Hildegarde's Holiday Part 1

Hildegarde's Holiday.

by Laura E. Richards.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

In a small waiting-room at Blank Hospital a girl was walking up and down, with quick, impatient steps. Every few minutes she stopped to listen; then, hearing no sound, she resumed her walk, with hands clasped and lips set firmly together. She was evidently in a state of high nervous excitement, for the pupils of her eyes were so dilated that they flashed black as night instead of gray; and a bright red spot burned in either cheek. In the corner, in an att.i.tude of anxious dejection, sat a small dog. He had tried following his mistress at first, when she began her walk, and finding that the promenade took them nowhere and was very monotonous, had tried to vary the monotony by worrying her heels in a playful manner; whereupon he had been severely reprimanded, and sent into the corner, from which he dared not emerge. He was trying, with his usual lack of success, to fathom the motives which prompted human beings to such strange and undoglike actions, when suddenly a door opened, and a lady and gentleman came in. The girl sprang forward. "Mamma!" she cried. "Doctor!"

"It is all right, my dear," said the doctor, quickly; while the lady, whose name was Mrs. Grahame, took the girl in her arms quietly, and kissed her. "It is all right; everything has gone perfectly, and in a few days your lovely friend will be better than she has ever been since she was a baby."

Hildegarde Grahame sat down, and leaning her head on her mother's shoulder, burst into tears.

"Exactly!" said the good doctor. "The best thing you could do, my child!

Do you want to hear the rest now, or shall I leave it for your mother to tell?"

"Let her hear it all from you, Doctor," said Mrs. Grahame. "It will do her more good than anything else."

Hildegarde looked up and nodded, and smiled through her tears.

"Well," said the cheerful physician, "Miss Angel (her own name is an impossibility, and does not belong to her) has really borne the operation wonderfully. Marvellously!" he repeated. "The const.i.tution, you see, was originally good. There was a foundation to work upon; that means everything, in a case like this. Now all that she requires is to be built up,--built up! Beef tea, chicken broth, wine jelly, and as soon as practicable, fresh air and exercise,--there is your programme, Miss Hildegarde; I think I can depend upon you to carry it out."

The girl stretched out her hand, which he grasped warmly. "Dear, good doctor!" she said; whereupon the physician growled, and went and looked out of the window.

"And how soon will she be able to walk?" asked the happy Hildegarde, drying her eyes and smiling through the joyful tears. "And when may I see her, Doctor? and how does she look, Mamma darling?"

"_Place aux dames!_" said the Doctor. "You may answer first, Mrs.

Grahame, though your question came last."

"Dear, she looks like a white rose!" replied Mrs. Grahame. "She is sleeping quietly, with no trace of pain on her sweet face. Her breathing is as regular as a baby's; all the nurses are coming on tiptoe to look at her, and they all say, 'Bless her!' when they move away."

"My turn now," said Dr. Flower. "You may see her, Miss Hildegarde, the day after to-morrow, if all goes well, as I am tolerably sure it will; and she will be able to walk--well, say in a month."

"Oh! a month!" cried Hildegarde, dolefully. "Do you mean that she cannot walk at all till then, Doctor?"

"Why, Hilda!" said Mrs. Grahame, in gentle protest. "Pink has not walked for fourteen years, remember; surely a month is a very short time for her to learn in."

"I suppose so," said the girl, still looking disappointed, however.

"Oh, she will _begin_ before that!" said Dr. Flower. "She will begin in ten days, perhaps. Little by little, you know,--a step at a time. In a fortnight she may go out to drive; in fact, carriage exercise will be a very good thing for her. An easy carriage, a gentle horse, a careful driver--"

"Oh, you best of doctors!" cried Hildegarde, her face glowing again with delight. "Mamma, is not that exactly what we want? I do believe we can do it, after all. You see, Doctor--Oh, tell him, Mammy dear! You will tell him so much better."

"Hildegarde has had a very delightful plan for this summer, Doctor,"

said Mrs. Graham, "ever since you gave us the happy hope that this operation, after the year of treatment, would restore our dear Rose to complete health. A kinswoman of mine, a very lovely old lady, who lives in Maine, spent a part of last winter with us, and became much interested in Rose,--or Pink, as we used to call her."

"But we _don't_ call her so now, Mammy!" cried Hildegarde, impetuously.

"Rose is exactly as much her own name, and she likes it much better; and even Bubble says it is prettier. But I _didn't_ mean to interrupt, Mammy dear. Go on, please!"

