Then the whole truth flashed across her mind! Anne's Aunt Sa-something was the dear little Saphonia Leavitt, who lived with her sister Janie on the lonely road out of Freedom!
With a glee she made no effort to suppress, Nancy caught Aunt Sabrina by the elbows, danced her madly around, and then enveloped her in an impetuous hug.
"Oh, you don't know—you can't ever, ever know how nice it all—is," she cried, laughing and wiping away a tear at the same time. "To know that I really, truly belong to you and to Happy House!" Nancy's words rang true. They brought a flood of color to the old woman's cheeks.
"You see I never knew how long I could stay—I was sort of on probation and I love you all so much—now! But, tell me, are those two funny little Leavitt sisters any relation of—ours?" Nancy emphasized the last word with a squeeze of Miss Sabrina's hand.
"No—or if they are, it is so far back it's been lost. When I was little I used to see them occasionally, but they've never gone around much. They have always been very poor. They had a brother, but he went away from the Island when he was young—I think he must have died."
"I am going to pretend we're related," declared Nancy, "because I just love them. They took us in during the storm. And—and I have a dear chum, my very best chum, whose name is Anne Leavitt, too, and I am sure they are her aunts." She told Aunt Sabrina, then, in a sketchy way, of her four years' friendship with the other Anne Leavitt.
The windows of the sitting-room had been opened after the storm to let out the dust from the fallen mortar and brick. The blinds had not been closed again. Through the windows streamed a flood of sunshine.
With an impulsive movement Nancy closed the book and laid it down on the table. Her manner said plainly that thus they would dispose of all the past-and-gone Leavitts. She nodded toward the gaping fireplace.
"Let's have a new mantel made with Happy House carved in it, Aunt Sabrina. And, I think, it will be a Happy House, now."
There was a great deal Nancy wanted to tell Aunt Sabrina—of her father, and of their happy life together. But she had suddenly, with consternation, remembered the eloquent confession she had sent off to Peter Hyde.