Hildegarde's Neighbors

by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

  CHAPTER V.

  TEA AT ROSEHOLME.

  On a certain lovely evening in June, Hildegarde left the house atsix o'clock, or, to be precise, at five minutes before six, andtook the path that led to Roseholme. It was her eighteenthbirthday, and the Colonel was giving her a tea-party. This was agreat event, for many years had passed since guests had beeninvited to Roseholme. The good Colonel, always delighted to bewith Hildegarde and her mother, had still kept up his solitaryhabits at home, and save for little Hugh, who flitted about thedark old house like a sunbeam, it was a lonely place. Now,however, the Colonel had roused himself and declared that he, andno other, should give his young friend her birthday treat. TheMerryweathers were invited, all except the two youngest, Will andKitty. Mrs. Grahame was already there, having gone over early, atthe Colonel's request, to help in arranging certain little matterswhich he considered beyond the province of his good housekeeper;and now it was time for the "beneficiary," as Gerald Merryweathercalled her, to follow.

  Hildegarde was dressed in white, of course; she always wore whitein the evening. Miss Loftus, her neighbour in the new stone house,sometimes expressed wonder at that Grahame girl's wearing white somuch, when they hadn't means to keep so much as a pony to carrytheir mail; her wonder might have been set at rest if she couldhave peeped into the airy kitchen at Braeside, and seen Hildegardesinging at her ironing-table in the early morning, before the sunwas hot. Auntie, the good black cook, washed the dressesgenerally, though Hildegarde could do that, too, if she was "putto it;" but Hildegarde liked the ironing, and took as much pride--or nearly as much--in her own hems and ruffles as she did in thedelicate laces which she "did up" for her mother. Her dress thisevening was sheer white lawn, and she had a white rose in herhair, and another in her belt, and, altogether, she was pleasantto look upon. Gerald Merryweather, who with his brother was makinghis way along another path in the same direction, saw the girl,and straightway glowed with all the ardour of seventeen.

  "I say!" he exclaimed, under his breath, "isn't she stunning?Look, Ferg, you old ape! Ever see anything like that?"

  Ferguson, who was of a cooler temperament, replied withoutenthusiasm, maintaining that there had been, in the history ofwomankind, maidens as beautiful as Miss Grahame, or even more so.Becoming warm in the discussion, the two grappled, and rolled overand over at Hildegarde's feet. She gave a little scream, and thenlaughed. "Any one hurt?" she asked. "If not, perhaps I had betterbrush you off a bit before we go into the house."

  "A nice opinion you will have of us, Miss Grahame," said Gerald,as he stood still to be brushed. "We can stand straight, and walk,too, like other people, though you may not believe it. But, yousee, Ferguson is so exasperating that he disturbs my equilibrium,and then I have to disturb his, that we may continue in brotherlycompanionship. He was just saying that the sun was no brighterthan the stars."

  "No more it is, I suppose," said unconscious Hildegarde, "if youare only near enough to one, or far enough from the other. Shall Ibrush you, too, Mr. Ferg--I beg your pardon, Mr. Merryweather?"

  "Oh," cried Gerald, dancing on one foot, "observe his blushes!Observe the cabbage rose in all its purple pride! Isn't he lovely?But you are not going to call us 'Mister,' in earnest, MissGrahame? You cannot have the heart! We are not accustomed to it,and there is no knowing what effect it may have on my ardentnature, or on Ferguson's flabby disposition." Ferguson extended along arm and shook his brother with calm energy, till his teethrattled together.

  "Really, if you wouldn't, please," he said, in his quiet voice."Gerald is a lunatic, of course, and ought to be kept in a barreland fed through the bung-hole,--only my mother has scruples; butwe are 'just the boys,' and nobody ever does call us by handles,you see. So if you wouldn't mind--"

  "I shall be delighted!" said Hildegarde. "Bell and I have alreadycome to first names, and I am sure you boys are both too jolly tobe ceremonious with; so--Gerald, here we are at the house, and nowyou really will have to stay right side up, with care."

  They went together into the wide, bare hall, with its dark panelshung with family portraits. Colonel Ferrers came to meet them,erect and soldierly. He kissed Hildegarde's cheek, and greeted theboys with a cordial shake of the hand.

