CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE THANKSGIVING RIDE.
Thanksgiving morning dawned gloriously, and as Nan stood at her open window looking at the garden, all aglow, at the gleaming blue sky and sea, listening the while to the joyous song of a mocking bird in a pepper tree near, she thought how truly thankful she was that Fate had guided her to this wonderful place on that long ago Autumn day.
Miss Dahlia, who with the passing months had regained her strength, surprised the gypsy girl by appearing in the kitchen before that maiden had time to prepare the usual breakfast tray.
“Oh Nan darling,” the little woman said as she held out both hands. “I am so thankful, so thankful today that I have you. Think how dreary even this beautiful world would be if I were alone in it.”
The girl, with sudden tears in her eyes, kissed the little old lady lovingly as she replied, “I am the one who is most grateful. No mother could have been kinder to an own child than you have been to me.” Then, brushing away a tear from the wrinkled cheeks, she laughingly added, “One might think that we were bemoaning some calamity instead of rejoicing because we have each other.”
Merrily assuming Norah’s dialect, to make the little old lady smile, Nan said, with arms akimbo, “Miss Dahlia, will ye be havin’ some cream of wheat with thick yellow cream on it? Bobsy was just this minute after lavin’ it.”
And so it was a happy breakfast after all, and then, at ten o’clock Robert appeared dressed in gypsy fashion, and Nan, in her old costume of crimson and gold, the color of Autumn leaves in the sunshine, rode away with him on her pony Binnie.
The lad seemed to be exuberantly happy, as side by side, the two horses picked their way up the rough mountain road.
When at last they could ride no further, they dismounted and the lad turning to the girl said with tender solicitude, “Nan, every time that I glanced back without speaking, I caught a sad or troubled expression in your face. Won’t you let me share whatever it is that causes you new anxiety?”
The girl flashed a radiant smile as she said self-rebukingly. “Truly, Robert, I have no real sorrow. But I am thoughtful, I must confess, and quite without willing it, I assure you. It is as though a thought comes to me from somewhere from someone else to me.”