Hildegarde's Holiday: A Story for Girls

  CHAPTER XIII.

  A SURPRISE.

  It was a lovely August morning. Hildegarde and Rose had the peas toshell for dinner, and had established themselves under the greatelm-tree, each with a yellow bowl and a blue-checked apron. Hildegardewas moreover armed with a book, for she had found out one can read andshell peas at the same time, and some of their pleasantest hours werepassed in this way, the primary occupation ranging from pea-shelling tothe paring of rosy apples or the stoning of raisins. So on this occasionthe sharp crack of the pods and the soft thud of the "Champions ofEngland" against the bowl kept time with Hildegarde's voice, as she readfrom Lockhart's ever-delightful "Life of Scott." The girls were enjoyingthe book so much! For true lovers of the great Sir Walter, as they bothwere, what could be more interesting than to follow their hero throughthe varying phases of his noble life,--to learn how and where and underwhat circumstances each noble poem and splendid romance was written; andto feel through his own spoken or written words the beating of one ofthe greatest hearts the world ever knew.

  Hildegarde paused to laugh, after reading the description of the firstvisit of the Ettrick Shepherd to the Scotts at Lasswade; when the goodman, seeing Mrs. Scott, who was in delicate health, lying on a sofa,thought he could not do better than follow his hostess's example, andaccordingly stretched himself at full length, plaid and all, on anothercouch.

  "What an extraordinary man!" cried Rose, greatly amused. "How could hebe so very uncouth, and yet write the 'Skylark'?"

  "After all, he was a plain, rough shepherd!" replied Hildegarde. "Andremember,

  'The dewdrop that hangs from the rowan bough Is fine as the proudest rose can show.'

  Leyden was a shepherd, too, who wrote the 'Mermaid' that I read you theother day; and Burns was a farmer's boy. What wonderful people the Scotsare!"

  "On the whole," said Rose, after a pause, "perhaps it isn't so strangefor a shepherd to be a poet. They sit all day out in the fields allalone with the sky and the sheep and the trees and flowers. One canimagine how the beauty and the stillness would sink into his heart, andturn into music and lovely words there. No one ever heard of abutcher-poet or a baker-poet--at least, I never did!--but a shepherd!There was the Shepherd Lord, too, that you told me about, and theShepherd of Salisbury Plain, in a funny little old book that Father had;by Hannah More, I think it was. And wasn't there a shepherd painter?"

  "Of course! Giotto!" cried Hildegarde. "He was only ten years old whenCimabue found him drawing a sheep on a smooth stone."

  "It was in one of my school-readers," said Rose. "Only the teachercalled him Guy Otto, and I supposed it was a contraction of the twonames, for convenience in printing. Then," she added, after a moment,"there was David, when he was 'ruddy, and of a beautiful countenance.'"

  "And Apollo," cried Hildegarde, "when he kept the flocks of Admetus, youknow."

  "I don't know!" said Rose. "I thought Apollo was the god of the sun."

  "So he was!" replied Hildegarde. "But Jupiter was once angry with him,and banished him from Olympus. His sun-chariot was sent round the sky asusual, but empty; and he, poor dear, without his golden rays, came downto earth, and hired himself as a shepherd to King Admetus of Thessaly.All the other shepherds were very wild and savage, but Apollo played tothem on his lyre, and sang of all the beautiful things in the world,--ofspring, and the young grass, and the birds, and--oh! everything lovely.So at last he made them gentle, like himself, and taught them to sing,and play on the flute, and to love their life and the beautiful worldthey lived in. And so shepherds became the happiest people in theworld, and the most skilful in playing and singing, and in shooting withbow and arrows, which the god also taught them; till at last the godswere jealous, and called Apollo back to Olympus. Isn't it a prettystory? I read it in 'Telemaque,' at school last winter."

  "Lovely!" said Rose. "Yes, I think I should like to be a shepherd." Andstraightway she fell into a reverie, this foolish Rose, and fanciedherself wrapped in a plaid, lying in a broad meadow, spread with heatheras with a mantle, and here and there gray rocks, and sheep moving slowlyabout nibbling the heather.

  And as Hildegarde watched her pure sweet face, and saw it soften intodreamy languor and then kindle again with some bright thought, anotherpoem of the Ettrick Shepherd came to her mind, and she repeated theopening lines, half to herself:--

  "Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen; But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be."

