Queen Hildegarde Part 11

"I'm glad ye like him," said Bubble, looking highly gratified. "Hosy Grout giv him an' another one to me yes'day, over 't the village. He was goin' to drownd 'em, an' I wouldn' let him, an' he said I might hev 'em ef I wanted 'em. I knew Pink would like to hev one, an' I thought mebbe you liked critters, an' so--"

"Good Bubble!" said Hilda, stroking the little dog's curly head. "And what shall I call him, Pink? Let us each think of a name, and then choose the best."

There was a pause, and then Bubble said, "Call him Scott, after the bold Buckle-oh!"

"Or Will, for 'the wily Belted Will,'" said Pink, who was as inveterate a ballad-lover as her brother.

"I think Jock is a good name," said Hildegarde,--"Jock o' Hazeldean, you know. I think I will call him Jock." The others a.s.sented, and the puppy was solemnly informed of the fact, and received a chicken-bone in honor of the occasion. Then the three friends ate their dinner, and very merry they were over it. Hildegarde crowned Pink with the pine-ta.s.sel wreath, and declared that she looked like a priestess of Diana.

"No, she don't," said Bubble, looking up from his cold chicken; "she looks like Lars Porsena of Clusium sot in his ivory cheer, on'y she ain't f'erce enough. Hold up yer head, Pinky, an' look real savage, an'

I'll do Horatius at the Bridge."

Pink did her best to look savage, and Zerubbabel stood up and delivered "Horatius" with much energy and appropriate action, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of his audience. A stout stick, cut from a neighboring thicket, served for the "good Roman steel;" and with this he cut and slashed and stabbed with furious energy, reciting the lines meanwhile with breathless ferocity. He slew the "great Lord of Luna," and on the imaginary body he--

"Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere he wrenched out the steel."

But when he cried--

"What n.o.ble Luc.u.mo comes next To taste our Roman cheer?"

the puppy, who had been watching the scene with kindling eyes, and ears and tail of eager inquiry, could bear it no longer, but flung himself valiantly into the breach, and barked defiance, dancing about in front of Horatius and snapping furiously at his legs. Alas, poor puppy! He was hailed as "s.e.xtus," and bade "welcome" by the bold Roman, who forthwith charged upon him, and drove him round and round the grove till he sought safety and protection in the lap of Lars Porsena herself. Then the bridge came down, and Horatius, climbing nimbly to the top of the rock, apostrophized his Father Tiber, sheathed his good sword by his side (_i.e._, rammed his stick into and _through_ his breeches pocket), and with his jacket on his back plunged headlong in the tide, and swam valiantly across the pine-strewn surface of the little glade.

Bubble's performance was much applauded by the two girls, who, in the characters of Lars Porsena and Mamilius, "Prince of the Latian name,"

had surveyed the whole with dignified amazement. And when the boy, exhausted with his heroic exertions, threw himself down on the pine-needles and begged "Miss Hildy" to sing to them, she readily consented, and sang "Jock o' Hazeldean" and "Come o'er the stream, Charlie!" so sweetly that the little fat birds sat still on the branches to listen. A faint glow stole into Pink's wan cheek, and her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure; while Bubble bobbed his head, and testified his delight by drumming with his heels on the ground and begging for more.

"A ballid now, Miss Hildy, please," he cried.

"Well," said Hildegarde, nothing loth, "what shall it be?"

"One with some fightin' in it," replied Bubble, promptly.

So Hildegarde began:--

"Down Deeside cam Inverey, Whistling and playing; He's lighted at Brackley gates At the day's dawing."

And went on to tell of the murder of "bonnie Brackley" and of the treachery of his young wife:--

"There's grief in the kitchen, And mirth in the ha'; But the Baron o' Brackley Is dead and awa'."

So the ballad ended, leaving Bubble full of sanguinary desires anent the descendants of the false Inverey. "I--I--I'd like jest to git holt o'

some o' them fellers!" he exclaimed. "They wouldn't go slaughterin'

round no gret amount when I'd finished with em', I tell ye!" And he flourished his stick, and looked so fierce that the puppy yelped piteously, expecting another onslaught.

"And now, Pink," said Hilda, "we have just time for a story before we go home. Bubble has told me about your stories, and I want very much to hear one."

"Oh, Hilda, they are not worth telling twice!" protested Pink; "I just make them for Bubble when he takes me out on Sunday. It's all I can do for the dear lad."

"Don't you mind her, Miss Hildy," said Bubble; "they're fustrate stories, an' she tells 'em jest like p--'rithmetic. Go ahead, Pink! Tell the one about the princess what looked in the gla.s.s all the time."

So Pink, in her low, sweet voice, told the story of

THE VAIN PRINCESS.

Once upon a time there lived a princess who was so beautiful that it was a wonder to look at her. But she was also very vain; and her beauty was of no use or pleasure to anybody, for she sat and looked in her mirror all day long, and never thought of doing anything else.

The mirror was framed in beaten gold, but the gold was not so bright as her s.h.i.+ning locks; and all about its rim great sapphires were set, but they were dim and gray, compared with the blue of her lovely eyes. So there she sat all day in a velvet chair, clad in a satin gown with fringes of silver and pearl; and n.o.body in the world was one bit the better for her or her beauty.

