Back Aa

Nan Sherwood at Pine Camp

Close

<h2> Chapter XXII. ON THE ISLAND </h2> In the winter it was probably dreary enough; but now the beauty of the swelling knoll where the little whitewashed house stood, with the tiny fields that surrounded it, actually made Nan's heart swell and the tears come into her eyes. It seemed to her as though she had never seen the grass so green as here, and the thick wood that encircled the little farm was just a hedge of blossoming shrubs with the tall trees shooting skyward in unbroken ranks. A silver spring broke ground at the corner of the paddock fence. A pool had been scooped out for the cattle to drink at; but it was not muddied, and the stream tinkled down over the polished pebbles to the wider, more sluggish stream that meandered away from the farm into the depths of the swamp. Toby told her, before they reached the hummock, that this stream rose in the winter and flooded all about the farm, so that the latter really was an island. Unless the ice remained firm they sometimes could not drive out with either wagon or sled for days at a time. "Then you live on an island," cried Nan. "Huh! Ye might say so," complained Toby. "And sometimes we feel like as though we was cast away on one, too." But the girl thought it must really be great fun to live on an island. They went up to the house along the bank of the clear stream. On the side porch, vine-covered to the eaves, sat an old woman rocking in a low chair and another figure in what seemed at a distance, to be a child's wagon of wickerwork, but with no tongue and a high back to it. "Here's Gran'pop!" cried a shrill voice and the little wagon moved swiftly to the edge of the steps. Nan almost screamed in fear as it pitched downward. But the wheels did not bump over the four steps leading to the ground, for a wide plank had been laid slantingly at that side, and over this the wheels ran smoothly, if rapidly. "You have a care there, Corson!" shrilled the old lady after the cripple. "Some day you'll break your blessed neck." Nan thought he was a little boy, until they met. Then she was surprised to see a young man's head set upon a shriveled child's body! Corson Vanderwiller had a broad brow, a head of beautiful, brown, wavy hair, and a fine mustache. He was probably all of twenty-five years old. But Nan soon learned that the poor cripple was not grown in mind, more than in body, to that age. His voice was childish, and his speech and manner, too. He was bashful with Nan at first; then chattered like a six-year-old child to her when she had once gained his confidence. He wheeled himself about in the little express wagon very well indeed, old Toby having rigged brakes with which he moved the wagon and steered it. His arms and hands were quite strong, and when he wished to get back on to the piazza, he seized a rope his grandfather had hung there, and dragged himself, wagon and all, up the inclined plane, or gangplank, as it might be called. He showed Nan all his treasures, and they included some very childish toys, a number of them showing the mechanical skill of his grandfather's blunt fingers. But among them, too, were treasures from the swamp and woods that were both very wonderful and very beautiful. Old Toby had made Corson a neatly fitted cabinet in which were specimens of preserved butterflies and moths, most of them of the gay and common varieties; but some, Nan was almost sure, were rare and valuable. There was one moth in particular, with spread wings, on the upper side of the thorax of which was traced in white the semblance of a human skull. Nan was almost sure that this must be the famous death's-head moth she had read about in school; but she was not confident enough to say anything to old Toby Vanderwiller. A few specimens of this rare insect have been found in the swamps of America, although it was originally supposed to be an Old World moth. Nan did say, however, to Toby that perhaps some of these specimens might be bought by collectors. The pressed flowers were pretty but not particularly valuable. In the museum at the Tillbury High School there was a much finer collection from the Indiana swamps. "Sho!" said Toby, slowly; "I wouldn't wanter sell the boy's pretties. I brung most on 'em home to him; but he mounted 'em himself." Nan suspected that old Mrs. Vanderwiller had much to do with the neat appearance of the cabinet. She was a quiet, almost a speechless, old lady. But she was very kind and she set out her best for Nan's luncheon before the girl from Tillbury returned home. "We ain't got much here on the island," the old lady said; "but we do love to have visitors. Don't we, Corson?" "Nice ones," admitted the cripple, munching cake. He had heard something of what Nan suggested to Toby about the moths and other specimens. So when the old lady was absent from the porch he whispered: "Say, girl!" "Well?" she asked, smiling at him. "Is what's in that cabinet wuth as much as a dollar?" "Oh! I expect so," said Nan. "More." "Will you give me a dollar for 'em?" he asked, eagerly. "Oh, I couldn't! But perhaps I can write to somebody who would be interested in buying some of your things, and for much more than a dollar." Corson looked disappointed. Nan asked, curiously: "Why do you want the dollar?" "To git Gran'mom a silk dress," he said promptly. "She's admired to have one all her life, and ain't never got to git it yet." "I'm sure that's nice of you," declared Nan, warmly. "I'll try to sell some of your collection." "Well!" he jerked out. "It's got to be pretty soon, or she won't git to wear it much. I heard her tell Gran'pop so." This impressed Nan Sherwood as being very pitiful, for she was of a sympathetic nature. And it showed that Corson Vanderwiller, even if he was simple-minded, possessed one of the great human virtues, gratitude. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2