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diff --git a/34218-h/34218-h.htm b/34218-h/34218-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..691f935 --- /dev/null +++ b/34218-h/34218-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7647 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hildegarde's Home, by Laura E. Richards. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .chaptertitle {text-align: center; font-size: 110%; font-weight: bold;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold; font-size: 90%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hildegarde's Home, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hildegarde's Home + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Illustrator: F. T. Merrill + +Release Date: November 6, 2010 [EBook #34218] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HILDEGARDE'S HOME *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 339px;"> +<img src="images/coverpage.jpg" width="339" height="500" alt="Cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>HILDEGARDE'S HOME</h1> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"><a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a> +<img src="images/gs01.png" width="335" height="500" alt="Hildegarde and the China Pots.—Frontispiece." title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Hildegarde and the China Pots.</span>—<i>Frontispiece.</i></span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>HILDEGARDE'S HOME</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>LAURA E. RICHARDS</h2> + +<div class='center'><small><span class="smcap">Author of "Queen Hildegarde," "Hildegarde's Holiday," +"Captain January," etc.</span></small><br /> +<br /><br /><br /> +ILLUSTRATED<br /><br /><br /> + +<br /> +BOSTON<br /> +ESTES AND LAURIAT<br /> +PUBLISHERS<br /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='copyright'> +<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1892</span>,<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">By ESTES AND LAURIAT.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Typography by J. S. Cushing & Co., Boston.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td align='left'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Home Itself</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Dish of Gossip</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Morning Hours</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Walk and an Adventure</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Uncle and Nephew</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Cousin Jack</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Miss Agatha's Cabinet</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Poplars</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Cousins</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Bonny Sir Hugh</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Call and a Conspiracy</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Second Act</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Picnic</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Over the Jam-pots</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">At the Brown Cottage</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI. </td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Good-by!</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hildegarde and the China Pots</span></td><td align='right'><i><a href="#frontis">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">It was very pleasant up in this Airy Bower</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Jack Ferrers appeared carrying a Huge Bunch of Roses</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Hildegarde had been making friends with Merlin</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hildegarde finding Hugh and Merlin by the Brook</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hugh and Colonel Ferrers</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Over the Jam Pots</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">He gave me a lunge in quart</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_301">301</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> +<h2>HILDEGARDE'S HOME.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>THE HOME ITSELF.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">It</span> was a pleasant place. The house was +a large, low, old-fashioned one, with the +modern addition of a deep, wide verandah +running across its front. Before it was a +circular sweep of lawn, fringed with trees; +beside it stood a few noble elms, which bent +lovingly above the gambrel roof. There were +some flower-beds, rather neglected-looking, +under the south windows, and there was a +kitchen-garden behind the house. This was +all that Hildegarde Grahame had seen so far +of her new home, for she had only just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +arrived. She stood now on the verandah, +looking about her with keen, inquiring eyes, +a tall, graceful girl, very erect, with a certain +proud carriage of the head. Her dress of black +and white shepherd's plaid was very simple, +but it fitted to perfection, and there was a +decided "air" to her little black felt hat.</div> + +<p>Hildegarde's father had died about six +months before the time our story opens. He +had been very wealthy, but many of his +investments had shrunk in value, and the +failure of a bank whose cashier had proved +dishonest entailed heavy losses upon him; +so that, after his death, it was found that +the sum remaining for his widow and only +child, after all debts were paid, was no very +large one. They would have enough to live +on, and to live comfortably; but the "big +luxuries," as Hildegarde called them, the +horses and carriages, the great New York +house with its splendid furniture and troops<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +of servants, must go; and go they did, without +loss of time. Perhaps neither Hildegarde +nor her mother regretted these things much. +Mrs. Grahame had been for years an indefatigable +worker, giving most of her time to +charities; she knew that she should never +rest so long as she lived in New York. +Hildegarde had been much in the country +during the past two years, had learned to +love it greatly, and found city life too "cabined, +cribbed, confined," to suit her present +taste. The dear father had always preferred +to live in town; but now that he was gone, +they were both glad to go away from the +great, bustling, noisy, splendid place. So, +when Mrs. Grahame's lawyer told her that +an aged relative, who had lately died, had +left his country house as a legacy to her, both +she and Hildegarde said at once, "Let us go +and live there!"</p> + +<p>Accordingly, here they were! or to speak<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +more accurately, here Hildegarde was, for +she and auntie (auntie was the black cook; +she had been Mrs. Grahame's nurse, and had +been cook ever since Hildegarde was a baby) +had come by an early train, and were to have +everything as comfortable as might be by the +time Mrs. Grahame and the little housemaid, +who had stayed to help her pack the last +trifles, should arrive in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>It was so pleasant on the wide verandah, +with the great elms nodding over it, that +Hildegarde lingered, until a mellow "Miss +Hildy, chile! you comin'?" summoned her +in-doors. Auntie had already put on her +white jacket and apron, without which she +never considered herself dressed, and her +muslin turban looked like a snow-drift on an +ebony statue. She had opened the door of a +large room, and was peering into it, feather +duster in hand.</p> + +<p>"'Spose this is the parlour!" she said, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +a glance of keen observation. "Comicalest +parlour ever I see!"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde stepped lightly across the threshold. +It <i>was</i> a singular room, but, she thought, +a very pleasant one. The carpet on the +floor was thick and soft, of some eastern +fabric, but so faded that the colours were +hardly distinguishable. Against the walls +stood many chairs, delicate, spider-legged +affairs, with cushions of faded tapestry. +The curtains might once have been crimson, +when they had any colour. A table in +the exact centre of the room was covered +with a worked cloth of curious and antique +pattern, and on it were some venerable annuals, +and "Finden's Tableaux," bound in green +morocco. In a dim corner stood the great-grandmother +of all pianos. It was hardly +larger than a spinnet, and was made of some +light-coloured, highly polished wood, cunningly +inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl. Over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +the yellow keys was a painting, representing +Apollo (attired, to all appearance, like the +"old man on a hill," in his grandmother's +gown), capering to the sound of his lyre, and +followed by nine young ladies in pink and +green frocks. The last young lady carried a +parasol, showing that the Muses thought as +much of their complexions as other people +do. At sight of this venerable instrument +Hildegarde uttered a cry of delight, and, running +across the room, touched a few chords +softly. The sound was faint and tinkling, +but not unmusical. Auntie sniffed audibly.</p> + +<p>"Reckon my kittle makes a better music +'an that!" she said; and then, relenting, she +added, "might ha' been pooty once, I dassay. +That's a pooty picture, anyhow, over the +mankel-piece."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde looked up, and saw a coloured +print of a lady in the costume of the First +Empire, with golden ringlets, large blue eyes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +particularly round rosy cheeks, and the most +amiable simper in the world. Beneath was +the inscription, "Madame Récamier, Napoleon's +first love."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Hildegarde, half-laughing, +half-indignant, "how ridiculous! She wasn't, +you know! and she never looked like that, +any more than I do. But see, auntie! see +this great picture of General Washington, in +his fine scarlet coat. I am sure you must +admire that! Why!—it cannot be—yes, it +is! it is done in worsted-work. Fine cross-stitch, +every atom of it. Oh! it makes my +eyes ache to think of it."</p> + +<p>Auntie nodded approvingly. "That's what +I call work!" she said. "That's what young +ladies used to do when I was a gal. Don't +see no sech work nowadays, only just a passel +o' flowers and crooked lines, and calls it +embr'idery."</p> + +<p>"Oh! you ungrateful old auntie," cried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +Hildegarde, "when I marked your towels so +beautifully last week. Here! since you are +so fond of cross-stitch, take this dreadful yellow +sofa-pillow, with pink roses worked on it. +It will just fit your own beloved rocking-chair, +with the creak in it, and you may have +it for your very own."</p> + +<p>The pillow flew across the room, and auntie, +catching it, disappeared with a chuckle, while +Hildegarde resumed her examination of the +quaint old parlour. The "cross-stitch" was +everywhere: on the deep, comfortable old +sofa, where one leaned against a stag-hunt, +and had a huntsman blowing his horn on +either arm; on the chairs, where one might +sit on baskets of flowers, dishes of fruit, or +cherubs' heads, as one's fancy dictated; on +the long fender-stool, where an appalling line +of dragons, faintly red, on a ground that had +been blue, gaped open-mouthed, as if waiting +to catch an unwary foot.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! their <i>poor</i> eyes!" cried Hildegarde. +"How <i>could</i> their mothers let them?" She +passed her hand compassionately over the +fine lines of the stag-hunt. "Were they +girls, do you suppose?" she went on, talking +to herself, as she was fond of doing. "Girls +like me, or slender old spinsters, like the +chairs and the piano? Mamma must have +known some of them when she was a child; +she said she had once made a visit here. I +must ask her all about them. Uncle Aytoun! +what a pity he isn't alive, to show us about +his house! But if he were alive, we should +not be here at all. So nice of you to leave +the house to mamma, dear sir, just as if you +had been her real uncle, instead of her father's +cousin. You must have been a very nice old +gentleman. I like old gentlemen." The girl +paused, and presently gave an inquiring sniff. +"What is it?" she said meditatively. "Not +exactly mould, for it is dry; not must, for it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +is sweet. The smell of this particular room, +for it, suits it exactly. It is"—she sniffed +again—"it is as if some Aytoun ladies before +the flood had made <i>pot-pourri</i>, and it had somehow +kept dry. Let us examine this matter!" +She tiptoed about the room, and, going round +the corner of the great chimney, found a cupboard +snugly tucked in beside it. She opened +it, with a delightful thrill of curiosity. Hildegarde +did love cupboards! Of course, there +might be nothing at all—but there was something! +On the very first shelf stood a row of +china pots, carefully covered, and from these +pots came the faint, peculiar perfume which +seemed so to form part of the faded charm of +the room. The pots were of delicate white +porcelain, one with gold sprigs on it, one with +blue flowers, and one with pink. "Belonging +to three Aytoun sisters!" said Hildegarde. +"Of course! dear things! If they had only +written their names on the jars!" She lifted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +the gold-sprigged jar with reverent hands. +Lo, and behold! On the cover was pasted +a neat label, which said, "Hester's recipe, +June, 18—." She examined the other two +jars eagerly. They bore similar legends, with +the names "Agatha" and "Barbara." On +all the writing was in minute but strongly +marked characters; the three hands were +different, yet there was a marked resemblance. +Hildegarde stood almost abashed, as if she +had found herself in presence of the three +ladies themselves. "The question is"—she +murmured apologetically—and then she +stooped and sniffed carefully, critically, at +the three jars in turn. "There is no doubt +about it!" she said at last. "Hester's recipe +is the best, for it has outlived the others, and +given its character to the whole room. Poor +Miss Agatha and Miss Barbara! How disappointed +they would be!" As she closed +the cupboard softly and turned away, it almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +seemed—almost, but not quite, for +though Hildegarde had a lively imagination, +she was not at all superstitious—as though +she heard a faint sigh, and saw the shadowy +forms of the three Aytoun sisters turning +away sadly from the cupboard where their +treasure was kept. The shadow was her own, +the sigh was that of an evening breeze as it +stole in between the faded curtains; but +Hildegarde had a very pretty little romance +made up by the time she reached the other +side of the long room, and when she softly +closed the door, it was not without a whispered +"good evening!" to the three ladies +whom she left in possession.</p> + +<p>Shaking off the dream, she ran quickly up +the winding stairs, and turned into the pleasant, +sunny room which she had selected as +the best for her mother's bedchamber. It +was more modern-looking than the rest of the +house, in spite of its quaint Chinese-patterned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +chintz hangings and furniture; this was +partly owing to a large bow-window which +almost filled one side, and through which the +evening light streamed in cheerfully. Hildegarde +had already unpacked a trunk of "alicumtweezles" +(a word not generally known, +and meaning small but cherished possessions), +and the room was a pleasant litter of down +pillows, cologne-bottles, work-implements, photograph +cases and odd books. Now she inspected +the chairs with a keen and critical +eye, pounced upon one, sat down in it, shook +her head and tried another. Finding this to +her mind, she drew it into the bow-window, +half-filled it with a choice assortment of +small pillows, and placed a little table beside +it, on which she set a fan, a bottle of cologne, +a particularly inviting little volume of +Wordsworth (Hildegarde had not grown up +to Wordsworth yet, but her mother had), a +silver bonbonnière full of Marquis chocolate-drops,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +and a delicate white knitting-basket +which was having a little sunset of its own +with rose-coloured "Saxony." "There!" said +Hildegarde, surveying this composition with +unfeigned satisfaction. "If that isn't attractive, +I don't know what is. She won't eat +the chocolates, of course, bless her! but they +give it an air, and I can eat them for her. +And now I must put away towels and pillow-cases, +which is not so interesting."</p> + +<p>At this moment, however, the sound of +wheels was heard on the gravel, and tossing +the linen on the bed, Hildegarde ran down to +welcome her mother.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame was very tired, and was glad +to come directly up to the pleasant room, and +sink down in the comfortable chair which +was holding out its stout chintz arms to +receive her.</p> + +<p>"What a perfect chair!" she said, taking +off her bonnet and looking about her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +"What a very pleasant room! I know you +have given me the best one, you dear child!"</p> + +<p>"I hope so!" said Hildegarde. "I meant +to, certainly— Oh, no!" she started forward +and took the bonnet which Mrs. Grahame +was about to lay on the table; "this table is +to take things from, dear. I must give you +another to put things on."</p> + +<p>"I see!" said her mother, surveying the +decorated table with amusement. "This is a +still-life piece, and a very pretty one. But +how can I possibly take anything off it? I +should spoil the harmony. The straw-covered +cologne-bottle makes just the proper background +for the chocolates, and though I +should like to wet my handkerchief with it, +I do not dare to disturb—"</p> + +<p>"Take care!" cried Hildegarde, snatching +up the bottle and deluging the handkerchief +with its contents. "You might hurt my feelings, +Mrs. Grahame, and that would not be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +pleasant for either of us. And you know it +is pretty, <i>quand même!</i>"</p> + +<p>"It is, my darling, very pretty!" said her +mother, "and you are my dear, thoughtful +child, as usual. The Wordsworth touch I +specially appreciate. He is so restful, with +his smooth, brown covers. Your white +and gold Shelley, there, would have been +altogether too exciting for my tired nerves."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I have nothing to say against Mr. +W.'s <i>covers!</i>" said Hildegarde with cheerful +malice. "They are charming covers. And +now tell me what kind of journey you had, +and how you got through the last agonies, +and all about it."</p> + +<p>"Why, we got through very well indeed!" +said Mrs. Grahame. "Janet was helpful and +quick as usual, and Hicks nailed up all the +boxes, and took charge of everything that +was to be stored or sold. Sad work! but I +am glad it is done." She sighed, and Hildegarde<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +sat down on the floor beside her, and +leaned her cheek against the beloved mother-hand.</p> + +<p>"Dear!" she said, and that was all, for +each knew the other's thoughts. It was no +light matter, the breaking up of a home +where nearly all the young girl's life, and the +happiest years of her mother's, had been +passed. Every corner in the New York +house was filled with memories of the dear +and noble man whom they so truly mourned, +and it had seemed to them both, though they +had not spoken of it, as if in saying good-by +to the home which he had loved, they were +taking another and a more final farewell of +him.</p> + +<p>So they sat in silence for a while, the tender +pressure of the hand saying more than +words could have done; but when Mrs. Grahame +spoke at last, it was in her usual cheerful +tone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So at last everything was ready, and I +locked the door, and gave the keys to the +faithful Hicks" (Hicks had been the Grahames' +butler for several years), "and then Hicks +came down to the station with me, and did +everything that was possible to secure a comfortable +journey for me—and Janet."</p> + +<p>"Poor Hicks!" said Hildegarde, smiling. +"It must have been very hard for him to say +good-by to you—and Janet."</p> + +<p>"I think it was!" said Mrs. Grahame. +"He asked me, very wistfully, if we should +not need some one to take care of the garden, +and said he was very fond of out-door work; +but I had to tell him that we should only +need a 'chore-man,' to do odds and ends of +work, and should not keep a gardener. At +this he put on a face like three days of rain, +as your Grimm story says, and the train +started, and that was all.</p> + +<p>"And now tell me, Sweetheart," she added,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +"what have been your happenings. First of +all, how do you like the house?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a jewel of a house!" replied Hildegarde +with enthusiasm. "You told me it +was pleasant, but I had no idea of anything +like this. The verandah itself is worth the +whole of most houses. Then the parlour! +such a wonderful parlour! I am sure you +will agree with me that it would be sacrilege +to put any of our modern belongings in it. I +did give auntie one hideous sofa-pillow, but +otherwise I have touched nothing. It is a +perfect museum of cross-stitch embroidery, +sacred to the memory of Miss Barbara, Miss +Agatha, and Miss Hester."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame smiled. "How did you discover +their names?" she asked. "I was +saving them for an after-supper 'tell' for +you, and now you have stolen my thunder, +you naughty child."</p> + +<p>"Not a single growl of it!" cried Hildegarde<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +eagerly. "I am fairly prancing with +impatience to hear about them. All I know +is their names, which I found written on three +bow-pots in the cupboard. I went mousing +about, like little Silver-hair, and instead of +three porridge-pots, found these. Miss Hester's +was the only pot that had any 'sniff' +left to speak of; from which I inferred that +she was the sprightliest of the three sisters, +and perhaps the youngest and prettiest. Now +<i>don't</i> tell me that she was the eldest, and lackadaisical, +and cross-eyed!"</p> + +<p>"I will not!" said Mrs. Grahame, laughing. +"I will not tell you anything till I have +had my tea. I had luncheon at one o'clock, +and it is now—"</p> + +<p>"Seven!" cried Hildegarde, springing up, +and beating her breast. "You are starved, +my poor darling, and I am a Jew, Turk, +infidel, and heretic; I always was!"</p> + +<p>She ran out to call Janet; when lo, there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +was Janet just coming up to tell them that +tea was ready. She was the prettiest possible +Janet, as Scotch as her name, with rosy +cheeks and wide, innocent blue eyes, and +"lint-white locks," as a Scotch lassie should +have. "No wonder," thought Hildegarde, +"that Hicks looked like '<i>drei Tage Regenwetter</i>' +at parting from her."</p> + +<p>"Tea is ready, you say, Janet?" cried +Hildegarde. "That is good, for we are +'gay and ready,' as you say. Come, my +mother! let us go and see what auntie has +for us."</p> + +<p>Mother and daughter went down arm-in-arm, +like two school-girls. They had to pick +their way carefully, for the lamps had not +been lighted, and there was not daylight +enough to shed more than a faint glimmer +on the winding stairs; but when they reached +the dining-room a very blaze of light greeted +them. There were no less than six candles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +on the table, in six silver candlesticks shaped +like Corinthian columns. (Auntie had hidden +these candlesticks in her own trunk, with a +special eye to this effect.) On the table also +was everything good, and hot blueberry cake +beside; and behind it stood auntie herself, +very erect and looking so solemn that Mrs. +Grahame and Hildegarde stopped in the doorway, +and stood still for a moment. The black +woman raised her head with a gesture of tenderness, +not without majesty.</p> + +<p>"De Lord bless de house to ye!" she said +solemnly. "De Lord send ye good victuals, +and plenty of 'em! De Lord grant ye never +want for nothin', forever an' ever, give glory, +amen!"</p> + +<p>And with an answering "amen!" on their +lips, Hildegarde and her mother sat down to +their first meal in their new home.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>A DISH OF GOSSIP.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> evening was too lovely to spend in the +house, so Mrs. Grahame and Hildegarde went +from the tea-table out on the verandah, where +some low, comfortable straw chairs were +already placed. It was June, and the air +was full of the scent of roses, though there +were none in sight. There was no moon, but +it was hardly missed, so brilliant were the +stars, flashing their golden light down through +the elm-branches.</div> + +<p>They sat for some time, enjoying the quiet +beauty of the night. Then—"I think we +shall be happy here, dear!" said Hildegarde +softly. "It feels like home already."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear you say that!" replied +her mother. "Surely the place itself is +charming. I hope, too, that you may find +some pleasant companions, of your own age. +Yes, I can see you shake your head, even in +the dark; and of course we shall be together +constantly, my darling; but I still hope you +will find some girl friend, since dear Rose +(Rose was Hildegarde's bosom friend) cannot +be with us this summer. Now tell me, did +you find Mrs. Lankton here when you arrived? +We don't seem to have come down to +details yet."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde began to laugh.</p> + +<p>"I should think we did find her!" she said. +"Your coming put it all out of my head, you +see. Well, when auntie and I drove up, there +was this funny little old dame standing in +the doorway, looking so like Mrs. Gummidge +that I wanted to ask her on the spot if Mr. +Peggotty was at home. She began shaking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +her head and sighing, before we could get +out of the wagon. 'Ah, dear me!' she said. +'Dear me! and this is the young lady, I +suppose. Ah! yes, indeed! And the housekeeper, +I suppose. Well, well! I'm proper +glad to see you. Ah, dear, dear!' All this +was said in a tone of the deepest dejection, +and she kept on shaking her head and sighing. +Auntie spoke up pretty smartly, 'I'm +de cook!' she said. 'If you'll take dis basket, +ma'am, we'll do de lamintations ourselves!' +Mrs. Lankton didn't hear the last part of the +remark, but she took the basket, and auntie +and I jumped out. 'I suppose you are Mrs. +Lankton, the care-taker,' I said, as cheerfully +as I could. 'Ah, yes, dear!' she said, mournfully. +'I'm Mrs. Lankton, the widow Lankton, +housekeeper to Mr. Aytoun as was, and +care-taker since his dee-cease. I've took care, +Miss Grahame, my dear. There ain't no one +could keep things more car'ful nor I have. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +I've had trouble, it hasn't made me no less +car'ful. Ah, dear me! it's a sorrowful world. +Perhaps you'd like to come in.' This seemed +to be a new idea to her, though we had been +standing with our hands full of bundles, only +waiting for her to move. She led the way +into the hall. 'This is the hall!' she said +sadly; and then she stood shaking her head +like a melancholy mandarin. 'I s'pose 'tis!' +said auntie, who was quite furious by this +time, and saw no fun in it at all. 'And I +s'pose dis is a door, and I'll go t'rough it.' +And off she flounced through the door at the +back of the hall, where she found the kitchen +for herself, as we could tell by the rattling of +pans which followed. 'She's got a temper, +ain't she?' said Mrs. Lankton sadly. 'Most +coloured people has. There! I had one myself, +before 'twas took out of me by trouble. +Not that I've got any coloured blood in me, +for my father was Nova Scoshy and my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +mother State of New York. Shall I take you +through the house, dear?'"</p> + +<p>"Poor Mrs. Lankton!" said Mrs. Grahame, +laughing. "She is the very spirit of melancholy. +I believe she has really had a good +deal of trouble. Well, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Well," resumed Hildegarde, "I really +could not have her spoil all the fun of going +over the house for me; though of course she +was great fun herself in a way. So I thanked +her, and said I would not give her the trouble, +and said I supposed she lived near, and we +should often call on her when we wanted extra +help. 'So do, dear!' she said, 'so do! I live +right handy by, in a brown cottage with a green +door, the only brown cottage, <i>and</i> the only +green door, so you can't mistake me. You've +got beautiful neighbours, too,' she added, still +in the depths of melancholy. 'Beautiful +neighbours! Mis' Loftus lives in the stone +house over yonder. Ah, dear me! She and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +her darter, they don't never set foot to the +ground, one year's eend to the other.' 'Dear +me!' I said. 'Are they both such invalids?' +'No, dear!' said she, sighing as if she wished +they were. 'Carriage folks; great carriage +folks. Then there's Colonel Ferrers lives in +the brick house across the way. Beautiful +man, but set in his ways. Never speaks to a +soul, one year's eend to the other, in the way +o' talk, that is. Ah! dear me, yes!'"</p> + +<p>"It sounds like Alice in Wonderland!" +exclaimed Mrs. Grahame. "In that direction +lives a Hatter, and in that direction lives a +March Hare. Visit either you like! they're +both mad."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mammina, it is exactly like it!" cried +Hildegarde, clapping her hands. "You clever +Mammina! I wonder if Colonel Ferrers has +long ears, and if his roof is thatched with +fur."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said her mother, laughing. "This<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +will not do. I know Colonel Ferrers, and he +is an excellent man, though a trifle singular. +Well, dear, how did you part with your melancholy +dame?"</p> + +<p>"She went away then," said Hildegarde. +"Oh, no, she didn't. I forgot! she did insist +upon showing me the room where Uncle Aytoun +died; and—oh! mamma, it is almost too bad +to tell, and yet it was very funny. She said +he died like a perfect gentleman, and made a +beautiful remains. Then, at last, she said +good-night and charged me to send for her if +any of us should be ill in the night. 'Comin' +strange in,' she said, 'it's likely to disagree +with some of you, and in spasms or anything +suddint, I'm dretful knowin'.' So she went +off at last, and it took me a quarter of an +hour to get auntie into a good temper again."</p> + +<p>They laughed heartily at Mrs. Lankton's +idea of "the parting word of cheer"; and +then Hildegarde reminded her mother of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +"tell" she had promised her. "I want to +know <i>all</i> about the three ladies," she said. +"They seem more real than Dame Lankton, +somehow, for they belong here, and she never +could have. So 'come tell me all, my +mother, all, all that ever you know!'"</p> + +<p>"It is not so very much, after all," replied +Mrs. Grahame, after a moment's thought. "I +came here once with my father, when I was +about ten years old, and stayed two or three +days. Miss Hester was already dead; she +was the youngest, the beauty of the family, +and she was still young when she died. Miss +Barbara was the eldest, a tall, slender woman, +with a high nose; very kind, but a little stiff +and formal. She was the head of the family, +and very religious. It was Saturday, I remember, +when we came, and she gave me +some lovely Chinese ivory toys to play with, +which filled the whole horizon for me. But +the next morning she took them away, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +gave me Baxter's 'Saint's Rest,' which she +said I must read all the morning, as I had a +cold and could not go to church."</p> + +<p>"Poor Mammina!" said Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>"Not so poor," said her mother, smiling. +"Miss Agatha came to the rescue, and took +me up to her room, and let me look in the +drawers of a wonderful old cabinet, full of +what your dear father used to call 'picknickles +and bucknickles.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I know; I found the cabinet yesterday!" +cried Hildegarde in delight. "I had +not time to look into it, but it was all drawers; +a dark, foreign-looking thing, inlaid with +ivory!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is it," said her mother. "I +wonder if the funny things are still in it? +Miss Agatha was an invalid, and her room +looked as if she lived in it a good deal. She +told me Bible stories in her soft, feeble voice, +and showed me a very wonderful set of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +coloured prints illustrating the Old Testament. +I remember distinctly that Joseph's coat was +striped, red, green, yellow, and blue, like a +mattress ticking gone mad, and that the she-bear +who came to devour the naughty children +was bright pink."</p> + +<p>"Oh! delightful!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. +"I must try to find those prints."</p> + +<p>"She told me, too, about her sister Hester," +Mrs. Grahame went on; "how beautiful +she was, and how bright and gay and light-hearted. +'She was the sunshine, my dear, +and we are the shadow, Barbara and I,' she +said. I remember the very words. And then +she showed me a picture, a miniature on +ivory, of a lovely girl of sixteen, holding a +small harp in her arms. She had large grey +eyes, I remember, and long fair curls. Dear +me! how it all comes back to me, after the +long, long years. I can almost see that miniature +now. Why—why, Hilda, it had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +little look of you; or, rather, you look like +it."</p> + +<p>The girl flushed rosy red. "I am glad," +she said softly. "And she died young, you +say? Miss Hester, I mean."</p> + +<p>"At twenty-two or three," assented her +mother. "It was consumption, I believe. +Cousin Wealthy Bond once told me that +Hester had some sad love affair, but I know +nothing more about it. I do know, however, +that Uncle Aytoun (he was the only brother, +you know, and spent much of his life at sea), +I do know that he was desperately in love +with dear Cousin Wealthy herself."