Where's Nora? Page #4

"Where's Nora?" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a charming children's story that captures the whimsical adventures of a young girl named Nora. Set in a quaint village, the narrative unfolds as Nora disappears, prompting her friends and family to search for her. Through vivid illustrations and engaging text, the book explores themes of curiosity, friendship, and the importance of community, all while inviting readers to join in the delightful quest to find Nora. Jewett's storytelling shines with warmth and simplicity, making it a delightful read for young audiences.

• Short story

								

Patsy,' says she, 'this leaves me well, thanks be to God.  I 'm doing
the roaring trade with me cakes; all Ryan's little boys is selling on
the trains.  I took one pound three the first day: 't was a great
excursion train got stuck fast and they 'd a hot box on a wheel keeping
them an hour and two more trains stopping for them; 't would be a very
pleasant day in the old country that anybody 'd take a pound and three
shillings.  Dear Uncle Patsy, I want a whole half-barrel of that same
flour and ten pounds of sugar, and I 'll pay it back on Sunday.  I sind
respects and duty to Aunty Bridget and all friends; this l'aves me in
great haste.  I wrote me dear mother last night and sint her me first
pound, God bless her.'"

"Look at that for you now!" exclaimed Mike Duffy.  "Did n't I tell
every one here she was fine an' smart?"

"She 'll be soon Prisident of the Road," announced Aunt Mary Ann, who,
having been energetic herself, was pleased to recognize the same
quality in others.

"She don't be so afraid of the worruk as the worruk's afraid of her,"
said Aunt Bridget admiringly.  "She 'll have her fling for a while and
be glad to go in and get a good chance in the mill, and be kaping her
plants in the weave-room windows this winter with the rest of the
girls.  Come, tell us all about Elleneen and the baby.  I ain't heard a
word about Lawrence yet," she added politely.

"Ellen's doing fine, an' it's a pritty baby.  She's got a good husband,
too, that l'aves her her own way and the keep of his money every
Saturday night," said Mary Ann; and the little company proceeded to the
discussion of a new and hardly less interesting subject.  But before
they parted, they spoke again of Nora.

"She's a fine, crabbed little gerrl, that little Nora," said Mr.
Michael Duffy.

"Thank God, none o' me childre' is red-headed on me; they're no more to
be let an' held than a flick o' fire," said Aunt Mary Ann.  "Who 'd
ever take the notion to be setting up business out there on the Birchy
Plains?"

"Ryan's folks 'll look after her, sure, the same as ourselves,"
insisted Uncle Patsy hopefully, as he lighted his pipe again.  It was
like a summer night; the kitchen windows were all open, the month of
May was nearly at an end, and there was a sober croaking of frogs in
the low fields that lay beyond the village.

III.

"Where's Nora?"  Young Johnny O'Callahan was asking the question; the
express had stopped for water, and he seemed to be the only passenger;
this was his day off.

Mrs. Ryan was sitting on her doorstep to rest in the early evening; her
husband had been promoted from switch-tender to boss of the great
water-tank which was just beginning to be used, and there was talk of
further improvements and promotions at Birch Plains; but the
good-natured wife sensibly declared that the better off a woman was,
the harder she always had to work.

She took a long look at Johnny, who was dressed even more carefully
than if it were a pleasant Sunday.

"This don't be your train, annyway," she answered, in a meditative
tone.  "How come you here now all so fine, I 'd like to know, riding in
the cars like a lord; ain't you brakeman yet on old twinty-four?"

"'Deed I am, Mrs. Ryan; you would n't be afther grudging a boy his day
off?  Where's Nora?"

"She's gone up the road a bitteen," said Mrs. Ryan, as if she suddenly
turned to practical affairs.  "She 's worked hard the day, poor shild!
and she took the cool of the evening, and the last bun she had left,
and wint away with herself.  I kep' the taypot on the stove for her,
but she 'd have none at all, at all!"

The young man turned away, and Mrs. Ryan looked after him with an
indulgent smile.  "He's a pritty b'y," she said.  "I 'd like well if he
'd give a look at one o' me own gerrls; Julia, now, would look well
walking with him, she 's so dark.  He's got money saved.  I saw the
first day he come after the cakeens 't was the one that baked them was
in his mind.  She's lucky, is Nora; well, I'm glad of it."

It was fast growing dark, and Johnny's eyes were still dazzled by the
bright lights of the train as he stepped briskly along the narrow
country road.  The more he had seen Nora and the better he liked her,
the less she would have to say to him, and tonight he meant to find her
and have a talk.  He had only succeeded in getting half a dozen words
at a time since the night of their first meeting on the slow train,
when she had gladly recognized the peculiar brogue of her own
country-side, as Johnny called the names of the stations, and Johnny's
quick eyes had seen the tired-looking, uncertain, yet cheerful little
greenhorn in the corner of the car, and asked if she were not the niece
that was coming out to Mrs. Duffy.  He had watched the growth of her
business with delight, and heard praises of the cakes and buns with
willing ears; was it not his own suggestion that had laid the
foundation of Nora's prosperity?  Since their first meeting they had
always greeted each other like old friends, but Nora grew more and more
willing to talk with any of her breathless customers who hurried up the
steep bank from the trains than with him.  She would never take any pay
for her wares from him, and for a week he had stopped coming himself
and sent by a friend his money for the cakes; but one day poor Johnny's
heart could not resist the temptation of going with the rest, and Nora
had given him a happy look, straightforward and significant.  There was
no time for a word, but she picked out a crusty bun, and he took it and
ran back without offering to pay.  It was the best bun that a man ever
ate.  Nora was two months out now, and he had never walked with her an
evening yet.

The shadows were thick under a long row of willows; there was a new
moon, and a faint glow in the west still lit the sky.  Johnny walked on
the grassy roadside with his ears keen to hear the noise of a betraying
pebble under Nora's light foot.  Presently his heart beat loud and all
out of time as a young voice began to sing a little way beyond.

Nora was walking slowly away, but Johnny stopped still to listen.  She
was singing "A Blacksmith Courted Me," one of the quaintest and
sweetest of the old-country songs, as she strolled along in the
soft-aired summer night.  By the time she came to "My love 's gone
along the fields," Johnny hurried on to overtake her; he could hear the
other verses some other time,--the bird was even sweeter than the voice.

Nora was startled for a moment, and stopped singing, as if she were
truly a bird in a bush, but she did not flutter away.  "Is it yourself,
Mister Johnny?" she asked soberly, as if the frank affection of the
song had not been assumed.

"It's meself," answered Johnny, with equal discretion.  "I come out for
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