Where's Nora? Page #5

"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

								

a mout'ful of air; it's very hot inside in the town.  Days off are well
enough in winter, but in summer you get a fine air on the train.  'T
was well we both took the same direction.  How is the business?  All
the b'ys are saying they'd be lost without it; sure there ain't a
stomach of them but wants its bun, and they cried the length of the
Road that day the thunder spoiled the baking."

"Take this," said Nora, as if she spoke to a child; "there's a fine
crust of sugar on the top.  'T is one I brought out for me little
supper, but I 'm so pleased wit' bein' rich that I 've no need at all
for 'ating.  An' I 'm as tired as I 'm rich," she added, with a sigh;
"'t is few can say the same in this lazy land."

"Sure, let's ate it together; 'tis a big little cakeen," urged Johnny,
breaking the bun and anxiously offering Nora the larger piece.  "I can
like the taste of anything better by halves, if I 've got company.  You
ought to have a good supper of tay and a piece of steak and some
potaties rather than this!  Don't be giving yourself nothing but the
saved cakes, an' you working so hard!"

"'T is plenty days I 'd a poorer supper when I was at home," said Nora
sadly; "me father dying so young, and all of us begging at me mother's
skirts.  It's all me thought how will I get rich and give me mother all
the fine things that's in the world.  I wish I 'd come over sooner, but
it broke my heart whinever I 'd think of being out of sight of her
face.  She looks old now, me mother does."

Nora may have been touched by Johnny's affectionate interest in her
supper; she forgot all her shyness and drew nearer to him as they
walked along, and he drew a little closer to her.

"My mother is dead these two years," he said simply.  "It makes a man
be very lonesome when his mother 's dead.  I board with my sister
that's married; I 'm not much there at all.  I do be thinking I 'd like
a house of my own.  I 've plinty saved for it."

"I said in the first of coming out that I 'd go home again when I had
fifty pounds," said Nora hastily, and taking the other side of the
narrow road.  "I 've got a piece of it already, and I 've sent back
more beside.  I thought I 'd be gone two years, but some days I think I
won't be so long as that."

"Why don't you be afther getting your mother out?  'T is so warm in the
winter in a good house, and no dampness like there does be at home; and
her brother and her sister both being here."  There was deep anxiety in
Johnny's voice.

"Oh, I don't know indeed!" said Nora.  "She's very wake-hearted, is me
mother; she 'd die coming away from the old place and going to sea.
No, I 'm going to work meself and go home; I 'll have presents, too,
for everybody along the road, and the children 'll be running and
skrieghing afther me, and they 'll all get sweeties from me.  'T is a
very poor neighborhood where we live, but a lovely sight of the say.
It ain't often annybody comes home to it, but 't will be a great day
then, and the poor old folks 'll all be calling afther me: 'Where's
Nora?'  'Show me Nora!'  'Nora, sure, what have you got for me?'  I
'ont forget one of them aither, God helping me!" said Nora, in a
passion of tenderness and pity.  "And, oh, Johnny, then afther that I
'll see me mother in the door!"

Johnny was so close at her side that she slipped her hand into his, and
neither of them stopped to think about so sweet and natural a pleasure.
"I 'd like well to help you, me darlin'," said Johnny.

"Sure, an' was n't it yourself gave me all me good fortune?" exclaimed
Nora.  "I 'd be hard-hearted an' I forgot that so soon and you a Kerry
boy, and me mother often spaking of your mother's folks before ever I
thought of coming out!"

"Sure and would n't you spake the good word to your mother about me
sometime, dear?" pleaded Johnny, openly taking the part of lover.
Nora's hand was still in his; they were walking slowly in the summer
night.  "I loved you the first word I heard out of your mouth,--'twas
like a thrush from home singing to me there in the train.  I said when
I got home that night, I 'd think of no other girl till the day I died."

"Oh!" said Nora, frightened with the change of his voice.  "Oh, Johnny,
't is too soon.  We never walked out this way before; you 'll have to
wait for me; perhaps you 'd soon be tired of poor Nora, and the likes
of one that's all for saving and going home!  You 'll marry a prittier
girl than me some day," she faltered, and let go his hand.

"Indeed, I won't, then," insisted Johnny O'Callahan stoutly.

"Will you let me go home to see me mother?" said Nora soberly.  "I 'm
afther being very homesick, 't is the truth for me.  I 'd lose all me
courage if it wa'n't for the hope of that."

"I will, indeed," said Johnny honestly.

Nora put out her hand again, of her own accord.  "I 'll not say no,
then," she whispered in the dark.  "I can't work long unless I do be
happy, and--well, leave me free till the month's end, and maybe then I
'll say yes.  Stop, stop!" she let go Johnny's hand, and hurried along
by herself in the road, Johnny, in a transport of happiness, walking
very fast to keep up.  She reached a knoll where he could see her
slender shape against the dim western sky.  "Wait till I tell you;
whisper!" said Nora eagerly.  "You know there were some of the
managers of the road, the superintendents and all those big ones, came
to Birch Plains yesterday?"

"I did be hearing something," said Johnny, wondering.

"There was a quiet-spoken, nice old gentleman came asking me at the
door for something to eat, and I being there baking; 't is my time in
the morning whin the early trains does be gone, and I 've a fine
stretch till the expresses are beginnin' to screech,--the tin, and the
tin-thirty-two, and the Flying Aigle.  I was in a great hurry with word
of an excursion coming in the afternoon and me stock very low; I 'd
been baking since four o'clock.  He 'd no coat on him, 't was very
warm; and I thought 't was some tramp.  Lucky for me I looked again and
I said, 'What are you wanting, sir?' and then I saw he 'd a beautiful
shirt on him, and was very quiet and pleasant.

"'I came away wit'out me breakfast,' says he.  'Can you give me
something without too much throuble?' says he.  'Do you have anny of
those buns there that I hear the men talking about?'

"'There's buns there, sir,' says I, 'and I 'll make you a cup of tay or
a cup of coffee as quick as I can,' says I, being pleased at the b'ys
giving me buns a good name to the likes of him.  He was very hungry,
too, poor man, an' I ran to Mrs. Ryan to see if she 'd a piece of
beefsteak, and my luck ran before me.  He sat down in me little place
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