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Hildegarde. "Poor old +gentleman! She couldn't, of course; but I +am sorry for him."</p> + +<p>"He was not old then," said Mrs. Grahame, +smiling. "He knew of Cousin Wealthy's +own trouble, but he was very much in love, +and hoped he could make her forget it. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +day—Cousin Wealthy told me this years and +years afterward, <i>à prôpos</i> of my own engagement—one +day Captain Aytoun came to see +her, and as it was a beautiful summer day, she +took him out into the garden to see some rare +lilies that were just in blossom. He looked at +the lilies, but said little; he was a very silent +man. Presently he pulled out his card-case, +and took from it a visiting-card, on which +was engraved his name, 'Robert F. Aytoun.' +He wrote something on the card, and handed +it to Cousin Wealthy; and she read, 'Robert +F. Aytoun's heart is yours.'"</p> + +<p>"Mammina!" cried Hildegarde. "Can it +be true? It is <i>too</i> funny! But what could +she say? Dear Cousin Wealthy!"</p> + +<p>"I remember her very words," said Mrs. +Grahame. "'Captain Aytoun, it is not my +intention ever to marry; but I esteem your +friendship highly, and I thank you for the +honour you offer me. Permit me to call your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +attention to this new variety of ranunculus.' +But the poor captain said,—Cousin Wealthy +could hardly bring herself to repeat this, +for she thought it very shocking,—'Confound +the ranunculus!' and strode out of the +garden and away. And Cousin Wealthy took +the card into the house, and folded it up, and +wound pearl-coloured silk on it. It may be +in her work-basket now, for she never destroys +anything."</p> + +<p>"Oh! that was a most delightful 'tell'!" +sighed Hildegarde. "And now go on about +Miss Agatha."</p> + +<p>"I fear that is all, dear," said her mother. +"I remember singing some hymns, which +pleased the kind cousin. Then Miss Barbara +came home from church; and I rather think +her conscience had been pricking her about +the 'Saint's Rest,' for she took me down and +gave me some delicious jelly of rose leaves, +which she said was good for a cold. We had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +waffles for tea, I remember, and we put cinnamon +and sugar on them; I had never tasted +the combination before, so I remember it. It +was in a glass dish shaped like a pineapple. +And after tea Miss Barbara tinkled 'Jerusalem, +the Golden' on the piano, and we all +sang, and I went to bed at nine o'clock. +And that reminds me," said Mrs. Grahame, +"that it must now be ten o'clock or after, and +'time for all good little constitutional queens +to be in bed.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh! must we go to bed?" sighed Hildegarde. +"It is so very particularly lovely +here. Well, I suppose we should have to go +some time. Good-night, dear stars! good-night, +all beautiful things that I know are +there, though I cannot see you!"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde helped her mother to lock up +the house, and then, after a parting word and +caress, she took her candle and went to the +room she had chosen for her own. It opened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +out of her mother's dressing-room, so that by +setting the doors ajar, they could talk to each +other when so minded; and it had a dressing-room +of its own on the other side, from +which a flight of narrow, corkscrew stairs +descended to the ground floor. These stairs +had attracted Hildegarde particularly. It +seemed very pleasant and important to have +a staircase of one's own, which no one else +could use. It is true that it was very dark, +very crooked and steep, but that was no +matter. The bedroom itself was large and +airy; a little bare, perhaps, but Hildegarde +did not mind that. The white paint was +very fresh and clean, and set off the few +pieces of dark old mahogany furniture well,—a +fine bureau, with the goddess Aurora careering +in brass across the front of the top +drawer; a comfortable sofa, with cushions +of the prettiest pale green chintz, with rosebuds +scattered over it; a round table; a few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +spider-legged chairs; and a nondescript piece +of furniture, half dressing-table, half chest of +drawers, which was almost as mysteriously +promising as the inlaid cabinet in Miss +Agatha's room. The bed was large and +solemn-looking, with carved posts topped by +pineapples. The floor was bare, save for a +square of ancient Turkey carpet in the middle. +Hildegarde held the candle above her head, and +surveyed her new quarters with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Nice room!" she said, nodding her head. +"The sort of room I have been thinking +of ever since I outgrew flounces, and bows +on the chairs. Dear papa! When I was at +the height of the flounce fever, he begged +me to have a frock and trousers made +for the grand piano, as he was sure it must +wound my sensibilities to see it so bare. +Dear papa! He would like this room, too. +It is a little strange-garrety to-night, but +wait till I get the Penates out to-morrow!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p>She nodded again, and then, putting on +her wrapper, proceeded to brush out her long, +fair hair. It was beautiful hair; and as it +fell in shining waves from the brush, Hildegarde +began to think again of the dead +Hester, who had had fair hair, too, and whom +her mother had thought she resembled a +little. She hoped that this might have been +Hester's room. Indeed, she had chosen it +partly with this idea, though chiefly because +she wished to be near her mother. It certainly +was not Miss Agatha's room, for that +was on the other side of the passage. Her +mother's room had been Miss Barbara's, she +was quite sure, for "B" was embroidered on +the faded cover of the dressing-table. Another +large room was too rigid in its aspect +to have been anything but a spare room or a +death chamber, and Mr. Aytoun's own room, +where he had died like a gentleman and +become a "beautiful remains," was on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +ground floor. Therefore, it was very plain, +this must have been Hester's room. Here +she had lived her life, a girl like herself, +thought Hildegarde, and had been gay and +light-hearted, the sunshine of the house; and +then she had suffered, and faded away +and died. It was with a solemn feeling that +the young girl climbed up into the great bed, +and laid her head where that other fair head +had lain. Who could tell what was coming +to her, too, in this room? And could she +make sunshine for her mother, who had lost +the great bright light which had warmed and +cheered her during so many years? Then +her thoughts turned to that other light which +had never failed this dear mother; and so, +with a murmured "My times be in thy +hand!" Hildegarde fell asleep.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>MORNING HOURS.</div> + +<div class='poem'> +"The year's at the spring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And day's at the morn:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Morning's at seven;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The hill-side's dew-pearled:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The lark's on the wing;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The snail's on the thorn;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">God's in his heaven—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All's right with the world!"</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><span class="smcap">These</span> seemed the most natural words to +sing, as Hildegarde looked out of her window +next morning; and sing them she did, with +all her heart, as she threw open the shutters +and let the glad June sunlight stream into +the room. All sad thoughts were gone with +the night, and now there seemed nothing but +joy in the world.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>"Where art thou, tub of my heart?" cried +the girl; and she dived under the bed, and +pulled out the third reason for her choosing +this room. Her mother, she knew, would +not change for anything the comfortable +"sitz," the friend of many years; so Hildegarde +felt at full liberty to enjoy this great +white porcelain tub, shallow, three feet across, +with red and blue fishes swimming all over it. +She did not know that Captain Robert Aytoun +had brought it in the hold of his ship all the +way from Singapore, for his little Hester, but +she did know that it was the most delightful +tub she had ever dreamed of; and as she +splashed the crystal water about, she almost +ceased, for the first time, to regret the blue +river which had been her daily bathing-place +the summer before. Very fresh and sweet +she looked, when at last the long locks were +braided in one great smooth braid, and the +pretty grey gingham put on and smoothed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +down. She nodded cheerfully to her image +in the glass. It was, as dear Cousin Wealthy +said, a privilege to be good-looking, and Hildegarde +was simply and honestly glad of her +beauty.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, when the room was +"picked up," and everything aërable hung up +to air, "the question is, Go out first and arrange +the Penates after breakfast, or arrange +the Penates now and go out later?" One +more glance from the window decided the +matter. "They must wait, poor dears! After +all, it is more respectful to take them out +when the room is made up than when it is +having its sheet and pillow-case party, like +this."</p> + +<p>She went down her own staircase with a +proud sense of possession, and opening the +door at its foot, found herself in a little covered +porch, from which a flagged walk led +toward the back of the house. Here was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +pleasant sort of yard, partly covered with +broad flags, with a grassy space beyond. +Here were clothes-lines, well, and woodshed; +and here was auntie, standing at her kitchen +door, and looking well satisfied with her new +quarters.</p> + +<p>"What a pleasant yard, auntie!" said Hildegarde. +"This is your own domain, isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>"Reckon 'tis!" replied the good woman, +smiling. "Jes' suits me, dis does. I kin +have some chickens here, and do my washin' +out-doors, and spread out some, 'stead o' bein' +cooped up like a old hen myself."</p> + +<p>A high wall surrounded auntie's domain, +and Hildegarde looked round it wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"Oh! there is a door," she said. "I +thought mamma said there was a garden. +That must be it, beyond there. Call me when +breakfast is ready, please, auntie." Passing +through the door, she closed it after her,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +and entered—another world. A dim, green +world, wholly different from the golden, +sunny one she had just left; a damp world, +where the dew lay heavy on shrubs and borders, +and dripped like rain from the long, +pendent branches of the trees. The paths +were damp, and covered with fine green moss. +Great hedges of box grew on either side, untrimmed, +rising as high as the girl's head; +and as she walked between them their cool +glossy leaves brushed against her cheek. +Here and there was a neglected flower-bed, +where a few pallid rosebuds looked sadly +out, and pinks flung themselves headlong +over the border, as if trying to reach the +sunlight; but for the most part the box and +the great elms and locusts had it their own +way. Hildegarde had never seen such +locust-trees! They were as tall as the elms, +their trunks scarred and rough with the +frosts of many winters. No birds sang in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +their green, whispering depths; the silence +of the place was heavy, weighted down with +memories of vanished things.</p> + +<p>"I have no right to come here!" said +Hildegarde to herself. "I am sure they +would not like it." Something white glimmered +between the bending boughs of box +which interlaced across her path. She half +expected to see a shadowy form confront her +and wave her back; but, pushing on, she saw +a neglected summer-house, entirely covered +with the wild clematis called virgin's-bower. +She peeped in, but did not venture across +the threshold, because it looked as if there +might be spiders in it. Through the opposite +door, however, she caught a glimpse of +a very different prospect, a flash of yellow +sunlight, a sunny meadow stretching up and +away. Skirting the summer-house carefully, +she came upon a stone wall, the boundary +of the garden, beyond which the broad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +meadow lay full in the sunlight. Sitting +on this wall, Hildegarde felt as if half of +her were in one world, and half in the +other; for the dark box and the drooping +elm-branches came to the very edge of the +wall, while all beyond was rioting in morning +and sunshine.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"The new world and the old one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The green world and the gold one!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>she murmured, and smiled to find herself +dropping into poetry, like Silas Wegg.</div> + +<p>At this moment a faint sound fell on her +ear, a far-away voice, which belonged wholly +to the golden world, and had nothing whatever +to do with the green. "Hi-ya! Miss +Hildy chile!" the mellow African voice came +floating down through the trees with an imperious +summons; and Hildegarde jumped +down from her stone perch, and came out +of her dream, and went in to breakfast.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And what is to be done, Mammina?" +asked Hildegarde, when the "eggs and the +ham and the strawberry jam" were things of +the past, and they were out on the piazza +again. "Do you realise, by the way, that we +shall live chiefly on this piazza?"</p> + +<p>"It is certainly a most delightful place," +said Mrs. Grahame. "And I do realise that +while it would be quite out of the question to +change anything in Miss Barbara's sacred +parlour, it is not exactly the place to be cosy +in. But, dear child, I shall have to be in my +own room a good deal, as this arranging of +your dear father's papers will be my chief +work through the summer, probably."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course! and I shall be in my room +a good deal, for there is sewing, and all that +German I am going to read, and—oh, and +quantities of things to do! But still we +shall live here a great deal, I am sure. It is +just a great pleasant room, with one side of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +it taken off. And it is very quiet, with the +strip of lawn, and the ledge beyond. One +cannot see the road, except just a bit through +the gate. Sometimes you can bring your +writing down here, and I can grub in the +flower-bed and disturb you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" said her mother, laughing. +"The prospect is singularly attractive. But, +dear, you asked me a few minutes ago what +was to be done. I thought it would be pleasant +if we took out our various little belongings, +and disposed them here and there."</p> + +<p>"Just what I was longing to do!" cried +Hildegarde. "All my precious alicumtweezles +are crying out from the trunk, and waiting +for me. But don't you want me to see the +butcher for you, love, or let auntie tell me +what she is going to make for dessert, or +perform any other sacred after-breakfast +rites?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame shook her head, smiling, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +Hildegarde flew upstairs, like an arrow shot +from a bow.</p> + +<p>In her room stood a huge trunk, already +unlocked and unstrapped, and a box whose +aspect said plainly that it contained books. +All the dresses had been taken out the day +before and hung in the roomy closet, pretty, +simple gowns, mostly white or grey, for the +dear father had disliked "mourning" extremely. +Now Hildegarde took out her hats, +the broad-brimmed straw with the white daisy +wreath, the pretty white shirred mull for best, +the black "rough and ready" sailor for common +wear. These were laid carefully on a +shelf in the closet, and covered with a light +cloth to keep them from dust. This done +as a matter of duty, the pleasant part began. +One after another, a most astonishing array of +things were taken from the trunk and laid on +the bed, which spread a broad white surface +to receive them: a trinket-box of ebony and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +silver; a plaster cast of the Venus of Milo, +another of the Pompeian Psyche, both +"treated" in some way that gave them the +smooth lustre of old ivory; a hideous little +Indian idol, carved out of dark wood, with +eyes of real carbuncle; a doll's tea-set of +exquisite blue and white china, brought to +Hildegarde from Pekin by a wandering uncle, +when she was eight years old; a stuffed +hawk, confidently asserted by its owner to be +the original "jolly gosshawk" of the Scottish +ballad, which could "speak and flee"; a Swiss +cuckoo clock; several great pink-lipped shells; +a butterfly net; a rattlesnake's skin; an exquisite +statuette of carved wood, representing +Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths, a copy +of the famous bronze statue at Innsbruck; a +large assortment of pasteboard boxes, of all +sizes and shapes; three or four work-baskets; +last of all, some framed photographs and +engravings, and a number of polished pieces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +of wood, which were speedily put together +into a bookcase and two or three hanging +shelves. On these shelves and on the mantel-piece +the various alicumtweezles were arranged +and re-arranged, till at length Hildegarde +gave a satisfied nod and pronounced +them perfect. "But now comes the hard +part!" she said. "The pictures! Who shall +have the post of honour over the mantel-piece? +Come here, dear persons, and let me look at +you!" She took up two engravings, both +framed in gilt laurel leaves, and studied them +attentively. One was the portrait of a man +in cavalier dress, strikingly handsome, with +dark, piercing eyes and long, curling hair. +The expression of the face was melancholy, +almost sombre; yet there was a strange fascination +in its stern gaze. On the margin was +written,—</p> + +<div class='center'> +"John Grahame of Claverhouse,<br /> +"Viscount Dundee."<br /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<div class='unindent'>The other portrait showed an older man, clad +in a quaint dress, with a hat that would have +been funny on any other head, but seemed not +out of place here. The face was not beautiful, +but calm and strong, with earnest, +thoughtful eyes, and a firm mouth and chin. +The legend bore, in curious black-letter, the +words,—</div> + +<div class='center'> +"William of Orange Nassau,<br /> +"Hereditary Grand Stadt-holder of the Netherlands."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>No one save Hildegarde knew that on the +back of this picture, turned upside down in +perpetual disgrace and ridicule, was a hideous +little photograph of Philip II. of Spain. It +was a constant gratification to her to know +that it was there, and she occasionally, as +now, turned it round and made insulting +remarks to it. She hoped the great Oranger +liked to know of this humiliation of his country's +foe; but William the Silent kept his +own counsel, as was always his way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></div> + +<p>And now the question was, Which hero was +to have the chief place?</p> + +<p>"You are the great one, of course, my +saint!" said Hildegarde, gazing into the calm +eyes of the majestic Dutchman, "and we all +know it. But you see, he is an ancestor, and +so many people hate him, poor dear!"</p> + +<p>She looked from one to the other, till the +fixed gaze of the pictured eyes grew really +uncomfortable, and she fancied that she saw +a look of impatience in those of the Scottish +chieftain. Then she looked again at the +space above the mantel-piece, and, after measuring +it carefully with her eyes, came to a +new resolution.</p> + +<p>"You see," she said, taking up a third picture, +a beautiful photograph of the Sistine +Madonna, "I put <i>her</i> in the middle, and you +on each side, and then neither of you can +say a word."</p> + +<p>This arrangement gave great satisfaction;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +and the other pictures, the Correggio cherubs, +Kaulbach's "Lili," the Raphael "violin-player," +and "St. Cecilia," were easily disposed +of on the various panels, while over +the dressing-table, where she could see it +from her bed, was a fine print of Murillo's +lovely "Guardian Angel."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde drew a long breath of satisfaction +as she looked round on her favourites in +their new home. "So dear they are!" she +said fondly. "I wish Hester could see them. +Don't you suppose she had <i>any</i> pictures? +There are no marks of any on the wall. +Well, and now for the books!"</p> + +<p>Hammer and screwdriver were brought, +and soon the box was opened and the books +in their places. Would any girls like to know +what Hildegarde's books are? Let us take +a glance at them, as they stand in neat rows +on the plain, smooth shelves. Those big volumes +on the lowest shelf are Scudder's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +"Butterflies," a highly valued work, full of +coloured plates, over which Hildegarde sighs +with longing rapture; for, from collecting +moths and butterflies for her friend, Bubble +Chirk, she has become an ardent collector +herself, and in one of the unopened cases +downstairs is an oak cabinet with glass-covered +drawers, very precious, containing +several hundred "specimens."</p> + +<p>Here is "Robin Hood," and Gray's Botany, +and Percy's "Reliques," and a set of George +Eliot, and one of Charles Kingsley, and the +"Ingoldsby Legends," and Aytoun's "Lays of +the Scottish Cavaliers," which looks as if it +had been read almost to pieces, as indeed it +has. (There is a mark laid in at the "Burial +March of Dundee," which Hildegarde is learning +by heart. This young woman has a +habit of keeping a book of poetry open on +her dressing-table when she is doing her hair, +and learning verses while she brushes out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +her long locks. It is a pleasant habit, though +it does not tend to accelerate the toilet.)</p> + +<p>On the next shelf is "Cranford," also well +thumbed, and everything that Mrs. Ewing +ever wrote, and "Betty Leicester," and Miss +Yonge's historical stories, and the "Tales of +a Grandfather," and "Lorna Doone," and the +dear old "Days of Bruce," and "Scottish +Chiefs," side by side with the "Last of the +Barons," and the "Queens of England," and the +beloved Homer, in Derby's noble translation, +also in brown leather. Here, too, is "Sesame +and Lilies," and Carlyle on Hero-Worship.</p> + +<p>The upper shelf is entirely devoted to +poetry, and here are Longfellow and Tennyson, +of course, and Milton (<i>not</i> "of course"), +and Scott (in tatters, worse off than Aytoun), +and Shelley and Keats, and the Jacobite +Ballads, and Allingham's Ballad Book, and +Mrs. Browning, and "Sir Launfal," and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +"Golden Treasury," and "Children's Garland." +There is no room for the handy +volume Shakespeare, so he and his box must +live on top of the bookcase, with his own +bust on one side and Beethoven's on the other. +These are flanked in turn by photographs +of Sir Walter, with Maida at his feet, and +Edwin Booth as Hamlet, both in those pretty +glass frames which are almost as good as no +frame at all.</p> + +<p>"And if you are not a pleasant sight," +said Hildegarde, falling back to survey her +work, and addressing the collection comprehensively, +"then I never saw one, that's all. +<i>Isn't</i> it nice, dear persons?" she continued, +turning to the portraits, which from +their places over the mantel-piece had a full +view of the bookcase.</p> + +<p>But the persons expressed no opinion. Indeed, +I am not sure that William the Silent +could read English; and Dundee's knowledge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +of literature was slight, if we may judge +from his spelling. I should not, however, +wish Hildegarde to hear me say this.</p> + +<p>Failing to elicit a response from her two +presiding heroes, our maiden turned to Sir +Walter, who always knew just how things +were; and from this the natural step was to +the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" (which she +had not read so <i>very</i> lately, she thought, +with a guilty glance at the trunk and box, +which stood in the middle of the room, yawning +to be put away), and there was an end +of Hildegarde till dinner-time.</p> + +<p>"And that is why I was late, dear love!" +she said, as after a hasty explanation of the +above related doings, she sank down in her +chair at the dinner-table, and gave a furtive +pat to her hair, which she had smoothed +rather hurriedly. "You know you would +have brained me with the hammer, if I had +not put it away, and that the tacks would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +have been served up on toast for my supper. +Such is your ferocious disposition."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame smiled as she helped Hildegarde +to soup. "Suppose a stranger should +pass by that open window and hear your +remarks," she said. "A pretty idea he +would have of my maternal care. After all, +my desire is to keep tacks <i>out</i> of your food. +How long ago was it that I found a button +in the cup of tea which a certain young +woman of my acquaintance brought me?"</p> + +<p>"Ungenerous!" exclaimed Hildegarde with +tragic fervour. "It was only a glove-button. +It dropped off my glove, and it would not +have disagreed with you in the least. I +move that we change the subject." And at +that moment in came Janet with the veal +cutlets.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>A WALK AND AN ADVENTURE.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">One</span> lovely afternoon, after they were well +settled, and all the unpacking was done, Hildegarde +started out on an exploration tour. +She and her mother had already taken one or +two short walks along the road near which +their house stood, and had seen the brand-new +towers of Mrs. Loftus's house, "pricking a +cockney ear" on the other side of the way, +and had caught a glimpse of an old vine-covered +mansion, standing back from the +road and almost hidden by great trees, which +her mother said was Colonel Ferrers's house.</div> + +<p>But now Hildegarde wanted a long tramp; +she wanted to explore that sunny meadow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +that lay behind the green garden, and the +woods that fringed the meadow again beyond. +So she put on a short corduroy skirt, that +would not tear when it caught on the bushes, +slung a tin plant-box over her shoulder, kissed +her mother, who had a headache and could +not go, and started off in high spirits. She +was singing as she ran down the stairs and +through auntie's sunny back yard, and the martial +strains of "Bonny Dundee" rang merrily +through the clear June air; but as she closed +the garden door behind her, the song died +away, for "one would as soon sing in a +churchyard," she thought, "as in the Ladies' +Garden." So she passed silently along between +the box hedges, her footsteps making +no sound on the mossy path, only the +branches rustling softly as she put them aside. +The afternoon sun sent faint gleams of pallid +gold down through the branches of the great +elm; they were like the ghosts of sunbeams.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +Her ear caught the sound of falling water, +which she had not noticed before; she turned +a corner, and lo! there was a dusky ravine, +and a little dark stream falling over the +rocks, and flowing along with a sullen murmur +between banks of fern. It was part of +the green world. The mysterious sadness of +the deserted garden was here, too, and Hildegarde +felt her glad spirits going down, down, +as if an actual weight were pressing on her. +But she shook off the oppression. "I will +not!" she said. "I will not be enchanted +to-day! Another day I will come and sit +here, and the stream will tell me all the +mournful story; I know it will if I sit long +enough. But to-day I want joy, and sunshine, +and cheerful things. Good-by, dear +ladies! I hope you won't mind!" and grasping +the hanging bough of a neighbouring elm, +she swung herself easily down into the +meadow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a very pleasant meadow. The grass +was long, so long that Hildegarde felt rather +guilty at walking through it, and framed a +mental apology to the farmer as she went +along. It was full of daisies and sorrel, so it +was not his best mowing-field, she thought. +She plucked a daisy and pulled off the petals +to see whether Rose loved her, and found she +did not, which made her laugh in a foolish, +happy way, since she knew better. Now she +came to a huge sycamore-tree, a veritable +giant, all scarred with white patches where +the bark had dropped off. Beside it lay +another, prostrate. The branches had been +cut off, but the vast trunk showed that it had +been even taller than the one which was now +standing. "Baucis and Philemon!" said +Hildegarde. "Poor dears! One is more +sorry for the one who is left, I think, than for +the fallen one. To see him lying here with +his head off, and not to be able to do anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +about it! She cannot even 'tear her ling-long +yellow hair'—only it is green. I wonder +who killed him." And she went on, +murmuring to herself,—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"They shot him dead on the Nine-Stane Rigg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Beside the Headless Cross.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And they left him lying in his blood</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Upon the moor and moss,"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>as if Barthram's Dirge had anything to do +with the story of Baucis and Philemon. But +this young woman's head was very full of +ballads and scraps of old songs, and she was +apt to break into them on any or no pretext. +She went on now with her favourite dirge, +half reciting, half chanting it, as she mounted +the sunny slope before her.</div> + +<div class='poem'> +"They made a bier of the broken bough,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The sauch and the aspen grey,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And they bore him to the Lady Chapel</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And waked him there all day.</span><br /> +<br /> +"A lady came to that lonely bower,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And threw her robes aside.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">She tore her ling-long yellow hair,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And knelt at Barthram's side.</span><br /> +<br /> +"She bathed him in the Lady-Well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">His wounds sae deep and sair,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And she plaited a garland for his breast,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a garland for his hair.</span><br /> +<br /> +"They rowed him in a lily-sheet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And bare him to his earth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the grey friars sung the dead man's mass,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As they passed the Chapel Garth.</span><br /> +<br /> +"They buried him at the mirk midnight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When the dew fell cold and still;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">When the aspen grey forgot to play,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the mist clung to the hill.</span><br /> +<br /> +"They dug his grave but a bare foot deep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">By the edge of the Nine-Stane Burn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And they covered him o'er with the heather flower,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The moss and the lady fern.</span><br /> +<br /> +"A grey friar stayed upon the grave<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And sung through the morning tide.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">While Headless Cross shall bide."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Now she had reached the fringe of trees at +the top of the slope, and found that it was the +beginning of what looked like a considerable +wood. "A pine wood!" said Hildegarde, +sniffing the spicy perfume with delight. "Oh, +pleasant place! No plants, but one cannot +have everything. Oh! how good it smells! +and hark to the sound of the sea! I shall call +this Ramoth Hill." She walked along, keeping +near the edge of the wood, where it was +still warm and luminous with sunshine. Now +she looked up into the murmuring cloud of +branches above her, now she looked down at +the burnished needles which made a soft, +thick carpet under her feet; and she said +again, "Oh, pleasant place!" Presently, in +one of the upward glances, she stopped short.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +Her look, from carelessly wandering, became +keen and intent. On one of the branches of +the tree under which she stood was a small, +round object. "A nest!" said Hildegarde. +"The question is, What nest?" She walked +round and round the tree, like a pointer who +has "treed" a partridge; but no bird rose +from the nest, nor could she see at all what +manner of nest it was. Finding this to be +the case, she transferred her scrutiny from the +nest to the tree. It was a sturdy pine, with +strong, broad branches jutting out, the lowest +not so very far above her head, a most +attractive tree, from every point of view. +Hildegarde leaned against the trunk for a +moment, smiling to herself, and listening to +the "two voices." "You are seventeen years +old," said one voice. "Not quite," said the +other. "Not for a month yet. Besides, +what if I were?" "Suppose some one should +come by and see you?" said the first voice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +"But no one will," replied the second. +"And perhaps you can't do it, anyhow," +continued the first; "it would be ridiculous +to try, and fail." "Just wait and see!" said +the second voice. And when it had said that, +Hildegarde climbed the tree.