Hildegarde's Neighbors Part 14

"I go a-fis.h.i.+ng," said Roger; "and with me w.i.l.l.y, to take his first lesson in ba.s.s-fis.h.i.+ng."

"I tinker the wharf," said Phil; "and with me Obadiah, to take his first lesson in useful occupation."

"Verily and in good sooth," put in Gerald, "the most useful occupation I can think of, my peripatetic food-absorber, would be to heave thee into the gla.s.sy deep."

"Like to see you try it!" said Ferguson.

"Anything to oblige!" replied Obadiah, rising with, alacrity.

"Don't b.o.o.by, boys!" said Roger, with quiet authority. "Let other people have a chance to speak."

"Hilda and I will make a pie!" said Bell; "'which is werse,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'though sich were not my intentions.'"

"And I have gingerbread to make, and raspberries to pick," said Gertrude, "so Kitty must help me."

"But what do I see?" cried Gerald, in tragic tones. "A vessel in the offing, headed in this direction. Now who do you suppose has the cheek to come here?"

"Probably some lunatic is thirsty," said Phil, "and wants a gla.s.s of water. You know, Miss Hilda, they come here by the boatload, asking for water, and we show them the lake and tell 'em to help themselves. It makes them hop with rage. They say, 'What! do you drink THIS?' Then, when we tell them that all their water supply comes from this lake, they grin like a dog and go about the city,--I mean depart on their imbecile way. But these people are all dressed up. Oh, Momus and Comus! There are girls on board! Come on, Obadiah!"

The twins vanished, and the others looked curiously at the approaching craft. It was a small steam launch, gayly adorned with paint and streamers; in the bow stood a light, girlish figure, waving a handkerchief and gesticulating with fervour.

"Who can it be?" asked Mrs. Merryweather. "The boat is from Pollock's Cove, isn't it, Roger?"

"Yes; but I see no one on board that I know. That young lady evidently thinks she is coming among friends, however. Look! they are putting out a boat. I will go and see what is wanted."

He went to the wharf, and the rest waited in some amus.e.m.e.nt, thinking that a mistake had been made. To their amazement they saw Roger, after a moment's parley, help the young lady out of the boat, which straight-way returned to the launch; before they had time to exchange wonderments, she was advancing toward them with outstretched arms.

"My dearest, dearest Hildegarde! Do I see you again, after so many years? Quel plaisir! what joy!"

The young lady was dressed in the extreme of fas.h.i.+on, with little boots, and little gloves, and a dotted veil, and a chiffon parasol, and Hildegarde was folded in a perfumed embrace before she had fairly recognised her visitor.

"Madge!" she cried, "is it really you?"

"Myself, cherie! your own Madge. I heard that you were in the wilderness and flew to you. What a change, my dearest, from---"

"Mrs. Merryweather," said Hildegarde, her cheeks burning, but her voice quiet and courteous, "this is Margaret Everton, an old school-mate of mine. Mrs. Merryweather, Madge, with whom I am staying. Miss Merryweather, Professor Merryweather, Miss Everton."

"Oh, hum--mum-m-m-m-m-m!" said Madge, or something that sounded like it. The Merryweathers welcomed her courteously, and Mrs.

Merryweather asked if she had come over from Pollock's Cove.

"Oh, yes! I am staying there for a day or two. Some friends of mine are there, charming people, and I heard that Hildegarde was here, and of course I flew to see her. She is my oldest and dearest friend, Mrs. Merryweather."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Merryweather, with friendly interest.

"Yes, indeed. We were at school together, and like twins, except for the difference in colouring. Ah, les beaux jours d'enfance, Hilda, my love! And you are quite, quite unchanged since the happy days at Madame Haut Ton's. 'Queen Hildegarde' we used to call her then, Miss Merryweather. Yes, indeed! she was the proudest, the most exclusive girl on Murray Hill. The little aristocratic turn of her head when she saw anything vulgar or common was quite too killing. Turn your head, Hilda, my love!"

Hildegarde coloured hotly. "Please don't be absurd, Madge!" she said.

"Pray turn your head, Miss Grahame!" said Roger Merryweather, gravely. "I am sure it would interest us."

Hildegarde shot an imploring glance at him, and turned in desperation to her visitor.

"It is a long time since I have heard from you, Madge," she said.

"I am sure you must have a great deal to tell me. If Mrs.

Merryweather will excuse us, suppose we go for a little walk together."

"Surely, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Merryweather, with perhaps unnecessary cordiality.

