CHAPTER XI

The Recognition of Mrs. Nichols

NELL stepped off the little platform at the rear of the cars with a dazed sensation of utter unreality all about her.

Only once before, since she could remember, had she ridden in a train, and that was more than a year before her father died.

Now it seemed to her that she had been whirling along for days, weeks—or was it years since Abe Lorimer had put her on the cars at Nine Springs?

“This morning, of course, at nine o’clock, and now it is nearly four o’clock; and oh, I wonder if the baby misses me very much, and what they are all doing at home?” she sighed to herself, feeling strangely desolate and forlorn, as she stood beside the small box containing her belongings, and looked at the towering hills and gloomy pine-clothed slopes about Bratley.

Then a stout woman, with a shawl over her head, came through a small wicket gate by the side of the track, and, advancing straight towards Nell, asked in a rather wheezy tone—

“Are you Miss Lorimer’s new deputy?”

“Yes,” replied Nell, with a sudden terror lest she should be found wanting in some unexpected place, and the fear made her feel for the moment like an interloper, or an impostor, until she remembered the words of the merry, good-natured operator at Nine Springs; then her courage came back, and she was able to smile at Mrs. Nichols, whom she recognized by her appalling squint, according to the description given by Gertrude.

“Well, I’m Mrs. Nichols. You’ve got to board with me, and I’ll make you as comfortable as I can, though, between you and me, I’m getting more than a little tired of deputies, and I’d give a good deal to have Miss Lorimer back again, bless her kind little heart. How is she now, poor lamb?”

“She is getting stronger every day now, and the doctor says she will be able to come back directly the winter is over,” Nell replied cheerfully.

Now there was some one to greet her, she did not feel quite so desolate and forlorn.

“Well, it ain’t over yet by a long way,” sighed the stout woman, “and I can only hope you will not be so faddy in your food as the deputy who is leaving. What I’ve had to bear with that young woman’s appetite these weeks past no one but myself can ever understand. She can’t, or she won’t, eat potatoes, nor turnips, nor carrots; she turns up her snubby nose at leek pie and Irish stew, and as for a bit of pudding, she won’t touch it. All her cry is for new-laid eggs, bread and butter, toasted cheese, and such like. Just think what that means to a poor widow woman, with butter at twenty-five cents a pound, and new-laid eggs at five cents apiece.”

“As dear as that, are they? Well, it is good for the people that have got them to sell, but we will live on potatoes, Irish stews, and that sort of thing, until butter and eggs get cheaper,” replied Nell, with a smile.

“Ah, you are one of Miss Lorimer’s sort, I can see, only you have got a stronger will and more purpose. But you can’t have a kinder heart; I will say that for her. But come along, my dear, and I will get you a nice early cup of tea, for you must want it after a long day of knocking about on the cars,” said Mrs. Nichols, who was a fairly shrewd reader of human nature, and had taken the measure of Nell’s stronger character at the first glance.

“Is this the office? Would you mind if I went in and had a look round first? I’m not very hungry, but I do want to get used to things, and the other deputy goes away to-night, I believe,” said Nell, who was in secret terribly afraid of her new responsibilities, and anxious to reassure herself on the subject of her own capability.

“Yes, that is the office, and Miss Simpson goes away by the eight-o’clock cars, and the office shuts down then for the night,” explained Mrs. Nichols.

“Would you mind, then, if I didn’t come in until after eight o’clock? I want to have as much time to get used to things as I can,” Nell said nervously.

“Do just as you like, my dear. I might as well step in and introduce you to Miss Simpson, then she will treat you properly. Let me see, what is your name—Miss Hammond?”

“No; Hamblyn, Eleanor Hamblyn,” explained Nell; whereat a puzzled look came over the face of Mrs. Nichols, and she treated Nell to a look of the keenest scrutiny, then marched into the dingy little telegraph office, and promptly introduced her to the dyspeptic-looking girl who had been acting as Gertrude’s deputy for so long.

Miss Simpson chose to be very affable, greeted Nell warmly, and declared herself utterly thankful that she was going to leave a dead-alive hole like Bratley.

“I never saw such a place; not a solitary individual to talk to, except the miners that go backwards and forwards to Camp’s Gulch and Roseneath, and they are a mixed lot, I can tell you,” Miss Simpson said, with a toss of her head, and an air of knowing a great deal on all sorts of subjects.

“But the work, is that very heavy?” asked Nell, who was not interested in this aspect of the drawbacks of Bratley. “I mean, does it come with a great rush at certain times of the day?”

“Oh no, there is never a rush of any sort; I wish there were, if only for the sake of keeping one in practice. I’m a twenty-five-word operator myself, and ought to have been promoted long ago, instead of which I have just had to hang round, doing deputy work while waiting for my chance. An eighteen-word operator would manage very well here; what do you scale?”

“I can do twenty words comfortably,” replied Nell, modestly; then added, with deprecating candour, “but I’m not on the list yet, so I can only do deputy work.”

“Get yourself put on the list, then, the very first time the inspector comes this way; he’ll be glad enough to get a twenty-word operator, I can tell you, for some of the beginners are a fearfully slow lot.”