  "Glad to see you, young people!" he said, in the gruff voice whichheld the very spirit of kindliness. "Glad to see you! Hildegarde,many happy returns of the day to you, my dear child! Take my arm,I beg!"

  With Hildegarde on his arm, he led the way to the pretty drawing-room, all white and gold and yellow satin, which was seldom usedin these days. Hildegarde had secretly hoped that they would sitin the library, a delightful brown-leather sort of room, to whichshe had grown well used; but she appreciated the compliment ofopening the drawing-room, and put on her best smile and look ofpleasure. Hugh Allen left his station by Mrs. Grahame's chair, andcame running with open arms to meet his Beloved. "Oh, glory of thesunrise!" he exclaimed, as he threw his arms round her neck. "Ihope you will live fifty thousand years, and have strawberry jamevery single day of them!"

  "Dear me!" cried Hildegarde. "I should beg for gooseberry once aweek, dear boy, if it were going on quite so long as that. Well,my mother, you look like the Queen of Conspirators. What have youand Hugh been talking about, that you both look so guilty?"

  "Guilty, my dear Hildegarde?" said Mrs. Grahame, drawing herselfup. "The word is a singular one for a daughter to use to hermother."

  "Yes," said Hildegarde, "it is! and the thing is a singular onefor a mother to be toward her daughter. If ever I saw PLOT writtenall over an expressive countenance,--but no more of this! DearColonel Ferrers, how wonderful the roses are!"

  Surely there never were so many roses as at Roseholme. The househad been ransacked for jars, vases and bowls to hold them, andevery available surface was a mass of glowing blossoms. The girlshovered from vase to vase, exclaiming with delight at each newcombination of beauties.

  Now tea was announced, and this time Colonel Ferrers offered hisarm to Mrs. Merryweather, as the stranger and new-comer in theneighbourhood; but the good lady protested against anyone but the"birthday child" being taken in by the host, and the Colonelyielded, it must be said with a very good grace.

  Here, in the long, oak-panelled dining-room were more roses,--ropes and garlands of them, hanging in festoons along the dark,shining panels, drooping from the Venetian lustres of the quaintchandelier. Even the moose's head on the wall behind the Colonel'schair had a wreath, cocked slightly on one side, which gave awaggish look to the stately creature. The huge antlers spreadabroad, three feet on either side; the boys eyed the trophy withwondering delight."

  "Oh, I say, sir!" cried Gerald, "did you shoot that moose? I neversaw such a fellow. Why, Roger shot one last year that we thoughtwas the grandfather moose of the world, but he was a baby to thisone."

  The Colonel smiled, well-pleased, and told the story of hisshooting the great moose.

  "And who is Roger?" he asked, then. "Have you yet more treasures,Mrs. Merryweather? Surely none old enough, to go moose-hunting?"

  "Roger is not my own child, Colonel Ferrers," said Mrs.Merryweather, smiling. "I always have to remind myself of thefact, for he seems like my own. He is my husband's half-brother,many years younger than he,--the dearest fellow in the world, andreally a delightful combination of son and brother. I hope he willbe here before long. And that reminds me,--have I made myhusband's apologies? I am so sorry he could not come!"

  "I regret it heartily, my dear madam," said the Colonel, with acourtly bow; and he recalled how Mr. Merryweather had confided tohim the other day that he drew the line at going out in theevening, and would not exchange his own fireside for the King ofDahomey's. He thought it probable that the excellent Miles was atthis moment sitting with pipe and newspaper on the back veranda ofhis house; and if it had not been Hildegarde's birthday, theColonel might have wished himself beside him. As it was, however,he devoted himself to his guests with such hearty good-will thatthe tea-table soon rang with merry talk and laughter.

>   The high-tea itself was beyond praise; Mrs. Beadle had seen tothat. Mrs. Grahame's Auntie herself might have been jealous of thejellied chicken; and salad was green and gold, and rolls weresnowy white, and strawberries glowed like sunset; and over allwere roses, roses, making the whole table a floral offering, asGerald said. Then, just before everybody had reached the "no more"point, the good Guiseppe, who had been standing, stately, behindhis master's chair, darted out, and in a moment returned, bearingon a huge silver salver,--what was it? Behind Guiseppe was seenthe portly form of good Mrs. Beadle, beaming under her best cap;Guiseppe's own face was one broad, dark smile. A general chorusbroke from all save the host and Mrs. Grahame; Hugh gave a squeakof joy in which was no surprise.