But Madge had made herself very comfortable on the verandah, and had no intention of stirring just yet. Go scrambling about over rocks, and tearing herself to pieces among bushes? Hardly.

Besides, one glance had shown her that Professor Merryweather was uncommonly good-looking. She settled herself gracefully in her chair, and gave a pretty little sigh.

"Dear child, I am a wretched walker, alas! You know I never was strong, and this winter's gaiety quite finished me. I am ordered to rest, positively, this summer, under the severest penalties. It was really a terrible winter in New York. Every one said it was a wonder the girls were not killed, they went such a pace. Do you never come over to Pollock's Cove, Professor Merryweather? we had such a charming hop there last night; danced till two o'clock, with SUCH music! You must positively come over for the next one; we are to have them every week."

Roger thanked her, but was not a dancing man, and hops were hardly in their line out here.

"Not a dancing man! What a confession, Professor Merryweather! But I am sure you really dance beautifully; doesn't he, Hilda?"

"I don't know!" said Hilda, laughing. "He has never asked me to dance, Madge."

"Ah! you are quizzing me. I will never believe he could be so ungallant. But Hilda, I hear that really you live in positive seclusion, like a nun without a convent. My dear, how tragic, to pa.s.s your best years in this way! I told mamma that I should positively implore you to come to me this winter, and she said it was my DUTY. To think of YOU, Hilda, forswearing the world! It is too BIZARRE! But we have not forgotten our little queen on Murray Hill; no, no, dear!"

"You are mistaken, Madge," said Hilda. "I was in New York for several weeks last winter, staying with Aunt Anna; but you were in Was.h.i.+ngton at the time."

"Oh, but I heard of you!" cried Madge, archly. "I heard how the whole Hill was at Miss Grahame's feet, and how Bobby Van Sittart nearly went into a decline because she would not smile on his suit. I heard--"

"I think you heard a great deal of nonsense, Madge!" said Hilda with some asperity. "Come! you would like to see something of the island before the steamer comes to take you back. I will get the canoe and take you for a paddle."

Madge recoiled with a pretty shriek.

"Oh, horrors! Trust myself in a horrid tippy canoe, with a girl?

Never, my dear! I value my life too highly, I a.s.sure you. But there is a sailboat! I dote on sailing, and I am sure Professor Merryweather is a superb sailor."

Professor Merryweather rose with a smile, and would be charmed to take the young ladies out in the Keewaydin.

"Oh, but, Captain Roger, you were going out fis.h.i.+ng!" cried Hildegarde, her cheeks crimson with mortification.

Roger looked at her with a twinkle. "The fishes are not expected to migrate just yet, and there is a good wind for sailing. Pray come, Miss Grahame!"

Madge was already on her feet, fluttering with coquetry; and Hildegarde, after a despairing glance at Mrs. Merryweather, saw that she could do nothing but lead the way to the wharf.

"Won't you come, Bell?" she asked wistfully; but Bell was cruel, and said she must attend to her cooking; adding for the special edification of the stranger that she had the floor to scrub and the fish to clean. In silence Hildegarde walked down the wharf; she was thoroughly upset, and turning to look back to the house, it did not restore her composure to see Obadiah and Ferguson standing on their hands on the piazza, waving their feet in the air with every demonstration of frantic joy.

The little rowboat was unmoored, and a few quick strokes brought them alongside the Keewaydin. Hildegarde had never thought it could be anything but pleasure to her to board this beloved vessel, but she found herself now wis.h.i.+ng that sailing had never been invented. She glanced timidly at Roger, but there was no expression in his face as he handed Madge on board, and replied gravely to her lively questions. Madge was treading on air. They had told her at Pollock's Cove that she would not be able to get a word out of the handsome young professor; and here he was at her side, perhaps--who knew?--soon to be at her feet. A little absent-minded, to be sure, but they were often that way when a strong impression had been made. As for poor Hilda, it was really lamentable to see how utterly she had lost her savoir-faire, living in the wilderness. Here was this charming man, really with the bel air, and distinguished in some way or other, and she was as mute as a fish. Really, it was a charity to come and see her.

"Would you like to take the helm, Miss Hilda?" asked Roger.

Hilda thanked him with a glance, and took her place at the tiller in silence.

"Oh, Professor Merryweather! are you really going to trust us to Hilda's steering? I am sure, now, you think girls are too ignorant to know anything about that sort of thing. I wonder at you! OUR lives may not be of much consequence, because, of course, we are only silly little girls, but to risk your own life so, really, I am surprised."