But even sorrow has its limit, and gradually her sobs died away to a shiver, as her head dropped wearily on the back of her chair. Oh, if she were not so helpless, if she could only earn money like Helen! But what could she do? She couldn’t sew, she had no musical ability—like Lucille! A Bob White whistle, followed by a “Tru-al-lee!” beneath her window reminded her that she had promised to take a walk with Grace Tyson.
Yes, Nathalie knew that “Tru-al-lee!” for that young lady was the only Pioneer who could so successfully imitate that little bird’s sweet trill. She jumped up quickly, and then with the buoyancy of youth cast all her dismal forebodings skyward and hurried down to the lower floor.
“I’ll be down in a moment,” she called out to Grace, who had just entered the hall and was chatting with Dick, who had been reading on the couch. She flew into the bath-room, scrubbed her face vigorously a moment, and then flying into her room grabbed her hat from its peg in the closet, and then hastened down the stairs humming blithely a new ragtime song as she went.
“I want to say good-by to Mother,” she exclaimed as she nodded to Grace and hurried into the sitting-room. But when she saw the big pile of mending on the table in front of Mrs. Page, a sudden guilty pang assailed her.
“Oh, Mumsie,” she cried, “don’t you do that mending. I will do it when I come back. I meant to do it yesterday,” she excused herself lamely, “but I forgot all about it.”
“Never mind, daughter, perhaps it will keep me from worrying,” was the reply; “as ’tis said, there is nothing like work to keep up one’s spirits.”
“Oh, Mumsie,” the girl cried impulsively, rubbing her hands caressingly over her mother’s cheek, “don’t let’s worry any more. We’re just silly to cry over what may not happen,” and then she added hopefully, “I’m sure things will come out all right.”
Mrs. Page’s eyes filled as she bent forward and kissed her would-be-comforter. “Yes, we are silly, no doubt,” she smiled through her tears, “to waste time and strength worrying over what, after all, may not happen.”
“But, Mother,” suddenly questioned the girl with uneasy eyes, “do—do you think I ought to become a Pioneer?”
“Why not, Nathalie?” inquired Mrs. Page in surprise. “Perhaps it will teach you some of the many things you should know, for if we are to be poor, you may have to earn your own living. Resourcefulness, courage, those will be the things—” her mother’s voice ceased abruptly.