CHAPTER VIII.—NANCY’S HOME.
Nancy’s home was a favorite meeting place of the four friends. There was something very inviting about the old red brick house, with its low-ceiled, cheerful rooms and deep-silled windows.
Nancy’s family had been seafaring people for many generations, and the place was filled with curios from foreign countries: carved chests, swords with curved blades, ivory elephants, funny little cross-legged grinning gods, beautiful Japanese vases and Oriental rugs.
In cool weather there seemed to be a perpetual piece of old driftwood crackling on the hearth, and there was nothing the girls enjoyed more than sitting in a row on the floor in front of that cheerful blaze while they drank tea from curious Japanese cups and nibbled some of Mrs. Brown’s delicate cookies.
Nancy’s father was the very picture of a sea captain, sunburned, ruddy, eyes very blue and little side whiskers like an English Squire’s. He had a hundred stories to tell of the sea, and Billie could have listened to him all day without tiring. Nancy’s mother was a gay, cheerful little body who kept her house polished like a ship’s cabin, and Nancy’s brother, Merry, was the image of his father. He felt the call of the sea, too, as his father and grandfather had before him, but he was not to be the captain of a merchant ship. He intended to go to Annapolis.
Three weeks had passed since the great fire at Shell Island, when, one Saturday afternoon, a red motor car wound its way in and out of the country vehicles on Main Street, stopped at the express office, where the young mistress of the car alighted for a moment, returning with a package, and then, with a reckless flourish, turned into lower Cliff Street and presently stopped in front of Nancy’s house.
Billie entered without ceremony, so intimate had she now become with the Brown household. Concealing the package in her gray ulster, she left it in the hall. Then, with the boyish freedom which seemed to characterize all her ways, pulling off her gray hat and gloves, she marched into the parlor.
Nancy was huddled up on the settle doing the family darning, a Saturday task she loathed. Elinor was playing softly on the square piano between the front windows and Mary Price was reading a book.
“I hope I don’t disturb any one,” said Billie, laughing as she burst into the room. “Everybody seems to be so busy here. I’m the only idle creature living to-day. Even Cousin Helen is at work.”
“I hope she is doing something more to her taste than this,” said Nancy mournfully. “I’d rather dig for clams any day. Merry would wear out a sock made of steel chains.”