</p> + +<p>I shall not describe exactly how she did it, +for it may not have been in the most approved +style of the art; but she got up, and seated +herself on the broad, spreading branch, not so +very much out of breath, all things considered, +and with only two scratches worth mentioning. +After a moment's triumphant repose, she +worked her way upward to where the nest was +firmly fixed in a crotch, and bent eagerly over +it. A kingbird's nest! this was great joy, for +she had never found one before. There were +five eggs in it, and she gazed with delight at +the perfect little things. But when she touched +them gently, she found them quite cold. The +nest was deserted. "Bad little mother!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +said Hildegarde. "How could you leave the +lovely things? Such a perfect place to bring +up a family in, too!" She looked around +her. It was very pleasant up in this airy +bower. Great level branches stretched above +and below her, roof and floor of soft, dusky +plumes. The keen, exquisite fragrance seemed +to fold round her like a cloud; she felt fairly +steeped in warmth and perfume. Sitting +curled up on the great bough, her back resting +against the trunk, the girl fell into a +pleasant waking dream, her thoughts wandering +idly here and there, and the sound of +the sea in her ears. She was an enchanted +princess, shut in a green tower by the sea. +The sea loved her, and sang to her all day +long the softest song he knew, and no angry +waves ever came to make clamour and confusion. +By and by a rescuer would come,—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"A fairy prince, with joyful eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And lighter-footed than the fox."</span><br /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 358px;"> +<img src="images/gs02.png" width="358" height="500" alt=""It was very pleasant up in this Airy Bower."" title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">It was very pleasant up in this Airy Bower.</span></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<div class='unindent'>He would stand beneath the green tower, and +call to her:—</div> + +<p>"Hallo, there! you young rascal, come +down! How dare you rob birds' nests in my +woods?"</p> + +<p>The voice was deep and stern, and Hildegarde +started so violently that she nearly fell +from her perch. She could not speak for the +moment, but she looked down, and saw a +fierce-looking old gentleman, clad in a black +velvet coat and spotless white trousers, brandishing +a thick stick, and peering with angry, +short-sighted eyes up into the tree.</p> + +<p>"Come down, I say!" he repeated sternly. +"I'll teach you to rob my nests, you young +vagabond!"</p> + +<p>This was really not to be endured.</p> + +<p>"I am <i>not</i> robbing the nest, sir!" cried +Hildegarde, indignation overcoming her alarm. +"I never did such a thing in my life. And I—I +am not a boy!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Harry Monmouth!" exclaimed the old +gentleman. "I beg ten thousand pardons! +What are you?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde's first impulse was to say that +she lived in Alaska (that being the most distant +place she could think of), and was on her +way thither; but fortunately the second +thought came quickly, and she replied with +as much dignity as the situation allowed:—</p> + +<p>"I am the daughter of Mrs. Hugh Grahame. +I live at Braeside" (I have forgotten +to mention that this was the name of +the new home), "and have wandered off our +own grounds without knowing it. I am extremely +sorry to be trespassing, but—but—I +only wanted to see what kind of nest it was."</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly, feeling that there +was a little sob somewhere about her, and +that she would die rather than let it get +into her voice. The old gentleman took off +his hat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear young lady," he said, "the +apologies are all on my side. Accept ten +thousand of them, I beg of you! I am +delighted to make the acquaintance of Mrs. +Grahame's daughter, under—a—any circumstances." +(Here he evidently suppressed +a chuckle, and Hildegarde knew it, and hated +him.) "Permit me to introduce myself,—Colonel +Ferrers.</p> + +<p>"I have been annoyed lately," he added +kindly, "by thieving boys, and, being near-sighted, +did not distinguish between a persecutor +and a protector of my birds." He +bowed again. "And now I will continue my +walk, merely remarking that I beg you to consider +yourself entirely free of my grounds, in +any and every part. I shall do myself the +honour of calling on your mother very shortly. +Good-morning, my dear Miss Grahame!" +and, with another bow, Colonel Ferrers replaced +his felt wide-awake, and strode off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +across the meadow, flourishing his stick, and +indulging in the chuckle which he had so +long suppressed.</p> + +<p>"Harry Monmouth!" he said to himself, +as he switched the daisy-heads off. "So we +have a fair tomboy for a neighbour. Well, it +may be a good thing for Jack. I must take +him over and introduce him."</p> + +<p>Now Hildegarde was not in the least a +tomboy, as we know; and the intuitive +knowledge that the old gentleman would +think her one made her very angry indeed. +She waited till he was out of sight, and then +slid down the tree, without a second glance +at the kingbird's nest, the innocent cause of +all the trouble. She had meant to take one +egg, to add to her collection; but she would +not touch one now, if there were a thousand +of them. She ran down the long sunny +slope of the meadow, her cheeks glowing, +her heart still beating angrily. She was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +going straight home, to tell her mother all +about it, and how horrid Colonel Ferrers had +been, and how she should never come downstairs +when he came to the house—never! +"under any circumstances!" How dared +he make fun of her? She sat down on the +stone wall to rest, and thought how her +mother would hear the tale with sympathetic +indignation. But somehow—how was it?—when +she conjured up her mother's face, +there was a twinkle in her eye. Mamma had +such a fatal way of seeing the funny side of +things. Suppose she should only laugh at this +dreadful adventure! Perhaps—perhaps it <i>was</i> +funny, from Colonel Ferrers's point of view.</p> + +<p>In short, by the time she reached home, +Hildegarde had cooled off a good deal, and +it was a modified version of the tragedy that +Mrs. Grahame heard. She found this quite +funny enough, however, and Hildegarde was +almost, but not quite, ready to laugh with her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>That evening, mother and daughter were +sitting on the broad verandah as usual, playing +Encyclopædics. This was a game of Mrs. +Grahame's own invention, and a favourite +resource with her and Hildegarde in darkling +hours like this. Perhaps some of my readers +may like to know how the game is played, +and, as the Dodo says of the Caucus Race, +"the best way to explain it is to play it."</p> + +<p>They began with the letter "A," and had +already been playing some time, turn and +turn about.</p> + +<p>"Aphrodite, goddess of Love and Beauty."</p> + +<p>"Ahasuerus, king of Persia, <span class="smcap">B.C.</span> something +or other, afflicted with sleeplessness."</p> + +<p>"Alfred the Great, unsuccessful tender of +cakes."</p> + +<p>"Æneas, pious; from the flames of Troy +did on his back the old Anchises bear; also +deserted Dido."</p> + +<p>"Ananias, liar."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Anacreon, Greek poet."</p> + +<p>"Allan-a-dale, minstrel and outlaw."</p> + +<p>"Andromache, wife of Hector."</p> + +<p>"Astyanax, son of the same."</p> + +<p>"Oh—don't you think it's time to go on +to B?" asked Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>"I have several more A's," replied her +mother.</p> + +<p>"Well, my initials are not 'B. U.,'" said +the girl, "but perhaps I can manage one or +two more."</p> + +<p>"B. U.?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! Biographic Universelle, of course, +dear. Artaxerxes, also king of Persia."</p> + +<p>"Anne of Geierstein."</p> + +<p>"Arabella Stuart."</p> + +<p>"Ap Morgan, Ap Griffith, Ap Hugh, Ap +Tudor, Ap Rice, quoth his roundelay."</p> + +<p>"Oh! oh! that was one of my reserves. +Azrael, the angel of death."</p> + +<p>"Agamemnon, king of men."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Alecto, Fury."</p> + +<p>"Agag, who came walking delicately."</p> + +<p>"Addison, Joseph, writer."</p> + +<p>"Antony, Mark, Roman general, lover of +Cleopatra."</p> + +<p>"'Amlet, Prince of—"</p> + +<p>"Hilda!" cried Mrs. Grahame. "For +shame! It is certainly high time to go on to +B, if you are going to behave in this way, +and I shall put <i>e d</i> after it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" said Hildegarde, "I will be +good. It isn't nine o'clock yet, I know. +Buccleugh, Bold, Duke of, Warden here o' +the Scottish side. I was determined to get +him first."</p> + +<p>"Balaam, prophet."</p> + +<p>"Beatrice, in 'Much Ado about Nothing.'"</p> + +<p>"Beatrix Esmond."</p> + +<p>"Bruce, Robert, King of Scotland."</p> + +<p>"Burns, Robert, King of Scottish poets."</p> + +<p>"Oh! oh! well, I suppose he is!" Hilda<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +admitted reluctantly. "But Sir Walter makes +an admirable viceroy. I think—who is +that? Mamma, there is some one coming up +the steps."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Grahame?" said a deep voice, as +two shadowy forms emerged from the darkness. +"I am delighted to meet you again. +You remember Colonel Ferrers?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly!" said Mrs. Grahame, cordially, +advancing and holding out her hand. "I am +very glad to see you. Colonel Ferrers,—though +I hardly do see you!" she added, laughing. +"Hildegarde, here is Colonel Ferrers, whom +you met this morning."</p> + +<p>"Good evening!" said Hildegarde, thinking +that mamma was very cruel.</p> + +<p>"Delighted!" said Colonel Ferrers, bowing +again; and he added, "May I be allowed +to present my nephew? Mrs. Grahame, Miss +Grahame, my nephew, John Ferrers."</p> + +<p>A tall figure bowed awkwardly, and a voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +murmured something which might have been +a greeting in English, Choctaw, or pure Polynesian, +as it was wholly unintelligible.</p> + +<p>"It is too pleasant an evening to spend in +the house," said Mrs. Grahame. "I think +you will find chairs, gentlemen, by a little +judicious groping. Oh! I trust you are not +hurt, Mr. Ferrers?" For Mr. Ferrers had +tumbled over his chair, and was now sprawling +at full length on the piazza. He gathered +himself up again, apparently too much abashed +to say a word.</p> + +<p>"Oh! he's all right!" said Colonel Ferrers, +laughing. "He's always tumbling about; +just got his growth, you see, and hasn't +learned what to do with it. Well, many +things have happened since we met, Mrs. +Grahame; we won't say how many years it is."</p> + +<p>"Many things, indeed!" said Mrs. Grahame +with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"Yes! yes!" said Colonel Ferrers. "Poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +Grahame! met him last year in town; never +saw him looking better. Well, so it goes. +Changing world, my dear Madame! Poor +Aytoun, too! I miss him sadly. My only +neighbour. We have been together a great +deal since his sisters died. Yes! yes! very +glad I was to hear that he had left the property +to you. Not another soul to speak to +in the neighbourhood."</p> + +<p>"Who lives in the large new house across +the way?" asked Mrs. Grahame. "I know +the name of the family is Loftus, but nothing +more."</p> + +<p>"Parcel of fools, I call 'em!" said Colonel +Ferrers, contemptuously. "New people, with +money. Loftus, sharp business man, wants +to be a gentleman farmer. As much idea of +farming as my stick has. Wife and daughters +look like a parcel o' fools. Don't know +'em! don't want to know 'em!" Mrs. Grahame, +finding this not an agreeable subject,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +turned the conversation upon old friends, and +they were soon deep in matters of twenty +years ago.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Hildegarde and the bashful +youth had sat in absolute silence. At first +Hildegarde had been too much discomposed by +her mother's allusion to the morning's adventure +to speak, though she was able to see +afterwards how much better it was to bring +up the matter naturally, and then dismiss it +as a thing of no consequence, as it was, than +to let it hang, an unacknowledged cloud, in +the background.</p> + +<p>As the moments went on, however, she +became conscious that it was her duty to +entertain Mr. Ferrers. He evidently had no +idea of saying anything; her mother and +Colonel Ferrers had forgotten the presence of +either of them, apparently. The silence became +more and more awkward. What could +she say to this gawky youth, whose face she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +could not even see? "What a lovely day it +has been!" she finally remarked, and was +startled by the sound of her own voice, +though she was not usually shy in the least.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Ferrers, "it has been a +fine day."</p> + +<p>Silence again. This would never do! "Do +you play tennis?" she asked boldly.</p> + +<p>"No—not much!" was the reply. +"Doesn't pay, in hot weather."</p> + +<p>This was not encouraging, but Hildegarde +was fairly roused by this time, and had no +idea of being beaten. "What <i>do</i> you do?" +she said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ferrers was silent, as if considering.</p> + +<p>"Oh—I don't know!" he said finally. +"Nothing much. Poke about!" Then, after +a pause, he added in explanation, "I don't +live here. I only came a few days ago. I +am to spend the summer with my uncle." +Apparently this effort was too much for him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +for he relapsed into silence, and Hildegarde +could get nothing more save "Yes!" and +"No!" out of him. But now Colonel Ferrers +came to the rescue.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Mrs. Grahame," he said, "I +think this boy must be a relation of yours, a +Scotch cousin at least. His mother was a +Grahame, daughter of Robert Grahame of Baltimore. +His own name is John Grahame +Ferrers."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible?" cried Mrs. Grahame, +greatly surprised. "If that is the case, he is +much more than a Scotch cousin. Why, +Robert Grahame was my dear husband's first +cousin. Their fathers were brothers. Hugh +often spoke of his cousin Robert, and regretted +that they never met, as they were great friends +in their boyhood. And this is his son! is it +possible? My dear boy, I must shake hands +with you again. You <i>are</i> a boy, aren't you, +though you are so big?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"To be sure he is a boy!" said Colonel +Ferrers, who was highly delighted with his +discovery of a relationship. "Just eighteen—a +mere snip of a boy! Going to college +in the autumn."</p> + +<p>"Hildegarde," continued Mrs. Grahame, +"shake hands with your cousin John, and +tell him how glad you are to find him."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde held out her hand, and John +Ferrers tried to find it, but found a hanging-basket +instead, and knocked it over, sending +a shower of damp earth over the other members +of the party.</p> + +<p>"I must take him home," exclaimed Colonel +Ferrers, in mock despair, "or he will destroy +the whole house. Miss Hildegarde," he added, +in a very kind voice, "you probably thought +me an ogre this morning. I am generally +regarded as such. Fact is, you frightened +me more than I frightened you. We are not +used to seeing young ladies here who know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +how to climb trees. Harry Monmouth! Wish +I could climb 'em myself as I used. Best fun +in the world! Come, Jack, I must get you +home before you do any more mischief. Good-night, +Mrs. Grahame! I trust we shall meet +often!"</p> + +<p>"I trust so, indeed!" said Mrs. Grahame +heartily. "We shall count upon your being +neighbourly, in the good old country sense; +and as for John, he must do a cousin's duty +by us, and shall in return receive the freedom +of the house."</p> + +<p>"Hum mum mum!" said John; at least, +that is what it sounded like; on which his +uncle seized him by the arm impatiently, and +walked him off.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mammina!" said Hildegarde, when +the visitors were well out of hearing.</p> + +<p>"Well, dear!" replied her mother placidly. +"What a pleasant visit! The poor lad is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +very shy, isn't he? Could you make anything +out of him?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Mammina, he is a perfect goose!" +exclaimed Hildegarde, warmly. "<i>I</i> don't +think it was a pleasant visit at all. As to +making anything out of that—"</p> + +<p>"Fair and softly!" said Mrs. Grahame +quietly. "In the first place, we will not criticise +the guests who have just left us, because +that is not pretty-behaved, as auntie would +say. And in the second place—your dear +father was just eighteen when I first met him, +Hildegarde; and he put his foot through the +flounce of my gown, upset strawberries and +cream into my lap, and sat down on my new +ivory fan, all at one tea-party."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, dear mamma!" said Hildegarde +meekly.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, my darling! and don't forget +that barn-door rent in your corduroy skirt, +when you get up in the morning."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>UNCLE AND NEPHEW.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Colonel Ferrers</span> and his nephew walked +away together, the former with a quick, military +stride, the latter shambling, as lads do +whose legs have outgrown their understanding +of them.</div> + +<p>"Don't hunch, sir!" exclaimed the Colonel, +throwing his broad shoulders back and his +chin to the position of "eyes front." "Put +your chin in and your chest out, and don't +hunch! You have about as much carriage, +my nephew Jack, as a rheumatic camel. +Well!" (as poor Jack straightened his awkward +length and tried to govern his prancing +legs). "So Mrs. Grahame is a connection,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +after all; and a very charming woman, too. +And how did you find the young lady, sir? +Did she give you any points on tree-climbing? +Ho! ho! I was wrong, though, about +her being a tomboy. She hasn't the voice of +one. Did you notice her voice, nephew? it is +very sweet and melodious. It reminded me +of—of a voice I remember."</p> + +<p>"I like her voice!" replied Jack Ferrers. +By the way, his own voice was a very pleasant +one, a well-bred and good-tempered voice. +"I couldn't see her face very well. I can't +talk to girls!" he added. "I don't know +what to say to them. Why did you tell them +about mother, Uncle Tom? There was no +need of their knowing."</p> + +<p>"Why did I tell them?" exclaimed Colonel +Ferrers. "Harry Monmouth! I told them, +you young noodle, because I chose to tell +them, and because it was the truth, and a +mighty lucky thing for you, too. What with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +your poor mother's dying young, and your +father's astonishing and supernatural wrong-headedness, +you have had no bringing up +whatever, my poor fellow! Talk of your +going to college next year! why, you don't +know how to make a bow. I present you to +two charming women, and you double yourself +up as if you had been run through the +body, and then stumble over your own legs +and tumble over everything else. Shade of +Chesterfield! How am I to take you about, +if this is the way you behave?"</p> + +<p>"It was dark," said poor Jack. "And—and +I don't want to be taken about, uncle, +thank you. Can't I just keep quiet while I +am here, and not see people? I don't know +how to talk, really I don't."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! pooh! sir," roared the Colonel, +smiting the earth with his stick. "Have the +goodness to hold your tongue! You know +how to talk nonsense, and I request you'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +not do it to me. You are my brother's son, +sir, and I shall make it my business to teach +you to walk, and to talk, and to behave like +a rational Christian, while you are under my +roof. If your father had the smallest atom +of common sense in his composition—"</p> + +<p>"Please don't say anything against father, +Uncle Tom," cried the lad. "I can't stand +that!" and one felt in the dark the fiery +flush that made his cheeks tingle.</p> + +<p>"Upon my soul!" cried Colonel Ferrers +(who did not seem in the least angry), "you +are the most astounding young rascal it has +ever been my good fortune to meet. Are +you aware, sir, that your father is my brother? +that I first made the acquaintance of Raymond +Ferrers when he was one hour old, +a squeaking little scarlet wretch in a flannel +blanket? Are you aware of this, pray?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am," answered the lad. +"But that doesn't make any difference. Nobody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +body must say anything against him, even if +it is his own brother."</p> + +<p>"Who is saying anything against him?" +demanded Colonel Ferrers, fiercely. "He is +an angel, sir; every idiot knows that. A +combination of angel and infant, Raymond +Ferrers is, and always has been. But the +combination does not qualify him for bringing +up children. Probatum est! Here we +are! Now let me see if you can open the +gate without fumbling, sir. If there is one +thing I can<i>not</i> endure, it is fumbling."</p> + +<p>Thus adjured, Jack Ferrers opened the +heavy wooden gate, and the two passed +through a garden which seemed, from the +fragrance, to be full of roses. The old house +frowned dark and gloomy, with only one +light twinkling feebly in a lower window. +When they had entered, and were standing in +the pleasant library, book-lined from floor to +ceiling, Colonel Ferrers turned suddenly to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +his nephew, who was in a brown study, and +dealt him a blow on the shoulder which sent +him staggering half-way across the room, unexpected +as it was.</p> + +<p>"You're right to stand up for your father, +my lad," he said, with gruff heartiness. "It +was unnecessary in this case, for I would be +cut into inch pieces and served up on toast if +it would do my brother Raymond any good; +but you are right all the same. If anybody +else ever says he hasn't common sense, knock +him down, do you hear? A blow from the +shoulder, sir! that's the proper answer."</p> + +<p>"Yes, uncle," said the boy demurely; but +he looked up with a twinkle in his eye. "It's +lucky for me that I <i>don't</i> have to knock +you down, sir," he added. "You're awfully +strong, aren't you? I wish I were!"</p> + +<p>"You, sir!" rejoined the Colonel. "You +have the frame of an ox, if you had any flesh +to cover it. Exercise is what you need,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +Nephew Jack! Fencing is what you want, +sir! Take that walking-stick! Harry Monmouth! +I'll give you a lesson, now. On +guard! So! defend yourself! Ha! humph!" +The last exclamation was one of disgust, for +at the Colonel's first thrust, Jack's stick flew +out of his hand, and knocked over a porcelain +vase, shattering it in pieces, Jack, meanwhile, +standing rubbing his arm and looking +very foolish.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" repeated Colonel Ferrers, looking +rather disconcerted himself, and all the +more fierce therefore. "That comes of trying +to instruct a person who has not been taught +to hold himself together. You are a milksop, +my poor fellow! a sad milksop! but we are +going to change all that. There! never mind +about the pieces. Giuseppe will pick up the +pieces. Get your supper, and then go to bed."</p> + +<p>"I don't care about supper, thank you, +uncle," said the lad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pooh! pooh! don't talk nonsense!" cried +the Colonel. "You don't go to bed without +supper."</p> + +<p>He led the way into the dining-room, a +long, low room, panelled with dark oak. +Walls, table, sideboard, shone like mirrors, +with the polish of many years. Over the +sideboard was the head of a gigantic moose, +with huge, spreading antlers. On the sideboard +itself were some beautiful pieces of old +silver, shining with the peculiar blue lustre +that comes from long rubbing, and from that +alone. A tray stood on the table, and on it +was a pitcher of milk, two glasses, and a plate +of very attractive-looking little cakes. The +colonel filled Jack's glass, and stood by with +grim determination till he had drunk every +drop.</p> + +<p>"Now, a cake, sir," he added, sipping his +own glass leisurely. "A plummy cake, of +Mrs. Beadle's best make. Down with it, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +insist!" In the matter of the plum cake, +little insistence was necessary, and between +uncle and nephew both plate and pitcher were +soon empty.</p> + +<p>"There," said the good Colonel, as they +returned to the library, "now you have something +to sleep on, my friend. No empty +stomachs in this house, to distract people's +brains and make mooncalves of them. Ten +minutes' exercise with the Indian clubs—you +have them in your room?—and then to +bed. Hand me the 'Worthies of England,' +will you? Bookcase on the right of the door, +third shelf from the bottom, fifth book from +the left. Thomas Fuller. Yes, thank you. +Good-night, my boy! don't forget the clubs, +and <i>don't</i> poke your head forward like a ritualist +parson, because you are not otherwise +cut out for one."</p> + +<p>Leaving his uncle comfortably established +with his book and reading-lamp, Jack Ferrers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +took his way upstairs. It was not late, but +he had already found out that his uncle had +nothing to say to him or any one else after +the frugal nine o'clock supper, and his own +taste for solitude prompted him to seek his +room. As he passed along a dark corridor, a +gleam of light shot out from a half-open +door.</p> + +<p>"Are you awake, Biddy?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear!" answered a kind, hearty +voice. "Come in, Master Jack, if you've a +mind."</p> + +<p>The room was so bright that Jack screwed +up his eyes for a moment. The lamp was +bright, the carpet was bright, the curtains +almost danced on the wall from their own +gayety, while the coloured prints, in shining +gilt frames, sang the whole gamut of colour +up and down and round and round. But +brighter than all else in the gay little room +was the gay little woman who sat by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +round table (which answered every purpose +of a mirror), piecing a rainbow-coloured quilt. +Her face was as round and rosy as a Gravenstein +apple. She had bright yellow ribbons +in her lace cap, and her gown was of the +most wonderful merino that ever was seen, +with palm-leaves three inches long curling on +a crimson ground.</p> + +<p>"How very bright you are in here, Biddy!" +said Jack, sitting down on the floor, with his +long legs curled under him. "You positively +make my eyes ache."</p> + +<p>"It's cheerful, dear," replied the good +housekeeper. "I like to see things cheerful, +that I do. Will you have a drop of shrub, +Master Jack? there's some in the cupboard +there, and 'twill warm you up, like, before +going to bed."</p> + +<p>Then, as Jack declined the shrub with +thanks, she continued, "And so you have +been to call on the ladies at Braeside, you and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +the Colonel. Ah! and very sweet ladies, I'm +told."</p> + +<p>"Very likely!" said Jack absently. "Do +you mind if I pull the cat's tail, Biddy?"</p> + +<p>He stretched out his hand toward a superb +yellow Angora cat which lay curled up on a +scarlet cushion, fast asleep.</p> + +<p>"Oh! my dear!" cried Mrs. Beadle. +"Don't you do it! He's old, and his temper +not what it was. Poor old Sunshine! and +why would you pull his tail, you naughty +boy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! well—no matter!" said Jack. +"There's a fugue—that's a piece of music, +Biddy—that I am practising, called the 'Cat's +Fugue,' and I thought I would see if it really +sounded like a cat, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, that's not such music as I should +like your uncle to hear!" exclaimed Mrs. +Beadle. "And what did you say to the +young lady, Master Jack?" she added, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +she placed a scarlet block against a purple +one. "I'm glad enough you've found some +young company, to make you gay, like. +You're too quiet for a young lad, that you +are."</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother!" responded Jack, shaking his +shoulders. "Tell me about my father, Biddy. +I don't believe he liked g—company, any +better than I do. What was he like when he +was a boy?"</p> + +<p>"An angel!" said Mrs. Beadle fervently. +"An angel with his head in his pocket; that +is what Mr. Raymond was like."</p> + +<p>"Uncle Tom called him an angel, too!" +said the lad. "Of course he is; a combination +of angel and—why did you say 'with +his head in his pocket,' Biddy?"</p> + +<p>"Well, dear, it wasn't on his shoulders," +replied the housekeeper. "He was in a +dream, like, all the time; oh, much worse +than you are yourself, Master Jack."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you!" muttered Jack.</p> + +<p>"And forgetful! well! well! he needed to +be tied to some one, Mr. Raymond did. To +see him come in for his luncheon, and then +forget all about it, and stand with a book in +his hand, reading as if there was nothing else +in the world. And then Mr. Tom—dear! +dear! would put his head down and run and +butt him right in the stomach, and down they +would go together and roll over and over; +great big lads, like you, sir, and their father +would take the dog-whip and thrash 'em till +they got up. 'Twas all in sport like, d'ye see; +but Mr. Raymond never let go his book, only +beat Mr. Tom with it. Dear! dear! such +lads!"</p> + +<p>"Tell me about his running away," said +Jack.</p> + +<p>"After the fiddler, do you mean, dear? +That was when he was a little lad. Always +mad after music he was, and playing on anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +he could get hold of, and singing like a +serup, that boy. So one day there came +along an Italian, with a fiddle that he played +on, and a little boy along with him, that had +a fiddle, too. Well, and if Mr. Raymond +didn't persuade that boy to change clothes +with him, and he to stay here and Mr. Raymond +to go with the fiddler and learn to +play. Of course the man was a scamp, and +had no business; and Mr. Raymond gave +him his gold piece to take him, and all! But +when the old Squire—that's your grandfather, +dear!—when he came in and found that little +black-eyed fellow dressed in his son's clothes, +and crying with fright, and not a word of +English—well, he was neither to hold nor +to bind, as the saying is. Luckily Mrs. Ferrers—that's +your grandmother, dear! she +came in before the child was frightened into +a fit, though very near it; and she spoke the +language, and with her quiet ways she got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +the child quiet, and he told her all about it, +and how the fiddler beat him, and showed +the great bruises. And when she told the +Squire, he got black in the face, like he used, +and took his dog-whip and rode off on his big +grey horse like mad; and when he came back +with Mr. Raymond in front of him, the whip +was all in pieces, and Mr. Raymond crying +and holding the little fiddle tight. And the +Italian boy stayed, and the Squire made a +man of him, from being a Papist outlandish-man. +And that's all the story, Master Jack."</p> + +<p>"And he is Giuseppe?" asked Jack.</p> + +<p>"And he is Jew Seppy," Mrs. Beadle +assented. "Though it seems a hard name +to give him, and no Jew blood in him that +any one can prove, only his eyes being black. +But he won't hear to its being shortened. +And now it is getting to be night-cap time, +Master Jack," said the good woman, beginning +to fold up her work, "and I hope you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +are going to bed, too, like a good young gentleman. +But if you don't, you'll shut the +door careful, won't you dear?"</p> + +<p>"Never fear," said the boy, gathering +himself up from the floor. "I'm sleepy to-night, +anyhow; I may go straight to bed. +Good-night, Biddy. You're quite sure you +like me to call you 'Biddy'?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, it makes me feel five-and-twenty +years younger!" said the good woman; "and +I seem to see your dear father, coming in +with his curls a-shaking, calling his Biddy. +Ah, well! Good-night, Master Jack, dear! +Don't forget to look in when you go by."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Biddy!"</p> + +<p>The lad went off with his candle, fairly +stumbling along the corridor from sheer +sleepiness; but when he reached his own +room, which was flooded with moonlight, the +drowsiness seemed to take wings and disappear. +He sat down by the open window and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +looked out. Below lay the garden, all black +and silver in the intense white light. The +smell of the roses came up to him, exquisitely +sweet. He leaned his head against the window-frame, +and felt as if he were floating +away on the buoyant fragrance—far, far +away, to the South, where his home was, and +where the roses were in bloom so long that +it seemed as if there were always roses.</p> + +<p>The silver-lit garden vanished from his +sight, and he saw instead a long, low room, +half garret, half workshop, where a man +stood beside a long table, busily at work with +some fine tools. The spare, stooping figure, +the long, delicate hands, the features carved +as if in ivory, the blue, near-sighted +eyes peering anxiously at the work in his +hands,—all these were as actually present to +the boy as if he could put out his own hand +and touch them. It was with a start that he +came back to the world of tangible surroundings,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +as a sudden breath of wind waved the +trees below him, and sent whisperings of leaf +and blossom through his room.