The Complete Short Stories of Lucy Maud Montgomery. Lucy Maud Montgomery
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felt with mysterious unmistakable prescience that it was to be her last summer at the Gull Point Farm. But that was only the more reason why she should go to hear little Joscelyn sing; she would never have another chance. And oh, to hear little Joscelyn sing just once — Joscelyn, whose voice was delighting thousands out in the big world, just as in the years gone by it had delighted Aunty Nan and the dwellers at the Gull Point Farm for a whole golden summer with carols at dawn and dusk about the old place!
“Oh, I know I’m not very strong, Maria.” said Aunty Nan pleadingly, “but I am strong enough for that. Indeed I am. I could stay at Kensington over night with George’s folks, you know, and so it wouldn’t tire me much. I do so want to hear Joscelyn sing. Oh, how I love little Joscelyn.”
“It passes my understanding, the way you hanker after that child,” cried Mrs. William impatiently. “Why, she was a perfect stranger to you when she came here, and she was here only one summer!”
“But oh, such a summer!” said Aunty Nan softly. “We all loved little Joscelyn. She just seemed like one of our own. She was one of God’s children, carrying love with them everywhere. In some ways that little Anne Shirley the Cuthberts have got up there at Green Gables reminds me of her, though in other ways they’re not a bit alike. Joscelyn was a beauty.”
“Well, that Shirley snippet certainly isn’t that,” said Mrs. William sarcastically. “And if Joscelyn’s tongue was one third as long as Anne Shirley’s the wonder to me is that she didn’t talk you all to death out of hand.”
“Little Joscelyn wasn’t much of a talker,” said Aunty Nan dreamily. “She was kind of a quiet child. But you remember what she did say. And I’ve never forgotten little Joscelyn.”
Mrs. William shrugged her plump, shapely shoulders.
“Well, it was fifteen years ago, Aunty Nan, and Joscelyn can’t be very ‘little’ now. She is a famous woman, and she has forgotten all about you, you can be sure of that.”
“Joscelyn wasn’t the kind that forgets,” said Aunty Nan loyally. “And, anyway, the point is, I haven’t forgotten HER. Oh, Maria, I’ve longed for years and years just to hear her sing once more. It seems as if I MUST hear my little Joscelyn sing once again before I die. I’ve never had the chance before and I never will have it again. Do please ask William to take me to Kensington.”
“Dear me, Aunty Nan, this is really childish,” said Mrs. William, whisking her bowlful of berries into the pantry. “You must let other folks be the judge of what is best for you now. You aren’t strong enough to drive to Kensington, and, even if you were, you know well enough that William couldn’t go to Kensington tomorrow night. He has got to attend that political meeting at Newbridge. They can’t do without him.”
“Jordan could take me to Kensington,” pleaded Aunty Nan, with very unusual persistence.
“Nonsense! You couldn’t go to Kensington with the hired man. Now, Aunty Nan, do be reasonable. Aren’t William and I kind to you? Don’t we do everything for your comfort?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” admitted Aunty Nan deprecatingly.
“Well, then, you ought to be guided by our opinion. And you must just give up thinking about the Kensington concert, Aunty, and not worry yourself and me about it any more. I am going down to the shore field now to call William to tea. Just keep an eye on the baby in chance he wakes up, and see that the teapot doesn’t boil over.”
Mrs. William whisked out of the kitchen, pretending not to see the tears that were falling over Aunty Nan’s withered pink cheeks. Aunty Nan was really getting very childish, Mrs. William reflected, as she marched down to the shore field. Why, she cried now about every little thing! And such a notion — to want to go to the Old Timers’ concert at Kensington and be so set on it! Really, it was hard to put up with her whims. Mrs. William sighed virtuously.
As for Aunty Nan, she sat alone in the kitchen, and cried bitterly, as only lonely old age can cry. It seemed to her that she could not bear it, that she MUST go to Kensington. But she knew that it was not to be, since Mrs. William had decided otherwise. Mrs. William’s word was law at Gull Point Farm.
“What’s the matter with my old Aunty Nan?” cried a hearty young voice from the doorway. Jordan Sloane stood there, his round, freckled face looking as anxious and sympathetic as it was possible for such a very round, very freckled face to look. Jordan was the Morrisons’ hired boy that summer, and he worshipped Aunty Nan.
“Oh, Jordan,” sobbed Aunty Nan, who was not above telling her troubles to the hired help, although Mrs. William thought she ought to be, “I can’t go to Kensington tomorrow night to hear little Joscelyn sing at the Old Timers’ concert. Maria says I can’t.”
“That’s too bad,” said Jordan. “Old cat,” he muttered after the retreating and serenely unconscious Mrs. William. Then he shambled in and sat down on the sofa beside Aunty Nan.
“There, there, don’t cry,” he said, patting her thin little shoulder with his big, sunburned paw. “You’ll make yourself sick if you go on crying, and we can’t get along without you at Gull Point Farm.”
Aunty Nan smiled wanly.
“I’m afraid you’ll soon have to get on without me, Jordan. I’m not going to be here very long now. No, I’m not, Jordan, I know it. Something tells me so very plainly. But I would be willing to go — glad to go, for I’m very tired, Jordan — if I could only have heard little Joscelyn sing once more.”
“Why are you so set on hearing her?” asked Jordan. “She ain’t no kin to you, is she?”
“No, but dearer to me — dearer to me than many of my own. Maria thinks that is silly, but you wouldn’t if you’d known her, Jordan. Even Maria herself wouldn’t, if she had known her. It is fifteen years since she came here one summer to board. She was a child of thirteen then, and hadn’t any relations except an old uncle who sent her to school in winter and boarded her out in summer, and didn’t care a rap about her. The child was just starving for love, Jordan, and she got it here. William and his brothers were just children then, and they hadn’t any sister. We all just worshipped her. She was so sweet, Jordan. And pretty, oh my! like a little girl in a picture, with great long curls, all black and purply and fine as spun silk, and big dark eyes, and such pink cheeks — real wild rose cheeks. And sing! My land! But couldn’t she sing! Always singing, every hour of the day that voice was ringing round the old place. I used to hold my breath to hear it. She always said that she meant to be a famous singer some day, and I never doubted it a mite. It was born in her. Sunday evening she used to sing hymns for us. Oh, Jordan, it makes my old heart young again to remember it. A sweet child she was, my little Joscelyn! She used to write me for three or four years after she went away, but I haven’t heard a word from her for long and long. I daresay she has forgotten me, as Maria says. ‘Twouldn’t be any wonder. But I haven’t forgotten her, and oh, I want to see and hear her terrible much. She is to sing at the Old Timers’ concert tomorrow night at Kensington. The folks who are getting the concert up are friends of hers, or, of course, she’d never have come to a little country village. Only sixteen miles away — and I can’t go.”
Jordan couldn’t think of anything to say. He reflected savagely that if he had a horse of his own he would take Aunty Nan to Kensington, Mrs. William or no Mrs. William. Though, to be sure, it WAS a long drive for her; and she was looking very frail this summer.
“Ain’t going to last long,” muttered Jordan, making his escape by the porch door as Mrs. William puffed in by the other. “The sweetest old creetur that ever was created’ll go when she goes. Yah, ye old madam, I’d like to give you a piece of my mind, that I would!”
This last was for Mrs. William, but was delivered in a prudent undertone. Jordan detested Mrs. William, but she was a power to be reckoned with, all the same. Meek, easygoing Billy Morrison did just what his wife told him to.
So Aunty Nan did not get to Kensington to hear little Joscelyn sing. She said nothing more about it but