CHAPTER I—JIM OR JERRY: TED OR ELIZABETH

“Do you mind if I call you Jim?”

“Why no—that is——”

“And may I call the lady Aunt Elizabeth?”

“Elizabeth?”

“If you don’t mind; I’d love to.”

“But the fact is——”

“You see, I have always wanted a man named Jim to protect me, and now that I’ve got you I’d love to have you as Jim. Then, I have perfectly loved the Aunt Elizabeths. They’re always so lacy and cameo like.” She stood off and critically inspected the smiling woman in the most modern of costumes.

“You’re really too young,” continued the girl, “but you’ll grow old soon I hope, don’t you think so?”

“I’m afraid I shall——”

“Then that’s that. And I’m glad we are settling things so quickly. Could I see my attic room now, Aunt Elizabeth?”

“Attic room?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Not exactly. We were giving you the yellow room; it’s so cheerful and pretty.”

“Well, of course, I don’t want to be too particular, and it’s lovely of you, dear Aunt Elizabeth, but all girls taken in are put in attic rooms, aren’t they?”

“Taken in?”

“Yes, sort of adopted you know. The attic always gives the shadowy ghost business.” There was just a hint of disappointment in the child’s manner now.

“We’ve got a first rate attic room,” suggested the man who was tilting up and down in a heel and toe exercise. “And what do you say, Ted, I mean Elizabeth,” he chuckled, “if we give——”

“Jerry, don’t talk nonsense,” interrupted the young woman not unkindly but with some decision. “I am sure she would rather have the pretty——”

“But, please, could I see the attic room?” came rather timidly the very thread of a voice from the little girl.

“It’s ghostly.” This from Jerry.

“That would be just perfect. Does the roof slant so it gives you the nightmare on your chest, you know? And does the moon sort of make faces in the windows?” Interest was overcoming timidity.

“That may be the trouble,” replied the man, with a chuckle. “But I’ll tell you, little girl. Suppose we take the yellow room until you have a chance to inspect thoroughly. You see your—er—Aunt Elizabeth has had it all planned and fixed up——”

“Oh yes. Do excuse me for being impolite. You see, I’ve been thinking about it so long. The school was lovely, and the teachers all very kind, but it was sort of a regular kindness, you know, and did not have any of my dreams coming true in it. Do you dream an awful lot here?”

“Day dreams or night dreams?” asked the man.

“Oh, wake-dreams, of course. The other kind don’t mean anything. Just stickers in your brain sort of pricking, you know. But the wake-dreams can come true, if you plague them long enough. I guess they get tired fighting you off and they have to give in and happen. What do you want to call me?” This was a sudden digression and marked with a complete flopping down of the talkative child.

“Your name is Nora, isn’t it?” replied the young woman who seemed rather glad to sit down herself. They were on the big square porch and rockers were plentiful.

“Yes, my name is Nora, and it’s pretty good, but hard to rhyme easily. Then I would rather have you call me the name you have always called your dream child.”

“Mine was Bob,” blurted the man, “but Bob wouldn’t exactly suit you.”

“Oh, yes it would,” she jumped up again and left the rocker swaying wildly. “Bob would be splendid for me. Would it suit you, Aunt Elizabeth? What was your pet name?”

“I think Nora too pretty to drop. Besides, don’t you really think a name is a part of one’s self and ought to be loved and respected?”

“That’s just it. I want to—that is, if you don’t mind, I want to be the self I planned, not this one I didn’t have anything to say about. It’s just like religion. When we grow up big as I am, we ought to be allowed to choose.” Her manner was even more babyish than her appearance.

“Big as I am!” Jerry repeated this to a rosebush.

As a matter of fact she was not much bigger than a child of eight years might be, but she claimed a few more birthdays and she looked about as substantial as a wind flower. Her eyes were blue, her hair light and fluffy, and she wore such a tiny white slip of a dress, socks and sandals and a white lace hat! Grown up? She looked just like an old-fashioned baby.

“Then, shall I be Bobbs?” asked Nora a moment later, with hope in her voice.

“Ye-e-s, and if—the auntie wants to soften it she can call you Babette,” ventured Jerry. “And now, if the christenings are over, suppose we go inside and freshen up. Come along Bob, you are going to be my helper now, aren’t you?” Jerry’s eyes twinkled with his voice. He was, plainly, enjoying himself.

