Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

"Then I shall not say another word about his remaining with you, Aunt Manning to the contrary notwithstanding."

"Aunt Manning wants too much," replied Mr. Kirkby, and went off laughing.

Boxes for the lads in the trenches had been prepared and sent off, Lillian taking especial interest in the preparation. So far neither Bertie nor Harry had been in an engagement. They wrote cheerfully and in detail, but who knew what day might come direful news. Everyone in the household contributed to these Christmas boxes, even the dogs and Hotspur, for Lillian wrote letters, very characteristic ones indeed, purporting to come from each of the little creatures, and they were signed with the impress of a damp paw. "Hims autodas," Lillian said of Tommy's. A packet of snap-shots went along with the other things, one of Pepé being included. Another box went from The Beeches, a touching little note for Harry, slipped in by Eleanor, made him thoughtful and rather unhappy.

Reviewing past years, explaining situations, getting acquainted, gave occasion for many long talks with Pepé. When his mother was not absorbing him Anita was, until Aunt Manning testily declared that they were too selfish for words. Did they think she had no rights at all? At her age to be set aside in this way was ridiculous. Her inclination was to coddle him, to lavish everything possible upon him, to make a matter of great importance his likes and dislikes. She could not forget the hardships of his boyhood and wanted to do her part in making up for it.

"This Aunt Manning," said Pepé to his sister, one day when she had been solicitous beyond the usual, "she has, what is it? She has a very large bark, but the bite is of no consequence."

"She has no bite at all," responded Anita, "it is at the most a mere harmless nibble."

Pepé's English was usually quite correct, but he twisted his expressions sometimes and pronounced words a trifle peculiarly. He was quiet and unassuming, but keen and active mentally. He had taken in knowledge in gulps, and having a retentive memory had acquired more than many a young person having greater advantages. This thirst for information delighted Mr. Kirkby, who added to Mr. Abercrombie's training a supplementary course under which Pepé advanced by leaps and bounds. His devotion to his mother was pathetic. The stunted affections of his childhood once started grew rapidly. It seems as if he could never make up to his mother for those years of hard suspicion. With Anita he was somewhat less confidential. She was a new element, one who had not been reckoned for, yet day by day their affection for each other increased and under Anita's exuberance and her expressions of pleasure in him he expanded visibly.

"You are a dear," Anita said to him one day, "I always hoped you would be, but I used to have terrible fears about you."

"How else?" said Pepé. "You knew of me only as a workman, a poor laborer, a factory hand. I am not surprised at that. Yet all the time I wished not to be as I was. I wished to be a gentleman. I wished for books, for music, for those things which one cannot gain by working only in a field. I do not despise this at all, but it is not what I longed for."

"It is like a fairy tale," declared Anita. "Pepé, there is one thing I wish you would tell me. I hope I am not too curious, but that day when we saw you in the cathedral, you remember that we told you how we even touched you in passing, were you praying for—for us?"