yerself?" she gasped, after he had desisted from +his attempts to smother her. +</P> + +<P> +Young John Keene held Nancy's hand within his own whilst he showed her +everything of interest in the office, for the mother loved it all +because it was her son's. The clerks were courteous and attentive, and +the girls fell in love with the quaint old lady on the spot. +</P> + +<P> +"It's fer all the world like a school," she murmured in young John's +ear. +</P> + +<P> +"And I'm the big boy," he answered, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +A telegram searched the far corners of Mexico that afternoon, and at an +unheard-of place, with an unpronounceable name, it found Cornelius +McVeigh, the centre of a group of gentlemen. The party had just +emerged from the yawning mouth of a mine, and were resting in the +sunshine and expelling the foul air from their lungs, whilst the young +promoter of the western metropolis was explaining, from a sheet of +paper covered with figures, the cost of base metal to the producer. +The mine foreman suddenly interrupted his remarks with a yellow +envelope, which he thrust respectfully forward. "A telegram, sir," he +said, and withdrew. The array of men sighed gratefully at the respite, +and Cornelius McVeigh hastily scanned the message. +</P> + +<P> +"Your mother in Chicago, much disappointed at your absence. When may +we expect you?" so it read. +</P> + +<P> +The young man folded it carefully, put it into his pocket and continued +his discourse, but his words were losing their pointedness, and he was +occasionally absent-minded. +</P> + +<P> +"It's dinner-time. I move an adjournment to the hotel," one of the +grey-haired capitalists suggested, and, with scant dignity for men of +such giant interests, they hurried to take advantage of the break in +the negotiations. Cornelius McVeigh did not go in to lunch, but +strolled the length of the verandah for a full hour, absorbed in +thought, then with characteristic energy he hastened to the little +telegraph room and wrote a reply to his home office: +</P> + +<P> +"Will close a great deal if I stay. Cannot leave for a week at least. +Persuade mother to wait." +</P> + +<P> +He then walked to the smoking apartments, where his late associates +were trying to forget business. +</P> + +<P> +"I am ready, gentlemen," he observed, in his crisp, convincing manner +of speech. +</P> + +<P> +Young John Keene handed the message to the Widow McVeigh. He knew it +would hurt, and his arm stole about her shoulders as it did when he was +the scamp of the Monk Road gossip. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm tired o' this great noisy city," she faltered, after she had +studied the message a long time. "I'm no feelin' meself at all, at +all, an' my head hurts. I must be goin' home." +</P> + +<P> +"You shall stay with me, Nancy. Corney will be back in ten days at the +least. My wife wishes it, as well as myself, and we want you to see +our little Nancy. That's our baby," he said, in lower tones. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy gazed at the hurrying people on the hot pavements below, at the +buildings that shot upwards past her line of vision, at the countless +windows and tangled wires; then she turned to young John and he knew +that she had seen none of them. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try, Johnny," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +The days that followed were battles with weariness to Nancy McVeigh. +She did not complain, but her silence only aggravated the loneliness +which had crept into her soul. Young John Keene talked to her, amused +her, cajoled her, pleaded with her, and yet her mood was impenetrable. +Even tiny Nancy Keene's dimpled fingers could not take away the strange +unrest in her eyes. Then, when the ten days had elapsed, a second +message came: "Kiss mother and tell her to wait. Can't return for +another week. Am writing." Nancy read it and cried; not weakly, like +a woman, but with harsh, dry sobs. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be goin' home in the mornin'," she said, firmly. +</P> + +<P> +The train took her away in the damp, sunless early hours, when the city +was just awakening. +</P> + +<P> +"She's crazed with homesickness," young John's wife confided to her +husband, in a hushed, sad voice. +</P> + +<P> +The way home was long, and Nancy chafed at the slowness of the express. +So long as it was light she watched from the car window, and not till +the pleasant quiet of the vicinity of Monk Road was reached did the +gloom-cloud rise from her face. Her heart seemed to beat free once +more, and her eyes were full of tears, but they were tears of +happiness. She left the train at Monk, and the first person to greet +her was Father Doyle, who by chance was at the station. He read a tale +of disappointment in his old friend's appearance, and he remarked, +sympathetically, "You are looking thin and tired, Mistress McVeigh." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a weary day, sure enough," she admitted. The two walked side by +side, the stout priest carrying her heaviest travelling bags, until +they came to the road which the summer hotel management had built in a +direct line from the station to their gate, and here Nancy stopped +abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if the old tavern isn't right over there, just as I left it," +she ejaculated, and a smile broke over her countenance the like of +which it had not known for days past. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE KERRY DANCERS.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Nancy McVeigh treasured her disappointment over the visit to Chicago +for many months, but only Katie Duncan and those who saw her daily knew +of it. She was not the strong, self-reliant Nancy whom people had so +long associated with the ramshackle inn of Monk Road. But her smile +grew sweeter and her sympathies ran riot on every side where little +troubles beset her less fortunate neighbors. Her mind turned oftener +to the church which stood on the side-road, beyond the home of Father +Doyle, and her influence for a better life was remarkable with the +younger generation. The stormy period of her own existence was past, +and like a silvery rivulet twinkling in the sun at the mountain crest, +speeding downward until it roars and foams in an angry cataract, then +emerging into the cool, placid stream, lazily flowing past the village +cottages and on through the silent woodland, she had reached a stage +where only goodness and friendship mattered. +</P> + +<P> +Her great neighbor, the summer hotel proprietor, was perhaps the +solitary person who did not understand her. In vain he waited +patiently, as the seasons opened and closed, for her to accede to his +importunities to sell her property. There the old inn stood, a blot +within the terraced grounds and clean-cut park, unsightly to his eyes, +and the humorous butt of his patrons. But Nancy had made her plans +when the new order of things was first suggested, and she turned her +rugged face to the sandy Monk Road and held her peace. +</P> + +<P> +Cornelius, her son, had written her often and voluminously since her +trip southwards. He had also made a definite promise that he would +come home the very next summer. 'Twas this that brightened her eyes +and put a lightness into her step. It also provided a subject of +constant conversation between herself and Katie Duncan. Together they +would count out the months and weeks and days to the time when he +should arrive. +</P> + +<P> +"The lad's worried, so he is, an' he wants to see his ould mother, in +spoite o' his foine clothes an' his dealin's," she repeated, during +those happy confidences. +</P> + +<P> +Although Nancy had abandoned the public service, yet hers was no +humdrum existence. She still had duties to perform which occupied her +thoughts from daylight to dusk. She frequently visited the Dodonas, +who lived in the big Piper house. And the Piper children played about +her front door, much as her own son and Johnny Keene had done so many +years before. Other children, too, found the vicinity of the widow +McVeigh's a very tempting resort, and their parents were well +satisfied, for they had learned to love and respect the white-haired +woman who chose to be their guardian. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll niver get enough o' the dears," she would say to the mothers, and +they quite believed her. +</P> + +<P> +In the winter of the following year Will Devitt came home from the +North-West. He had been absent three years, and during that time had +secured a grant of land. He boasted of his possessions to his +foster-mother, and she was almost as proud of them as he was himself. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a grand country, sure, this Canada of ours, an' were I younger +I'd go back wi' ye, Will. D'ye think we could find business fer a +tavern?" she asked him one day. +</P> + +<P> +"You would just make your fortune," Will responded, enthusiastically. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy smiled and shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm only talkin' like a silly ould woman, laddie. In the first place, +I'm no fit to run a tavern, an' in the second, it's no fittin' +occupation fer the loikes o' me." +</P> + +<P> +Will had been home a short while when Nancy's suspicions were aroused, +and being unable to lay them bare to Katie Duncan, she told them to +Mrs. Doctor Dodona. +</P> + +<P> +"There's somethin' mysterious in the behavior o' the young folk," she +confided. "I'm uncommon versed in the language of sighs an' tender +looks, an' it's comin' to somethin' before long." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean that Will Devitt is in love?" the doctor's wife asked, +in mild surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afeard it's just that," Nancy admitted, regretfully. +</P> + +<P> +"And with whom, pray?" +</P> + +<P> +Nancy bent forward and whispered in her ear. +</P> + +<P> +"Your Katie!" Sophia Dodona exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy nodded, and they both laughed. +</P> + +<P> +Nancy knew instinctively that her two foster-children had something +they wished to say to her, and she purposely kept them at arm's length, +whilst she enjoyed their discomfiture. +</P> + +<P> +"It's rare fun," she told Sophia. +</P> + +<P> +Will Devitt was becoming desperate, for he must soon get himself back +to his prairie farm. So, after a lengthy twilight consultation with +his heart's desire, he came tramping awkwardly into the presence of the +widow McVeigh. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're lookin' serious the night," she greeted, as she paused with her +knitting. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm feeling that way, too," he conceded, sighing. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe ye're thinkin' o' the closeness o' yer leavin'?" she questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"It's partly that," he admitted, sheepishly. +</P> + +<P> +"Only partly, ye say. Fer shame, to let anythin' else be a part o' +such thoughts," she observed, somewhat severely. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, granny, it is no use you being cross with me. I'm full of love +for you and the old place, and you know it," he expostulated. "There's +something else, all the same," he continued, with a forlorn pleading in +his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Then ye had better out wi' it, lad," she replied, giving him her whole +attention. +</P> + +<P> +"It's about our Kate," he commenced. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought as much. Ye go away an' get a plot o' land somewhere, an' a +bit o' a cabin, an' then ye come back pretendin' it was yer love fer +yer poor granny. But ye had other plans, which ye wouldn't tell till +ye were driven to it," Nancy interrupted, with a strange lack of +sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +Her words aroused Will's latent passion, and drove him to a confession, +regardless of consequences. +</P> + +<P> +"Katie an' I have been lovin' each other fer years, in fact, ever since +we were children. We made it up then that we should marry some day. +When I went West it was to earn enough money to buy a home fer us. +I've got a farm now, an' I can keep her. We've talked it over every +night fer a month, an' she's willin' to go if ye will give yer +consent," he burst out, earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +Mistress McVeigh listened in silence, rocking her chair to and fro. As +the night became darker only her outline was visible to the youth, who +poured into her ears his love story with an unfettered tongue. He +talked rapidly of his plans, his chances and his faith in his ability +to maintain Katie Duncan as comfortably as she had been at the tavern. +When he had finished, Nancy called sharply to Katie, whom she rightly +guessed was not far away, to fetch a lamp. Katie obeyed with +commendable alacrity, and deposited it on the table. She had never +seemed so grown-up and pretty to her foster-parent as she did at that +moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Katie," began Nancy, with ominous slowness, "Will has been tellin' me +that ye have been courtin' under me very nose. Do ye love him truly, +lass?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, granny," the girl answered, almost defiantly. +</P> + +<P> +"God bless ye, children. The sooner ye're married, then, the better," +Nancy exclaimed, and she drew them both to her and kissed them again +and again. +</P> + +<P> +It was a real old-fashioned country dance that followed the wedding of +Katie Duncan and Will Devitt. The ceremony was performed by Father +Doyle in the early morning, and all afternoon the preparations for the +evening were being rushed to completion with tireless energy. +</P> + +<P> +"Katie's the last o' my children, an' I'll give her a fittin' +send-off," Nancy explained to Sophia Dodona, and her words were not +idly spoken. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor's wife was in the kitchen, superintending the baking. As a +result, such an array of good things to eat had never before graced the +modest board. The task of decorating was in the care of Will Devitt +and his bride, and a gay dress they were putting on the interior of +their old home. Flags were draped over the walls, evergreens fastened +to cover the door and window-tops, and flowers from the Piper +conservatory were placed wherever space would permit. Nancy had no +especial work, so she assumed the <I>rôle</I> of general advisor and final +court of appeal. Such a concourse of guests had been invited that it +was doubtful if the accommodation was sufficient. But, as Will Devitt +suggested, they danced closer together nowadays, so that the room +required would not be so much. +</P> + +<P> +By eight o'clock the merry sleigh-bells were jingling over the Monk +Road. Boys and girls, some older than the term would imply, were +tumbling out of the robes in the glare of the big tin lamp, hung to the +gable end, which Nancy had borrowed from the church gate. The fiddlers +arrived early, and after a warm at the hall stove, began tuning up on +the improvised platform at the end of the parlor. The floor manager, a +tall young Irishman named O'Connell, raised his voice above the babel +of talking and laughing, and proclaimed the opening number. +</P> + +<P> +"Partners fer the Lancers!" he shouted. +</P> + +<P> +A hush ensued, and Sophia Dodona and her staff came from the kitchen to +see the start off. +</P> + +<P> +"No, doctor, I'm too ould," Nancy was saying to Dr. Dodona, who wished +to set the pace for the younger guests. But her words did not ring +true, and amidst the hearty plaudits of the rest she took the doctor's +arm. The others fell in line as if by magic, and then the fiddles +began with vim. Oh, how they danced! Everyone, old and +young—quadrilles, reels, polkas, Irish Washerwoman, Old Dan Tucker, +and all. Even Mrs. Conors, after much persuasion, did a jig as it was +performed "whin I was a gal in ould Ireland," and Patrick Flynn, the +aspiring County Member, was her partner. How the old tavern creaked +and groaned with the unusual tax upon its timbers, and how bright the +windows looked from every side of the rambling edifice! When midnight +was past the tables were set in the bar-room of ancient times, and the +cleverest productions of Sophia Dodona disappeared like snow before an +April sun. As Dr. Dodona remarked afterwards to his wife, "'Twould be +a round century of health to the bride and groom should the wishes of +the feasters be realized." +</P> + +<P> +When it was all over, and the last "Good-night" had passed the +threshold, Nancy went to her room. She sat a long while, resting in +her big rocking-chair and reflecting on the changes in the future which +the day had meant for her. Her eyes gradually centred on her +photographs of Cornelius, and her face immediately brightened. +</P> + +<P> +"Heigho," she sighed, "it's no my religion to worry." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE HOME-COMING OF CORNELIUS McVEIGH.</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Cornelius McVeigh sat in his private office, thinking. A telegram lay +open before him on the desk, and its contents had all to do with the +brown study into which he had fallen. Presently his senior clerk +appeared in answer to a summons he had given a moment before. +</P> + +<P> +"John, I'm going home for a holiday," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Young John Keene's face brightened perceptibly at the announcement. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the right thing to do, Corney, and the trip will do you a world +of good," he replied, with a familiarity which business rules could not +overcome. +</P> + +<P> +"I must go at once. You see, I've a telegram. Perhaps you would care +to read it," Cornelius McVeigh continued, moodily. +</P> + +<P> +Young John took up the missive and read it aloud: "Come home at once. +Mother seriously ill.—Dodona." He looked up to find his employer's +eyes searching his face anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"You will go at once, Corney?" he said, quietly, but with a note of +challenge. +</P> + +<P> +"The train leaves at noon. Help me to pack up, John," the other +answered. +</P> + +<P> +The Tourist Express stopped at The Narrows for half an hour just at +lunch time. The Narrows was a pretty place. The peninsula jutting +from either way, separated only by a shallow strait, was spanned by the +railroad bridge. The station formed a centre at one end to a thickly +settled district of summer cottages, and quite close by stood two +rather pretentious hotels. East and west the glistening surface of the +lakes, dotted with islands, spread out like two great sheets of chased +silver. Out beyond, the white trail of the sandy Monk Road zigzagged +until it was lost in the trees. 'Twas a half-hour well spent to lounge +about the platform and take in the grandeur of the landscape. +</P> + +<P> +The usual crowd of gaily dressed humanity was waiting for the train, +surging about it as the passengers alighted. +</P> + +<P> +Cornelius McVeigh stepped from the parlor car and looked at his watch +irritably. Thirty minutes seemed an age to his impatient mind, and the +richly upholstered car was too confining for him to think properly. To +the outward eye he was the Cornelius McVeigh of the city, tall, of +military bearing and faultlessly attired, who gave his fellow-beings +the privilege of calling at his office between the hours of ten and +four each business day, that they might lay before his highly trained +faculties their little monetary affairs, and also the fee which his +wide reputation for successful manipulating could demand. He moved +only until he was free of the people, then paused whilst his gaze +shifted from his late companions to the station and on to the dim, +sunny, leafy country beyond. Disappointment lurked in the corners of +his eyes and gradually spread over his entire countenance. Suddenly he +realized that it was exceedingly warm on the unsheltered platform. He +wished to think quietly, so he shifted his raincoat to his other arm +and sought a shaded place against the railing. His mind was struggling +in a vortex of ancient history, and this was the picture which arose +from the strife. A very commonplace, bare-legged lad, with curly, +uncombed hair and face so freckled that a few yards' distance merged +them into one complete shade of reddish brown. He surveyed the +neighboring bridge, and it came into his mental vision unconsciously. +The long, lean girders he had once trod with the careless ease of a +Blondin. Farther out, the rotting tops of the piles of the old +foot-bridge had been his seat from which he caught the crafty pickerel. +Beyond, the opening in the shore reeds marked the passage to the secret +feeding-ground of the black bass. He remembered it perfectly. A +fleeting sarcastic smile dwelt on his deeply-lined features as he +watched a number of boats, filled with noisy, gesticulating campers, +who fished in the open water where no fish lived. A small lad, +certainly a native of the place, dressed in knee trousers and a shirt +which let in the air in places, was holding high carnival with the +nerves of the onlookers. He was performing daring feats on the +trestle-work of the bridge. Suddenly, accidentally, or maybe +purposely, the expected catastrophe occurred, and he plunged head +foremost into the running water twenty feet below. A chorus of +feminine shrieks greeted the termination of his exploits, but his +grinning face as he reappeared, treading water and rubbing his eyes, +turned their consternation into laughter. Then, with a final howl of +boyish delight, he struck out for the nearest pier. +</P> + +<P> +Cornelius McVeigh awoke from his reverie as the express began to move. +He swung aboard and proceeded to gather his baggage together. He had +scarcely finished when the train slowed up at the end of his journey. +He stepped out with a feeling of expectation. Home at last! The +thought was predominant, and he let it sway him with a selfish +disregard to other influences. Everything had changed during his +twenty years of absence; and the strangeness broke in upon him as if in +condemnation. Here again was the chattering, light-hearted throng, and +their presence only added additional pangs. Not a familiar face to +greet him. Even the fields and woodlands had a different aspect. All +the success of the past decade, which had given wealth and a recognized +place in the world of business, could not wipe out the impression of a +youth of dreamy idleness and simplicity. Where he had hunted rabbits +and slept under a tent of tattered carpet during the warm summer nights +stood a gaudily-painted hotel, flanked with wide verandahs and terraced +lawns. And all about were people, in hammocks, on chairs or rustic +seats, or wandering about enjoying the cool freshness of the lake +breezes. He hurried along the wide newly-cut road which led from the +station. At the high wire gate, erected so recently that the sods from +the post-holes were yet green, he stopped. The successive changes of +the place were so startling to him that he wished to contemplate them +more slowly. It was an ideal spot and filled the soul with pleasurable +anticipation. The children played on the grass, and the hotel +employees sang as they dawdled by in pursuit of their duties. +Everything bespoke luxury and ease. In the entrance doorway of the +hotel stood a stout man, probably the proprietor. He was looking from +under his hand in a speculative way at the stranger by his gate. +Cornelius saw these things mechanically. Then, as his eyes passed from +one point to another, his mother's tavern came within the circle of his +vision. He looked no farther. There it stood, the oddest, drollest +structure that ever marred so perfect a landscape. Its weather-beaten +shingles curled to the sky. Its cracked chimneys and protruding gable +leaned towards the roadway, and every board was rusted to a natural +paintless hue. The pump stood apart, the trough green with moss and +the handle pointing outwards threateningly, like a grim sentry guarding +against the curious passers-by. A grove of trees generously shaded the +rear porch, and beyond them, behind the high fence, he knew, was the +garden. The log barn, with its plastered chinks, had not altered a +particle, and the cow might have been the same one he had milked, so +like her she appeared as she munched at the trailing wisps of hay +hanging from the loft. The outspoken cackle of hens also added to the +rustic environments. It filled his heart with gladness to see the old +place, but it was not complete. The quaintest figure of all was +missing—his mother, tall and white-headed, standing on the verandah +watching down the road for his return. Something was hanging to the +soiled brass knob of the front door, and as he approached he saw that +it was a streamer of black crepe. His heart, which for twenty long +years had thrilled only to the hard-won successes of a self-made man, +beat with a sudden passionate fear, and a tear stole out upon his +cheek. A new-born awkwardness grappled with him as he stumbled along +the roadway. Somehow he saw a pair of dirty, sun-scorched feet encased +in his shining leather shoes. The languid eyes of the hotel guests +followed him, and some wondered as to the nature of his errand. +Arriving at the door, he knocked lightly. An old woman, with +dishevelled grey hair and shoulders enveloped in a bright homespun +shawl, answered his summons and shrilly demanded what he wanted. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it Mrs. Conors?" he asked, scrutinizing her face earnestly. She +turned with a look of open-mouthed wonder upon him, and hesitated +before speaking, so he continued: +</P> + +<P> +"Have you forgotten Corney?" He trembled with a vague fear, and the +old woman's failing memory smote him painfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Be ye Corney McVeigh? A-comin' home to see yer poor dead mammy, an' +ye the ounly boy she had? But surely Corney wouldn't have sich foine +clothes. I can scarcely believe ye," she muttered, doubtingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Dead! Mother dead!" he ejaculated, passing his hand across his +forehead. He swayed a moment as if struck, and then he answered, with +forced calmness: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Mrs. Conors, I am Corney, and I want to see my mother. I've been +coming home these many years, but something always turned up to spoil +my plans. I knew the money I sent her every month was sufficient to +keep her in comfort, but I didn't think it would be like this—not like +this!" +</P> + +<P> +Corney McVeigh stepped across the ancient threshold and gazed long and +searchingly at the face in the darkened parlor; a face seamed and thin +with toil and worry, yet infinitely sweet and motherlike to the +world-lost man who choked back the tears as he felt again that almost +forgotten child-love. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Conors broke the silence. +</P> + +<P> +"I put her ould spinning-wheel there in the corner, where she could see +it 'fore she went. Those socks on the table was her last work fer ye, +Corney. She said to keep yer father's pictur' an' hers togither in the +album. I was also tould to warn ye 'gainst sleepin' in the draught, +'cause ye were always weak about the lungs, an' yer father died o' thet +complaint. She thought maybe ye wouldn't be wantin' the ould house, so +if the hotel man offered ye a good figure ye could sell it. The cow +and the chicks were to go to me, an'—well, bless me heart, if he +hasn't fainted!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Conors ceased her explanations and called to the occupants of the +rear room, whose conversation came in to her in low monotones. "Mrs. +Dodona! Jennie! it's Corney, and the lad's fainted." +</P> + +<P> +The blindness, for that was all that Corney experienced, passed off in +a few minutes, and when his eyes could notice he saw that they had +carried him to the little room which had once been his own bed-chamber. +Two women were placing cool cloths on his head. When he revived, one +stepped quietly out. The other remained. She was young and decidedly +pretty, but her face showed plainly the effects of recent grief. +Cornelius McVeigh noticed her appearance particularly because it was +peculiarly familiar to him. The harsh shock of his bereavement had +passed, leaving him weakened but calm. +</P> + +<P> +"Corney, do you remember me?" the girl asked him, gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Jennie," he answered, hesitatingly, as if it was an effort for him to +collect his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"We have lost our mother—ours," she said, tremulously, and lowered her +head, weeping. +</P> + +<P> +He hastily arose, and his arm clasped her shoulder with brotherly +affection. It seemed to him the only way to comfort her. She did not +resist him, and they sorrowed together. +</P> + +<P> +Cornelius McVeigh did not hasten away from the scene of his great +sorrow. To tell the truth, he had lost for the time being his craving +for the bustling of the city and the subdued activity of his office. +In the place of the latter came hours of quiet, apathetic reverie while +he lingered beneath the roof-tree of home. He modified his dress and +waylaid sundry travellers who passed the door in lumbering farm wagons. +Ofttimes he clambered aboard and went a-visiting, and in exchange for +his city stories received tales of the Monk Road and his mother that +were as balm to his wounded heart. +</P> + +<P> +Jennie was also loath to leave the peaceful spot. Her grandparent, who +found a new joy in living because of his affection for her, came to the +neighboring hotel and hired a suite of rooms for an indefinite period. +He proved a worthy comrade in idleness for the jaded business man, and +the three of them, Jennie, Cornelius McVeigh and Mr. Hyden, were always +together. +</P> + +<P> +Jennie had been an apt pupil, and the few years of education which her +grandparent had provided for her had transformed her from an +uncultivated country girl into an accomplished young woman. Nor was +she lacking in comeliness. Ofttimes the eyes of Cornelius McVeigh +followed her with a strange light glistening in their depths. +</P> + +<P> +The boy and girl love of years gone by, so prematurely blighted and so +long dormant, was struggling again to the surface, and who knows but +another wedding, the last of so many which have been recorded in the +previous chapters, may yet be an accomplished fact? But that involves +another story, and it has not the presence of Nancy McVeigh. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> +<hr class="full" noshade> + +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NANCY MCVEIGH OF THE MONK ROAD***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 25938-h.txt or 25938-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/9/3/25938">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/9/3/25938</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Henry +Mainer + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Nancy McVeigh of the Monk Road + + +Author: R. Henry Mainer + + + +Release Date: June 30, 2008 [eBook #25938] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NANCY MCVEIGH OF THE MONK ROAD*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 25938-h.htm or 25938-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/9/3/25938/25938-h/25938-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/9/3/25938/25938-h.zip) + + + + + +NANCY MCVEIGH OF THE MONK ROAD + +by + +R. HENRY MAINER + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal o' ours."] + + + +Toronto +William Briggs +1908 + +Copyright, Canada, 1908, by R. Henry Mainer. + + + + + + These few stories of a good old + woman I dedicate to the + memory of + + A. R. S. M. + + who sat beside me while I wrote + them and offered many happy suggestions. + + + + + "Her face, deep lined; her eyes were gray, + Mirrors of her heart's continuous play; + Her head, crowned with a wintry sheet, + Had learned naught of this world's deceit. + She oft forgot her own in others' trials, + And met the day's rebuffs with sweetest smiles." + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + I. THE WOMAN OF THE INN + II. THE ANTAGONISM OF MISS PIPER + III. JOHN KEENE'S EDUCATION + IV. THE WRECK AT THE JUNCTION + V. JENNIE + VI. NANCY'S PHILOSOPHY + VII. THE STRENGTH OF TEN + VIII. A DESERTER FROM THE MONK ROAD + IX. THE KERRY DANCERS + X. THE HOMECOMING OF CORNELIUS MCVEIGH + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +Cover art + +"Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal 'o ours." . . . . _Frontispiece_ + +"'Give me that gun, Johnny,' she called softly." + +"Ye can just pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own fixin'." + + + + +NANCY McVEIGH. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +_THE WOMAN OF THE INN._ + +During the _regime_ of Governor Monk, of Upper Canada, the military +road was cut through the virgin pine from Lake Ontario to the waters +leading into Georgian Bay. The clearings followed, then the +homesteads, then the corners, where the country store and the smithy +flourished in primitive dignity. The roadside hostelry soon had a +place on the highway, and deep into its centre was Nancy McVeigh's. + +Nancy McVeigh's tavern was famed near and far. In earliest days the +name was painted in letters bold across the high gabled face, but years +of weather had washed the paint off. Its owner, however, had so long +and faithfully dominated its destiny that it was known only as her +property, and so it was named. A hill sloped gently for half a mile, +traversed by a roadway of dry, grey sand, flanked on either side by a +split-rail snake fence, gradually widening into an open space in front +of the tavern. The tavern had reached an advanced stage of +dilapidation. A rickety verandah in front shaded the first story, and +a gable projected from above, so that the sill almost touched the +ridge-board. A row of open sheds, facing inwards, ranged along one +side of the yard, terminated by a barn, which originally had been a low +log structure, but, with the increase of trade, had been capped with a +board loft. Midway between the sheds and the house stood the pump, and +whilst the owners gossiped over the brimming ale mugs within the house, +the tired beasts dropped their muzzles into the trough. Some of the +passers-by were of temperate habits, and did not enter the door leading +to the bar, but accepted the refreshment offered by Nancy's pump, and +thought none the less of the woman because their principles were out of +sympathy with her business. The place lived only because of its +mistress, and an odd character was she. Fate had directed her life +into a peculiar channel, and she followed its course with a sureness of +purpose that brought her admiration. She was tall, raw-boned, and +muscled like a man. Her face was deeply lined, patient, and crowned +with a mass of fine, fair hair turning into silvery grey, and blending +so evenly that a casual observer could scarcely discern the change of +color. It was her eyes, however, that betrayed the soul within, their +harshness mocking the goodness which was known of her, and their +softness at times giving the lie to the roughness which, in a life such +as hers, might be expected. + +Nancy McVeigh, the tavern and the dusty Monk Road were synonymous, and +to know one was to know all three. + +Nancy was within the bar when two wayfarers, whose teams were drinking +at the trough, entered. + +"It's a foine day, Mistress McVeigh," greeted old Mr. Conors, at the +sight of her. + +"It is that, and more, too, Mr. Conors," she assented, including the +two men before her in her remark. + +"This spell o' weather's bad fer the crops. I'll have to stop at the +pump altogether if it don't rain soon." + +"You're welcome to your choice. If ye want a drink and can pay fer it, +I am pleased to serve ye, but I ask no man fer what he cannot afford," +was Nancy's rejoinder, as she wiped her hands on her apron after +drawing the mugs. + +"Been to town?" she inquired, after a minute's reflection. + +"Yes, and a bad place it is to save money. The women folk have so many +things to buy that I often wonder where the pay for the seed grain'll +come from. Had to buy the missus a shawl, and two yards of flannel for +the kids to-day, and heaven only knows what they will be wanting next +week, when school begins again," commented Mr. Conors. + +"'Tis a God's blessing to have your childer, the bright, wee things! +They keep us from fergittin' altogether," said Nancy, sighing, and +looking abstractedly out of the window. + +"She is thinkin', poor woman," observed Mr. O'Hagan, in a low tone. + +"Ye have quite a squad yerself, Nancy," ventured Mr. Conors. + +"Yes," she agreed, "there's Sam Duncan's little girl. You remember big +Sam, who was drowned in his own well?" Mr. Conors nodded. "And +Jennie--but she's a rare young lass now, and waits on table as well as +I can do. If I could spare her I'd send her to school, fer she needs +book learnin' more than she's got at present, but it's hard work I have +to keep up the old place, and I'm not as able fer it as I was the first +years after McVeigh died. Then I have Will Devitt's boy. He's past +eighteen now, and handy about the stables. If it was not fer him I'm +thinkin' old Donald would never manage at all." + +"An' you'd take in the very nixt waif that comes along," declared Mr. +O'Hagan. + +"Maybe," answered Mistress McVeigh, thoughtfully. + +Mr. Conors broke in with the question, "Where's yer own boy, Corney? +It's a long while since he was about the place with his capers and +curly head. Only t'other day my missus was talkin' about the time he +and my Johnny learned to smoke behind my barn, and almost burnt the +hull of us into the bargain." + +A smile flitted across Nancy McVeigh's face at the recollection. "My +Corney's a wonderful lad, Mr. Conors. He doesn't take after either of +his parents, fer he'd give over the best game in the world fer a book. +He's livin' in Chicago, and he writes home now and then. He's makin' +lots of money, too, the scamp, but he's like his father fer spendin'. +Sometimes he borrows from me, just to tide him over, but he says that +he will make enough money some day to turn the old tavern into a +mansion. Then I'll be a foine lady, with nothin' to do but sit about +and knit, with a lace cap on me head, and servants to do all the work. +Though I'm afraid me old bones would never submit to that." + +"Do ye believe the nonsense he writes, Mistress McVeigh?" questioned +Mr. Conors. + +"Aye, an' I do that, sir. It's me, his old mother, that knows the grit +o' him, and the brains he has." + +Tears were shining in Nancy's eyes, and she dried them on her apron, +under cover of a sharp order which she called to a maid in the +dining-room. + +"Ye have a rare good heart in ye, Nancy McVeigh," Mr. O'Hagan commented. + +"Heart, ye call it, sor. It's a mother's heart, and nothin' else," she +answered, quickly, and then continued, somewhat bitterly, "It's nigh +broke with anger and trouble this day. It's not that the work is hard, +nor the trade fallin' away, for it has kept me and mine these many +years, and it'll never fail while I have me health. But my interest +falls due this month." + +"It's a power o' interest ye hev paid that old miser, John Keene, since +McVeigh took over the tavern," Mr. Conors observed. + +"It is that, Mr. Conors, and he treats me none the better fer it. A +week come Tuesday he stalks into the bar here, and, before my +customers, he threatens to put me into the road if I fail to have the +amount fer him on the due date. I jest talked back to him with no fear +in me eye, and he cooled off wonderfully. I have since got the money +together, and a hundred dollars to pay on the principal, and to-morrow +I'm goin' to give it to him with me compliments." + +"Ye need not be afraid o' his puttin' ye out, Mistress McVeigh, +begorra. He knows right well the place wouldn't be fit to stable +horses in if ye were to leave it, and then who'd pay him his dirty +interest?" sagely remarked Mr. Conors. + +"Well, if that ain't James Bennet comin' along the road, and tipsy, +too," broke in Mr. O'Hagan, catching sight of a new arrival from +townwards. + +"The likes o' him!" sniffed Nancy, contemptuously. "Not a drop will I +serve him, the good-fer-nothin'! There's his poor wife with a +two-weeks-old baby, and two other childer scarce able to walk, and him +carryin' on and spendin' money as if he could afford it." + +The three waited, watching in silence, whilst the semi-intoxicated +fellow tumbled out of his rig and walked with uncertain footsteps to +the tavern door. + +"An' what be ye wantin' the night?" spoke up Nancy, barring his +entrance, and all the softness gone from her voice. + +"Wantin', ye silly woman! what d'ye suppose I'd chance breakin' me neck +gettin' out o' me buggy fer, but a drink o' yer best brewed?" + +"Not a drop, James Bennet. Ye needn't come round my door askin' fer +liquor. You, with a sick wife and a house full o' childer! It's a +wonder ye're not ashamed. Better put yer head under the pump and then +git ye home. Ye're no man at all, James, and I've told ye so before." + +"It's not refusin' an old frien', are ye, Mistress McVeigh?" Bennet +asked, coaxingly. + +"Ye're no frien' o' mine, I'd like ye to understand, and if Mary O'Neil +had taken my advice years ago, ye'd hev niver had the chance o' abusin' +her." + +"Ye're not doubtin' that I have the change?" pleaded Bennet, digging +his hands deeply into his pocket, as if to prove his statement. + +"More's the pity, then, fer it should be at home with yer wife, who'd +know how to keep it." + +"Ye're very hard on me," he whined, edging up the steps. + +"Ye may thank yer stars I'm no harder," threatened the unyielding Nancy. + +"I tell ye, Mrs. McVeigh, I'm burnin' with thirst, and I'm goin' to +have only one." + +"Ye're not, sor." + +"I will, ye old shrew! Out o' my way!" he exclaimed, with an ugly +showing of temper, and moved as if to force an entrance. But Nancy +McVeigh had learned life from the standpoint of a man, and, reaching +forward, she sent him tottering from the verandah. Nor did she +hesitate to follow up her advantage. With masculine swiftness and +strength she seized him by the collar, and in a trice had him head +downwards in the horse-trough. + +"Now will ye go home, ye vagabond?" she exclaimed, with grim certainty +of her power. The man spluttered and wriggled ineffectually for a few +minutes, and then called "Enough!" + +"Off with ye," she said, releasing him, but with a menace in her tones +which suggested that to disobey would mean a second ducking. The +drunken coward climbed into his buggy, muttering imprecations on the +head of the obdurate hostess of the tavern as he did so. But he had no +stomach for further resistance. Mr. Conors and Mr. O'Hagan had been +interested spectators, and now came forward to untie their own horses, +laughing loudly at the discomfiture of Bennet as they did so. + +In the quiet of the early evening, when the modest list of boarders had +eaten of the fare which the tavern provided, with small consideration +of the profits to be made, Mrs. McVeigh put on her widow's bonnet, and +a shawl over her gaunt shoulders, and, leaving a parting injunction to +old Donald to tend to the bar during her absence, she set off down the +road to the Bennets'. The night was setting in darkly and suggestive +of rain, and the way was lonely enough to strike fear into the heart, +but the old tavern-keeper apparently had no nerves or imagination, so +confidently did she pursue her intention to see how fared the sick wife +of her troublesome customer of the afternoon. + +Bennet met her at the door, and he held up his finger for quietness as +he made way for her to enter. He was sober now, and evidently in a +very contrite mood. He knew it was not for him that Nancy McVeigh had +come, and he expressed no surprise. "She be worse the night," he +whispered, hoarsely. Nancy shot a glance at him, half-pitying, +half-blaming, as she stepped into the dimly-lighted bedroom, where a +wasted female form lay huddled, with a crying baby nestled close beside +her. Two children in an adjoining bed peeped curiously from under the +edge of a ragged blanket, and laughed outright when they saw who the +visitor was. + +"Go to sleep, dears," Nancy said, kindly, to hush their noisy +intentions. + +"It's you, Mistress McVeigh?" a weak voice asked from the sick-bed. + +"It is, Mary, and how are ye?" + +Mrs. Bennet was slow in answering, so her husband spoke for her, and +his tones were tense with anxiety. + +"She's not well at all, at all." + +Nancy turned impatiently to Bennet and bade him light the kitchen fire. + +"I've brought somethin' with me to make broth, and it's light food I'm +sure that ye're wantin', Mary," she explained. + +As soon as Bennet's back was turned, Nancy took off her wraps and drew +a chair into the middle of the room. + +"Give me the baby, Mary; yer arms must be weary holdin' it, and I will +see if I can put it to sleep." + +One thing Mrs. McVeigh's widowhood had not spoilt, and that was her +motherly instincts in the handling of a baby, and the room seemed +brighter and more hopeful from the moment she began to rock, singing a +lullaby in a strange, soothing tone. + +Mrs. Bennet gazed in silent gratitude for awhile, then she spoke again. + +"The doctor was here." + +"And what did he say?" Nancy inquired. + +"I'm not goin' to get better," she faltered. + +"Tut, tut, Mary! Ye're jest wearied out and blue, and ye don't know +what ye say. Think of yer poor childer. What would they do without +their mother?" + +"I don't know," murmured Mrs. Bennet, beginning to cry. "The doctor +says I might recover if I had hospital treatment and an operation. But +it's a terrible expense. Just beyond us altogether. He said it would +cost a hundred dollars at least." + +"And would ye be puttin' yer life in danger fer the sake o' a sum like +that?" Nancy said, feigning great unbelief. + +"It may not seem much to such as you, Mrs. McVeigh, who has a business, +and every traveller spending as he passes by, but Jim is none too +saving, and with three crying babes and a rented farm it's more than we +can ever hope fer," answered Mrs. Bennet. + +"Don't you worry one bit more about it, Mary. Maybe the good Lord'll +find a way to help you fer the sake o' Jim and the childer," Nancy +said, encouragingly, and then she went into the kitchen to direct +Bennet in the preparation of the broth, the baby still tucked under her +arm, sleeping peacefully. + +It was almost midnight when Nancy arrived at the tavern. She carried a +key for the front door, and passed up through the deserted hallway to +her room. A child's heavy breathing a few feet away told her that +Katie Duncan was in dreamland. Jennie had left a lamp burning low on +her table, and Nancy carried it over to the cot and looked at the +little plump face of her latest adoption. "Her own mother would smile +down from Hiven if she could see her now," she thought. Presently she +set the lamp back on the table, and ensconced herself comfortably in +her capacious rocking-chair. Directly in front of her, two photos were +tacked on the wall, side by side, and her eyes centred upon them. One +was that of a boy, sitting upright, dressed in a suit of clothes +old-fashioned in cut and a size too large for his body. The other, +that of a young man with an open, smiling countenance, a very high +collar, and a coat of immaculate neatness of fit. It was a strange +contrast, but Nancy saw them through the eye of a proud mother. A +debate progressed within her mind for some time, and then she arose, +with decision prominently expressed in her every movement. She +unlocked a small drawer in the ancient black walnut bureau and withdrew +a tattered wallet. Returning to her seat, she carefully spread out the +contents, counting the value of each crumpled bill as she laid it on +her knee. + +"I'm not afeard o' old John Keene. There's sufficient to pay him his +interest, and plenty left to keep Mary O'Neil at the hospital for a +month or two," she muttered. She replaced the money with a sigh, but +it was of pleasure, for Nancy never felt a pang when she had a good +action to perform. + +Next morning she sent Jennie over for Father Doyle, the parish priest. +The good man was always pleased to call on Nancy, because she was a +life-long friend, and her solid common-sense often helped him over the +many difficulties which were continually cropping up in his work. + +"It's something that has to be done at once, Father Doyle, and I think +it lies with me to do it," she said, after they had gossiped awhile. + +"I've known Mary O'Neil since she was the size o' my Katie, and many a +day have I watched her and my boy Corney, as they played, before +McVeigh was taken. It's no fault o' hers that their cupboard is empty, +and it's something I can do that will not lose its value because of the +habits o' the husband. But ye must arrange a compact with Bennet not +to take another drop if I help him. He loves his wife and would be a +good man to her if he could control his appetite." + +"But ye will be damaging your trade with your precious sentiments," +Father Doyle remarked, to test, in a joking way, the principles of his +charitable parishioner. + +"I'm no excusin' my business, Father Doyle, and ye've known me long +enough to leave off askin' me such questions. I have never taken the +bread out o' a livin' creature's mouth yet, to my knowledge, and +another might run a much, rougher house, should I give it up." + +"It's only a joke, I'm telling you," put in the priest, hastily; then +he added, kindly, "You are a strange woman, Nancy McVeigh, and the road +is no longer for your open doorway and the free pump. I have a mind to +put in half of the amount with you in this case, though it is only one +of many that I would do something to help if I could." + +"Thank ye, Father Doyle. Ye have a keen understandin' o' what is good +yerself; but ye'll be sure to name the compact with Bennet," cautioned +Nancy, as she counted out fifty dollars from her assortment of bills. + +"That I will," he answered. + +The priest immediately went over to the Bennet place, and called the +husband aside before mentioning his errand. He had long waited for +some chance to secure an advantage over his thriftless neighbor, and +now that it had come he drove it home with all the solemnity and +earnestness that he could command. Bennet listened with eyes staring +at the earth, and the veins throbbing in his bared neck, until the talk +had reached a point where he must promise. + +"Father Doyle," he began, thickly, "I have been a sad failure since the +day ye married me to Mary O'Neil, and Nancy McVeigh's tavern has been a +curse to me an' mine; but, if ye will do this fer me, I'll swear never +to touch a drop again." + +"Say nothing against Mistress McVeigh. You owe her more than you +think," Father Doyle interjected sharply. + +"Perhaps," admitted Bennet, grudgingly. + +"It's a compact, then," the priest observed, smiling away the wrinkles +of severity, and they clasped hands over it. + +That afternoon a covered rig passed by the tavern while the hostess was +serving the wants of a few who had stepped in. + +"It's Jim Bennet, takin' his wife to the hospital. Poor thing, she'll +find a deal more comfort there than in her own home!" Nancy explained, +in answer to the exclamations of curiosity. + +"It's a wonder he doesn't stop for a drink," one of the bystanders +remarked. But Nancy did not heed it, for she was thinking of two +children playing in the road when she had a husband to shoulder the +heavier duties of life. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +_THE ANTAGONISM OF MISS PIPER._ + +Miss Sophia Piper had passed that period of life popularly known on the +Monk Road as the matrimonial age. She had reached that second stage of +unwed womanhood when interest in material things supersedes that of +sentiment. She no longer sighed as she gazed down the stretch of walk, +lined with rose hedge, that led from the verandah of her Cousin James' +home to the Monk Road gateway, for there was no one in the wide world +who might desire to catch her waiting on the step. Bachelors, +especially young ones, were a silly set to her, useful only to girls +who had time to waste on them. Her time was too precious, and she +prided herself somewhat on the fact. + +True, she had had her day. She well remembered that, and even boasted +of it. Off-hand she could name a half-dozen men who once would have +accepted the custody of her heart with alacrity, but she was too +discerning. The Piper standard on the feminine side of the family was +raised high, and he must be an immortal, indeed, who climbed to its +dizzy height. She was past thirty-five, and had no regrets. She was a +close student of the Bible, and brought one text from it into her own +life. "When I was a child I played as a child, but now that I am old I +have put aside childish things." She often quoted this in defence of +her industrious maidenhood. + +She really felt that she had an object in life to accomplish, one that +was wider than personal benefit. She occupied the chair as President +of the Church Aid. For five years she had been the delegate to the +County Temperance Convention. She was also a regular contributor to +the religious columns of a city newspaper, and she held many other +responsible duties within her keeping. Then, her cousin, James Piper, +had three children to bring up properly, and their mother was dead. +This work, along with the superintendence of the domestic features of +his home, gave her plenty to fill up any spare time which she might +have had. She took a pardonable pride in her station in the little +community that knew her, yet above all she strove to exercise a fitting +humility of spirit. + +Her face was a pleasant one to see, shapely almost to prettiness, but +growing thin and sharp-featured; though bright, smiling eyes made her +appear more youthful than her years. Her hair, smoothed back from her +forehead, was streaked with grey, and harmonized perfectly with the +purity of her countenance. + +Despite her brave front and ever-abundant faculty to console others, +she had known trouble of a kind that would have crushed others of +weaker nature. From early girlhood she had been alone, her parents +having died within a year of each other before she had passed her +fifteenth birthday. She had no sisters, and her only brother had +widened the gap between them by a life of recklessness. + +Tom Piper was the exact antithesis of his sister. A good fellow with +everybody, and liked accordingly; none too particular in his choice of +comrades; a spendthrift, and unable to apply himself for long at any +one occupation, 'twas a fortunate circumstance that Cousin James took +in his orphan sister, otherwise she would have had the additional +burden of poverty to harass her endeavors to sustain the respectability +of the family. Tom might also have made his home with his cousin, but +he showed no inclination to accept such charity. He was older than his +sister, and quite able to take care of himself, so he thought. He +secured work with a firm of timber contractors, and almost immediately +disappeared into the wide expanse of pine in northern Ontario. +Occasionally he wrote to his sister, and in his letters his big heart +stood out so clearly that even her strict code of propriety could not +stay the tears of sympathy which blotted his already bedaubed +scribbling. When spring came, and the logs had been rafted down the +river, leaving the timber men a few months of well-earned idleness, +Tom's first action was to hasten out to the Monk Road to visit Sophia, +and a very unconventional caller he proved to be. The rough life had +taken off much of his exterior polish, but otherwise he was the same +good-natured Tom, generous to a fault, and, therefore, blessed with but +little to give. These were grand opportunities for Sophia, and she +lectured him roundly for his loose habits. She told him that he could +have a good position in the neighboring town, and society more in +keeping with the ancestors of the Pipers, should he so desire. But he +always answered her with a laugh that echoed strangely through the +quiet decorum of Cousin Jim's big house, then he kissed her for her +advice. + +"Never fear, little girl, I will never do any great harm either to you +or the family. It is my way of enjoying life, and I guess I am a free +agent. But keep on in your good work, and it will do for the both of +us. I have brought something with me to brighten your eyes, sister. +This will buy new clothes for you." + +While he spoke, he counted out and handed over to her a large share of +his winter's wages. This always made Sophia cry, and she would forget +her scoldings for the balance of his stay. + +As Tom grew older, tales travelled ahead of him, of his reckless +spending and his drinking while in town. Cousin Jim heard them first, +and he took Tom to task sharply whenever he met him. Then Sophia +learned the truth, and her heart was almost broken. She prayed for her +brother, and wept over him when he came to see her, and was rewarded +with promises which were broken as soon as her influence had worn off. +Gradually a coldness grew between them. Tom, obstinately set in his +way, and angry at the continued interference of his sister and cousin; +Sophia hurt by his neglect and bitter from the sting of his disgraceful +conduct; and Cousin Jim, hard, matter-of-fact business man that he was, +refused to extend even the courtesy of a speaking acquaintance. So +affairs ran along very unhappily, until, at last, Sophia determined to +forget that Tom was her brother, and henceforth she put her whole soul +into a crusade against sin, and Nancy McVeigh's tavern soon came under +the ban of her displeasure. + +Nancy's place was four miles from town on the Monk Road, and Tom Piper +had found it a convenient spot for rest and refreshment, both going and +returning from his visit to Cousin Jim's. Sophia had often warned him +against the house, saying that it was an evil den, peopled with the +thriftless scourings of the countryside, and presided over by a sort of +human she-devil, who waited by the window to coax wayfarers in to buy +her vile drinks. Tom answered by repeating some of the good acts +traceable to Nancy McVeigh's door. He explained to her that the +hostess was just a poor, hard-worked woman, who reaped small reward for +her labors, and divided what she got with any who might be in need of +it. He also told of waifs whom Nancy had mothered and fed from her own +cupboard until they were old enough to shift for themselves. But +Sophia was firm in her convictions, and only permitted herself to know +one side of the story. + +"No good can come out of that tavern," she had said, with a stamp of +her foot and a fire in her eye that forbade contradiction. + +Through the vale of years Sophia never forgot the grudge, and when she +made herself an influence in the highest circles of reform, she turned +with grim persistence to the agitation for the cancelling of the tavern +license. + +Nancy McVeigh, the woman against whom this thunderbolt was to be +launched, kept patiently at her work. She had heard of the efforts +being put forth, and often wondered why the great people bothered about +one of so little consequence as herself. She did not fight back, as +she had nothing to defend, but waited calmly, telling her neighbors, +when they came to gossip, that they need not worry her with news of it +at all. + +Sophia championed her pet theme at the County Convention, and carried +it to an issue where she and a committee were empowered to wait on the +License Board with a strong plea in favor of the abolition of the +tavern. The three stout gentlemen who listened to their petition were +all good men who had families of their own and wanted as little evil as +possible abroad to tempt their boys from the better path. They gave a +long night's deliberation to the question, and then brought in a +verdict that they would extend Nancy's rights for another year. Sophia +was completely overcome by the decision, and straightway sought out one +of the Commissioners, a friend of Cousin Jim's, whom she knew quite +intimately. + +"Why did you do it?" she asked wrathfully. + +"My dear Miss Piper," he replied, "perhaps you have not realized that +Nancy McVeigh has a heart as big as a bushel basket, and we can find no +instance where she has abused the power which she holds. If we take it +away from her, some other will step into her place, and he might be ten +times worse." + +Sophia brought the interview to a close very abruptly, and went home +angry and unshaken in her resolve; but an unexpected event changed the +course of her meditation. Cousin Jim was planning a winter's stay in +California for her and his children. She needed the rest and change, +and so did the youngsters. Their preparations were completed in a few +days, and the big house was closed. Thus the questions which had +raised such an excitement were shelved for a more convenient season. + +It was in the spring of the next year that Jennie, Nancy McVeigh's +adopted daughter, brought her the news from town of Tom Piper's illness. + +"The poor fellow's goin' fast, wi' consumption, and he's at the +'ospital. It was Dan Conors who told me, an' he said, 'Tom hasn't a +dollar fer the luxuries he requires,'" Jennie explained. Nancy's face +relaxed somewhat from its habitually austere expression when Jennie had +finished. + +"The idee o' that lad dyin', forsaken like that, an' his own sister +gallivantin' about California. It's past me understandin' entirely," +she remarked, as she fastened on her widow's bonnet and threw her heavy +shawl over her shoulders. + +"Tell Will Devitt to harness the mare, and I'll go and see what can be +done fer him." + +Nancy arrived at the hospital late in the afternoon, and was admitted +to the sick man's bedside. She found him delirious and unable to +recognize her, but instead he called her "Sophia." + +"It's so good of you to come, Sophia. I knew you would," he kept +repeating as he clasped her hand in his. All that night Nancy stayed +by him, attending to his wants with the skill of a mother, and soothing +him by her words. + +In the morning he died. + +"I guess it will be the potter's field," the hospital doctor told her, +when she inquired about the burial. "He came here almost penniless, +and has been in the ward six weeks." + +Nancy gazed into space while she made some hasty mental computations. +"What balance is due ye?" she asked, suddenly. + +The doctor produced a modest bill, at half the current rate, amounting +to twenty-five dollars. It meant a good week's business out of Nancy's +pocket, but she paid it without objection. "I want the body sent to my +tavern out on the Monk Road, sir, and ye can complete all arrangements +fer a decent Christian funeral, an' I'll pay all the expenses," she +said, before leaving. She went to the telegraph office and left +instructions to wire to all the known addresses of Miss Sophia Piper; +then, satisfied with her day's work, she hurried home. + +The tavern bar was closed during the two days while the body lay in the +little parlor, and callers came and went on tiptoe, and spoke only in +whispers. A steady stream of roughly dressed people, river-men and +their friends, struggled over the four miles of snowy road to pay their +last respects to the dead, and some brought flowers bundled awkwardly +in their arms. + +The night preceding the funeral, two great, long-limbed fellows, +wearing top-boots, came stumbling into the tavern, more noisily because +of their clumsy efforts at gentleness. Nancy knew them as former +friends of Tom Piper, so she led them in at once. The men took the +limit of the time usually spent there, and yet they were loath to go, +and Nancy guessed that they had something further to say but scarcely +knew how to commence. She encouraged them a little, and finally one +spoke up. + +"Ye see, Mistress McVeigh, Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal o' +ours, an' we hate to see ye stuck for the full expenses o' this +funeral. God knows we owe him plenty fer the generous way he stayed by +his mates, an' we don't want him receivin' charity from no one. We had +a meetin' o' the lot o' us down town las' night, and every man put in +his share to make Tom right with the world. We've got fifty-five +dollars here, and we want ye to take it." + +The men counted out the money on the table, silver and bills of small +amounts, until it made quite an imposing pile, then they placed a piece +of paper upon it, with the words, written very badly, "For Tommy, from +his pals." + +They looked towards Nancy, and her averted face was wet. She did not +sob, yet tears were streaming down her cheeks. + +Sophia Piper was home in ten days, having received a message after +considerable delay. The resident minister met her at the station and +comforted her as well as his kindly soul knew how. He told her all the +circumstances connected with the death and burial of her brother, and +took particular pains to place Nancy McVeigh's part in it in its true +light, as he had a warm spot in his heart for the old tavern-keeper. +They drove together out to the home of Cousin Jim, where the servants +had opened the house in preparation for their coming. The +weather-stained gable of Nancy McVeigh's tavern, like some old familiar +face, came into view by the way, and Sophia asked to be set down at the +door. + +Nancy, tall, angular and sympathetic, walked into her parlor to meet +her guest. + +The minister did not stay, but left them together, the younger woman +sobbing on the breast of the older, who bent over and stroked the +troubled head softly. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +_JOHN KEENE'S EDUCATION._ + +"If the world had no mean people, there'd be little use fer kindness," +remarked Nancy McVeigh to Moore, the operator at the railway junction, +who always enjoyed a smoke and a half-hour chat with his hostess after +his midday meal. They were discussing the escapades of young John +Keene in the little parlor upstairs, whither Mistress McVeigh had gone +to complete a batch of home-knit socks for her son, Cornelius, who +lived in Chicago. + +"I can't understand such a difference in the natures of father and +son," Moore continued, after Nancy's interruption. "The father starts +life penniless, without education, friends or business training. He +settles in a locality where the majority of his neighbors find it a +heart-breaking struggle to make ends meet, and amasses a fortune. Such +a performance in a country where business is brisk and natural +facilities favorable to the manipulations of a clever man would not be +so surprising, but we all know the Monk Road has no gold mines or +streams of commerce to disturb its dreamlike serenity." + +A tone of irony pervaded Moore's words, for he was past forty, and had +but a paltry bank account and a living salary to show for his ten +years' sojourn in the place. + +"Compare the father's record with that of his son. The boy is given +all the advantages that money can obtain, and plenty of time for +growth, and he has also the example of his parent. Why, the lad was +the terror of the school, never out of mischief, and costing his father +a pretty sum to keep him from serious consequences. Before he was +fifteen he spent his Saturdays carousing with the wildest set in the +town, and incidentally built up a very unenviable reputation. Then he +was sent to a city college. Did you hear the rumors that came back of +what he did there?" + +"There was some talk," Nancy agreed. + +"Talk! Mistress McVeigh; downright scandal, I should call it! I know +he was expelled for attending a party at the Principal's own home in an +intoxicated condition, and afterwards fighting with a teacher who +undertook to reprimand him." + +Nancy looked up from her knitting, and an amused twinkle was in her +eyes. + +"The lad sowed wild oats sure enough, Mr. Moore, and good, tall ones, +with full heads at that, but he's only an image o' his father, in that +old John's recklessness runs to makin' money, and young John's to +spendin'. It's not that I like bringin' up bygones, but the father was +a bit loose in his day, too. I can remember, before old John married, +he would come from town takin' the width o' the road fer his path, and +singin' at the top o' his voice something he learnt out o' a Burns' +book o' poetry. It was the wife that he brought from the city, bless +her good soul, that turned his work into a gold-mine. She guided him +out o' his evil way and kept him hard at his dealin's from morning till +night. It'll be the same with young John. He's spendin' his money +now, and makin' the whole countryside ring with his pranks, but a foine +miss'll spy him out some day, and then his mind'll forget his throat +and dwell on his pocket. He'll never fail, fer he takes after his +mother in the face, and she was the envy of the people the length o' +the Monk Road, and farther. It's an old woman I'm gettin' now, an' +I've watched many young men developin' character, an' I'm just a bit o' +a judge. Ye'll admit I've had a grand opportunity to study their evil +side, and what I don't see is told me by the neighbors; then their good +side turns up after awhile, like a rainbow after a shower. I find it +takes wise men to be really bad ones, but, after they've learnt their +lesson, they see what a dried-up skeleton an evil life is, and then +it's a race to make up fer their wasted years. Course, if a fool is +led into idle habits, he must be led out again, and it's doubtful +whether the process is very purifyin'. But it's different when a man +like John Keene's son sees the error o' his ways. I tell ye, Mr. +Moore, it's only a question o' time, an' young John'll be as set as his +father, but he'll no be as tight, I'm thinkin'. He's got his mother's +heart, ye know." + +"You have rare assurance in the strength of human nature, Mistress +McVeigh. Perhaps it is because you're fairly strong in that quarter +yourself," commented Mr. Moore, after he had digested Nancy's crude +philosophy. + +A smile crept into the corners of Nancy's mouth at the compliment, and +she let it rest there a few minutes before replying. + +"Ye've noticed that young John's a regular visitor at the tavern +lately?" she asked. + +"I have." + +"Doubtless ye think I'm profitin' mightily with the money he passes +over my bar." + +"The gain will do you no good if you are," Moore declared, stoutly. +His hostess was a very plain-spoken woman, and he knew that he could be +equally outspoken and yet incur no disfavor. + +Nancy lingered over his remark, carefully revolving its significance in +her mind before attempting to defend herself. + +"Tavern-keepin' is a mighty peculiar business, Mr. Moore. Ye're open +to a lot o' criticism, and sometimes ye know in yer heart it's not +quite fair. When I was married, my friends thought the inn would be a +foine chance fer us to get along, so McVeigh bought it. I cooked good +vittals, and waited on table meself in those days, an' times were +brisk, because the railroad was bein' built past our door. Then +McVeigh died, an' I had to stay by the old place, because I had nowhere +else to go. 