“I’d love to help—especially with outdoor work,” replied the girl. “And you measure land, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s about it. In other words I’m a surveyor,” explained Jerry.

“And Aunt Elizabeth helps. Isn’t that lovely? We won’t, any of us, have old pesky house work to think about. I haven’t ever dreamed a dream, not a single one, about housekeeping. Some one always does that for me, or I just don’t think about it at all and it’s all done beautifully,” boasted Nora. “I love your place. It’s so romantic,” she expanded her arms and fluffy little skirt to fill the big chair. “I feel, somehow, everything is going to come true now.” Relief toned this statement while she looked wistfully out of blue eyes, and any one might have easily guessed that something very dear was included in that word “everything.”

The young woman, who was threatened with being made over into an old Aunt Elizabeth with laces and cameos to boot, gazed intently at the small personality. She realized it was a personality, a little dreamer, a big romancer, and a very weird sample of the modern girl, self-trained.

He who was to become “Jim” on the spot, seemed tickled to death over it all, and kept snapping his brown eyes, first at the newly named Bobbs and then his life’s partner, until glints of fun-sparks charged the very air.

“It might be a good idea to put on tags for a day or two,” he suggested playfully. “I would hate to spoil the program by calling Elizabeth here just Ted.”

“Oh, do you think it will be hard? I didn’t mean to make trouble, and, if you say so, I’ll just put the dream back again on its peg and let it stay there. It really doesn’t have to come true right now. There are so many new things to talk about,” temporized Nora, considerately.

“I think it would be lots better to try things out for a little while under our own names,” suggested the young woman, eagerly. “And I have always loved the name Nora, so you see, my dream will be coming true, at any rate,” she smiled.

“Goody—goody! It’s all right, then. I’ll be Nora, and you’ll be Ted, that’s pretty: what does it mean?”

“Theodora,” answered the man promptly.

“Then it is prettier than the old-fashioned Elizabeth,” agreed the child. “Really, things are different when you think about them than what they are when—you run right into them, aren’t they?”

“Sure thing, especially water wagons and book agents,” joked Jerry.

“And Jerry is lovely, too, just as nice as Jim. I knew a lovely old tramp dog named Jerry.” Again the wistful blue eyes dreamed.

“That’s real nice,” added the owner of the popular name. “Was he—gentle?”

“As a lamb. I used to ride on his back!”

“And was he—er—handsome?”

“He had the loveliest ears, all little pleaty wrinkles, and such big, floppy feet——”

“All right, I’ll be content to be his namesake, only don’t expect me to howl when the phonograph plays. I can’t undertake to do that,” demurred the affable Jerry.

They all laughed a little at this protest, for Jerry Manton seemed good natured enough to “howl” if occasion demanded it. Even the moon might have inspired him “doggerly” so to speak.

Mrs. Manton picked up the little hand satchel that Nora kept at her side when the other baggage was being disposed of, and gently urged the little visitor into the Nest, there to settle that other question of attic or guest room.

The short bright curls bobbed up and down incredulously, as their surprised owner looked in on the yellow room, a moment later.

“Golden! Perfectly golden!” exclaimed the child. “But, of course, one could never get the nightmare in this lovely bird cage.” She stopped, apparently reasoning out bird cages, nightmares and ghostly attics. “And I have simply got to have a strange experience,” she scratched her heels together anxiously. “I just couldn’t give that up,” she decided.

“But you do think this is a pretty room?” asked the hostess, her own soft eyes embracing affectionately the golden space before them.

“Glorious!” declared Nora rapturously. “And I’m afraid it has been rather silly to get set on certain things without really knowing about them. Dreams are uncertain, after all.”

Jerry was just coming up the rustic stairs.

“But the attic is a real spook parlor,” he chimed in, “and I’ve always loved it myself. I have a corner for my trash, and the sleeping quarters aren’t bad. You see this place was built with government money, and that’s always—well, real money,” he finished, significantly.

“But Jerry,” again came the opposition from Mrs. Manton, “you know we have scarcely had time to look that attic over since we came here. It seems perfectly absurd to let Nora go up there,” she paused. “I know it’s clean, for Vita takes a pride in fixing attics, but why——”

“Now Ted,” the voice was as soft as a boy’s, “why not let our little girl have her way?”

“I really am not objecting,” said the wife with a smile, “I’m just qualifying.”

“But who dares qualify day dreams?” asked the man, with a comical twist in his voice.

