Something resembling a human wheel had revolved swiftly past the window, emitting unearthly cries.
Hildegarde blushed and hesitated. "I--I think it was your brother Obadiah," she said to Bell.
The latter stared, open-eyed. "My brother Obadiah?" she repeated.
"How did you know--I beg your pardon! but why do you say Obadiah?"
Hildegarde glanced at her mother, who was laughing openly. "You will have to make full confession, Hilda," she said. "I do not think Mrs. Merryweather will be very severe with you."
"It is a dreadful thing to confess," said Hildegarde, laughing and blushing. "I--to tell the truth, I happened to be walking in our garden, on the other side of the tall hedge, just when you drove up, the other day; and--there is a most convenient little peep-hole, and I wanted to see our new neighbours, and--and--I peeped!
Are you much shocked, Mrs. Merryweather? I heard several names,--Bell, and Toots, and--I--I heard the handsome red-haired boy called Obadiah."
The Merryweathers laughed merrily, and Mrs. Merryweather was about to speak, when a voice was heard in the hall, chanting in a singular, nasal key,--
"Dropsy dropped a book, And she"s going to be shook!
Dropsy dropped a volume, Which makes her very solume!"
The door was pushed open, and the handsome red-haired boy entered, walking on his hands, holding aloft between his feet the missing "Soul"s Conflict."
"My son Gerald," said Mrs. Merryweather, with a wicked smile.
"Gerald, my love, Mrs. and Miss Grahame."
If Hildegarde was crimson (and she undoubtedly was), Gerald Merryweather was brilliant scarlet when he rose to his feet and saluted the strangers; but he was also atwinkle with laughter, the whole lithe, graceful body of him seeming to radiate fun. One glance at Bell, another at Hildegarde, and the whole party broke into peal on peal of merriment.
"How do you do?" said Scarlet to Crimson, holding out a strong brown hand, and gripping hers cordially. "Awfully glad! Please excuse me, Mrs. Grahame, for coming in like that. I thought there was no one here but the mother, and she is as used to one end of me as the other."
"So you are Gerald, and not Obadiah." said Mrs. Grahame. "I congratulate you on the prettier name."
"Oh, Ferguson calls me Obadiah!" said Gerald, laughing again.
"He"s the other of me, you know. Beg pardon! you don"t know, perhaps. We are twins, Ferguson and I."
"And Ferguson, my dear Mrs. Grahame," interposed Mrs.
Merryweather, "is my son Philip. Why these boys cannot call each other by their rightful names is a family mystery; but so it is."
"Is your brother Fer--Philip like you?" asked Hildegarde, feeling sure that he was not, as the other boy she had seen certainly had not red hair.
"Not a bit!" replied Gerald, cheerfully. "No resemblance, I believe. "Beauty and the Beast" we call each other, too. Sometimes I am Beauty, and more times I am the Beast; depends on which has had his hair cut last."
"Or brushed," said Bell, glancing at the curly hair, which was certainly in rather a wild condition.
"Oh, yes! beg pardon!" said Gerald, glancing ruefully at the mirror, and running his hand through his curly mop.
"Beast this time, and no mistake. Gra.s.s rather long, you see, and tore my locks of gold. Happy thought! Desiring to tear your hair in sorrow, walk on hands through long gra.s.s; effect admirable.
Wonder Hamlet never tried it!"
"Hamlet"s hair was black," said Toots, seriously.
"And therefore he could not walk on his hands," said Gerald. "I see! Dropsy, you are a genius; that"s the trouble with you."
A long gray leg appeared at the open window, and after waving wildly for a moment, disappeared suddenly.
"Ferguson!" said Gerald, turning to Hildegarde. "His mountain way!
Becoming aware of your presence, he has retired, to reverse legs, and will shortly reappear, fondly hoping that you did not see him before."
Sure enough, in a few moments another tall boy entered, looking preternaturally grave, with his hair scrupulously smooth.
"Been upstairs, you see," said the irrepressible Gerald, "and slicked himself all up. Quite the Beauty, Fergs."
"Gerald, do be quiet!" said Mrs. Merryweather. "This is Philip, my other twin boy, Mrs. Grahame."
