"Go in and out the window, Go in and out the window, Go in and out the window, The Highland Gates to die."
Euleta took Vesta Philbrook by the hand, led her into the circle,and knelt solemnly before her; and the others sang, wildly,--
"Kneel down and face your lover, Kneel down and face your lover, Kneel down and face your lover, The Highland Gates to die."
"What ARE, you playing?" cried Bell Merryweather, who had come inquietly, and was watching the proceedings in amazement.
"Don't ask me!" Hildegarde replied, "watch and listen, and learnif you can. Oh, this is tragedy, indeed!" For Euleta had thrownherself backward, not without a certain dramatic force, and nowlay prone at Vesta's feet; and the children chanted, solemnly,--
"She's dead because she loved him, She's dead because she loved him, She's dead because she loved him, The Highland Gates to die."
This ended the game, and the children smiled joyously, whileEuleta plumed herself like a little peacock, taking to herself thecredit of all the interest shown by the young ladies.
"But what an extraordinary thing!" cried Bell; "Hildegarde, haveyou an idea what it can mean?"
Hildegarde shook her head. "It must be something old," she said."It must come from some old story or ballad. Oh, if we could onlyfind out!" They questioned the children eagerly, but could learnnothing. It was merely, "The Highland Gates to Die," and they hadalways played it, and everybody else always played it,--that wasall they knew.
At this moment a well-known brown bonnet was seen bobbingapologetically up the drive; the Widow Lankton had been makingfrantic efforts to catch Hildegarde's eye, and now succeeding,began a series of crab-like bows.
"Oh!" cried Hildegarde, eagerly, "there is Mrs. Lankton, and shewill know all about it."
"Yes," chimed in the children, in every variety of shrill treble."Widder Lankton, SHE'LL know all about it, sure!"
Mrs. Lankton was surrounded in a moment, and brought up on thepiazza. Here she sat, turning her head from side to side, like alean and pensive parrot, and struggling to get her breath.
"It's ketched me!" she said, faintly, in reply to the girls'questions. "Miss Grahame, my dear, it's ketched me in my rightside, and I like t' ha' died on your thrishold. Yes, my dear," shenodded her head many times, and repeated with unction, "I like t'ha' died on your thrishold."
"Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs. Lankton!" said Hildegarde, soothingly,while she quieted with a look Bell's horrified anxiety.
"I think you will be able to go in and get a cup of tea presently,won't you? And that will take away the pain, I hope."
Mrs. Lankton's countenance assumed a repressed cheerfulness. "Youmay be right, dear!" she said. "I shouldn't go to contradict yourblessed mother's darter, not if she told me to get a hull supper,let alone a cup o' tea, as is warming to the innards, let him denyit who will. There! I feel it a leetle better now a'ready," sheannounced. "Ah, it's a blessed privilege you have, Miss Grahame!"
Without stopping to analyze these remarks too closely, Hildegardesaid a few more soothing words, and then went straight to thematter in hand.
"Mrs. Lankton, can you tell us anything about a game the childrenhave been playing, the game of 'The Highland Gates?' We are verymuch interested in it, Miss Merryweather and I,--this is MissMerryweather,--and we want to know what it means."
"To be sure, my dear!" cried the Widow Lankton. "'The HighlandGates to Die.' Dear me, yes! if ever a person could tell you--andMiss Bellflower, is it? Ah! she looks rugged, now; don't she? andlivin' in the old Shannon house, too. 'T is dretful onhealthy,they say, the Shannon house; but havin' a rugged start, you see,you may weather it a consid'able time, dearie, and be a comfort tothem as has you WHILE they has you. My Philena, her cheeks wasjust like yours, like two pinies. And where is she now? Ah! I'veseen trouble, Miss Bellwether. Miss Grahame here can tell you ofsome of the trouble I've seen, though she don't know not a quarterpart of it."
"Oh yes, Mrs. Lankton," said Hildegarde, with what seemed towondering Bell rather a scant measure of sympathy; "MissMerryweather shall hear all about it, surely. But will you tell usnow about the game, please? We want to know so very much!"
"To be sure, dearie! to be sure!" acquiesced Mrs. Lankton withalacrity. "'T is a fine game, and anncient, as you may say. Why,my grandmother taught me to play 'The Highland Gates' when I wasno bigger than you, Vesta Philbrook. Ah! many's the time I playedit with my sister Salome, and she died just about your age."
"Well, Mrs. Lankton," said Hildegarde, encouragingly.
"Well? oh, bless you! no, dearie! She was terrible sick! that waswhy she died. Oh, my, yes! She had dyspepsy right along, sufferedeverything with it, yet 'twas croup that got her at last. Ah!there's never any child knows when croup 'll get her; girl NORboy!"
Hildegarde began to feel as if she must scream, or stamp her foot,or do some other impossible thing.
"Mrs. Lankton," she said, gravely, "I am sure Auntie has thekettle on, and you will be the better for your tea, so will younot tell us as quickly as you can, please, about the game? Thechildren are waiting, you see, to go on with their play."
"Jest what I was going to say, dear," cried Mrs. Lankton. "Let 'emplay, I says, while they can, I says; for its soon enough they getthe play squenched out of 'em, if you'll excuse the expression,Miss Henfeather."
At this apostrophe, delivered with mournful intensity, Bellretreated hastily behind a post of the veranda, and even SusanAurora Bulger giggled faintly, with her apron in her mouth.
Hildegarde was silent, and tried the effect of gazing severely atthe widow, apparently with some success, for after a pause ofhead-shaking, Mrs. Lankton continued:
"But as you was saying, dearie, about the game. Ye--es! Well, mygrandmother, she was an anncient woman; some said she was ninety-seven, and more called it ninety-eight, but she didn't rightlyknow herself, bein' she had lost the family Bible. Burned up withthe house it was, before she came from the Provinces, and somesaid it was because of starting a new fire in the cook-stove onSunday; but I don't want to set in judgment, not on my own fleshand blood, I do not, Miss Grahame. And I remember as if it wasthis day of time, she settin' in her chair in the porch to ourhouse, smokin' her pipe, if you'll excuse me ladies, bein' ananncient woman, and I HAVE heard great ladies took their pipes inthem times, but so it is. And she says to me, 'Drusilly,' shesays, 'Why don't you play with Salome?' and I says, ''Cause Iain't got nothin' to play.' And she says, 'Come here,' she says,'and I'll learn ye a game,' she says. So I called Salome, and wetwo stood there, and Gram'ther she taught us 'The Highland Gatesto Die.' Salome, she had been feedin' the hens, and when she comeback she left the gate open, and they all got out and went andstrayed into the woods, and my father got so mad we thought weshould lose him, for sure. Purple he used to get when he was mad,same as a late cabbage, and an awful sight. Yes, children, bethankful if you're learned to keep your tempers. So that's all Iknow, Miss Grahame, my dear, and you're welcome as air to it; andI do believe I see Mis' Auntie lookin' out the kitching winderthis minute, so if you'll excuse me, ladies, bein' I feel agoneness inside, and if I should faint away, how your blessedmother would feel!"
Hildegarde's Neighbors Page 8
