CHAPTER VI.
A MORNING DRIVE.
Punctually at ten o'clock the next morning Dr. Abernethy stood beforethe door, with a neat phaeton behind him; and the girls were summonedfrom the piazza, where Rose was taking her French lesson.
"My dears," said Miss Wealthy, "are you ready? You said ten o'clock, andthe clock has already struck."
"Oh, yes, Cousin Wealthy!" cried Hildegarde, starting up, and droppingone book on the floor and another on the chair. "We are comingimmediately. Rose, _nous allons faire une promenade en voiture! Repetezcette phrase!_"
"_Nous allong_--" began Rose, meekly; but she was cut short in herrepetition.
"Not _allong_, dear, _allons_, _ons_. Keep your mouth open, and don'tlet your tongue come near the roof of your mouth after the _ll_._Allons!_ Try once more."
"You need not wait, Jeremiah," said Miss Wealthy, in a voice that triednot to be plaintive. "I dare say the young ladies will be ready in aminute or two, and I will stand by the Doctor till they come."
Hildegarde heard, smote her breast, flew upstairs for their hats and ashawl and pillow for Rose. In three minutes they were in the carriage,but not till a kiss and a whispered apology from Hildegarde had driventhe slight cloud--not of vexation, but of wondering sadness; it seemedsuch a strange thing, not to be ready and waiting when Dr. Abernethycame to the door--from Miss Wealthy's kind face.
"Good-by, dear Cousin Wealthy!" and "Good-by, dear Miss Bond!" cried thetwo happy girls; and off they drove in high spirits, while Miss Wealthywent back to the piazza and picked up the French books, wiped themcarefully, and then went upstairs and put them in the little bookcase inHildegarde's room.
"She is a very dear girl," she said, shaking her head; "a littleheedless, but perhaps all girls are. Why, Mildred--oh! but Mildred wasan exception. I suppose," she added, "they call me an old maid. Verylikely. Not these girls,--for they are too well-mannered,--but people.An old maid!" Miss Wealthy sighed a little, and put her hand up to thepansy breastpin,--a favorite gesture of hers; and then she went into thehouse, to make a new set of bags for the curtain-tassels.
Meanwhile the girls were driving along, looking about them, andenjoying themselves immensely. Jeremiah had given them directions for adrive "just about _so_ long," and they knew that they were to turn threetimes to the left and never to the right. And first they went up a hill,from the top of which they saw "all the kingdoms of the earth," as Rosesaid. The river valley was behind them, and they could see the silverstream here and there, gleaming between its wooded banks. Beyond wereblue hills, fading into the blue of the sky. But before them--oh! beforethem was the wonder. A vast circle, hill and dale and meadow, all shutin by black, solemn woods; and beyond the woods, far, far away, a rangeof mountains, whose tops gleamed white in the sunlight.
"There is snow on them," said Rose. "Oh, Hildegarde! they must be theWhite Mountains. Jeremiah told me that we could see them from here.That highest peak must be Mount Washington. Oh, to think of it!"
They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the mountains, which laylike giants at rest.
"Rose," said Hildegarde, at length, "the Great Carbuncle is there,hidden in some crevice of those mountains; and the Great Stone Face isthere, and oh! so many wonderful things. Some day we will go there, youand I; sometime when you are quite, quite strong, you know. And we willsee the Flume and the wonderful Notch. You remember Hawthorne's story ofthe 'Ambitious Guest'? I think it is one of the most beautiful of all.Perhaps--who knows?--we may find the Great Carbuncle." They were silentagain; but presently Dr. Abernethy, who cared nothing whatever aboutmountains or carbuncles, whinnied, and gave a little impatient shake.
"Of course!" said Hildegarde. "Poor dear! he was hot, wasn't he? and theflies bothered him. Here is our turn to the left; a pine-tree at thecorner,--yes, this must be it! Good-by, mountains! Be sure to stay theretill the next time we come."
