The Liberty Girl

by Rena I. Halsey

When his father left his grandmother, Philip stated, he was in a mood of mingled anger and humiliation, while his heart had been deeply seared with disillusioned love. He could not realize that the mother who had made him her idol, the mother whom he adored, could, from mere motives of false pride, wound him so deeply by refusing to receive the girl to whom he had given the affections of his young manhood.

On leaving his mother, Philip Renwick had remained at the hotel for a time, vainly hoping that she would attempt a reconciliation, but when no word came from her, he took his wife to a southern town, where, a few months later, he, Philip the second, had been born. A couple of years later the young couple had returned to England, where they had lived until his father’s death. Shortly after losing her husband, young Mrs. Renwick had returned to France, and had become the home-keeper for a bachelor brother. On his death she was left a small annuity on the condition that she retain her maiden name of de Brie; hence the reason that Philip had become known by his mother’s maiden name.

“But did you know that it was here, at Seven Pillars, that your grandmother used to live?” asked Nathalie, as Philip finished.

“Yes, and that was why I felt that I could not refuse your mother’s kind invitation to spend a short time here as her guest, for the house had so many associations for me, for my father, as well as my grandmother, were very fond of this old place up here in these mountains.

“The night you found me in the cabin, Miss Nathalie,” resumed the young man, “I had become tired of life, for it seemed as if there was nothing for me to live for, for I hadn’t enough ambition to try to better my condition. I could only face the fact that mother was gone, that I had not a cent in the world, as my mother’s annuity ceased with her life, and my soldier’s pension was only a few dollars a week. I realized that I would probably lose my arm, for I knew that it should have a surgeon’s care and I had no money to pay one. And it is right here, Miss Nathalie, that I want you to understand my deep appreciation of, and my hearty thanks for, what you have done for me; also the kindness of Miss Janet,” a sudden light flamed in the young man’s eyes, “and the thoughtfulness of your mother, and your friends, Mrs. Van Vorst and Miss Nita.

“The companionship of you all, even of the kiddies, your Liberty boys, has put new life into me. I did become a little discouraged, it is true, when I began to lose my French pupils, and surmised the reason, from various hints that were dropped by some of the people, who were the victims of the thief, for it is not an enlivening thought to fear that your only and very best friends might grow to think you a rascal.

“But you all proved so true to me, especially you, little Blue Robin, I call you that name, as the bluebird is a bird of cheer, and certainly you have inspired me with the ambition for a new career-to-be, as you have proved yourself such a loyal little comrade in my time of need. Remember, Nathalie, I shall never forget you, or what you have done for me.”

Nathalie, her face a wave of color from the unexpected warmth of Philip’s praise, in hasty confusion, as if to change the subject to another one than herself, cried, “But why did you not go, when you were in Boston, to Mrs. Renwick’s trustees, and make yourself known to them? For, if you are her grandson, you are entitled to some of her money.”

“For two reasons,” replied Philip slowly. “One was that, in my hasty departure from England it slipped my mind to bring my credentials with me. And then, again,—perhaps my grandmother’s pride has descended to me,—I felt that if she did not love my father,—she had let him go so easily,—that I could have pride, too, and did not care to accept her money. If I could have met her when alive, and had learned that she did have some love for my father, why, then I would have revealed myself to her, and naturally would have felt differently in regard to accepting her money. But I have one thing by which I could have proved my identity to her if she had been still alive. See, it is this little ring. She gave it to my father, who always wore it, as I have done, ever since it came into my possession.”

Philip took from one of his little fingers an odd, peculiar-looking seal ring. After showing his father’s and his grandmother’s initials and the date of its presentation, he touched a tiny spring back of the stone, and Nathalie saw a miniature picture of Mrs. Renwick. She knew it immediately from its resemblance to several pictures of her that were scattered about the house.