The Four Corners

Encouraged by this, and not to be outdone by her twin, Jack rushed to the kitchen and came back with a cake and an apple which she offered to the interesting visitor.

Daniella eyed the apple for a moment and then shook her head. She was not going to seem to need food in the presence of these more favored children. But she seemed to take comfort in cuddling Ruby and they felt that they had done all that they could.

In the course of an hour Colonel Lewis came in with his daughter and Miss Sarah. "Tom and I have arranged it," he told Phil in answer to the eager questions he put as he ran out to meet them. "We've found a place to take the grandfather. He must go to the County Asylum, as his mind is impaired. We must get Nan home right away, so Tom or I will drive up for her and bring the old man back. They'll keep him at the hospital to-night and to-morrow he can go to the place I spoke of. He will be well cared for."

"And what about Daniella?" asked Phil.

"That's not settled yet. She will stay here till we can determine what is best to be done. The main thing now is to get Nan home. I feel very loth to leave her there alone a moment longer than necessary. Mrs. Boggs is in good hands and is improving."

As Polly entered the room, she said, "Now, Daniella, you may go to see your mother." Down went Ruby, awakened rudely from the nap she was taking in Daniella's lap, and the little girl, without waiting for further invitation, darted out the door. She ran down to the gate so fast that Polly could not overtake her. "Wait, Daniella, wait," she called. "You don't know which way to go." Then Daniella paused and those watching saw them go swiftly down the street.

During the time that all this was going on, Nan was patiently keeping watch in the cabin. The short winter day was drawing to a close when she stirred the fire and tried to set a kettle of water to boil. Little as she was used to cooking, she was less used to an open fire, and found some difficulty in making the coffee. But she accomplished it at last, emptied some into a bowl and poured into it a liberal supply of "long sweetening" which she discovered to be molasses, then putting some of the corn bread upon a plate, she set it before the old man. He was able to feed himself which he did noisily, but with evident enjoyment. Nan could touch none of the food herself, though she was hungry after a picnic lunch taken on the drive up the mountain. The hours began to drag wearily. Once in a while, the old man would make some meaningless remark, supposing Nan to be his granddaughter. Two or three times he attempted to meddle with the fire, but Nan was able to stop him. He was simple and harmless, but, like a child, in danger of doing himself an injury by some sudden piece of mischief.

Nan wondered how Daniella could stand living in the little cooped up, bare cabin, how she could endure the privations and the lack of companionship. As the shadows deepened, she began to fear it might be possible that she would have to stay there all night, and was relieved to hear the sound of wheels, and then her Cousin Tom Lewis's voice.

"Heigho, Nan!" he cried, "Ran and I have come for you."

"Is Daniella with you?" asked Nan, peering out the door.

"No," answered Tom as he came up to the cabin.

"Oh, then I can't leave. I'll have to stay with the old man," returned Nan with a great feeling of disappointment. "I promised, you know."

Tom came forward. "No, you won't stay," he said. "We are going to take the old man, too. Where is he?"

"In there by the fire. Oh, Cousin Tom, who says he is to go, and where are you going to take him? What's become of Daniella, and has anything happened to her mother?"

"One question at a time, please. It is all right about the old gentleman, so don't you bother. The first thing to do is to get him ready, and then there'll be time to answer your questions on the way home. I've brought an old army overcoat to wrap him up in, for I didn't suppose we should find much here, from what Polly said."

The bewildered old man was soon bundled into the carriage. He whimpered like a child at being taken from the cabin, and kept saying over and over, "I'm innercent, I'm innercent. I never took no hand in the business."

"He probably imagines we are sheriffs after him for a moonshiner," said Tom. "Poor old chap!" He tried to reassure the old man but found it was no use, and after a while he lapsed into silence, seeming to find comfort alone in the supposed fact that his granddaughter was with him.

On the way down the mountain, Nan learned of all that had happened since morning, and kept up such a running fire of questions and comments as made Tom declare she must have been all day thinking them up.

She felt that she had been away for weeks when at last they stopped before her own door. Was it only that morning that they had started out to take the red jacket to Daniella?

Mary Lee and the twins rushed out to meet her, full of the day's happenings. "Daniella's here," cried Mary Lee.

"Yes, and she's been to see her mother at the hospital," said Jack.

"And her mother is crite ill," put in Jean. "Cousin Polly says she can't take any food except licrids because she has such a fever. She was hurt awfully, but she told Cousin Polly they couldn't have done more for her if she had been a creen."

"We want to keep Daniella here," Mary Lee went on, "and Aunt Sarah is thinking about it."

"Where is Daniella now?" asked Nan.

"She's at the hospital. Cousin Tom is going to bring her back when he takes her grandfather there. Isn't it a good thing that Cousin Philip is one of the directors? He had everything hurried up and settled so much sooner. Was it very awful staying up there all day, Nan? Were you scared?"

"It was lonesome, but I wasn't frightened. There wasn't anything to do but give the old man his supper and keep him from fooling with the fire. I couldn't eat their messes myself."

"Then you must be half starved," said Mary Lee. "You poor child. We waited supper for you all. Mitty is putting it on the table now."

Nan thought that never before in her life had batter bread and cold ham tasted so good. Never had biscuits and baked apples such a flavor.

After supper, Miss Sarah called the four girls to her. "Now, children," she said, "the little girl will be here presently, and before she gets here we must understand whether she is to stay or not. They will take her in at the Children's Home or the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum, while her mother is ill, so we need not feel that she will not be looked after."

"Oh, but it would be dreadful to shut up that little wild thing in a strict place like the Home or the Asylum," said Nan, with keen appreciation of what Daniella would suffer.

