Part 18

Jordan went out and hurried down-stairs. Billy Morrison was in the stable, when Jordan stuck his head over the half-door.

“Say, can I have the rest of the day off, sir? I want to go to Kensington.”

“Well, I don’t mind,” said Billy Morrison amiably. “May’s well get you jaunting done ‘fore harvest comes on. And here, Jord; take this quarter and get some oranges for Aunty Nan. Needn’t mention it to headquarters.”

Billy Morrison’s face was solemn, but Jordan winked as he pocketed the money.

“If I’ve any luck, I’ll bring her something that’ll do her more good than the oranges,” he muttered, as he hurried off to the pasture. Jordan had a horse of his own now, a rather bony nag, answering to the name of Dan. Billy Morrison had agreed to pasture the animal if Jordan used him in the farm work, an arrangement scoffed at by Mrs. William in no measured terms.

Jordan hitched Dan into the second best buggy, dressed himself in his Sunday clothes, and drove off. On the road he re-read a paragraph he had clipped from the Charlottetown Daily Enterprise of the previous day.

“Joscelyn Burnett, the famous contralto, is spending a few days in Kensington on her return from her Maritime concert tour. She is the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Bromley, of The Beeches.”

“Now if I can get there in time,” said Jordan emphatically.

Jordan got to Kensington, put Dan up in a livery stable, and inquired the way to The Beeches. He felt rather nervous when he found it, it was such a stately, imposing place, set back from the street in an emerald green seclusion of beautiful grounds.

“Fancy me stalking up to that front door and asking for Miss Joscelyn Burnett,” grinned Jordan sheepishly. “Mebbe they’ll tell me to go around to the back and inquire for the cook. But you’re going just the same, Jordan Sloane, and no skulking. March right up now. Think of Aunty Nan and don’t let style down you.”

A pert-looking maid answered Jordan’s ring, and stared at him when he asked for Miss Burnett.

“I don’t think you can see her,” she said shortly, scanning his country cut of hair and clothes rather superciliously. “What is your business with her?”

The maid’s scorn roused Jordan’s “dander,” as he would have expressed it.

“I’ll tell her that when I see her,” he retorted coolly. “Just you tell her that I’ve a message for her from Aunty Nan Morrison of Gull Point Farm, Avonlea. If she hain’t forgot, that’ll fetch her. You might as well hurry up, if you please, I’ve not overly too much time.”

The pert maid decided to be civil at least, and invited Jordan to enter. But she left him standing in the hall while she went in search of Miss Burnett. Jordan gazed about him in amazement. He had never been in any place like this before. The hall was wonderful enough, and through the open doors on either hand stretched vistas of lovely rooms that, to Jordan’s eyes, looked like those of a palace.

“Gee whiz! How do they ever move around without knocking things over?”

Then Joscelyn Burnett came, and Jordan forgot everything else. This tall, beautiful woman, in her silken draperies, with a face like nothing Jordan had ever seen, or even dreamed about,--could this be Aunty Nan’s little Joscelyn? Jordan’s round, freckled countenance grew crimson. He felt horribly tonguetied and embarrassed. What could he say to her? How could he say it?

Joscelyn Burnett looked at him with her large, dark eyes,--the eyes of a woman who had suffered much, and learned much, and won through struggle to victory.

“You have come from Aunty Nan?” she said. “Oh, I am so glad to hear from her. Is she well? Come in here and tell me all about her.”

She turned toward one of those fairy-like rooms, but Jordan interrupted her desperately.

“Oh, not in there, ma’am. I’d never get it out. Just let me blunder through it out here someways. Yes’m, Aunty Nan, she ain’t very well. She’s--she’s dying, I guess. And she’s longing for you night and day. Seems as if she couldn’t die in peace without seeing you. She wanted to get to Kensington to hear you sing, but that old cat of a Mrs. William--begging you pardon, ma’am--wouldn’t let her come. She’s always talking of you. If you can come out to Gull Point Farm and see her, I’ll be most awful obliged to you, ma’am.”

Joscelyn Burnett looked troubled. She had not forgotten Gull Point Farm, nor Aunty Nan; but for years the memory had been dim, crowded into the background of consciousness by the more exciting events of her busy life. Now it came back with a rush. She recalled it all tenderly--the peace and beauty and love of that olden summer, and sweet Aunty Nan, so very wise in the lore of all things simple and good and true. For the moment Joscelyn Burnett was a lonely, hungry-hearted little girl again, seeking for love and finding it not, until Aunty Nan had taken her into her great mother-heart and taught her its meaning.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said perplexedly. “If you had come sooner--I leave on the 11:30 train tonight. I MUST leave by then or I shall not reach Montreal in time to fill a very important engagement. And yet I must see Aunty Nan, too. I have been careless and neglectful. I might have gone to see her before. How can we manage it?”

“I’ll bring you back to Kensington in time to catch that train,” said Jordan eagerly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Aunty Nan--me and Dan. Yes, sir, you’ll get back in time. Just think of Aunty Nan’s face when she sees you!”

“I will come,” said the great singer, gently.

It was sunset when they reached Gull Point Farm. An arc of warm gold was over the spruces behind the house. Mrs. William was out in the barn-yard, milking, and the house was deserted, save for the sleeping baby in the kitchen and the little old woman with the watchful eyes in the up-stairs room.

“This way, ma’am,” said Jordan, inwardly congratulating himself that the coast was clear. “I’ll take you right up to her room.”

Up-stairs, Joscelyn tapped at the half-open door and went in. Before it closed behind her, Jordan heard Aunty Nan say, “Joscelyn! Little Joscelyn!” in a tone that made him choke again. He stumbled thankfully down-stairs, to be pounced upon by Mrs. William in the kitchen.