  "Oh, go on, please!" murmured Rose, all unconscious that she was theKilmeny of her friend's thoughts:--

  "It was only to hear the yorlin sing, And pu' the cress-flower round the spring; The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye, And the nut that hung frae the hazel-tree: For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', And lang may she seek i' the greenwood shaw; Lang the Laird of Duneira blame, And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame.

  "When many a day had come and fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead; When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, When the bedesman had prayed and the dead-bell rung; Late, late in a gloamin', when all was still, When the fringe was red on the westlin hill, The wood was sear, the moon i' the wane, The reek o' the cot hung over the plain, Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane; When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny cam hame."

  Here Hildegarde stopped suddenly; for some one had come along the road,and was standing still, leaning against the fence, and apparentlylistening. It was a boy about eleven years old. He was neatly dressed,but his clothes were covered with dust, and his broad-brimmed straw hatwas slouched over his eyes so that it nearly hid his face, which wasalso turned away from the girls. But though he was apparently gazingearnestly in the opposite direction, still there was an air ofconsciousness about his whole figure, and Hildegarde was quite sure thathe had been listening to her. She waited a few minutes; and then, as theboy showed no sign of moving on, she called out, "What is it, please? Doyou want something?"

  The boy made an awkward movement with his shoulders, and without turninground replied in an odd voice, half whine, half growl, "Got any coldvictuals, lady?"

  "Come in!" said Hildegarde, rising, though she was not attracted eitherby the voice, nor by the lad's shambling, uncivil manner,--"come in, andI will get you something to eat."

  The boy still kept his back turned to her, but began sidling slowlytoward the gate, with a clumsy, crab-like motion. "I'm a poor feller,lady!" he whined, in the same disagreeable tone. "I ain't had nothin' toeat for a week, and I've got the rheumatiz in my j'ints."

  "_Nothing to eat for a week!_" exclaimed Hildegarde, severely. "My boy,you are not telling the truth. And who ever heard of rheumatism at yourage? Do you think we ought to let him in, Rose?" she added, in a lowertone.

  But the boy continued still sidling toward the gate. "I've got a wifeand seven little children, lady! They're all down with the small-pox andthe yeller--" But at this point his eloquence was interrupted, for Rosesprang from her seat, upsetting the basket of pods, and running forward,seized him by the shoulders.

  "You scamp!" she cried, shaking him with tender violence. "You naughtymonkey, how could you frighten us so? Oh, my dear, dear little lad, howdo you do?" and whirling the boy round and tossing off his hat, sherevealed to Hildegarde's astonished gaze the freckled, laughing face andmerry blue eyes of Zerubbabel Chirk.

  Bubble was highly delighted at the success of his ruse. He rubbed hishands and chuckled, then went down on all-fours and began picking upthe pea-pods. "Sorry I made you upset the basket, Pink!" he said. "Isay! how well you're looking! Isn't she, Miss Hilda? Oh! I didn'tsuppose you were as well as this."

  He gazed with delighted eyes at his sister's face, on which the freshpink and white told a pleasant tale
of health and strength. She returnedhis look with one of such beaming love and joy that Hildegarde, in themidst of her own heartfelt pleasure, could not help feeling a momentarypang. "If my baby brother had only lived!" she thought. But the nextmoment she was shaking Bubble by both hands, and telling him how gladshe was to see him.

  "And now tell us!" cried both girls, pulling him down on the groundbetween them. "Tell us all about it! How did you get here? Where do youcome from? When did you leave New York? What have you been doing? Howis Dr. Flower?"

  "Guess I've got under Niag'ry Falls, by mistake!" said Bubble, dryly."Let me see, now!" He rumpled up his short tow-colored hair with hisfavorite gesture, and meditated. "I guess I'll begin at the beginning!"he said. "Well!" (it was observable that Bubble no longer said "Wa-al!"and that his speech had improved greatly during the year spent in NewYork, though he occasionally dropped back into his former broad drawl.)"Well! it's been hot in the city. I tell you, it's been hot. Why, MissHilda, I never knew what heat was before."

  "I know it must be dreadful, Bubble!" said Hildegarde. "I have neverbeen in town in August, but I can imagine what it must be."

  "I really don't know, Miss Hilda, whether you can," returned Bubble,respectfully. "It isn't like any heat I ever felt at home. Can youimagine your brains sizzling in your head, like a kettle boiling?"

  "Oh, don't, Bubble!" cried Rose. "Don't say such things!"