Nell began to feel reassured, and when, a few minutes later, the clicking call of the sounder gave warning of a message coming, she took her place at the table and wrote the words down as they came through.

“Stop Roseneath cars for twenty minutes; supplies on to Camp’s Gulch got wrong.”

“What does it mean?” asked Nell, in a bewildered tone, as she stared at the message she had written down.

“You’ve got to stop the cars, of course; run, or you will be too late,” said Miss Simpson, pointing to the door with a hasty gesture.

Nell made haste to obey, returning five minutes later very much out of breath, and rather curious concerning the message.

“Did it mean that the supplies for Camp’s Gulch had got on to the Roseneath cars by mistake? or what did it mean?” she asked, panting still from the haste she had made.

“I don’t know, and as it is not my business, I don’t care,” returned Miss Simpson, languidly.

“But I care; I want to know what everything means, or else how can I do my work properly?” Nell asked, with an inflection of dismay in her tone.

“Oh, a few months’ work as an operator will soon cure you of any tendency to curiosity, and take away some of your superfluous energy as well,” replied Miss Simpson, with a superior air. “But here comes another message; look sharp!”

Nell turned to the sounder, writing down the words as the machine ticked them out, and when the message was all through, she heaved a great sigh of relief.

“There is my mystery explained, and I am so very glad,” she said, with a laugh.

The conductor of the Roseneath train came into the office at this moment, anxious to know why his train had been prevented from starting, and she read the message to him.

“Three cases tinned meats, four boxes marked fragile, seven bags rice, all marked W. H. P., put on Roseneath train here by mistake.”

“I said it was a mistake when they were put on, only no one would believe me,” said the conductor, wrathfully, as he turned to go and take the misladen freight from his cars, shouting loudly for the baggage clerk to come and help him, and so shorten the delay in starting.

But the baggage clerk, who was also pointsman and a good many other things as well, had already gone off to some other duty, and was not available.

“I will help you,” said Nell, impulsively, running after the harassed conductor, who was fuming and irritable with the delay.

He stared at her for a moment in astonishment; then his face cleared as if by magic.

“Thank you, miss; it will make five minutes’ difference, perhaps more, and it all counts in the day’s work,” he said. But he lifted his hat to her with a ready chivalry that showed he respected her none the less for her offer of help.

Five minutes of really hustling work, then the packages were all off the train, the whistle sounded, and the cars moved off towards Roseneath, just as the baggage clerk came running back to see what was amiss.

Nell explained the situation to him, putting the freight in his care for loading on to the next Camp’s Gulch cars, then returned to the office, very warm and rather untidy from that spirited wrestling with rice bags and boxes marked “fragile.”

“Oh, how could you do such a thing?” cried Miss Simpson, holding up her hands in horror.

“There was no one else to help, and it didn’t hurt me, only I’m rather dusty,” Nell said, with a rueful look at her brown coat.

“The cars might have waited until to-morrow morning before I would have soiled my fingers by helping to take off freight. Such a fearfully unladylike thing to do,” rejoined Miss Simpson, severely, pursing her thin lips, and looking very prim and proper.

“Was it unladylike?” asked Nell, opening her eyes very widely. “I’m very sorry; but, if the same thing happened again, I expect I should do just the same.”

“I expect you would. Some people are made so,” rejoined Miss Simpson, slightingly. Then, with a change of tone, she said briskly, “As you are here and settled in so comfortably, there is no reason why I shouldn’t go off duty at once. I shall have time to dress myself nicely before the cars come in.”

Nell looked a little blank. She had expected to have Miss Simpson’s help all the evening, especially as her own actual coming on duty was not supposed to begin until the next morning. However, it was of no use to protest, as the young lady had so plainly made up her mind to do no more work at Bratley.

The evening was a busy one. So many calls from the instrument, some of which had to be answered, others merely going through to other places. Nell’s breakfast, and the luncheon she had taken on the cars, had become dim memories, and she was feeling tired and faint when, about six o’clock, Mrs. Nichols came puffing and wheezing into the office, laden with a basket and a small tin can.

“Feelin’ half starved, ain’t you? If not, you ought to by this time. A burning shame, I call it, to leave you here in charge, while she is curling and frizzing her front hair, and you with no chance to feed comfortably all day, while your duty properly doesn’t begin until to-morrow morning. But I’ve brought you a drop of tea and a doughnut, so that you shan’t starve outright before supper.”

“It is very kind of you,” said Nell, gratefully, as she sipped her tea and nibbled the doughnut. Then, remembering a problem which had been bothering her several times that evening, she said rather anxiously, “Now that you are here, will you tell me how I am to find your house? It will be quite dark at eight o’clock, for the moon does not rise until nearly midnight.”

“I’ll come and fetch you myself. It is lucky that the weather is frosty to-day, or a nice time I should have had of it tramping through the mud. There is that telegraph again. What a nuisance the thing is!” Mrs. Nichols said, as the warning machine ticked out its third summons while Nell drank her tea.

