THE HILDEGARDE-MARGARET SERIES

By Laura E. Richards

THE HILDEGARDE SERIES

A STORY FOR GIRLS

BY

LAURA E. RICHARDS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[11]

INTRODUCTORY.

In a small waiting-room at Blank Hospital a girl was walking up and down, with quick, impatient steps. Every few minutes she stopped to listen; then, hearing no sound, she resumed her walk, with hands clasped and lips set firmly together. She was evidently in a state of high nervous excitement, for the pupils of her eyes were so dilated that they flashed black as night instead of gray; and a bright red spot burned in either cheek. In the corner, in an attitude of anxious dejection, sat a small dog. He had tried fol[12]lowing his mistress at first, when she began her walk, and finding that the promenade took them nowhere and was very monotonous, had tried to vary the monotony by worrying her heels in a playful manner; whereupon he had been severely reprimanded, and sent into the corner, from which he dared not emerge. He was trying, with his usual lack of success, to fathom the motives which prompted human beings to such strange and undoglike actions, when suddenly a door opened, and a lady and gentleman came in. The girl sprang forward. "Mamma!" she cried. "Doctor!"

"It is all right, my dear," said the doctor, quickly; while the lady, whose name was Mrs. Grahame, took the girl in her arms quietly, and kissed her. "It is all right; everything has gone perfectly, and in a few days your lovely friend will be better than she has ever been since she was a baby."[13]

Hildegarde Grahame sat down, and leaning her head on her mother's shoulder, burst into tears.

"Exactly!" said the good doctor. "The best thing you could do, my child! Do you want to hear the rest now, or shall I leave it for your mother to tell?"

"Let her hear it all from you, Doctor," said Mrs. Grahame. "It will do her more good than anything else."

Hildegarde looked up and nodded, and smiled through her tears.

"Well," said the cheerful physician, "Miss Angel (her own name is an impossibility, and does not belong to her) has really borne the operation wonderfully. Marvellously!" he repeated. "The constitution, you see, was originally good. There was a foundation to work upon; that means everything, in a case like this. Now all that she requires is to be built up,—built up! Beef tea, chicken[14] broth, wine jelly, and as soon as practicable, fresh air and exercise,—there is your programme, Miss Hildegarde; I think I can depend upon you to carry it out."

The girl stretched out her hand, which he grasped warmly. "Dear, good doctor!" she said; whereupon the physician growled, and went and looked out of the window.

"And how soon will she be able to walk?" asked the happy Hildegarde, drying her eyes and smiling through the joyful tears. "And when may I see her, Doctor? and how does she look, Mamma darling?"

"Place aux dames!" said the Doctor. "You may answer first, Mrs. Grahame, though your question came last."

"Dear, she looks like a white rose!" replied Mrs. Grahame. "She is sleeping quietly, with no trace of pain on her sweet face. Her breathing is as regular as a baby's; all the nurses are coming on tiptoe to look at her,[15] and they all say, 'Bless her!' when they move away."

"My turn now," said Dr. Flower. "You may see her, Miss Hildegarde, the day after to-morrow, if all goes well, as I am tolerably sure it will; and she will be able to walk—well, say in a month."

"Oh! a month!" cried Hildegarde, dolefully. "Do you mean that she cannot walk at all till then, Doctor?"

"Why, Hilda!" said Mrs. Grahame, in gentle protest. "Pink has not walked for fourteen years, remember; surely a month is a very short time for her to learn in."

"I suppose so," said the girl, still looking disappointed, however.

"Oh, she will begin before that!" said Dr. Flower. "She will begin in ten days, perhaps. Little by little, you know,—a step at a time. In a fortnight she may go out to drive; in fact, carriage exercise will be a[16] very good thing for her. An easy carriage, a gentle horse, a careful driver—"

"Oh, you best of doctors!" cried Hildegarde, her face glowing again with delight. "Mamma, is not that exactly what we want? I do believe we can do it, after all. You see, Doctor—Oh, tell him, Mammy dear! You will tell him so much better."

"Hildegarde has had a very delightful plan for this summer, Doctor," said Mrs. Graham, "ever since you gave us the happy hope that this operation, after the year of treatment, would restore our dear Rose to complete health. A kinswoman of mine, a very lovely old lady, who lives in Maine, spent a part of last winter with us, and became much interested in Rose,—or Pink, as we used to call her."

"But we don't call her so now, Mammy!" cried Hildegarde, impetuously. "Rose is exactly as much her own name, and she likes[17] it much better; and even Bubble says it is prettier. But I didn't mean to interrupt, Mammy dear. Go on, please!"