"What was that little poem about the Greek mountains that you told methe other day?" asked Rose, as they drove along,--"the one you havecopied in your commonplace book. You said it was a translation from somemodern Greek poet, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Hildegarde; "but I don't know what poet. I found it in abook of Dr. Felton's at home."
She thought a moment, and then repeated the verses,--
"'Why are the mountains shadowed o'er? Why stand they darkened grimly? Is it a tempest warring there, Or rain-storm beating on them?
"'It is no tempest warring there, No rain-storm beating on them, But Charon sweeping over them, And with him the departed.'"
"Look!" she cried, a few moments after. "There is just such acloud-shadow sweeping over that long hill on the left. Is it true, Iwonder? I never see those flying shadows without thinking of 'Charonsweeping over them.' It is such a comfort, Rose, that we like the samethings, isn't it?"
"Indeed it is!" said Rose, heartily. "But, oh! Hilda dear, stop amoment! There is some yellow clover. Why, I had no idea it grew so farnorth as this!"
"Yellow clover!" repeated Hildegarde, looking about her. "Who ever heardof yellow clover? I don't see any."
"No, dear," said Rose; "it does not grow in the sides of buggies, noreven on stone-walls. If you could bend your lofty gaze to the ditch bythe roadside, you might possibly see it."
"Oh, there!" said Hildegarde, laughing. "Take the reins, Miss Impudence,and I will get them." She sprang lightly out, and returned with ahandful of yellow blossoms.
"Are they really clover?" she asked, examining them curiously. "I had noidea there were more than two kinds, red and white."
"There are eight kinds, child of the city," said Rose, "beside melilot,which is a kind of clover-cousin. This yellow is the hop-clover. Dearme! how it does remind me of my Aunt Caroline."
"And how, let me in a spirit of love inquire, does it resemble your AuntCaroline? Is she yellow?"
"She was, poor dear!" replied Rose. "She has been dead now--oh! a longtime. She was an aunt of Mother's; and once she had the jaundice, andit seems to me she was always yellow after that. But that was not all,Hilda. There was an old handbook of botany among Father's books, and Iused to read it a great deal, and puzzle over the long words. I alwaysliked long words, even when I was a little wee girl. Well, one day I wasreading, and Aunt Caroline happened to come in. She despised reading,and thought it was an utter waste of time, and that I ought to sew orknit all the time, since I could not help Mother with the housework. Shewas very practical herself, and a famous housekeeper. So she looked atme, and frowned, and said, 'Well, Pink, mooning away over a book asusual? Useless rubbish! yer ma'd ought to keep ye at work.' I didn't sayanything; I never said much to Aunt Caroline, because I knew she didn'tlike me, and I suppose I was rather spoiled by every one else being_too_ good to me. But I looked down at my old book, which was open at'Trefolium: Clover.' And there I read--oh, Hilda, it is really too badto tell!--I read: 'The teeth bristle-form'--and hers did stick outnearly straight!--'corolla mostly withering or persistent; theclaws'--and then I began to laugh, for it was _exactly_ like AuntCaroline herself; she was _so_ withering, and _so_ persistent! And I satthere and giggled, a great girl of thirteen, till I got perfectlyhysterical. The more I laughed, the angrier she grew, of course; till atlast she went out into the kitchen and slammed the door after her. But Iheard her telling Mother that that gal of hers appeared to be losingsuch wits as she had,--not that 't was any great loss, as fur as shecould see. Wasn't that dreadful, Hildegarde? Of course I was wheeledover to her house the next day, and begged her pardon; but she was stillwithering and persistent, though she said, 'Very excusable!' at last."
"Why, Rose!" said Hildegarde, laughing. "I didn't suppose you were_ever_ naughty, even when you were a baby."
"Oh, indeed I was!" answered Rose; "just as naughty as any one else, Isuppose. Did I ever tell you how I came near making poor Bubble deaf?That wasn't exactly naughty, because I didn't mean to do anything bad;but it was funny. I must have been about f
ive years old, and I used tosit in a sort of little chair-cart that Father made for me. One dayMother was washing, and she set me down beside the baby's cradle (thatwas Bubble, of course), and told me to watch him, and to call her if hecried. Well, for a while, Mother said, all was quiet. Then she heardBaby fret a little, and then came a queer sort of noise, she could nottell what, and after that quiet again. So she thought what a nice,helpful little girl I was getting to be; and when she came in she said,'Well, Pinkie, you stopped the baby's fretting, didn't you?'
