The Four Corners

"Then Aunt Helen spoke up. 'Don't say anything about expenses, Mary,' she said; 'you know it was mother's wish that the estate should be divided, and though she did not sign that last will, I consider it just as binding as if she had done it.' Oh, Nan, she said she meant to have grandmother's first will set aside so we could have our share lawfully."

"That is just like Aunt Helen," said Nan. "Go on."

"Then they talked about that for a little while and said a lot about lawyers and trustees and things I didn't understand, then Aunt Helen said, 'What do you think of California for a winter, Mary?'

"'But it is so far,' said mother, 'and it is such an expensive trip. I should like it better than the Adirondacks, but for the distance. But I couldn't be so far from my children. Of course,' she said, 'you and Aunt Sarah would be here, and that would be a great comfort.'

"'I didn't mean for you to go alone,' Aunt Helen said; 'I meant that the children and I would go, too.'

"Mother turned right around and put her hand on Aunt Sarah's. 'But what would my dear auntie do?' she asked.

"'Don't mind me,' Aunt Sarah said. 'I'll manage. If you want to close the house, I'll go to Henry Dent's or somewhere, but if you'd rather keep it open I should like mighty well to stay right here and look after those boys, and perhaps I could get a couple more to come in, so it would keep me interested and occupied.'

"Then I spoke right up, Nan."

"What did you say?" asked Nan, eagerly.

"I said, 'Oh, do let Aunt Sarah stay, mother, for who would take care of old Pete, and what would Lady Gray and Baz and Ruby do without any family, and then there's Unc' Landy and the pig and the chickens.' Then they all laughed, though I don't know why and mother said: 'That settles it, Mary Lee. If Aunt Sarah wants to take such a large family under her wing, I am sure I have no objection.'

"Then Aunt Helen said: 'I've only one thing to say, Mary. If Miss Sarah is to undertake all this, I hope you will feel that you have enough to let her have all she can make out of her – her – '"

"Her experiment," suggested Nan who had a more ready vocabulary than Mary Lee.

"I think she said 'undertaking,'" said Mary Lee, not to be corrected. "Then I said: 'Are we really going to California, Aunt Helen?' And she said, 'I should like to think so. It all rests with your mother. I have always wanted to go there and I can't bear to be parted from you all, so why can't we go together?' Then she asked mother what she thought about it."

"She said yes, of course," put in Nan.

Mary Lee nodded. "Uhm – hm. She did indeed, and I got up and just yelled, and then I told them I was going hot-foot to find you, and I left them there still talking about it."

"Oh, do let's go back and hear the particulars," said Nan. "Isn't it perfectly wildly exciting? Did you ever believe such a thing could happen to us? To think we are all going. I wonder when we shall start, and where we shall go, I mean the exact place. To think of living, really living there. Come, let's find out more."

They went racing toward the house and burst in upon the three ladies still absorbed in making plans. "Are we really going to California?" asked Nan, excitedly. "When shall we start? What place is our cottage to be in? May I take some of my books? What trunk shall I use?"

All three smiled. "Gently, Nan, gently," said her mother. "We are not going to-morrow, and there will be plenty of time to decide on trunks before October."

Nan drew a long sigh, and went to sit down by her Aunt Helen. "Fairy godmother," she said, "the Poppy fairy never brought me this dream. Just wave your wand, please, and make me see it all."

"We shall go to Southern California," said Miss Helen, drawing Nan close to her, "probably to San Diego or Pasadena. We shall travel a little at first and decide upon the best place for your mother, then we will take a little cottage, hire a piano, have some books, engage a teacher for you girls, and settle down to enjoy our winter."

"Do let's have a Chinese servant."

"Perhaps we can try one."

"And we can have a garden?"

"If we can find a house with one attached. I think it is extremely probable that we will have one. A little cottage of about six or eight rooms will be large enough, I think, and, if we can, we will have a garden where the geraniums will grow so high that they will shade our second story windows, and where roses will bloom in January. We will not be too far from orange groves and olive orchards nor too distant from the city, and we must be near enough to slip over into Mexico and to have the Pacific ocean for a neighbor. We shall hear Spanish spoken, and the ancient missions will give an old world air to our surroundings. We shall be where your mother will gain strength and health, and where you will have the opportunity of learning all sorts of new things, where I shall try to forget many sad things of my old life, and shall feel that I have a sister and her children to make me content and give me a new peace. Do you like the picture, West Corner?"

"It is beautiful. Now it all seems real. I can see everything, dearest, it's lovely. Just one thing more: How do we go?"

"I think we shall take the southern route and come back by some other."

"You mean – Just which way is the southern route?"

"Down through New Orleans, Texas, and a bit of Mexico, then up through Southern California. Coming back, we will go through upper California and perhaps come home through the Canadian Rockies, but we will decide that when the time comes."

Nan drew a long sigh of satisfaction. "It is just too lovely for words. I may tell it, may I? It's all going to really happen?"

"So far as any one can say a thing will really happen. Of course, if any one should go prowling around at night in strange places and break an arm or leg and so detain us, we all could not go."

Nan fell upon her aunt with playful beatings of her fist in punishment of this speech. "It won't be me, at any rate," she declared. "I'm going to hunt up the kiddies now before Mary Lee gets hold of them to tell them."

Mary Lee had already flown to Cousin Mag's with the news and Nan was free to be first dispenser of it to the twins. She was but a little way from the house when Jean met her, running, and wiping away tears with two grimy fists. "Whither away, my little maid?" cried Nan, catching her. "Where's Jack?"

"Oh, Nan," said Jean, "come, come crick; Jack is in the pig-pen and the pig is screaling awfully."