"So," continued Mrs. Grahame, smiling, "Cousin Wealthy invited the two girls to make her a long visit this summer, as soon as Rose should be able to travel. I am sure it would be a good thing for the child, if you think the journey would not be too much for her; for it is a lovely place where Cousin Wealthy lives, and she would have the best of care."

"Capital!" cried Dr. Flower; "the very thing! She shall be able to travel, my dear madam. We will pack her in cotton wool if necessary; but it will not be necessary. It is now—let me see—May 10th; yes, quite so! By the 15th of June you may start on your travels, Miss Hildegarde. There is a railway near your cousin's home, Mrs Grahame?"[18]

"Oh, yes!" cried Hilda. "It goes quite near, doesn't it, Mamma?"

"Within two or three miles," said Mrs. Grahame; "and the carriage road is very good."

"That is settled, then!" said Dr. Flower, rising; "and a very good thing too. And now I must go at once and tell the good news to that bright lad, Miss Rose's brother. He is at school, I think you said?"

"Yes," replied Hildegarde. "He said he would rather not know the exact day, since he could not be allowed to help. Good Bubble! he has been so patient and brave, though I know he has thought of nothing else day and night. Thank you, Doctor, for being so kind as to let him know. Good-by!"

But when Dr. Flower went out into the hall, he saw standing opposite the door a boy, neatly dressed and very pale, with[19] burning eyes, which met his in an agony of inquiry.

"She is all right," said the physician, quickly. "She is doing extremely well, and will soon be able to walk like other people. How upon earth did you know?" he added, in some vexation, seeing that the sudden relief from terrible anxiety was almost more than the lad could bear. "What idiot told you?"

Bubble Chirk gave one great sob; but the next moment he controlled himself. "Nobody told me," he said; "I knew. I can't tell you how, sir, but—I knew!"[20]

CHAPTER II.

MISS WEALTHY.

It was the 17th of June, and Miss Wealthy Bond was expecting her young visitors. Twice she had gone over the house, with Martha trotting at her heels, to see that everything was in order, and now she was making a third tour of inspection; not because she expected to find anything wrong, but because it was a pleasure to see that everything was right.

Miss Wealthy Bond was a very pretty old lady, and was very well aware of the fact, having been told so during seventy years. "The Lord made me pleasant to look at," she was wont to say, "and it is a great privi[21]lege, my dear; but it is also a responsibility." She had lovely, rippling silver hair, and soft blue eyes, and a complexion like a girl's. She had put on to-day, for the first time, her summer costume,—a skirt and jacket of striped white dimity, open a little at the neck, with a kerchief of soft white net inside. This kerchief was fastened with quite the prettiest brooch that ever was,—a pansy, made of five deep, clear amethysts, set in a narrow rim of chased gold. Miss Wealthy always wore this brooch; for in winter it harmonized as well with her gown of lilac cashmere as it did in summer with the white dimity. At her elbow stood Martha; it was her place in life. She seldom had to be called; but was always there when Miss Wealthy wanted anything, standing a step back, but close beside her beloved mistress. Martha carried her aureole in her pocket, or somewhere else

out of sight; but she was a saint all the same.[22] Her gray hair was smooth, and she wore spectacles with silver rims, and a gray print gown, with the sleeves invariably rolled up to the elbows, except on Sundays, when she put on her black cashmere, and spent the afternoon in uneasy state.

"I think the room looks very pretty, Martha," said Miss Wealthy, for the tenth time.

"It does, Mam," replied Martha, as heartily as if she had not heard the remark before. "Proper nice it looks, I'm sure."

"You mended that little place in the curtain, did you, Martha?"

"I did, Mam. I don't think as you could find it now, unless you looked very close."

"And you put lavender and orange-flower water in the bottles? Very well; then that's all, I think."

Miss Wealthy gave one more contented look round the pretty room, with its gay[23] rose-flowering chintz, its cool straw matting, and comfortable cushioned window-seats, and then drew the blinds exactly half-way down, and left the room, Martha carefully closing the door.

In the cool, shady drawing-room all was in perfect order too. There were flowers in the tall Indian vases on the mantelpiece, a great bowl of roses on the mosaic centre-table, and, as usual, a bunch of pansies on the little round table by the armchair in which Miss Wealthy always sat. She established herself there now, and took up her knitting with a little sigh of contentment.

"And everything is right for supper, Martha?" she asked.

"Yes, Mam," said Martha. "A little chicken-pie, Mam, and French potatoes, and honey. I should be making the biscuit now, Mam, if you didn't need me."