"'Oh, yes, Mother!' I said, as pleased as possible. 'I roared in hisear!' You may imagine how frightened Mother was; but fortunately it didhim no harm."
Here the road dipped down into a gully, and Dr. Abernethy had to pickhis way carefully among loose stones. Presently the stone-walls gaveplace to a most wonderful kind of fence,--a kind that even country-bredRose had never seen before. When the great trees, the giants of the oldforest, had been cut, and the ground cleared for farm-lands andpastures, their stumps had been pulled up by the roots; and these roots,vast, many-branched, twisted into every imaginable shape, were lockedtogether, standing edgewise, and tossing their naked arms in everydirection.
"Oh, how wonderful!" cried Hildegarde. "Look, Rose! they are like thebones of some great monster,--a gigantic cuttlefish, perhaps. What hugetrees they must have been, to have such roots as these!"
"Dear, beautiful things!" sighed Rose. "If they could only have beenleft! Isn't it strange to think of people not caring for trees, Hilda?"
"Yes!" said Hilda, meekly, and blushing a little. "It is strange now;but before last year, Rose, I don't believe I ever looked at a tree."
"Oh, before last year!" cried Rose, laughing. "There wasn't any 'beforelast year.' I had never heard of Shelley before last year. I had neverread a ballad, nor a 'Waverley,' nor the 'Newcomes,' nor anything.Let's not talk about the dark ages. You love trees now, I'm sure."
"That I do!" said Hildegarde. "The oak best of all, the elm next; but Ilove them all."
"The pine is my favorite," said Rose. "The great stately king, with hisbroad arms; it always seems as if an eagle should be sitting on one ofthem. What was that line you told me the other day?--'The pine-treespreads his dark-green layers of shade.' Tennyson, isn't it?"
"Yes," replied Hildegarde. "But it was 'Cranford' that made me think ofit. And it isn't 'pine-tree,' after all. I looked, and found it was'cedar.' Mr. Holbrook, you remember,--Miss Matty's old lover,--quotesit, when they are taking tea with him. Dear Miss Matty! do you thinkCousin Wealthy is the least little bit like her, Rose?"
"Perhaps!" said Rose, thoughtfully. "I think--Oh, Hilda, look!" shecried, breaking off suddenly. "What a queer little house!"
Hildegarde checked Dr. Abernethy, who had been trotting along quitebriskly, and they both looked curiously at the little house on theirleft, which certainly was "queer,"--a low, unpainted shanty, gray withage, the shingles rotting off, and moss growing in the chinks. The smallpanes of glass were crusted with dirt, and here and there one had beenbroken, and replaced with brown paper. The front yard was a tangle ofribbon-grass and clover; but a tuft of straggling flowers here and thereshowed that it had once had care and attention. There was no sign oflife about the place.
"Rose!" cried Hildegarde, stopping the horse with a pull of the reins;"it is a deserted house. Do you know that I have never seen one in mylife? I must positively take a peep at it, and see what it is likeinside. Take the reins, Bonne Silene, while I go and reconnoitre theposition." She jumped out, and making her way as best she might throughthe grassy tangle, was soon gazing in at one of the windows. "Oh!" shecried, "it _isn't_ deserted, Rose! At least?--well, some one has beenhere. But, oh, me! oh, _me_! What a place! I never, never dreamed ofsuch a place. I--"
"What _is_ the matter?" cried Rose. "If you don't tell me, I shall jumpout!"
"No, you won't!" said Hildegarde. "You'd better not, Miss! but _oh_,dear! who ever, ever dreamed of such a place? My dear, it is the Abodeof Dirt. Squalid is no word for it; squalor is richness compared to thishouse. I am looking--sit still, Rose!--I am looking into a room about asbig as a comfortable pantry. There is a broken stove in it, and a table,and a stool; and in the room beyond I can see a bed,--at least, Isuppose it is meant for a bed. Oh! what person _can_ live here?"
