Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net HILDEGARDE'S HOLIDAY THE HILDEGARDE-MARGARET SERIES By Laura E. Richards Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume, $1.75 Queen Hildegarde Hildegarde's Holiday Hildegarde's Home Hildegarde's Neighbors Hildegarde's Harvest Three Margarets Margaret Montfort Peggy Rita Fernley House The Merryweathers _The above eleven volumes boxed as a set, $19.25_ L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. [Illustration: "'DO TELL US ABOUT HER, PLEASE!'"] THE HILDEGARDE SERIES Hildegarde's Holiday A STORY FOR GIRLS BY LAURA E. RICHARDS Author of "The Margaret Series," "The Hildegarde Series," "Captain January," "Melody," "Five Minute Stories," etc. ILLUSTRATED [Illustration] THE PAGE COMPANY BOSTON PUBLISHERS _Copyright, 1891_ BY ESTES AND LAURIAT Made in U. S. A. Twenty-fourth Impression, May, 1927 Twenty-fifth Impression, January, 1930 THE COLONIAL PRESS C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. _To H. R._ CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. INTRODUCTORY 11 II. MISS WEALTHY 20 III. THE ORCHARD 34 IV. THE DOCTORS 53 V. ON THE RIVER 74 VI. A MORNING DRIVE 94 VII. A "STORY EVENING" 126 VIII. FLOWER-DAY 151 IX. BROKEN FLOWERS 178 X. THE HOUSE IN THE WOOD 201 XI. "UP IN THE MORNING EARLY" 222 XII. BENNY 241 XIII. A SURPRISE 254 XIV. TELEMACHUS GOES A-FISHING 278 XV. THE GREAT SCHEME 300 XVI. THE WIDOW BRETT 314 XVII. OLD MR. COLT 337 XVIII. JOYOUS GARD 354 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE "'DO TELL US ABOUT HER, PLEASE!'" (p. 128) _Frontispiece_ "'AND EVERYTHING IS RIGHT FOR SUPPER, MARTHA?'" 23 "'DO SAY IT'S ALL RIGHT, JEREMIAH!'" 77 "THEN THEY HUGGED EACH OTHER A LITTLE" 111 "'DON'T YOU THINK WE HAVE ENOUGH FLOWERS, ROSY?'" 174 "SO DOWN PLUMPED HILDEGARDE" 194 "'OH, SUCH A DEE OLE KITTY!'" 247 "'NOT A THING IN THE HOUSE!'" 333 HILDEGARDE'S HOLIDAY. CHAPTER I. 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 following 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." 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 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, 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 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 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?" "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 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!" 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 privilege, 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. 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." [Illustration: "'AND EVERYTHING IS RIGHT FOR SUPPER, MARTHA?'"] Miss Wealthy gave one more contented look round the pretty room, with its gay 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 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 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 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!" 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, "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 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. "'By the margin, willow-veiled, Slide the heavy barges, trailed By slow horses.'" "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,-- "Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs forever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot." 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 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. 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." "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!" 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." "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." "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 training 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. The garden was a very pleasant place, with rhubarb and sunflowers, sweet peas and mignonette, planted here and there among the rows of vegetables, just as Jeremiah's fancy suggested. Miss Wealthy's own flower-beds, trim and gay with geraniums, pansies, and heliotrope, were under the dining-room windows; but somehow the girls liked Jeremiah's garden best. Hildegarde pulled some sweet peas, and stuck the winged blossoms in Rose's fair hair, giving a fly-away look to her smooth locks. Then she began to sniff inquiringly. "Southernwood!" she said,--"I smell southernwood somewhere, Rose. Where is it?" "Yonder," said Rose, pointing to a feathery bush not far off. "Oh! and there is lavender too, Hilda! Do you suppose we may pick some? I do like to have a sprig of lavender in my belt." At this moment Jeremiah appeared, wheeling a load of turf. He was "long and lank and brown as is the ribbed sea-sand," and Hildegarde mentally christened him the Ancient Mariner on the spot; but he smiled sadly and said, "_Good_-mornin'," and seemed pleased when the girls praised his garden. "Ee-yus!" he said, with placid melancholy. "I've seen wuss places. Minglin' the blooms with the truck and herbs was my idee, as you may say,--'livens up one, and sobers down the other. _She_ laughs at me, but she don't keer, s'long as she has all she wants. Cut ye some mignonette? That's very favoryte with me,--very favoryte." He cut a great bunch of mignonette; and Rose, proffering her request for lavender, received a nosegay as big as she could hold in both hands. "The roses is just comin' on," he said. "Over behind them beans they are. A sight o' roses there'll be in another week. Coreopsis is pooty, too; that's down the other side of the corn. Curus garding, folks thinks; but, there, it's my idee, and she don't keer." Much amused, the girls thanked the melancholy prophet, and wandered away into the orchard, to find the seat that Miss Wealthy had told them of. "Oh, what a lovely, lovely orchard!" cried Hildegarde, in delight; and indeed it was a pretty place. The apple-trees were old, and curiously gnarled and twisted, bending this way and that, as apple-trees will. The short, fine grass was like emerald; there were no flowers at all, only green and brown, with the sunlight flickering through the branches overhead. They found the seat, which was curiously wedged into the double trunk of the very patriarch of apple-trees. "Do look at him!" cried Hildegarde. "He is like a giant with the rheumatism. Suppose we call him Blunderbore. What does twist them so, Rose? Look! there is one with a trunk almost horizontal." "I don't know," said Rose, slowly. "Another item for the ignorance list, Hilda. It is growing appallingly long. I really _don't_ know why they twist so. In the forest they grow much taller than in orchards, and go straight up. Farmer Hartley has seen one seventy feet high, he says." "Let us call it vegetable rheumatism!" said Hildegarde. "How _is_ your poor back this morning, ma'am?" She addressed an ancient tree with respectful sympathy; indeed, it did look like an aged dame bent almost double. "Have you ever tried Pond's Extract? I think I must really buy a gallon or so for you. And as long as you must bend over, you will not mind if I take a little walk along your suffering spine, and sit on your arm, will you?" She walked up the tree, and seated herself on a branch which was crooked like a friendly arm, making a very comfortable seat. "She's a dear old lady, Rose!" she cried. "Doesn't mind a bit, but thinks it rather does her good,--like _massage_, you know. What do you suppose her name is?" "Dame Crump would do, wouldn't it?" replied Rose, looking critically at the venerable dame. "Of course! and that ferocious old person brandishing three arms over yonder must be Croquemitaine,-- "'Croquemitaine! Croquemitaine! Ne dinerai pas 'vec toi!' I think they are rather a savage set,--don't you, Rosy?--all except my dear Dame Crump here." "I _know_ they are," said Rose, in a low voice. "Hush! the three witches are just behind you, Hilda. Their skinny arms are outstretched to clasp you! Fly, and save yourself from the caldron!" "Avaunt!" cried Hilda, springing lightly from Dame Crump's sheltering arm. "Ye secret, black, and midnight hags, what is 't ye do?" "A deed without a name!" muttered Rose, in sepulchral tones. "I think it is, indeed!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "Poor old gouty things! they can only claw the air, like Grandfather Smallweed, and cannot take a single step to clutch me." "Just like me, as I was a year ago," said Rose, smiling. "Rose! how can you?" cried Hildegarde, indignantly; "as if you had not always been a white rosebush." "On wheels!" said Rose. "I often think of my dear old chair, and wonder if it misses me. Hildegarde dear!" "My lamb!" replied Hildegarde, sitting down by her friend and giving her a little hug. "I wish you could know how wonderful it all is! I wish--no, I don't wish you could be lame even for half an hour; but I wish you could just _dream_ that you were lame, and then wake up and find everything right again. Having always walked, you cannot know the wonder of it. To think that I can stand up--so! and walk--so! actually one foot before the other, just like other people. Oh! and I used to wonder how they did it. I don't now understand how 'four-leggers,' as Bubble calls them, move so many things without getting mixed up." "Dear Rose! you are happy, aren't you?" exclaimed Hildegarde, with delight. "Happy!" echoed Rose, her sweet face glowing like her own name-flower. "But