  "I knew they would like it!" he cried, clapping his hands. "I knewthey would be surprised, and that the hair of their scalps wouldbe uplifted. It is yours, Beloved; it is for you!"

  A cake! Who had ever seen such a cake? It must have been baked inthe biggest cheese-frame that the dairy could supply; or the rimof a cart-wheel might have been used to frame its monstrouscircle. Certainly, as Guiseppe set it down before Hildegarde, itseemed to cover the whole width of the great table. On its top thefrosting was piled high, in fantastic shapes. There seemed to belittle hills and valleys; and from among these peeped--and didthey only seem to move?--a number of tiny figures in green andgold. One sat astride of a snowy pinnacle, another lay stretchedat full length in a hollow, his pretty face only peering out; somewere chasing each other among the elfin hills, others werestanding at ease, their hands on their hearts, their forms bentgracefully as if in salutation. In the middle rose a white throne,and on this sat the prettiest fairy of all, with a crown on herhead and a wand in her hand; she was dressed in white and gold,and round her danced a circle of elves; and every elf held a tinyblazing candle.

  "Are you too old for dolls, Hildegarde?" asked the Colonel,puffing with pleasure as he saw the delight in the girl's face."These are birthday fairies, you observe. There are eighteen ofthem, and every one of them wishes you good luck, my dear, andevery happiness, every blessing that Heaven can bestow."

  The good Colonel had begun merrily enough, but before the end ofhis little speech his deep voice trembled, and the tears stood inHildegarde's eyes. She tried to speak, but the words did not come;so, leaving her seat, she went quietly up to the Colonel andkissed his forehead. "Thank you, dear friend!" she said; and itwas all she could say.

  "There! there!" said the Colonel, recovering himself at once."Glad you like it, my child! Glad you like it! The fancy was mymother's; she had a poetic taste, madam." He turned to Mrs.Merryweather, who was beaming with admiration and delight. "Shehad these little figures made long ago,--for another eighteenthbirthday,--a dear young friend of hers. Yes, yes! They have beenkept in cotton-wool forty years, madam. Little candle holders, youperceive. A pretty fancy, eh? I happened to remember them theother day,--hunted 'em up,--the result, thanks to Mrs. Grahame andElizabeth Beadle. Mrs. Beadle, ma'am, I desire that you will comein, and not skulk in the doorway there, as if you had reason to beashamed of your handiwork. My housekeeper, Mrs. Beadle, ladies andgentlemen: a good woman, if she will allow me to say so, and agood cook. Now, Guiseppe, a knife for Miss Grahame, and we willtest the quality of this same cake. Plenty of citron, I trust,Elizabeth Beadle? No little skimpy bits, but wedges, slabs ofcitron? Ha! that is as it should be. She wanted to make a whitecake, my dear,--a light, effervescent kind of thing, that canhardly be tasted in the mouth; but I refused to insult either youor my traditions in such a manner. A birthday cake, Mrs. Grahame,my dear madam, should be as rich as spices and plums, brandy andcitron,--especially citron, which I take to be an epitome of theOrient, gastronomically speaking,--as rich as all manner of goodthings can make it. You agree with me, my young friend?" He noddedto Gerald, whose eyes met his, flaming with approval.

  "Oh, don't I, sir!" cried Gerald. "When they talk aboutwholesomeness and that sort of r--of thing,--well, I beg yourpardon, mater dear, but you know you do, sometimes, in a manner toturn gray the hair,--when they do, I always think it's a dreadfulshame to have wholesome things on your birthday. And--oh, I say!"Here he relapsed into silence, as the first slice dropped from theside of the great cake, revealing depth upon depth of richness.The two mothers shuddered slightly, and exchanged deploringsmiles; but Hugh clasped his hands in rapture, and lifted up hisvoice and spoke.

  "You are King Solomon to-day, Guardian, aren't you,--instead ofother kings, as sometimes you are? And my great-aunt is the Queenof Sheba. And--'there came no more such abundance of spices asthese which the Queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon. And gold, andprecious stones, and knops and flowers'--oh, see them all! And,Guardian,--I mean King Solomon, DO you think there might be analmug tree in the garden?"