'Twas after that people began accusin' me o' fattenin' on +the bones o' their misfortunes. And d'ye know why?" + +Moore remained silent, but his looks were expectant, so Nancy +continued: "Because I was makin' enough money to pay me debts with and +keep a respectable house. I have always endeavored to give honest +value, and let no man go beyond his means in the spendin'. Of course, +I must have my trade, fer my expenses are high, seein' that I keep a +few children about me whom nobody else wants, an' I have my Corney to +do fer occasionally, but I never made more'n I could comfortably get +along with. My interest to John Keene is no such a small item, an' why +should I refuse if the son helps me to pay it with his trade? It's no +so unjust, ye see. But, for all that, I have a mother's love for young +John. Ever since he was ten years old I have carried him into town in +me buggy, wheniver he had a mind to go. Ye see, he an' me had some +great talks then, an' since he brings all his troubles to me. While +other people have been blamin' him fer his capers I've been makin' up +my mind whether he will turn into the right again or no." + +"And what think you about him now?" questioned Moore, won into a more +conciliatory frame of mind. + +"Ye can mark my words, Mr. Moore, the day is not far distant when young +John Keene'll be the most respected man in the country." + +Moore laughed doubtfully as he said, "I hope so," and then hurried out, +for it was past the hour when he should be at work. The day was very +warm, and the sun's rays smote the grey sand of the Monk Road, +reflecting back with trebled intensity. The traffic had ceased +completely, and the quietness of Nancy McVeigh's tavern was +undisturbed. Old Donald lay asleep in the haymow above the barn. Will +Devitt had gone to town early in the morning, and Jennie and Katie +Duncan were over at the cool edge of the lake, which lay a half-mile +down the side road. Nancy was still sitting in the little parlor, but +her knitting had dropped from her fingers, her eyes were closed, and +her head pillowed against the chair-back. + +A sudden noise awakened her, and going to the top of the stairs she saw +two ladies hesitating in the entrance, as if they wished to come in but +were somewhat doubtful of their welcome. One she recognized as Miss +Sophia Piper, the housekeeper for James Piper, who owned the big house +down the road; the other was a much younger woman and a stranger. + +"Come up to my parlor, ladies," she invited, wondering what meant this +unexpected visit. + +"Thank you, Mrs. McVeigh," called Miss Piper, and the two of them +ascended the stairs and took the seats which Nancy pushed into the +middle of the room, dusting them carefully with her apron as she did +so. Miss Piper had shown a kindly feeling to Nancy ever since the +death of her brother Tom, and she addressed the tall, grey-haired woman +before her with a cordiality of manner and a lack of reserve unusual in +her conversations with the commoners of the countryside. + +"I hope you are well, Mrs. McVeigh," she began, as she seated herself +comfortably. + +"I'm not complainin', miss," Nancy answered. + +"I've brought my dear friend Miss Trevor with me because we are both +very anxious to do a little missionary work for the benefit of a mutual +acquaintance whom we are interested in," Miss Piper explained with +winning directness. + +"Indade, Miss Piper, an' ye think I can help ye, doubtless." + +"Yes, we are sure of it. It's Mr. Keene that we wish to speak about." + +"Ye mean young John, of course," Nancy interrupted, as a smile gathered +slowly over her rugged face. + +"Young Mr. Keene, yes. I was his Sunday-school teacher, years ago, but +since then, I am afraid, I have lost touch with him, until recently, +when Miss Trevor brought him back to my mind." + +"It's about his drinking," Miss Piper continued, nervously, as if at a +loss to know how to broach the subject without giving offence. + +"Ye come to blame me fer servin' him, I suppose?" Nancy suggested, +without the slightest trace of animosity in her tones. + +"We don't blame you, Mrs. McVeigh. Please do not misunderstand our +intentions. The fact is, we know you to be--er--different from most +women, and your house is your living, but Mr. Keene is a young man with +an exceptionally bright future, if he will only settle down to it. I +have heard a great deal about you, Mrs. McVeigh, and I know the +goodness of your heart from the part you took at Brother Tom's death. +We were sure of your co-operation, and that is why we have come to you." + +"And what can I do?" Nancy asked, kindly. + +"Stop his drinking, please," burst out the younger woman, impetuously, +and then she blushed furiously, while Miss Piper frowned. Nancy, +however, let the remark pass unnoticed, and asked, with feigned +innocence, "Is he yer young man, Miss Trevor?" + +The girl, for she was easily under twenty-one, was more embarrassed +than ever at the keen intuition of the old tavern-keeper, and an +awkward silence ensued, during which Miss Piper vainly tried to say +something to bring the conversation back to more conventional lines. + +"Do you love him?" Nancy questioned further, relentless in her desire +to enjoy the privileges of being a confidant in Miss Piper's plans. + +Miss Trevor would have answered haughtily enough if it had been an +ordinary acquaintance who thus probed into her secrets, but the strong, +trustful influence of this woman humbled her into a school-girl +demeanor. + +"Yes," she answered, simply, and Miss Piper became more uncomfortable. + +"Does he know it?" Nancy persisted. + +"No,--er--perhaps. Oh, Mrs. McVeigh, you seem to have taken all my +sense out of me," the girl gasped, helplessly, and covered her crimson +face with her handkerchief. + +"I'm glad to know this. Begging your pardon, Miss Piper, but if you +come to me fer advice I must have more than half-truths. I've known +Johnny Keene since he was a baby, and it's little good I've to his +credit either, but I'm no sayin' it's not there. He takes after his +mother, ye know. He's about run his course, and if Miss Trevor will +take the word of an ould woman, who has learned from long experience, +I'm thinkin' he'll be a good man fer her." + +"You think so?" asked Miss Piper, brightening up. + +"I'm sure of it, miss; it's in the blood, so it is." + +The three women were now on a basis of plain understanding, and the +balance of the conversation was easier and productive of results. +After the two had departed, Nancy sat a long time gazing out of the +window, and pondering the situation which had arisen. She did not +entertain a doubt as to the ultimate fulfilment of her prophecies, but +she wondered how long. The afternoon waned into evening, and she had a +grand opportunity to knit and think, which two occupations were her +chief enjoyments. + +After supper, the usual company dropped into the bar. It was the +common meeting-place for gossip and good-fellowship, and during the +early hours Will Devitt did a lively business. But a curious change +was taking place within Nancy McVeigh. From her rocker, in the rear +apartment, where she and the girls spent their evenings, she could hear +the loud laughs and talking that passed between her customers, mingled +with the clink of glasses, and the noise was offensive to her. The +thought repeated itself in her mind, Was the continued harassing of her +teetotaller friends awakening a new phase in her life? For the first +time, perhaps, since her deceased husband had bought the tavern, her +surrounding's appeared distasteful, and almost sordid. More than once +she arose and walked into the bar, where her presence was the signal +for doffing of caps and a lowering of voices. She went for no +particular purpose, and the men who were buying her liquor were +surprised at the frown and curt replies which they received to their +greetings. + +"Nancy's in a bad humor," blurted one old fellow, who was a nightly +caller, as she turned her back. Mistress McVeigh heard the remark, and +it aroused her anger more than she would have cared to admit. She +retraced her steps, and her glance wandered severely over the +half-dozen men present. + +"Ye should be at home with yer wife, Mr. Malone, and not wastin' yer +toime waitin' about my premises fer some one to buy ye a drink," she +said to the man who had spoken. + +Malone laughed foolishly, and treated her words as a joke. He was on +the verge of a maudlin state, and prepared to contest his rights to be +there. + +"Another drink, Mr. Devitt, and a glass all round," he blustered, +throwing a piece of silver on to the bar. + +"No, Mr. Malone, ye have had yer fill, an' it's no more ye'll git the +night," Nancy insisted. + +Malone grumbled a reply, and some of the others took sides with him, +and their demands were aggressively loud. + +"I tell ye, it's no more liquor'll be served in this bar to-night," +Nancy again declared, and stepping from behind, she began a steady +movement towards the door. The men shot a few irresolute glances at +Will Devitt, but his face gave no encouragement to disobey, and +gradually they dispersed, all but Malone, who had a wish to be +troublesome. His mutiny was short-lived, however, for Nancy's fingers +suddenly clutched his collar, and she precipitated him on to the +verandah, with scarce an apparent effort. + +"I'm not well the night, Will, and the noise hurts my head," she +explained to Will Devitt, as she passed into her sitting-room. + +A crunching of wheels sounded from the roadway, and presently a rig +came to a stop in the open sheds. Boisterous talking ensued, and then +four young men came into the light of the hallway. They were all well +dressed, and of a different class to the usual run of custom. + +"Ho, Mistress McVeigh, a room please, and a few bottles of the best in +your house." Almost simultaneously Nancy appeared, and a tolerant +smile again hovered in the corners of her mouth. + +"Faith, an' are ye back again, John Keene?" she asked. + +"I am, most assuredly; who could pass your welcome doorway without +dropping in?" young John answered, laughing. + +"It's high time ye quit yer loose ways," Nancy commenced, trying to +frown, but her voice had none of the harshness of her previous +ill-humor. + +"No preaching, now, Mistress McVeigh," young John interposed, as he +flung his arm affectionately across her shoulders. + +"Ye're always takin' advantage of a poor ould woman," Nancy retorted, +good-naturedly, as she led the way upstairs to the parlor, where Jennie +had already placed a lamp. + +"I've a bad head the night, sirs, so I'll be thankful if ye make no +noise," she said, before descending the stairs. + +The hours passed quietly enough, and, when it was closing time, she +ordered Will Devitt to lock up the house and blow out the lights. The +four young men still occupied the parlor, and the steady cadence of +their voices came down to her. Will Devitt had supplied their order at +the commencement, so that it was unnecessary to give them any further +attention. It had been the rule for young John Keene and his +companions to stay as long as it pleased them, and, when they had +finished, to let themselves out with a key which he had coaxed out of +the indulgent hostess. Nancy knew that young John was using her rooms +for gambling purposes. At first the knowledge disturbed her peace of +mind, and she had determined to speak to him about it, but after mature +consideration, her theory that until his sin had lost its pleasure it +would be only driving him away from under her watchful eye to +interfere, made her decide to wait. + +"Sin in the loikes o' young John Keene is the same as a person +sufferin' from the fever, and no remedy can successfully combat its +ravages until the poison has worn itself out," she declared to Jennie, +who had mildly criticised the appearance of the room after a night's +occupation. The night previous to the call of Miss Piper and her +friend young John had held Nancy in a serious conversation. From it +she gathered that his conscience was disturbed, for he had made +repeated references to his losses at the game, and vowed that could he +forsake his idle habits without running the gauntlet of his friends' +derision, he would be better pleased with himself. + +"'Tis the work of a lady, Mistress McVeigh," he had confessed, and +Nancy went to her bed with a light heart when she heard of it. + +Nancy did not retire after Will Devitt had reported everything closed +for the night. Instead, she went to her room and started a letter to +Corney, her second effort in that direction in three months. Her +correspondence was one of the sweetest trials of her existence. She +took weeks of silent reflection between her busy spells to plan out +what she would write before she was satisfied to take up her pen, and +then her trouble began in earnest. This night it was next to +impossible to compose her thoughts, as young John Keene's affairs had +been thrust before her with startling vividness. The midnight hour +passed, and still she sat by her little table, with pen lying flat on +the paper and a great daub spreading outward from its point. Her head +dropped upon her arm, and she was dreaming of Corney. The disturbance +of the party breaking up in the adjoining room made her eyes open, and +she listened intently, for she had a premonition that she had not seen +the last of them. The men were talking in low tones, but with evident +suppressed passion. Presently one spoke up clearly, as if in temper, +and then she heard John Keene laugh, but it was a bitter, mirthless +sound, as he replied, "I tell you, lads, I'm done with you all, so +clear out; and I'll bide here till morning." + +"Well, do as you d---- please," the one addressed answered, and then +a scuffling of feet echoed in the passage and went noisily down the +stair. Nancy waited until they had closed the entrance door behind +them, and then she stole out on tiptoe into the hallway. The door of +the room which they left was ajar, and the lamp's rays struck out +brightly from it. She stepped over and looked in cautiously. As she +expected, young John was still there, seated tightly against the table, +a pile of cards and some stained glasses in front of him. Something in +his hand, and on which he was bestowing much attention, made her gulp +down a sudden choking sensation. + +"Give me that gun, Johnny," she called, softly. + +[Illustration: "'Give me that gun, Johnny,' she called, softly."] + +"God! how you frightened me!" the young man ejaculated, as he wheeled +around, and then continued shamefacedly: "I was just thinking of my +mother, and wondering if she could see me now, when you spoke. I +almost thought it was her voice." + +Nancy stood over him, her masterful eyes looking into his, and her +great hand reaching outwards. He laughed recklessly, but he handed her +the weapon. + +"Now, Johnny, I want ye to tell me all about it," she said, quietly. + +"Mrs. McVeigh, I don't deserve your kindness. I'm not fit. But you +are the only person in the world to whom I can turn. Those cads who +just left me fleece me to my face, and then tell me I'm a fool to let +them do it. My father has no faith in me. He never tried to find out +if there was any good in my rotten carcass. And there is another who +has weighed me in the balance of her judgment and found me sadly +wanting." + +"Now, Johnny, it's no like yerself to be talkin' like that. Haven't I +told ye that yer conscience would rise up and smite ye. It's yer own +fault that yer frien's are droppin' from ye like rats from a sinkin' +ship. Yer plan o' life has been wrong, an' yer friends have been a +curse to ye, an' it's only yer manhood and that gal who kin save ye +now." A fire burned in Nancy's eyes as she gazed at him, and John +Keene felt a thrill of power, as if her strength was eating into his +veins. + +"You don't know the worst, Mrs. McVeigh, but I am ready to confess, and +I don't expect you to pity me after I have spoken. I have cashed a +forged note against my father at the bank for three hundred dollars, +and the money is gone." + +Nancy bent near to him and whispered as if telling her unspoken +thoughts, "Ye have done wrong by yer father's money, John!" + +The young man put his face in his hands and rocked to and fro for some +minutes, while his body shook with suppressed emotion. A great joy +surged through Nancy McVeigh's being, and her hand stole lovingly over +his head and rested there. She knew that the change was upon him, and +if victory came of it, John Keene of the past would be forgotten. + +"Johnny, I've a letter from Corney in Chicago, and he says he could +find a place fer just such a man as you. Ye must take it and work +hard, and the first money ye earn ye must use it to make it right with +your father." + +"'Twould be sending me to hell to go there," John replied, looking up: +and then, as if his answer was not as he wished, he was about to speak +again, but Nancy continued in even tones: + +"There was a certain young lass--I'll no tell ye her name, but she is +fit fer the best man in the world--came to me to-day and asked me to +speak to ye fer her sake. Man, ye must be up and doin', fer she loves +ye. She told me so with her own lips. Ye can go away fer two years. +It's no time fer youngsters to abide, and when ye have proved yerself, +come back an' she'll be waitin' and proud o' ye." + +Young John Keene slowly rose to his feet. He took Nancy's hand in his +and looked her squarely in the eye. + +"You are not joking, Mrs. McVeigh?" he asked. + +"As I hope to live, John Keene, I'm tellin' ye the honest truth," she +replied. + +"I'll do it," he muttered, hoarsely. + +When Nancy went to her bed she gazed awhile at the two photos tacked on +the wall, then at the sleeping face of Katie Duncan. "I've won him, +thank God!" she murmured, and fell asleep smiling. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +_THE WRECK AT THE JUNCTION._ + +The widow McVeigh's face was a picture of sobriety, in fact, almost +severity. The features were conspicuous because of the abrupt falling +in of her cheeks, and her grey eyes were deep set and touched at the +corners by plenteous crowsfeet. Yet when the world looked at her +casually it saw a smiling countenance. Some thought her face hard, and +the smile bold rather than a kindly one; others, that she was of coarse +intellect and smiled because she could not appreciate the daily trials +and troubles of the poor. These opinions were more generally shared by +the good temperance folk of the neighborhood and in the town. They +only saw a tall, grey-haired woman, standing amidst the surroundings of +a ramshackle inn of the country road, and taking toll from the rougher +classes that passed to and fro. But had they probed farther into her +life they might have unearthed the beautiful from the clay. + +Moore, the operator at the railroad junction, was a patron of Nancy +McVeigh's tavern, of ten years' duration. He was a quiet fellow, a +plodder at his work, and without great ambitions. He knew his signals, +the hour when trains were due, the words that the ticker in his little +glass office spoke occasionally, and so far he was valuable to the +Company. He never had had an accident, and because of his reliability +his employers thought of him once every two or three years and added a +hundred dollars to his salary. They made no allowance for illness or +holidays, and it was Moore's proudest boast that he had never missed a +day in all that time. One afternoon the superintendent stopped his car +at the Junction and called the little man into his sanctum. Moore +chatted with him for an hour or so, and that night his face was radiant +as he smoked a pipe after supper and retold the conversation to Mrs. +McVeigh. "It will mean higher pay and more responsibility," he +observed, with a self-satisfied smile. + +"And they'll make it a reg'lar station, ye say?" Nancy asked. + +"That they will, Mrs. McVeigh. A company of city men are going to buy +a large portion of the point and build on it a summer hotel. Then the +people will be coming by the hundreds during the hot season, and +there'll be baggage to check, tickets to sell, and a great deal of +extra work. I am to have assistants, and a young fellow to handle the +key, and I'll be stationmaster. + +"Ye'll be gettin' married, surely?" suggested Nancy, with a sly twinkle +in her eye. + +"Well, no saying, but it will be a sore trial for me to quit your +board," Moore answered. + +"Ye understand I'm becomin' fairly old fer the tavern, and if those +city men build a big house an' put in a big stock of liquors I guess +there'll be no more fightin' about the license." + +Moore deprecated any such result, and endeavored to argue Nancy into a +like belief, but in his heart he knew that she was speaking the truth, +and he really felt sorry for her. + +From that day Moore began to study his work with greater zeal. +Morning, afternoon and nighttime found him at his post, and the +thoughts of his prospective advancement seemed to worry him. He grew +thin on it, and also took a severe cold while tramping back and forth +during bad weather. He would not take time to secure a doctor's +advice, nor would he listen to Nancy when she scolded him for his +neglect. The summer passed and the first brush of snow had come and +yet he would not give in. His chief sent a letter explaining that the +planned changes would go into effect the following spring. The news +only added a glitter to his eye and a stimulant to his anxiety to prove +his worth, but his cough still remained. + +"The man'll break down and spoil everythin'," Nancy predicted to a +crowd of gossips in her bar. Her prophecy came true sooner than she +expected. + +Moore received orders to throw the switch over to the sidetrack at the +Junction, so that a work train might leave a few cars of gravel for the +section-men to use the following morning. This train was due during +the half-hour which he took for his supper at the tavern. He shifted +the rails ready before leaving, intending to hasten back in plenty of +time to connect the main line over which the No. 4 passenger would pass +about nine o'clock. It was quite a usual occurrence in his routine of +work, so that the matter did not cost him a second thought. + +Nancy noticed the tired look about his eyes as he sat at his meal, and +she determined to talk to him seriously about his health at the first +favorable opportunity. Out of doors the night was intensely black, and +a drizzling rain added to its inclemency. + +"It's just sich a spell o' weather as'll make his cough very much worse +if he don't attend to himself," Nancy told Jennie, her adopted +daughter, as they saw Moore go to his room before setting out for the +Junction. The tavern settled down to its accustomed quietness, Nancy +and the girls knitting in the kitchen, Will Devitt leaning over the bar +and talking to a few who found it more comfortable there than in the +raw dampness without. Old Donald was in the stables finishing up, and +a chance wayfarer snored upon the sitting-room lounge. Katie Duncan +had occasion to go upstairs, and she came down with the startling news +that Mr. Moore had not left his room. + +"He'll no git to be the station-master if he continues the likes," +Nancy remarked, as she ascended to see what was the matter with him. +She found him lying on his bed apparently asleep, so she shook him, in +righteous indignation at his conduct. A bottle from her bar, standing +on the table, added suspicions to her wrath. Moore did not respond to +her efforts as a healthy man should. Instead he turned a sickly white +face to her and groaned. + +"Are ye sick?" she asked. + +"I must be. I can't stand up, I'm so weak," he answered faintly. + +"Have ye been drinkin'?" Her eyes snapped as she asked the question. + +"I've taken a little, because I'm ill, but-- Heavens, woman! what is +the time?" he almost shrieked. + +"It's about nine o'clock," she answered. + +"Nine," he spoke as if struggling with a failing memory. "The switch +is wrong, and there's a gravel train on the sidetrack. God! Mistress +McVeigh, help me to get up." He tottered to his feet, groping for the +door like a blind man, and then Nancy caught him in her strong arms and +laid him back on the bed. + +"Jennie, Mr. Moore's sick. Ye'll attend to him," she called, as she +threw a heavy shawl over her head. + +If those who doubted Nancy's unselfish heart and courage could have +seen her plodding through the darkness, with the rain pelting down upon +her, and the mud halfway to her knees, they might have forgiven much +that they had believed against her. She knew the turnings of the +switches and the different tracks, and it was to save Moore from +disgrace, rather than to avert a disaster, that caused her to tax her +old bones to their utmost, as she climbed over the fences and ran +across the fields. A whistle sounded far over on the town side, and +she was conscious of a dull throbbing in the air. Foot by foot she +counted her chances, listening to the approaching train and exerting +herself to the limit. The headlight of the locomotive was glaring at +her as she climbed the sandy embankment of the track, and then, as her +hands closed over the lever, the great machine went thundering by over +the wrong rails. The engineer evidently had read that the signals were +somewhat amiss, for his air brakes were already screaming, and he was +leaning far out of his cab with his hand shading his eyes. The sand +cars were a short distance up the track, and the moving train struck +them with a terrific rending of iron and hissing of escaping steam. +The force of the contact was lessened because of the sudden slowing up +of No. 4, but it was sufficient to send two of the passenger coaches +tumbling on to the boggy earth six or eight feet below the track level. +The engine stood still on the rails in a cloud of steam, and the +engineer was out of his cab limping towards Nancy before her mind had +regained its normal conception of things. His appearance roused her to +instant action. She made no explanations, nor were any questions asked +of her, but the two of them ran to where the crying of pain-stricken +humanity came from the derailed cars. A chaos of confusion reigned. +People who were not