Jessie Pease had already looked over her wardrobe, and there were several new summer dresses, including swimming and boating costumes. Mr.

Gordon had sent the extra money needed without comment or objection.

And now Nancy's trunk was packed, and her bag, and with Jennie Bruce she was ready to take the first 'bus that left for the Clintondale station in the morning.

How different from her coming to the school in September!

She was at the head of her cla.s.s. The freshmen had given her an overwhelming vote for cla.s.s president for the soph. year. And Corinne had prophesied that she would yet be captain of the West Side--when she grew to be a senior.

Girls ran to kiss her before she got into the 'bus, and stood and waved their hands after her as it rolled away. And when she had arrived at the Hall, she stood on the porch in the rain without a soul to speak to her.

Ah! this change was enough to turn the head of even a sensible girl.

However, Nancy was much too affectionate by nature and tender of other people's feelings to be made haughty or vain by her schoolmates'

kindness to her. It continued to be a wonder to her how a "mere n.o.body"

had managed to gain such popularity.

And she was welcomed in Jennie's home as though she really was one of the family.

Jennie's home was a lovely, rambling old house, standing well back from the High Street in its own grounds, and affording ample s.p.a.ce for the young folk to have fun in innumerable ways.

There was a lake not far away; and Mr. Bruce owned a pair of ponies that even the younger children could drive. There was a trip almost every day to the swimming place; then there were picnics, and visiting back and forth with other girls whom Jennie and her sisters knew. And nowhere did Nancy hear a word about her not being "just as good" as her comrades.

The mystery of her ident.i.ty, however, was seldom buried very deep under other thoughts. And Jennie retained her interest in the puzzle, too.

Nancy had written to Scorch O'Brien to arrange for a meeting; as the red-headed youth seemed too bashful to come out to Jennie's house, the girls planned to meet him in the city. They got a most mysterious note in reply:

"Dear Miss Nancy:

"You and your friend meet me at 307 Payne Street on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. You can whistle outside; I'll hear you. Can't see you at Old Gordon's office for fear of spies. Did you ever see the Gray Man? He and Old G. has had a fight about you. It was a peach! They says when thieves fall out honest folks gets what's coming to them. Mebbe you'll get yours.

"Most respectfully yours, "Scorch O'Brien."

Jennie's big brother John, who had already taken some interest in Nancy's mystery, took the girls to town with him. His employer, who knew Mr. Gordon, had never been able to get the lawyer to talk about Nancy Nelson, although he had started the subject with him several times.

The girls did a little shopping for themselves, and some errands for Mrs. Bruce, and then had a nice luncheon. It was past noon then and they were sure that Scorch would be at home--for it was evidently his home address that he had given to them.

They asked a policeman how to find Payne Street and he kindly put them on a car which took the two girls to the corner of that thoroughfare. It was a street of small cottages, and empty lots, and goats, and many, many dirty-faced children. Some of these last ran after Nancy and Jennie and made faces at them as they sought out Number 307.

"But as long as the goats don't run after us and make faces, I don't care," declared Jennie.

Just then one nanny looked over a fence and said "Ba-a-a-a!" in a very loud tone, and Jennie almost jumped into the middle of the street.

"Come out! Come on!" she cried, urging her friend onward. "Goats are always b.u.t.ting in."

A derisive chorus of "ba's" followed them as they hurried along the street.

"There's 307!" cried Nancy, pointing.

The cottage in question was a rather neater-looking place than its neighbors. There was a fence which really was strong enough, and had pickets enough (if some of them _were_ barrel-staves) to keep wandering goats out of the yard. There was a garden at the back, and a bit of gra.s.s in front, with a path bordered by half bricks painted with whitewash a dazzling white.

The porch and steps were scrubbed clean, too; it might have been a sign of Mrs. O'Brien's trade, that porch.

There were ducks, and geese, and poultry, too; but all fenced off with wire from the front and from the garden. And the girls heard the hungry grunting of a pig in its sty.

There was a good deal of noise within the house, too. The girls could hear childish voices in a great hullabaloo, a good-natured, but broadly Irish voice chiming in with them, and likewise a scampering across the floor which must have made the cottage rock again.

"He'd never hear us whistle in the world!" giggled Jennie.

"How funny we'd look standing here on the street and whistling, anyway!"

replied Nancy.

"And then, _I_ never could whistle," confessed Jennie. "Somehow I can't get my lips to pucker right."

"Why! neither can I!" cried Nancy. "I didn't think of that. We couldn't signal to Scorch by whistling, anyway."

"Unless we borrowed a policeman's whistle--or a postman's," said Jennie.

"What'll we do?"

"Come on and knock," said Nancy. "We can make them hear somehow."

Which proved to be true. The girls made those inside hear at their first summons. Silence fell upon the O'Brien cottage on the instant.

There might have been some whisperings and soft commands; but then, in a moment, a good-looking, black-haired girl, in a clean ap.r.o.n and with her sleeves rolled up over her dimpled elbows, opened the front door.

"You're Norah O'Brien, I know," said Nancy, putting out her hand.

"You're a good guesser, Miss," returned the girl, who might have been sixteen or seventeen. "And who might you be--and the other pretty lady?"

"Why--didn't Scorch tell you----"

"Sarsfield, do ye mane?" asked Norah, her eyes twinkling.

"I mean Scorch O'Brien," declared Nancy.

"Patrick Sarsfield is his name," declared Scorch's big sister. "Here! P.

Sarsfield O'Brien!" she shouted into the house. "It's coompany ye've got."

"Gee!" drawled the voice of the red-haired youth. "What did they come to the door for?" and he made his appearance, looking very sheepish.

"How could you expect us to whistle, Scorch?" demanded Nancy, while Jennie bubbled over with laughter. "Girls can't whistle."

"I never thought," admitted Scorch, shaking hands awkwardly with both visitors.

"Bring thim inter the house, P. Sarsfield," said Norah. "Have ye no manners?"

"There's too many kids," said the tousled Scorch, who had evidently been playing with the younger children, too.

"I'll shoo 'em out into the yard," promised Norah, and went away upon this errand while Scorch ushered his visitors into the tiny front room, which was evidently kept shut up save when the priest came, or some special visitor.