</p> + +<p>"Daddy!" he said half to himself; and +he brushed away something which had no +possible place in the eyes of a youth who was +to go to college next year. Giving himself +a violent shake, Jack Ferrers rose, and, going +to a cupboard, took out with great care a +long, black, oblong box. This he deposited +on the bed; then took off his boots and put +on a pair of soft felt slippers. His coat, too, +was taken off; and then, holding the black +box in his arms, as if it were a particularly +delicate baby, he left the room, and softly +made his way to the stairs which led to the +attic. There was a door at the foot of the +stairs, which he opened noiselessly, and then +he stopped to listen. All was still. He +must have been sitting for some time at the +window, for the light in the hall was extinguished,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +which was a sign that his uncle had +gone to bed. In fact, as he listened intently, +his ear caught a faint, rhythmic sound, rising +and falling at regular intervals, like the distant +murmur of surf on the sea-shore; his +uncle was asleep. Closing the door softly +after him, and clasping the black box firmly, +Jack climbed the attic stairs and disappeared +in the darkness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>COUSIN JACK.</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 339px;"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a> +<img src="images/gs03.png" width="339" height="500" alt=""Jack Ferrers appeared carrying a Huge Bunch of Roses."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<span class="smcap">Jack Ferrers appeared carrying a Huge Bunch of Roses.</span>"</span> +</div> +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> next day, as Hildegarde was arranging +flowers on the piazza, with a table before +her covered with bowls and vases, and a +great basket of many-coloured blossoms beside +her, Jack Ferrers appeared, evidently in the +depths of misery, carrying a huge bunch of +roses. He stumbled while coming up the +steps, and dropped half the roses, which increased +his discomfort so much that Hildegarde +was really sorry for him. Moreover, +when seen by daylight, he was a very pleasant-looking +fellow, with curly brown hair and +great honest blue eyes very wide open. He +was over six feet tall, and as awkward as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +human being could be, but of course he could +not help that.</div> + + + +<p>"Good-morning, Cousin Jack!" said Hildegarde +pleasantly. "What lovely roses! Are +they from Colonel Ferrers's garden?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Jack Ferrers. "Uncle sends +them with his compliments. I'm sorry I +knocked over the basket last night. Good-by."</p> + +<p>He was about to fling himself down the +steps again, but Hildegarde, controlling her +desire to laugh, said cordially: "Oh, don't go! +Sit down a moment, and tell me the names +of some of these beauties."</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" muttered the youth, blushing +redder than the roses. "I—I think I +must go back."</p> + +<p>"Are you so very busy?" asked Hildegarde +innocently. "I thought this was your +vacation. What have you to do?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—nothing!" said the lad awkwardly. +"Nothing in particular."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then sit down," said Hildegarde decidedly.</p> + +<p>And Jack Ferrers sat down. A pause followed. +Then Hildegarde said in a matter-of-fact +tone, "You have no sisters, have you, +Cousin Jack?"</p> + +<p>"No," was the reply. "How did you +know?"</p> + +<p>"Because you are so shy," said Hildegarde, +smiling. "Boys who have no sisters are +apt to regard girls as a kind of griffin. +There used to be a boy at dancing-school, +two or three years ago, who was so shy it +was really painful to dance with him at first, +but he got over it after a while. And it was +all because he had no sisters."</p> + +<p>"Did you like dancing-school?" Jack inquired, +venturing to look up at her shyly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, very much indeed!" replied Hildegarde. +"Didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"No; hated it."</p> + +<p>Then they both laughed a little, and after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +that things went a good deal better. Jack +came up on the piazza (he had been sitting +on the steps, shuffling his feet in a most distressing +manner), and helped to clip the +long stems of the roses, and pulled off superfluous +leaves. It appeared that he did not +care much for flowers, though he admitted +that roses were "pretty." He did not care +for fishing or shooting; tennis had made his +head ache ever since he began to grow so +fast. Did he like walking? Pretty well, +when it wasn't too hot. Reading? Well +enough, when the book wasn't stupid.</p> + +<p>"Wot are we to do with this 'ere 'opeless +chap?" said Hildegarde to herself, quoting +from "Pinafore."</p> + +<p>As a last resort she asked if he were fond +of music. Instantly his face lighted up.</p> + +<p>"Awfully fond of it," he said with animation, +and the embarrassed wrinkle disappeared +as if by magic from between his eyebrows.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I am so glad!" cried Hildegarde. +"I haven't had any music the last two summers. +I had everything else that was nice, +but still I missed it, of course. Do you play, +or sing?"</p> + +<p>"A little of both," said Jack modestly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how delightful! We must make +music together for mamma sometimes. My +own piano has not come yet, but there is +the dearest old funny thing here which belonged +to the Misses Aytoun."</p> + +<p>"Uncle Tom has no piano," said Jack, +"but I have my violin, so I don't mind."</p> + +<p>"Oh, a violin!" said Hildegarde, opening +her eyes wide. "Have you been studying +it long?"</p> + +<p>"Ever since I was six years old," was the +reply. "My mother would not let me begin +earlier, though my father said that as +soon as I could hold a knife and fork I could +hold a bow. He's a little cracked about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +violins, my father. He makes them, you +know."</p> + +<p>"I <i>don't</i> know," cried Hildegarde. "Tell +me about it; how very interesting!"</p> + +<p>"Well—I don't mean that it's his business," +said Jack, who seemed to have forgotten +his shyness entirely; "he's a lawyer, you +know. But it's the only thing he really +cares about. He has a workshop, and he +has made—oh, ever so many violins! He +went to Cremona once, and spent a year +there, poking about, and he found an old +church that was going to be repaired, and +bought the sounding-board. Oh, it must +have been a couple of hundred years old. +Then he moused about more and found an +old fellow, a descendant of one of Amati's +workmen, and I believe he would have +bought him, too, if he could; but, anyhow, +they were great chums, and he taught my +father all kinds of tricks. When he came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +home he made this violin out of a piece of +the old sounding-board, and gave it to me +on my birthday. It's—oh, it's no end, you +know! And he made another for himself, +and we play together. Do you know the +Mozart Concerto in F, for two violins? It +begins with an allegro."</p> + +<p>And being fairly mounted on his hobby, +Jack Ferrers pranced about on it as if he had +done nothing but talk to Hildegarde all his +life. Hildegarde, meanwhile, listened with a +mixture of surprise, amusement, and respect. +He did not look in the least like a musical +genius, this long-legged, curly-haired lad, with +his blue eyes and his simple, honest face. +She thought of the lion front of Beethoven, +and the brilliant, exquisite beauty of Mozart, +and tried to imagine honest Jack standing +between them, and almost laughed in the +midst of an animated description of the andante +movement. Then she realised that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +was talking extremely well, and talking a +great deal over her head.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you will find me very ignorant," +she said meekly, when her cousin +paused, a little out of breath, but with glowing +cheeks and sparkling eyes. "I have +heard a great deal of music, of course, and +I love it dearly; but I don't know about it +as you do, not a bit. I play the piano a +little, and I sing, just simple old songs, you +know, and that is all."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde might have added that she had +a remarkably sweet voice, and sang with taste +and feeling, but that her cousin must find out +for himself; besides, she was really over-awed +by this superior knowledge in one whom the +night before she had been inclined to set +down as a booby. "Shall I ever learn," she +thought remorsefully, "not to make these +ridiculous judgments of people, before I know +anything about them?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>Just then Mrs. Grahame came out and +asked her new-found nephew, as she called +him, to stay to dinner; but at sight of her +the lad's shyness returned in full force. His +animation died away; he hung his head, and +muttered that he "couldn't possibly, thank +you! Uncle Tom—stayed too long already. +Good-by!" and, without even a farewell glance +at Hildegarde, went down all the steps at +once with a breakneck plunge, and disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Tragedy of the Gorgon's Head! Medusa, +Mrs. Grahame," said that lady, laughing +softly. "Has my hair turned to snakes, +Hilda, or what is there so frightful in my +appearance? I heard your voices sounding +so merrily I thought the ice was completely +broken."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think it is," said Hildegarde. "You +came upon him suddenly, that was all."</p> + +<p>"Next time," said her mother, "I will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +appear gradually, like the Cheshire Cat, beginning +with the grin."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde laughed, and went to pin a red +rose on her mother's dress. Then she said: +"I was wrong, Mammina, and you were right, +as usual. It is a tiresome way you have, so +monotonous! But really he is a very nice +boy, and he knows, oh! ever so much about +music. He must be quite a wonder." And +she told her mother about the violin, and all +the rest of it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame agreed with her that it +would be delightful to have some musical +evenings, and Hildegarde resolved to practise +two hours a day regularly.</p> + +<p>"But there are so few hours in the day!" +she complained. "I thought getting up at +seven would give me—oh! ever so much +time, and I have none at all. Here is the +morning nearly gone, and we have had no +reading, not a word." And she looked injured.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There is an hour before dinner," said Mrs. +Grahame, "and the 'Makers of Florence' is +lying on my table at this minute. Come up, +and I will read while you—need I specify +the occupation?"</p> + +<p>"You need not," said Hildegarde. "I +really did mean to mend it this morning, +love, but things happened. I had to sew on +boot-buttons before breakfast, three of them, +and then Janet wanted me to show her about +something. But now I will really be industrious."</p> + +<p>This was destined to be a day of visits. In +the afternoon Mrs. Loftus and her daughter +called, driving up in great state, with prancing +horses and clinking harness. Hildegarde, +who was in her own room, meditated +a plunge down her private staircase and an +escape by way of the back door, but decided +that it would be base to desert her mother; +so she smoothed her waving hair, inspected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +her gown to make sure that it was spotless, +and came down into the parlour.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Loftus was a very large lady, with a +very red face, who talked volubly about "our +place," "our horses," "our hot-houses," etc., +etc. Miss Loftus, whose name was Leonie, +was small and rather pretty, though she did +not look altogether amiable. She was inclined +to patronise Hildegarde, but that +young person did not take kindly to patronage, +and was a little stately, though very polite, +in her manner.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is pretty about here," said Miss +Loftus, "though one tires of it very quickly. +We vegetate here for three months every +summer; it's papa's" (she pronounced it +"puppa") "whim, you see. How long a +season do you make?"</p> + +<p>"None at all," said Hildegarde quietly. +"We are going to live here."</p> + +<p>Miss Loftus raised her eyebrows. "Oh! you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +can hardly do that, I should think!" she said +with a superior smile. "A few months will +probably change your views entirely. There +is no life here, absolutely none."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Hildegarde. "I thought +it was a very prosperous neighbourhood. +All the farms look thrifty and well cared +for; the crops are alive, at least."</p> + +<p>"Oh, farmers and crops!" said Miss Loftus. +"Very likely. I meant social life."</p> + +<p>"I don't like social life," said Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>This was not strictly true, but she could +not help saying it, as she told her mother +afterward.</p> + +<p>Miss Loftus passed over the remark with +another smile, which made our heroine want +to pinch her, and added, "You must consider +us your only neighbours, as indeed we really +are."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed!" said Mrs. Loftus, who was +now rising ponderously to depart. "We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +shall hope to see you often at The Poplars, +Mrs. Grahame. There is not another house +within five miles where one can visit. Of +course I don't include that old bear, Colonel +Ferrers, who never speaks a civil word to any +one."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde flushed and looked at her +mother, but Mrs. Grahame said very quietly, +"I have known Colonel Ferrers for many +years. He was a friend of my husband's."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon!" said Mrs. Loftus, +looking scared. "I had no idea—I +never heard of <i>any one</i> knowing Colonel Ferrers. +Come, Leonie, we must be going."</p> + +<p>They departed, first engaging Hildegarde, +rather against her will, to lunch with them +the following Friday; and the grand equipage +rolled clinking and jingling away.</p> + +<p>"We seem to have fallen upon a Montague +and Capulet neighbourhood," said Mrs. Grahame, +smiling, as she turned to go upstairs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed!" said Hildegarde. "Shall +we be Tybalts or Mercutios?"</p> + +<p>"Neither, I hope," said her mother, "as +both were run through the body. Of course, +however, there is no question as to which +neighbour we shall find most congenial. +And now, child, get your hat, and let us +take a good walk, to drive the cobwebs out +of our brains."</p> + +<p>"Have with you!" said Hildegarde, running +lightly up the stairs; "only, darling, +<i>don't</i> be so—so—incongruous as to call +Mrs. Loftus a cobweb!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>MISS AGATHA'S CABINET.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">Mammina!</span> I have found them! I have +found them!" cried Hildegarde, rushing like +a whirlwind into her mother's room, and +waving something over her head.</div> + +<p>"What have you found, darling?" asked +Mrs. Grahame, looking up from her writing. +"Not your wits, for example? I should be +so glad!"</p> + +<p>"One may not shake one's mother," said +Hildegarde, "but beware, lest you 'rouse an +Indian's indomitable nature.' I have found +the keys of Miss Agatha's cabinet."</p> + +<p>"Really!" cried Mrs. Grahame, laying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +down her pen. "Are you sure? where were +they?"</p> + +<p>"In that old secretary in Uncle Aytoun's +room," said Hildegarde. "You know you +said I might rummage in it some day, and +this rainy afternoon seemed to be the very +time. They were in a little drawer, all by +themselves; and see, they are marked, 'Keys +of the cabinet in my sister Agatha's room, +containing miniatures, etc.'"</p> + +<p>"This is indeed a discovery!" said Mrs. +Grahame, rising. "We will examine the +cabinet together, dear; as you say, it is just +the day for it."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde led the way, dancing with excitement +and pleasure; her mother followed +more slowly. There might be sadness, she +thought, as well as pleasure, in looking over +the relics of a family which had died out, +leaving none of the name, so far as she knew, +in this country at least. Miss Agatha's room<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +did not look very cheerful in the grey light +of a wet day. The prevailing tint of walls +and ceiling was a greyish yellow; the faded +curtains were held back by faded ribbons; +the furniture was angular and high-shouldered. +On the wall was a coloured print of +"London in 1802," from which the metropolis +would seem to have been a singular place. +The only interesting feature in the room was +the cabinet which they had come to explore, +and this was really a beautiful piece of furniture. +It stood seven feet high at least, and +was apparently of solid ebony, inlaid with +yellow ivory in curious spiral patterns. In +the centre was a small door, almost entirely +covered with the ivory tracery; above, below, +and around were drawers, large and small, +deep and shallow, a very wilderness of +drawers. All had silver keyholes of curious +pattern, and all were fast locked, a fact +which had seriously interfered with Hildegarde's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +peace of mind ever since they came +to the house. Now, however, that she actually +stood before it with the "Open +sesame," this bunch of quaint silver keys +in her hand, she shrank back, and felt shy +and afraid.</p> + +<p>"You must open it, mamma," she said. +"I dare not."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame fitted a key to one of the +larger drawers, and opened it. A faint perfume +floated out, old roses and lavender, laid +away one knows not how many years. Under +folds of silver paper lay some damask towels, +fine and thick and smooth, but yellow with +age. They were tied with a lilac ribbon, and +on the ribbon was pinned a piece of paper, +covered with writing in a fine, cramped hand.</p> + +<p>"Lift them out carefully, dear," said Mrs. +Grahame, "and read the label."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde complied, and read aloud: +"These towels were spun and woven by my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +grandmother Grahame in Scotland, before she +came to this country. Her maiden name was +Annot McIntosh."</p> + +<p>"What beautiful linen!" said Mrs. Grahame, +smoothing the glossy folds with the +hand of a housewife. "I always wished I +had learned to spin and weave. Linen that +one buys has no feeling in it. Lay it back +reverently, degenerate daughter of the nineteenth +century, and your degenerate mother +will open another drawer."</p> + +<p>The next drawer contained several sets of +baby-clothes, at sight of which Hildegarde +opened her eyes very wide indeed. Her +mother was an exquisite needle-woman, so +was her cousin Wealthy Bond, and she herself +had no need to be ashamed of the "fine +seam" she could sew; but never had she +seen such needlework as this: tiny caps, +wrought so thick with flower and leaf that +no spot of the plain linen could be seen;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +robes of finest lawn, with wonderful embroidered +fronts; shawls of silk flannel, +with deep borders of heavy "laid work." +One robe was so beautiful that both Hildegarde +and her mother cried over it, and took +it up to examine it more carefully. On the +breast was pinned a piece of paper, with an +inscription in the same delicate hand: "Hester's +christening-robe. We think it was in +consequence of this fine work that our dear +mother lost her eyesight."</p> + +<p>"I should think it highly probable," said +Mrs. Grahame, laying the exquisite monument +of folly back in the drawer. "I did not know +that old Madam Aytoun was blind. What +is written on that tiny cap, in the corner +there? It must be a doll's cap; no baby +could be so small."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde read the inscription: "Worn +by our uncle Hesketh, who weighed two +pounds at birth. He grew to be six feet and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +six inches in height, and weighed three hundred +pounds."</p> + +<p>"What a wonderful person Miss Agatha +must have been!" said Hildegarde. "Who +else would think of all these pleasant bits of +information? And now for the next +drawer!"</p> + +<p>She opened it, and gave a little shriek of +delight. Here truly were beautiful things, +such as neither she nor her mother had ever +seen before: three short aprons of white +silk, trimmed with deep gold lace, and covered +with silk-embroidered flowers of richest +hues, one with tulips, another with roses, a +third with carnations. Folds of tissue paper +separated them from each other, and the +legend told that they had been worn by "our +great-grandmother Ponsonby, when she was +Maid of Honour to Queen Caroline. She was +an Englishwoman."</p> + +<p>Then came a tippet of white marabou<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +feathers, buttoned into a silk case, and smelling +faintly of camphor; a gown of rose-coloured +satin, brocaded with green, and one of +ruby-coloured velvet, which bore the inscription: +"This was the gown on which our great-grandmother +Ponsonby wore the diamond buttons +which have since been divided among +her descendants. A sinful waste of money +which might have been put to good purpose."</p> + +<p>"How <i>very</i> frivolous Great-grandmother +Ponsonby must have been!" said Hildegarde. +"I think Miss Agatha is rather hard on her, +though. Perhaps the buttons were wedding +presents. I wonder what has become of them +all! See, Mammina, here are her red shoes—just +like Beatrix Esmond's, aren't they? My +foot would not begin to go into them. And +here—oh! the lace! the lace!" For there +was a whole drawer full of lace, all in little +bundles neatly tied up and marked. Here +was Madam Aytoun's wedding veil, Grandmother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +This One's Mechlin tabs, Aunt That +One's Venetian flounces. It would take pages +to describe all the laces, and the pleasure +that mother and daughter had in examining +them. What woman or girl does not +love lace? Finally, in a corner of the drawer, +was a morocco box containing a key, whose +ivory label said: "Central compartment. +Miniatures."</p> + +<p>"This will be the best of all!" cried Hildegarde, +eagerly. "Perhaps we shall find +Great-grandmother Ponsonby herself. Who +knows?"</p> + +<p>The ivory door flew open as the key +turned, and revealed a space set round with +tiny drawers. Each drawer contained one or +more miniatures, in cases of red or green +morocco, and Hildegarde and her mother +examined them with delight. Here, to be +sure, was Great-grandmother Ponsonby; in +fact, she appeared twice: first, as a splendid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +young matron, clad in the identical ruby +velvet with the diamond buttons, her hair +powdered high and adorned with feathers; +and, again, as a not less superb old lady, with +folds of snowy muslin under her chin, and +keen dark eyes flashing from under her white +curls, and a wonderful cap. Here was Grandfather +Aytoun, first as a handsome boy, with +great dark eyes, and a parrot on his hand, +then as a somewhat choleric-looking gentleman +with a great fur collar.</p> + +<p>"How they do change!" said Hildegarde. +"I am not sure that I like to see two of the +same person. Let me see, now! He married—"</p> + +<p>"The daughter of Great-grandmother Ponsonby," +replied Mrs. Grahame. "Here she is! +Caroline Regina Ponsonby, <i>æt.</i> 16. Named +after the royal patroness, you see. What a +sweet, gentle-looking girl! I fear her magnificent +mother and her decided-looking husband<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +may have been too much for her, for I +see she died at twenty-three."</p> + +<p>"Oh! and he married again!" cried Hildegarde, +opening another case. "See here! +Selina Euphemia McKenzie, second wife of +John Aytoun. Oh! and here is a slip of +paper inside the frame.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Sweet flower, that faded soon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In Rapture's fervid noon.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">'J. A.'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"Dear me! he must have written it himself!" +she added. "It is not like Miss Agatha's +handwriting. Why, she only lived three +months, poor dear! He makes very sure +about the rapture, doesn't he?"</p> + +<p>"I think he does," said her mother, smiling, +"considering that he married a third +time, inside a year from the fading of the +sweet flower. Look at this aquiline dame, +with the remarkably firm mouth, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +bird of paradise in her turban. 'Adelaide +McLeod, third wife of John Aytoun. She +survived him.' I'll warrant she did!" said +Mrs. Grahame. "She carries conquest in her +face. All the children were of the first marriage, +and I fear she was not a gentle stepmother. +I wonder who this may be!" She +took up a heavy bracelet of dark hair, with a +small miniature set in the clasp. "What a +pretty, pretty child! Good Miss Agatha has +surely not left us in the dark concerning him. +'Little John Hesketh, 1804.' That is all."</p> + +<p>"Why Hesketh?" asked Hildegarde. "I +have never heard of any Heskeths."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame was about to plunge into +genealogical depths, when Hildegarde, who +had been opening a case of purple morocco, +carefully secured with silver clasps, gave an +exclamation of pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Hester!" she cried. "This is Hester, I +know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her mother looked, and nodded; and they +both gazed in silence at the lovely face, with +its earnest grey eyes.</p> + +<p>"The dear!" murmured Hildegarde. "How +I should have loved her! I am sure we should +have liked the same things. I wish she had +not died."</p> + +<p>"You must remember that she would be a +dear old lady now, were she alive, and not a +young lassie. What does the slip say, darling? +Miss Agatha's hand is rather trying +for my eyes."</p> + +<p>"'Our dearest Hester,'" Hildegarde read. +"'A duplicate of the one painted for Robert +Ferrers.' Robert Ferrers!" she repeated +thoughtfully. "Is that Colonel Ferrers? and +do you suppose—"</p> + +<p>At this moment came a knock at the door, +and Janet informed them that Mrs. Lankton +was in the hall, and would like to speak to +one of the ladies.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will go," said Hildegarde, laying down +the miniature reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"We will both go," said her mother. "The +poor old dame! We have neglected her all +these days."</p> + +<p>They locked the drawer of the treasure-cabinet, +and Hildegarde ran to put the precious +keys in a safe place, while her mother +went directly downstairs. By the time Hildegarde +appeared, Mrs. Lankton was launched +on the full tide of her woes, and was sailing +along with a good breeze.</p> + +<p>"And it's comin' in, Mis' Grahame—I'd +say like a house afire, if 'twa'n't that 'twas +wet. Dreepin' all down the chimbley, and +runnin' over the floor in streams. I stepped +into a pool o' water with my bar' feet, gittin' +out o' bed; likely I caught my death, but it's +no great matter. Ah! Mis' Grahame, I've +seen trouble all my life. Mr. Aytoun, he +was like a father to me. He wouldn't never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +ha' let me go bar'foot in water if he'd ben +alive. I've ben a hard-workin' woman all +my life, and he knowed it. I hope your own +health is good, dear?"</p> + +<p>"What can I do for you, Mrs. Lankton?" +asked Mrs. Grahame, kindly, as a moment's +pause gave her a chance to get in a word. +"Does the roof need shingling?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Aytoun was goin' to have it shingled +for me last Janooary," said Mrs. Lankton, +with a sigh that was almost a groan; "and +he was called on to die in Febooary. Jest +afore he passed away, he was tryin' dretful +hard to say somethin', and I ain't no manner +o' doubt myself but what 'twas 'Shingle!' +He had it on his mind; they needn't tell me. +But nobody seemed to feel a call after he +was gone. Ah, dear me! You don't know +nothin' about it, Mis' Grahame. You ain't +never stepped bar'foot out o' your bed into a +pool o' water, and you all doubled up with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +neurology in your j'ints. Ah, well, 'twon't +be long now that I shall trouble anybody."</p> + +<p>"Which is your house, Mrs. Lankton?" +asked Mrs. Grahame. "I will try to have +something done about the roof at once."</p> + +<p>"I know!" said Hildegarde, quickly. "It +is a brown cottage with a green door."</p> + +<p>"See how she knows!" exclaimed Mrs. +Lankton, with a sad smile. "Ain't that +thoughtful? Ah! she'll be a comfit to you, +Mis' Grahame, if you've luck to raise her, but +there's no knowin'. Don't you set your +heart on it, that's all. Ah! I know what +trouble is."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think I am 'raised' already, +Mrs. Lankton?" Hilda asked, smiling down +on the weazened face that did not reach to +her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"So fur ye be, dear!" replied the widow, +with a doleful shake of the head. "So fur +ye be, but there's no knowin'. My Phrony<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +was jest like you, hearty and stout, and she's +gone. Ah! dear me! She had a store tooth, +where she knocked out one of hers, slidin', +and she swallered it one night, and she +never got over it. Lodged on her liver, the +doctor said. He went down and tried to +fetch it up, but 'twa'n't no use. She was +fleshy, same as you be. Yes, gals is hard to +raise."</p> + +<p>At this, Hildegarde retreated suddenly into +the parlour, and Mrs. Grahame, in a voice +which shook a little, expressed proper regret +and sympathy, and repeated that she would +have the roof attended to.</p> + +<p>"And now," she added, "go into the +kitchen, and auntie shall give you a cup of +hot tea. You must dry your feet, too, before +you go out again."</p> + +<p>"The Lord'll reward you, dear!" said +Mrs. Lankton, turning with a faint gleam of +cheerfulness toward the kitchen door. "It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +ain't long before I shall go the way of +all, but it doos seem as if I mought go dry, +'stead o' dreepin'. But <i>you</i>'ll be rewarded, +Mis' Grahame. I felt as if you'd be a mother +to me, soon as I sot eyes on ye. <i>Good</i>-mornin', +dear!" and with a groan that ended +in a half-chuckle, she disappeared.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>THE POPLARS.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Punctually</span> at half-past one on Friday, +Hildegarde walked up the avenue which led +to "The Poplars." It was a broad avenue, +and the steps to which it led were broad, and +the whole house had an air of being spread +out. "But Mrs. Loftus needs a good deal of +room!" said Hildegarde to herself, and then +cuffed herself mentally for wickedness.</div> + +<p>Very fair and sweet she looked, our Hildegarde, +in her white serge gown, with the +pretty hat of white "chiffon" which "Mammina" +had made only the evening before. +Standing on the verandah, with eyes and +cheeks brilliant from walking, she met the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +entire approval of a young gentleman who +was reclining behind the hedge. He was a +<i>very</i> young gentleman. He wore corduroy +knickerbockers, and he was lying flat on his +stomach, with his heels in the air, sucking a +large bull's-eye. The sudden apparition of +a tall maiden in white, with shining eyes, +nearly caused him to swallow the bull's-eye, +but he recovered himself, and gazed steadfastly +at her. When the door opened to +admit her, the young gentleman sighed, and +considered that it was not so fine a day as he +had thought it. "She is a beautiful girl!" +he said to himself with fervour; "she is a +Purple Maid!" and then he rolled over on +his back, to see if the bull's-eye would taste as +good in that position.</p> + +<p>Hildegarde, meanwhile, unconscious of the +approving scrutiny of the infant connoisseur, +was ushered by a stately butler through room +after room, until she came to one where Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +and Miss Loftus were waiting to receive her. +They were both very cordial, one in a ponderous, +the other in an airily patronising way.</p> + +<p>"But I did not hear you drive up," said +Mrs. Loftus, "and we have been listening +every moment; for I said to Leonie, 'Suppose +she should not come, after all!' And so +you must have driven up very quietly, you +see."</p> + +<p>"I walked," said Hildegarde, smiling; "so +there were no wheels to hear, Mrs. Loftus."</p> + +<p>"Walked! Is it possible?" cried Mrs. +Loftus, while her daughter raised her eyebrows +and regarded Hildegarde with languid +curiosity. "My dear, you must be terribly +heated. Let me ring for some Florida water. +No, I insist!" as Hildegarde made a gesture +of protest. "It is <i>so</i> dangerous to walk in +the heat of the day. The brain, you know, +becomes heated, and it does something to the +spinal marrow. Do you feel any dizziness?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +Really, the best thing would be for you to lie +down at once for half an hour. I will darken +the room, and—"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, mamma!" said Miss Loftus, +"I don't believe Miss Grahame wants to lie +down."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, indeed!" cried Hildegarde, thankful +for the interruption. "I am used to walking, +you know, Mrs. Loftus. I always walk, +everywhere. I like it very much better than +driving; besides," she added, "we have no +horses, so I should have to walk in any case."</p> + +<p>"I think it so dangerous!" said Mrs. +Loftus, with a compassionate shake of the +head. "In the heat of the day, as I said, +the spinal marrow; so important, my dear! +and towards evening there is a chill in the +air, malaria, all kinds of dreadful things. I +shall make a point of picking you up whenever +I am driving by—I drive by nearly +every day—and taking you out."