I was always happy, you know, dear. Now it is happiness, with fairyland thrown in. I am some wonderful creature, walking through miracles; a kind of--Who was the fairy-knight you were telling me about?" "Lohengrin?" said Hildegarde. "No, you are more like Una, in the 'Faerie Queene.' In fact, I think you _are_ Una." "And then," continued Rose, "there is another thing! At least, there are a thousand other things, but one that I was thinking of specially just now, when you named the trees. That was only play to you; but, Hilda, it used to be almost quite real for me,--that sort of thing. Sitting there as I used, day after day, year after year, mostly alone,--for mother and Bubble were always at work, you know,--you cannot imagine how real all the garden-people, as I called them, were to me. Why, my Eglantine--I never told you about Eglantine, Hilda!" "No, heartless thing! you never did," said Hildegarde; "and you may tell me this instant. A pretty friend you are, keeping things from me in that way!" "She was a fair maiden," said Rose. "She stood against the wall, just by my window. She was very lovely and graceful, with long, slender arms. Some people called her a sweetbrier-bush. She was my most intimate friend, and was always peeping in at the window and calling me to come out. When I came and sat close beside her in my chair, she would bend over me, and tell me all about her love-affairs, which gave her a great deal of trouble." "Poor thing!" said Hildegarde, sympathetically. "She had two lovers," continued Rose, dreamily, talking half to herself. "One was Sir Scraggo de Cedar, a tall knight in rusty armor, who stood very near her, and loved her to distraction. But she cared nothing for him, and had given her heart to the South Wind,--the most fickle and tormenting lover you can imagine. Sometimes he was perfectly charming, and wooed her in the most enchanting manner, murmuring soft things in her ear, and kissing and caressing her, till I almost fell in love with him myself. Then he would leave her alone,--oh! for days and days,--till she drooped, poor thing! and was perfectly miserable. And then perhaps he would come again in a fury, and shake and beat her in the most frightful manner, tearing her hair out, and sometimes flinging her right into the arms of poor Sir Scraggo, who quivered with emotion, but never took advantage of the situation. I used to be _very_ sorry for Sir Scraggo." "What a shame!" cried Hildegarde, warmly. "Couldn't you make her care for the poor dear?" "Oh, no!" said Rose. "She was very self-willed, that gentle Eglantine, in spite of her soft, pretty ways. There was no moving her. She turned her back as nearly as she could on Sir Scraggo, and bent farther and farther toward the south, stretching her arms out as if imploring her heartless lover to stay with her. I fastened her back to the wall once with strips of list, for she was spoiling her figure by stooping so much; but she looked so utterly miserable that I took them off again. Dear Eglantine! I wonder if she misses me." "I think she was rather a minx, do you know?" said Hildegarde. "I prefer Sir Scraggo myself." "Well," replied Rose, "one respected Sir Scraggo very much indeed; but he was _not_ beautiful, and all the De Cedars are pretty stiff and formal. Then you must remember he was older than Eglantine and I,--ever and ever so much older." "That does make a difference," said Hildegarde. "Who were some other of your garden people, you funniest Rose?" "There was Old Moneybags!" replied Rose. "How I did detest that old man! He was a hideous old thorny cactus, all covered with warts and knobs and sharp spines. Dear mother was very proud of him, and she was always hoping he would blossom, but he never did. He lived in the house in winter, but in spring Mother set him out in the flower-bed, just beside the double buttercup. So when the buttercup blossomed, with its lovely yellow balls, I played that Old Moneybags, who was an odious old miser, was counting his gold. Then, when the petals dropped, he piled his money in little heaps, and finally he buried it. He wasn't very interesting, Old Moneybags, but the buttercups were lovely. Then there were Larry Larkspur and Miss Poppy. I wonder--No! I don't believe you would." "What I like about your remarks," said Hildegarde, "is that they are so clear. What do you mean by believing I wouldn't? I tell you I would!" "Well," said Rose, laughing and blushing, "it really isn't anything; only--well, I made a little rhyme about Larry Larkspur and Miss Poppy one summer. I thought of it just now; and first I wondered if it would amuse you, and then I decided it wouldn't." "_You_ decided, forsooth!" cried Hildegarde. "'"Who