"So," continued Mrs. Grahame, smiling, "Cousin Wealthy invited the two girls to make her a long visit this summer, as soon as Rose should be able to travel. I am sure it would be a good thing for the child, if you think the journey would not be too much for her; for it is a lovely place where Cousin Wealthy lives, and she would have the best of care."

"Capital!" cried Dr. Flower; "the very thing! She _shall_ be able to travel, my dear madam. We will pack her in cotton wool if necessary; but it will not be necessary. It is now--let me see--May 10th; yes, quite so! By the 15th of June you may start on your travels, Miss Hildegarde.

There is a railway near your cousin's home, Mrs Grahame?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Hilda. "It goes quite near, doesn't it, Mamma?"

"Within two or three miles," said Mrs. Grahame; "and the carriage road is very good."

"That is settled, then!" said Dr. Flower, rising; "and a very good thing too. And now I must go at once and tell the good news to that bright lad, Miss Rose's brother. He is at school, I think you said?"

"Yes," replied Hildegarde. "He said he would rather not know the exact day, since he could not be allowed to help. Good Bubble! he has been so patient and brave, though I know he has thought of nothing else day and night. Thank you, Doctor, for being so kind as to let him know.

Good-by!"

But when Dr. Flower went out into the hall, he saw standing opposite the door a boy, neatly dressed and very pale, with burning eyes, which met his in an agony of inquiry.

"She is all right," said the physician, quickly. "She is doing extremely well, and will soon be able to walk like other people. How upon earth did you know?" he added, in some vexation, seeing that the sudden relief from terrible anxiety was almost more than the lad could bear. "What idiot told you?"

Bubble Chirk gave one great sob; but the next moment he controlled himself. "n.o.body told me," he said; "I knew. I can't tell you how, sir, but--I knew!"

CHAPTER II.

MISS WEALTHY.

It was the 17th of June, and Miss Wealthy Bond was expecting her young visitors. Twice she had gone over the house, with Martha trotting at her heels, to see that everything was in order, and now she was making a third tour of inspection; not because she expected to find anything wrong, but because it was a pleasure to see that everything was right.

Miss Wealthy Bond was a very pretty old lady, and was very well aware of the fact, having been told so during seventy years. "The Lord made me pleasant to look at," she was wont to say, "and it is a great privilege, my dear; but it is also a responsibility." She had lovely, rippling silver hair, and soft blue eyes, and a complexion like a girl's. She had put on to-day, for the first time, her summer costume,--a skirt and jacket of striped white dimity, open a little at the neck, with a kerchief of soft white net inside. This kerchief was fastened with quite the prettiest brooch that ever was,--a pansy, made of five deep, clear amethysts, set in a narrow rim of chased gold. Miss Wealthy always wore this brooch; for in winter it harmonized as well with her gown of lilac cashmere as it did in summer with the white dimity. At her elbow stood Martha; it was her place in life. She seldom had to be called; but was always there when Miss Wealthy wanted anything, standing a step back, but close beside her beloved mistress.

Martha carried her aureole in her pocket, or somewhere else out of sight; but she was a saint all the same. Her gray hair was smooth, and she wore spectacles with silver rims, and a gray print gown, with the sleeves invariably rolled up to the elbows, except on Sundays, when she put on her black cashmere, and spent the afternoon in uneasy state.

"I think the room looks very pretty, Martha," said Miss Wealthy, for the tenth time.

"It does, Mam," replied Martha, as heartily as if she had not heard the remark before. "Proper nice it looks, I'm sure."

"You mended that little place in the curtain, did you, Martha?"

"I did, Mam. I don't think as you could find it now, unless you looked very close."

"And you put lavender and orange-flower water in the bottles? Very well; then that's all, I think."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'AND EVERYTHING IS RIGHT FOR SUPPER, MARTHA?'"]

Miss Wealthy gave one more contented look round the pretty room, with its gay rose-flowering chintz, its cool straw matting, and comfortable cus.h.i.+oned window-seats, and then drew the blinds exactly half-way down, and left the room, Martha carefully closing the door.

In the cool, shady drawing-room all was in perfect order too. There were flowers in the tall Indian vases on the mantelpiece, a great bowl of roses on the mosaic centre-table, and, as usual, a bunch of pansies on the little round table by the armchair in which Miss Wealthy always sat.