hurt were shouting hysterically, others were making +efforts to liberate the wounded. Nancy was strangely cool. She sent +one to the tavern to summon help, another to the Junction to telegraph +into town for doctors, and then she turned to those in the wreckage. +One after another was extricated from the mass, and as they came before +her on the wet grass, where coats and everything that could be found +were used to lay them upon, she examined their hurts, bound up bleeding +cuts, and did all that her knowledge could suggest. Soon a crowd from +the neighborhood gathered and they joined in the work, and then the +doctors came. By this time a second woman was helping by Nancy's side. +The old inn-keeper paused once to see who it was, and nodded in +recognition. + +"It's a sad business, Miss Piper," she remarked, huskily. + +Soon a long procession slowly wound its way across the fields to the +tavern, men carrying those unable to walk, and the others who were not +so badly hurt leaning on the shoulders of their companions. Nancy and +Miss Piper went with the first to prepare beds and other necessaries, +and all that night the two women stayed by their grim task. + +"You should be a nurse," young Dr. Dodona observed to Sophia Piper, +during a moment's respite. + +"I would, gladly, if I had that woman to help me," she answered, and +they both turned to watch Nancy, who was deftly binding a fresh bandage +on the crushed leg of an elderly gentleman who seemed more concerned +over the soiling of his clothes than his wound. + +"Are you tired, Mrs. McVeigh?" she asked, kindly. + +Nancy only smiled back a reply, and bent her grey head over her patient +again. + +Thirteen slightly injured, three seriously, and no deaths, was the +result of the accident, and after a few days everything at the Junction +was as it had been always, excepting that Nancy McVeigh's tavern had +won a new guest and lost an old one. Moore had recovered from his +attack a few hours after his seizure, and was taken into custody by the +law to stand his trial for wilful neglect of duty, and Mr. Lawrence +Hyden lay in his room with a very impatient temper and a badly crushed +leg. The Wednesday of the following week was set as the day for +Moore's trial, and Nancy received a summons to appear as a witness. + +"I'll do that with pleasure, sure, fer it's meself that's doubtin' the +senses of yon pack o' lawyers. It's jist capital they are tryin' to +make out o' this affair to injure me in the eyes of the Commissioners, +I'm thinkin'," she said, when the blue paper was handed to her. + +The scene in the courtroom was highly interesting to her, and she +wondered, as she listened to the learned talking, how their charge +against Moore could have any foundation. When her name was called she +was fully prepared to give them all a piece of her mind. + +"Now, Mrs. McVeigh, the whole case against Mr. Moore rests on your +testimony. We want to know from you if the accused was addicted to the +use of liquor," the presiding counsel asked, in suave tones. + +"He was not, yer worship," she answered, promptly. + +"But one witness states that liquor was found in the accused man's +room, and also that his breath was strongly tainted shortly after the +time of the accident," the counsel continued. + +The whole truth of the misunderstanding suddenly came home to Nancy, +and after some bickering between the lawyers, she was allowed to +narrate, in her own homely way, the current of events from the first +time she had noticed the illness coming over Mr. Moore, until she had +stood by the switch watching the train going to destruction. Every man +in the room had heard somewhat of Nancy's peculiar existence, and they +listened with doubly aroused interest to her simple tale. Suddenly an +interruption came from a very unexpected quarter. Moore was swaying +unsteadily, and but for the timely arm of the officer near him, would +have collapsed on the floor. The court immediately adjourned whilst a +doctor was sent for. + +"There'll be no case, Mrs. McVeigh. It is clear in my mind that the +prisoner is a very sick man and should be sent at once to the hospital. +If I have my way the verdict of this examination will be a testimonial +of some substantial nature to be given to a very generous-hearted old +lady," the counsel said, shaking her hand warmly. + +"An' who are ye blarneyin' now, Judge?" Nancy asked, not the least bit +abashed at the learned man's importance. + +"A certain Widow McVeigh, of the Monk Road," he answered, laughing. + +'Twas a short time after this that ugly rumors of rowdyism were spread +over the countryside, and while matters were at white heat the question +of cancelling Nancy McVeigh's tavern license was again brought before +the Commissioners. Miss Sophia Piper heard of the complaint, and made +it her business to interview the stout gentleman on the Board with whom +she was on friendly terms. + +"You came to me once to urge the abolition of this license, but now you +defend the woman," he said to her, in surprise. + +"I know that Mrs. McVeigh is honorable and good, and this report is +being circulated by parties who wish to secure her rights for their own +purposes. If liquor is to be sold on the Monk Road, then, sir, I can +speak for the whole temperance people of that section. Let Mrs. +McVeigh have the selling," she answered, pleadingly; and so the license +was extended for another year, as usual. But Moore did not receive the +appointment as master at the new station of Monk the following spring. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +_JENNIE._ + +Mr. Lawrence Hyden stayed at Nancy McVeigh's tavern on the Monk Road +while his leg, which had received a severe crushing in the railroad +accident at the Junction, healed sufficiently for him to depart for his +home in the city. During his sojourn the widow McVeigh was ofttimes +sorely tempted to take him out and stand him on his head in the +horse-trough, so cantankerous was he over his enforced idleness. She +had plenty and to spare of compassion for weaklings, who had not +physical strength such as hers to carry them through troubles, but this +irate old man only annoyed her. She had not been well herself since +that long night's work in the rain, when half of the passenger train +had toppled into the ditch, and her patience was correspondingly +short-lived. The doctor who attended Mr. Hyden noticed the weary look +about her eyes, and offered his advice. + +"You should go to bed for at least a fortnight," he suggested. + +Nancy smiled as she replied: "'Twould be a merry riot, surely, doctor, +if I gave in to my complaints, with noisy customers downstairs and two +cranky patients above." + +However, she gave over the attendance on the obdurate old gentleman, +who from force of necessity was her guest, to Jennie, her adopted +daughter. + +"If he finds too many faults, Jennie, just leave him a spell without +his food. That'll teach him to value the fare with a kinder grace," +she explained. + +Contrary to Nancy's expectations, Jennie wrought a wonderful change for +the better in her patient. Mr. Hyden seemed to form an attachment for +the girl from the very beginning. + +"You remind me of someone," he remarked during the first few hours of +her service; and afterwards he would listen to Jennie for a whole +evening while she struggled through some reading matter. One evening +he told her about a grandchild of his whom he had lost through being +over-harsh with the mother, and his words impressed Jennie so much that +she retailed them to Mistress McVeigh the very next morning. + +"It's no unloike yer own mother's troubles," Nancy observed, critically. + +"And will ye tell me of them, Granny?" Jennie asked, eagerly, for it +had often been hinted to her that Nancy McVeigh was not her grandmother. + +"It's a burden o' sorrow, dear, and not fit for young ears to listen +to," Nancy replied, evasively. Jennie, however, was not satisfied, and +the next time that Mr. Hyden was in a talkative mood she introduced the +subject to him. He seemed deeply interested, and promised that he +would endeavor to persuade Mistress McVeigh to divulge her secret. +After Mr. Hyden could hobble from his room to other parts of the house, +a photo of Jennie's, taken when she was a very young child, disappeared +from the upstairs parlor, and Nancy suspected at once that her guest +had taken it. She told Jennie to look for it when she was cleaning up +his room, and sure enough, she found it amongst a miscellany of papers +and letters which littered his table. This was enough to rouse Nancy's +ire to a point where an understanding of all grievances up-to-date was +necessary, so she proceeded upstairs, with a sparkle in her eye which +boded ill for the victim of her wrath. He was in his room, writing, +and without waiting for him to finish, as was her custom, she demanded +the lost photo. + +"I have it, Mistress McVeigh. I meant to put it back in its place, but +it slipped my memory," he stammered, guiltily; and then he asked her, +frankly, "May I keep it?" + +"Kape the swate child's picture, the only wan I have, barrin' her own +silf! Ye have great assurance to ask it!" Nancy exclaimed, though +somewhat mollified at his mild explanation. + +"My son married beneath him, and I treated his wife very badly. They +had one child, a girl, and I have often wished since that I could +discover her whereabouts. I have a sort of guilty feeling that I was +not exactly honorable in my dealings with my daughter-in-law, and it +has so preyed on my mind that I think every strange child may be hers. +I remember seeing the mother two or three times, and her face peers at +me now when I am in reverie. A vengeance of fate for a social crime, I +expect," he said, laughing nervously. Then he continued: "You may +wonder, Mistress McVeigh, why I am telling you this, but your Jennie's +face is that of my son's wife. It may be the result of long years of +remorse which have created a myth in my brain, but when she comes to +wait on me the likeness is very real. I hope you will excuse my action +in taking that photo, and perhaps you will sell it." Mr. Hyden spoke +seriously, lest Nancy should suspect him of subterfuge. + +"Sure, sir, ye think it is like yer own flesh and blood?" Nancy +questioned, softly, her eyes filling suddenly. + +Mr. Hyden's brow contracted into a frown, and he seemed on the point of +regretting the confidences which he had spoken, but Nancy interrupted +him. + +"Jennie is not my own," she said, sadly. + +"Not your own!" he ejaculated, pausing in the act of handing back the +photo. "I knew it, for that child is no more of your family than I am, +even to the eyes of a stranger, begging pardon if I speak too freely." + +"Perhaps ye would care fer the story?" Nancy asked, beaming with +renewed friendliness. + +"Please tell it, Mistress McVeigh," he answered, eagerly, as he pushed +a chair towards Nancy and seated himself. Nancy gave herself over to +silent musing for a few minutes, and Mr. Hyden prepared his pipe in the +interval. + +"Jennie'll be eighteen come twentieth o' March," Nancy began, then +checked herself while she counted on her fingers. "No, maybe +nineteen," meditatively. "Ye see, Mr. Hyden, times on the Monk Road +are so much the same that one fergits the exact date o' things. +Anyhow, it all occurred the year before the railroad was completed +through these parts, fer well I remember takin' Jennie in me arms +across the fields to see the first passenger train go by the Junction, +with her engine all flags, and banners hung the length o' the cars with +mottoes in big red letters on them. Dan Sullivan, Heaven rest his +soul, was the engineer that day, and fer five years afterwards he took +time fer lunch at the tavern until he was killed up the line +somewheres. There were a lot o' officials on board that day, too, and +the Superintendent came out o' his car to pat Jennie's head. He could +not help it, fer the child had a winsome mass o' golden curls, if I do +say it meself." Nancy paused to sigh, and Mr. Hyden interposed: + +"I was on that train, Mistress McVeigh, and I remember the scene, now +you mention it." + +"Were ye?" Nancy exclaimed, incredulously. + +"To finish about Jennie's comin' to me. It was the previous year that +they built the bridge over the Narrows a mile or two back from the +Junction. I had most o' the men stayin' at the tavern, and the likes +o' the business I have never had since. But I was younger then, and +the work never tired me. The foreman's name was Green, and he occupied +the big room with the gable window." + +"The scamp--er--I beg your pardon, Mistress McVeigh, but I knew that +fellow, and his name wasn't Green," interrupted Mr. Hyden. + +"I thought as much, sir," continued Nancy, "for he carried on something +awful with the table help and the girls along the road, and it was just +his way to leave no traces o' his real name behind him. But he was not +a bad fellow, mind ye. As liberal in his spendin' as if he couldn't +abide the feelin' o' money, and as nice a gentleman about the house as +any one could wish fer. He was a handsome chap, too, and lively with +his tongue. The pick o' the whole countryside was his, and it was the +joke o' the tavern, who'd be his next love. I was terrible busy at the +time, but I heard the men talkin' at the bar and at their meals, an' I +knew there was scarcely two girls on speakin' terms with each other +over him. Finally he settled down to courtin' Florence Raeburn, the +daughter of old Silas, who owns the big stock farm on the fourth +concession. The Raeburns were English, an' they had high notions o' +their position. The mother was dead, and the three girls managed the +home. Florence was the youngest, and the other two were older than her +by ten years or more. Consequently, they thought her a bit flighty, +an' needin' o' some restriction. They did not let her associate with +any o' the neighbors, an' a great fuss they raised when she made +friends with me while her horse took a drink at the trough when she was +passing. I pitied the child, fer she had a pretty face, an' big, sad +eyes that seemed to yearn fer companions. After that, the sisters +drove her in to town to school in the old buggy which their father had +brought from England. However, she managed to see me quite often, and +I encouraged her, although, mind ye, I never let her know the looseness +o' the ways o' a tavern. The sisters had the Methodist parson picked +out fer her, an' he, poor man, was fair crazy fer her heart, too, but +she had the givin' o' it herself, and this it was that caused all the +trouble. + +"Green, the foreman, spied her talkin' to me on the verandah one day, +an' he came out an' praised her horse--a sure way to win her approval, +fer she was very fond o' the animal. I believe the young minx had seen +him before, fer she was over-ready to converse with him, an' whin I +left them they were talkin' and laughin' like old friends. That was +the beginnin', and soon the rumor went about that the foreman had at +last met his match. She occupied his time so much that the bridge work +was like to suffer, an' I heard that a letter came from the city askin' +about the delay. The sisters bitterly resented the clandestine +meetings when they heard o' them, an' Florence had a weary time o' it +between their scoldin's and the tongues of envious neighbors, but she +was a wilful child an' liked to have her own way regardless o' their +interferin'. I was afeard o' the outcome mesel', an' I spoke my mind +freely to Mr. Green. He resented my words at first, an' then, whin he +saw that I was really anxious, he told me that he loved her an' would +do what was honorable in the matter. I knew that he was earnin' big +pay, an' was well brought up an' educated, so I tried to convince +meself that he would make Florence a good husband; but I can't abide +people flyin' in the faces o' their families in such matters, an' I +told Florence so one day when she had dropped in fer a drink o' +buttermilk. She just took my hands in hers, an', lookin' me in the +eye, said, 'Mrs. McVeigh, ye do not understand. He is a fine, strong +man, an' will take me away to the city, where my sisters can't make my +life a burden. They are like ye, and doubt the worth o' him, but I +have had more chance than any o' ye to study his character, and I know +that he can make me happy.' I just couldn't reason with her against +that opinion, so I prayed every night that she wouldn't be +disappointed, and every day I lectured Green about his sinful habits, +an' impressed him with the sweet smile that fortune was beamin' upon +him, and how careful he must be not to shake the maid's faith in him. +'Never fear, Mistress McVeigh, I'm solid forever now,' he answered, +laughing at my seriousness. + +"'Twas only a short while afterwards that a telegram came to Green to +go to the city. He told me o' it with a very grave face, an', says he, +'We must be married to-night, an' I will return in a week, after I have +completed my arrangements in the city.' I knew he meant it to be a +secret ceremony at my tavern, fer the sisters would niver permit it at +home. I worried all day long, wonderin' what was my duty in the +matter, one moment ready to go over an' tell the family o' their plans, +an' nixt feelin' guilty at my disloyalty to the brave girl. The +preacher came, an' they were married that night." + +"They were married that night?" interrogated Mr. Hyden, who had been +following Nancy's story intently. + +"They were, surely," declared Nancy, positively, as if resenting the +interruption. + +"Thank God!" he muttered, as he resumed the smoking of his pipe. + +Nancy gazed at him queerly for a few moments, and then continued: +"Green left for the city nixt mornin', an' Florence went back to her +home with my kiss on her lips as a weddin' gift. A month passed, an' I +was wonderin' why Florence had not been over to see me, an' then Silas +Raeburn came into my tavern in a mighty rage. 'Ye old witch, where's +my girl?' he roared. + +"I was so surprised at his words that I didn't know what to say, but I +knew my face was a guilty one to him. + +"'Ye have encouraged her in her disobedience against her own family, +and then ye let a drunken rascal steal her from me to crown our +disgrace,' he went on fiercely. Fer once in my life I stood silent, +too ashamed to answer him, while he heaped words upon me that would be +unfit to repeat in decent company. He was fair torn with anguish and +temper, an' I let him have his say. Then, when he was calmer, I told +him all I knew, from the first meetin' o' Florence with the bridge +foreman. He listened, breathing sort o' sharp, as if my words hurt +him, an' then of a sudden he went white an' tremblin', an' dashed out +into the darkness o' the night. + +"I hoped that Florence had met her husband in the city, an' that they +were happy, an' I comforted myself with these reflections, but always +had to fight a doubtin'. The people talked o' it fer a long while, but +it was a forbidden subject in my house, an' one man went out o' my bar +with more speed than dignity, for mentionin' her name in my hearin'. + +"One bitterly cold night in December, a farmer came in from the road +with strange news. 'I found a woman an' child freezin' by the +roadside, an' I just brought them on to ye,' he said. 'Bring them in +an' welcome,' I answered, an' then the woman slipped by him an' was +sobbin' in my arms. + +"'Florence, darlin', is it ye?' I asked, with my own feelin's stirred +so that I could scarcely speak. She pushed me away from her with a +sort o' frenzy, an' she says, 'Ye should not shelter the likes o' me, +whose own people have turned their backs fer the shame o' it.' + +"'Ye trust me, surely, darlint,' I answered, takin' her baby from her +arms, an' leadin' the way to the kitchen, where we would be alone, with +a great, cracklin' fire in the stove to sit by. I gave her food and +comforted her, an' tended the baby, while she told me about hersilf, +with an occasional spell o' cryin' an' a wild, weird expression on her +face that gave me bad dreams fer many a night. + +"'He was more than bridge foreman,' she said, 'he was a son o' the +contractor himself, an' when he left for the city, the mornin' after +our marriage, it was to go away to forrin parts, South America or some +other outlandish place. His father made him do it, fer he was full o' +pride, and wanted no country lass as a wife fer his son. I stayed at +home as long as I could, an' then my sisters discovered the truth. +They scolded me dreadfully, an' my father threatened to lock me up. +That evening I walked into town, an' took the train fer the city. I +searched fer two or three days before I learned the true name o' my +husband, an' when I went to his home, which was grander than any +building I had seen before, they told me I was crazy. I had married a +man named Green, and he was not their son. I knew that they were +deceivin' me, but I was frightened an' I hurried away. I struggled fer +a while alone, an' then, when the baby came, a good woman out o' pity +took me in an' kept me till I could go to my work again. Then his +family heard o' the child an' sent fer me. When I called, they told me +that they were sorry for me an' wished to help me, although they would +not admit that they were bound by law to do so. They had secured +permission to place my baby in a home, an' I was glad enough o' the +chance, fer I was afeared that I could never support it myself. I had +the privilege of seeing her once or twice a week, an' those visits were +the bright spots in my life. I worked very hard, thinkin' that it +would cure my broken spirit an' the yearnin' which I had fer my child. +But it seemed useless to try, fer my will power was weakened by my +sufferin', so I went over to the home, an' the good people, knowin' +that I was her mother, let me take her out with me for an airin'. I +just couldn't part with her again, so I went to my rooms, gathered my +clothes into a bundle, and started fer home. I was sort o' wild then, +an' did not know what I was doing, but now I know that I did wrong, fer +there is no welcome fer me under my father's roof. + +"'Will ye keep me fer a week, till I am stronger, Nancy McVeigh?' says +she, 'an' then I'll go back, an' perhaps I'll be more content.' + +"I tell ye, Mr. Hyden, my heart bled fer the lass. The likes o' her +pleadin' with a rough old tavern-keeper fer her very livin'. 'Ye did +right to come home to me, Florence Raeburn. I'm not ashamed to have ye +here,' I answered her." + +Mrs. McVeigh paused in her story to wipe away the tears which were +stealing down the furrows in her cheeks, but Hyden, in a strange, hard +voice, bade her proceed. + +"The mother died two weeks afterwards, sir. I think it was her lungs +that were affected, but never a word of it did I send to Silas Raeburn +or his people. I could not fergit the sting of the words he had spoken +to me. I felt that it was my secret, an' when I took the baby from +Florence's arms fer the last time, she smiled and whispered, 'Ye'll no +give Jennie up, Nancy. Ye'll be a mother to her yersilf?'" + +"I am judged! I am judged!" broke in Mr. Hyden, standing before her, +his features working in a desperate struggle with his emotions. Then +he spoke with more calmness. "She is my grandchild," he said. + +The days that followed were full of torture for the old keeper of the +inn. Mr. Hyden wanted to take Jennie back to the city with him to be +educated. He would do for her all that he could, as the repentance for +his harshness to Jennie's mother was upon him. He waited day by day, +until Nancy could make up her mind. Of all Nancy's troubles this was +the sorest, for Jennie had been closer to her than her own son. Her +years were creeping over her, and she leaned on the young girl for +sympathy and advice. Yet in her heart she knew that Jennie must go, +and it was her duty to permit it. Her victory came suddenly, and one +morning saw her face free from clouds, and in their place a glimpse of +her old kindly smile. + +"Take her, Mr. Hyden, an' make her a lady, fer the lass is above the +best that I can give her. You'll let her come to see me sometimes, an' +ye'll promise to be good to her?" she asked, wistfully. So it was that +Jennie left the old tavern on the Monk Road, jubilant in her innocent +way at the happy prospects which old Nancy painted for her, but when +she was gone Nancy turned to her work again with a heavy heart. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +_NANCY'S PHILOSOPHY._ + +Nancy McVeigh was in her garden behind the tavern when young John Keene +called on her for the first time since his return from Chicago, after +two years' absence from the homely atmosphere of the Monk Road. + +Nancy's garden was a source of great enjoyment to her, and many happy +hours she spent within the enclosure, which old Donald had built so +securely that not even a chick could trespass to harm the sprouting +seeds. Early spring saw her with tucked-up skirt, a starched +sun-bonnet on her head, and hoe or rake in her hand, availing herself +of every quiet hour in the day to plant and mark out the beds. Then +followed a ceaseless watchfulness, throughout the hot summer, to +regulate the watering and weeding, interspersed with pleasant +speculation as to the results, and in the later months her well-merited +boastings over her success. + +She was picking beans for the dinner, and incidentally noting the +progress of her early vegetables, when Katie Duncan ushered young John +Keene through the tavern to the rear door and into the garden. + +"At your old tricks, Mistress McVeigh," the new-comer called, cheerily, +as he advanced with out-stretched hand. + +"Well, bless me soul, Johnny!" she exclaimed, rising and kissing him +with motherly blindness to his manly appearance. "I heard yesterday +that ye had returned. Mrs. Conors told me, an' she said ye might be +takin' a wife before ye leave. She's a rare gossip, that body, an' +knows a thing a'most before it happens," Nancy added, in an explanatory +way. + +"As if you didn't know that yourself," young John answered, laughing. + +"The two years went by so quick like, that I scarce felt the loss o' +ye. Faith, an' the older one gets the shorter the days, it seems. The +garden's lookin' promisin'," she observed, inviting his opinion. + +"Splendid!" he replied, giving it a hasty scrutiny. + +"I've beans, an' radishes, an' new potatoes already, an' the cucumbers +and corn'll be fit to pick in a week," Nancy said, proudly. Then she +remembered her hospitality. + +"We'll go in the house, fer it's not a very clean place fer ye to be +wi' all yer fine clothes." + +"I'd rather we just sit down on those two chairs by the porch and have +a good talk," he suggested. They seated themselves in the shade, for +the morning sun was very warm, and young John lighted a cigar. + +"Have ye been doin' well since ye left?" Nancy inquired. + +"Aye, Mistress McVeigh. Corney helped me, you know. I went to work in +his office the very day of my arrival in Chicago, and, thanks to your +advice, I never allowed my old habits to interfere with my progress." + +"Ye didn't think I doubted yer ability to do that?" she asked, +reproachfully. Then, with a twinkle of humor in her eyes, she added, +"It was yer love fer a certain young lady that kep' ye at it." + +"Maybe," he assented, meditatively. + +"An' I suppose Corney has a grand place, wi' a desk and books as thick +as a family Bible?" + +Young John laughed. "His office is as big as your house. He has +twenty desks and a clerk for each one, and a private room, all glass, +and leather-bound furnishings. I tell you, Mrs. McVeigh, your son has +developed a wonderful business, and you will live to see him a rich +man, too," he remarked, enthusiastically. + +"Well, d'ye hear that now, the brains o' him! I always knew it!" Nancy +ejaculated, with tears of pride glistening for a moment in her eyes. +"It's been in me mind these ten years to go there an' see him. D'ye +think he'll likely be Mayor o' Chicago?" she asked, wistfully. + +Young John quibbled with an easy conscience. "His chances are as good +as the best of them," he said. "But tell me about yourself, Nancy. +How have you been keeping? And have you had any more young men to +reform since I left?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject. + +"Oh, barrin' the cold I got whin Moore left the switch open at the +Junction, an' the pain at me heart over losin' Jennie, I'm as fit as +iver," she answered, complacently. "Ye heard about Jennie's leavin'?" + +"Corney read your letter to me," young John replied, sympathetically. + +"It was a trial, to be sure, but I'm not complainin'. It's better fer +the lass, and Katie Duncan helps me a'most as much. Ye see, Johnny, +I'm goin' to be satisfied in this life, no matter what troubles I meet. +I've plinty o' belongin's, an' a deal o' honest work to do, which +leaves no time fer frettin'. I've had me ups and downs, an' it seems +I've known all the sorrows o' me neighbors as well as me own, but I +just keep smilin' an' fergittin'. There's so many bright spots whin +one looks hard fer them. It's one thing to be wishin' fer somethin' in +the future that never comes, and another to be content wi' the +blessin's that we get every day. I try fer the last. Some people, if +they had me tavern, would be wantin' a better house, or a fresh coat o' +paint every year er two. If they had me garden they'd hope that a good +angel would grow them enough fer themselves and a profit on what they +could sell. They'd be always envyin' the Raeburns' fine horses, an' +the grand house o' James Piper, an' their servants, and thinkin' the +world was treatin' them unkindly because wishin' wouldn't satisfy their +desires. But it's me honest pride in makin' the best o' things, and +bein' thankful they're no worse, that keeps me smilin'." + +"You are quite a philosopher," observed young John, gazing at her with +the old affection lighting up his features. + +"Philosopher or not, I care not a whit, but so long as Nancy McVeigh +runs a tavern on the Monk Road there'll be no lost sunshine," she +declared. + +"Father tells me that the city company are building a summer hotel on +the Point, and also that you may have to sell out," young John +remarked, cautiously, lest he hurt the old inn-keeper's feelings. + +"Faith, an' he's speakin' the truth, too," Nancy replied quite +unconcernedly, and then she laughed quickly to herself at some +recollection. + +"I must tell ye about it, Johnny," she explained. "When the agent came +up from the city to go over the property, he walks up and down past the +tavern wi' a sheet o' paper in his hand, an' a map, or somethin' o' +that nature. I went out on the verandah to see if he had lost his way, +an' he comes over an' takes off his hat as politely as if I was the +Queen. + +"'Your tavern stands just where we want to put the gateway,' he +remarked, consultin' his paper. + +"'Is that so?' says I, my temper suddenly risin', fer I had heard a lot +o' talk about the big hotel an' the driveway fer the carriages, an' the +parks. + +"'Of course, we will allow ye a fair price fer yer property when we +need it,' he explained. + +"'If ye think yer price'll put a gateway here, ye're sadly mistaken,' I +said. 'Ye can put up yer hotel, an' every drop o' spirits that's sold +in the country can go to ye, an' I'll no complain, but I warn ye that +I've spent thirty-five years gettin' this tavern into my keepin', an' +it'll take forty more to get it out again.' I jist let him have it +straight, an' then I wint in an' slammed the door to show me contempt +fer the loikes o' him. + +"Then, a few days afterwards, two gentlemen called on me, an' they said +they wanted to make a proposition to me, but I just told them to see me +lawyers about it, an' they sort o' fidgitted awhile, an' then they +asked me who I was employin' to look after my interests. I just bid +them go and find out if they thought it worth while, an' I left them +sittin' there like two bad boys in school," Nancy stopped while she +laughed again, and young John broke in with a question. + +"Was my father one of those two men?" + +"Now, Johnny, ye needn't be mixin' yer father in the talk at all. Ye +know he an' I never agreed," Nancy demurred. + +"But I want to know for a reason," he persisted. "You have a +payment--the last, I believe--on the mortgage falling due shortly?" he +inquired. + +"I have," she answered, somewhat perplexed. + +"Well, my father would like you to miss making that payment, because he +wants to get a commission for securing the sale of your property, and +that would give him a hold on you. I can appreciate your desire to +stay with the old place, so I would advise you to be early in sending +him this amount. Can you raise it?" young John asked. + +Nancy sat for awhile in mental perturbation, and then somewhat +dubiously answered, "Yes." + +"Oh, that just reminds me that Corney bade me give you a hundred +dollars," young John said, hurriedly, his face lighting up. + +"Now, John, it's yer wish to help me that's makin' ye talk nonsense," +Nancy put in, but young John did not heed her. + +"You will take the money?" he asked, pleadingly. + +Nancy gazed back at her old ramshackle hotel, and then her eyes rested +softly on young John's face. + +"You made me promise once, now it's your turn," he continued. + +"Ye're not deceivin' me, John?" she said, hesitatingly. + +"It's from Corney, sure," he affirmed, handing her the roll of bills. + +"It's in me will fer Corney an' the girls, an' it's all I have to leave +them. I couldn't give it up," she said, brokenly, as she took the +money. + +"Faith, it's dinner time, an' I'm sittin' out a-gossipin' when I should +be at work," she announced, springing up. "Ye'll stay fer dinner, +surely?" she asked of young John. + +"I will with pleasure, Nancy," he assented. + +Miss Sophia Piper dropped into the tavern during the afternoon. She +could not help it, for she was full of news, and her aversion to the +premises was fast drifting from her. In her heart she loved the +strange old woman with the kindly eyes and rugged manner. Her talk was +all of young John Keene's return, and she confided with happy tears +stealing down her cheeks that his marriage with Miss Trevor would take +place the following week. + +"The wedding will take place at our house, and I'm here especially to +ask you to come," she added. + +"And what would ye be thinkin' o' me, without fittin' clothes, a-mixin' +wi' all yer foine folk?" Nancy asked. + +"You are my friend, Mrs. McVeigh, and your dress will not alter that. +Promise you'll come." + +"Well, it's more than loikely I will," Nancy assented. "I'm thinkin' +o' givin' up the bar and livin' quiet loike fer the rest o' me days," +she remarked, reflectively. + +Sophia Piper's heart gave a bound of delight, and she seized Nancy's +hands in both of hers. + +"I'm so glad to hear you say it," she burst out, and then she added, +seriously, "Can you afford it?" + +"Ye see," Nancy explained, "I've had a letter from my son Corney, an' +he says he is goin' to make me a steady allowance. Anyhow, I'm tired +o' the noise o' drunken men and the accusin' glances o' the good folk +that passes. I've decided that it's not a fittin' occupation fer the +mother o' the future mayor o' Chicago to be sellin' the stuff. Others +want the license, an' they can have it. I used to like the servin' o' +the public, but somehow me mind has been changed o' late," she sighed. + +When young John Keene and Miss Mary Trevor were made a happy unit the +next week, Nancy was there with a new silk dress, which she and Katie +Duncan had worked long into the previous nights to finish. Her sweet +old face was radiant with smiles, and when it was all over, and she had +a chance to speak alone to Sophia Piper, she whispered: + +"I'm celebratin' doubly, ye see, miss; I've just sold me stock o' +spirits to the summer hotel people and had a big sign put over the bar +door marked 'Privit.'" + +"God bless you, Nancy McVeigh," Sophia Piper whispered back. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +_THE STRENGTH OF TEN._ + +It was the sudden termination of the jingling of sleigh-bells that +caused Nancy McVeigh to look curiously from her window. People seldom +stopped before the old tavern since the transfer of the license to the +summer hotel back on the lake shore. At one time it was an odd thing +for anyone to pass without dropping in, if only for a chat or an excuse +to water his horses at the pump trough. Nancy sighed when she +remembered it, for it had brought much gossip and change into her daily +existence. When a chance visitor did intrude upon her quietude, his +welcome was assured. Also she did much of her knitting by the front +window, so that she could catch glimpses of her old customers, even if +she could not speak to them. + +On this wintry day in the early January, it was Dr. Dodona, from town, +who tied his horse to a verandah post and rapped briskly at her door. + +"It's a real pleasure to see ye, doctor," Nancy exclaimed, as she gave +him admittance. "Ye must be cold. I'll just give ye me best chair by +the fire, an' ye can smoke a pipe while ye're tellin' yer errand." + +"You're very kind, Mistress McVeigh. People like yourself make a +doctor's work less arduous," the doctor answered, heartily. + +"It's good of ye to say so, doctor, fer it's little demand fer service +ye get out o' me an' mine." + +"I'm on my return from James Piper's, down the road. His two children +are ill with the cold, and I am afraid something more serious may be +expected. Miss Sophia has them well in hand, and I have left a course +of treatment, but I'm not at all satisfied." + +"Did ye recommend goose grease and turpentine? The winter Jennie had a +bad throat I used them in plenty, an' it's what saved her," Nancy +remarked, sagaciously. + +"Well, not exactly those remedies, but they are very good," the doctor +admitted, laughing. "Miss Sophia bade me tell you about the children, +as you were expecting her to call some day this week," he continued. + +Nancy nodded her head understandingly. "An' what d'ye expect will +develop from their colds?" + +"You needn't be frightened, Mistress McVeigh, as your children are all +grown up. The boy Willie has a very weak throat, and it was terribly +inflamed to-day. I am quite worried about it." + +"It's bad news ye're bringing to-day, doctor, but niver expect trouble. +Maybe they'll change fer the better before mornin'. Ye'll have some +tea?" she asked suddenly. + +"It's putting you to a lot of trouble," the doctor said, reluctantly, +but Nancy was gone before he had finished his sentence. + +When the doctor was ready to depart, she asked, anxiously, "Ye'll let +me know how they are tomorrow?" + +"Most assuredly," the doctor called from the verandah. + +Two or three days followed, and each brought Dr. Dodona to Nancy's door +with a brief message as to the condition of his patients. His visits +were very short, however, but he remained longer at the Piper +household, and Nancy missed the smile from his face. She discussed the +trend of affairs with Katie Duncan, who was her only confidant now that +Will Devitt had gone out West because Nancy McVeigh's bar no longer +needed his services, and she was somewhat pessimistic in her remarks. +A week went over, and they only saw Dr. Dodona as his big sorrel mare +drew his cutter over the Monk Road in a whirl of snow. Then one day he +passed, accompanied by James Piper, and Nancy could endure the suspense +no longer. + +"We'll just have an early supper, an' I'll go over an' ask at the +house," she said, decisively, to Katie Duncan. But a heavy rap at the +door disturbed them at their meal. Nancy hastened to answer the +summons, for she knew it was the doctor. + +"I regret my not keeping to my word, Mistress McVeigh, but I am +travelling fast these days. I have a lot of sick people to attend to, +and the Pipers are in very bad shape." + +Nancy's eyes bespoke her sympathy as he continued: "Willie Piper has +diphtheria. Little Annie has it also, and to-day Miss Sophia has +broken down. I'm afraid she is in for it, too." + +"Fer land sakes, ye don't say so!" Nancy exclaimed, more to punctuate +his words, so that she could digest their import thoroughly. + +"They've got to have a nurse, and at the present moment I don't know +where such a person can be secured," the doctor declared, desperately. + +"An' have ye fergotten the blarney ye gave me the night o' the +accident?" Nancy inquired, in a hurt tone. + +"You don't mean you will go?" he asked, his face lighting up suddenly. + +"An' why not? Faith, an' I'm fair sick meself stayin' about the house +doin' nothin' but keepin' comfortable; an' my experience with Jennie +will help me. Old Mrs. Conors is at the p'int of starvation since her +husband died, an' I've been thinkin' o' takin' her in fer company. +I'll just send Katie over the night to tell her to come in the mornin', +so that the child won't be alone." + +"I knew that you would help me out of this difficulty, Mistress +McVeigh. I don't want anything to happen to Miss Sophia, she is such a +great friend of mine." + +Nancy was about to speak, then checked herself and looked at him +keenly. "The wonders o' the world are no dead yit," she ejaculated, +under her breath. + +"I took the liberty of mentioning your name to James Piper before I +came here to-day, and he will see that you are well paid for your +work," the doctor added, hurriedly, guessing what was passing in the +mind of the old woman. + +"Ye can just tell James Piper I'll have none o' his money. The very +impudence o' him to offer it! It's to help the children and Miss +Sophia, an' not fer any consideration o' that sour-faced dragon, that I +go," Nancy flung back her reply in a somewhat scornful manner. + +"I'll go now, but will see you there in the morning," Doctor Dodona +called, as he hastened away. + +"So that's how the wind blows," Nancy muttered, thoughtfully, as she +watched him depart; then she laughed softly in spite of the bad news. + +Mrs. Conors, growing very feeble, was garrulously comfortable before +the fire in Nancy McVeigh's kitchen. She was in a happy frame of mind, +as her worldly anxieties were now very much a dream of the past. Nancy +herself, with her strong, resolute face, her kindly eyes and tall gaunt +frame, enrobed in a plain, home-made black dress, was setting things to +rights in the home of James Piper. Her coming brought order, and a +fearless performance of the doctor's commands. She was a herald of +fresh hope, and carried into the gloomy house her sense of restful +security. Her sixty-five years of life, a portion of which was spent +as proprietress of a tavern, wherein the worst element of a rough +countryside disported itself, had given her nerves of steel, and yet +the chords to her heart were tuned to the finest feelings of sympathy. +Sophia Piper felt the glow of her presence as she lay tossing and +moaning in the first grips of the malady. The children cried less +frequently, and Willie's temperature lowered two points by the doctor's +thermometer after the first day's service of the new nurse. And yet +Nancy only went about doing the doctor's wishes and whispering to each +in her motherly way. Her confidence in herself seemed to exert a +pleasing influence with the sick ones, and then she was so strong. The +hours of night found her wakeful to the slightest noise, yet patient +with their fretful humors, and in the morning she came to them as fresh +as a new flower in spring. + +Doctor Dodona noticed the change, and marvelled. He came morning and +evening, and each time sat a long while by Miss Sophia's bedside. He +was wondering why he had never guessed something long before, and he +did not suspect that Nancy read him like an open book. He had known +Sophia for years, had gone to the same school with her, had worked by +her side on committees of the charitable and religious organizations of +the county, and here he was on the verge of confirmed bachelorhood and +only learning the rudiments of love. + +"His heart's fair breakin' fer her," was Nancy's muttered comment. + +Then came the long night's fight for the life of Annie, the little +daughter of James Piper. A struggle where only two could join, the +doctor and the Widow McVeigh, as the infectious nature of the disease +forbade any assistance from without. Annie's illness had taken a very +serious turn just as the doctor arrived on his evening call. He +studied her case for a long ten minutes, and then he remarked to Nancy, +"It is the crisis." Nancy smiled, not that his words amused her, but +rather as an expression of her confidence in her powers to hold the +spark of life in the little body. From then until early dawn they +watched her, the life flickering like a spent torch in the wind. The +doctor had taken extreme measures to combat the disease, and his +greatest fear was that his efforts to cure might have a contrary effect +by reason of the frailty of the child. Once he despaired, but, looking +up, caught a momentary glint of steel in Nancy's eyes. His very fear +that she might detect his weakness compelled him to continue. For ten +hours she sat with the child on a pillow in her lap, apparently +impassive, yet conscious of the slightest change in the hot, gasping +breathing. Occasionally the doctor arose and passed into the room +where the others lay, to see that they were not suffering through lack +of attention. Returning from one of these silent visits, just as the +sun shot its first shafts of light under the window blind, he noted a +change in the little maid. + +"She'll live," he declared. + +"I've not been doubtin' the fact at all, at all," Nancy responded, +bravely trying to cover her weariness. + +From that night both children began to mend rapidly, and more time was +left for the care of the elder patient. The case of Miss Sophia was +somewhat different. Her age made it a much more difficult problem to +unseat the poison from her system. It had committed sad ravages with +her constitution before she had given in, and though Dr. Dodona felt +reasonably certain that he could check the trouble, yet it seemed +doubtful if her strength would sustain the fight. + +As the days passed he could see plainly that she was unimproved. His +professional training told him that, and he threw into the work all the +skill that he possessed. He suddenly became conscious that he had lost +some of the assurance in himself which had been the backbone of his +former successes, but it took him a short while to comprehend fully his +own incapacity. As he drove over the miles of snowy road into town, +after an evening at her bedside, the truth became a conviction in his +mind. His heart was too deeply concerned, and it had shattered his +nerves. + +He wired to the city for a specialist before going to his home. Next +morning he told Nancy McVeigh of his action. That good old soul fell +in with the idea on the spot, and her comments caused him to turn away +his face in foolish embarrassment. + +"It's what I have been expectin' ye to do all along, but I didn't care +to suggest it to ye before, as yer professional pride might not welcome +my interference. It's her poor, thin face an' her smile that kapes yer +mind from the rale doctorin'. Ye just git a smart man from the city, +an' it'll do ye both a power o' good," she said. + +When he was gone Nancy went to the sick-chamber. + +"Are ye able to stand good news?" she inquired. + +Miss Sophia turned her face towards her, and smiled encouragingly. + +"Surely, if it is really bright and hopeful," she replied, weakly. + +"Ye may suppose I'm takin' liberties wi' yer privit concerns, but ye +will learn to fergive me whin ye are well an' the spring is here again +wi' its quiet sunshine, its flowers an' the grass growin' by the +roadside wi' patterns worked in dandelions like a foine carpet." + +"I love the spring!" Miss Piper exclaimed, with animation. + +It had seemed a wonderful thing to the doctor, the power to rouse the +suffering woman contained in the homely phrases of Nancy McVeigh. + +"As if that was all to love," Nancy impatiently returned. "Did it ever +come right home to yer heart that ye loved a man an' ye didn't +recognize the feelin' fer a long time afterwards. Fer instance, one +who is makin' piles o' money out o' the ills o' others?" she added, +pausing in her dusting to gaze shrewdly at her friend. + +"It's all a riddle to me," Miss Sophia answered, although her words +betrayed a rising interest. + +"Aye, a foine riddle, to be sure, an' one that has its answer in the +face of Doctor Dodona." + +Sophia Piper's pallid face suddenly changed color, and she frowned +irritably. Nancy sat down on the foot of the bed and took the sick +woman's hand in her own long, hardened fingers. + +"Ye must get well soon, dearie; the doctor's fair beside himself +thinkin' he might lose ye, an' he can scarce compose himself long +enough to mix his own medicines. He's a lonely man; can't ye see it, +child?" + +"Do you think so?" Miss Sophia whispered, wonderingly. + +"It's not a matter o' thinkin', it's the rale truth, so it is. What is +that rhyme I hear the young ones say, 'Somethin' borrowed, somethin' +blue, somethin' old and somethin' new'? May I be somethin' old at yer +weddin'?" Nancy asked, tenderly. + +Miss Sophia drew the old woman's hand to her cheek and kissed it +affectionately. + +'Twas after the above conversation that Sophia Piper began to evince a +determined desire to recover her health. + +"Will the doctor be here this afternoon?" she asked. + +"Ye couldn't kape him away. He's bringin' a friend wi' him, too," +Nancy vouchsafed. + +"Then you'll please tidy my hair, and have the curtains drawn back from +the windows so that the sun can shine in the room," she ordered, +sweetly. + +"An' I'll put some fresh flowers on yer table," Nancy agreed. + +The specialist came in the afternoon. He was a portly man, with +iron-grey hair, clean-shaven face and a habit of emphasizing his +remarks by beating time to them with his spectacles. He examined the +patient thoroughly, whilst Dr. Dodona stood by deferentially, though +impatiently, awaiting his opinion. Then they adjourned to another +apartment, and the great man carefully diagnosed the case to his +_confrere_. "She has been very ill," he admitted, summing up the loose +ends of his notations, "but I see no necessity for a change in your +remedies. + +"Do you not see a recent improvement?" he asked, shortly. + +Dr. Dodona shrugged his shoulders. "Since last night, yes." + +"Continue as you have been doing. I will give you a few written +suggestions as to diet and tonic," the specialist explained, and then +he dropped his professional air and slapped his fellow-practitioner +familiarly on the shoulder. + +"You were afraid because you have lost your heart as well as your +nerve. Is that a correct diagnosis?" he asked jovially. + +"Evidently you have diagnosed symptoms in the wrong party," Dr. Dodona +answered, drily. + +"You had better settle it while I am here," advised the city medical +man, who showed much aptitude for other things than cases of perverse +illness. + +"By Jove, I will!" the doctor burst out, and in he went with a rash +disregard of the noise he was making. He did not heed the warning +"Sh-h!" of the widow McVeigh, so engrossed was he in his mission. + +Sophia Piper's face lit up with a glad welcome, and she held her hands +towards her lover in perfect understanding. + +"Hivin bless them! In all me experience I have niver met with such a +love-sick pair before. They're old enough to be more discreet," Nancy +observed to the specialist, who chatted with her whilst the two were +settling their future happiness. + +"And you are a judge of human nature, too?" put in the learned man, +admiringly. + +"The older we git the wiser we grow, sometimes," was Nancy's retort. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +_A DESERTER FROM THE MONK ROAD._ + +Father Doyle had just stepped from the white heat of an August day on +the Monk Road into the modest parlor of the widow McVeigh. He was +growing very stout as his years advanced upon him, and trudging through +the dust was warm exercise. But the sultriness without made the cool +interior of the tavern (for such the people still called the old place, +although Mrs. McVeigh no longer extended hospitality to the public) +more appreciable. Wild pea vines clambered over the windows, and the +ancient copings protruded outwards far enough to cast a shade, so that +the breeze which entered was freshened and sweetened with a gentle +aroma of many-colored blossoms. + +Nancy McVeigh was unburdening a whole week's gossip whilst the priest +helped himself generously to the jug of buttermilk which she had +brought in from her churning. + +"I have seen wonderful changes on the Monk Road in my time," he said, +reflectively, in answer to Nancy's observations concerning the summer +hotel on the Point, now filled to overflowing with people seeking +health and pleasure in its picturesque surroundings. + +"One would scarcely know the place. What with grand rigs full o' +chatterin' women and children a-drivin' past the door, and the whole +Point a picture o' lawns an' pretty dresses," sighed Nancy. "But it +does me heart good to see the brown on the cheeks o' the little 'uns +after they've been here awhile." + +"Doubtless you find some trade with them?" the priest surmised. + +"Considerable; first in the mornin' it's someone askin' if I have fresh +eggs, then it's milk or butter or home-made bread, and so it keeps +agoin' all day long. I'm no needin' much o' their money, now that +Corney sends me my allowance once a month as regular as the sun, but +I've still quite a family to support, so I just charge 'em enough to +make them appreciate what they're gettin'. I've got Mrs. Conors an' +old Donald still on me hands, an' Katie Duncan's at an age whin she +wants a little spendin' fer ribbons and fancy things. So many foine +people about just pricks the envy o' the child, an' I wouldn't, fer the +sake o' a dollar or two, have her ashamed o' her position. It's +different from the old days, as ye say, Father Doyle." + +"It is that, sure enough," he agreed. + +"I'm thinkin' o' takin' a trip," she remarked, with an air of mystery. + +"And where are you going?" he asked, in surprise. + +"To Chicago," she vouchsafed, proudly. + +"Is that not rather far for your old bones?" he inquired, with a merry +twinkle. + +"Ye're fergittin', Father Doyle, that I'm only as ould as I feel, an' +that's not beyond a bit o' pleasure an' the sight o' my boy. It's such +a time since I've seen the lad that I'm most afeared I'll not be +knowin' me own son." + +"Tut, tut! You don't think that. I'd know a McVeigh anywhere if I met +him," the priest expostulated. + +"I've been savin' me odd change these two or three years, an' I've +plinty to pay me way comfortably. I'm wonderin', though, how the ould +place would git on without me!" Nancy remarked, dubiously. + +"Never suffer in the least," the priest affirmed. + +"Ye may think so, but whin I've been here day in an' day out since me +hair was as fair as Katie Duncan's, ye can understand it takes a deal +o' courage fer me to trust to others," she retorted. + +The priest nodded his head slowly in acquiescence. + +Two weeks of laborious calculations and preparations preceded the day +set for Nancy's departure, and during the interval her many friends +discussed the journey so fully with her that her mind was a maze of +conflicting doubts. But her contumacious nature did not permit a +retreat from her decision, and to make it utterly impossible she went +over to the new station and gave over forty-eight dollars for a ticket. +It seemed a reckless expenditure, but a peep every night at the +photographs on the wall of her room drove the mercenary aspect of it +from her and left her firmly resolved and intensely happy. + +The fateful hour came at last, and quite a gathering of familiar faces +was at the station to see her depart. Father Doyle, Mrs. Jim Bennet +and family, Katie Duncan, Mrs. Conors, old Donald, Dr. Dodona and wife, +the two Piper children and a host of others saw that she was +comfortably established in the big car, much to the evident amusement +of the loitering tourists. She must have kissed at least twenty people +before the conductor came briskly on the scene and sent them pell-mell +on to the platform. The whistle shrieked and the train glided slowly +away. Nancy, a strange figure, with widow's bonnet, bright colored +shawl and face wreathed in smiles, leaned far out of the window, waving +an answer to the shouted farewells. + +Mistress McVeigh spent a major portion of the evening in getting +acquainted with her environments. Her previous ride in the cars had +been her honeymoon, but that was so long ago that she had forgotten +even the sensation. Its novelty now intruded on her peace of mind, and +she enjoyed it, although it was tiring. She sat gazing about in silent +contemplation until the lamps had been lighted and the negro porter was +shouting his evening dinner call. His words reminded her that she had +a basket of good things, so she took off her bonnet, spread her shawl +on the adjacent seat and proceeded to lay out the contents. Most of +the people in the coach were going forward to the diner, but such +extravagance did not appeal to her. But she did notice that a very +delicately featured lady, with a small baby and a boy of two or three, +was endeavoring with patient though apparently ineffectual effort to +satisfy the fretful wants of her little ones. The worried flush in the +young mother's cheek, and the trembling of her lips, roused Nancy's +compassionate nature, and, although she would not have confessed it, +she was lonesome. To be amongst people unspoken to and unnoticed was a +revelation that had never existed in her tiny world. She watched the +struggling woman covertly for a short time, while she nibbled at her +lunch, and then she could bear it no longer, so she stepped across the +aisle. + +"If ye please, ma'am, I'll take the baby fer a spell, while ye give the +boy his supper," she volunteered. + +The lady shot a grateful glance at the queer old body who had accosted +her. + +"If you don't mind the bother," she replied, sweetly. + +"It's no bother, sure," Nancy declared, emphatically, and her eyes +dwelt over-long on her new acquaintance. The lady reminded her of +someone, then like a flash it came to her, and she looked again so +persistently that the lady was embarrassed. It was Jennie's mother she +remembered, the night she came, sick and broken, into the tavern, with +her baby in her arms. + +"The poor wee thing's fair excited," she murmured, as she cuddled the +tiny bundle against her breast. + +"Won't you take tea with us?" the mother inquired, her face lighting up +at the prospect. + +"Ye must just help yerselves from my basket, then," Nancy protested, as +she brought it over. + +Mrs. Morris, for such was the lady's name, proved an excellent +travelling companion. She was not only a splendid conversationalist, +but also she knew how to procure warm tea from the porter. Soon she +and Nancy were quite at ease with each other, Nancy contributing her +share at the entertaining, with her homely gossip of the Monk Road and +its people. The baby was her chief solace, however, and its mother +only had it during the midnight hours, so constant a nurse was she. +And the atom itself was tractable beyond its own mother's belief. + +The process of making up the beds in the sleeper gave Nancy an +unpleasant half-hour. She did not admire the masculine performances of +the porter. + +"It's no work for an ignorant black man," she informed Mrs. Morris, in +a deprecatory tone. Then she spoke directly to the negro: "Ye can just +pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own fixin'." + +[Illustration: "Ye can just pull down the cover, an' I'll do me own +fixin'."] + +"Yes, mum," he answered, grinning, but he did not desist from his +duties. + +"He's one of thim furriners, who don't know what ye're sayin', I +suppose," she observed, resignedly. + +When the conductor made his last round of the cars, before the lamps +were extinguished, Nancy stopped him and questioned anxiously, "Ye'll +be sure to waken me at Chicago?" + +"Why, ma'am, we won't arrive there until tomorrow evening," he answered. + +"So ye say, but I'm strange to the run o' trains, an' I don't want to +be goin' miles past the place and niver know it," she objected. + +"Never fear, missus, you'll be looked after properly," he said, +consolingly. + +The night and day journey to Chicago was so full of pleasant happenings +that Nancy could scarcely realize it was almost over. With the Morris +baby asleep in her arms, she would gaze from the window at the panorama +of country drifting past, interested in its strangeness only in a +superficial sort of way, while her inmost thoughts pictured the great +city to which she was going, and wherein she expected her son to be the +most predominant figure. Each hour seemed to be bringing him closer to +her, and a mild yearning centred about her heart. Occasionally a +twinge of apprehension would mar her tranquillity. She wondered if he +would know her, and if he had received the postcard which she had +written with so much care a week previous. She was too conscious of +her happiness to let such thoughts disturb her for long, and then Mrs. +Morris lived in Chicago and had promised to watch over her welfare +until she was safe in Corney's keeping. + +The gradual increase in houses clustered into villages along the way +warned her of the near approach to her destination. + +"I hope I may see more of ye," she observed to Mrs. Morris, after a +long silence of reflection. + +"It's a big city, and you will be very busy," the little lady +explained. "But I shall never forget your kindness to me. I should +have been very lonely and tired if you hadn't made friends," she +continued. + +"It's been a God's blessin', the knowin' o' ye an' the kiddies," Nancy +assured her. + +This simple-minded old body had made a deep inroad into the city +mother's affections, and her joy at the early prospect of meeting her +husband was tempered with a sincere sadness at the parting which it +would entail. + +The evening was growing quickly into darkness as they sped along, and +an unusual bustle amongst the other passengers had commenced. Now that +the hugeness of the outlying districts of Chicago were being unfolded +to Nancy with the long lines of lighted street, and starry streaks of +electric cars flashing by like meteors in a southern sky, she became +aware of a keen sense of fear. It was all so different from anything +in her past experience. It seemed as if she had broken ties with +everything familiar except the sweet face of her companion and the two +sleeping children. The roar of the city had now enveloped the train, +and presently it began to slacken speed, as it had done a score of +times before in the last hour. The conductor came into the car, +calling out, "Chicago!" and Nancy's heart beat so that it almost choked +her. The bright glare of the station came down into their window from +the roofs of adjacent trains, and then, before she rightly understood +what was happening, she was out on to the platform with her arms full +of her own and Mrs. Morris' bundles. A short man detached himself from +a crowd that waited without the gates far in front, and came dashing +towards them. + +"It is my husband," Mrs. Morris whispered, breathlessly. Next moment +she was locked in his arms. Nancy gazed furtively about, peering at +the faces, and hoping that one might be her son. After a long +scrutiny, she turned a despairing, helpless face to her late travelling +companion. Mrs. Morris understood, and came to her rescue quickly. + +"You are a stranger in this big city, so you had better come home with +us for to-night," she suggested. + +"I wrote him to be waitin' fer me, but he must have forgotten," Nancy +returned, brokenly. + +"Yes, you must come, Mrs.--" Mr. Morris began, then hesitated. + +"Mrs. McVeigh, from the Monk Road," his wife told him, with a happy +smile. + +"The Monk Road, where is that, pray?" Mr. Morris asked, in puzzled +tones. + +"D'ye not know that?" Nancy exclaimed, incredulously. + +The man shook his head. + +She considered awhile, then made a gesture of utter helplessness. She +knew no adequate description of the geographical position of her home. +It was just the Monk Road, running from an indefinite somewhere to an +equally mysterious ending, and anyone who did not know that was lacking +in their education. They threaded their way through the press of +people to the narrow street, and entered a cab. Then, while the +husband and wife talked in subdued tones, Nancy listened to the babel +of clanging gongs and footsteps of many people on the pavements over +which they were passing. She suddenly bethought herself of questioning +Mr. Morris as to his knowledge of her son Cornelius. His answer was as +perplexing as everything else she had encountered in that strange new +world. He had never heard of him. Fortunately she had a business card +of her son's firm, and after much cogitation Mr. Morris decided that he +could find the establishment in the morning. + +Nancy secured a much-needed night's rest at the home of the Morris +family, and was up and had the kettle boiling on the range before the +appearance of the household. + +"I'd no enjoy the day at all if I wasn't doin' somethin' o' the sort! +An' ye're tired," she responded to Mr. Morris' surprised ejaculation. +She had to curb her anxiety to be off until after the noon hour, and +then, with a promise to return, if her plans miscarried, she was +piloted aboard the Overhead by Mr. Morris. + +"I'll drop you off in front of the block in which your son's offices +are situated," he informed her by the way. The run through the city +was perhaps a distance of four miles, and while Nancy gazed in +open-mouthed wonder, the little man pointed out to her the places of +note along the route. + +"It's all just wonderful," was the text of her replies. + +They drew up at a little station, and from it descended to the +pavement, and at a great door in a block that made her neck ache to see +its top, he left her, with a list of directions that only served to +shatter the remnant of location which her mind contained. She looked +uncertainly about her until her eyes rested on the sign, "Beware of +Pickpockets!" then she clutched her old leathern wallet, and with +frightened glances hurried inside. But here a second labyrinth opened +to her. A glass door led into a very spacious apartment, where a +number of men were counting money in little iron cages. She boldly +marched in and asked the nearest one, "Please, sir, is this Cornelius +McVeigh's office?" The man addressed stopped his counting and scowled +at her, but something in her wrinkled, serious face caused him to +relent of his churlishness. + +"A moment, ma'am," he replied. + +Next instant he was by her side, and very gallantly led her to the +outer hall and over to the elevator man. That Mecca of information +scratched his head before venturing to assist them, then he hazarded, +briskly, "Fifth floor, No. 682." + +"If that's wrong, come back," the young man said, kindly, as he left +her. + +The elevator drew her up almost before she could catch her breath, and +landed her on the fifth floor. The man pointed along a hallway, and +she followed this until a name in big gilt letters arrested her +attention and caused her heart to flutter spasmodically. "Cornelius +McVeigh--Investments," it read. And this was really her son's +Eldorado! A mist crept over her eyes as she turned the brass knob and +entered. A score of young men and women were before her, busily +engaged at desks, writing and sorting over papers. Beyond them, other +doors led to inner offices, and from some invisible quarter a peculiar +clicking cast a disturbing influence. Whilst she was taking it in, in +great sweeping glances, a small boy stepped saucily up and demanded her +wishes. + +"I'm Mistress McVeigh, o' the Monk Road, an' I've come to see +Cornelius," she told him. + +The boy looked at her, whistled over his shoulder and grimaced. + +"What yer givin' us, missus?" he asked. + +"I'll have ye understand I'll take no impudence," she retorted, +wrathfully, shaking her parasol handle at him. + +"If yer wants the boss, he's out," he informed her, with more civility. + +"Is there anything I can do?" a young lady asked, coming over to her +from her desk. + +"It's just Mister McVeigh that I want to see. I'm his mother," Nancy +replied, simply. + +"You are his mother!" the girl exclaimed, doubtfully. + +"That I am," Nancy declared, emphatically. + +"Mr. McVeigh is out of the city, but Mr. Keene is here. Will he do?" +she again questioned. + +At this juncture someone stepped briskly from an inner room, and then a +man dashed impetuously across the general office, scattering books and +clerks in his eagerness, and crying, "Why, it's Mrs. McVeigh!" as he +caught her gaunt body in his arms. + +"Johnny, me lad, is it yerself?" she gasped, after he had desisted from +his attempts to smother her. + +Young John Keene held Nancy's hand within his own whilst he showed her +everything of interest in the office, for the mother loved it all +because it was her son's. The clerks were courteous and attentive, and +the girls fell in love with the quaint old lady on the spot. + +"It's fer all the world like a school," she murmured in young John's +ear. + +"And I'm the big boy," he answered, laughing. + +A telegram searched the far corners of Mexico that afternoon, and at an +unheard-of place, with an unpronounceable name, it found Cornelius +McVeigh, the centre of a group of gentlemen. The party had just +emerged from the yawning mouth of a mine, and were resting in the +sunshine and expelling the foul air from their lungs, whilst the young +promoter of the western metropolis was explaining, from a sheet of +paper covered with figures, the cost of base metal to the producer. +The mine foreman suddenly interrupted his remarks with a yellow +envelope, which he thrust respectfully forward. "A telegram, sir," he +said, and withdrew. The array of men sighed gratefully at the respite, +and Cornelius McVeigh hastily scanned the message. + +"Your mother in Chicago, much disappointed at your absence. When may +we expect you?" so it read. + +The young man folded it carefully, put it into his pocket and continued +his discourse, but his words were losing their pointedness, and he was +occasionally absent-minded. + +"It's dinner-time. I move an adjournment to the hotel," one of the +grey-haired capitalists suggested, and, with scant dignity for men of +such giant interests, they hurried to take advantage of the break in +the negotiations. Cornelius McVeigh did not go in to lunch, but +strolled the length of the verandah for a full hour, absorbed in +thought, then with characteristic energy he hastened to the little +telegraph room and wrote a reply to his home office: + +"Will close a great deal if I stay. Cannot leave for a week at least. +Persuade mother to wait." + +He then walked to the smoking apartments, where his late associates +were trying to forget business. + +"I am ready, gentlemen," he observed, in his crisp, convincing manner +of speech. + +Young John Keene handed the message to the Widow McVeigh. He knew it +would hurt, and his arm stole about her shoulders as it did when he was +the scamp of the Monk Road gossip. + +"I'm tired o' this great noisy city," she faltered, after she had +studied the message a long time. "I'm no feelin' meself at all, at +all, an' my head hurts. I must be goin' home." + +"You shall stay with me, Nancy. Corney will be back in ten days at the +least. My wife wishes it, as well as myself, and we want you to see +our little Nancy. That's our baby," he said, in lower tones. + +Nancy gazed at the hurrying people on the hot pavements below, at the +buildings that shot upwards past her line of vision, at the countless +windows and tangled wires; then she turned to young John and he knew +that she had seen none of them. + +"I'll try, Johnny," she answered. + +The days that followed were battles with weariness to Nancy McVeigh. +She did not complain, but her silence only aggravated the loneliness +which had crept into her soul. Young John Keene talked to her, amused +her, cajoled her, pleaded with her, and yet her mood was impenetrable. +Even tiny Nancy Keene's dimpled fingers could not take away the strange +unrest in her eyes. Then, when the ten days had elapsed, a second +message came: "Kiss mother and tell her to wait. Can't return for +another week. Am writing." Nancy read it and cried; not weakly, like +a woman, but with harsh, dry sobs. + +"I'll be goin' home in the mornin'," she said, firmly. + +The train took her away in the damp, sunless early hours, when the city +was just awakening. + +"She's crazed with homesickness," young John's wife confided to her +husband, in a hushed, sad voice. + +The way home was long, and Nancy chafed at the slowness of the express. +So long as it was light she watched from the car window, and not till +the pleasant quiet of the vicinity of Monk Road was reached did the +gloom-cloud rise from her face. Her heart seemed to beat free once +more, and her eyes were full of tears, but they were tears of +happiness. She left the train at Monk, and the first person to greet +her was Father Doyle, who by chance was at the station. He read a tale +of disappointment in his old friend's appearance, and he remarked, +sympathetically, "You are looking thin and tired, Mistress McVeigh." + +"It's a weary day, sure enough," she admitted. The two walked side by +side, the stout priest carrying her heaviest travelling bags, until +they came to the road which the summer hotel management had built in a +direct line from the station to their gate, and here Nancy stopped +abruptly. + +"Well, if the old tavern isn't right over there, just as I left it," +she ejaculated, and a smile broke over her countenance the like of +which it had not known for days past. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +_THE KERRY DANCERS._ + +Nancy McVeigh treasured her disappointment over the visit to Chicago +for many months, but only Katie Duncan and those who saw her daily knew +of it. She was not the strong, self-reliant Nancy whom people had so +long associated with the ramshackle inn of Monk Road. But her smile +grew sweeter and her sympathies ran riot on every side where little +troubles beset her less fortunate neighbors. Her mind turned oftener +to the church which stood on the side-road, beyond the home of Father +Doyle, and her influence for a better life was remarkable with the +younger generation. The stormy period of her own existence was past, +and like a silvery rivulet twinkling in the sun at the mountain crest, +speeding downward until it roars and foams in an angry cataract, then +emerging into the cool, placid stream, lazily flowing past the village +cottages and on through the silent woodland, she had reached a stage +where only goodness and friendship mattered. + +Her great neighbor, the summer hotel proprietor, was perhaps the +solitary person who did not understand her. In vain he waited +patiently, as the seasons opened and closed, for her to accede to his +importunities to sell her property. There the old inn stood, a blot +within the terraced grounds and clean-cut park, unsightly to his eyes, +and the humorous butt of his patrons. But Nancy had made her plans +when the new order of things was first suggested, and she turned her +rugged face to the sandy Monk Road and held her peace. + +Cornelius, her son, had written her often and voluminously since her +trip southwards. He had also made a definite promise that he would +come home the very next summer. 'Twas this that brightened her eyes +and put a lightness into her step. It also provided a subject of +constant conversation between herself and Katie Duncan. Together they +would count out the months and weeks and days to the time when he +should arrive. + +"The lad's worried, so he is, an' he wants to see his ould mother, in +spoite o' his foine clothes an' his dealin's," she repeated, during +those happy confidences. + +Although Nancy had abandoned the public service, yet hers was no +humdrum existence. She still had duties to perform which occupied her +thoughts from daylight to dusk. She frequently visited the Dodonas, +who lived in the big Piper house. And the Piper children played about +her front door, much as her own son and Johnny Keene had done so many +years before. Other children, too, found the vicinity of the widow +McVeigh's a very tempting resort, and their parents were well +satisfied, for they had learned to love and respect the white-haired +woman who chose to be their guardian. + +"I'll niver get enough o' the dears," she would say to the mothers, and +they quite believed her. + +In the winter of the following year Will Devitt came home from the +North-West. He had been absent three years, and during that time had +secured a grant of land. He boasted of his possessions to his +foster-mother, and she was almost as proud of them as he was himself. + +"It's a grand country, sure, this Canada of ours, an' were I younger +I'd go back wi' ye, Will. D'ye think we could find business fer a +tavern?" she asked him one day. + +"You would just make your fortune," Will responded, enthusiastically. + +Nancy smiled and shook her head. + +"I'm only talkin' like a silly ould woman, laddie. In the first place, +I'm no fit to run a tavern, an' in the second, it's no fittin' +occupation fer the loikes o' me." + +Will had been home a short while when Nancy's suspicions were aroused, +and being unable to lay them bare to Katie Duncan, she told them to +Mrs. Doctor Dodona. + +"There's somethin' mysterious in the behavior o' the young folk," she +confided. "I'm uncommon versed in the language of sighs an' tender +looks, an' it's comin' to somethin' before long." + +"You don't mean that Will Devitt is in love?" the doctor's wife asked, +in mild surprise. + +"I'm afeard it's just that," Nancy admitted, regretfully. + +"And with whom, pray?" + +Nancy bent forward and whispered in her ear. + +"Your Katie!" Sophia Dodona exclaimed. + +Nancy nodded, and they both laughed. + +Nancy knew instinctively that her two foster-children had something +they wished to say to her, and she purposely kept them at arm's length, +whilst she enjoyed their discomfiture. + +"It's rare fun," she told Sophia. + +Will Devitt was becoming desperate, for he must soon get himself back +to his prairie farm. So, after a lengthy twilight consultation with +his heart's desire, he came tramping awkwardly into the presence of the +widow McVeigh. + +"Ye're lookin' serious the night," she greeted, as she paused with her +knitting. + +"I'm feeling that way, too," he conceded, sighing. + +"Maybe ye're thinkin' o' the closeness o' yer leavin'?" she questioned. + +"It's partly that," he admitted, sheepishly. + +"Only partly, ye say. Fer shame, to let anythin' else be a part o' +such thoughts," she observed, somewhat severely. + +"Now, granny, it is no use you being cross with me. I'm full of love +for you and the old place, and you know it," he expostulated. "There's +something else, all the same," he continued, with a forlorn pleading in +his voice. + +"Then ye had better out wi' it, lad," she replied, giving him her whole +attention. + +"It's about our Kate," he commenced. + +"I thought as much. Ye go away an' get a plot o' land somewhere, an' a +bit o' a cabin, an' then ye come back pretendin' it was yer love fer +yer poor granny. But ye had other plans, which ye wouldn't tell till +ye were driven to it," Nancy interrupted, with a strange lack of +sympathy. + +Her words aroused Will's latent passion, and drove him to a confession, +regardless of consequences. + +"Katie an' I have been lovin' each other fer years, in fact, ever since +we were children. We made it up then that we should marry some day. +When I went West it was to earn enough money to buy a home fer us. +I've got a farm now, an' I can keep her. We've talked it over every +night fer a month, an' she's willin' to go if ye will give yer +consent," he burst out, earnestly. + +Mistress McVeigh listened in silence, rocking her chair to and fro. As +the night became darker only her outline was visible to the youth, who +poured into her ears his love story with an unfettered tongue. He +talked rapidly of his plans, his chances and his faith in his ability +to maintain Katie Duncan as comfortably as she had been at the tavern. +When he had finished, Nancy called sharply to Katie, whom she rightly +guessed was not far away, to fetch a lamp. Katie obeyed with +commendable alacrity, and deposited it on the table. She had never +seemed so grown-up and pretty to her foster-parent as she did at that +moment. + +"Katie," began Nancy, with ominous slowness, "Will has been tellin' me +that ye have been courtin' under me very nose. Do ye love him truly, +lass?" + +"Yes, granny," the girl answered, almost defiantly. + +"God bless ye, children. The sooner ye're married, then, the better," +Nancy exclaimed, and she drew them both to her and kissed them again +and again. + +It was a real old-fashioned country dance that followed the wedding of +Katie Duncan and Will Devitt. The ceremony was performed by Father +Doyle in the early morning, and all afternoon the preparations for the +evening were being rushed to completion with tireless energy. + +"Katie's the last o' my children, an' I'll give her a fittin' +send-off," Nancy explained to Sophia Dodona, and her words were not +idly spoken. + +The doctor's wife was in the kitchen, superintending the baking. As a +result, such an array of good things to eat had never before graced the +modest board. The task of decorating was in the care of Will Devitt +and his bride, and a gay dress they were putting on the interior of +their old home. Flags were draped over the walls, evergreens fastened +to cover the door and window-tops, and flowers from the Piper +conservatory were placed wherever space would permit. Nancy had no +especial work, so she assumed the _role_ of general advisor and final +court of appeal. Such a concourse of guests had been invited that it +was doubtful if the accommodation was sufficient. But, as Will Devitt +suggested, they danced closer together nowadays, so that the room +required would not be so much. + +By eight o'clock the merry sleigh-bells were jingling over the Monk +Road. Boys and girls, some older than the term would imply, were +tumbling out of the robes in the glare of the big tin lamp, hung to the +gable end, which Nancy had borrowed from the church gate. The fiddlers +arrived early, and after a warm at the hall stove, began tuning up on +the improvised platform at the end of the parlor. The floor manager, a +tall young Irishman named O'Connell, raised his voice above the babel +of talking and laughing, and proclaimed the opening number. + +"Partners fer the Lancers!" he shouted. + +A hush ensued, and Sophia Dodona and her staff came from the kitchen to +see the start off. + +"No, doctor, I'm too ould," Nancy was saying to Dr. Dodona, who wished +to set the pace for the younger guests. But her words did not ring +true, and amidst the hearty plaudits of the rest she took the doctor's +arm. The others fell in line as if by magic, and then the fiddles +began with vim. Oh, how they danced! Everyone, old and +young--quadrilles, reels, polkas, Irish Washerwoman, Old Dan Tucker, +and all. Even Mrs. Conors, after much persuasion, did a jig as it was +performed "whin I was a gal in ould Ireland," and Patrick Flynn, the +aspiring County Member, was her partner. How the old tavern creaked +and groaned with the unusual tax upon its timbers, and how bright the +windows looked from every side of the rambling edifice! When midnight +was past the tables were set in the bar-room of ancient times, and the +cleverest productions of Sophia Dodona disappeared like snow before an +April sun. As Dr. Dodona remarked afterwards to his wife, "'Twould be +a round century of health to the bride and groom should the wishes of +the feasters be realized." + +When it was all over, and the last "Good-night" had passed the +threshold, Nancy went to her room. She sat a long while, resting in +her big rocking-chair and reflecting on the changes in the future which +the day had meant for her. Her eyes gradually centred on her +photographs of Cornelius, and her face immediately brightened. + +"Heigho," she sighed, "it's no my religion to worry." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +_THE HOME-COMING OF CORNELIUS McVEIGH._ + +Cornelius McVeigh sat in his private office, thinking. A telegram lay +open before him on the desk, and its contents had all to do with the +brown study into which he had fallen. Presently his senior clerk +appeared in answer to a summons he had given a moment before. + +"John, I'm going home for a holiday," he said. + +Young John Keene's face brightened perceptibly at the announcement. + +"It's the right thing to do, Corney, and the trip will do you a world +of good," he replied, with a familiarity which business rules could not +overcome. + +"I must go at once. You see, I've a telegram. Perhaps you would care +to read it," Cornelius McVeigh continued, moodily. + +Young John took up the missive and read it aloud: "Come home at once. +Mother seriously ill.--Dodona." He looked up to find his employer's +eyes searching his face anxiously. + +"You will go at once, Corney?" he said, quietly, but with a note of +challenge. + +"The train leaves at noon. Help me to pack up, John," the other +answered. + +The Tourist Express stopped at The Narrows for half an hour just at +lunch time. The Narrows was a pretty place. The peninsula jutting +from either way, separated only by a shallow strait, was spanned by the +railroad bridge. The station formed a centre at one end to a thickly +settled district of summer cottages, and quite close by stood two +rather pretentious hotels. East and west the glistening surface of the +lakes, dotted with islands, spread out like two great sheets of chased +silver. Out beyond, the white trail of the sandy Monk Road zigzagged +until it was lost in the trees. 'Twas a half-hour well spent to lounge +about the platform and take in the grandeur of the landscape. + +The usual crowd of gaily dressed humanity was waiting for the train, +surging about it as the passengers alighted. + +Cornelius McVeigh stepped from the parlor car and looked at his watch +irritably. Thirty minutes seemed an age to his impatient mind, and the +richly upholstered car was too confining for him to think properly. To +the outward eye he was the Cornelius McVeigh of the city, tall, of +military bearing and faultlessly attired, who gave his fellow-beings +the privilege of calling at his office between the hours of ten and +four each business day, that they might lay before his highly trained +faculties their little monetary affairs, and also the fee which his +wide reputation for successful manipulating could demand. He moved +only until he was free of the people, then paused whilst his gaze +shifted from his late companions to the station and on to the dim, +sunny, leafy country beyond. Disappointment lurked in the corners of +his eyes and gradually spread over his entire countenance. Suddenly he +realized that it was exceedingly warm on the unsheltered platform. He +wished to think quietly, so he shifted his raincoat to his other arm +and sought a shaded place against the railing. His mind was struggling +in a vortex of ancient history, and this was the picture which arose +from the strife. A very commonplace, bare-legged lad, with curly, +uncombed hair and face so freckled that a few yards' distance merged +them into one complete shade of reddish brown. He surveyed the +neighboring bridge, and it came into his mental vision unconsciously. +The long, lean girders he had once trod with the careless ease of a +Blondin. Farther out, the rotting tops of the piles of the old +foot-bridge had been his seat from which he caught the crafty pickerel. +Beyond, the opening in the shore reeds marked the passage to the secret +feeding-ground of the black bass. He remembered it perfectly. A +fleeting sarcastic smile dwelt on his deeply-lined features as he +watched a number of boats, filled with noisy, gesticulating campers, +who fished in the open water where no fish lived. A small lad, +certainly a native of the place, dressed in knee trousers and a shirt +which let in the air in places, was holding high carnival with the +nerves of the onlookers. He was performing daring feats on the +trestle-work of the bridge. Suddenly, accidentally, or maybe +purposely, the expected catastrophe occurred, and he plunged head +foremost into the running water twenty feet below. A chorus of +feminine shrieks greeted the termination of his exploits, but his +grinning face as he reappeared, treading water and rubbing his eyes, +turned their consternation into laughter. Then, with a final howl of +boyish delight, he struck out for the nearest pier. + +Cornelius McVeigh awoke from his reverie as the express began to move. +He swung aboard and proceeded to gather his baggage together. He had +scarcely finished when the train slowed up at the end of his journey. +He stepped out with a feeling of expectation. Home at last! The +thought was predominant, and he let it sway him with a selfish +disregard to other influences. Everything had changed during his +twenty years of absence; and the strangeness broke in upon him as if in +condemnation. Here again was the chattering, light-hearted throng, and +their presence only added additional pangs. Not a familiar face to +greet him. Even the fields and woodlands had a different aspect. All +the success of the past decade, which had given wealth and a recognized +place in the world of business, could not wipe out the impression of a +youth of dreamy idleness and simplicity. Where he had hunted rabbits +and slept under a tent of tattered carpet during the warm summer nights +stood a gaudily-painted hotel, flanked with wide verandahs and terraced +lawns. And all about were people, in hammocks, on chairs or rustic +seats, or wandering about enjoying the cool freshness of the lake +breezes. He hurried along the wide newly-cut road which led from the +station. At the high wire gate, erected so recently that the sods from +the post-holes were yet green, he stopped. The successive changes of +the place were so startling to him that he wished to contemplate them +more slowly. It was an ideal spot and filled the soul with pleasurable +anticipation. The children played on the grass, and the hotel +employees sang as they dawdled by in pursuit of their duties. +Everything bespoke luxury and ease. In the entrance doorway of the +hotel stood a stout man, probably the proprietor. He was looking from +under his hand in a speculative way at the stranger by his gate. +Cornelius saw these things mechanically. Then, as his eyes passed from +one point to another, his mother's tavern came within the circle of his +vision. He looked no farther. There it stood, the oddest, drollest +structure that ever marred so perfect a landscape. Its weather-beaten +shingles curled to the sky. Its cracked chimneys and protruding gable +leaned towards the roadway, and every board was rusted to a natural +paintless hue. The pump stood apart, the trough green with moss and +the handle pointing outwards threateningly, like a grim sentry guarding +against the curious passers-by. A grove of trees generously shaded the +rear porch, and beyond them, behind the high fence, he knew, was the +garden. The log barn, with its plastered chinks, had not altered a +particle, and the cow might have been the same one he had milked, so +like her she appeared as she munched at the trailing wisps of hay +hanging from the loft. The outspoken cackle of hens also added to the +rustic environments. It filled his heart with gladness to see the old +place, but it was not complete. The quaintest figure of all was +missing--his mother, tall and white-headed, standing on the verandah +watching down the road for his return. Something was hanging to the +soiled brass knob of the front door, and as he approached he saw that +it was a streamer of black crepe. His heart, which for twenty long +years had thrilled only to the hard-won successes of a self-made man, +beat with a sudden passionate fear, and a tear stole out upon his +cheek. A new-born awkwardness grappled with him as he stumbled along +the roadway. Somehow he saw a pair of dirty, sun-scorched feet encased +in his shining leather shoes. The languid eyes of the hotel guests +followed him, and some wondered as to the nature of his errand. +Arriving at the door, he knocked lightly. An old woman, with +dishevelled grey hair and shoulders enveloped in a bright homespun +shawl, answered his summons and shrilly demanded what he wanted. + +"Is it Mrs. Conors?" he asked, scrutinizing her face earnestly. She +turned with a look of open-mouthed wonder upon him, and hesitated +before speaking, so he continued: + +"Have you forgotten Corney?" He trembled with a vague fear, and the +old woman's failing memory smote him painfully. + +"Be ye Corney McVeigh? A-comin' home to see yer poor dead mammy, an' +ye the ounly boy she had? But surely Corney wouldn't have sich foine +clothes. I can scarcely believe ye," she muttered, doubtingly. + +"Dead! Mother dead!" he ejaculated, passing his hand across his +forehead. He swayed a moment as if struck, and then he answered, with +forced calmness: + +"Yes, Mrs. Conors, I am Corney, and I want to see my mother. I've been +coming home these many years, but something always turned up to spoil +my plans. I knew the money I sent her every month was sufficient to +keep her in comfort, but I didn't think it would be like this--not like +this!" + +Corney McVeigh stepped across the ancient threshold and gazed long and +searchingly at the face in the darkened parlor; a face seamed and thin +with toil and worry, yet infinitely sweet and motherlike to the +world-lost man who choked back the tears as he felt again that almost +forgotten child-love. + +Mrs. Conors broke the silence. + +"I put her ould spinning-wheel there in the corner, where she could see +it 'fore she went. Those socks on the table was her last work fer ye, +Corney. She said to keep yer father's pictur' an' hers togither in the +album. I was also tould to warn ye 'gainst sleepin' in the draught, +'cause ye were always weak about the lungs, an' yer father died o' thet +complaint. She thought maybe ye wouldn't be wantin' the ould house, so +if the hotel man offered ye a good figure ye could sell it. The cow +and the chicks were to go to me, an'--well, bless me heart, if he +hasn't fainted!" + +Mrs. Conors ceased her explanations and called to the occupants of the +rear room, whose conversation came in to her in low monotones. "Mrs. +Dodona! Jennie! it's Corney, and the lad's fainted." + +The blindness, for that was all that Corney experienced, passed off in +a few minutes, and when his eyes could notice he saw that they had +carried him to the little room which had once been his own bed-chamber. +Two women were placing cool cloths on his head. When he revived, one +stepped quietly out. The other remained. She was young and decidedly +pretty, but her face showed plainly the effects of recent grief. +Cornelius McVeigh noticed her appearance particularly because it was +peculiarly familiar to him. The harsh shock of his bereavement had +passed, leaving him weakened but calm. + +"Corney, do you remember me?" the girl asked him, gently. + +"Jennie," he answered, hesitatingly, as if it was an effort for him to +collect his thoughts. + +"We have lost our mother--ours," she said, tremulously, and lowered her +head, weeping. + +He hastily arose, and his arm clasped her shoulder with brotherly +affection. It seemed to him the only way to comfort her. She did not +resist him, and they sorrowed together. + +Cornelius McVeigh did not hasten away from the scene of his great +sorrow. To tell the truth, he had lost for the time being his craving +for the bustling of the city and the subdued activity of his office. +In the place of the latter came hours of quiet, apathetic reverie while +he lingered beneath the roof-tree of home. He modified his dress and +waylaid sundry travellers who passed the door in lumbering farm wagons. +Ofttimes he clambered aboard and went a-visiting, and in exchange for +his city stories received tales of the Monk Road and his mother that +were as balm to his wounded heart. + +Jennie was also loath to leave the peaceful spot. Her grandparent, who +found a new joy in living because of his affection for her, came to the +neighboring hotel and hired a suite of rooms for an indefinite period. +He proved a worthy comrade in idleness for the jaded business man, and +the three of them, Jennie, Cornelius McVeigh and Mr. Hyden, were always +together. + +Jennie had been an apt pupil, and the few years of education which her +grandparent had provided for her had transformed her from an +uncultivated country girl into an accomplished young woman. Nor was +she lacking in comeliness. Ofttimes the eyes of Cornelius McVeigh +followed her with a strange light glistening in their depths. + +The boy and girl love of years gone by, so prematurely blighted and so +long dormant, was struggling again to the surface, and who knows but +another wedding, the last of so many which have been recorded in the +previous chapters, may yet be an accomplished fact? But that involves +another story, and it has not the presence of Nancy McVeigh. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NANCY MCVEIGH OF THE MONK ROAD*** + + +******* This file should be named 25938.txt or 25938.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/9/3/25938 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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