are you?" said the caterpillar.' I will hear about Larry Larkspur, if you please, without more delay." "It really _isn't_ worth hearing!" said Rose. "Still, if you want it you shall have it; so listen! "Larry Larkspur, Larry Larkspur, Wears a cap of purple gay; Trim and handy little dandy, Straight and smirk he stands alway. "Larry Larkspur, Larry Larkspur, Saw the Poppy blooming fair; Loved her for her scarlet satin, Loved her for her fringèd hair. "Sent a message by the night-wind: 'Wilt thou wed me, lady gay? For the heart of Larry Larkspur Beats and burns for thee alway.' "When the morning 'gan to brighten, Eager glanced he o'er the bed. Lo! the Poppy's leaves had fallen; Bare and brown her ugly head. "Sore amazed stood Larry Larkspur, And his heart with grief was big. 'Woe is me! she was so lovely, Who could guess she wore a wig?'" Hildegarde was highly delighted with the verses, and clamored for more; but at this moment some one was seen coming toward them through the trees. The some one proved to be Martha, with her sleeves rolled up, beaming mildly through her spectacles. She carried a tray, on which were two glasses of creamy milk and a plate of freshly baked cookies. Such cookies! crisp and thin, with what Martha called a "pale bake" on them, and just precisely the right quantity of ginger. "Miss Rose doesn't look over and above strong," she explained, as the girls exclaimed with delight, "and 't would be a pity for her to eat alone. The cookies is fresh, and maybe they're pretty good." "Martha," said Hildegarde, as she nibbled a cooky, "you are a saint! Where do you keep your aureole, for I am sure you have one?" "There's a pair of 'em, Miss Hilda," replied Martha. "They build every year in the big elm by the back door, and they do sing beautiful." CHAPTER IV. THE DOCTORS. "My dears," said Miss Wealthy, as they sat down to dinner,--the bell rang on the stroke of one, and the girls were both ready and waiting in the parlor, which pleased the dear old lady very much,--"my dears, when I made the little suggestions this morning as to how you should amuse yourselves, I entirely forgot to mention Dr. Abernethy. I cannot imagine how I should have forgotten it, but Martha assures me that I did. Dr. Abernethy is entirely at your service in the mornings, but I generally require him for an hour in the afternoon. I am sure Rose will be the better for his treatment; and I trust you will both find him satisfactory, though possibly he may seem to you a little slow, for he is not so young as he once was." "Dr.--Oh, Cousin Wealthy!" exclaimed Hildegarde, in dismay. "But we are perfectly well! At least--of course, Rose is not strong yet; but she is gaining strength every day, and we have Dr. Flower's directions. Indeed, we don't need any doctor." Cousin Wealthy smiled. She enjoyed a little joke as much as any one, and Dr. Abernethy was one of her standing jokes. "I think, my dear," she said, "that you will be very glad to avail yourself of the Doctor's services when once you know him. Indeed, I shall make a point of your seeing him once a day, as a rule." Then, seeing that both girls were thoroughly mystified, she added: "Dr. Abernethy is a very distinguished physician. He gives no medicine, his invariable prescription being a little gentle exercise. He lives--in the stable, my dears, and he has four legs and a tail." "Oh! oh! Cousin Wealthy, how could you frighten us so!" cried Hildegarde. "You must be kissed immediately, as a punishment." She flew around the table, and kissed the soft cheek, like a crumpled blush rose. "A horse! How delightful! Rose, we were wishing that we might drive, weren't we? And what a funny, nice name! Dr. Abernethy! He was a great English doctor, wasn't he? And I was wondering if some stupid country doctor had stolen his name." "I had rather a severe illness a few years ago," said Miss Wealthy, "and when I was recovering from it my physician advised me to try driving regularly, saying that he should resign in favor of Dr. Horse. So I bought this excellent beast, and named him Dr. Abernethy, after the famous physician, whom I had seen once in London, when I was a little girl." "It was he who used to do such queer things, wasn't it?" said Hildegarde. "Did he do anything strange when you saw him, Cousin Wealthy?" "Nothing really strange," said Miss Wealthy, "though it seemed so to me then. He came to see my mother, who was ill, and bolted first into the room where I sat playing with my doll. "'Who's this? who's this?' he said, in a very gruff voice. 