CHAPTER XIV.
ROGER THE CODGER.
"Miranda!" said Roger.
"Yes, my dear brother!"
"Tum te-tiddle-de-tum, tum, tum, tum!"
"Yes, my dear brother."
"I--oh, I beg your pardon; that isn't what I meant to say, ofcourse. A--the moon is in perigee now, you know."
"Roger," said his sister-in-law, looking up from her sewing, "youknow there is no earthly use in saying that kind of thing to me.'Perigee' suggests nothing to me but periwig, and it is painful tothink of the moon in so unbecoming a head-gear. Are you quite surethat THAT was what you were going to say?"
Roger laughed, looked a little confused, and threw stones into thewater; Mrs. Merryweather sewed on buttons and waited.
"I shall be twenty-five next week," was the professor's nextremark. "I--a--I am getting to be quite an old fogy."
"Your teeth and digestion are still good," said his sister-in-law,with provoking composure; "and you are able--generally speaking--to get about without a stick."
"Pshaw!" said Roger. He laughed again, and threw out his powerfularms. He was lying at full length on the verandah, his handsomehead propped against one of the pillars, framed in a mass ofwoodbine and trumpet-vine. Mrs. Merryweather looked at him, andthought that with the exception of her Miles and her boys, she hadnever seen a finer-looking fellow. Every line of the lithe,elastic figure was instinct with power; the face, from the broadupright brow to the firm chin, was alight with thought andintelligence. But the blue eyes, usually so clear in their gravegaze, held a shadow to-day, a curious look of shyness, one mightalmost say shamefacedness. Mrs. Merryweather gazed at him, andthought her own thoughts, but she knew her husband's family, andheld her peace.
"That is a very lovely girl, Miranda!" was the Professor's nextremark.
"Meaning Gertrude--?" said this wicked woman, innocently.
"Oh,--I mean Hilda, of course! She is remarkably intelligent,don't you think so?"
Mrs. Merryweather assented warmly, and added praises of her own.Hildegarde's little ears would surely have burned if she couldhave heard the good lady. As for Roger, he listened with greatcomplacency.
"Yes!" he said. "She is sympathetic, and unselfish,--remarkablyso, it seems to me; and--and she takes an interest in things,--Imean real things, such, as girls usually care nothing about."
"Perigees, for example," said his sister-in-law.
"Well," said Roger, laughing, "yes, I suppose I do mean perigees,and that kind of thing. They are not in your line, Miranda, Iknow."
"Oh, but I respect them!" said Mrs. Merryweather. "There isnothing I respect more highly than a perigee, unless it be anapogee, which always sounds like the beginning of an incantation.So Hilda likes them, does she?"
"Of course," said Roger, slowly, skipping stones over the pondwith thoughtful accuracy; "she has never studied any of thesethings, but she has really an astonishing aptitude for them. Andher hand is so steady, and she has such a true eye."
"Was that why you kept her sitting on a rock, waving a towel, forthree mortal hours, yesterday morning?" asked his sister-in-law,dryly.
Roger turned scarlet.
"Was it so long?" he said. "I didn't know--I never noticed. I--wastaking observations, you know, and she seemed so--did she say shewas tired? Was I a brute? Of course I was!"
"Don't go off at a tangent, or whatever you call the thing!" saidMrs. Merryweather. "She said she had had a most delightfulmorning, and that waving a towel had been her favourite amusementfrom baby-hood."
Roger looked wistfully at his sister-in-law. They were genuinelyfond of each other, but they spoke different languages, and hesometimes found it difficult to follow her turns of speech. He wassilent for a few minutes, absorbed in calculating the curves ofhis stones, which really skimmed in an astonishing manner.
"I suppose," he said, presently, watching a particularlyadventurous pebble, "I suppose, Miranda, that I must seem--well--quite an old fellow, to such a young creature as that?"
Mrs. Merryweather had a quizzical reply on the tip of her tongue,but glancing at Roger's face, thought better of it, and merelysaid, "My dear boy, don't be absurd!"