"_I am coming_, Hilda," said Rose. "The only question is whether I getout with your help or without."
"Obstinate Thing!" cried Hildegarde, flying to her assistance. "Well, itshall see the lovely sight, so it shall. Carefully, now; don't trip onthese long grass-loops. There! isn't that a pretty place? Now enjoyyourself, while I get out the tie-rein, and fasten the good beast to atree."
In hunting for the tie-rein under the seat of the carriage, Hildegardediscovered something else which made her utter an exclamation ofsurprise. "Luncheon!" she cried. "Rose, my dear, did you know about thisbasket? Saint Martha must have put it in. Turnovers, Rose! sandwiches,Rose! and, I declare, a bottle of milk and a tin cup. Were ever twogirls so spoiled as we shall be?"
"THEN THEY HUGGED EACH OTHER A LITTLE."]
"How kind!" said Rose. "I am not in the least hungry, but I _should_like a cup of milk. Oh, Hildegarde!"
"What now?" asked that young woman, returning with the precious basket,and applying her nose once more to the window. "Fresh horrors?"
"My dear," said Rose, "look! That is the pantry,--that little cupboard,with the door hanging by one hinge; and there isn't anything in it toeat, except three crackers and an onion."
Both girls gazed in silence at the forlorn scene before them. Then theylooked at each other. Hildegarde gave an expressive little shake to thebasket. Rose smiled and nodded; then they hugged each other a little,which was a foolish way they had when they were pleased. Very cautiouslyHildegarde pushed the crazy door open, and they stood in the melancholylittle hovel. All was even dirtier and more squalid than it had lookedfrom outside; but the girls did not mind it now, for they had an idea,which had come perhaps to both at the same moment. Hilda looked aboutfor a broom, and finally found the dilapidated skeleton of one. Rose,realizing at once that search for a duster would be fruitless, pulled adouble handful of long grass from the front yard, and the two laid aboutthem,--one vigorously, the other carefully and thoroughly. Dust flewfrom doors and windows; the girls sneezed and coughed, but persevered,till the little room at last began to look as if it might once have beenhabitable.
"Now you have done enough, Rosy!" cried Hildegarde. "Sit down on thedoorstep and make a posy, while I finish."
Rose, being rather tired, obeyed. Hildegarde then looked for ascrubbing-brush, but finding none, was obliged to give the little blacktable such a cleaning as she could with the broom and bunches of grass.Behind the house was a lilac-bush, covered with lovely fragrant clustersof blossoms; she gathered a huge bunch of them, and putting them in abroken pitcher with water, set them in the middle of the table.Meanwhile Rose had found two or three peonies and some sweet-william,and with these and some ribbon-grass had made quite a brilliant bouquet,which was laid beside the one cracked plate which the cupboard afforded.On this plate the sandwiches were neatly piled, and the turnovers (allbut two, which the girls ate, partly out of gratitude to Martha, butchiefly because they were good) were laid on a cluster of green leaves.As for the milk, that, Hildegarde declared, Rose must and should drink;and she stood over her till she tilted the bottle back and drained thelast drop.
"Oh, dear!" said Rose, looking sadly at the empty bottle; "I hope thepoor thing doesn't like milk. It couldn't be a child, Hildegarde, couldit? living here all alone. And anyhow he--or she--will have a betterdinner than one onion and--" But here she broke off, and uttered a lowcry of dismay. "Oh, Hilda! Hilda! look there!"