'Little girl! Humph! Tooth-ache, little girl?' "'No, sir,' I answered faintly, being frightened nearly out of my wits. "'Head-ache, little girl?' "'No, sir.' "'Stomach-ache, little girl?' "'Oh, no, sir!' "'Then take that!' and he thrust a little paper of chocolate drops into my hand, and stumped out of the room as quickly as he had come in. I thought he was an ogre at first; for I was only seven years old, and had just been reading 'Jack and the Beanstalk;' but the chocolate drops reassured me." "What an extraordinary man!" exclaimed Rose. "And was he a very good doctor?" "Oh, wonderful!" replied Miss Wealthy. "People came from all parts of the world to consult him, and he could not even go out in the street without being clutched by some anxious patient. They used to tell a funny story about an old woman's catching him in this way one day, when he was in a great hurry,--but he was always in a hurry,--and pouring out a long string of symptoms, so fast that the doctor could not get in a word edgewise. At last he shouted 'Stop!' so loud that all the people in the street turned round to stare. The old lady stopped in terror, and Dr. Abernethy bade her shut her eyes and put her tongue out; then, when she did so, he walked off, and left her standing there in the middle of the sidewalk with her tongue out. I don't know whether it is true, though." "Oh, I hope it is!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "It is too funny not to be true." "We had a very queer doctor at Glenfield some years ago," said Rose. "He must have been just the opposite of Dr. Abernethy. He was very tall and very slow, and spoke with the queerest drawl, using always the longest words he could find. I never shall forget his coming to our house once when Bubble had the measles. He had come a day or two before, but I had not seen him. This time, however, I was in the room. He sat down by the bed, and began stroking his long chin. It was the longest chin I ever saw, nearly as long as the rest of his face. "'And is there any amelioration of the symptoms this morning?' he asked Mother,--'ame-e-lioration?' (He was very fond of repeating any word that he thought sounded well.) "Poor dear mother hadn't the faintest idea what amelioration was; and she stammered and colored, and said she hadn't noticed any, and didn't _think_ the child had it. But luckily I was in the 'Fifth Reader' then, and had happened to have 'amelioration' in my spelling-lesson only a few days before; so I spoke up and said, 'Oh, yes, Dr. Longman, he is a great deal better, and he is really hungry to-day.' "'Ah!' said Dr. Longman, 'craves food, does he?--cra-aves food!' "Just then Bubble's patience gave out. He was getting better, and it made him _so_ cross, poor dear! he snapped out, in his funny way, 'I've got a bile comin' on my nose, and it hurts like fury!' "Dr. Longman stooped forward, put on his spectacles, and looked at the boil carefully. 'Ah!' he said, 'furunculus,--furunculus! Is it--ah--is it excru-ciating?' "I can't describe the way in which he pronounced the last word. As he said it, he dropped his head, and looked over his spectacles at Bubble in a way that was perfectly irresistible. Bubble gave a sort of howl, and disappeared under the bedclothes; and I had a fit of coughing, which made Mother very anxious. Dear mother! she never could see anything funny about Dr. Longman." At this moment Martha entered, bringing the dessert,--a wonderful almond-pudding, such as only Martha could make. She stopped a moment, holding the door as if to prevent some one's coming in. "Here's the Doctor wants terrible to come in, Mam!" she said. "Will I let him?" "Yes, certainly," said Miss Wealthy, smiling. "Let the good Doctor in!" The girls looked up in amazement, half expecting to see a horse's head appear in the doorway; but instead, a majestic black "coon" cat, with waving feathery tail and large yellow eyes, walked solemnly in, and seeing the two strangers, stopped to observe them. "My dears, this is the other Doctor!" said Miss Wealthy, bending to caress the new-comer "Dr. Samuel Johnson, at your service. He is one of the most important members of the family. Doctor, I hope you will be very friendly to these young ladies, and not take one of your absurd dislikes to either of them. All depends upon the first impression, my dears!" she added, in an undertone, to the girls. "He is forming his opinion now, and nothing will ever alter it." Quite a breathless pause ensued; while the magnificent cat stood motionless, turning his yellow eyes gravely from one to the other of the girls. At length Hildegarde could not endure his gaze any longer, and she said hastily but respectfully, "Yes, sir! I _have_ read 'Pilgrim's Progress,' I assure you!