The evenings at home—they called the cottage “home” now and had named it the “Oriole’s Nest”—were very restful and delightful. If Carin went to bed, she did so on the couch in the sitting room, so that she might be with the others. Sometimes Aunt Zillah sewed—always for Annie Laurie—and sometimes she read aloud. Azalea had some crocheting with which she busied herself. Mrs. Carson had taught her to make some beautiful things, and Azalea had developed a sort of passion for them. She wanted to make something lovely for everyone she loved; and Mrs. Carson’s last gift to her had been a great quantity of beautiful wools of many delicate shades.
Keefe O’Connor dropped in the little house evenings, too, and added to the gayety by “picking” on the guitar which he had borrowed from the McEvoys. Sitting on the doorstep, his handsome head thrown back against the casing, his dark eyes fixed with something like yearning affection on the group in the room, he crept, brotherly fashion, into the heart of each of them. He did not explain himself—said nothing of his parents, of his past, of his means of living—yet he seemed to have for his own Bohemian purposes, all that he needed, and to be happy in spite of that curious wistfulness which everyone felt who came near him.
“It does seem as if he was honing for something,” Mrs. McEvoy said one day when he was under discussion. “It may only be liver trouble, of course. If so, I could help him out there. I’ve got three bottles of liver special that I ain’t never took. Or if it’s indigestion or rheumatism, there again I could be of aid to him. I was saying to Miles the other night, seems as if, since you folks came, I didn’t pay half the attention to my medicine that I used to. Aside from them two bottles in the kitchen, I don’t call on none of them.”
“And if those two bottles weren’t sitting where you could see them,” said Miss Zillah with unusual boldness, “probably you wouldn’t be taking the medicine from them. I do say, Mrs. McEvoy, and I’ll abide by it, that health is nine-tenths a matter of good food, good air and a happy heart.”
“Oh, la,” said Mrs. McEvoy with more temper than any of them had yet seen in her, “it’s easy for you to say that, Miss Pace, when you’ve got your health. But if you’d been through what I have—”
She could not bring herself to finish, but suddenly remembering that she had some baking to do, left hastily and walked with unusual swingings of her body down the path that led to her home.
The path was getting pretty well worn now, and the dwellers in the Oriole’s Nest were well pleased that it was so. They were attached to Mis’ Cassie McEvoy, and were a good deal worried that she seemed displeased with them.
“I’d like to knock Bluebeard and the Princess Madeline off the shelf and break them to flinders,” said Carin. They all called Mrs. McEvoy’s favorite bottles by the names Azalea had given them. “It could be done so accidentally that she’d think it was the cat.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” said Miss Zillah firmly. “Don’t you try anything like that, Carin. Folks have to work out their own liberty. It can’t be done for them by anybody else, though a little help may be given now and then. I think I’ll bake some of those cookies that Mis’ Cassie likes, and I can send some over to her when Mr. McEvoy comes with the milk. I wouldn’t have her offended with me for anything.”
Miss Zillah always contrived to be busy, it seemed, and she could keep those around her busy, too. She was quite determined that there should be nothing slipshod about the Oriole’s Nest, and had laid out a fine set of rules for work which had to be followed. Even Keefe—who had soon fallen into the way of having his dinner with them—had his duties. At night, when Miss Zillah supervised the last offices of the day, it was he who brought in the pails of fresh water from the spring, and who filled the wood box. When he had said good night—lingering a little—Miss Zillah locked the doors and drew the curtains. Then she waited till the girls were snug in bed, and kissing them with gentle seriousness, turned out the light.