"Oh no, Martha," said the old lady, "I[24] don't need anything. We shall hear the wheels when they come."

She looked out of the window, across the pleasant lawn, at the blue river, and seemed for a moment as if she were going to ask Martha whether that were all right. But she said nothing, and the saint in gray print trotted away to her kitchen.

"Dear Martha!" said Miss Wealthy, settling herself comfortably among her cushions. "It is a great privilege to have Martha. I do hope these dear girls will not put her out. She grows a little set in her ways as she grows older, my good Martha. I don't think that blind is quite half-way down. It makes the whole room look askew, doesn't it?"

She rose, and pulled the blind straight, patted a tidy on the back of a chair, and settled herself among her cushions again, with another critical glance at the river. A pause ensued, during which the old lady's[25] needles clicked steadily; then, at last, the sound of wheels was heard, and putting her work down in exactly the same spot from which she had taken it up, Miss Wealthy went out on the piazza to welcome her young guests.

Hildegarde sprang lightly from the carriage, and gave her hand to her companion to help her out.

"Dear Cousin Wealthy," she cried, "here we are, safe and sound. I am coming to kiss you in one moment. Carefully, Rose dear! Lean on me, so! there you are! now take my arm. Slowly, slowly! See, Cousin Wealthy! see how well she walks! Isn't it delightful?"

"It is, indeed!" said the old lady, heartily, kissing first the glowing cheek and then the pale one, as the girls came up to her. "And how do you do, my dears? I am very glad indeed to see you. Rose, you[26] look so much better, I should hardly have known you; and you, Hilda, look like June itself. I must call Martha—" But Martha was there, at her elbow. "Oh, Martha! here are the young ladies."

Hildegarde shook hands warmly with Martha, and Rose gave one of her shy, sweet smiles.

"This is Miss Hildegarde," said the old lady; "and this is Miss Rose. Perhaps you will take them up to their rooms now, Martha, and Jeremiah can take the trunks up. We will have supper, my dears, as soon as you are ready; for I am sure you must be hungry."

"Yes, we are as hungry as hunters, Cousin Wealthy!" cried Hildegarde. "We shall frighten you with our appetites, I fear. This way, Martha? Yes, in one minute. Rose dear, I will put my arm round you, and you can take hold of the stair-rail. Slowly now!"[27]

They ascended the stairs slowly, and Hildegarde did not loose her hold of her friend until she had seated her in a comfortable easy-chair in the pretty chintz bedroom.

"There, dear!" she said anxiously, stooping to unfasten her cloak. "Are you very dreadfully tired?"

"Oh no!" replied Rose, cheerfully; "not at all dreadfully tired, only comfortably. I ache a little, of course, but—Oh, what a pleasant room! And this chair is comfort itself."

"The window-seat for me!" cried Hildegarde, tossing her hat on the bed, and then leaning out of the window with both arms on the sill. "Rose, don't move! I forbid you to stir hand or foot. I will tell you while you are resting. There is a river,—a great, wide, beautiful river, just across the lawn."

"Well, dear," said quiet Rose, smiling,[28] "you knew there was a river; your mother told us so."

"Yes, Goose, I did know it," cried Hildegarde; "but I had not seen it, and didn't know what it was like. It is all blue, with sparkles all over it, and little brown flurries where the wind strikes it. There are willows all along the edge—"

"To hang our harps on?" inquired Rose.

"Precisely!" replied Hildegarde. "And I think—Rose, I do see a boat-house! My dear, this is bliss! We will bathe every morning. You have never seen me dive, Rose."

"I have not," said Rose; "and it would be a pity to do it out of the window, dear, because in the first place I should only see your heels as you went out, and in the second—"

"Peace, paltry soul!" cried Hilda. "Here comes a scow, loaded with wood. The wood[29] has been wet, and is all yellow and gleaming. 'Scow,'—what an absurd word! 'Barge' is prettier."

"It sounds so like Shalott," said Rose; "I must come and look too.

"Yes, it is just like it!" cried Hildegarde. "It is really a redeeming feature in you, Rose, that you are so apt in your quotations. Say the part about the river; that is exactly like what I am looking at."

"Do you say it!" said Rose, coming softly forward, and taking her seat beside her friend. "I like best to hear you."

And Hildegarde repeated in a low tone,—

The two girls squeezed each other's hand a little, and looked at the shining river, and straightway forgot that there was anything else to be done, till a sharp little tinkle roused them from their dream.

"Oh!" cried Hildegarde. "Rose, how could you let me go a-woolgathering? Just look at my hair!"

