“Dead, is it? I remember Doss Umpey told my Joe the creature was pretty bad. Well, there ain’t no need for you to go out fussing about burying it. The men folks can see to that, and do you just stay here and help me get a bit straight. I could fancy a cup of coffee and a bit of food if it was got ready for me.”
“I would rather bury the dog myself, thank you,” Nell remarked, and was passing out of the door when a shrill scream from the woman arrested her steps.
“Come back, I say, and do as I told you. When I speak, I expect to be obeyed.”
“I will come and help you presently, if I have time, but I am not your hired girl, please remember,” Nell rejoined, civilly still, but with her head held at a dangerous angle, and her eyes shining with the light of battle. Then she walked away, disappearing round the corner of the house, and set to work at covering Pip in the grave she had dug, shovelling with tremendous energy in order to get her task completed before any one should disturb her.
No interruption came, however, and when she went back to the house Mrs. Gunnage was sullen, but civil.
Nell made up the fire, boiled some water, and made the tired woman some coffee. But the two loaves of bread which were her own she quietly carried up to the loft and put with the clothes from her mother’s box. She would need that bread for her long journey next day, and did not mean that it should be taken from her, by accident or otherwise.
For the remainder of the day, until darkness fell, she did her best to help Mrs. Gunnage. She cooked supper for the family, and served them all as meekly as if she were in truth the hired girl. She even shared their supper, feeling that she had certainly earned it. When darkness fell, she mounted up the swaying ladder to the loft, and then set to work on her own preparations for the future. The night was moonless, and she had no lamp or candle, but one can do a great deal by feeling when the occasion demands it.
Only two of her treasured books could be taken,—the Bible, which had been her father’s, and Longfellow; the dictionary and Bacon’s essays must be left. Perhaps Miranda Gunnage or one of the boys would like to have them.
When her preparations were quite complete, and, by the sense of touch, she had taken leave of the few treasures she must leave behind, Nell lay down on the broken camp-bed for the last time and fell asleep.
No dreams came to disturb her repose. No fears of her future stuck thorns of unrest in her pillow that night, and when the first of a family of blue birds came to twitter and stir in the great oak outside her open shutter, Nell started up broad awake, quite prepared for her plunge into the Unknown.