Nora stood on the threshold, uncertainly. “I guess maybe,” she pondered, “we think a lot about dreams when we haven’t real things to think about, like playthings, for real,” she finished.

“That’s exactly it, dear,” said Mrs. Manton, “and day dreams are not always healthy, either.”

“All the same,” insisted Jerry, “I’m strong for that attic. It smells just like the woods after my men have made a good, clean cutting. Come along, girlie, and let me show it to you.”

CHAPTER II—THE ATTIC

“How’s this?” asked the man.

“Oh, wonderful! Those beams, they slant just like the story books say,” declared Nora, ecstatically.

“Good enough to give you the right sort of nightmare, eh? Well, that’s nice. Ted is always after the cobwebs, but I don’t let her spoil them if I’m around. You see, cobwebs have a lot to do in my business.”

“Cobwebs?” Nora poked her little head in between two chummy beams. “What do cobwebs do in surveying?”

“They make a cross line on my object glass. I’ll show you when I get around to it,” replied Jerry. “Now see here, here’s the secret chest,” he was opening a big wooden box, “and by a miracle,” he continued, “it does hold clothes, duds, et-cet-tee-ra.”

“The people who had this place gave a big party, I believe,” explained Mrs. Ted, “and they left a lot of their costumes here. We have never had any chance to make use of them,” she finished, slapping her hands on the work apron that partly covered her own mannish costume. Apparently she disdained the frivolous things.

“But just look!” Nora was almost in the big cedar chest; in fact, nothing more than a bump of white, ending in two small brown spots that waggled like sandaled feet, was visible. Presently the curly head emerged in a cloud of brilliant, spangly stuff, very evidently the costumes. “Aren’t these just wonderful!”

“Oh yes,” agreed Jerry, “they’re nice and shiny. But just look at this spook cabinet. Do you know what a spook cabinet is, Nora?”

“No, what?” She dropped the costumes back into the big chest instantly.

“They’re just a box of tricks. But this is the box empty. See here,” Jerry opened, with some difficulty, the long narrow closet that was built in a corner of the attic room. “I have always wondered why this had a ventilator at the top——” he began.

“Jerry!” called his wife rather sharply. “Please don’t do all the exploring in one day. Nora must change her things and come down stairs. She may want something to eat after her journey.” Mrs. Ted’s tone of voice was plainly against that cabinet.

“All right, Ted, I’ll subside,” replied the jolly man. “The fact is——” he whispered to Nora, “our Ted hates ghosts; and every time I talk about this here upright coffin, she objects,” and he gave one of his boyish twisted yelps, as if he wanted to yell but didn’t dare so gurgled instead, and it was very plain he said this out of pure mischief; nevertheless, it did cause the little girl to clench her small fists and start suddenly.

“Come right down stairs,” insisted the hostess imperatively. “I’m very sure, Nora dear, you will find something more interesting in Vita’s cake box than you could dig out of that dusty hole.”

“Vita! What a queer name!” exclaimed Nora, following Mrs. Manton out from the interesting attic.

“Her whole name is more than that. It’s Vittoria, but since she does our cooking and is both vital and vitaminous, we cut it down to an easy word implying both,” explained Ted. “You see, Nora, we are keen on short cuts.”

The little girl was thinking something like that. In fact, she was so fascinated with the realities of her visit she had almost lost the last shred of faith in her picturesque dreams. “If I had ever named a cook,” she was deciding, “I should surely have given her Susan or Betsy or maybe Jennie. But Vita means more and makes you think of good victuals.”

The open stairs were built winding from the big field stone hearth in the first room, clear up to the attic chamber, and, as they descended, Nora looked about the quaint, rustic place in rapturous admiration. Indeed, no dream of her great life series had ever included this. Gone with the Jim-Aunt Elizabeth idea was going the rag-rug four-poster plan, that had seemed almost indelibly outlined on her whimsical picture plate. She sighed a little, as she felt she should, on the “grave of her dreams;” but there was Jerry calling from the open door:

“Here you are, Nora! Come and meet Cap.”

“Cap! A boy!” she asked excitedly.

“Not the regular kind, but he’s some boy just the same.” Jerry was clapping his hands like a boy himself, just as a big shaggy dog bounded down the path and up the few steps to the square porch.

“Oh, what a beauty! I have always loved a big dog!” exclaimed Nora. “What’s his name?”

“Captain,” replied the proud master. “Here Cap, come shake hands with Nora.”

