She cherished no resentment against her grandfather for deserting her; indeed she felt rather under an obligation to him for having gone away and left her free to follow her own bent. He had given her good advice, too, in telling her to get over the border, and she was always thankful for the train of circumstances which had led her from one sort of work to another, until at last she had reached a fairly permanent position.
The summer had been so crowded with work, that books had been perforce relegated to the background. Joey Trip had a large garden spread out alongside of the railway track, in which he cultivated a great assortment of useful vegetables, and many bright but common flowers. But the crops would have been terribly weed-choked that summer had it not been for Nell’s unceasing energy in weeding. Early and late she plied her industrious hoe, for fortunately the garden was within easy hearing distance of the sounder.
The old people were very kind to her, and she in return was glad to do what she could for them. Besides, the outdoor work had a fascination for her, and despite her personal ambitions, it was impossible for her to sit in her hot little office engrossed in books, whilst the sun and wind were calling to her to come out and rejoice in the beauty of the summer world, and the weeds were growing so fast that the crops must suffer if they were not pulled out.
Arithmetic was her great stumbling-block on the road to knowledge. She could reckon things quickly in her head, but when it came to setting a sum out on paper, and working it by this rule and that, to bring it to a proper result, she was hopelessly confused. Geography was so fascinating that she had to look upon it as a play task, the study being altogether too delightful to be regarded as work. It was much the same with history, which in her own mind she classed with fiction, and she sandwiched it in between graver studies. Grammar proved almost as puzzling as arithmetic, but she struggled on, determined to write and speak as correctly as possible, and in this she was much more successful than any one might have deemed possible, considering the environment of her daily life.
But now it was September, garden work would soon be over, and the long dark evenings would give her the leisure she needed, to help her on towards the goal of her strivings.
So she watched the fading of the great beds of golden-rod without regret, although it had been one of the joys of the summer to her to admire the patches of living gold which adorned the open spaces of the valleys. The blue jays cried with shrill notes to each other as they flew in and out of the yellowing trees, and the plaintive chickadee cheeped mournfully through the quiet autumn days. But there was such a joy of living and of striving in Nell’s heart, that the chickadee only soothed instead of inspiring her with melancholy.
She had been down to Bratley but once since June, and now Mrs. Nichols was away, visiting some friends of earlier days on the American side, and Gertrude was sent to board meanwhile with little old Miss Gibson, whose house was large enough to admit of her taking Gertrude as well as Dr. Russell and his little son.
Miss Gibson had sent more than once asking Nell to come, but she would not go, having an instinctive feeling that Gertrude had no room in her heart for a girl friend just now.
“If ever she needs me, I’ll go to her quick enough, but I would rather not be regarded as a nuisance, so I will stay away until I am wanted,” Nell told herself, with quiet determination; for she had the rare faculty of being able to stand aside, to efface herself if the occasion required it, for the good of her friends, and although this entailed upon her many hours of loneliness, it did not fail to bring its own reward, all in good time—But that is anticipating.
Sometimes she had a long letter from Flossie Lorimer, detailing the doings of Teddy and the baby; also of Patsey, who meant to be a civil engineer when he grew up, and to invent as many things as Edison had done.