Now, one day the princess looked at herself so long and so earnestly that she fell fast asleep in her velvet chair, with the golden mirror in her lap. While she slept, a gust of wind blew the cas.e.m.e.nt window open, and a rose that was growing on the wall outside peeped in. It was a poor little feeble white rose, which had climbed up the wall in a straggling fas.h.i.+on, and had no particular strength or beauty or sweetness. Every one who saw it from the outside said, "What a wretched little plant!

Why is it not cut down?" and the rose trembled when it heard this, for it was as fond of life as if it were beautiful, and it still hoped for better days. Inside, no one thought about it at all; for the beautiful princess never left her chair to open the window.

Now, when the rose saw the princess it was greatly delighted, for it had often heard of her marvellous beauty. It crept nearer and nearer, and gazed at the golden wonder of her hair, her ivory skin under which the blushes came and went as she slept, and her smiling lips. "Ah!" sighed the rose, "if I had only a tinge of that lovely red, I should be finer than all the other roses." And as it gazed, the thought came into its mind: "Why should I not steal a little of this wondrous beauty? Here it is of no use to anybody. If I had it, I would delight every one who pa.s.sed by with my freshness and sweetness, and people would be the better for seeing a thing so lovely."

So the rose crept to the princess's feet, and climbed up over her satin gown, and twined about her neck and arms, and about her lovely golden head. And it stole the blush from her cheek, and the crimson from her lips, and the gold from her hair. And the princess grew pale and paler; but the rose blushed red and redder, and its golden heart made the room bright, and its sweetness filled the air. It grew and grew, and now new buds and leaves and blossoms appeared; and when at last it left the velvet chair and climbed out of the cas.e.m.e.nt again, it was a glorious plant, such as had never before been seen. All the pa.s.sers-by stopped to look at it and admire it. Little children reached up to pluck the glowing blossoms, and sick and weary people gained strength and courage from breathing their delicious perfume. The world was better and happier for the rose, and the rose knew it, and was glad.

But when the princess awoke, she took up her golden mirror again, and looking in it, saw a pale and wrinkled and gray-haired woman looking at her. Then she shrieked, and flung the mirror on the ground, and rushed out of her palace into the wide world. And wherever she went she cried, "I am the beautiful princess! Look at me and see my beauty; for I will show it to you now!" But n.o.body looked at her, for she was withered and ugly; and n.o.body cared for her, because she was selfish and vain. So she made no more difference in the world than she had made before. But the rose is blossoming still, and fills the air with its sweetness.

"My Pink," said Hildegarde, tenderly, as she walked beside her friend's chair on their homeward way, "you are shut up like the princess; but instead of the rose stealing your sweetness, you have stolen the sweetness of all the roses, and taken it into your prison with you."

"I 'shut up,' Hilda?" cried Pink, opening wide eyes of wonder and reproach. "Do you call _this_ being shut up? See what I have had to-day!

Enough pleasure to think about for a year. And even without it,--even before you came, Hilda,--why, I am the happiest girl in the world, and I ought to be."

Hildegarde stooped and kissed the pale forehead. "Yes, dear, I think you are," she said; "but I should like you to have all the pleasant and bright and lovely things in the world, my Pink."

"Well, I have the best of them," said Pink Chirk, smiling brightly,--"home and love, and friends and flowers. And as for the rest, why, dear Hilda, what _is_ the use in thinking about things one has not?"

After this, which was part of Pink's little code of philosophy, she fell a-musing happily, while Hilda walked beside her in a kind of silent rage, almost hating herself for the fulness of vigor, the superabundant health and buoyancy, which she felt in every limb. She looked sidelong at the transparent cheek, the wasted frame, the unearthly radiance of the blue eyes. This girl was just her own age, and had never walked! It could not, it _must_ not, be so always. Thoughts thronged into her mind of the great New York physicians and the wonders they had wrought. Might it not be possible? Could not something be done? The blood coursed more quickly through her veins, and she laid her hand on that of the crippled girl with a sudden impulse of protection and tenderness.

Pink Chirk looked up with a wondering smile. "Why, Hildegarde," she said, "you look like the British warrior queen you told me about yesterday. I was just thinking what a comfort it is to live now, instead of in those dreadful murdering times that the ballads tell of."

"I _druther_ ha' lived then!" cried Bubble, from behind the chair. "If I hed, I'd ha' got hold o' that Inverey feller."

CHAPTER XI.

THE WARRIOR QUEEN.

Happily, happily, the days and weeks slipped by at Hartley Farm; and now September was half gone, and in two weeks more Hilda's parents would return. The letter had just arrived which fixed the date of their homecoming and Hildegarde had carried it upstairs to feast on it in her own room. She sat by the window in the little white rocking-chair, and read the words over and over again. In two weeks--really in two little weeks--she should see her mother again! It was too good to be true.

"Dragons, do you hear?" she cried, turning towards the wash-handstand.

"You have seen my mother, Dragons, and she has washed her little blessed face in your bowl. I should think that might have stopped your ramping, if anything could. Or have you been waving your paws for joy ever since? I may have been unjust to you, Dragons."

The blue dragons, as usual, refused to commit themselves; and, as usual, the gilt cherubs round the looking-gla.s.s were shocked at their rudeness, and tried to atone for it by smiling as hard as they possibly could.

"Such dear, sympathetic cherubs!" said the happy girl, bending forward to kiss one of them as she was brus.h.i.+ng her hair. "_You_ do not ramp and glower when one tells you that one's mother is coming home. I know you are glad, you dear old things!"