Was this all true? Was she no better, no wiser, than the silly girls of her set? She had always felt herself so far above them mentally; they had always so frankly acknowledged her supremacy; she knew she was considered a "very superior girl:" was it true that her only superiority lay in possessing powers which she never chose to exert? And then came the bitter thought: "What have I ever done to prove myself wiser than they?" Alas for the answer! Hilda hid her face in her hands, and it was shame instead of anger that now sent the crimson flush over her cheeks.
Her mother despised her! Her mother--perhaps her father too! They loved her, of course; the tender love had never failed, and would never fail.
They were proud of her too, in a way. And yet they despised her; they must despise her! How could they help it? Her mother, whose days were a ceaseless round of work for others, without a thought of herself; her father, active, energetic, business-like,--what must her life seem to them? How was it that she had never seen, never dreamed before, that she was an idle, silly, frivolous girl? The revelation came upon her with stunning force. These people too, these coa.r.s.e country people, despised her and laughed at her! The thought was more than she could bear. She sprang up, feeling as if she were suffocating, and walked up and down the little room with hurried and nervous steps. Then suddenly there came into her mind one sentence of her mother"s that Dame Hartley had repeated: "Hilda has a really n.o.ble nature--" What was the rest?
Something about triumphing over the faults and follies which lay outside. Had her mother really said that? Did she believe, trust in, her silly daughter? The girl stood still, with clasped hands and bowed head.
The tumult within her seemed to die away, and in its place something was trembling into life, the like of which Hilda Graham had never known, never thought of, before; faint and timid at first, but destined to gain strength and to grow from that one moment,--a wish, a hope, finally a resolve.
CHAPTER IV.
THE NEW HILDA.
The morning came laughing into Hilda"s room, and woke her with such a flash of sunshine and trill of bird-song that she sprang up smiling, whether she would or no. Indeed, she felt happier than she could have believed to be possible. The anger, the despair, even the self-humiliation and anguish of repentance, were gone with the night.
Morning was here,--a new day and a new life. "Here is the new Hildegarde!" she cried as she plunged her face into the clear, sparkling water. "Do you see me, blue dragons? Shake paws, you foolish creatures, and don"t stand ramping and glaring at each other in that way! Here is a new girl come to see you. The old one was a minx,--do you hear, dragons?" The dragons heard, but were too polite to say anything; and as for not ramping, why they had ramped and glared for fifty years, and had no idea of making a change at their time of life.
The gilt cherubs round the little mirror were more amiable, and smiled cheerfully at Hilda as she brushed and braided her hair, and put on the pretty blue gingham frock. "We have no clothes ourselves," they seemed to say, "but we appreciate good ones when we see them!" Indeed, the frock fitted to perfection. "And after all," said the new Hilda as she twirled round in front of the gla.s.s, "what _is_ the use of an overskirt?" after which astounding utterance, this young person proceeded to do something still more singular. After a moment"s hesitation she drew out one of the white ap.r.o.ns which she had scornfully laid in the very lowest drawer only twelve hours before, tied it round her slender waist, and then, with an entirely satisfied little nod at the mirror, she tripped lightly downstairs and into the kitchen. Dame Hartley was washing dishes at the farther end of the room, in her neat little cedar dish-tub, with her neat little mop; and she nearly dropped the blue and white platter from her hands when she heard Hilda"s cheerful "Good morning, Nurse Lucy!" and, turning, saw the girl smiling like a vision of morning.
"My dear," she cried, "sure I thought you were fast asleep still. I was going up to wake you as soon as I had done my dishes. And did you sleep well your first night at Hartley"s Glen?"
"Oh, yes! I slept very sound indeed," said Hilda, lightly. And then, coming close up to Dame Hartley, she said in an altered tone, and with heightened color: "Nurse Lucy, I did not behave well last night, and I want to tell you that I am sorry. I am not like mamma, but I want to grow a little like her, if I can, and you must help me, please!"
Her voice faltered, and good Nurse Lucy, laying down her mop, took the slender figure in her motherly arms, from which it did not now shrink away.
"My lamb!" she said; "Miss Mildred"s own dear child! You look liker your blessed mother this minute than I ever thought you would. Help you? That I will, with all my heart!--though I doubt if you need much help, coming to yourself so soon as this. Well, well!"
"Coming to herself!" It was the same phrase the good dame had used the night before, and it struck Hilda"s mind with renewed force. Yes, she had come to herself,--her new self, which was to be so different from the old. How strange it all was! What should she do now, to prove the new Hilda and try her strength? Something must be done at once; the time for folded hands and listless revery was gone by.
"Shall I--may I help you to get breakfast?" she asked aloud, rather timidly.