"I don't mean to be absurd," said Roger, sitting upright, andforgetting his pebbles. "But--well, I am a kind of grandfather toall the children, you know, and she would naturally--eh? regard mein the same light. That--a--that seems perfectly reasonable,doesn't it?"
Mrs. Merryweather made no reply. Roger followed the direction ofher eyes, and saw Hildegarde and Gerald coming up from the wharf.Hildegarde had been drying her hair after the daily swim, and ithung in long locks over her shoulders; the tall boy was bendingover her, pleading earnestly for something.
"Just a little bit!" he said, as they came within hearing. "Oh, Isay, Miss Hilda, just a scrap. You have such lots, you never wouldmiss it. Just a little lock of hair!"
Roger Merryweather's face grew very grave. He did not move, buthis grasp tightened on the pebble in his hand.
"What do you want of it?" said downright Hilda, laughing andtossing her tawny mane. Mrs. Merryweather listened for thefaintest shade of coquetry in the girl's tone, found none, andlistened on, well content.
"What do I want of it?" cried Gerald. "What a question!--
"O Hilda, fair beyond compare! I'll make a garland of thy hair, Shall twine my heart forevermair, Until the day I dee!"
"Very proper!" said Hilda. "I am glad to find that you know yourballads. What else will you do with it, for example?"
"Wi' ae lock o' thy yellow hair I'll theek my nest when it grows bare!"
Gerald went on. "The excelsior is coming out of my mattress, and Ithought--"
"I can't spare enough for that," said Hildegarde. "Any other usesfor my poor hair?"
"The Mater has a single hair of George Washington's, done up in agold snuffbox," cried the boy. "If you'll give me two, I will huntup a snuffbox. There's a fine old stingo in the Chemical Works whotakes snuff, and I will get his, and give him a tomato caninstead, and keep one hair in that."
"And the other?" Hilda persisted, taking the long tresses in herhand, and running them through her fingers in a tantalizingmanner,--"the other hair, Master Obadiah?"
"Oh, dear! what a persistent thing a girl is! I--must you reallyknow? Because you mightn't like it, if I told you the truth." Theingenuous youth here turned a somersault, and coming up on oneknee, remained in an attitude of supplication, clasping his handsimploringly. Hilda laughed, but still caressed her locks, unmoved.
"The other hair!" she said.
"Well, if you MUST know, I want to make a new kind of fly for thebass. They aren't biting at all, and your hair is just the colour,to a shade. There! that is the terewth. Do you mind?"
"Mind, you foolish boy? You might have had your fly made by thistime. Here, give me your knife!"
She stood still, and severed a long, fair tress, which she laid inGerald's hand.
"There! that will make a whole swarm of flies; and if there is anyleft over, you can theek your nest with it."
At this moment she looked up and saw the Professor sitting on theverandah, watching her. Her face lighted up with the brightestsmile, Roger thought, that he had ever seen, and she hastenedforward.
"Oh, Captain! I was afraid I was too late. Aren't you going totake observations this morning? And mayn't I go too? Here is mytowel, all ready."
Gerald clapped his hand to his face, with an exclamation of acutepain.
"My dear boy, what is the matter?" cried his mother and Hildegardein one breath.
"It is--nothing!" gasped the boy, sitting down on the edge of theverandah. "Where is the glue?"
"The glue!" repeated Hilda.
"Le Page's glue! My nose has become disjointed, and I would fainrepair it. I am suffering excruciating torments; but don't mindme. Go on your towelled and triumphant way, and leave the noselesswretch to pine alone!"
"And make his flies!" said Hilda. "You miserable boy, you reallytook me in. Good
-by, dear madam; I will get Bell, and we willsurely be home in time for dinner this time. Won't we, Captain?"But the Captain did not commit himself.
"Mater," said Gerald, watching the two as they walked awaytogether, "do you think--"
"Not often!" said his mother. "It is a dangerous occupation."
"True!" said Gerald. "Well, if I mustn't think, where is Phil?"
Hildegarde's Neighbors Page 17