  When tea was over, the Colonel bowed the ladies out of the roomwith punctilious courtesy, and motioned to Hugh to follow them;then he turned to the two Merryweather boys.

  "May I offer you cigars, young gentlemen?" he asked; and he took acouple of cheroots from the mantel-piece.

  The boys blushed bravely, but Phil said, quietly, "No, thank you,sir. We are not going to smoke till we are twenty-one. Fatherthinks that is soon enough."

  The Colonel nodded approvingly. "Your father is right!" he said."Very right, indeed, my young friend. I beg you to take noticethat, though obliged by the laws of hospitality to offer youcigars, I should have thought it unsuitable if you had acceptedthem. Thirty years ago I should have been obliged to offer youwine, also, but happily that is no longer necessary. Forty yearsago,--hum, ha! If you will permit me, I will smoke a cheroot forthe party. Your father prefers a pipe, I believe, but give me aManilla cheroot, and I am satisfied."

  "Excuse me, sir," said Gerald, "but weren't you going to saysomething else?"

  Colonel Ferrers smiled. "You are quick, my boy," he said. "I wasindeed thinking of something that happened forty years ago,--of myfirst smoke. Possibly you might be amused to hear about it?"

  The boys seemed to think there was no doubt about their beingamused; they drew up two ottomans beside the Colonel's armchair,and prepared to listen, open-mouthed.

  "Forty years ago, then," said the Colonel, "or, to be more exact,forty-five years, I was a lad of fifteen."

  He paused, and smoked in silence for some minutes. Gerald couldnot help thinking of Alice and the Mock Turtle, and wondered whatwould happen if he should get up and say, "Thank you, sir, foryour interesting story." But he held his peace, and waited.

  "Fifteen years old, young gentlemen, and a sad scapegrace, I amsorry to say. My poor mother had an anxious time of it with me. Iwas in the water, or in the fire, or in the clouds from morningtill night, as it seems on looking back. But with all my vagaries,I had one great desire which had never been gratified,--that was,to smoke a cigar. My father was a clergyman, and though he hadnever forbidden my smoking, I should never have dared to suggestsuch a thing to him, for he was strict in his notions, in manyways. Not too strict, sir, not too strict, by any means, though hemay have seemed so to me then.

  "To make a long story short, I fell in with some lads of my ownway of thinking, and we determined to have a smoke. We gatheredsweet fern and dried it, and rolled cigars for ourselves; odd-looking things they were, but we were vastly proud of them. Whenall was ready, we chose a dry, warm spot behind a dyke (for it wasthe fall of the year, and the days growing cold), and there welighted our cigars and fell to work, puffing away in mighty finestyle. Well, sir, they were horrible things, as you may wellimagine; not one of us, I'll go bail, liked them in his heart, butwe all pretended our best, and praised the cigars, and said what afine thing it was to smoke, and thought ourselves men, as sure asif we had felt our beards pushing.

  "By-and-by--I have the feeling of it still, when I think of it--Ichanced to look up, and saw my father standing over the top of thedyke, looking down on us. The other boys, catching sight of myface, lifted their eyes and saw him, too; and there was a prettymoment. He said never a word for some time; no m
ore did we. Atlast, 'What are you smoking, boys?' he asked, speaking in hisusual even voice; yet I did not like the sound of it, somehow.

  "So we told him, sweet fern; but he shook his head at that. 'Thatis poor stuff, indeed,' he said. 'Now, if you must smoke, here issomething worth your while. Take these, Thomas, and share themwith your friends; they are genuine, and I hope you may enjoythem.'

  "With that he took a parcel of cigars from his pocket, and handedthem to me; then bowed to us all very grand, and marched off,never looking behind him.

  "I was not comfortable in my mind at this, for I knew my fatherpretty well, and had looked for something different; but the otherlads were in high feather, and lighted their cigars on theinstant, bidding me do likewise, and crying out that my father wasa fine old buck, and that I was a lucky fellow to have such aparent. I could not be behind the rest, so I lit up, too, and fora few minutes all was as gay as a feast. But, Harry Monmouth, sir!in half an hour we were the sickest boys in Westchester County. Itwas all we could do to crawl home to our beds; and not one of usbut was sure he was dying, and cried to his mother to send for thedoctor before it was too late."