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh—thank you!" cried poor Hildegarde, +an abyss opening at her feet. "You +are very kind, but I could not! I am so busy—and +walking is my delight."</p> + +<p>The announcement of lunch created a diversion, +to the great relief of our heroine. +Mr. Loftus appeared, a small, shrivelled man, +with sharp eyes, whose idea of making himself +agreeable was to criticise each article of +food as it came on the table.</p> + +<p>"Very weak bouillon, Mrs. Loftus" (he +called it "bullion"). "Very weak! greasy, +too! Not fit to put on the table. What's +this? chicken? Fowl, I should say! Rooster, +Mrs. L.! Is this your twelve-dollar cook? +Not a thing Miss Grahame can eat! She'll +go and tell old Ferrers how we gave her roast +rooster, see if she don't! I hear you're very +thick with old Ferrers, Miss Grahame. Old +Grizzly Bruin, <i>I</i> call him. Good name, too! +he! he!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hildegarde blushed scarlet, and wondered +what her mother would say in her place. All +she could do was to murmur that the chicken +was very nice indeed, and to hope that she +did not show more of her disgust than was +proper. The luncheon was very fine, in spite +of Mr. Loftus's depreciation; and when it came +to the dessert, he changed his tune, and +descanted on the qualities of "my peaches," +"my nectarines," and "my gardener."</p> + +<p>"You don't eat enough, Miss Grahame!" +was his comment. "No need to stint yourself +here; plenty for all, and more where +that came from."</p> + +<p>But here Miss Loftus came to the rescue, +and with a "Don't be tiresome, puppa!" +changed the conversation, and began to talk +of the Worth gowns she had seen in New +York, on her last visit.</p> + +<p>"Which do you admire most, Worth or +Felix?" she asked, after a graphic description<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +of some marvellous gown which fitted +the fortunate owner "as if she had been +poured into it. Absolutely <i>poured</i>, Miss +Grahame!"</p> + +<p>"I—I really don't know," Hildegarde confessed +meekly. "I never can tell one dressmaker's +style from another. If a gown is +pretty, that is all I think about it."</p> + +<p>"Oh! if you have never studied these +things, of course!" said the fair Leonie +indulgently. "I went to Madame Vivien's +school, you see, and we had a regular hour +for studying fashions. I can tell a Worth +or a Felix or a Donovan gown as far as I +can see it."</p> + +<p>"Did you like Madame Vivien's school?" +asked Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>"She ought to!" exclaimed Mr. Loftus. +"It cost enough, I can tell you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is the best school in the city, of +course," said Leonie complacently. "We had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +a very good time, a set of us that were there. +They called us the Highflyers, and I suppose +we had rather top-lofty notions. Anyway, +we were Madame's favourites, because we had +<i>the air</i>, she always said. She couldn't endure +a dowdy girl, and she dressed beautifully herself. +There were two or three girls that were +regular digs, with their noses always in their +books, and Madame couldn't bear them. +'Miss Antrim,' she was always saving to one +of them, 'it is true that you know your lesson, +but your gown is buttoned awry, and +it fits as if the miller had made it.' He! +he!"</p> + +<p>"And—and did you care for study?" +Hildegarde asked, mentally sympathising +with Miss Antrim, though conscious that she +would never have been allowed to go to +school with a gown buttoned awry.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I liked French," said Miss Loftus, +"and history pretty well, when it wasn't too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +poky. But you didn't have to study at +Madame Vivien's unless you wanted to."</p> + +<p>"What Leonie went most for was manners," +explained Mrs. Loftus, taking a large +mouthful of mayonnaise, and continuing her +remarks while eating it. "Elegant manners +they teach at Madame Vivien's."</p> + +<p>"How to enter a room well,"—Leonie enumerated +the points on her taper fingers,—"how +to salute and take leave of a hostess, +how to order a dinner,—those were some of +the most important things. We took turns +in making up <i>menus</i>, and prizes were given +for the best."</p> + +<p>"Leonie took the prize for the best minew!" +exclaimed Mrs. Loftus, triumphantly. "Tell +Miss Grahame your prize minew, Leonie."</p> + +<p>Nothing loth, Leonie described the dinner +at length, from little-neck clams to coffee; +and a very fine dinner it was.</p> + +<p>"Hm!" grunted Mr. Loftus, "better dinner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +than we ever get from your twelve-dollar +cook, Mrs. L. Hm! Fine dinners on paper, +I dare say. Hand me that salad! Why don't +you give Miss Grahame some more salad? +She ain't eating anything at all."</p> + +<p>"Then we had lectures on the Art of +Dress," continued the fair student of Madame +Vivien's. "Those were very interesting."</p> + +<p>"Well, dress does change, the most of anything!" +exclaimed Mrs. Loftus. "To see +the difference now from when I was a girl! +Why, when I was married I had thirty-five +yards of silk in my wedding dress, and now +nobody don't have more than ten or twelve. +Almost too scant to cover 'em, it seems sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Thirty-five yards, mamma!" exclaimed +her daughter. "You're joking!"</p> + +<p>"Not a mite!" Mrs. Loftus said firmly. +"Thirty-five yards of white satin, and trimmed +with four whole pieces of lace and three hundred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +and eighty-two bows." The two girls +exclaimed in wonder, and Mrs. Loftus continued +in high good-humour. "Yes, a dress +was a dress in those days. Why, I had one +walking dress, a brown silk it was, with fifty +yards in it."</p> + +<p>"But how was it possible?" cried Hildegarde. +"Did you wear crinoline?"</p> + +<p>"No," was the reply, "not a mite of hoop-skirt; +but things were very full, you see, +Miss Grahame. That brown dress, now; it +had a deep side-plaiting all round, and an +overskirt, very full too, and the back very +deep, flounced, scalloped, and trimmed with +narrow piping, looped in each corner with +scallops. There was a deep fringe round the +basque and overskirt, and coming up from +the postilion (that was deep, too), to loop on +the left shoulder."</p> + +<p>"Well, it sounds <i>awful!</i>" said Leonie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +frankly. "You must have been a perfect +sight, mamma!"</p> + +<p>"She was better-looking than you are, or +ever will be!" snarled Mr. Loftus. "Are you +goin' to sit here all day talkin' about women's +folderols? I have to pay for 'em, and I guess +that's all I want to know about 'em."</p> + +<p>Glad enough was Hildegarde when four +o'clock came, and she could plead an appointment +to meet her mother at a certain turn +of the road, as they were going for a walk +together.</p> + +<p>"More walking!" cried Mrs. Loftus. "You'll +have a fever, I'm certain of it. I don't think +girls ought <i>ever</i> to walk, unless it's a little +turn in the park while the horses are waiting, +or something of that sort." She begged +Hildegarde to wait till the horses were harnessed, +but our heroine was firm, and finally +departed, leaving her good-natured hostess<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +shaking her head in the doorway, like a mandarin +in wine-coloured satin.</p> + +<p>As she turned the corner by the gilded iron +gates, Hildegarde was startled by the apparition +of a small boy in brown corduroy, sitting +on a post and swinging his legs.</p> + +<p>Hildegarde was fond of boys. One of her +two best friends was a boy, and she had a +little sweetheart in Maine, whose name was +Benny, and who loved her with all the ardour +of four years old. This boy must be six or +seven, she thought. He had red hair, a +round, rosy, freckled face, and two eyes so +blue and so bright that the very meeting +them made her smile. Her smile was answered +by a flash, which lighted up the whole +face, and subsided instantly, leaving preternatural +gravity.</p> + +<p>"How do you do?" said Hildegarde. "Is +it fun sitting there?"</p> + +<p>"No!" said the boy; and down he came.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +Then shyness seized him; he hung his head +and considered his toes attentively.</p> + +<p>"My name is Hilda," continued our heroine. +"Do you think it is a nice name?"</p> + +<p>He nodded, still intent on the boots.</p> + +<p>"But I don't know what your name is," +she went on sadly. "I should like to tell +you about my puppy, if you would walk along +by me, but you see I can't, because I don't +know your name."</p> + +<p>"Hugh Allen," said the lad briefly.</p> + +<p>"Hugh!" cried Hildegarde, her cheek +flushing and her eyes softening. "That was +my dear father's name. We must be friends, +Hugh, for the name's sake. Come along, +laddie!"</p> + +<p>The boy came, and walked in silence by +her side, occasionally stealing a glance at the +kind, bright face so much higher up than his +own.</p> + +<p>"Well, my puppy," said Hildegarde, as if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +she were continuing a conversation. "His +name was Patsy, and he was such a funny +puppy,—all white, with a great big head, +and paws almost as big, and a mouth large +enough to swallow—oh! I don't know what! +a watermelon, perhaps. I loved him very +much. He used to gnaw my boots, and nibble +the skirt of my dress; but, of course, I didn't +mind, for I knew he was cutting his teeth, +poor dear, and couldn't help it. But when he +gnawed all the corners off the leather chairs +in the dining-room, my mother dear didn't +like it, and she said Patsy must go. Then +my father said he would take him to his +office every day, and keep him out of mischief, +and then I could take the dear for a good +walk in the afternoon, and have a comfortable +time with him, and he could sleep in the +shed. Well, I thought this was a delightful +plan, and the next day Patsy went off with +papa, as pleased and happy as possible. Oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +dear! Hugh, what do you think that puppy +did?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he bit his legs," suggested Hugh, +with a gleam of delight in his blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" said Hildegarde. "He wouldn't +have dared to do that, for he was a sad +coward, my poor Patsy. My father left him +shut up in the office while he went to lunch; +and as the day was mild (though it was +winter), he left his new ulster on a chair, +where he had laid it when he first came in. +Hugh, when he came back, he found the ulster—it +was a stout heavy one—he found it all +torn into little pieces, and the pieces piled in +a heap, and Patsy lying on top of them."</p> + +<p>"Oh-ee!" cried the boy. "And <i>then</i> what +happened? Did he smite him hip and thigh, +even unto the going down of the sun?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde opened her eyes a little at this +scriptural phrase, but answered: "Yes, I am +afraid papa gave him a pretty severe whipping.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +He had to, of course. And then he +sent him away, and I never saw poor Patsy +again. Don't you think that was sad, +Hugh?"</p> + +<p>"It was sad for you," replied the boy, +"but sadder for Patsy. Would you like to +be a dog?" he added, looking up suddenly +into Hildegarde's face.</p> + +<p>"I—think—not!" said that young woman +meditatively. "I should have to eat +scraps and cold bones, and that I could not +endure. Besides, you couldn't read, or play +on the piano, or anything of that sort. No, +I am quite sure I should not like it, Hugh."</p> + +<p>"But you would have a tail!" cried the +boy, with kindling eyes. "A tail to wag! +And—and just think how you would <i>go</i> with +four legs!" he added, giving a jump with his +two stout little limbs. "And never to have +to sit up straight, except for fun sometimes; +and no boots to lace, and not to have to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +cut up your dinner. Oh! it would be such +fun!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and never to be able to change your +clothes when they are wet or muddy," replied +the girl, "and to have to lie on the floor"—"I +like to lie on the floor," put in Hugh—"and +to have unnatural people, who don't +like dogs, say, 'There! there! get away, dog!' +when you are trying to make yourself agreeable."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is bad!" Hugh admitted. +"Aunt Loftus beat Merlin yesterday when +he hadn't done anything, just not anything +at all. Just he wagged his tail to tell me +something, and there was an old jug in the +way, and it fell over and broke. And now +he isn't to come into the house any more. I +felt like 'many oxen come about me, fat bulls +of Basan compass me on every side,' when +she glared at me and said that."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde turned her face away, and was +silent for a minute.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Merlin is your dog?" she asked presently, +with a suspicious quiver in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to see him?" cried the +lad joyfully. "He stayed behind with a +bone, but I'll call him." He gave a long, clear +whistle, and a superb collie came bounding +down the avenue, and greeted his master +with violent affection.</p> + +<p>"Down, Merlin!" said Hugh Allen gravely. +"This is the Purple Maid I told you about, +but her real name is Hilda. A Purple Maid +was what I called you when I saw you coming +up the steps," he explained, turning to +Hildegarde. "I didn't know any other name, +you see."</p> + +<p>"But why 'Purple Maid'?" asked Hildegarde, +feeling more and more that this was +a very queer little boy. "I had been walking +fast, but was I actually purple, Hugh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" said the boy. "It wasn't that +at all. Your cheeks were like the rosy eve.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +But 'purple' has a nice sound, don't you +think so? a kind of rich sound. Do you +mind my calling you a Purple Maid?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde assured him that she did not, +and then, from mere idle curiosity, as she +afterwards assured herself, she added, "And +what do you call your cousin Leonie?"</p> + +<p>"A vinegar cruet!" replied Hugh promptly. +"And Aunt Loftus is a fat—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush! hush! my dear little boy!" +cried Hildegarde hastily. "You must not say +such things as that."</p> + +<p>"You asked me," replied Hugh simply. +"That is what I do call them when I think +about them."</p> + +<p>"But it is not nice to think rude and unkind +things," said the Purple Maid, reprovingly.</p> + +<p>"Then I won't think about them at all," +said the boy. "For they really are, you +know. I'd rather think of you, anyhow, and +mamma, and Merlin."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 334px;"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a> +<img src="images/gs04.png" width="334" height="500" alt=""Hildegarde had been making Friends with Merlin."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"<span class="smcap">Hildegarde had been making Friends with Merlin.</span>"</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>While this dialogue was going on, Hildegarde +had been making friends with Merlin, +who responded with cheerful cordiality to her +advances. He was a beautiful creature, of +true collie brown, with a black nose, and +the finest white waistcoat in the world. His +eyes were wonderful, clear, deep, and intelligent, +in colour "like mountain water when +it's flowing o'er a rock."</p> + +<p>"Dear lad!" said Hildegarde, taking his +black paw and pressing it affectionately. +"I know you are as good as you are handsome. +Will you be my friend, too? Hugh +is going to be my friend."</p> + +<p>"He will!" cried Hugh eagerly. "We +always like the same people, and <i>almost</i> +always the same things. He won't eat apples, +and I don't chase cats; but those are +nearly the only things we don't like together."</p> + +<p>At a turn in the road, Hildegarde saw in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +the distance a black figure walking toward +them.</p> + +<p>"There is my mother dear!" she exclaimed. +"She said she would come and +meet me. Will you come and see her, +Hugh?—she is <i>very</i> nice!" she added, seeing +that the boy hung back. But Hugh studied +his boots again with rapt attention, and +apparently read in them a summons back to The +Poplars.</p> + +<p>"I think I have to go back!" he said. +"I love you, and you are my Purple Maid. +May I come to see you once?"</p> + +<p>"You may come fifty times, dear little +lad!" cried Hildegarde warmly. "Come as +often as you like."</p> + +<p>But Hugh Allen shook his head sagely. +"Maybe once will be enough," he said. +"Come, Merlin! Good-by, Purple Maid!" +And he and Merlin disappeared in a cloud +of legs and dust.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>THE COUSINS.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Hildegarde</span> and her cousin Jack soon +became fast friends. His fear of Mrs. Grahame +vanished the first time he saw her +smile, and he found, to his great amazement, +that a girl was not necessarily either "dreadful" +or stupid; moreover, that a girl's +mother might be a very delightful person, +instead of a mixture of harpy and Gorgon. +He was invited to come to tea and bring his +violin. Colonel Ferrers was invited, too, but +promptly declined.</div> + +<p>"A fiddling nephew, dear madam," he +said, "is a dispensation to which I resign +myself, but I do not wish to hear him fiddle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame suggested that the fiddle +might be left at home.</p> + +<p>"No, no! Let him bring it! by all means +let him bring it! if you can really endure it +without discomfort, that is. It will be the +greatest pleasure to the lad, who is a good +lad, though a deplorable milksop."</p> + +<p>So Jack came with the precious black box +under his arm. Tea was set out on the +verandah, a symphony in white and gold,—golden +croquettes, butter, honey, snowy rolls, +and cream cheese,—and Hildegarde pouring +the tea, in white with gold-coloured ribbons at +waist and throat.</p> + +<p>Jack Ferrers had never seen anything of +this sort. "Daddy" and he had always been +together, and neither of them had ever cared +or thought how anything looked. He wondered +if his cousin Hildegarde was very frivolous. +Girls were, of course; and yet—she +was certainly very pretty; and, if she really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +cared for music—and then, being eighteen +and hungry, he gave his undivided attention +to the croquettes, which truly deserved it.</p> + +<p>And after tea, when they had sat quiet in +the twilight for a little, Hildegarde said +softly, "Now, Cousin Jack!" And Jack +took his violin and began to play.</p> + +<p>At the first note Mrs. Grahame laid down +her knitting; at the second, she and Hildegarde +exchanged glances; at the third, they +forgot each other and everything else save +the music. First came a few simple chords, +melting into a soft harmony, a prelude as +low and sweet as the notes of the mother-bird +brooding over her nest; then, suddenly, from +this soft cloud of peaceful harmony there +leaped a wonderful melody, clear and keen as +the same bird's song at daybreak,—a melody +that mounted higher and higher, soaring as +the lark breasts the blue morning, flight upon +flight of golden notes pouring out as if the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +violin were a living thing, a breathing, singing +creature, with heart and soul filled and +brimming over with love and joy and beauty.</p> + +<p>On and on the boy played, while the two +women listened spellbound, feeling that this +was no ordinary playing; and as he played +his whole aspect seemed to change. He +straightened himself and stood erect, save +for the loving bend of the head over the +beloved instrument. His blue eyes flashed, +his whole countenance grew luminous, intense. +The gawky, listless, indolent lad was +gone; and one saw only the musician rapt +in his art.</p> + +<p>When it was over, they were all silent for +a moment. Then Mrs. Grahame held out +her hand. "My dear boy!" she said. "My +dear Jack, you ought to be the happiest +fellow in the world. To be able to give and +to enjoy such pleasure as this, is indeed a +great privilege."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hildegarde could only look her thanks, for +the music had moved her deeply; but her +smile told Jack all that he wanted to know, +and it appeared that girls were not all frivolous; +also that it must be very nice to have +a mother.</p> + +<p>Then he played again. Indeed, they left +him no choice,—the Mozart concerto, of +which he had spoken, and then one lovely +thing after another, barcarolle and serenade +and fairy dance, melting finally into the exquisite +melody of an old Gaelic lullaby.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hildegarde, under her breath; +and then, as her mother bade her, she sang +softly the words she loved,—</p> + +<div class='center'> +"Slumber sweetly, little Donald."<br /> +</div> + +<p>Such a happy evening it was, on the wide +verandah, with the moon shining down, softening +everything into magical wonders of +ivory and silver!</p> + +<p>It was the first of many such evenings, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +soon Jack came to spending half his time at +Braeside. At nine o'clock Colonel Ferrers +would come striding up the gravel walk, +swinging his big stick; and then the violin +would be tenderly laid away, and half an +hour of pleasant chat would follow, after +which uncle and nephew would go off together, +and the last the two ladies heard of +them would be passionate adjurations from +the former to "step out," and not to "poke +your head forward like an army mule following +a grain-cart, sir!"</p> + +<p>One day the two cousins were taking a +walk together. At least they had been walking, +and now had sat down to rest on the +mossy trunk of a fallen tree,—in fact, of the +same great sycamore which Hildegarde had +christened Philemon, on the memorable day +of the tree-climbing. They had been talking +about everything and nothing, when suddenly +Jack shook his head and began earnestly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +"Did your mother mean that the other +night?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde simply looked at him, and raised +her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"I mean about my being happy," the boy +continued. "Because I'm not happy, and I +never expect to be."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" Hildegarde asked, seeing +that a confidence was coming.</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing in the world that +I want," cried the boy, "and that is just +what I cannot have. I want to go to Leipsic, +and Uncle Tom won't hear of it; calls it +nonsense, and is going to send me to Harvard. +We are poor, you know; Daddy doesn't know +anything about money, and—and who cares +about it, anyhow, except for—for things one +wants? Uncle Tom says I can't make a bow, +and—oh, all kinds of rubbish! What's the +use of making a bow? I'm not going to be a +dancing-master, Hildegarde!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Indeed, you would not be a good one!" +his cousin said; "but, considering that one +must make bows, Jack, isn't it just as well to +do it well as to do it badly?"</p> + +<p>"Who cares?" cried the boy, shaking his +head wildly. "If a man is going to <i>be</i> anything, +who cares how he bows? And—oh, +of course that is one item. I am to go to +Harvard, and learn to bow and to dance, and +to be a classical scholar, and to play base-ball. +I <i>hate</i> base-ball, Hilda! it's perfect idiocy, and +it makes my head ache, and any one can see +that I'm not cut out for athletics. Are you +laughing at me?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I am not!" said Hildegarde, +heartily. "But, tell me! you want to go to +Leipsic, to study music?"</p> + +<p>"Of course!" was the reply. "And Daddy +wants me to go, and Herr Geigen is going over +in the autumn, and he would place me, and +all; but Uncle Tom hates music, you know,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +and if I speak of it he goes off in a rage, and +talks about rascally Dutch fiddlers, and says +I walk like a giraffe with the palsy. At least, +that was the animal this morning. Yesterday +I was a gouty ostrich, and I suppose we shall +go through the whole menagerie."</p> + +<p>"You like him?" Hildegarde said interrogatively.</p> + +<p>"He is <i>very</i> kind, in his way," replied +Jack. "Awfully kind, and he loves my +father, and I know he wants to do things +for me; but—it all has to be done in his +way, don't you see? And—well, there isn't +anything in me except music. I know that, +you see, Hildegarde. Just nothing!"</p> + +<p>"I don't feel so sure of that!" Hildegarde +said. "Perhaps you never tried to develop +the other side of you. There must be other +sides, you know."</p> + +<p>"No, there aren't!" said Jack positively. +"None at all!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But that is nonsense!" cried Hildegarde +impatiently. "Do you mean to say that you +are a flat surface, like a playing-card, with +'music' painted on you?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know I was flat!" rather stiffly.</p> + +<p>"You see, you are not! then why not try to +care for something else <i>beside</i> music, without +caring any the less for that?"</p> + +<p>"What is there to care for? a parcel of +musty old books, such as Uncle Tom is forever +reading."</p> + +<p>"Oh! oh! you Goth! As if it were not a +rapture simply to look at the outside of your +uncle's books. To see my heart's own Doctor +in dark blue calf, with all that beautiful tooling—"</p> + +<p>"What Doctor? what are you talking +about, Hildegarde?"</p> + +<p>"Johnson, of course! Is there another? +as the man in <i>Punch</i> says about his hatter. +And even in your own line, you foolish boy!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +Have you never read that beautiful 'Life of +Handel'? I looked into it the other day, and +it seemed delightful."</p> + +<p>"No," said Jack, looking blank. "Where +is it? I never saw it."</p> + +<p>"Bookcase between the south windows, +fourth shelf, about the middle; three fat volumes +in green morocco. And you never saw +it, because you never look at the books at all. +What <i>do</i> you look at, Jack, except your music +and your violin? For example, do you ever +look in the glass? I know you don't."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" and Jack blushed +hotly.</p> + +<p>"Because—you won't mind? I am your +cousin, you know!—because your necktie is +so often crooked. It is crooked now; a little +more to the right! that's it! And—and you +ought to brush that spot off your coat. Now, +if you made it a point always to look in the +glass before leaving your room—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is that one of the sides you want me to +develop?" asked Jack slowly. "Caring about +dress, and looks, and that sort of thing? I +didn't know you were of that kind, Hildegarde."</p> + +<p>"Of what kind?" cried our heroine, blushing +furiously in her turn, and feeling that she +was in great danger of losing her temper. +"I certainly do care about my dress and +looks, as every one ought to do. Suppose the +next time you came to tea, you found me with +my hair tumbling down, and a great spot of +ink on my gown, and my ruffles torn! Is +that the kind of person you like to see? I +always thought Herrick's Julia was a most +untidy young woman, with her shoe-strings, +and her 'erring lace' and all."</p> + +<p>"I don't know who she is," said Jack +meekly. "But I beg your pardon if I was +rude, Hilda; and—and I will try to 'spruce +up,' as Uncle Tom is always trying to make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +me. You see," he added shyly, "when <i>you</i> +look in the glass you see something nice, and +I don't!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" said Hildegarde, promptly. +"And then, Jack—that is only one thing, of +course. But if you had the habit of using +your eyes! Oh! you don't know what a +difference it would make. I know, because +I used to be as blind as you are. I never +looked at anything till about two years ago. +And now—of course I am only learning +still, and shall be learning all my life, I hope; +but—well, I do see things more or less. For +example, what do you see at our feet here?"</p> + +<p>"Grass!" said Jack, peering about. +"Green grass. Do you think I don't know +that?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde laughed, and clapped her hands.</p> + +<p>"Just what I should have said two years +ago!" she cried. "There are twelve different +plants that I know—I've been counting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +them—and several more that are new to +me."</p> + +<p>"Well, they're all green, anyhow!" said +Jack. "What's the difference?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde scorned a direct reply, but went +on, being now mounted on her own hobby.</p> + +<p>"And as for moths, Jack, you can have +no idea of what my ignorance was in regard +to moths."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come!" said Jack. "Every one +knows about moths, of course. They eat our +clothes, and fly into the lamps. That is one +of the things one finds out when one is a +baby, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" cried Hildegarde. "And that +is all there is to find out, I suppose. Why—" +she stopped suddenly; then said in a very +different tone, "Oh, Jack! this is a wonderful +coincidence. Look! oh, <i>will</i> you look? +oh! the beautiful, beautiful dear! Get me +something! anything! quick!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>Jack, who was not accustomed to feminine +ways, wondered if his fair cousin was going +out of her mind. She was gazing intently at +a spot of lighter green on the "grass" at her +feet. Presently the spot moved, spread; developed +two great wings, delicate, exquisite, +in colour like a chrysoprase, or the pure, cold +green one sometimes sees in a winter sunset.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Jack, in wonder.</p> + +<p>"A Luna!" cried Hildegarde. "Hush! +slip off on the other side, quietly! <i>Fly</i> to +the house, and ask auntie for a fly-screen. +<i>Quick</i>, Jack!"</p> + +<p>Jack, greatly wondering, ran off none the +less, his long legs scampering with irreverent +haste through the Ladies' Garden. Returning +with the screen, which auntie gave him without +question, being well used to the sudden +frenzies of a moth-collector, he found Hildegarde +on her knees, holding her handkerchief +over the great moth, which fortunately had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +remained quiet, being indeed stupid in the +strong light. The girl's face was all aglow +with triumph and delight.</p> + +<p>"A perfect specimen," she cried, as she +skilfully conveyed the great moth under the +screen. "I have two, but the tails are a +little broken. Isn't he glorious, Jack? Oh, +happy day! Come, good cousin, and let us +take him home in a triumphal procession."</p> + +<p>Jack looked rather blank. "Are you going +home now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course, to put my beauty in the +ammonia jar."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she added, seeing that her +cousin looked really vexed.</p> + +<p>"Oh—nothing!" said Jack. "Nothing +of any consequence. I am ready."</p> + +<p>"But <i>what</i> is it?" Hildegarde repeated. +"You would a great deal better tell me than +look like that, for I know I have done something +to vex you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well—I am not used to girls, you know, +Hildegarde, and perhaps I am stupid. Only—well, +I was going to ask you seriously +what you thought about—my music, and all +that; and first you tell me to look in the +glass, and then you go to catching moths and +forget all about me. I suppose it's all right, +only—"</p> + +<p>He blushed, and evidently did not think it +<i>was</i> all right. Hildegarde blushed, too, in +real distress.</p> + +<p>"My <i>dear</i> Jack," she cried, "how shall I +tell you how sorry I am?"</p> + +<p>She looked about for a suitable place, and +then carefully set down the fly-screen with +its precious contents.</p> + +<p>"Sit down again," she cried, motioning +her cousin to take his place on the fallen +tree, while she did the same. "And you will +not believe now how interested I really am," +she said. "Mamma would never have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +so stupid, nor Rose either. But you must +believe me. I <i>was</i> thinking about you till—till +I saw the Luna, and you don't know +what a Luna means when one hasn't a perfect +specimen. But now, tell me, do you +think it would be quite impossible to persuade +your uncle? Why, you <i>must</i> go to Leipsic, +of course you must. He—has he ever heard +you play, Jack?"</p> + +<p>Jack laughed rather bitterly. "Once," he +said. "He cried out that when he wanted +to listen to cats with their tails tied together, +he would tie them himself. Since then I +always go up into the garret to practise, and +shut all the doors and windows."</p> + +<p>"What a pity! and he is so nice when one +knows him. I wonder—do you know, Jack, +what I am thinking of?"</p> + +<p>Her face was so bright that the boy's face +brightened as he looked at it.</p> + +<p>"I hope it is what I was thinking of," he +said; "but I didn't dare—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mamma," cried Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>He nodded in delight, colouring with +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"She is just the person."</p> + +<p>"Of course she is; but will she?"</p> + +<p>"Of course she will. I am sure of it. +Your uncle shall come to tea some evening, +and you shall stay at home. I will go away +to write letters, and then—oh, you see, +Jack, no one can resist mamma."</p> + +<p>"What a good fellow you are, Hildegarde! +Oh, I <i>beg</i> your pardon!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind!" cried Hildegarde merrily. +"I did climb the tree, you know. And now, +come along. I must take my beauty, my +love, my moonlight rapture, up to his death."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>BONNY SIR HUGH.