"Breakfast? Bless you, honey, we had breakfast two hours ago. We farmers are early birds, you know. But you can lay a plate and napkin for yourself, if you like, while I drop a couple of fresh eggs and toast a bit of bacon for you. Do you like bacon, then?"
Rather disappointed at the failure of her first attempt to be useful, Hilda laid the snowy napkin on the shining table, and chose a pretty blue and white plate from the well-stocked shelves of the dresser.
"And now open that cupboard, my lamb," said her hostess, "and you"ll find the loaf, and a piece of honeycomb, and some raspberries. I"ll bring a pat of b.u.t.ter and some milk from the dairy, where it"s all cool for you."
"Raspberries!" cried Hilda. "Oh, how delightful! Why, the dew is still on them, Nurse Lucy! And how pretty they look, with the cool green leaves round them!"
"Ay!" said the good woman, "Jacob brought them in not ten minutes ago.
He thought you would like them fresh from the bushes."
Hilda"s cheek rivalled the raspberries in bloom as she bent over them to inhale their fragrance. The farmer had picked these himself for her,--had probably left his work to do so; and she had called him an odious old savage, and an unkempt monster, and--oh dear! decidedly, the old Hilda was a very disagreeable girl. But here were the eggs, each blushing behind its veil of white, and here was the milk, and a little firm nugget in a green leaf, which was too beautiful to be b.u.t.ter, and yet too good to be anything else. And the new Hilda might eat her breakfast with a thankful heart, and did so. The white rose nodded to her from the west window much more cordially than it had done the night before. It even brought out a little new bud to take a peep at the girl who now smiled, instead of scowling across the room. The vines rustled and shook, and two bright black eyes peeped between the leaves.
"Tweet!" said the robin, ruffling his scarlet waistcoat a little. "When you have quite finished your worms, you may come out, and I will show you the garden. There are cherries!" and away he flew, while Hilda laughed and clapped her hands, for she had understood every word.
"May I go out into the garden?" she asked, when she had finished her breakfast and taken her first lesson in dish-washing, in spite of Dame Hartley"s protest. "And isn"t there something I can do there, please? I want to work; I don"t want to be idle any longer."
"Well, honey," replied the dame, "there are currants to pick, if you like such work as that. I am going to make jelly to-morrow; and if you like to begin the picking, I will come and help you when my bread is out of the oven."
Gladly Hilda flew up to her room for the broad-leaved hat with the daisy-wreath; and then, taking the wide, shallow basket which Dame Hartley handed her, she fairly danced out of the door, over the bit of green, and into the garden.
Ah! the sweet, heartsome country garden that this was,--the very thought of it is a rest and a pleasure. Straight down the middle ran a little gravel path, with a border of fragrant clove-pinks on either side, planted so close together that one saw only the ma.s.ses of pale pink blossoms resting on their bed of slender silvery leaves. And over the border! Oh the wealth of flowers, the blaze of crimson and purple and gold, the bells that swung, the spires that sprang heavenward, the cl.u.s.ters that nodded and whispered together in the morning breeze! Here were ranks upon ranks of silver lilies, drawn up in military fashion, and marshalled by clumps of splendid tiger-lilies,--the drum-majors of the flower-garden. Here were roses of every sort, blushing and paling, glowing in gold and mantling in crimson. And the carnations showed their delicate fringes, and the geraniums blazed, and the heliotrope languished, and the "Puritan pansies" lifted their sweet faces and looked gravely about, as if reproving the other flowers for their frivolity; while shy Mignonette, thinking herself well hidden behind her green leaves, still made her presence known by the exquisite perfume which all her gay sisters would have been glad to borrow.
Over all went the sunbeams, rollicking and playing; and through all went Hildegarde, her heart filled with a new delight, feeling as if she had never lived before. She talked to the flowers. She bent and kissed the damask rose, which was too beautiful to pluck. She put her cheek against a lily"s satin-silver petals, and started when an angry bee flew out and buzzed against her nose. But where were the currant-bushes? Ah! there they were,--a row of stout green bushes, forming a hedge at the bottom of the garden.
Hilda fell busily to work, filling her basket with the fine, ruddy cl.u.s.ters. "How beautiful they are!" she thought, holding up a bunch so that the sunlight shone through it. "And these pale, pinky golden ones, which show all the delicate veins inside. Really, I _must_ eat this fat bunch; they are like fairy grapes! The butler fay comes and picks a cl.u.s.ter every evening, and carries it on a lily-leaf platter to the queen as she sits supping on honey-cakes and dew under the damask rose-bush."