  "Well, it's true!" said the boy. "That's exactly the way it felt. It waslike being in a furnace,--a white furnace in the day-time, and a blackone at night; that was all the difference. I had my head shaved,--it'sgrowed now, but I'm going to have it done again, soon as I getback,--and wore a flannel shirt and those linen pants you made, Pinkie.I tell you I was glad of 'em, if I did laugh at 'em at first--and so Igot on. I wrote you that Dr. Flower had taken me to do errands for himduring vacation?" The girls nodded. "Well, I stayed at his house,--it'sa jolly house!--and 't was as cool there as anywhere. I went to thehospital with him every day, and I'm going to be a surgeon, and he saysI can."

  Hildegarde smiled approval, and Rose patted the flaxen head, and said,"Yes, I am sure you can, dear boy. Do you remember how you set thechicken's leg last year?"

  "I told the doctor about that," said Bubble, "and he said I did itright. Wasn't I proud! I held accidents for him two or three times thissummer," he added proudly. "It never made me faint at all, though itdoes most people at first."

  "Held accidents?" asked Hildegarde, innocently. "What do you mean,laddie?"

  "People hurt in accidents!" replied the boy. "While he set the bones,you know. There were some very fine ones!" and he kindled withprofessional enthusiasm. "There was one man who had fallen from astaging sixty feet high, and was all--"

  "Don't! don't!" cried both girls, in horror, putting their fingers intheir ears.

  "We don't want to hear about it, you dreadful boy!" said Hildegarde."_We_ are not going to be surgeons, be good enough to remember."

  "Oh, it's all right!" said Bubble, laughing. "He got well, and is abouton crutches now. Then there was a case of trepanning. Oh, that _was_ sobeautiful! You _must_ let me tell you about that. You see, this man wasa sailor, and he fell from the top-gallantmast, and struck--" But hereRose's hand was laid resolutely over his mouth, and he was told that ifhe could not refrain from surgical anecdotes, he would be sent back toNew York forthwith.

  "All right!" said the embryo surgeon, with a sigh; "only they're aboutall I have to tell that is really interesting. Well, it grew hotter andhotter. Dr. Flower didn't seem to mind the heat much; but Jock andI--well, we did."

  "Oh, my dear little Jock!" cried Hildegarde, remorsefully. "To think ofmy never having asked for him. How is the dear doggie?"

  "He's all right now," replied Bubble, "But there was one hot spell lastmonth, that we thought would finish the pup. Hot? Well, I should--Imean, I should think it was! You had to put your boots down cellar everynight, or else they'd be warped so you couldn't put 'em on in themorning."

  "Bubble!" said Hildegarde, holding up a warning finger. But Bubble wouldnot be repressed again.

  "Oh, Miss Hilda, you don't know anything about it!" he said; "excuse me,but really you don't. The sidewalks were so hot, the bakers just puttheir dough out on them, and it was baked in a few minutes. All theFifth Avenue folks had fountain attachments put on to their carriages,and sprinkled themselves with iced lavender water and odycolone as theydrove along; and the bronze statue in Union Square melted and ran allover the lot."

  "Rose, what shall we do to this boy?" cried Hildegarde, as the youthfulMunchausen paused for breath. "And you aren't telling me a word about myprecious Jock, you little wretch!"

  "One night," Bubble resumed,--"I'm in earnest now, Miss Hilda,--onenight it seemed as if there was no air to breathe; as if we was justtaking red-hot dust into our lungs. Poor little Jock seemed very sick;he lay and moaned and moaned, like a baby, and kept looking from thedoctor to me, as if he was asking us to help him. I was pretty nigh beatout, too, and even the doctor seemed fagged; but we could stand itbetter than the poor little beast could. I sat and fanned him, but thatdidn't help him much, the air was so hot. Then the doctor sent me forsome cracked ice, and we put it on his head and neck, and _that_ tookhold! 'The dog's in a fever!' says the doctor. 'We must watch himto-night, and if he pulls through, I'll see to him in the morning,' sayshe. Well, we spent that night taking turns, putting ice on that dog'shead, and fanning him, and giving him water."

  "My dear Bubble!" said Hildegarde, her eyes full of tears. "Dear goodboy! and kindest doctor in the world! How shall I thank you both?"

