Nan Sherwood at Pine Camp | Page 6

a boisterous temperament until
lately.
Her mother's influence was always quieting, and not only with her little
daughter. Mrs. Sherwood's voice was low, and with a dear drawl in it,
so Nan declared.
She had come from the South to Northern Illinois, from Tennessee, to

be exact, where Mr. Sherwood had met and married her. She had grace
and gentleness without the languor that often accompanies those
qualities.
Her influence upon both her daughter and her husband was marked.
They deferred to her, made much of her, shielded her in every way
possible from all that was rude or unpleasant.
Yet Mrs. Sherwood was a perfectly capable and practical housekeeper,
and when her health would allow it she did all the work of the little
family herself. Just now she was having what she smilingly called "one
of her lazy spells," and old Mrs. Joyce came in to do the washing and
cleaning each week.
It was one of Mrs. Sherwood's many virtues that she bore with a smile
recurrent bodily ills that had made her a semi-invalid since Nan was a
very little girl. But in seeking medical aid for these ills, much of the
earnings of the head of the household had been spent.
The teakettle was singing when Nan entered the "dwelling in amity",
and her mother's low rocker was drawn close to the side- table on
which the lamp stood beside the basket of mending.
Although Mrs. Sherwood could not at present do her own laundry-
work, she insisted upon darning and patching and mending as only she
could darn and patch and mend.
Mr. Sherwood insisted that a sock always felt more comfortable on his
foot after "Momsey" had darned it than when it was new. And surely
she was a very excellent needlewoman.
This evening, however, her work had fallen into her lap with an idle
needle sticking in it. She had been resting her head upon her hand and
her elbow on the table when Nan came in. But she spoke in her usual
bright way to the girl as the latter first of all kissed her and then put
away her books and outer clothing.
"What is the good word from out of doors, honey?" she asked.
Nan's face was rather serious and she could not coax her usual smile
into being. Her last words with Bess Harley had savored of a
misunderstanding, and Nan was not of a quarrelsome disposition.
"I'm afraid there isn't any real good word to be brought from outside
tonight, Momsey," she confessed, coming back to stand by her mother's
chair.
"Can that be possible, Daughter!" said Mrs. Sherwood, with her low,

caressing laugh. "Has the whole world gone wrong?"
"Well, I missed in two recitations and have extras to make up, in the
first place," rejoined Nan ruefully.
"And what else?"
"Well, Bess and I didn't have exactly a falling out; but I couldn't help
offending her in one thing. That's the second trouble."
"And is there a 'thirdly,' my dear?" queried little Mrs. Sherwood
tranquilly.
"Oh, dear, yes! The worst of all!" cried Nan. "The yellow poster is up
at the mills."
"The yellow poster?" repeated her mother doubtfully, not at first
understanding the significance of her daughter's statement.
"Yes. You know. When there's anything bad to announce to the hands
the Atwater Company uses yellow posters, like a small-pox, or typhoid
warning. The horrid thing! The mills shut down in two weeks, Momsey,
and no knowing when they will open again."
"Oh, my dear!" was the little woman's involuntary tribute to the
seriousness of the announcement.
In a moment she was again her usual bright self. She drew Nan closer
to her and her own brown eyes, the full counterpart of her daughter's,
winkled merrily.
"I tell you what let's do, Nan," she said.
"What shall we do, Momsey?" repeated the girl, rather lugubriously.
"Why, let's not let Papa Sherwood know about it, it will make him feel
so bad."
Nan began to giggle at that. She knew what her mother meant. Of
course, Mr. Sherwood, being at the head of one of the mill departments,
would know all about the announcement of the shut- down; but they
would keep up the fiction that they did not know it by being
particularly cheerful when he came home from work.
So Nan giggled and swallowed back her sobs. Surely, if Momsey could
present a cheerful face to this family calamity, she could!
The girl ran her slim fingers into the thick mane of her mother's coiled
hair, glossy brown hair through which only a few threads of white were
speckled.
"Your head feels hot, Momsey," she said anxiously. "Does it ache?"
"A wee bit, honey," confessed Mrs. Sherwood.

"Let me take the pins out and rub your poor