"Why in the world did Jack want to get into the pig-pen with the pig?" asked Nan. "Did she want to make piggy 'screal'?"

"No, she fell in. Come, get her out, please, Nan."

Nan followed Jean to the scene of the disaster, but, by the time they reached there, Jack had managed to get out by her own efforts, though she was a sight to behold. "Goodness, child!" exclaimed Nan, "you are a mess. What have you been doing? Here, come along with me. Don't touch me. Unclean! Unclean! Fee-ugh! how does the pig stand that kind of sachet? Go on ahead – No, keep behind. I don't notice it so much, then. Follow, follow." She ran on ahead until she reached the brook, whose waters were warmed by the June sunshine. "Off with your shoes and jump right in," she cried to Jack; "into that nice little smooth pool where the sun is shining. You are the pilgrim in 'Pilgrim's Progress,'" she went on, "and I see that the dirt of the Slough of Despond is upon thee, but that slough is the beginning of the sorrows that do attend those that go on in that way. Hear me, I am older than thou; thou art like to meet within the way that thou goest, Wearisomeness, Pain, Hunger, Perils, Nakedness, Sword, Lions, Dragons, Darkness – "

"Oh, Nan," wailed Jack, "don't scare me any more than I was scared. The pig's little wicked eyes looked at me so fierce and he grunted and grunted and tossed up his nose."

"Like Tiny in the song Aunt Sarah sings. Never mind, dear, I was only quoting 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and you mustn't be scared. Piggy Wee shan't eat little Jack Corner. Jump, jump, jump, froggy. There you go. Splash about and I'll run home for some dry things while you are soaking off the worst."

It was pleasant and warm in the sun and Jack splashed about manfully, rather enjoying it, until Nan returned with the dry clothes in which she was invested after being stripped of the foul garments and washing herself well in the pool into which Nan poured a quantity of ammonia.

"Now you are clothed in the King's robes," said Nan, continuing her simile of the pilgrim. "I think you'll do. We'll leave these earth-stained garments to sweeten in the sun and you can tell me how it all happened."

"I wanted to help Piggy Wee to get some parings that had fallen outside. I was climbing up and throwing them over when I slipped and fell in and he didn't like it," said Jack, mournfully. "It was real ungrateful of him, too, for I was doing it for his sake and he squealed and did his ears funny and looked like he wanted to gobble me up."

"Somebody will gobble him up some day," said Nan, comfortingly, "for he will have to be killed in the fall and made into sausage meat for ground-hog day. Now let me tell you something perfectly lovely that will make you forget all about pigs. Come, Jean! Ah, Jean!" for this one of the twins had wandered further up the brookside.

With one of the little girls each side of her, Nan poured forth her news as they sat by the purling little stream. She had two absorbed listeners who at first thought she was telling them a make-believe story, but she ended by assuring them that it was every word true and concluded by saying: "So now, my sweet pilgrims, we shall soon be going to the Delectable Land where there will be no pig-pen to fall in and where we can sit under orange trees and eat oranges all day."

For a time, the children gave themselves up to pleasant dreams. Overhead the leaves softly whispered, at their feet sang the little brook; in the distance Unc' Landy was crooning an old camp-meeting hymn. "I'm sure, after all, it's pleasant enough here," said Jack, breaking the silence.

Nan raised her eyes to the charred ruins of Uplands' house rearing themselves upon the hill opposite. She drew a long breath. "If as much happens next year as has happened this," she said, "I don't know what I shall do. I feel as if I had grown three feet and that all the little shelves in my brain where I store away things were piling up so fast that it will be necessary to build an extra room pretty soon."

Jack laughed. "You do say such funny things, Nan."

"So do you," returned Nan. "There come Mary Lee and the boys. Let's go meet them."

They passed by the little gardens where the boys had lent a hand in spading and hoeing. The young green of shoots appeared above the brown earth; green peas were filling in their pods, beans were climbing their poles; even the asparagus bed was started, and on the currant bushes hung bunches of green currants. Giant Pumpkin Head had begun to stretch his lusty limbs outside Place o' Pines. To Nan's fancy, he was guardian of the place.

"I am glad we aren't going away in summer," she said, observing all the familiar things. "I'm glad, too," she went on, "that the boys have to be here several years longer, so it isn't as if we shouldn't come back to just the same things."

"We shan't come back to the old fence," said Jean; "that's gone."

"And a good riddance that was. Aunt Helen says next thing the house must be painted, but I don't know that I want it to be," said Nan half regretfully; "it won't seem like our own old dingy dear home. I don't like spick and span things always."

"I am sure the sofa looks fine in its new cover," said Jean.

"Yes, but you have to keep your feet off it," said Jack, resentfully.

There was a sober look on Ran's face as he came up with the other two boys and Mary Lee.

"What do you think of our good news?" said Nan.

"I don't think it is very good news," he replied.

"You don't? Why not?" asked Nan, opening wide her eyes.

"Because we shall miss you all so awfully when we come back next year, and the house is going to be painted, too, so it won't seem a bit the same."

"That's just what I've been saying," Nan told him. "Oh, well," she added, philosophically, "I suppose we shall get used to it, and will forget that the house ever was no color. You'll get used to doing without us, too, and think what a lot we shall have to tell when we get back."

Ran still looked gloomy. It did not add to the pleasure of his thoughts to feel that the girls would outdo him in experiences. "I mean to go to Europe when I finish college," he said.

"But first," said Nan, "you're going home, so I don't see but that we are the first ones to be left behind, Mr. Longface. Cheer up, cheer up, we've a whole week yet before the holidays begin. Let's all go for a ride up the mountain; it's just the day for it."

An hour later the seven had turned their faces toward the steadfast mountains upon which no changes were ever wrought.