“Oh, such glorious trees!” Nancy would exclaim as the car tore holes in the sunset’s shadows.
“Trees! If you like trees, Nance, just wait until daylight, and I show you huge black forests,” declared Rosalind, kindling merrily to Nancy’s enthusiasm.
“And when Uncle Frederic and Aunt--his wife,” Nancy corrected herself, “go away, will you be here all alone?”
“All alone! I wish I could be,” replied Rosalind, “then we could have sport; just you and I and, of course, a few servants. But, Nance, I never can get away from Margot, my old nurse, you know. Darling mother, my own mother, trusted her always, because she herself had been ill so long, so, of course, Margot’s sort of bossy yet. She’s as good as gold, but one doesn’t want gold bands around one’s neck all the time,” laughed Rosalind, as the car drew up to the broad veranda.
Even in the dusk, for it was now quite dark under the heavy foliage, Nancy could easily discern the massive outline of the big country house. She knew its story; how her Uncle Frederic had bought it from some old New England family just because it offered a seeming refuge for the first Mrs. Fernell, Rosalind’s mother, whose early invalidism had ended in leaving the girl so much alone among servants and wealth. Aunt Katherine had loved the big house which she had called Fernlode, because the ferns grew in paths and veins almost unbroken in their lines, and also because Fern was a part of their old family name.
“Here we are, Margot!” called out Rosalind, as a big woman came up smiling to that call.
She greeted Nancy happily, and at once the visitor understood why she was considered bossy, for she directed the man to take the bags and to do several other things all at the same time.
“Rosalind dear, you should have worn a sweater. See how cool it is--”
“A blessing, Margot dear. Haven’t we been roasting for days? Sweater! I just want to feel comfortable for a little while. Come on, Nance, I always run upstairs. Helps me reduce--”
And the puffing Rosalind executed a series of jumps, in lieu of running, which seemed too much to expect of her, and this bore out the fat girl’s good intentions.
“I do every earthly thing I can, you know,” confessed Rosalind, as they stood before an open door, “but I can’t see that it does one bit of good. I’m--hoping--you may have--a secret--recipe--” Breath giving out, Rosalind gave in, and sank down on a big chintz covered chair.