“Oh, but they’re not mine! I’m not married.” exclaimed Nathalie, a merry note in her voice. “Why, I’ve just adopted them for the summer, so I call them my boys. I suppose they’re what you call Fresh-Air-Funders; that is, they live on the East Side in New York, and I’m afraid the poor things wouldn’t have had any outing if I hadn’t brought them up here to get a breath of this mountain air, and—”
But at this point, Jean, scrupulously faithful to Nathalie’s drilling, took a step forward, and, holding out his plate of fruit, in his fright forgetting the little English he knew, cried, “Voici du fruit!”
The woman peered at the boy, and then, with a slight cry as she saw the little empty sleeve, drew him to her, as she took the plate of fruit carefully from his hand. “Why, you poor lad!” she exclaimed in sudden tenderness. “So you have some fruit for me. Is he a refugee?” she queried softly, turning inquiringly towards Nathalie.
As the girl nodded dumbly, Tony pushed forward his offering, a covered dish of milk toast. Quickly removing the cover, he smacked his lips with gusto, while his velvety eyes glanced in a smile, as if to say, “Here’s something nice for you, too!”
By this time Nathalie saw that the atmosphere had cleared, and after she and Danny had proffered their gifts,—some chicken soup and custard,—with the help of the boys she drew a table to the side of the couch. Deftly unfolding a napkin for a covering, she spread out the toothsome dainties before her hostess, while Sheila, in childish prattle, entertained her new friend by telling about the fairies, whom she insisted lived in the flowers.
As the old lady partook of the edibles that had been prepared for her, the children, won by her seeming interest, with childish confidence told her about their lives in the city, how they liked the beautiful mountains, all about their many battles down at the old stone ledge, and how they were all learning to be Sons of Liberty. This drew Nathalie into the conversation, and she was soon animatedly telling how she happened to become a Liberty Girl, and how she was not only trying to carry out her plans in regard to liberty up there in the mountains, but was anxious to help the children know what it meant to become good Americans, and to understand why our nation had sent soldiers across the sea to fight the Hun.
Tony needed but one invitation, and the violin was brought forth from under his arm,—he always carried it,—and presently he was playing some little Italian airs, after which Jean sang Belgium’s national anthem, at Mrs. Carney’s request, and Danny recited a war-poem that Janet had taught him. Even Sheila contributed her quota to the impromptu entertainment and recited “Betsy’s Battle Flag,” as she, too, was a pupil of Janet’s, that young lady having become so interested in the children that she had not only helped her friend to teach them to sing, but had taught them to recite.
But now it was time to go, as Nathalie did not want to weary Mrs. Carney, although, to the girl’s surprise, that lady insisted that her sick headache had disappeared, cured, she laughingly confessed, by the young visitors, who had entertained her so charmingly.
With the promise to call again with her charges, Nathalie hurried them away, happily content that she had followed her mother’s suggestion and tried to be helpful and kind to her seemingly odd little neighbor. “It pays to be pleasant with people,” she remarked sagely, as she related the results of the visit. “For even if you don’t like them it gives you a pleasant feeling to think that you have done ‘your bit’ in keeping the chain of brotherly love well oiled.”
Mrs. Page sat knitting on the veranda the following morning when Nathalie came hurrying out of the house with an angry light in her eyes. “Oh, mother, what do you think?” she exclaimed irritably. “Cynthia has set the children all looking for that mystery thing. Did you ever hear of anything so absurd? And they have gone wild about it, and are running around the attic and the upper floors, pulling things about in a most disorderly fashion. Oh, I do think she is the limit!”