"But you know, my dear, that every penny counts with us, and that all that can be spared must go for your mother's expenses. If we keep the child here, even for a couple of months, she will have to have clothing, her board will cost something, and it will mean sacrifices on the part of all of us. Now, the question is: What are you willing to give up?"

"I think I can get along without anything more in the way of clothes this winter," said Nan, visions of a new frock fading away.

"And I am sure I can if Nan can," said Mary Lee, readily.

"I'll wear hand-me-downs and not say a word," said Jack, "and I'll give Daniella all my rice pudding."

"Because you don't like it," Jean spoke with scorn.

"Well, never mind, if she likes it, what's the difference?" said Jack, argumentatively. "If I gave up something she didn't like and that I did, it wouldn't do her any good. You haven't said yet that you'd give up anything."

"Of course I'll give up something," declared Jean, offended. "I'll give up whatever Aunt Sarah says I ought."

"Good little girl," said Aunt Sarah, approvingly. "I hope you will not have to give up much. You younger ones can always take the clothes of the older ones, and as for food we shall not be able to set a very much plainer table on account of our boarders. I think there will be rice pudding enough for every one, but we'll have gingerbread instead of rich cake, and eat more oatmeal instead of so many hot griddle-cakes."

"I suppose they do take a crauntity of butter," sighed Jean, who liked griddle-cakes above all things.

"We'll eat 'long sweetening' on them," said Nan, with a smile at the recollection of the Boggs's molasses jug. "By the way, I never thought of Daniella's chickens and her little pig. They killed the big pig, and there is quite a lot of meat up there. Some one will have to go up there after those things."

"They can be sold," said Aunt Sarah, "and that will help out their expenses."

"Oh, can't we keep the chickens and the little pig? Then Daniella won't cost us anything for eggs."

"But the chickens will cost us something for food," argued Miss Sarah.

"Oh, dear, I forgot that they must be fed. I always think of chickens just picking and scratching around for a living," said Nan. "Well, Aunt Sarah, is it settled? Do we keep Daniella here or don't we?"

"If you all are willing to make the sacrifices, we will keep her, but you must not murmur. I want you to realize what it means. Now, in the flush of your generous spirit, it seems easy, but after a while, when your coat looks shabby, Nan, and your best frock is too short, and when Mary Lee must wear her old hat and Jack must be satisfied with made-over clothing, and rice-pudding oftener, when Jean can't have griddle-cakes swimming in butter, and must have her shoes mended and remended, it may not seem so easy. My own inclination is always to fling wide a hospitable door, but we must think of what is due to your mother before anything else."

The four children were silent. They realized the truth of all this. At last Jack spoke up. "I don't care; I'd just as soon have the made-overs; you don't have to be near so careful of them."

"There is some comfort in that," agreed Nan. "Yes, Aunt Sarah, we'll do it, won't we, Mary Lee?"

"I will, if you will."

"Then it's settled," Nan declared. "Daniella is to be ours till further notice. Will she go to school, Aunt Sarah? She doesn't know even how to read."

"We can see about that later," Aunt Sarah told her.

Later, this question did come up, for when the chickens and pig were domiciled at the Corners' and Daniella had become used to her surroundings, she realized that if she would be like the rest she must know much more than she did. At first she was like some little wild animal, and could not be kept in the house, saying she could not breathe there. She was shy of every one but Nan and Mary Lee, and fled at the approach of strangers. She did not know how to wear the clothing provided for her, nor had she ever been inside a church. Shops were a marvel and a school was something that had to be elaborately explained, but in time she came to understand that she was unlike the rest of the world and that if she would be in it she must be of it. Then she told Nan she wanted to know what was inside books, and she would go to school. One day of the routine was enough for her. She escaped before the morning was half over to Nan's mortification.

"You ought at least to have stayed till noon," she said, chidingly.

"I couldn't, I couldn't," replied Daniella vehemently. "I felt like a wild creetur in a trap, and them gals starin' and snickerin' made me feel like a fool thing. I ain't goin' to set alongside o' babies, an' I ain't no right with gals my own size. I don't want to hev nothin' to do with none of 'em, 'scusin' you an' Mary Lee. If I never l'arns nothin', I ain't goin' to be cooped up lak a po' trapped rabbit or a bird in a cage. I don't keer if I don't know nothin'. Maw'll love me jest the same."

Nan was quite distressed. She had felt a real missionary spirit in rescuing Daniella from the depths of her ignorance. She dreamed of the day when she should be proud of her, when pretty little Daniella would appear as well as any girl, but now her hopes were blasted. She thought long upon the subject. She discussed it with her sisters, with her Aunt Sarah, with Cousin Polly and Cousin Mag but no one could seem to offer a solution to the problem. It was cruel, every one thought, to send a girl to school who felt so keenly about it. Why make her miserable for the short time she was living in a civilized community? After a while she would have to return to her wild life, then where would be the good of having made her unhappy?

But Nan felt differently about it. She had a scheme of teaching Daniella herself, but the mountain girl spurned it, and said she wasn't goin' to hav no gal her own size l'arnin' her, though if the truth were known, she really did not want to give Nan the task. So at last Nan took her difficulty to her Aunt Helen, and here she found a friend in need, for Miss Helen declared that nothing would interest her more than to teach Daniella for an hour or two a day.

"She is like a blank, unwritten page," she said. "And I'd like the experience of putting my mark upon her. I should like to try some of my own theories. You say she is bright, Nan?"

"Real bright. Not like schooly brightness, but in a queer way, that shows she thinks a lot more than you suppose."

"So much the better. I can try to bring out what is in her, by my own methods."

Then Nan, by coaxing and arguing induced Daniella to try the experiment of going to Uplands for an hour each day, and after her very first trial it seemed that Miss Helen had solved the problem, and that Daniella's education had fairly begun.