Hildegarde turned hastily round, and then stood petrified with dismay;for some one was looking in at the window. Pressed against the littleback window was the face of an old man, so withered and wrinkled that itlooked hardly human; only the eyes, bright and keen, were fixed upon thegirls, with what they
thought was a look of anger. Masses of wild,unkempt gray hair surrounded the face, and a fragment of old straw hatwas drawn down over the brows. Altogether it was a wild vision; andperhaps it was not surprising that the gentle Rose was terrified, whileeven Hildegarde felt decidedly uncomfortable. They stood still for amoment, meeting helplessly the steady gaze of the sharp, fierce eyes;then with one impulse they turned and fled,--Hildegarde half carryingher companion in her strong arms. Half laughing, half crying, theyreached the carriage. Rose tumbled in somehow, Hildegarde flew tounfasten the tie-rein; and the next moment they were speeding away atquite a surprising rate, Dr. Abernethy having, for the first time inyears, received a smart touch of the whip, which filled him withamazement and indignation.
Neither of the girls spoke until at least a quarter of a mile laybetween them and the scene of their terror; then, as they came to thefoot of a hill, Hildegarde checked the good horse to a walk, and turnedand looked at Rose. One look,--and they both broke into fits oflaughter, and laughed and laughed as if they never would stop.
"Oh!" cried Hildegarde, wiping the tears which were rolling down hercheeks. "Rose! I wonder if I looked as guilty as I felt. No wonder heglowered, if I did."
"Of course you did," said Rose. "You were the perfect ideal of a FemaleBurgler, caught with the spoons in her hand; and I--oh! my cheeks areburning still; I feel as if I were nothing but a blush. And after all,we _were_ breaking and entering, Hilda!"
"But we did no harm!" said Hilda, stoutly. "I don't much care, now weare safe out of the way. And I'm glad the poor old glowering thing willhave a good dinner for once. Rose, he must be at least a hundred! Didyou ever see anything look so old?"
Rose shook her head meditatively. "It's dreadful to think of his livingall alone there," she said. "For he must be alone. There was only oneplate, you know, and that wretched bed. Oh, Hilda!" she added, a momentlater, "the basket! we have left the basket there. What shall we do?Must we go back?"
"Perish the thought!" cried Hildegarde, with a shudder half real, halfplayful. "I wouldn't go back there now for the half of my kingdom. Letme see! We will not tell Cousin Wealthy to-day--"
"Oh, no!" cried Rose, shrinking at the bare thought.
"Nor even to-morrow, perhaps," continued Hildegarde. "She would befrightened, and might expect you to be ill; we will wait a day or twobefore we tell her. But Martha is not nervous. We can tell herto-morrow, and say that we will get another basket. After all, we weredoing no harm,--none in the world."
But the best-laid plans, as we all know, "gang aft agley;" and thegirls were not to have the telling of their adventure in their own way.
That evening, as they were sitting on the piazza after tea, they heardMiss Wealthy's voice, saying, "Martha, there is some one coming up thefront walk,--an aged man, apparently. Will you see who it is, please?Perhaps he wants food, for I see he has a basket."
Hildegarde and Rose looked at each other in terror.
"Oh, Hilda!" whispered Rose, catching her friend's hand, "it must be he!What shall we do?"
"Hush!" said Hildegarde. "Listen, and don't be a goose! Do? what shouldhe do to us? He might recite the 'Curse of Kehama,' but it isn't likelyhe knows it."
Martha, who had been reconnoitring through a crack of the window-blind,now uttered an exclamation. "Well, of all! Mam, it's old GalushaPennypacker, as sure as you stand there."
"Is it possible?" said Miss Wealthy, in a tone of great surprise."Martha, you _must_ be mistaken. Galusha Pennypacker coming here. Why_should_ he come here?"
But for once Martha was not ready to answer her mistress, for she hadgone to open the door.
The girls listened, with clasped hands and straining ears.
"Why, Mr. Pennypacker!" they heard Martha say. "This is never you?"
Then a shrill, cracked voice broke in, speaking very slowly, as ifspeech were an unaccustomed effort. "Is there--two gals--here?"
"Two gals?" repeated Martha, in amazement. "What two gals?"
"Gals!" said the old man's voice,--"one on 'em highty-tighty,fly-away-lookin', 'n' the other kind o' 'pindlin'; drivin' your hoss,they was."