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Meanwhile</span> Hildegarde had not lost sight +of little Hugh Allen, the one link of interest +which connected her with The Poplars. He, +too, had been won by Mrs. Grahame's smile, +and had learned the way to Braeside; and +the more they saw of him, the more Hildegarde +and her mother felt that he was a +very remarkable little boy.</div> + +<p>Much of the time he seemed to be lost in +dreams, wrapped in a cloud of silent thought; +and, again, from this cloud would flash out +the quaintest sayings, sudden outbursts of +passionate feeling, which were startling to +quiet, every-day people. When he had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +walking with Mrs. Grahame, as he was fond +of doing (sneaking out by the back gate from +his prison-place, as he called it, and making a +<i>détour</i> to reach the road where she most +often walked), and when she said, "Now, +dear, it is time to say good-by, and go home," +he would throw himself on his knees, and +hold up his clasped hands, crying, "How can +I leave thee?" in a manner which positively +embarrassed her.</p> + +<p>Now it happened one day that Hugh was +sitting with Merlin beside the brook that +flowed at the foot of the Ladies' Garden. +Hildegarde had told him to come through +the garden and wait for her, and it was his +first visit to the lovely, silent place. The +child went dreaming along between the high +box hedges, stopping occasionally to look +about him and to exchange confidences with +his dog. Merlin seemed to feel the influence +of the place, and went along quietly, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +bent head and drooping tail. When the +murmur of the hidden streamlet first fell +upon his ear, "It is like the fishpools of +Heshbon," said the boy dreamily. "Isn't +it, Merlin? I never understood before." +Merlin put his cool black nose in his master's +hand, and gave a little sympathetic shake.</p> + +<p>And now the pair were sitting on a bank of +moss, looking down into the dark, clear water, +which moved so swiftly yet so silently, with +only a faint sound, which somehow seemed no +louder than when they were at a distance.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 334px;"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a> +<img src="images/gs05.png" width="334" height="500" alt="Hildegarde finding Hugh and Merlin by the Brook." title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Hildegarde finding Hugh and Merlin by the Brook.</span></span> +</div> + +<p>"Do you see that dark round place where +it is deep, Merlin?" said the child. "Do +you think that under there lives a fair woman +with green hair, who takes a person by the +hand, and kisses him, and pulls him down? +Do you think that, Merlin?" But Merlin +sneezed, and shook his head, and evidently +thought nothing of the kind. "Then do you +think about fishes?" the boy went on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +"Dark little fishes, with gleaming eyes, who +are sad because they cannot speak. I wish I +knew your thoughts, Merlin."</p> + +<p>"Wuff!" said Merlin, in his voice of welcome, +raising his head, and becoming instantly +a living image of cheerfulness. Hugh +looked, and there was his Purple Maid, all +bright and shining, standing among the green +trees, and smiling at him. The child's face +flushed with such vivid light that the place +seemed brighter. He held out his arms with +a passionate gesture that would have been +theatrical if it had not been so real, but remained +silent.</p> + +<p>"Dear!" said Hildegarde. "How quiet +you are, you and Merlin! I could not tell +whether it was your voice or the brook, talking." +The boy and dog made room for her +between them, and she sat down. "Aren't +you going to speak to me, Hugh?" she continued, +as he still said nothing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I spoke to myself," said the boy. "When +I saw you stand there, angelic, in the green, +'Blessed heart of woman!' I said to myself. +Do you like the sound of that?"</p> + +<p>"My bonny Sir Hugh!" said Hildegarde, +laying her hand caressingly on the red-gold +hair. "I do like the sound of it. And do +you like this place? I want you to care for +it as I do."</p> + +<p>The boy nodded. "It is the place of dead +people," he said. "We are too alive to be +here."</p> + +<p>"I call it the Ladies' Garden," said Hildegarde +softly. "Fair, sweet ladies lived here +once, and loved it. They used to sit here, +Hugh, and wander up and down the green +paths, and fill the place with sweet, gentle +words. I don't believe they sang; Hester +may have sung, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Were they fair as the moon, clear as the +sun?" asked the child.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where did you find those sweet words, +Sir Hugh?"</p> + +<p>"In the Bible. 'Fair as the moon, clear as +the sun, terrible as an army with banners.' +And 'thy neck is a tower of ivory.' Were +they terrible, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! they were very gentle, I think, +very soft and mild, like folds of old soft cashmere; +only Hester was blithe and gay, and +she died, Hugh, when she was just my age. +Think of it! to die so young and go away +out of all the sunshine."</p> + +<p>The child looked at her with strange eyes. +"Why do you be sad?" he said. "Don't you +know about your Mother dear Jerusalem?"</p> + +<p>"A little," said Hildegarde. "Tell me +what you are thinking, Sir Hugh."</p> + +<p>"It is greener there," said the child, "and +brighter. Don't you know, blessed heart? +'Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers +as nowhere else are seen.' And more coloured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +words. Don't you love coloured words?" +The girl laid her hand on his lightly, but +said nothing, and he went on as if in a +dream.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Thy houses are of ivory,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thy windows crystal clear,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thy streets are laid with beaten gold—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">There angels do appear.'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"Two of them are papa and mamma," he +added after a pause. "Do you think they +mind waiting for me very much? At first I +wanted to go to them—oh, so badly! because +those people are devils, and I would +rather die; but now I have you, Purple +Maid, and your mother is like balm dropping +in the valley, and I don't mind waiting, if +only I thought <i>they</i> didn't mind it too much." +He looked up wistfully, and Hildegarde bent +to kiss him.</p> + +<p>"How long is it, dear?" she asked softly.</p> + +<p>"A year now, a very long year, only I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +Merlin. And Uncle Loftus took me out of +charity, he said; but mamma said I was to +go to Aunt Martha, so that makes me feel +wrong, even if I wanted to stay with them, +and it is the pains of hell to me."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Martha?" asked Hildegarde, willing +to ask more, yet dreading to rouse the +boy's scriptural eloquence on the subject of +his relatives at The Poplars.</p> + +<p>Hugh nodded. "Mamma's aunt," he said. +"She lives somewhere, not far from here, but +I don't know where; and Uncle Loftus won't +tell me, or let me see her, 'cause she is a menial. +What is a menial, dearly beloved?"</p> + +<p>"Did your uncle say that to you?" Hildegarde +asked, waiving the question.</p> + +<p>"He said it <i>at</i> me!" was the reply. "At +my back, but I heard it. She was a menial, +and he wasn't going to have folks saying that +his aunt was housekeeper to a stuck-up old +bear, just because she was a fool and had no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +proper spirit. And the others said 'hush!' +and I went away, and now they won't let me +speak about her."</p> + +<p>"Housekeeper to a—why!" began Hildegarde; +and then she was silent, and +smoothed the child's hair thoughtfully. An +old bear! that was what Mr. Loftus had +vulgarly called Colonel Ferrers. Could it be +possible that—Jack had told her about dear, +good Mrs. Beadle, who had been nurse to his +father and uncle, and who was so devoted to +them all, and such a superior woman. She +had been meaning to go to see her the next +time she was at Roseholme. Was there a +mystery here? was Mrs. Beadle the plump +and comfortable skeleton in the Loftus closet? +She must ask Jack.</p> + +<p>As she mused thus, the child had fallen +a-dreaming again, and they both sat for some +time silent, with the soft falling of the water +in their ears, and all the dim, shadowy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +beauty of the place filling their hearts with +vague delight.</p> + +<p>Presently, "Beloved," said Hugh (he wavered +between this and "Purple Maid" as +names for Hildegarde, wholly ignoring her +own name), "Beloved, there is an angel near +me. Did you know it?"</p> + +<p>"There might well be angels in this place," +said Hildegarde, looking at the boy, whose +wide blue eyes wore a far-away, spiritual look.</p> + +<p>"I don't mean just here in this spot. I +mean floating through the air at night. I +hear him, almost every night, playing on his +harp of gold."</p> + +<p>"Dear Hugh, tell me a little more clearly."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes the moon shines in at my window +and wakes me up, you know. Then I +get up and look out, for it is so like heaven, +only silver instead of gold; and then—then +I hear the angel play."</p> + +<p>"What does it sound like?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sometimes like a voice, sometimes like +birds. And then it sobs and cries, and dies +away, and then it sounds out again, like +'blow up the trumpet in the new moon,' and +goes up, up, up, oh, so high! Do you think +that is when the angel goes up to the gate, +and then is sorry for people here, and comes +back again? I have thought of that."</p> + +<p>"My bonny Sir Hugh!" said Hildegarde +gently. "Would you care less about the lovely +music if it was not really made by an angel? +if it was a person like you and me, who had +the power and the love to make such beautiful +sounds?"</p> + +<p>The child's face lightened. "Was it you?" +he said in an awe-struck voice.</p> + +<p>"Not I, dear, but my cousin, my cousin +Jack, who plays the violin most beautifully, +Hugh. He practises every night, up in the +garret at Roseholme, because—only think! +his uncle does not like to hear him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The ostrich gentleman!" cried Hugh, +bursting into merry laughter. "Is it the +ostrich gentleman?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde tried to look grave, with moderate +success. "My cousin is tall," she said, +"but you must not call names, little lad!"</p> + +<p>"Never any more will I call him it," cried +Hugh, "if he is really the angel. But he +does look like one. Must we go?" he asked +wistfully, as Hildegarde rose, and held out +her hand to him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, I am going to the village, you +know. I thought we would come this way +because I wanted you to see the Ladies' +Garden. Now we must go across the +meadow, and round by the back of Roseholme +to find the road again."</p> + +<p>They crossed the brook by some mossy +stepping-stones, and climbed the dark slope +on the further side, thick-set with ferns and +dusky hemlock-trees. Then came the wall,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +and then the sudden break into the sunny +meadow. Hugh threw off his grave mood +with the shadow, and danced and leaped in +the sunshine.</p> + +<p>"Shall I run with Merlin?" he asked. +"You have never seen us run, Beloved!"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde nodded, and with a shout and a +bark the two were off. A pretty sight they +were! the boy's golden head bobbing up and +down in full energy of running, the dog +bounding beside him with long, graceful +leaps. They breasted the long, low hill, then +swept round in a wide circle, and came rushing +past Hildegarde, breathless and radiant. +This was more than our heroine could bear. +With a merry "Hark, follow!" she started +in pursuit, and was soon running abreast of +the others, with head thrown back, eyes +sparkling, cheeks glowing.</p> + +<p>"Hurrah!" cried Hugh.</p> + +<p>"Hurrah it is!" echoed the Purple Maid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wow, <i>wow!</i>" panted Merlin, ecstatically.</p> + +<p>As the chase swept round the hill the +second time, two gentlemen came out of the +woods, and paused in amazement at the sight. +Hildegarde's long hair had come down, and +was flying in the wind; her two companions +were frantic with delight, and bobbed and +leaped, shouting, beside her. So bright was +the sunshine, so vivid in colour, so full of life +the three runners, they seemed actually to +flash as they moved.</p> + +<p>"Harry Monmouth!" cried Colonel Ferrers. +"Here is a girl who knows how to run. Look +at that action! It's poetry, sir! it's rhythm +and metre and melody.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Nor lighter does the swallow skim<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Along the smooth lake's airy rim.'</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>After her, Master Milksop, and let me see +what your long legs can do!"</div> + +<p>Jack Ferrers needed no second bidding, +and though his running was not graceful,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +being rather a hurling himself forward, as if +he were catapult and missile in one, he got +over the ground with great rapidity, and +caught his cousin up as she came flying round +the meadow for the third time. Hildegarde +stopped short, in great confusion.</p> + +<p>"Jack!" she faltered, panting. "How—where +did you come from? You must have +started up out of the earth."</p> + +<p>Turning to capture her flying tresses, she +caught sight of Colonel Ferrers, and her confusion +was redoubled.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, the crimson mounting +from her cheeks to her forehead, bathing her +in a fiery tide. "Oh! how could you? He—he +will be <i>sure</i> I am a tomboy now."</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the kind, my fair Atalanta!" +exclaimed the Colonel, who had the ears of +a fox. He advanced, beaming, and flourishing +his stick. "Nothing of the kind!" he +repeated. "He is delighted, on the contrary,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +to see a young creature who can make the +free movements of nature with nature's grace +and activity. Harry Monmouth! Miss Hildegarde, +I wish I were twenty years younger, +and I would challenge you to a race myself!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>A CALL AND A CONSPIRACY.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">And</span> you really seriously intend passing +the winter here?" asked Miss Leonie Loftus.</div> + +<p>This young lady had come to make a parting +call at Braeside. It was near the end of +August, and three months of country life +were all that she could possibly endure, and +she was going with her mother to Long +Branch, and thence to Saratoga.</p> + +<p>"You really mean it?" she repeated, looking +incredulous.</p> + +<p>"Assuredly!" replied Hildegarde, smiling. +"Winter and summer, and winter again, Miss +Loftus. This is our home now, and we have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +become attached to it even in these few +months."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you look at it in a sentimental light," +said Miss Loftus, with a disagreeable smile. +"The domestic hearth, and that sort of thing. +Rather old-fashioned, isn't it, Miss Grahame?"</p> + +<p>"Possibly; I have never thought of it as a +matter of fashion," was the quiet reply.</p> + +<p>"And how do you expect to kill time in +your wilderness?" was the next question.</p> + +<p>"Kill him?" Hildegarde laughed. "We +never can catch him, even for a moment, +Miss Loftus. He flies faster at Braeside than +even in New York. I sometimes think there +are only two days in the week, Monday and +Saturday."</p> + +<p>"I hear you have a sewing-school in the village. +I suppose that will take up some time."</p> + +<p>"I hope so! The children seem interested, +and it is a great pleasure to me. Then, +too, I expect to join some of Miss Wayland's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +classes in the fall, and that will keep me +busy, of course."</p> + +<p>"Miss Wayland, over in Dorset? Why, it +is three miles off."</p> + +<p>"And even if so? I hear it is a delightful +school, and Miss Wayland herself is very +lovely. Do you know her?"</p> + +<p>"No!" said Miss Loftus, who had been +"dying" as she would have put it, to get +into Miss Wayland's school three years before. +"A country boarding-school isn't <i>my</i> idea of +education."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hildegarde civilly. "But to +go back for a moment, Miss Loftus. Your +speaking of the children reminds me to ask +you, is little Hugh going with you to Long +Branch?"</p> + +<p>Miss Loftus coloured. "Oh, dear, no!" she +replied. "A child at such places, you know, +is out of the question. He is to be sent to +school. He is going next week."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But—pardon me! are not all schools in +vacation now?"</p> + +<p>"I believe so! But these people—the +Miss Hardhacks—are willing to take him +now, and keep him."</p> + +<p>"Poor little lad!" murmured Hildegarde, +regardless of the fact that it was none of her +business. "Will he not be very lonely?"</p> + +<p>"Beggars must not be choosers, Miss Grahame!" +was the reply, with another unamiable +smile. Miss Loftus really would not have +smiled at all, if she had known how she +looked.</p> + +<p>No sooner was the visitor gone, than Hildegarde +flew up to her mother with the news. +The Loftuses were going away; they were +going to send Hugh to school. What was to +be done? He could not go! He <i>should</i> not +go.</p> + +<p>She was greatly excited, but Mrs. Grahame's +quiet voice and words restored her composure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +"'Can't' and 'shan't' never won a battle!" +said that lady. "We must think and +plan."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde had lately discovered, beyond +peradventure, from some chance words let +fall by little Hugh, that his mother had been +the sister of Mr. Loftus; and she felt no doubt +in her own mind that good Mrs. Beadle was +aunt to both. The sister had been a school +teacher, had married a man of some education, +who died during the second year of their +marriage, leaving her alone, in a Western +town, with her little baby. She had struggled +on, not wishing to be a burden either on +her rich brother (who had not approved her +marriage) or her aunt, who had nothing but +her savings and her comfortable berth at +Roseholme. At length, consumption laying +its deadly hand on her, she sent for her +brother, and begged him to take the boy to +their good aunt, who, she knew, would care<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +for him as her own. "But he didn't!" said +Hugh. "He did not do that. He said he +would make a man of me, but I don't believe +he could make a very good one, do you, +Beloved?"</p> + +<p>Now the question was, how to bring about +a meeting between the boy and his great-aunt, +if great-aunt she were.</p> + +<p>No child was allowed to enter the sacred +precincts of Roseholme, for Colonel Ferrers +regarded children, and especially boys, as the +fountain-head of all mischief, flower-breaking, +bird-nesting, turf-destroying. His own +nephew had had to wait eighteen years for an +invitation. How could it be possible to introduce +little Hugh, a boy and a stranger, into +the charmed garden?</p> + +<p>If "Mammina" could only take him! No +one could resist her mother, Hildegarde +thought; certainly not Colonel Ferrers, who +admired her so much. But this dear mother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +had sprained her ankle a week before, slipping +on a mossy stone in the garden, and +was only now beginning to get about, using a +crutched stick.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame and Hildegarde put their +heads together, and talked long and earnestly. +Then they sent for Jack, and took counsel +with him; and a plan was made for the first +act of what Hildegarde called the Drama of +the Conspirators.</p> + +<p>A day or two after, when Mrs. Beadle drove +to the town of Whitfield, some miles off, on +her weekly marketing trip, it was Jack Ferrers, +instead of Giuseppe, the faithful manservant, +who held the reins and drove the +yellow wagon with the stout brown cob. He +wanted to buy some things, he said: a necktie, +and some chocolate, and—oh, lots of +things; and Mrs. Beadle was only too glad +of his company. The good housekeeper was +dressed, like Villikins' Dinah, in gorgeous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +array, her cashmere shawl being of the finest +scarlet, her gown of a brilliant blue, while +her bonnet nodded with blue and yellow cornflowers. +Not a tradesman in Whitfield but +came smiling to his door when he saw Mrs. +Beadle's yellow cart; for she was a good +customer, and wanted everything of the best +for her Colonel. When they at last turned +Chow-chow's head homeward, the wagon was +nearly filled with brown-paper parcels, and +Jack's pockets bulged out in all directions. +As they drove along the pleasant road, fringed +with oaks and beeches, Jack broke silence +with, "Biddy, did you ever have any children?"</p> + +<p>"Bless me, Master Jack, how you startled +me!" cried Mrs. Beadle, who was deep in +a problem of jelly and roly-poly pudding. +"No, dear! no jelly—I should say, no chick +nor child had I ever. I wasn't good enough, +I suppose."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nonsense. Biddy!" said Jack. "But you +must have had some relations; some—nieces +or nephews, or something of that sort."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beadle sighed, and fell straightway +into the trap.</p> + +<p>"I had, dear! I had, indeed, once upon a +time. But they're no good to me now, and +never will be."</p> + +<p>She sighed again.</p> + +<p>"How no good to you?" queried this artful +Jack.</p> + +<p>"Oh, 'tis a long story, dear, and you +wouldn't care for it at all. You would? +Well! well! there's no harm that I know of +in speaking of it. I've nothing to be ashamed +of. I had a niece, Master Jack, and a dearer +one never was, nor married to a finer young +man. But they went out West, and he died, +and left her with a baby. I wrote again and +again, begging her to come home, but she +was doing well, she said, and felt to stay, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +had friends there, and all. Oh, dear! and last +year—a year ago it is now, she died." Mrs. +Beadle drew out a handkerchief and wiped +her eyes. "She died, my dear; and—I +didn't ought to speak of this, Master Jack, it +do upset me so—I don't know where the +child is to this day."</p> + +<p>"Her child?" asked Jack, with a guilty +consciousness of his ears being red.</p> + +<p>"My own dear niece Martha's child!" +repeated the good woman sorrowfully. "A +boy it was, as should be seven years old by +this time. I've wrote, and I've wrote, but +no answer could I get. And whether he is +dead, too, or whether his father's people have +him, or what, is darkness to me."</p> + +<p>"The brute!" exclaimed Jack Ferrers vehemently. +"The cold-hearted, odious brute!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, my dear?" cried Mrs. Beadle, +drying her tears, and looking with alarm at +the pony. "His tail over the reins, is it?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +Well, he will do that, but 'tis only play. He +means no harm."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know!" cried Jack in confusion. +"I didn't mean—that is—and is that all +the relatives you have, Biddy?"</p> + +<p>"Why, boys do love questions, don't they?" +the good woman said. "I have a nephew +living, Master Jack; and if you guessed from +now till Sunday week, you never would guess +his name."</p> + +<p>"Solomon Grundy" rose to Jack's lips, he +could not in the least tell why. He did his +best to look unconscious, but it was perhaps +fortunate that Mrs. Beadle was so absorbed +in her own troubled thoughts that she did not +look at him.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" he asked. "Do tell me. +Biddy! Is it any one I ever heard of?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, my dear! don't tell a soul that I +mentioned it. I am not one to force myself +on them as has got up in the world, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +think honest service a disgrace. It's Ephraim +Loftus!"</p> + +<p>"Not Mr. Loftus at the Poplars?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Loftus at the Poplars! The very +same. My own sister's son, and little credit +he is to either of us. Don't ask me how +he made his money, for I don't know, and +don't want to know. When he was a little +boy, his pockets were always full of pennies +that he got from the other boys, trading +and the like, and nobody had a kindness +for him, though they loved Martha. Not +a soul in the village but loved Martha, +and would do anything for her. So when +Ephraim was fourteen or so, he went away +to New York, and we never heard anything +more till he came back three or four years +ago, a rich man, and built that great house, +and lived there summers. I've never seen +him but once; I don't go out, only just in +the back garden, except when I drive to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +town. And that once he looked me all over, +as if I was a waxwork in a glass case, and +never stopped nor spoke a word. That's +Ephraim Loftus! He needn't have been +afraid of my troubling him or his, I can tell +him. I wouldn't demean myself." Mrs. +Beadle's face was red, and her voice trembled +with angry pride.</p> + +<p>"And—" Jack wished Hildegarde were +speaking instead of himself; she would know +what to say, and he felt entirely at a loss. +"Do you—do you suppose he knows anything +about—about his sister's little boy?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beadle looked as if some one had +struck her a blow. "Ephraim Loftus!" she +cried. "If I thought that, Master Jack, I'd—I'd—why, +what's the matter, sir?" For +Jack had risen in his seat, and was waving +the whip wildly round his head.</p> + +<p>"It's my cousin," he said. "Don't you +see her coming?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, the dear young lady! yes, to be sure. +Walking this way, isn't she? Never mind me. +Master Jack!" said the good woman, striving +for composure. "I was upset by what you +said, that's all. It gave me a thought—who +is the little boy with Miss Grahame, dear?"</p> + +<p>"He? oh—he's a boy," said Jack, rather +incoherently. "His name is Hugh. Good-morning, +Hildegarde! Hallo, Hugh! how +are you?"</p> + +<p>"Good-morning!" cried Hildegarde, as the +wagon drew up beside her. "Good-morning, +Mrs. Beadle. Isn't it a lovely day? Will +the pony stand, Jack?"</p> + +<p>"Like a rock!" and Jack, obeying the +hint, leaped to the ground.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beadle had turned very pale. She +was gazing fixedly at Hugh, who returned +the look with wide blue eyes, shining with +some strong emotion.</p> + +<p>"Dear Mrs. Beadle," said Hildegarde gently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +taking the housekeeper's hand in hers as she +leant against the wagon, "this is a very +dear little friend of mine, whom I want you +to know. His name is Hugh; Hugh Allen; +and he is staying with his uncle, Mr. Loftus."</p> + +<p>"I knew it!" cried Mrs. Beadle, clapping +her hands together. "I knew it! And I am +going to faint!"</p> + +<p>"No, don't do that!" said Hugh, climbing +up into the seat beside her. "Don't do that. +You must be calm, for you are my great-aunt, +and I am your little nephew. How +do you do? I am very glad to see you."</p> + +<p>"You are sure he will stand?" whispered +Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>"Look at him! he is asleep already."</p> + +<p>"Then come along!" and the two conspirators +vanished among the trees.</p> + +<p>They pushed on a little way through the +tangle of undergrowth, and paused, breathless +and radiant, under a great beech-tree.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Jack," said Hildegarde, "you are a dear! +How did you manage it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't manage it at all. I am a stupid +ninny. Why, I've thrown her into a fit. Do +you think it's safe to leave her alone?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! a joy fit does not hurt, when +a person is well and strong. Oh! isn't it +delightful! and you have enjoyed it, too, +Jack, haven't you? I am sure you have. +And—why, you have a new hat! and your +necktie is straight. You look really very +nice, <i>mon cousin!</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>Mille remerciments, ma cousine!</i>" replied +Jack, with a low bow, which, Hildegarde +noticed, was not nearly so like the shutting-up +of a jackknife as it would have been a few +weeks ago. "Am I really improving? You +have no idea what I go through with, looking +in the glass. It is a humiliating practice. +Have some chocolates?" He pulled out a box, +and they crunched in silent contentment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now I think we may go back," said +Hildegarde, after her third bonbon. "But +I must tell you first what Hugh said. I told +him the whole story as we walked along; first +as if it were about some one else, you know, +and then when he had taken it all in, I told +him that he himself was the little boy. He +was silent at first, reflecting, as he always +does. Then he said: 'I am like an enchanted +prince, I think. Generally it is fair ones +with golden locks that take them out of +prison, but at my age a great-aunt is better. +Don't you think so, Beloved?' and I did think +so."</p> + +<p>"But it <i>was</i> a fair one with golden locks +who planned it all!" Jack said, with a shy +look at his cousin's fair hair.</p> + +<p>"Jack, you are learning to pay compliments!" +cried Hildegarde, clapping her hands. +"I believe you will go to Harvard after all, +and be a classical scholar."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I would never pay another," said Jack +seriously, "if I thought it would have that +effect."</p> + +<p>When they returned to the wagon, they +found Mrs. Beadle still wiping away joyful +tears, while Hugh was apparently making +plans for the future. His voice rang out +loud and clear. "And we will dwell in a +corner of the house-top, and have a dinner of +herbs!" said the child. "They may have <i>all</i> +the stalled oxes themselves, mayn't they, +great-aunt? And you will clothe us in +scarlet and fine wool, won't you, great-aunt?"</p> + +<p>"Bless your dear heart!" cried Mrs. Beadle. +"Is it red flannel you mean? Don't tell me +those heathen haven't put you into flannels!" +And she wept again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>THE SECOND ACT.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Colonel Ferrers</span> was taking his afternoon +stroll in the garden. Dinner was over; +for at Roseholme, as at Braeside, country +hours were kept, with early dinner, and seven +o'clock tea, the pleasantest of all meals.</div> + +<p>With a fragrant Manilla cigar between +his lips, and his good stick in his hand, the +Colonel paced up and down the well-kept gravel +paths, at peace with all mankind. The garden +was all ablaze with geranium and verbena, +heliotrope and larkspur. The pansies +spread a gold and purple mantle in their own +corner, while poppies were scattered all about +in well-planned confusion. All this was Giuseppe's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +work,—good, faithful Giuseppe, who +never rested, and never spoke, save to say +"Subito, Signor!" when his master called +him. He was at work now in a corner of +the garden, setting out chrysanthemums; +but no one would have known it, so noiseless +were his motions, so silent his coming and +going.</p> + +<p>The Colonel, though pleasantly conscious +of the lovely pomp spread out for his delight, +was thinking of other things than flowers. +He was thinking how his nephew Jack had +improved in the last two months. Positively, +thought the Colonel, the boy was developing, +was coming out of the animal kingdom, and +becoming quite human. Partly due to the Indian +clubs, no doubt, and to his, the Colonel's, +wholesome discipline and instructions; but +largely, sir, largely to feminine influence. +Daily intercourse with women like Mrs. Grahame +and her daughter would civilise a gorilla,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +let alone a well-intentioned giraffe who +played the fiddle. He puffed meditatively at +his cigar, and dwelt on a pleasant picture that +his mind called up: Hildegarde as he had +seen her yesterday, sitting with a dozen little +girls about her, and telling them stories while +they sewed, under her careful supervision, at +patchwork and dolls' clothes. How sweet she +looked! how bright her face was, as she told +the merry tale of the "Midsummer Night's +Dream." "Harry Monmouth, sir! she was +telling 'em Shakespeare! And they were +drinking it in as if it had been Mother +Goose." The Colonel paused, and sighed +heavily. "If Hester had lived," he said, "if +my little Hester had lived—" and then he +drew a long whiff of the fragrant Manilla, +and walked on.</p> + +<p>As he turned the corner by the great canna +plant, he came suddenly upon Mrs. Beadle, +who was apparently waiting to speak to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +The good housekeeper was in her state dress +of black silk, with embroidered apron and +lace mitts, and a truly wonderful cap; and +Colonel Ferrers, if he had been observant of +details, might have known that this portended +something of a serious nature. Being such +as he was, he merely raised his hat with his +grave courtesy, and said: "Good-afternoon, +Mrs. Beadle. Is it about the yellow pickles? +The same quantity as usual, ma'am, or perhaps +a few more jars, as I wish to send some +to Mrs. Grahame at Braeside."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beadle shivered a little. She had +made the yellow pickles at Roseholme for five +and twenty years; and now,—"No, sir," she +said faintly. "It is not the pickles." She +plucked at the fringe of her shawl, and +Colonel Ferrers waited, though with a kindling +eye. Women were admirable, but some +of their ways were hard to bear.</p> + +<p>Finally Mrs. Beadle made a desperate effort,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +and said, "Do you think, sir, that you could +find some one to take my place?"