While fingers and fancy were thus busily employed, Hilda was startled by the sound of a voice which seemed to come from beyond the currant-bushes, very near her. She stood quite still and listened.
"A-g, ag," said the voice; "g-l-o-m, glom,--agglom; e-r er,--agglomer; a-t-e, ate,--agglomerate." There was a pause, and then it began again: "A-g, ag; g-l-o-m, glom," etc.
Hilda"s curiosity was now thoroughly aroused; and laying down her basket, she cautiously parted the leaves and peeped through. She hardly knew what she expected to see. What she did see was a boy about ten years old, in a flannel shirt and a pair of ragged breeches, busily weeding a row of carrots; for this was the vegetable garden, which lay behind the currant-bushes. On one side of the boy was a huge heap of weeds; on the other lay a tattered book, at which he glanced from time to time, though without leaving his work. "A-n, an," he was now saying; "t-i, ti,--anti; c-i-p, cip,--anticip; a-t-e, ate,--anti_cip_ate. "To expect." Well! that _is_ a good un. Why can"t they _say_ expect, "stead o" breakin" their jawsen with a word like that? Anti_cip_-ate! Well, I swan! I hope he enjoyed eatin" it. Sh"d think "t"d ha giv" him the dyspepsy, anyhow."
At this Hilda could contain herself no longer, but burst into a merry peal of laughter; and as the boy started up with staring eyes and open mouth, she pushed the bushes aside and came towards him. "I am sorry I laughed," she said, not unkindly. "You said that so funnily, I couldn"t help it. You did not p.r.o.nounce the word quite right, either. It is an_ti_c.i.p.ate, not antic_ip_-ate."
[Ill.u.s.tration: "SHE PUSHED THE BUSHES ASIDE AND CAME TOWARDS HIM"]
The boy looked half bewildered and half grateful. "An_ti_c.i.p.ate!" he repeated, slowly. "Thanky, miss! it"s a onreasonable sort o" word, "pears ter me." And he bent over his carrots again.
But Hilda did not return to her currant-picking. She was interested in this freckled, tow-headed boy, wrestling with four-syllabled words while he worked.
"Why do you study your lesson out here?" she asked, sitting down on a convenient stump, and refreshing herself with another bunch of white currants. "Couldn"t you learn it better indoors?"
"Dunno!" replied the boy. "Ain"t got no time ter stay indoors."
"You might learn it in the evening!" suggested Hilda.
"I can"t keep awake evenin"s," said the boy, simply. "Hev to be up at four o"clock to let the cows out, an" I git sleepy, come night. An" I like it here too," he added. "I can l"arn "em easier, weedin"; take ten weeds to a word."
"Ten weeds to a word?" repeated Hilda. "I don"t understand you."
"Why," said the boy, looking up at her with wide-open blue eyes, "I take a good stiff word (I like "em stiff, like that an--an_ti_c.i.p.ate feller), and I says it over and over while I pull up ten weeds,--big weeds, o"
course, pusley and sich. I don"t count chickweed. By the time the weeds is up, I know the word, I"ve larned fifteen this spell!" and he glanced proudly at his tattered spelling-book as he tugged away at a mammoth root of pusley, which stretched its ugly, sprawling length of fleshy arms on every side.
Hilda watched him for some moments, many new thoughts revolving in her head. How many country boys were there who taught themselves in this way? How many, among the clever girls at Mademoiselle Haut-ton"s school, had this sort of ambition to learn, of pride in learning? Had she, the best scholar in her cla.s.s, had it? She had always known her lessons, because they were easy for her to learn, because she had a quick eye and ear, and a good memory. She could not help learning, Mademoiselle said. But this,--this was something different!
"What is your name?" she asked, with a new interest.
"Bubble Chirk," replied the freckled boy, with one eye on his book, and the other measuring a tall spire of pigweed, towards which he stretched his hand.
"WHAT!" cried Hilda, in amazement.
"Bubble Chirk!" said the boy. "Kin" o" curus name, ain"t it? The hull of it"s Zerubbabel Chirk; but most folks ain"t got time to say all that. It trips you up, too, sort o". Bubble"s what they call me; "nless it"s Bub."
The contrast between the boy"s earnest and rather pathetic face, and his absurdly volatile name, was almost too much for Hilda"s gravity. But she checked the laugh which rose to her lips, and asked: "Don"t you go to school at all, Bubble? It is a pity that you shouldn"t, when you are so fond of study."
"Gin"lly go for a spell in the winter," replied Bubble. "They ain"t no school in summer, y" know. Boys hes to work, round here. Mam ain"t got n.o.body but me "n Pink, sence father died."
"Who is Pink?" asked Hilda, gently.