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The Life Of Nancy
by
It was like a tough little sprig of gray everlasting; the New England edelweiss that always keeps a white flower ready to blossom safe and warm in its heart.
They entertained each other delightfully that late summer morning. Tom talked of his wife and children as he had seldom talked of them to any one before, and afterward explained the land interests which had brought him back at this late day to East Rodney.
“I came down meaning to sell my land to a speculator,” he said, “or to a real estate agency which has great possessions along the coast; but I’m very doubtful about doing it, now that I have seen the bay again and this lovely shore. I had no idea that it was such a magnificent piece of country. I was going on from here to Mount Desert, with a half idea of buying land there. Why isn’t this good enough that I own already? With a yacht or a good steam launch we shouldn’t be so far away from places along the coast, you know. What if I were to build a house above Sunday Cove, on the headland, and if we should be neighbors! I have a friend who might build another house on the point beyond; we came home from abroad at about the same time, and he’s looking for a place to build, this side of Bar Harbor.” Tom was half confiding in his old acquaintance, and half thinking aloud. “These real estate brokers can’t begin to give a man the value of such land as mine,” he added.
“It would be excellent business to come and live here yourself, if you want to bring up the value of the property,” said Nancy gravely. “I hear there are a good many lots staked out between here and Portland, but it takes more than that to start things. There can’t be any prettier place than East Rodney,” she declared, looking affectionately out of her little north window. “It would be a great blessing to city people, if they could come and have our good Rodney air.”
The friends talked on a little longer, and with great cheerfulness and wealth of reminiscence. Tom began to understand why nobody seemed to pity Nancy, though she did at last speak sadly, and make confession that she felt it to be very hard because she never could get about the neighborhood to see any of the old and sick people. Some of them were lonesome, and lived in lonesome places. “I try to send word to them sometimes, if I can’t do any more,” said Nancy. “We’re so apt to forget ’em, and let ’em feel they aren’t useful. I can’t bear to see an old heart begging for a little love. I do sometimes wish I could manage to go an’ try to make a little of their time pass pleasant.”
“Do you always stay just here?” asked Tom with sudden compassion, after he had stood for a moment looking out at the gray sheep on the hillside.
“Oh, sometimes I get into the old rocking-chair, and father pulls me out into the kitchen when I’m extra well,” said Nancy proudly, as if she spoke of a yachting voyage or a mountaineer’s exploits. “Once a doctor said if I was only up to Boston”–her voice fell a little with a touch of wistfulness–“perhaps I could have had more done, and could have got about with some kind of a chair. But that was a good while ago: I never let myself worry about it. I am so busy right here that I don’t know what would happen if I set out to travel.”
V.
A year later the East Rodney shore looked as green as ever, and the untouched wall of firs and pines faithfully echoed the steamer’s whistle. In the twelve months just past Mr. Aldis had worked wonders upon his long-neglected estate, and now was comfortably at housekeeping on the Sunday Cove headland. Nancy could see the chimneys and a gable of the fine establishment from her own little north window, and the sheep still fed undisturbed on the slopes that lay between. More than this, there were two other new houses, to be occupied by Tom’s friends, within the distance of a mile or two. It would be difficult to give any idea of the excitement and interest of East Rodney, or the fine effect and impulse to the local market. Tom’s wife and children were most affectionately befriended by their neighbors the Gales, and with their coming in midsummer many changes for the better took place in Nancy’s life, and made it bright. She lost no time in starting a class, where the two eldest for the first time found study a pleasure, while little Tom was promptly and tenderly taught his best bow, and made to mind his steps with such interest and satisfaction that he who had once roared aloud in public at the infant dancing-class, now knew both confidence and ambition. There was already a well-worn little footpath between the old Gale house and Sunday Cove; it wound in and out among the ledges and thickets, and over the short sheep-turf of the knolls; and there was a scent of sweet-brier here, and of raspberries there, and of the salt water and the pines, and the juniper and bayberry, all the way.