</p> + +<p>Colonel Ferrers fixed a look of keen inquiry +on her, and instantly felt her pulse. +"Rapid!" he said, "and fluttering; Elizabeth +Beadle, are you losing your mind?"</p> + +<p>"I have found my little boy, sir," cried +Mrs. Beadle, bursting into tears. "My dear +niece Martha's own child, Colonel Ferrers. +He is in the hands of heathen reprobates, if I +do say it, and it is my duty to make a home +for him. I never thought to leave Roseholme +while work I could, but you see how it is, sir."</p> + +<p>"I—see how it is?" cried the Colonel, +with a sudden explosion. Then controlling +himself by a great effort, he said with forced +calmness, "I will walk over to the end of the +garden, Elizabeth Beadle, and when I return +I shall expect a sensible and coherent—do +you understand?—<i>coherent</i> account of this +folderol. See how it is, indeed!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Colonel strode off, muttering to himself, +and poor Mrs. Beadle wiped her eyes, and +smoothed down her apron with trembling +hands, and made up her mind that she would +not cry, if she should die for it.</p> + +<p>When the grim-frowning Colonel returned, +she told her story with tolerable plainness, +and concluded by begging that her kind +friend and master would not be angry, but +would allow her to retire to a cottage, where +she could "see to" her niece's child, and bring +him up in a Christian way.</p> + +<p>"Pooh! pooh! my good Beadle!" cried +the Colonel. "Stuff and nonsense, my good +soul! I am delighted that you have found +the child; delighted, I assure you. We will +get him away from those people, never fear +for that! and we will send him to school. A +good school, ma'am, is the place for the boy. +None of your Hardhacks, but a school where +he will be happy and well-treated. In vacation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +time—hum! ha!—you might take a +little trip with him now and then, perhaps. +But as to disturbing your position here— Pooh! +pooh! stuff and nonsense! Don't let +me hear of it again!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beadle trembled, but remained firm. +"No school, sir!" she said. "What the +child needs is a home, Colonel Ferrers; and +there's nobody but me to make one for him. +No, sir! never, if I gave my life to it, could +I thank you as should be for your kindness +since first I set foot in this dear house, as no +other place will ever be home to me! but go +I must, Colonel, and the sooner the better."</p> + +<p>Then the Colonel exploded. His face +became purple; his eyes flashed fire, and, +leaning upon his stick, he poured out volley +upon volley of reproach, exhortation, argument. +Higher and higher rose his voice, till +the very leaves quivered upon the trees; till +the object of his wrath shook like an aspen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +and even Giuseppe, in the north corner of +the garden, quailed, and murmured "Santa +Maria!" over his chrysanthemums.</p> + +<p>How much more frightened, since theirs +was the blame of all the mischief, were two +guilty creatures who at this moment crouched, +concealed behind a great laurel-bush, listening +with all their ears!</p> + +<p>Jack and Hildegarde exchanged terrified +glances. They had known that the Colonel +would be angry, but they had no idea of +anything like this. He was in a white heat +of rage, and was hurling polysyllabic wrath +at the devoted woman before him, who stood +speechless but unshaken, meekly receiving +the torrent of invective.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, there was a movement among +the bushes; and the next moment a small +form emerged from the shade, and stood in +front of the furious old gentleman. "Is your +name Saul?" asked Hugh quietly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> + +<p>The two conspirators had forgotten the +child. They had brought him with them, +with some faint idea of letting the Colonel +see him as if by accident, hoping that his +quaint grace might make a favourable impression; +but in the stress of the occasion they +had wholly forgotten his presence, and now—now +matters were taken out of their hands. +Hildegarde clutched her parasol tight; Jack +clasped his violin, and both listened and +looked with all their souls.</p> + +<p>"Is your name Saul?" repeated the boy, +as the Colonel, astonishment choking for an +instant the torrent of his rage, paused speechless. +"Because if it is, the evil spirit from +God is upon you, and you should have some +one play with his hand."</p> + +<p>"What—what is this?" gasped the +Colonel. "Who are you, boy?"</p> + +<p>"I am my great-aunt's little nephew," +said Hugh. "But no matter for me. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +must sit down when the evil spirit is upon +you. You might hurt some one. Why do +you look so at me, great-aunt? Why don't +you help Mr. Saul?"</p> + +<p>"Come away, Hughie, love!" cried Mrs. +Beadle, in an agony of terror. "Come, dear, +and don't ever speak to the Colonel so again. +He's only a babe, sir, as doesn't know what he +is saying."</p> + +<p>"Go away yourself!" roared the Colonel, +recovering the power of speech. "Depart, +do you hear? Remove yourself from my +presence, or—" he moved forward. Mrs. +Beadle turned and fled. "Now," he said, +turning to the child, "what do you mean, +child, by what you said just now? I—I +will sit down."</p> + +<p>He sank heavily on a garden seat and +motioned the child before him. "What do +you mean, about Saul—eh?"</p> + +<p>"But you know," said Hugh, opening wide<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +eyes of wonder,—"are you so old that you +forget?—how the evil spirit from God came +upon King Saul, and they sent for David, +and he played with his hand till the evil +spirit went away. Now you remember?" He +nodded confidently, and sat down beside the +Colonel, who, though still heaving and panting +from his recent outburst, made no motion +to repel him. "I said <i>Mr.</i> Saul," Hugh continued, +"because you are not a king, you see, +and I suppose just 'Saul' would not be polite +when a person is as old as you are. And +<i>what</i> do you think?" he cried joyously, as a +sudden thought struck him. "The ostrich +gentleman plays most <i>beautifully</i> with his +hand. His name isn't David, but that doesn't +matter. I am going to find him."</p> + +<p>"Play, Jack," whispered Hildegarde. "Play, +<i>quick!</i> Something old and simple. Play +'Annie Laurie.'"</p> + +<p>Obeying the girl's fleeting look, Jack laid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +fiddle to bow, and the old love tune rose from +behind the laurel-bush and floated over the +garden, so sweet, so sweet, the very air seemed +to thrill with tenderness and gentle melody.</p> + +<p>Colonel Ferrers sank back on the seat. +"Hester's song," he murmured. "Hester's +song. Is it Hester, or an angel?"</p> + +<p>The notes rose, swelled into the pathetic +refrain,—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"And for bonny Annie Laurie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I'd lay me down and die."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>Then they sank away, and left the silence +still throbbing, as the hearts of the listeners +throbbed.</div> + +<p>"<i>I</i> thought it was an angel," cried Hugh, +"when I first heard him, Mr. Saul. But it +isn't. It is the ostrich gentleman, and he +has to play up in the attic generally, because +his uncle is a poor person who doesn't know +how to like music. I am <i>so</i> sorry for his +uncle, aren't you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said Colonel Ferrers gruffly. "Yes, +I am. Very sorry."</p> + +<p>A pause followed. Then Hugh asked cautiously: +"How do you feel now, Mr. Saul? +Do you feel as if the evil spirit were going +away?"</p> + +<p>"I've got him," said the Colonel, in whose +eyes the fire of anger was giving place to +something suspiciously like a twinkle. "I've +got him—bottled up. Now, youngster, who +told you all that?"</p> + +<p>"All what?" asked Hugh, whose thoughts +were beginning to wander as he gazed around +the garden. "About the poor person who +doesn't know how to—"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said the Colonel hastily, "not +that. About Saul and David, and all that. +Who put you up to it? Hey?"</p> + +<p>His keen eyes gazed intently into the clear +blue ones of the child. Hugh stared at him +a moment, then answered gently, with a note<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +of indulgence, as if he were speaking to a +much younger child: "It is in the Bible. It +is a pity that you do not know it. But perhaps +there are no pictures in your Bible. +There was a big one where I lived, all <i>full</i> of +pictures, so I learned to read that way. And +I always liked the Saul pictures," he added, +his eyes kindling, "because David was beautiful, +you know, and of a ruddy countenance; +and King Saul was all hunched up against +the tent-post, with his eyes glaring just as +yours were when you roared, only he was +uglier. You are not at all ugly now, but +then you looked as if you were going to burst. +If a person <i>should</i> burst—"</p> + +<p>Colonel Ferrers rose, and paced up and +down the path, going a few steps each +way, and glancing frequently at the boy +from under his bushy eyebrows. Hugh fell +into a short reverie, and woke to say cheerfully:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"This place fills me with heavenly joys. +Does it fill you?"</p> + +<p>"Humph!" growled the Colonel. "If you +lived here, you would break all the flowers +off, I suppose, and pull 'em to pieces to see +how they grow; eh?"</p> + +<p>Hugh contemplated him dreamily. "Is +that what you did when you were a little +boy?" he answered. "I love flowers. I +don't like to pick them, for it takes their life. +I don't care how they grow, as long as they +<i>do</i> grow."</p> + +<p>"And you would take all the birds' eggs," +continued the Colonel, "and throw stones at the +birds, and trample the flower-beds, and bring +mud into the house, and tie fire-crackers to the +cat's tail, and upset the ink. <i>I</i> know you!"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 334px;"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a> +<img src="images/gs06.png" width="334" height="500" alt="Hugh and Colonel Ferrers." title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class='smcap'>Hugh and Colonel Ferrers.</span></span> +</div> + +<p>Hugh rose with dignity, and fixed his eyes +on the Colonel with grave disapproval. "You +do <i>not</i> know me!" he said. "And—and if +that is the kind of boy you were, it is no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +wonder that the evil spirit comes upon you. +I shouldn't be a bit surprised if you did burst +some day. Good-by, Mr. Saul! I am going +away now."</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" cried the Colonel peremptorily. +"I beg your pardon! Do you hear? Shake +hands!"</p> + +<p>Hugh beamed forgiveness, and extended a +small brown paw, which was shaken with +right good will.</p> + +<p>"That's right!" said Colonel Ferrers, with +gruff heartiness. "Now go into the house +and find your great-aunt, and tell her to give +you some jam. Do you like jam?" The +boy nodded with all the rapture of seven +years. "Give you some jam, and a picture-book, +and make up a bed in the little red +room. Can you remember all that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Saul!" cried Hugh, dancing about +a little. "Nice Mr. Saul! Shall I bring you +some jam? What kind of jam shall I say?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What kind do you like best?"</p> + +<p>"Damson."</p> + +<p>"Damson it is! Off with you now!"</p> + +<p>When the boy was gone, the Colonel +walked up and down for a few moments, +frowning heavily, his hands holding his stick +behind him. Then he said quietly, "Jack!"</p> + +<p>Jack came forward and stood before him, +looking half-proud, half-sheepish, with his +fiddle under his arm.</p> + +<p>The Colonel contemplated him for a +moment in silence. Then, "Why in the +name of all that is cacophonous, didn't you +play me a tune at first, instead of an infernal +German exercise? Hey?"</p> + +<p>Jack blushed and stammered. He had +played for his uncle once only, a fugue by +Hummel, of which his mind had happened to +be full; he felt that it had not been a judicious +choice.</p> + +<p>"Can you play 'The Harp of Tara'?" demanded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +the Colonel; and Jack played, with +exquisite feeling, the lovely old tune, the +Colonel listening with bent head, and marking +the time with his stick. "Harry Monmouth!" +he said, when it was over. "Because +a man doesn't like to attend the violent +ward of a cats' lunatic asylum, it doesn't follow +that he doesn't care for music. Music, +sir, is melody, that's what it is!"</p> + +<p>Jack shuddered slightly, and did silent homage +to the shade of Wagner, but knew enough +to keep silence.</p> + +<p>"And—and where did you pick up this +child?" his uncle continued. "I take it back +about his having been put up to what he did. +He is true blue, that child; I shouldn't +wonder if you were, too, in milksop fashion. +Hey?"</p> + +<p>"Skim-milk is blue, you know, uncle," +said Jack, smiling. "But I didn't discover +Hugh. Isn't he a wonderful child, sir?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +Hildegarde discovered him, of course. I believe +Hildegarde does everything, except what +her mother does. Come here, Hildegarde! +Come and tell Uncle Tom about your finding +Hugh."</p> + +<p>But Hildegarde was gone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>A PICNIC.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">My</span> dear Colonel, I congratulate you +most heartily! Indeed, I had little doubt of +your success, for this was a case in which +Reynard the Fox was sure to have the worst +of it. But I am very curious to know how +you managed it."</div> + +<p>"Nothing could be simpler, my dear +madam. I went to the fellow's house +yesterday morning. 'Mr. Loftus, your little +nephew is at my house. Your aunt, Mrs. +Beadle, has taken charge of him, according to +his mother's wish, and I undertook to inform +you of the fact.' He turned all the colours +of the rainbow, began to bluster, and said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +he was the boy's nearest relation, which is +very true. 'I want him to grow up a gentleman,' +said he. 'Precisely,' said I. 'He +shall have a chance to do so, Mr. Loftus.' +The fellow didn't like that; he looked black +and green, and spoke of the law and the +police. 'That reminds me,' I said, 'of a +story. About twenty-five years ago, or it +may be thirty, a sum of money was stolen +from my desk, in what I call my counting-room +in my own house. Am I taking up too +much of your valuable time, sir?' He choked +and tried to speak, but could only shake his +head. 'The thief was a mere lad,' I went on, +'and a clumsy one, for he dropped his pocketknife +in getting out of the window,—a knife +marked with his name. For reasons of my +own I did not arrest the lad, who left town +immediately after; but I have the knife, +Ephraim, in my possession.' I waited a +moment, and then said that I would send for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +the little boy's trunk; wished him good-day, +and came off, leaving him glowering after +me on the doorstep. You see, it was very +simple."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Mrs. Grahame. "But is it +possible that Mr. Loftus—"</p> + +<p>"Very possible, my dear Mrs. Grahame. +As I told him, I have the knife, with his +name in full. One hundred dollars he stole; +for Elizabeth Beadle's sake, of course I let it +go. Her peace of mind is worth more than +that, for if she's thoroughly upset, the dinners +she orders are a nightmare, positively a +nightmare. That is actually one reason why +I planned this picnic for to-day, because I +knew I should have something with cornstarch +in it if I dined at home. Why cornstarch +should connect itself with trouble in +the feminine mind, I do not know; but such +seems to be the case."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame laughed heartily at this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +theory; then, in a few earnest words, she told +Colonel Ferrers how deeply interested she +and her daughter were in this singular child, +and how happy they were in the sudden and +great change in his prospects.</p> + +<p>"And I know you will love him," she +said. "You cannot help loving him, Colonel. +He is really a wonderful child."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said the Colonel thoughtfully. +Then after a pause, he continued: "I thought +I had lost the power of loving, Mrs. Grahame; +of loving anything but my flowers, that is, +any living creature; lost it forty years ago. +But somehow, of late, there has been a stirring +of the ground, a movement among the +old roots—yes! yes! there may be a little +life yet. That child of yours—you never +saw Hester Aytoun, Mrs. Grahame?"</p> + +<p>"Never," said Mrs. Grahame softly. "She +died the year before I came here as a child."</p> + +<p>"Precisely," said Colonel Ferrers. "She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +was a—a very lovely person. Your daughter +is extremely like her, my dear madam."</p> + +<p>"I fancied as much," said Mrs. Grahame, +"from the miniature I found in Uncle +Aytoun's collection."</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes! the miniature. I remember, +there were two. I have the mate to it, Mrs. +Grahame. Yes! your daughter is very like +her. There was a strong attachment between +Hester and myself. Then came a mistake, a +misunderstanding, the puff of a feather, a +breath of wind; I went away. She was +taken suddenly ill, died of a quick consumption. +That was forty years ago, but it +changed my life, do you see? I have lived +alone. Robert Aytoun was a disappointed +man. Wealthy Bond,—you know the old +story,—Agatha an invalid, Barbara a rigorous +woman, strict Calvinist, and so forth. +We all grew old together. The neighbours call +me a recluse, a bear—I don't know what all;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +right enough they have been. But now—well, +first the lad, there, came—my brother's +son. Duty, you know, and all the rest of it; +father an unsuccessful genius, angel and +saint, with an asinine quality added. That +waked me up a little, but only made me +growl. But that child of yours, and your +own society, if you will allow me to say so—I +see things with different eyes, in short. +Why, I am actually becoming fond of my +milksop; a good lad, eh, Mrs. Grahame? an +honest, gentlemanly lad, I think?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, yes!" cried Mrs. Grahame heartily. +"A most dear and good lad, Colonel +Grahame! I cannot tell you how fond Hilda +and I are of him."</p> + +<p>"That's right! that's right!" said the +Colonel, with great heartiness. "You have +done it all for him, between you. Holds up +his head now, walks like a Christian; and, positively, +I found him reading 'Henry Esmond,'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +the other day; reading it of his own accord, +you observe. Said his cousin Hilda said Esmond +was the finest gentleman she knew, and +wanted to know what he was like. When a +boy takes to 'Henry Esmond,' my dear madam, +he is headed in the right direction. +Asked me about Lord Herbert, too, at dinner +yesterday; really took an interest. Got that +from his cousin, too. How many girls know +anything about Lord Herbert? Tell me that, +will you?"</p> + +<p>"Hildegarde has always been a hero-worshipper!" +said Mrs. Grahame, smiling, with +the warm feeling about the heart that a +mother feels when her child is praised. "You +make me very happy, Colonel, with all these +kind words about my dear daughter. What +she is to me, of course, I cannot tell. 'The +very eyes of me!' you remember Herrick's +dear old song. But I think my good black +auntie put it best, one day last week, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +Hildegarde had a bad headache, and was in +her room all day. 'Miss Hildy,' said auntie, +'she's de salt in de soup, she is. 'Tain't no +good without her.' But hark! here they +come back, with the water; and now, Colonel, +it is time for luncheon."</p> + +<p>The speakers were sitting under a great +pine tree, one of a grove which crowned the +top of a green hill. Below them lay broad, +sunny meadows, here whitening into silver +with daisies, there waving with the young +grain. In a hollow at a little distance lay a +tiny lake, as if a giantess had dropped her +mirror down among the golden fields; further +off, dark stretches of woodland framed the +bright picture. It was a scene of perfect +beauty. Mrs. Grahame sat gazing over the +landscape, her heart filled with a great peace. +She listened to the young voices, which were +coming nearer and nearer. She was so glad +that she had made the effort to come. It had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +been an effort, even though Colonel Ferrers's +thoughtfulness had provided the most comfortable +of low phaetons, drawn by the slowest +and steadiest of cobs, which had brought her +with as little discomfort as might be to the +top of the hill. But how well worth the +fatigue it was to be here!</p> + +<p>"And do you love me, Purple Maid?" It +was Hugh's clear treble that thrilled with +earnestness.</p> + +<p>"I love you very much, dear lad! What +would you do if I did not, Hugh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I should weep, and weep, and be a +<i>very</i> melancholy Jaques, indeed!"</p> + +<p>"Melancholy Jaques!" muttered Colonel +Ferrers. "Where on earth did he get hold +of that? Extraordinary youngster!"</p> + +<p>"He loves the Shakespeare stories," said +Mrs. Grahame. "Hilda tells them to him, +and reads bits here and there. Oh, I assure +you, Colonel Ferrers, Hugh is a revelation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +There never was a child like him, I do +believe. But, hush! here he is!"</p> + +<p>The boy's bright head appeared, as he came +up the hill, hand in hand with Hildegarde. +They were laden with ferns and flowers, while +Jack Ferrers, a few steps behind, carried a +pail of fresh water.</p> + +<p>"Aha!" said the Colonel, rubbing his hands. +"Here we are, eh? What! you have robbed +the woods, Hildegarde? Scaramouche, how +goes it, hey?"</p> + +<p>"It goes very well!" replied Hugh soberly, +but with sparkling eyes. "I am going to call +him 'Bonny Dundee,' because his name is +John Grahame, you see; and she says, perhaps +he <i>may</i> be a hero, too, some day; that +would be <i>so</i> nice!"</p> + +<p>"Come, Hugh!" said Hildegarde, laughing +and blushing. "You must not tell our +secrets. Wait till he <i>is</i> a hero, and then he +shall have the hero's name."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What!" cried the Colonel. "You young +Jacobite, are you instilling your pernicious +doctrines into this child's breast? Bonny +Dundee, indeed! Marmalade is all that I +want to know about Dundee. Bring the hamper, +Jack! here, under this tree! You are +quite comfortable here, Mrs. Grahame?"</p> + +<p>"Extremely comfortable," said that lady. +"Now, you gentlemen may unpack the baskets, +while Hilda and I lay the cloth."</p> + +<p>All hands went to work, and soon a most +tempting repast was set out under the great +pine tree. Colonel Ferrers's contribution was +a triumph of Mrs. Beadle's skill, and resembled +Tennyson's immortal</p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Pasty costly made,</span><br /> +Where quail and pigeon, lark and linnet lay,<br /> +With golden yolks imbedded and injellied."<br /> +</div> + +<p>Indeed, the Colonel quoted these lines with +great satisfaction, as he set the great pie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +down in the centre of the "damask napkin, +wrought with horse and hound."</p> + +<p>"That is truly magnificent!" exclaimed +Mrs. Grahame. "And I can match it with +'the dusky loaf that smells of home,'" she +added, taking out of her basket a loaf of +graham bread and a pot of golden butter.</p> + +<p>"Here is the smoked tongue," cried Hildegarde; +"here is raspberry jam, and almond +cake. Shall we starve, do you think, Colonel +Ferrers?"</p> + +<p>"In case of extreme hunger, I have brought +a few peaches," said the Colonel; and he +piled the rosy, glowing, perfect globes in a +pyramid at a corner of the cloth.</p> + +<p>"Cloth of gold shall be matched with cloth +of frieze," said Mrs. Grahame, and in the +opposite corner rose a pyramid of baked potatoes, +hot and hot, wafting such an inviting +smell through the air that the Colonel seized +the carving-knife at once.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are you ready?" he demanded. "Why—where +is Jack? Jack, you rascal! where +have you got to?"</p> + +<p>"Here!" cried a voice among the bushes; +and Jack appeared, flushed with triumph, +carrying a smoking coffee-pot. "This is my +contribution," he said. "If it is only clear! +I think it is."</p> + +<p>Hildegarde held out a cup, and he poured +out a clear amber stream, whose fragrance +made both potatoes and peaches retire from +the competition.</p> + +<p>"You really made this?" Colonel Ferrers +asked. "You, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I, sir," replied Jack. "Biddy taught me. +I—I have been practising on you for a couple +of days," he added, smiling. "You may remember +that your coffee was not quite clear +day before yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"Clear!" exclaimed the Colonel, bending +his brows in mock anger. "I thought Lethe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +and Acheron had been stirred into it. So +that is the kind of trick Elizabeth Beadle +plays on me, eh? Scaramouche!" addressing +Hugh, "you must look after this great-aunt +of yours, do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"She made the pie," said Hugh diplomatically.</p> + +<p>"She did! she did!" cried Hildegarde, +holding out her cup. "Let no one breathe a +word against her. Fill up, fill up the festal +cup! drop Friendship's sugar therein! two +lumps, my mother, if you love me!"</p> + +<p>"Somebody should make a poem on this +pie," said Mrs. Grahame. "There never was +such a pie, I believe. Hilda, you seem in +poetic mood. Can you not improvise something?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde considered for a few minutes, +making meanwhile intimate acquaintance with +the theme of song; then throwing back her +head, she exclaimed with dramatic fervour:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"I sing the pie!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">The pie sing I!</span><br /> +And yet I do not sing it; why?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Because my mind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Is more inclined</span><br /> +To eat it than to glorify."<br /> +</div> + +<p>Anything will make people laugh at a picnic, +especially on a day when the whole +world is aglow with light and life and joy. +One jest followed another, and the walls of +the pie melted away to the sound of laughter, +as did those of Jericho at the sound of the +trumpet. Merlin, who had stayed behind to +watch a woodchuck, came up just in time to +consume the last fragments, which he did +with right good will. Then, when they had +eaten "a combination of Keats and sunset," +as Mrs. Grahame called the peaches, the +Colonel asked permission to light his cigar; +and the soft fragrance of the Manilla mingled +with odours of pine and fir, while delicate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +blue rings floated through the air, to the +delight of Hugh and Merlin.</p> + +<p>"This is the nose dinner," said the child. +"It is almost better than the mouth dinner, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said the Colonel, puffing meditatively. +"If you hadn't had the mouth dinner +first, young man, I think we should hear +from you shortly. Hest—a—Hildegarde, +will you give us a song?"</p> + +<p>So Hildegarde sang one song and another, +the old songs that the Colonel loved: "Ben +Bolt," and "The Arethusa," and "A-hunting +we will go"; and then, for her own particular +pleasure and her mother's, she sang an old +ballad, to a strange, lovely old air that she +had found in an Elizabethan song-book.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"When shaws been sheene, and shraddes full faire,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And leaves are large and long,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">It is merry walking in the fair forest,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To hear the small birds' song.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The woodwele sang, and would not cease,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sitting upon the spray,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Soe loud, he wakened Robin Hood,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In the greenwood where he lay."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>It was the ballad of Robin Hood and Guy +of Gisborne; and when she sang the second +verse her mother's sweet alto chimed in; and +when she sang the third verse, Jack began to +whistle a soft, sweet accompaniment, the effect +of which was almost magical; and when +she sang the fourth verse,—wonder of wonders! +here was the Colonel humming a bass, +rather gruff, but in perfect tune.</p> + +<p>When the ballad was over, there was +a chorus of surprise and congratulation. +"Colonel Ferrers! why didn't you tell us +you sang?"</p> + +<p>"I say, Uncle Tom, you've been regularly +humbugging us. The idea of your turning +out a <i>basso profundo!</i>"</p> + +<p>The Colonel looked pleased and conscious.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Saul among the prophets, eh?" he said. +"This little rascal calls me Saul, you know, +Mrs. Grahame; caught me in a temper the +other day, and set Jack on me with his fiddle. +Ha! hum! Why, I used to sing a little, duets +and so forth, forty years ago. Always fond +of singing; fond of anything that has a tune +to it, though I can't abide your Dutch noises. +Where's your fiddle, Jack?"</p> + +<p>Jack had not brought his fiddle; but he +whistled a Scotch reel that Colonel Ferrers +had not heard since before the flood, he said; +and then Hildegarde sang "Young Lochinvar," +and so the pleasant moments went.</p> + +<p>By and by, when the dishes were burned +(such a convenience are the paper dishes, +removing the only unpleasant feature of a +picnic, the washing of dishes or carrying +home of dirty ones), and everything neatly +packed away, Hugh challenged Hildegarde to +a race down the hill and across the long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +meadow to the sunk wall beyond. Jack +claimed a place in the running, but the +Colonel insisted that he and Merlin should +give the others odds, as ostriches and quadrupeds +had an unfair advantage over ordinary +runners. Mrs. Grahame, after hunting in her +reticule, produced a prize, a rouleau of chocolate; +positions were taken, and Colonel Ferrers +gave the signal—one, two, three, and +away! Away went Hildegarde and the boy, +Jack holding Merlin, who was frantic with +impatience, and did not understand the theory +of handicaps. As the first pair reached the +bottom of the hill, the Colonel again gave +the signal, and the second two darted in +pursuit. "Away, away went Auster like an +arrow from the bow!"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde was running beautifully, her +head thrown back, her arms close at her +sides; just behind her Hugh's bright head +bobbed up and down, as his little legs flew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +like a windmill. But Jack Ferrers really +merited his name of the ostrich gentleman, +as with head poked forward, arms flapping, +and legs moving without apparent concert, +he hurled himself down the hill at a most +astonishing rate of speed. The Colonel and +Mrs. Grahame looked on with delight, when +suddenly both uttered an exclamation and +rose to their feet.</p> + +<p>What was it?</p> + +<p>From behind a clump of trees at a little +distance beyond Hildegarde, a large animal +suddenly appeared. It had apparently been +grazing, but now it stopped short, raised its +head, and gazed at the two figures which +came flying, all unconscious, towards it.</p> + +<p>"John Bryan's bull!" cried Mrs. Grahame. +"Oh! Colonel Ferrers, the children! Hildegarde!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be alarmed, dear madam!" said +the Colonel hastily, seizing his stick. "Remain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +where you are, I beg of you. I will +have John Bryan hanged to-morrow! Meanwhile"—and +he hastened down the hill, as +rapidly as seventy years and a rheumatic +knee would permit.</p> + +<p>But it was clear that whatever was to be +done must be done quickly. Hildegarde and +Hugh had seen the bull, and stopped. He +was well known as a dangerous animal, and +had once before escaped from his owner, a +neighbouring farmer. Mrs. Grahame, faint +with terror, saw little Hugh, with a sudden +movement, throw himself before Hildegarde, +who clasped her arms round him, and slowly +and quietly began to move backwards. The +bull uttered a bellow, and advanced, pawing +the ground; at first slowly, then more and +more rapidly as Hildegarde increased her pace, +till but a short distance intervened between +him and the two helpless children. Colonel +Ferrers was still a long way off. Oh! for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +help! help! The bull bellowed again, lowered +his huge head, and rushed forward. In +a moment he would be upon them. Suddenly—what +was this? A strange object appeared, +directly between the bull and his helpless +victims. What was it? The bull stopped +short, and glared at his new enemy. Two +long legs, like those of a man, but no body; +between the legs a face, looking at him with +fiery eyes. Such a thing the bull had never +seen. What was it? Men he knew, and +women, and children; knew and hated them, +for they were like his master, who kept him +shut up, and sometimes beat him. But this +thing! what was it? The strange figure +advanced steadily towards him; the bull +retreated—stopped—bellowed—retreated again, +shaking his head. He did not like this. +Suddenly the figure made a spring! turned +upside down. The long legs waved threateningly +in the air, and with an unearthly shriek<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +the monster came whirling forward in the +shape of a wheel. John Bryan's bull turned +and fled, as never bull fled before. Snorting +with terror, he went crashing through the +woods, that wild shriek still sounding in his +ears; and he never stopped till he reached his +own barnyard, where John Bryan promptly +beat him and tied him up.