“There is a clerk at Lytton who seems to find time hang heavy on her hands to-night, for she keeps calling me up, and asking me if I won’t talk; but I don’t know what to say to her,” replied Nell.

“Tell her so, then, and she will soon leave off. Well, I must go now and see if Miss Simpson is through with her frizzing and curling. If she goes on torturing her poor hair like this for another ten years she won’t have any left;” and away went Mrs. Nichols, puffing and wheezing like a laden locomotive on an up-grade track.

“I wonder why she stares at me so much?” Nell said to herself, when the stout woman had gone, for the scrutiny of Mrs. Nichols had been very close and keen, making her feel vaguely uncomfortable.

Just then there was a call from the sounder. Nell had to take down a list of instructions from Camp’s Gulch, then send a message to Roseneath. After that Lytton called her up again, and so the evening went on.

Ten minutes before the cars for Lytton came in, Miss Simpson sailed into the office in all the glory of her frizzed hair, her best hat, and smart new winter coat.

“Thought I’d just look in and see how you are getting on, though it is rather a shame to come and make you envious,” she said, with a laugh at her own wit.

“Why envious?” asked Nell, simply, thinking the envy was to be called forth by the splendours of Miss Simpson’s array.

“Because I’m going away, of course, and you have got to stay on here in this dull hole. Wait until this time next week and see if you don’t find yourself longing to be in my shoes.”

“Perhaps I shall if that tiresome Lytton girl keeps calling me up and wanting to talk, only I’m afraid your shoes would pinch me rather badly, they are so much smaller than mine,” Nell answered, with a merry laugh, looking from her own stout footgear, bought from the store at Nine Springs, and eminently suitable for country wear, to the high-heeled, pointed-toed shoes with great steel buckles which Miss Simpson was wearing.

“That isn’t a girl at Lytton; but Claude Hale, a friend of mine. I didn’t tell him I was going away to-day, so, of course, he wonders why I am so unresponsive. Pray don’t tell him I am gone, then he’ll be puzzled to death at my coldness,” giggled Miss Simpson, in a high state of glee.

“I shall not tell him anything, but I hope he will soon leave off worrying,” replied Nell; then, as the cars came rumbling down the valley, she went to the door of her office to see Miss Simpson get on board.

“If nothing is harder than to-night has been, I shall be able to manage all right, and I will write to Gertrude to-morrow and tell her so,” murmured Nell to herself, as she stood at the door watching the retreating figure of Miss Simpson.

A wave of homesick longing came over her as, with a screech, a roar, and a clatter, the train of cars moved on out of the station. Lorimer’s Clearing was not her home, but it was the only place in the wide world which had given her a home feeling, and she yearned to go back to the toil and the drudgery, if only with these she could have the love which had surrounded her there.

In her generous heart she had quite overlooked and forgotten Mrs. Lorimer’s first hard treatment of her, and although it was quite possible that she would never feel the same warm love for the mistress of the house as she had felt for all the others, there was no danger of her remembering, as a grudge, that Mrs. Lorimer had been unfair, nay, positively unkind.

Punctually on the stroke of eight came puffing, wheezing Mrs. Nichols, who subsided on the one chair which the office contained, to wait while Nell shut everything up safely for the night.

Even in the pauses of her work she was conscious again of that same close scrutiny which had bothered her so much before.

“Perhaps it is her way, or her squint,” she said to herself, with a shrug, as she locked the office door and put the key in her pocket, then plunged with her guide into the frosty dark.

The baggage clerk had taken her box earlier in the evening, and in a very few minutes Nell found herself in a warm, cosy sitting-room, in darkness at present save for a ruddy glow from the half-open door of the stove.

“You stay right there while I light the lamp, then you won’t fall over anything,” said Mrs. Nichols; and Nell did as she was told, feeling very thankful that the long exciting day was over at last, and that she had nothing more to do but to sit still and rest.

The lamp, when lighted, revealed a well-spread supper-table, and a most inviting armchair, into which Nell was promptly hustled, and ordered to take her boots off.

“What a nice room!” she exclaimed, her attention being immediately attracted by a row of books on a long shelf in the farther recess.

“It is comfortable; but then, I’ve been used to being comfortable all my life,” Mrs. Nichols said, with a laugh, as she poked up the fire, drew the coffee-pot nearer to boil up again, and then, opening the oven door, lifted out a dish of delicately-browned sausages, surrounded by a rampart of mashed potato.

Nell enjoyed her supper, and the unaccustomed sensation of being waited upon; but she was conscious all the time of being held in close scrutiny by her hostess, who kept dropping into strange silence.

“You said your name was Eleanor Hamblyn, didn’t you? Was your father a preacher on the American side years ago?” the good woman asked presently.

“Yes,” replied Nell, but with a sudden shrinking, for with her grandfather’s injunction to secrecy fresh in her mind, it was rather embarrassing that this woman should recognize her.

“I was sure of it, for you are just your mother over again; poor Nell Gwynne, with her great dark eyes and her sweet low voice,” said Mrs. Nichols, then burst into a fit of hearty crying.