Grace North - Nan of the Gypsies

Then she laughed as Nan had never heard her laugh before. There was real joy in it. “Dearie,” she said, “I begged my sister to permit me to do what I could to try to civilize you while she is away, and, because her mind was so much occupied with other and weightier matters, she gave her consent, but she made me promise that you would attend service with me wearing proper clothes, and that I would teach you to sew and also lady-like manners.”

“Oh, Miss Dahlia, I, will civilize fast enough for you, because I love you,” the girl said, impulsively, as she pressed a wrinkled hand to her flush brown cheek.

“And I love you, Nan, you don’t know how dearly, and you needn’t civilize too much, if you don’t want to. I love you just as you are. I am going to engage masters to come and teach you piano, singing and the harp or violin as you prefer.”

The girl’s dark eyes glowed happily as she exclaimed, “Oh, Miss Dahlia, how I love music; everything, every-where that sings; the brook, the bird, the wind in the trees! How glad I will be to learn to make music as they do.”

Two wonderful weeks passed. A little French lady came to teach Nan languages, for which she had a remarkable aptitude, and when she began to sing as sweetly and naturally as the wood birds, Miss Dahlia was indeed delighted, and in the long evenings she taught the gypsy girl the songs that she used to sing. Too, there had been a shopping expedition to the village, and Nan had chosen a soft cashmere dress, the color of ripe cherries with the sun shining on them. At the beginning of the third week something happened which was destined to do much toward civilizing Nan.

It was Saturday and lessons were over for the week. Of tutors and music masters there would be none all that glorious day. Miss Dahlia had awakened with a headache. Nan slipped into the darkened room and asked tenderly if there was something that she could do to help.

“No, dearie,” the little lady replied, “I will just rest awhile. Go for a ride on Binnie if you wish. I will try to be down so that you need not have luncheon alone.”

A few moments later the girl emerged from a vine-hung side entrance and stood looking about. She wore her cherry red dress and the yellow silk handkerchief, with its dangles, was about her head.

In her hand she held a book, “Ivanhoe.” Miss Dahlia had been reading it aloud the night before, and the gypsy girl was eager to continue the story.

She would find a sheltered spot, she thought, and try to read it, although, as she well knew, many of the words were long and hard.

The Barrington estate contained several acres. Nan had never crossed to the high hedge that bounded it on the farther side from town.

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