"And my hands!" said Rose, in dismay. "And we said we were as hungry as hunters, and would be down in a minute. What will Miss Bond say?"

"Well, it is all the river's fault," said Hildegarde, splashing vigorously in the basin. "It shouldn't be so lovely! Here, dear, here is fresh water for you. Now the brush! Let me just wobble your hair up for you, so. There! now you are my pinkest Rose, and I am all right too; so down we go."

Miss Wealthy had been seriously disturbed when the girls did not appear promptly at[31] sound of the tea-bell. She took her seat at the tea-table and looked it over carefully. "Punctuality is so important," she said, half to herself and half to Martha, who had just set down the teapot,—"That mat is not quite straight, is it, Martha?—especially in young people. I know it makes you nervous, Martha,"—Martha did not look in the least nervous,—"but it will probably not happen again. If the butter were a little farther this way! Thank you, Martha. Oh, here you are, my dears! Sit down, pray! You must be very hungry after—But probably you felt the need of resting a little, and to-morrow you will be quite fresh."

"No, it wasn't that, Cousin Wealthy," said Hildegarde, frankly. "I am ashamed to say that we were looking out of the window, and the river was so lovely that we forgot all about supper. Please forgive us this once, for really we are pretty punctual generally.[32] It is part of Papa's military code, you know."

"True, my dear, true!" said Miss Wealthy, brightening up at once. "Your father is very wise. Regular habits are a great privilege, really. Will you have tea, Hilda dear, or milk?"

"Oh, milk, please!" said Hilda. "I am not to take tea till I am twenty-one, Cousin Wealthy, nor coffee either."

"And a very good plan," said Miss Wealthy, approvingly. "Milk is the natural beverage—will you cut that pie, dear, and help Rose, and yourself?—for the young. When one is older, however, a cup of tea is very comforting. None for me, thank you, dear. I have my little dish of milk-toast, but I thought the pie would be just right for you young people. Martha's pastry is so very light that a small quantity of it is not injurious."[33]

"Rose!" said Hildegarde, in tones of hushed rapture, "it is a chicken-pie, and it is all for us. Hold your plate, favored one of the gods! A river, a boat-house, and chicken-pie! Cousin Wealthy, I am so glad you asked us to come!"

"Are you, dear?" said Miss Wealthy, looking up placidly from her milk-toast, "Well, so am I!"[34]

CHAPTER III.

THE ORCHARD.

Next morning, when breakfast was over, Miss Wealthy made a little speech, giving the two girls the freedom of the place.

"You will find your own way about, my dears," she said. "I will only give you some general directions. The orchard is to the right, beyond the garden. There is a pleasant seat there under one of the apple-trees, where you may like to sit. Beyond that are the woods. On the other side of the house is the barnyard, and the road goes by to the village. You will find plenty of flowers all about, and I hope you will amuse yourselves."[35]

"Oh, indeed we shall, Cousin Wealthy!" cried Hildegarde. "It is delight enough just to breathe this delicious air and look at the river."

They were sitting on the piazza, from which the lawn sloped down to a great hedge of Norway fir, just beyond which flowed the broad blue stream of the Kennebec.

"How about the river, Cousin Wealthy?" asked Hildegarde, timidly. "I thought I saw a boat-house through the trees. Could we go out to row?"

Miss Wealthy seemed a little flurried by the question. "My dear," she said, and hesitated,—"my dear, have you—do your parents allow you to go on the water? Can you swim?"

"Oh, yes," said Hildegarde, "I can swim very well, Cousin Wealthy,—at least, Papa says I can; and I can row and paddle and sail."[36]

"Oh, not sail!" cried Miss Wealthy, with an odd little catch in her breath,—"not sail, my dear! I could not—I could not think of that for a moment. But there is a row-boat," she added, after a pause,—"a boat which Jeremiah uses. If Jeremiah thinks she is perfectly safe, you can go out, if you feel quite sure your parents would wish it."

"Oh, I am very sure," said Hildegarde; "for I asked Papa, almost the last thing before we left. Thank you, Cousin Wealthy, so much! We will be rather quiet this morning, for Rose does not feel very strong; but this afternoon perhaps we will try the boat. Isn't there something I can do for you, Cousin Wealthy? Can't I help Martha? I can do all kinds of work,—can't I, Rose?—and I love it!"

But Martha had a young girl in the kitchen, Miss Wealthy said, whom she was train[37]ing to help her; and she herself had letters to write and accounts to settle. So the two girls sauntered off slowly, arm in arm; Rose leaning on her friend, whose strong young frame seemed able to support them both.