</p> + +<p>Hildegarde, pale and trembling, held out +her hand as Jack, assuming his normal posture, +came forward. She tried to speak, but +found no voice, and could only press his hand +and look her gratitude.</p> + +<p>Colonel Ferrers, much out of breath, came +up, and gave the lad's hand a shake that +might almost have loosened his arm in the +socket. "Well done, lad!" he cried. "You +are of the right stuff, after all, and +you'll hear no more 'milksop' from me. +Where did you learn that trick? Harry +Monmouth! the beast was frightened out of +his boots! Where did you learn it, boy?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> + +<p>"An Englishman showed it to me," said +Jack modestly. "It's nothing to do, but it +always scares them. How are you now, Hildegarde? +Sit down, and let me bring you +some water!"</p> + +<p>But Hugh Allen clasped the long legs of +his deliverer, and cried joyously, "I knew +he was a David! he is a double David now, +isn't he, Beloved?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hildegarde, smiling again, as +she turned to hasten up the hill to her +mother, "but <i>I</i> shall call him 'Bonny Dundee,' +for he has won the hero's name."</p> + +<p>"It was the ostrich that won the day, +though," said Jack, looking at his legs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a> +<img src="images/gs07.png" width="325" height="500" alt="Over the Jam Pots." title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class='smcap'>Over the Jam Pots.</span></span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>OVER THE JAM-POTS.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">One</span> bright September morning Hildegarde +was sitting in the dining-room, covering jam-pots. +She had made the jam herself—peach +marmalade it was, the best in the world, all +golden-brown, like clear old amber—a day +or two before, and now it was firm enough to +cover. At her right hand was a pile of +covers, thick white paper cut neatly in rounds, +a saucer full of white of egg, another full of +brandy, an inkstand and pen. At her left was +an open book, and a large rosy apple. She +worked away busily with deft fingers, only +stopping now and then for a moment to nibble +her apple. First a small cover wet in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +brandy, fitting neatly inside the jar; then a +large cover brushed over with white of egg, +which, when dry, would make the paper stiff, +and at the same time fasten it securely +round the jar. And all the time she was +murmuring to herself, with an occasional +glance at the volume beside her,—</div> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Sabrina fair, listen where thou art sitting,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In twisted braids of lilies knitting</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Listen for dear honour's sake,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Goddess of the silver lake,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Listen and save!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Listen and appear to us,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In name of great Oceanus.'"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Here she stopped to write on several jars +the paper on which was dry and hard; a bite +at her apple, and she continued,—</p> + +<div class='center'> +"'By the earth-shaking Neptune's crook'—"<br /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," glancing at the book. "Why do I +always get that wrong?</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'By the earth-shaking Neptune's <i>mace</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And Tethys' grave majestic pace;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the Carpathian'—"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>At this moment a shadow fell on the table, +as of some one passing by the window, and +the next moment Jack entered.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" he asked, after the +morning greetings, sitting down and scowling +at the unoffending jam-pots. "Can't you +come out in the garden? It's no end of a +day, you know!"</p> + +<p>"No end?" said Hildegarde. "Then I +shall have plenty of time, and I must finish +my jam-pots in any case, and my poetry."</p> + +<p>"Poetry? are you making it?"</p> + +<p>"Only learning it. I like to learn bits +when I am doing things of this sort.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'By Leucothea's lovely hands,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And her son that rules the strands'—</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"Wait just a moment, Jack. I think I +know it all now.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the songs of Sirens sweet'—</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>Isn't that lovely, Jack?"</div> + +<p>"Oh, yes," answered Jack absently. "What +<i>have</i> you been doing here, Hilda?" He was +studying the jars that were already marked, +and now read aloud,—</p> + +<div class='center'> +"'William the Conqueror, his Jam, 1066.'<br /> +<br /> +"'Peach Marmalade.<br /> +Put up by Hamlet, Prince of Denmark,<br /> +For his own use.'<br /> +</div> + +<p>"What an extraordinary girl you are, Hildegarde!"</p> + +<p>"Not at all extraordinary!" cried Hildegarde, +laughing and blushing. "Why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +shouldn't I amuse myself? It hurts no one, +and it amuses me very much."</p> + +<p>Jack laughed, and went on,—</p> + +<div class='center'> +"'Marmaladus Crabappulis.<br /> +C. J. Cæsar fecit.<br /> +Jam satis.'<br /> +<br /> +"'Crab-apple Jelly.<br /> +Macbeth, Banquo & Co., Limited.'<br /> +<br /> +"'Peach Marmalade.<br /> +Made by<br /> +John Grahame, Viscount Dundee. Gold Medal.'<br /> +</div> + +<p>"This ought to be mine."</p> + +<p>"It shall be yours, greedy viscount. Get +a spoon and eat it at once, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Thank you so much. I would rather +take it home, if I may. I say, what is that +brown stuff out on the porch, with mosquito +netting over it? Nothing very valuable, I +hope?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>Jack!</i>" cried Hildegarde, springing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +up, "my peach leather! What have you—did +you fall into it? Oh, and I thought you +were improving so much! I must go—"</p> + +<p>"No, don't go," said her cousin. "I—I +only knocked down one plate. And—Merlin +was with me, you know, and I don't believe +you would find any left. I am very sorry, +Hilda. Can I make some more for you?"</p> + +<p>"I think not, my cousin. But no matter, +if it is only one plate, for there are a good +many, as you saw. Only, do be careful when +you go home, that's a good boy."</p> + +<p>"What is it, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>"Why—you cook it with brown sugar, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Cook what? Leather?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! the masculine mind is <i>so</i> +obtuse—peaches, O sacred bird of Juno!"</p> + +<p>"The eagle?"</p> + +<p>"The goose. You really <i>must</i> study mythology, +Jack. You cook the peaches with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +brown sugar, and then you rub them through +a sieve,—it's a horrid piece of work!—and +then spread them on plates, just as you saw +them, and cover them to keep the flies off."</p> + +<p>"And leave long ends trailing to trip up your +visitors."</p> + +<p>"One doesn't expect giraffes to make +morning calls. So after a few days it hardens, +if it has the luck to be left alone, and +then you roll it up."</p> + +<p>"Plates and all?"</p> + +<p>"Of course! and sprinkle sugar over it, and +it is really delicious. I might have given you +that plate you knocked over, but now—"</p> + +<p>"It was the smallest, I remember."</p> + +<p>"And, Jack, I made it all myself. No one +else touched it. And all this marmalade, and +three dozen pots of currant jelly, and four +dozen of crab-apple."</p> + +<p>"Sacred bird of Juno!" ejaculated her +cousin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you dare call <i>me</i> a goose, sir?"</p> + +<p>"She drove peacocks, didn't she? I do +know a <i>little</i> mythology.</p> + +<p>"But, Hildegarde, be serious now, will +you? I'm in a peck of trouble, as Biddy says. +I want consolation, or advice, or something."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, and tell me," said Hildegarde, +full of interest at once.</p> + +<p>Jack sat down and drummed on the table, +a thing that Hildegarde had never been +allowed to do.</p> + +<p>"I got a letter from Daddy, yesterday," he +said, after a pause. "Herr Geigen is going to +Germany now, in a week, and Daddy says I +may go if Uncle Tom is willing."</p> + +<p>"And he isn't willing?" Hilda said. "Oh!"</p> + +<p>Jack got up and moved restlessly about the +room, laying waste the chairs as he went. +"Willing? He only roars, and says, 'Stuff +and nonsense!' which is no answer, you know, +Hilda. If he would just say 'No,' quietly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +I—well, of course you can make up your +mind to stand a thing, and stand it. But he +won't listen to me for five minutes. If he +could realise—one can get as good an education +at Leipsic as at Harvard. But his idea +of Germany is a country inhabited by a crazy +emperor and a 'parcel of Dutch fiddlers,' and +by no one else. I shall have to give it up, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" cried Hildegarde hopefully. +"Don't give it up yet. You know when +mamma spoke to him, he didn't absolutely +say 'No.' He said he would think about it. +Perhaps—she might ask him if he had +thought about it. Wait a day or two, at any +rate, Jack, before you write to your father. +Can you wait?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! but it won't make any difference. +I suppose it's good for me. You say +all trouble is good in the end. Have you +ever had any trouble, I wonder, Hilda?"</p> + +<p>"My father!" said Hildegarde, colouring.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Forgive me!" cried her cousin. "I am +a brute! an idiotic brute! What shall I do?" +he said in desperation, seeing the tears in the +girl's clear eyes. "It would do no good if I +went and shot myself, or I would in a minute. +You will forgive me, Hilda?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, there is nothing to forgive!" +said Hildegarde, smiling kindly at him. +"Nothing at all. I shouldn't have minded—but—it +is his birthday to-morrow," and +the tears overflowed this time, while Jack stood +looking at her in silent remorse, mentally +heaping the most frantic abuse upon himself.</p> + +<p>The tears were soon dried, however, and +Hildegarde was her cheerful self again. "You +must go now," she said, "for I have all these +jam-pots to put away, and it is nearly dinner-time. +See! this jar of peach marmalade is +for Hugh, because he is fond of it. Of course +Mrs. Beadle can make it a great deal better, +but he will like this because his Purple Maid +made it. Isn't he a darling, Jack?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, he's a little brick, certainly. Uncle +Tom calls him the Ph[oe]nix, and is more delighted +with him every day. Now <i>there's</i> a +boy who ought to go to Harvard."</p> + +<p>"He will," said Hildegarde, nodding +sagely. "Good-by, Jack dear!"</p> + +<p>"It is very early. I don't see why I have +to go so soon! Can't I help you to put away +the jam-pots?"</p> + +<p>"You can go home, my dear boy. Good-by! +I sha'nt forget—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, good-by!" and Jack flung off in half a +huff, as auntie would have said.</p> + +<p>Hildegarde looked after him thoughtfully. +"How young he is!" she said to herself. "I +wonder if boys always are. And yet he is +two years older than I by the clock, if you +understand what I mean!" She addressed +the jam-pots, in grave confidence, and began +to put them away in their own particular cupboard.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>AT THE BROWN COTTAGE.</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Hildegarde's</span> mind was still full of her +cousin and his future, as she sat that afternoon +in Mrs. Lankton's kitchen, with her +sewing-school around her. The brown cottage +with the green door had been found the +most central and convenient place for the little +class, and it was an object of absorbing +interest to Mrs. Lankton herself. She hovered +about Hildegarde and her scholars, predicting +disease and death for one and another, +with ghoulish joy.</div> + +<p>"Your ma hadn't ought to let you come +out to-day, Marthy Skeat. You warn't never +rugged from the time you was a baby;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +teethin' like to have carried you off, and +'tain't too late now. There's wisdom teeth, +ye know. Well, it's none o' my business, but +I hope your ma's prepared. Good-mornin', +Miss Grahame! I'm tellin' Marthy Skeat she +ain't very likely to see long skirts, comin' out +in this damp air. You're peart, are ye? That's +right! Ah! they can look peart as ain't had +no troubles yet. I was jist like you oncet, +Miss Grahame. I've had a sight o' trouble! +no one don't know what I've ben through; +don't know nothin' about it. You've fleshed +up some since ye came here, ain't ye? Well, +they do flesh up that way sometimes, but +'tain't no good sign. There's measles about, +too, they say."</p> + +<p>"How bright and pretty your plants are, +Mrs. Lankton!" said Hilda, trying to make +a diversion. "No, Jack!—I mean Jenny! +you will have to take that out again. See +those long stitches! They look as if they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +were all running after each other, don't +they? Take them out, dear, and make me +some nice, neat little stitches, stepping along +quietly, as you do when you have on those +new shoes you were telling me about. Lizzie, +I wonder what turns your thread so dark? +See how white my seam is! What do you +suppose is the matter with yours?"</p> + +<p>Lizzie giggled and hung her head. "Forgot +to wash my hands!" she muttered.</p> + +<p>"That was a pity!" said Hildegarde. +"It spoils the looks of it, you see. I am +sure Mrs. Lankton will let you wash your +hands in that bright tin basin. Vesta +Philbrook, where is your violin?"</p> + +<p>"Ma'am?" said Vesta Philbrook, opening +her mouth as wide as her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Your thimble I mean, of course!" said +Hildegarde, blushing violently, and giving +herself a mental shake. "Now go to work, +like a good girl. Mary, here is the patchwork<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +I promised you, already basted. See, +a pink square, a blue square, a white one, and +a yellow one. They are all pieces of my +dresses, the dresses I wore last summer; and +I thought you would like to have them for +your quilt."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you!" cried the child, delighted. +"Oh, ain't them pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Handsome!" said Mrs. Lankton, peering +over the child's shoulder. "Them is handsome. +Ah! I pieced a quilt once, with nine +hundred and ninety-nine pieces into it. Good +goods they was; I had good things then; real +handsome calico, just like them. Ah, I didn't +know what trouble was when I was your age, +children. Wait till you've had lumbago, an' +neurology, an' cricks in your necks so's't you +can't stand straight, not for weeks together +you can't, and your roof leakin', an' dreepin' +all over yer bed, an'—"</p> + +<p>"Why, Mrs. Lankton!" exclaimed Hildegarde.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +"Surely the roof is not leaking again, +when it was all shingled this summer!"</p> + +<p>"Not yet it ain't, dear!" sighed the widow. +"But I'm prepared for it, and I don't expect +nothin' else, after what I've been through. +I was fleshy myself, once, though no one +wouldn't think it to look at me."</p> + +<p>"I wonder, Mrs. Lankton," began Hildegarde +gently.</p> + +<p>"You may wonder, dear!" was the reply. +"Folks do wonder when they think what I've +bean through. Fleshy was no name for it. +There! I was fairly corpilent when I was +your age."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hildegarde, in some confusion. +"I meant—I am very thirsty, Mrs. Lankton, +and if you <i>could</i> give me a glass of your +delicious water—"</p> + +<p>"Suttingly!" exclaimed the widow with +alacrity. "Suttingly, Miss Grahame! I'll +go right out and pump ye some. It <i>is</i> good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +water," she admitted, with reluctant pride. +"I've been expectin' it would dry up, right +along, lately!" and she hastened out into the +yard.</p> + +<p>"Now, children," said Hildegarde hastily, +"I will go on with the story I began last time. +'So Robert Bruce was crowned king of Scotland; +and no sooner was he king than'—"</p> + +<p>By the time Mrs. Lankton returned with +the water, every child was listening spellbound +to the wonderful tale of Bruce at the +ford, and no one had an eye or an ear for +the doleful widow, save Hildegarde, whose +"Thank you!" and quick glance of gratitude +lightened for a moment the gloom of her +hostess's countenance.</p> + +<p>So deep were teacher and pupils in Bruce +and patchwork that none of them heard the +sound of wheels, or the sudden cessation of +it outside the door, till Mrs. Lankton exclaimed +with tragic unction: "It is Colonel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +Ferrers! driving hisself, and his hoss all of a +sweat. I hope he ain't the bearer of bad +news, but I should be prepared, if I was you, +Miss Grahame. Poor child! what would you +do if your ma was took?" Hildegarde hastened +to the door, but was instantly reassured +by the old gentleman's cheery smile.</p> + +<p>"Why did you move?" he said. "I stopped +on purpose to have a look at you, with your +flock of doves around you. Hilda and the +doves, hey? you remember? 'Marble Faun!' +yes, yes! But since you have moved, shall I +drive you home, Miss Industry?"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde glanced at the clock. "Our +time is over," she said to the children. "Yes, +Colonel Ferrers, thank you! I should enjoy +the drive very much indeed. Can you wait +perhaps five minutes?"</p> + +<p>The Colonel could and would; and Hildegarde +returned to see that all work was neatly +folded and put away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And, Annie, here is the receipt I promised +you. Be sure to mix the meal thoroughly, and +have a good hot oven, and you will find them +very nice indeed, and your mother will be so +pleased at your making them yourself!"</p> + +<p>"Vesta, did you try the honey candy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'm! 'twas dretful good. My little +brother, he like t'ha' died, he eat so much."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" exclaimed Hilda, rather alarmed +at this result of her neat little plan of teaching +the children something about cookery, +without their finding out that they were +being taught.</p> + +<p>"But you must see to it, Vesta, that he +doesn't eat too much. That is one of the +things an elder sister is for, you know.</p> + +<p>"Now, whose turn is it to sweep up the +threads and scraps? Yours, Euleta? Well, +see how careful you can be! not a thread +must be left on Mrs. Lankton's clean floor, +you know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 320px;"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a> +<img src="images/gs08.png" width="320" height="500" alt=""He gave me a lunge in quart."" title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class='smcap'>"He gave me a lunge in quart."</span></span> +</div> +<p>Soon all was in order, workbags put away, +hats and bonnets tied on; and Hildegarde +came out with her doves about her, all looking +as if they had had a thoroughly good +time. With many affectionate farewells to +"Teacher," the children scattered in different +directions, and Colonel Ferrers chirruped to +the brown cob, which trotted briskly away +over the smooth road. The Colonel was +deeply interested in the sewing-school. Hester +Aytoun had had one for the village children, +and there had been none from her death +until now. He asked many questions, which +Hildegarde answered with right good will. +They were dear children, she said. She was +getting to know them very well, for she tried +to see them in their homes once a fortnight, +and found they liked to have her come, and +looked forward to it. Some of them were +very bright; not all, of course, but they all +<i>tried</i>, and that was the great thing. Yes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +she told them all the stories they wanted, +and they wanted a great many.</p> + + + +<p>"Speaking of stories," said the Colonel, "I +find I have work laid out for the rest of <i>my</i> +life."</p> + +<p>"Hugh?" said Hildegarde, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Most astonishing child I ever saw in my +life!" the Colonel cried. "Most amazing +child! to see how he flings himself on books +is a wonder. I don't let him keep at 'em +long, you understand. A brain like that +needs play, sir, play! I've bought him a +little foil, and—Harry Monmouth! he gave +me a lunge in quart that almost broke my +guard, last night. But stories! 'More about +kings, please, Sire!'—he's got a notion of calling +me Sire—ho! ho! can't get Saul out of +his head, d'ye see? I feel like Charlemagne, +or Barbarossa, or some of 'em. 'More about +kings when they were in battle.' He's learned +'Agincourt' by heart, just from my reading<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +it to him. 'Fair stood the wind for France,' +hey? Finest ballad in the English language. +Says you read it to him, too. And if I +am busy he goes to Elizabeth Beadle and +frightens her out of her wits with sentences +out of the Lamentations of Jeremiah. Now +this boy—mark me, Hildegarde!—will turn +out something very uncommon, if he has the +right training. That scoundrelly knave, +Ephraim Loftus, wanted to make a gentleman +of him! Ho! Ephraim doesn't know +how a gentleman's shoes look, unless he has +been made acquainted with the soles of them. +I kicked him myself once, I remember, for +beating a horse unmercifully. This boy will +be a great scholar, mark my words! And +whatever assistance I can give him shall be +cheerfully given. Why, the lad has genius! +positive genius!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hildegarde, her heart beating +fast. "Then you think, Colonel Ferrers, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> +a—a person should be educated for what +seems to be his natural bent. Do you think +that?"</p> + +<p>"Harry Monmouth! of course I do! Look +at me! D'ye think I was fitted for a mercantile +life, for example? Never got algebra +through my head, and hate figures. The +army was what I was born for! Born for it, +sir! Shouldered my pap-spoon in the cradle, +and presented arms whenever I was taken up. +Ho! ho! ho!"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde began to tremble, but her courage +did not fail. "And—and Jack, dear +Colonel Ferrers," she said softly. "He was +born for music, was he not?"</p> + +<p>The Colonel turned square round, and +gazed at her from under brows that met over +his hooked nose. "What then?" he said +slowly, after a pause. "If my nephew was +born for a fiddler, what then, Miss Hildegarde +Grahame? Is it any reason why he should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +not be trained for something better? I like +the boy's playing very well, very well indeed, +when he keeps clear of Dutch discords. But +you would not compare playing the fiddle +with the glorious Art of War, I imagine?"</p> + +<p>"Not for an instant!" cried Hildegarde, +flushing deeply under the Colonel's half-stern, +half-quizzical gaze. "Compare music, lovely +music, that cheers and comforts and delights +all the world, with fierce, cruel, dreadful war? +Look at Jack, with his mind full of beautiful +harmonies and—and 'airs from heaven'—they +really are! making us laugh or cry, +or dance or exult, just by the motion of his +hand. Look at him, and then imagine him +in a red coat, with a gun in his hand—"</p> + +<p>"Red is the British colour," said the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Well, a blue coat, then. What difference +does it make?—a gun in his hand, shooting +people who never did him any harm, whose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +faces he had never even seen. Oh, Colonel +Ferrers, I would not have believed it of you!"</p> + +<p>"And who asked you to believe it of me, +pray?" asked the Colonel, as he drove up to +the door of Braeside. "To tell the truth, +young lady, war is very much more in your +line than in my nephew's. Harry Monmouth! +Bellona in person, I verily believe. My compliments +to your mother, and say I shall call +her Madam Althæa in future, for she has +brought forth a firebrand."</p> + +<p>Instantly Hildegarde's ruffled plumes +drooped, smoothed themselves down; instead +of the flashing gaze of the eagle, a dove-like +look now met the quizzical gaze of the old +gentleman. "Dear Colonel Ferrers!" this +hypocritical girl murmured, as, standing on +the verandah steps, she laid her hand gently +on his arm. "Thank you so <i>very</i> much for +driving me home. You are always so kind—to +me! And—and—I want to ask one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +question. Can you tell me the first lines of +Dryden's 'Song for St. Cecilia's Day'?"</p> + +<p>"Of course!" said the simple Colonel.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'From harmony, from heavenly harmony,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">This universal frame began.'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Why do you—oh! you youthful Circe! +you infant Medea, you—" he shook his +whip threateningly.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, dear Colonel Ferrers!" cried +Hildegarde. "I am so glad you remembered +the lines. Aren't they beautiful? Good-by!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<div class='chaptertitle'>GOOD-BY!</div> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">I have</span> come to say good-by!" cried +Jack Ferrers, rushing up the steps, as Hildegarde +was sitting on the piazza, with Hugh +curled up at her feet. "Uncle Tom will +come for me with the wagon. Oh, Hilda, it +doesn't seem possible, does it? It is too good +to be true! and it is all your doing, every +bit. I sha'n't forget it. I say! I wish you +were coming too!"</div> + +<p>"Oh, no, you don't!" said Hildegarde, +speaking lightly, though her cheeks were +flushed and her eyes bright with real feeling. +"You would send me back by express, labelled +'troublesome baggage.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dear old Jack! You know how glad I +am, without my saying it. But, oh! how we +shall miss you! Your uncle—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Hugh will take care of Uncle Tom, +won't you, Hugh? Hugh suits him down to +the ground—I beg pardon, I mean through +and through, and they will have fine times +together."</p> + +<p>"I will try!" said the child. "But we +shall be like a pelican in the wilderness, I am +afraid."</p> + +<p>"You go straight home now?" Hildegarde +asked.</p> + +<p>"Straight home! five days with Daddy—bless +him! and then he goes to New York +with me, and sees me off. Oh! see here!" +he began fumbling in his pockets. "I have +a keepsake for you. I—of course you know +I haven't any money, Hilda, or I would have +bought you something; but Uncle Tom gave +it to me on purpose to give to you; so it's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +partly from him, too. Here it is! It belonged +to our great-grandmother, he says."</p> + +<p>Such a lovely ring! A star of yellow diamonds +set on a hoop of gold. Hildegarde +flushed with delight. "Oh, Jack! how kind +of him! how dear of you! Oh! what an +exquisite thing! I shall wear it always."</p> + +<p>"And—I say! how well it looks on your +hand! I never noticed before what pretty +hands you have, Hilda. You are the prettiest +girl I ever saw, altogether."</p> + +<p>"And Rose?" asked Hildegarde, smiling.</p> + +<p>Jack blushed furiously. He had fallen +deeply in love with Rose's photograph, and +had been in the habit of gazing at it for ten +or fifteen minutes every day for the past fortnight, +ever since it arrived. "That's different!" +he said. "She is an angel, if the picture +is like her."</p> + +<p>"It isn't half lovely enough!" cried loyal +Hildegarde. "Not half! You don't see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +blue of her eyes, or her complexion, just like +'a warm white rose.' Oh! you <i>would</i> love +her, Jack!"</p> + +<p>"I—I rather think I do!" Jack confessed. +"You might let me have the photograph, +Hildegarde."</p> + +<p>But this Hildegarde wholly refused to do. +"I have something much more useful for +you!" she said; and, running into the house, +she brought out a handkerchief-case of linen, +daintily embroidered, containing a dozen fine +hemstitched handkerchiefs. "I hemstitched +them myself," she said; "the peacock still +spreads its tail, you observe. And—see! +on one side of the case are forget-me-nots—that +is my flower, you know; and on the +other are roses. I take credit for putting the +roses on top."</p> + +<p>"Dear Hilda!" cried her cousin, giving her +hand a hearty shake. "What a good fel—what +a jolly girl you are! You ought," he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +added shyly, "to marry the best man in the +world, and I hope you will."</p> + +<p>"I mean to," said Hildegarde, laughing, +with a happy light in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Hildegarde had never seen her "fairy +prince, with joyful eyes, and lighter-footed +than the fox"; but she knew he would come +in good time. She knew, too, very much +what he was like,—a combination of Amyas +Leigh, Sir Richard Grenville, Dundee, and +Montrose, with a dash of the Cid, and a +strong flavour of Bayard, the constancy of +William the Silent, the kindness of Scott, +and the eyes of Edwin Booth. Some day he +would come, and find his maiden waiting for +him. Meantime, it was so very delightful +to have Jack fall in love with Rose. If—she +thought, and on that "if" rose many a +Spanish castle, fair and lofty, with glittering +pinnacle and turret. But she had not the +heart to tell Jack of the joyful news she had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> +just received, dared not tell him of the letter +in her pocket which said that this dearest +Rose was coming soon, perhaps this very +week, to make her a long, long visit. If she +could only have come earlier!</p> + +<p>But now Jack was taking his violin out of +his box. "Where is your mother?" he said. +"This is my own, this present for you both. +It is 'Farewell to Braeside!'"</p> + +<p>Hildegarde flew to call her mother, and +met her just coming downstairs. "Jack has +composed a farewell for us," she cried. "All +for us, mamma! Come!"</p> + +<p>Farewell! the words seemed to breathe +through the lovely melody, as the lad played +softly, sweetly, a touch of sadness underlying +the whole. "Farewell! farewell! parting is +pain, is pain, but Love heals the wound with a +touch. Love flies over land and sea, bringing +peace, peace, and good tidings and joy." Then +the theme changed, and a strain of triumph,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> +of exultation, made the air thrill with happiness, +with proud delight. The girl and her +mother exchanged glances. "This is his +work, his life!" said their eyes. And the +song soared high and higher, till one fine, +exquisite note melted like a skylark into the +blue; then sinking gently, gently, it flowed +again into the notes of the farewell,—</p> + +<p>"Parting is pain, is pain, but Love is immortal."</p> + +<p>Both women were in tears when the song +died away, and Jack's own eyes were suspiciously +bright.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy," said Mrs. Grahame, wiping +her eyes, "I do believe you are going to a +life of joy and of well-earned triumph. I +do heartily believe it."</p> + +<p>"It is all Hilda's doings," said Jack, "and +yours. All Hilda's and yours, Aunt Mildred. +I shall not forget."</p> + +<p>Here Hugh, who had been listening spellbound,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> +asked suddenly, "What was the name +of the boat which the gentleman who begins +with O made to go swiftly over the sea when +he played with his hand?"</p> + +<p>"The <i>Argo</i>, dear," said Hildegarde.</p> + +<p>"It is that boat <i>he</i> should go in," nodding +to Jack. "It would leap like an unicorn, +wouldn't it, if he played those beautiful +things which he just played?"</p> + +<p>And now Colonel Ferrers drove up to the +door, with the brown cob and the yellow +wagon. The last words were said; the +precious violin was carefully stowed under +the seat. Jack kissed Mrs. Grahame warmly, +and exchanged with Hildegarde a long, silent +pressure of the hand, in which there was a +whole world of kindness and affection and +comradeship. Boys and girls can be such +<i>good</i> friends, if they only know how!</p> + +<p>"Boot and saddle!" cried the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Good-by!" cried the lad, springing into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +the wagon. "Good-by! Don't forget the +ostrich gentleman!"</p> + +<p>"Good-by, dear Jack!"</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my dear lad! Good-by!" +and the wheels went crashing over the gravel.</p> + +<p>At the end of the driveway the Colonel +checked his horse for a moment before turning +into the main road. "Look back, boy," +he said.</p> + +<p>Jack looked, and saw Hildegarde and her +mother standing on the verandah with arms +entwined, gazing after them with loving looks. +The girl's white-clad figure and shining locks +were set in a frame of hanging vines and +creepers; her face was bright with love and +cheer. The slender mother, in her black +dress, seemed to droop and lean towards her; +on the other side the child clasped her hand +with fervent love and devotion.</p> + +<p>"My boy," said Colonel Ferrers, "take +that picture with you wherever you go. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> +will see many places and many people, good +and bad, comely and ill-favoured; but you +will see no sight so good as that of a young +woman, lovely and beloved, shining in the +doorway of the home she makes bright."</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Note:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p></div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hildegarde's Home, by Laura E. 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