The dog cocked one ear up inquisitively, looked over the small girl with majestic indifference, walked around her twice and finally flung his bushy tail out with a swish that fanned Nora’s cheek as she bent over to make friends.

“Isn’t he lovely! Just like the picture in my first story book; the big dog that dragged the lost man out of the snow drifts,” said Nora, almost breathless with delight.

“He is exactly that sort,” explained Jerry. “He came from the other side and was a Captain in the big war.”

“Oh,” sighed Nora wistfully. “He must know an awful lot.”

“He surely does, eh, old boy?” and the big shaggy head was patted affectionately.

Meanwhile Vita, the Italian woman who held the office of housekeeper, was depositing a mess of freshly-picked dandelions in a pan on the kitchen table. She smiled pleasantly at the little stranger, and at a single glance Nora knew she and Vita were sure to be friends.

“Now, you know us all,” announced the hostess. “Vita and Captain complete the circle.”

“Not counting the crow, and the rabbits and the cat and the——”

“The animal kingdom is not included,” Ted interrupted her husband. “When we get to checking up the animals please, after Captain count in Cyclone.”

“Cyclone! A horse?” asked Nora.

“Yes, the horse,” answered Jerry. “He can climb trees, crawl through gullies and swim the river like a bear, according to Ted.”

“Well, hardly all of that,” qualified the smiling owner of the saddle horse Cyclone. “But he is a wonderful horse, Nora. I am sure you will want to ride him.”

“Oh, I’d be dreadfully afraid,” demurred the girl. “But perhaps——”

“You aren’t going to be afraid of anything around here, Bobbie,” Jerry assured the small girl, who looked smaller by contrast to the big man and the robust, athletic young woman; both perfect models of “America’s best.”

Considering the very short time little Nora had been at the Nest, it appeared much, in the way of acquaintance, had been accomplished.

“If you will just run off, Jerry-boy, and manage to find something to keep you busy for a half hour or so,” begged his wife finally, “perhaps Nora and I will be able to settle down to the comforts of home.”

“Am I not included?” he asked teasingly.

“Sometimes, but just now we need space,” replied she, who was affectionately styled Teddy.

“That being the case——. Come along Cap,” and the next moment a very happy, boyish man and a wildly happy dog went scampering off through the “flap-jack” path in the clearance. The path was made of selected flat stones scattered at stepping intervals, and it was Jerry who insisted they reminded him of Vita’s best flap-jacks.

The coming of Nora to the lodge in the wilderness was the result of what seemed a necessity. The child was the daughter of Theodora Crane’s best friend Naomie Blair, an artist so highly temperamental that, after a series of nerve episodes, she finally seemed forced to go to Western mountains and leave little Nora at a select school. The school was select to the point of isolation, and the teachers had advised Theodora, who was in charge of Nora, that the child was so nervous, high strung and fanciful, that the doctors had ordered a complete change of surroundings.

These characteristics were already showing in Nora’s conduct; but with that understanding of childhood always a part of pure affection for it, Theodora was pleased, rather than worried, over the prospects ahead.

Nora herself seemed bewildered and fascinated. Her love of “dream things” was plainly a part of her nature, at the same time she was quickly learning that only happy realities can make happy dreams.

In the small satchel that Nora clung to was found no suitable change of anything like practical clothing, in fact her dress was so fussy, be-ribboned and be-frilled, that Teddy hesitated about offering any of it to the briars and brambles of the timberland.

“I pick out all my own dresses, you know,” the little girl explained. “Nannie wasn’t able to do any shopping so she had the catalogues sent to me by mail.”

“Nannie?”

“That’s mother, of course. But she is so little and delicate I could never think of calling her mother,” declared Nora. “She likes Nannie better.”

“You have quite a talent for names or re-names,” joked Teddy. “I am wondering how I should have liked the ‘Lizzie’ you chose for me.”

“Not Lizzie! Elizabeth,” in a shocked voice.

“Same lady, I believe. But let’s hold on to Ted until we get acquainted or things may go on end,” advised good-natured Mrs. Manners. “Besides, there’s our auto, that’s ‘Lizzie’ to Jerry.”

Nora did not ask why. She was in the yellow room, changing, and the blue roses in the filmy little dress she selected were not bluer than her own wondering eyes.

“I tell you what would be just the thing for you, dear,” said Teddy suddenly. “You must join the Girl Scouts!”

“Girl Scouts!”