Philip greeted Hildegarde and her mother with grave courtesy, taking no notice of his brother"s gibes.
"You find us in a good deal of confusion," he said to Hildegarde, sitting down on a table, the only available seat. "It takes a long time to get settled, don"t you think so?"
"Oh--yes!" said Hildegarde, struggling for composure, and conscious of Gerald"s eyes fixed intently on her. "But you all look so home-like and comfortable here."
"Especially Ferguson!" broke in Gerald, sotto voce. "How comfortable he looks, doesn"t he, Miss Grahame? No use, Fergs! We marked your little footprints in the air, my son."
"Oh!" said Philip, looking much discomposed. "Well, I"ll punch your head, Obe, anyhow."
"Suppose we come out and look at the tennis-court," said Bell. "I am sure you play tennis, Miss Grahame."
"Indeed I do," said Hildegarde, heartily. "I have often looked longingly at that nice smooth lawn, and I hoped you were going to lay it out for a court."
"Phil," said Gertrude aside to her brother, who was still blushing and uncomfortable, "you needn"t mind a bit. Jerry came in walking on his hands, right into the room, before he saw them at all; and they are so nice, they didn"t care; they liked it."
"Did they?" said Phil, also in a whisper. "Well, that"s some comfort; but I"ll punch his head for him, all the same."
And Gerald cried aloud,--
"Away, away to the mountain"s brow, For Ferguson glares like an angry cow. He"ll punch my head, and kill me dead, Before I have time to say "Bow-wow.""
And the five young people went off laughing to the tennis-court.
CHAPTER IV.
HESTER"S PLAYROOM.
""THAR!" said the Deacon. "Naow she"ll dew!""
Hildegarde spoke in a tone of satisfaction, as she looked about her room. She had been setting it to rights,--not that it was ever "to wrongs" for any length of time,--for Bell and Gertrude Merryweather were coming to spend the morning with her, and she wanted her own special sanctum to look its best. She was very fond of this large, bare, airy chamber, with its polished floor, its white wainscoting, and its quaint blue-dragon paper. She had made it into a picture gallery, and just now it was a flower-show, too; for every available vase and bowl was filled with flowers from wood and garden. On the round table stood a huge Indian jar of pale green porcelain, filled with nodding purple iris; the green gla.s.s bowls held double b.u.t.tercups and hobble-bush sprays, while two portraits, those of Dundee and William the Silent, were wreathed in long garlands of white hawthorn. The effect was charming, and Hildegarde might well look satisfied. But Bell Merryweather, when she came into the room, thought that its owner was the most beautiful part of it. Hildegarde was used to herself, as she would have said frankly; she knew she was pretty, and it was pleasant to be pretty, and there was an end of it. But to Bell, in whose family either brown locks or red were the rule, this white and gold maiden, with her cool, fresh tints of pearl and rose, was something wonderful. Hildegarde"s dress this morning was certainly nothing astonishing, simply a white cambric powdered with b.u.t.tercups; but its perfect freshness, its trim simplicity, made it so absolutely the fit and proper thing, that Bell"s honest heart did homage to the lovely vision; there was something almost like reverence in her eyes as she returned Hildegarde"s cordial greeting. As for the young Gertrude, all the world was fairyland to her, and Hildegarde was the queen, opening the door of a new province. The most important thing in life was not to fall or drop anything on this first visit to the strange and wonderful old house, as all the Merryweathers persisted in calling Braeside.
Gertrude was always falling and dropping things. At home n.o.body expected anything else; but here it was different, and the poor child was conscious of every finger and toe as she stepped along gingerly. Gerald"s parting words were still ringing in her ears:
"When you feel that you must fall down, Dropsy, be careful not to fall into shelves of china,--that"s all. Bookcases are the best things to fall into, you"ll find; and a book is the best thing to drop, too, my poor child. When you feel the fit coming on, put down the teacup and grab a dictionary; then choose the toe you want it to fall on,--superfluous aunt of the family, or some one of that sort,--and you are all right. Bless you, Dropsy! Farewell, my dear!"
Hildegarde took the girls directly up to her room, and they admired all her arrangements as heartily as she could wish. Bell exclaimed with amazement at the size of the room.