"Why--yes!" said Martha, more and more astonished. "What upon earth--"
"Here's their basket!" the old man continued; "tell 'em I--relished thevictuals. Good-day t' ye!"
Then came the sound of a stick on the steps, and of shuffling feet onthe gravel; and the next moment Miss Wealthy and Martha were gazing atthe guilty girls with faces of mute amazement and inquiry which almostupset Hildegarde's composure.
"It's true, Cousin Wealthy!" she said quickly. "We meant to tell you--ina little while, when you would not be worried. We thought the house wasdeserted, and I went and looked in at the window. And--it looked sowretched, we thought we might--"
"There was only an onion and three crackers," murmured Rose, indeprecating parenthesis.
"We thought we might leave part of our luncheon, for Martha had given ussuch a quantity; and just when we had finished, we saw a face at thewindow--oh, such a dreadful old face!--and we ran away, and forgot thebasket. So you see, Martha," she added, "it was partly your fault, forgiving us so much luncheon."
"I see!" said Martha, chuckling, and apparently much amused.
But Miss Wealthy looked really frightened. "My _dear_ girls," she said,"it was a _very_ imprudent thing to do. Why, Galusha Pennypacker is halfinsane, people think. A dreadful old miser, who lives in filth andwretchedness, while he has plenty of money hidden away,--at least peoplesay he has. Why, it terrifies me to think of your going into thathovel."
"Oh! Cousin Wealthy," said Hildegarde, soothingly, "he couldn't havehurt us, poor old thing! if he had tried. He looks at least a hundredyears old. And of course we didn't know he was a miser. But surely itwill do no harm for him to have a good dinner for once, and Martha'sturnovers ought really to have a civilizing effect upon him. Who knows?Perhaps it may make him remember nicer ways, and he may try to dobetter."
Miss Wealthy was partly reconciled by this view of the case; but shedeclared that Rose must go to bed at once, as she must be quiteexhausted.
At this moment Martha, who was still holding the basket, gave anexclamation of surprise. "Why," she said, "there's things in this! Didyou leave these in the basket, Miss Hilda?"
"I? No!" cried Hildegarde, wondering. "I left nothing at all in it.What is there?"
All clustered eagerly round Martha, who with provoking deliberation tookout two small parcels which lay in the bottom of the basket, and lookedthem carefully over before opening them. They were wrapped in dirtyscraps of brown paper.
"Oh! there is writing on them!" cried Hildegarde. "Martha dear, _do_tell us what it says!"
Martha studied the inscriptions for some minutes, and then read aloud:"'The fly-away gal' and 'the pail gal.' Well, of all!" she cried, "it'spresents, I do believe. Here, Miss Hilda, this must be for you."
Hildegarde opened the little parcel eagerly. It contained a smallshagreen case, which in its turn proved to contain a pair of scissors ofantique and curious form, an ivory tablet, yellow with age, a silverbodkin, and a silver fruit-knife, all fitting neatly in their places;the whole case closing with a spring. "It is the prettiest thing I eversaw!" cried Hildegarde. "See, Cousin Wealthy, isn't it delightful tothink of that poor old dear--But what have you, Rose-red? You must bethe 'pail gal,' of course, though you are not pale now."
Rose opened her parcel, and found, in a tiny box of faded morocco, anivory thimble exquisitely carved with minute Chinese figures. It fittedher slender finger to perfection, and she gazed at it with greatdelight, while Miss Wealthy and Martha shook their heads in amazementand perplexity.
"Galusha Pennypacker, with such things as these!" cried one.
"Galusha Pennypacker making presents!" exclaimed the other. "Well,wonders will never cease!"
"The thimble is really beautiful!" said Miss Wealthy. "He was aseafaring man in his youth, I remember, and he must have brought thishome from one of his voyages, perhaps fifty or sixty years ago. D
ear me!how strangely things do come about! But, my dear Rose, you really _must_go to bed at once, for I am sure you must be quite exhausted."
And the delighted girls went off in triumph with their treasures, tochatter in their rooms as only girls can chatter.