Where's Nora? Page #7

"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

								

now, sir, out of that house.  There's the four-legged lady that pays
the rint watchin' afther them from the door, too.  They think you 're a
gintleman that's shootin', I suppose.  'T is Tom Flaherty's house, poor
crathur; he died last winter, God rest him; 'twas very inconvanient for
him an' every one at the time, wit' snow on the ground and a great dale
of sickness and distress.  Father Daley, poor man, had to go to the
hospital in Dublin wit' himself to get a leg cut off, and we 'd nothing
but rain out of the sky afther that till all the stones in the road was
floatin' to the top."

"Son of old John Flaherty, I suppose?" asked the traveler, with a
knowing air, after he had given the eager children some pennies and
gingerbread, out of a great package.  One of the older girls knew Nora
and climbed to the spare seat at her side to join the company.  "Son of
old John Flaherty, I suppose, that was there before?  There was
Flahertys there and I l'aving home more than thirty-five years ago."

"Sure there 's plinty Flahertys in it now, glory be to God!" answered
the charioteer, with enthusiasm.  "I 'd have no mother meself but for
the Flahertys."  He leaped down to lead the stumbling horse past a deep
rut and some loose stones, and beckoned the little girl sternly from
her proud seat.  "Run home, now!" he said, as she obeyed: "I 'll give
you a fine drive an' I coming down the hill;" but she had joined the
travelers with full intent, and trotted gayly alongside like a little
dog.

The old passenger whispered to his companion that they 'd best double
the gossoon's money, or warm it with two, or three shillings extra, at
least, and Nora nodded her prompt approval.  "The old folks are all
getting away; we 'd best give a bitteen to the young ones they 've left
afther them," said Uncle Patsy, by way of excuse.  "Och, there's more
beggars between here and Queenstown than you 'd find in the whole of
Ameriky."

It seemed to Nora as if her purseful of money were warm against her
breast, like another heart; the sixpences in her pocket all felt warm
to her fingers and hopped by themselves into the pleading hands that
were stretched out all along the way.  The sweet clamor of the Irish
voices, the ready blessings, the frank requests to those returning from
America with their fortunes made, were all delightful to her ears.  How
she had dreamed of this day, and how the sun and shadows were chasing
each other over these upland fields at last!  How close the blue sea
looked to the dark hills!  It seemed as if the return of one prosperous
child gave joy to the whole landscape.  It was the old country the same
as ever,--old Mother Ireland in her green gown, and the warm heart of
her ready and unforgetting.  As for Nora, she could only leave a wake
of silver six-pences behind her, and when these were done, a duller
trail of ha'pennies; and the air was full of blessings as she passed
along the road to Dunkenny.

By this time Nora had stopped talking and laughing.  At first everybody
on the road seemed like her near relation, but the last minutes seemed
like hours, and now and then a tear went shining down her cheek.  The
old man's lips were moving,--he was saying a prayer without knowing it;
they were almost within sight of home.  The poor little white houses,
with their high gable-ends and weather-beaten thatch, that stood about
the fields among the green hedges; the light shower that suddenly fell
out of the clear sky overhead, made an old man's heart tremble in his
breast.  Round the next slope of the hill they should see the old place.

The wheel-track stopped where you turned off to go to the Donahoe farm,
but no old Mary was there to give friendly welcome.  The old man got
stiffly down from the side-car and limped past the gate with a sigh;
but Nora hurried ahead, carrying the big baby, not because he could n't
walk, but because he could.  The young son had inherited his mother's
active disposition, and would run straight away like a spider the
minute his feet were set to the ground.  Now and then, at the sight of
a bird or a flower in the grass, he struggled to get down.  "Whisht,
now!" Nora would say; "and are n't you going to see Granny indeed?
Keep aisy now, darlin'!"

The old heart and the young heart were beating alike as these exiles
followed the narrow footpath round the shoulder of the great hill; they
could hear the lambs bleat and the tinkling of the sheep-bells that
sweet May morning.  From the lower hillside came the sound of voices.
The neighbors had seen them pass, and were calling to each other across
the fields.  Oh, it was home, home! the sight of it, and the smell of
the salt air and the flowers in the bog, the look of the early white
mushrooms in the sod, and the song of the larks overhead and the
blackbirds in the hedges!  Poor Ireland was gay-hearted in the spring
weather, and Nora was there at last.  "Oh, thank God, we 're safe
home!" she said again.  "Look, here's the Wishing Brook; d' ye mind
it?" she called back to the old man.

"I mind everything the day, no fear for me," said Patrick Quin.

The great hillside before them sloped up to meet the blue sky, the
golden gorse spread its splendid tapestry against the green pasture.
There was the tiny house, the one house in Ireland for Nora; its very
windows watched her coming.  A whiff of turf-smoke flickered above the
chimney, the white walls were as white as the clouds above; there was a
figure moving about inside the house, and a bent little woman in her
white frilled cap and a small red shawl pinned about her shoulders came
and stood in the door.

"Oh, me mother, me mother!" cried Nora; then she dropped the baby in
the soft grass, and flew like a pigeon up the hill and into her
mother's arms.

VI.

The gossoon was equal to emergencies; he put down his heavier burden of
goods and picked up the baby, lest it might run back to America.  "God
be praised, what's this coming afther ye?" exclaimed the mother, while
Nora, weeping for joy, ran past her into the house.  "Oh, God bless the
shild that I thought I 'd never see.  Oh!" and she looked again at the
stranger, the breathless old man with the thorn stick, whom everybody
had left behind.  "'T is me brother Patsy!  Oh, me heart's broke wit'
joy!" and she fell on her knees among the daisies.

"It's meself, then!" said Mr. Patrick Quin.  "How are ye the day, Mary?
I always t'ought I 'd see home again, but 't was Nora enticed me now.
Johnny O'Callahan's a good son to ye; he 'd liked well to come with us,
but he gets short l'ave on the Road, and he has a fine, steady job; he
'll see after the business, too, while we 're gone; no, I could n't let
the two childer cross the say alone.  Coom now, don't be sayin' anny
more prayers; sure, we 'll be sayin' them together in the old church
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