  The Colonel laughed heartily, the boys chiming in with a merrypeal.

  "What were the cigars?" asked Phil.

  "The strongest Havanas that were made,--that was all. Fine cigars,I have no doubt; but I was forty years old before I touchedtobacco again, and I have never smoked anything less delicate thana Manilla."

  He puffed in silence, chuckling to himself now and then; the boysmeditated on the tale they had heard.

  "Colonel Ferrers," said Gerald, at last.

  "Yes, my boy. You are thinking that it is time to join the ladies?Quite right; we will go in at once."

  "I wanted to ask," said Gerald, "if you don't mind telling us,that is--well--I was only thinking that perhaps those cigars youoffered us--were they very mild ones, Colonel Ferrers?"

  The Colonel looked grave for a moment, then he gave way andlaughed aloud.

  "Found me out, hey?" he said. "Well, since you ask me, MasterMerryweather, I believe they were--not--the mildest that are made.But you--hark! what was that?"

  From the next room came the sound of a crash, and then a cry.

  "I am very sorry, sir," said the boys in a breath. "It is probablyour sister Gertrude, who has broken something."

  "She has no fingers to her thumbs," added Gerald, "and the resultis destruction."

  They passed into the next room, and found that there had indeedbeen an accident. Gertrude had knocked down a great pink vase, andbroken it into fifty pieces; she had also fallen over it, and nowsat among the ruins on the floor, too frightened to cry, while theothers picked up the pieces as best they might.

  "Colonel Ferrers, what will you think of us?" cried Mrs.Merryweather, looking up as her host entered the room. "Thisunlucky child of mine has done something dreadful. Get up, Gerty,and let me get the pieces from under you. I do so hope it may bemended."

  "Heaven forefend," said Colonel Ferrers, hastily. "Is it--I canhardly hope it--is it truly the pink vase, the pink vase with thestag's head on it?"

  "Ye--yes!" sobbed poor Gertrude, getting up from the floor, andseeking vainly for her handkerchief. "Oh, I am so sorry!"

  "My dear child," cried the Colonel, and he took Gertrude by bothhands, "my dear young benefactress, how can I ever thank you! Youhave relieved me of a heavy burden."

  "Why? what?" cried all.

  The Colonel pointed to the broken china, and gave a great sigh ofrelief. "You behold there," he said, "now happily in fragments,the bane of my existence. That--that horror--was given me threeyears ago by a valued servant and friend, my man Guiseppe. Hebought it for my birthday; spent ten of his hard-earned dollars onit, foolish, faithful creature that he is. What could I do? Itwas,--the enormity you perceive. I was obliged to give it a placeof honour,--fortunately, I seldom use this room when I am alone; Iwas forced to praise its tint, which I abominate, and its shape,which is wholly detestable. What would you? I could not wound mygood Guiseppe; the vase has remained, the chief ornament--in hiseyes--of my drawing-room. Now, thanks to you, my charming child, Iam delivered of this encumbrance, and my poor white and gold canappear without this hideous blot on its purity."

  Gertrude wiped her eyes, much relieved at this novel view of herinfirmity, and all the others laughed heartily.

  "And now," said the good Colonel, "is it not time for some games,Hilda, or something of the kind? Command me, young people. Shall Ibe blind man, at your service?"

  It was a pleasant sight to see the Colonel, a silk handkerchieftied over his eyes, chasing the young folks hither and thither;pulled this way, twitched that, but always beaming under hisbandage, and shouting with merriment. It was a pleasanter sight,later in the evening, to see him leading out Hildegarde for aquadrille, and taking his place at the head of the figure withstately, old-fashioned grace. Mrs. Grahame, turning round a momentfrom her place at the piano, saw his fine face aglow withpleasure, and felt a corresponding warmth at her own heart. Shethought of the gloomy, solitary man he had been a year ago, livingalone with his servants, scarcely seeing or speaking to a souloutside his own grounds. And who shall blame the mother for sayingin her heart, with a little thrill of pride, "It was my child whohelped him, who brought the sunshine into this good man's life. Itwas my Hildegarde!"