--read it through and through, a number of times, and love it dearly." Dr. Johnson instantly advanced, and rubbing his head against her dress, purred loudly. He then went round to Rose, who sat opposite, and made the same demonstration of good-will to her. "Dear pussy!" said Rose, stroking him gently, and scratching him behind one ear in a very knowing manner. Miss Wealthy drew a long breath of satisfaction. "It is all right," she said. "Martha, he is delighted with the young ladies. Dear Doctor! he shall have some almond-pudding at once. Bring me his saucer, please, Martha!" Martha brought a blue saucer; but Miss Wealthy looked at it with surprise and disapproval. "That is not the Doctor's saucer, Martha," she said. "Is it possible that you have forgotten? He has _always_ had the odd yellow saucer ever since he was a kitten." "I'm sorry, Mam," said Martha, gently. "Jenny broke the yellow saucer this morning, Mam, as she was washing it after the Doctor's breakfast. I'm very sorry it should have happened, Mam." "_Broke the yellow saucer!_" cried Miss Wealthy. Her voice was as soft as ever, but Hildegarde and Rose both felt as if the Russians had entered Constantinople. There was a moment of dreadful silence, and then Miss Wealthy tried to smile, and began to help to the almond-pudding. "Yes, I am sure you are sorry, Martha!" she said;--"Hilda, my dear, a little pudding?--and probably Jenny is sorry too. You like the sauce, dear, don't you? We think Martha's almond-pudding one of her best. I should not have minded so much if it had been any other, but this was an odd one, and seemed so appropriate, on account of Hogarth's 'Industrious Apprentice' done in brown on the inside. Is it quite sweet enough for you, my dear Rose?" This speech was somewhat bewildering; but after a moment Rose succeeded in separating the part that belonged to her, and said that the pudding was most delicious. "Jenny broke a cup last winter, did she not, Martha?" asked Miss Wealthy. "A very small cup, Mam," replied Martha, deprecatingly. "That's all she has broken since she came. She's young, you know, Mam; and she says the saucer just slipped out of her hand, and fell on the bricks." Miss Wealthy shivered a little, as if she heard the crash of the broken china. "I cannot remember that you have broken anything, Martha," she said, "in thirty years; and you were young when you came to me. But we will not say anything more, and I dare say Jenny will be more careful in future. The pudding is very good, Martha; and that will do, thank you." Martha withdrew, and Miss Wealthy turned to the girls with a sad little smile. "Martha is very exact," she said. "A thing of this sort troubles her extremely. Very methodical, my good Martha!" "Hildegarde," said Rose, wishing to turn the subject and cheer the spirits of their kind hostess, "what did you mean, just now, by telling Dr. Johnson that you had read 'Pilgrim's Progress'? I am much puzzled!" Hildegarde laughed. "Oh!" she said, "he understood, but I will explain for your benefit. When I was a little girl I was not inclined to like 'Pilgrim's Progress' at first. I thought it rather dull, and liked the Fairy Book better. I said so to Papa one day; and instead of replying, he went to the bookcase, and taking down Boswell's 'Life of Johnson,' he read me a little story. I think I can say it in the very words of the book, they made so deep an impression on me: 'Dr. Johnson one day took Bishop Percy's little daughter on his knee, and asked her what she thought of 'Pilgrim's Progress.' The child answered that she had not read it. 'No!' replied the Doctor; 'then I would not give one farthing for you!' And he set her down, and took no further notice of her.' When Papa explained to me," continued Hildegarde, laughing, "what a great man Dr. Johnson was, it seemed to me very dreadful that he should think me, or another little girl like me, not worth a farthing. So I set to work with right good-will at 'Pilgrim's Progress;' and when I was once fairly _in_ the story, of course I couldn't put it down till I had finished it." "Your father is a very sensible man," said Miss Wealthy, approvingly. "'Pilgrim's Progress' is an important part of a child's education, certainly! Let me give you a little more pudding, Hilda, my dear! No! nor you, Rose? Then, if the Doctor is ready, suppose we go into the parlor." They found the parlor very cool and pleasant, with the blinds, as usual, drawn half-way down. Miss Wealthy drew one blind half an inch lower, compared it with the others, and pushed it up an eighth of an inch. "And what are you going to do with yourselves this afternoon, girlies?" she asked,
{'title': "Hildegarde's Holiday: A Story for Girls by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards", 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}