  "We weren't going to let him die," said Bubble, "after the way you savedhis life last summer, Miss Hilda. Well, he did pull through, and so didwe; but I was pretty shaky, and the morning came red-hot. The sun waslike copper when it rose, and there seemed to be a sort of haze ofheat, just pure heat, hanging over the city. And Dr. Flower says,'You're going to git out o' this!' says he."

  "I don't believe he said anything of the kind!" interrupted Rose, whoregarded Dr. Flower as a combination of Bayard, Sidney, and theAdmirable Crichton.

  "Well, it came to the same thing!" retorted Bubble, unabashed. "Anyhow,we took the first train after breakfast for Glenfield."

  "Oh, oh, Bubble!" cried both girls, eagerly. "Not really?"

  "Yes, really!" said Bubble. "I got to the Farm about ten o'clock, andwent up and knocked at the front door, thinking I'd give Mrs. Hartley asurprise, same as I did you just now; but nobody came, so I went in, andfound not a soul in the house. But I knowed--I _knew_ she couldn't befar off; for her knitting lay on the table, and the beans--it wasSaturday--were in the pot, simmering away. So I sat down in the farmer'sbig chair, and looked about me. Oh, I tell you, Miss Hilda, it seemedgood! There was the back door open, and the hens picking round the bigdoorstep, just the way they used, and the great willow tapping againstthe window, and a pile of Summer Sweetings on the shelf, all warm in thesunshine, you know,--only you weren't there, and I kept kind o' hopingyou would come in. Do you remember, one day I wanted one of themSweetings, and you wouldn't give me one till I'd told you about all thefamous apples I'd ever heard of?"

  "No, you funny boy!" said Hildegarde, laughing. "I have forgotten aboutit."

  "Well, I hain't--haven't, I mean!" said the boy. "I couldn't think of asingle one, 'cept William Tell's apple, and Adam and Eve, of course, andthree that Lawyer Clinch's red cow choked herself with trying toswallow 'em all at once, being greedy, like the man that owned her. Soyou gave me the apple, gave me two or three; and while I was eating 'em,you told me about the Hesperides ones, and the apple of discord, andthat--that young woman who ran the race: what was her name?--somecapital of a Southern State! Milledgeville, was it?"

  "Atlanta!" cried Hildegarde, bursting into a peal of laughter; and"Atlanta! you goosey!" exclaimed Rose, pretending to box the boy's ears."And it wasn't named for Atalanta at all, was it, Hildegarde?"

  "No!" said the latter, still laughing heartily. "Bubble, it i
sdelightful to hear your nonsense again. But go on, and tell us about thedear good friends."

  "I'm coming to them in a minute," said Bubble; "but I must just tell youabout Jock first. You never saw a dog so pleased in all your life. Hewent sniffing and smelling about, and barking those little, short'Wuffs!' as he does when he is tickled about anything. Then he went tolook for his plate. But it wasn't there, of course; so he ran out to seethe hens, and pass the time o' day with them. They didn't mind him much;but all of a sudden a cat came out from the woodshed,--a strange cat,who didn't know Jock from a--from an elephant. Up went her back, and outwent her tail, and she growled and spit like a good one. Of course Jockcouldn't stand that, so he gave a 'ki-hi!' and after her. They made timeround that yard, now I tell you! The hens scuttled off, clucking as ifall the foxes in the county had broke loose; and for a minute or two itseemed as if there was two or three dogs and half-a-dozen cats. Well,sir!--I mean, ma'am! at last the cat made a bolt, and up the big mapleby the horse-trough. I thought she was safe then; but Jock, he gave aspring and caught hold of the eend of her tail, and down they both come,kerwumpus, on to the ground, and rolled eend over eend." (It wasobservable that in the heat of narration Bubble dropped his schoolEnglish, and reverted to the vernacular of Glenfield.) "But that wasmore than the old cat could stand, and she turned and went for _him_.Ha, ha! 't was 'ki, hi!' out of the other side of his mouth then, I tellye, Miss Hildy! You never see a dog so scairt. And jest then, as 'twould happen, Mis' Hartley came in from the barn with a basket of eggs,and you may--you may talk Greek to me, if that pup didn't bolt rightinto her, so hard that she sat down suddent on the doorstep, and theeggs rolled every which way. Then I caught him; and the cat, she lit outsomewhere, quicker 'n a wink, and Mis' Hartley sat up, and says she,'Well, of all the world! Zerubbabel Chirk, you may just pick up themeggs, if you _did_ drop from the moon!"