Nan Sherwood at Pine Camp | Page 5

curiously.
"Yes, indeed! A great big stone castle overlooking Lake Michigan, a
regular fortress, they say. It was built years ago by Colonel Gilpatrick
French, when he came over from Europe with some adventurous
Irishmen who thought all they had to do was to sail over to Canada and
the whole country would be theirs for the taking."
"Goodness me! I've read something about that," said Nan, interested.
"Well, Lakeview Hall, as the school is called, was built by that rich
Colonel French. And they say there are dungeons under it "
"Where they keep their jams and preserves, now, I suppose?" laughed

Nan.
"And secret passages down to the shore of the lake. And the great hall
where the brave Irishmen used to drill is now the assembly hall of the
school."
"Sounds awfully interesting," admitted Nan.
"And Dr. Beulah Prescott, who governs the hall, the preceptress, you
know, is really a very lovely lady, my mother says," went on the
enthusiastic Bess. "MY mother went to school to her at Ferncliffe."
"Oh, Bess," Nan said warmly, "It must be a perfectly lovely place! But
I know I can never go there."
"Don't you say that! Don't you say that!" cried the other girl. "I won't
listen to you! You've just got to go!"
"I'm afraid you'll have to kidnap me, then," repeated Nan, with a rueful
smile. "I'm very sure that my father won't be able to afford it, especially
now that the mills will close."
"Oh, Nan! I think you're too mean," wailed her friend. "It's my pet
project. You know, I've always said we should go to preparatory school
together, and then to college."
Nan's eyes sparkled; but she shook her head.
"We sat together in primary school, and we've always been in the same
grade through grammar and into high," went on Bess, who was really
very faithful in her friendships. "It would just break my heart, Nan, if
we were to be separated now."
Nan put her arm about her. They had reached the corner by Bess's big
house where they usually separated after school.
"Don't you cry, honey!" Nan begged her chum. "You'll find lots of nice
girls at that Lakeview school, I am sure. I'd dearly love to go with you,
but you might as well understand right now, dear, that my folks are
poor."
"Poor!" gasped Bess.
"Too poor to send me to Lakeview," Nan went on steadily. "And with
the mills closing as they are, we shall be poorer still. I may have to get
a certificate as Bertha Pike did, and go to work. So you mustn't think
any more about my going to that beautiful school with you."
"Stop! I won't listen to you another moment, Nan Sherwood!" cried
Bess, and sticking her fingers in her ears, she ran angrily away and up
the walk to the front door.

Nan walked briskly away toward Amity Street. She did not turn back to
wave her hand as usual at the top of the hill.

Chapter II
THE COTTAGE ON AMITY STREET
The little shingled cottage stood back from the street, in a deeper yard
than most of its neighbors. It was built the year Nan was born, so the
roses, the honeysuckle, and the clematis had become of stalwart growth
and quite shaded the front and side porches.
The front steps had begun to sag a little; but Mr. Sherwood had blocked
them up. The front fence had got out of alignment, and the same able
mechanic had righted it and set the necessary new posts.
The trim of the little cottage on Amity Street had been painted twice
within Nan's remembrance; each time her father had done the work in
his spare time.
Now, with snow on the ground and frozen turf peeping out from under
the half-melted and yellowed drifts, the Sherwood cottage was not so
attractive as in summer. Yet it was a cozy looking house with the early
lamplight shining through the kitchen window and across the porch as
Nan approached, swinging her schoolbooks.
Papa Sherwood called it, with that funny little quirk in the corner of his
mouth, "a dwelling in amity, more precious than jewels or fine gold."
And it was just that. Nan had had experience enough in the houses of
her school friends to know that none of them were homes like her own.
All was amity, all was harmony, in the little shingled cottage on this
short by-street of Tillbury.
It was no grave and solemn place where the natural outburst of childish
spirits was frowned upon, or one had to sit "stiff and starched" upon
stools of penitence.
No, indeed! Nan had romped and played in and about the cottage all
her life. She had been, in fact, of rather