Hildegarde's Harvest Part 17

"Fine morning!" said Gerald. "You had a pretty rough pa.s.sage, I ho--I'm afraid!"

"Thanks!" said Jack, with a detestable little drawl, which Hildegarde had never heard before. "I had an excellent pa.s.sage."

The three drew back and looked at each other, so exactly like strange dogs that the tails only were wanting, it seemed to Hildegarde. She had difficulty in keeping her countenance. "What a comfort," she thought, "if I could only shake them all, and tell them to behave themselves!"

But outwardly she was calm and smiling, looking from one scowling face to the other as if all were wreathed in smiles.

"And whither are you bound, boys?" she asked. "And what frolic is there on hand for to-day? If the snow would only come! I do want some tobogganing."

"There is good skating on Jimmy's Pond!" said Gerald. "We were just coming to see if you would go this afternoon, Hilda."

At the familiar name, Jack Ferrers glared so ferociously that Hildegarde almost expected to hear him bark, and to see him spring at the other lad's throat. Gerald perceived the impression, and hastened in pure malice to deepen it.

"I have been counting on a skate with you, Hilda; you remember the last we had together? I never shall forget it!"

Now Hildegarde had never skated with Gerald in her life, and she had no idea of putting up with this kind of thing.

"I shall be delighted to come!" she said, with a little ring of steel in her voice that all three lads knew very well; "if you can find a pair of skates for my cousin. I know you have a whole closet full of them. You would like very much to come, Jack? Very well, then, that is settled! We will be ready at three o'clock. Good-morning, boys! Bell and Gertrude will come, too, of course!"

And with a quick, decided nod she walked on, Jack following after, after a defiant bow which was returned with interest.

The cousins walked on in silence for a few steps; then--

"I don't think you really misunderstood what I said, Hildegarde!" said Jack, coldly. "I did _not_ say that I should like to go skating. I said I should be unable to go. Of course it is of no consequence."

"Of none in the world!" said Hildegarde, turning upon him with gleaming eyes. "The absurd behaviour of three ridiculous boys,--Jack! How could you? I was so mortified,--so ashamed of you all! All! But you are my own; I am responsible for your behaviour. I never--" but here she caught a glimpse of Jack's face, and suddenly burst into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, it was so funny! Jack, none of you will ever know how funny it was.

I am very angry, but I--cannot--help laughing."

"I am glad you are amused!" said Jack Ferrers, stiffly. "It was worth while to come home for that."

"Jack! I--I won't laugh any more--if I can help it! Oh, dear! If you had only seen--"

But Hildegarde saw that her cousin was really hurt. Instantly she controlled her laughter, and laid her hand quietly on his arm.

"Dear lad," she said, "you are not really angry, any more than I was.

Dear Jack, think about it a little!"

They walked on in silence. Jack was still smarting under a sense of injury; yet the steady, friendly hand on his arm seemed to smooth down his ruffled feelings, whether he would or no.

"You know how it is," he said, presently, speaking in a more natural voice. "I have been thinking so long about the home-coming! I thought it was going to be--just the same. I thought I should have you all to myself; and now--"

"Jack, dear," said Hildegarde, quietly, "are you thinking of falling in love with me, by any chance?"

Jack looked down at her with startled eyes.

"Why--no! I wasn't, Hilda; but I will, if you want me to. I--what makes you say that? I thought we were brother and sister."

"I thought so, too," said Hildegarde, smiling. "But if my brother is going to show his teeth and growl at all the other dogs--I mean boys--he meets, I don't think I shall find it comfortable. There was a dog in a manger once; perhaps you have heard of him."

Jack winced, but owned he had.

"And--and even if you were not my brother," Hildegarde went on, "the idea of being jealous of the twins is so funny that--well, when you know them, Jack, you will laugh as much as I did. They are not that _kind_ of boy, at all. No boys were ever less so."

"That red-haired fellow," said Jack, still distrustful; "what was he saying about skating with you before? I thought he _sounded_ decidedly spoony, Hilda. I won't be disagreeable any more, but I say this seriously."

"Gerald! naughty, naughty Gerald! that was so like him! He is quick as a flash, Jack, and he said that just to torment you. I have never skated with him in my life; I never knew them till this last summer. Oh, he is such a funny boy! Come on, and I will tell you some of his pranks as we go along!"

Gerald and Philip Merryweather walked home in moody silence. They came upon a loose stone, and kicked it along before them with savage and purposeful kicks. Neither mentioned the fact of the stone's representing any particular person, but when either made a specially successful kick, he looked at the other for sympathy, and found it in a grim nod and chuckle. Only once did they break silence.

"Poor Codger!" said Gerald.

"H'm!" growled Philip, a.s.senting.

"Know when he's coming?"

"No! Don't suppose it will make any difference, though."

"S'pose not!"

"H'm!"

"H'm!"

Reaching the house, they sat down on the steps and pitched gravel stones in gloomy rivalry. So sitting, it chanced that Bell came upon them; Bell, with a face more than commonly bright (though she was always one of the most cheerful of mortals), with her hands full of ground pine, fresh from a walk in the woods, humming a fragment of the Mendelssohn Concerto.

"What's the matter with my boys?" she demanded, promptly.

"Nothing!" responded the twins, with alacrity. And they lowered like toppling thunderclouds.

"Then tell me all about it!" said Sister Bell, sitting down on the step, and taking a hand of each.

"What happened to my twinnies? Did some one throw away their tadpoles, or did the dog eat their mola.s.ses candy?"

This allusion to early misfortunes could generally bring a smile, but this time it failed, and Bell looked from one to the other in genuine concern.

"Phil! Jerry! What is it?" she asked again. "Oh, there has been no bad news, boys? Roger!--"

Gerald groaned.

"Roger!" he said. "That's just it, Bell! No, nothing of the kind you mean. He's well, poor dear old Codger. Better than he will be, when he hears what is going on."

"What _is_ going on? Come, boys, I really must know."

"We met Hilda just now," said Gerald. "Her cousin's come; kind of fiddler-chap from Germany. I'm afraid it's all up with the Codger, Bell."

"Indeed!" said Bell, quietly. "And what makes you think that, Jerry?"