Nan took the dose quietly, though she could not help thinking that Susan gave her castor-oil much oftener since that earlier bargain.
But what was castor-oil compared to walking through the graveyard after dark? Nan simply did not see how she could ever do it. But she must.
Mother was still so weak that nobody was allowed to see her save for a brief peep. And then she looked so white and thin. Was it because she, Nan, was not keeping her bargain?
"We must give her time," said Susan.
How could you give anyone time, Nan wondered. But SHE knew why Mother was not getting well faster. Nan set her little pearly teeth. Tomorrow was Saturday again and tomorrow night she would do what she had promised to do.
It rained again all the next forenoon and Nan could not help a feeling of relief. If it was going to be a rainy night, nobody, not even God, could expect her to go prowling about graveyards.
By noon the rain had stopped but there came a fog creeping up the harbour and over the Glen, surrounding Ingleside with its eerie magic. So still Nan hoped. If it was foggy she couldn't go either. But at supper time a wind sprang up and the dream-like landscape of the fog vanished.
"There'll be no moon tonight," said Susan.
"Oh, Susan, can't you MAKE a moon?" cried Nan despairingly. If she had to walk through the graveyard there MUST be a moon.
"Bless the child, nobody can make moons," said Susan. "I only meant it was going to be cloudy and you could not see the moon.
And what difference can it make to you whether there is a moon or not?”
That was just what Nan could not explain and Susan was more worried than ever. SOMETHING must ail the child ... she had been acting so strangely all the week. She did not eat half enough and she moped. Was she worrying about her mother? She needn't ... Mrs.
Dr. dear was coming on nicely.
Yes, but Nan knew that Mother would soon stop coming on nicely if she didn't keep her bargain. At sunset the clouds rolled away and the moon rose. But such a strange moon ... such a huge, blood- red moon. Nan had never seen such a moon. It terrified her.
Almost would she have preferred the dark.
The twins went to bed at eight and Nan had to wait until Di had gone to sleep. Di took her time about it. She was feeling too sad and disillusioned to sleep readily. Her chum, Elsie Palmer, had walked home from school with another girl and Di believed that life was practically ended for her. It was nine o'clock before Nan felt it safe to slip out of bed and dress with fingers that trembled so she could hardly cope with her buttons. Then she crept down and out of the side door while Susan set the bread in the kitchen and reflected comfortably that all under her charge were safe in bed except the poor doctor, who had been summoned post-haste to a Harbour Mouth household where a baby had swallowed a tack.
Nan went out and down to Rainbow Valley. She must take the short- cut through it and up the hill pasture. She knew that the sight of an Ingleside twin prowling along the road and through the village would cause wonderment and somebody would likely insist on bringing her home. How cold the late September night was! She had not thought about that and had not put on her jacket. Rainbow Valley by night was not the friendly haunt of daytime. The moon had shrunk to a reasonable size and was no longer red but it cast sinister black shadows. Nan had always been rather frightened of shadows. Was that paddy feet in the darkness of the withered bracken by the brook?
Nan held up her head and stuck out her chin. "I'm not frightened,” she said aloud valiantly. "It's only my stomach feels a little queer. I'm being a HEROINE.”
The pleasant idea of being a heroine carried her halfway up the hill. Then a strange shadow swept over the world ... a cloud was crossing the moon ... and Nan thought of the Bird. Amy Taylor had once told her such a terrifying tale of a Great Black Bird that swooped down on you in the night and carried you off. Was it the Bird's shadow that had crossed over her? But Mother had said there was no Big Black Bird. "I don't believe Mother could tell me a lie ... not MOTHER," said Nan ... and went on until she reached the fence. Beyond was the road ... and across it the graveyard. Nan stopped to get her breath.
Another cloud was over the moon. All around her lay a strange, dim, unknown land. "Oh, the world is too big!" shivered Nan, crowding against the fence. If she were only back in Ingleside!
But ... "God is watching me," said the seven-year-old scrap ... and climbed the fence.
She fell off on the other side, skinning her knee and tearing her dress. As she got to her feet a sharp weed-stub pierced completely through her slipper and cut her foot. But she limped across the road to the graveyard gate.
The old graveyard lay in the shadow of the firs at its eastern end.
On one side was the Methodist church, on the other the Presbyterian manse, now dark and silent during the minister's absence. The moon broke out suddenly from the cloud and the graveyard was full of shadows ... shadows that shifted and danced ... shadows that would grasp at you if you trusted yourself among them. A newspaper someone had discarded blew along the road, like a dancing old witch, and though Nan knew it for what it was, it was all part and parcel of the uncanniness of the night. Swish, swish, went the night-winds in the firs. A long leaf on the willow by the gate suddenly flicked her cheek like the touch of an elfin hand. For a moment her heart stood still ... yet she put her hand on the hook of the gate.
SUPPOSE A LONG ARM REACHED OUT OF A GRAVE AND DRAGGED YOU DOWN!
Nan turned. She knew now that, bargain or no bargain, she could NEVER walk through that graveyard by night. The grisliest groan suddenly sounded quite close to her. It was only Mrs. Ben Baker's old cow, which she pastured on the road, getting up from behind a clump of spruces. But Nan did not wait to see what it was. In a spasm of uncontrollable panic she tore down the hill, through the village and up the road to Ingleside. Outside of the gate she dashed headlong through what Rilla called a "pud-muddle." But there was home, with the soft, glowing lights in the windows and a moment later she stumbled into Susan's kitchen, mud-spattered, with wet, bleeding feet.
"Good grief!" said Susan blankly.
"I couldn't walk through the graveyard Susan ... I couldn't!” gasped Nan.
Susan asked no questions at first. She picked the chilled, distraught Nan up and peeled off her wet slippers and socks. She undressed her and put on her nightgown and carried her to bed.
Then she went down to get a "bite" for her. No matter what the child had been up to she couldn't be let go to bed on an empty stomach.
Nan ate her lunch and sipped her glass of hot milk. How lovely it was to be back in a warm, lighted room, safe in her nice warm bed!
But she would not tell Susan one thing about it. "It's a secret between me and God, Susan." Susan went to bed vowing she would be a happy woman when Mrs. Dr. dear was up and about again.
"They're getting beyond ME," sighed Susan helplessly.
Mother would certainly die now. Nan woke up with that terrible conviction in her mind. She had not kept her bargain and she could not expect God would. Life was very dreadful for Nan that following week. She could take no pleasure in anything, not even in watching Susan spin in the garret ... something she had always found so fascinating. She would never be able to laugh again. It wouldn't matter what she did. She gave her sawdust dog, off which Ken Ford had pulled the ears and which she loved even better than old Teddy ... Nan always loved old things best ... to Shirley because Shirley had always wanted it, and she gave her prized house made of shells, which Captain Malachi had brought her all the way from the West Indies, to Rilla, hoping that it would satisfy God: