"Why, I expect you recollict this child's grandpaw," Uncle Jed said, with
his hand on Nance's head, "Molloy, 'Fightin' Phil,' they called him. Went
down with the colors at Chickasaw Bluffs."
Doc did remember. Fighting Phil had been one of the idols of his boyhood.
Miss Stanley found in this friendship a solution of Nance's chief
difficulty. When a person of eleven has been doing practical housekeeping
for a family of eight, she naturally resents the suggestion that there is
anything in domestic science for her to learn. Moreover, when said person
is anemic and nervous from overwork, and has a tongue that has never
known control, it is perilously easy to get into trouble, despite heroic
efforts to be good.
The wise superintendent saw in the girl all sorts of possibilities for
both good and evil. For unselfish service and passionate sacrifice, as
well as obstinate rebellion and hot-headed folly.
At those unhappy times when Nance threatened to break over the bounds,
she was sent out to the stables to spend an afternoon with Doc. No
matter how sore her grievance, it vanished in the presence of the genial
old veterinarian. She never tired of hearing him tell of her fighting
Irish grandfather and the pranks he played on his messmates, of Uncle Jed
and the time he lost his drumsticks and marched barefoot in the snow,
beating his drum with the heels of his shoes.
Most of all she liked the horses. She learned how to put on bandages and
poultices and to make a bran mash.
Pages:
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121