CHAPTER IX.
BROKEN FLOWERS.
Miss Wealthy was sitting on the back piazza, crocheting a tidy. Thestitch was a new one, and quite complicated, and her whole mind was bentupon it. "One, two, purl, chain, slip; one, two, purl"--when suddenlydescended upon her a whirlwind, a vision of sparkling eyes and"tempestuous petticoat," crying, "_Please_, Cousin Wealthy, may I gowith Jeremiah? The wagon is all ready. Mayn't I go? Oh, _please_ say'yes'!"
Miss Wealthy started so violently that the crochet-hook fell from herhands. "My _dear_ Hilda!" she said plaintively, "you quite take mybreath away. I--really, my dear, I don't know what to say. Where do youwant to go?"
"With Jeremiah, to Fairtown, with the flowers--to see the children!"cried Hildegarde, still too much out of breath to speak connectedly, butdropping on one knee beside the old lady, and stroking her soft handapologetically. "He says he will take care of me; and Rose has a longletter to write, and I shall be back in time for dinner. Dear, nice,pretty, sweet, bewitching Cousin Wealthy, may I go?"
Miss Wealthy was still bewildered. "Why, my dear," she saidhesitatingly. "Yes--you may go, certainly--if you are quite sure--"
But Hildegarde waited for no "ifs." She whirled upstairs, flew out ofher pink gingham and into a sober dark blue one, exchanged her gardenhat for a blue "sailor," whirled downstairs again, kissed Rose on bothcheeks, dropped another kiss on Miss Wealthy's cap, and was in the wagonand out of sight round the corner before any one with moderatelydeliberate enunciation could have said "Jack Robinson."
Miss Wealthy dropped back in her chair, and drew a long, flutteringbreath. She looked flushed and worried, and put her hand nervously up tothe pansy brooch. Seeing this, Rose came quietly, picked up thecrochet-hook, and sat down to admire the work, and wonder if she couldlearn the stitch. "Perhaps some time you would show it to me, dear MissBond," she said; "and now may I read you that article onwindow-gardening that you said you would like to hear?"
So Rose read, in her low, even tones, smooth and pleasant as therippling of water; and Miss Wealthy's brow grew calm again, and theflush passed away, and her thoughts passed pleasantly from "one, two,purl, slip," to gloxinias and cyclamen, and back again; till at length,the day being warm, she fell asleep, which was exactly what the wilyRose meant her to do.
Meantime Hildegarde was speeding along toward the station, seated besideJeremiah in the green wagon, with the box of flowers stowed safely underthe seat. She was in high spirits, and determined to enjoy every momentof her "escapade," as she called it. Jeremiah surveyed her bright facewith chastened melancholy.
"Reckon you're in for a junket," he said kindly. "Quite a head o' steamyou carry. 'T'll do ye good to work it off some."
"Yes!" cried Hildegarde. "It is a regular frolic, isn't it, Jeremiah?How beautiful everything looks! What a perfection of a day it is!"
"Fine hayin' weather!" Jeremiah assented. "We sh'll begin to-morrow, Icalc'late. Pleasant, hayin' time is. Now, thar's a field!" He pointedwith his whip to a broad meadow all blue-green with waving timothy, andsighed, and shook his head.
"Isn't it a good field?" asked Hildegarde, innocently.
"Best lot on the place!" replied the prophet, with melancholyenthusiasm. "Not many lots like that in _this_ neighborhood! There's apower o' grass there. Well, sirs! grass must be cut, and hay must beeat,--there's no gainsayin' that,--'in the sweat o' thy brow,' yeunderstand; but still there's some enj'yment in it."
Hildegarde could not quite follow this sentence, which seemed to be onlyhalf addressed to her; so she only nodded sagely, and turned herattention to the ferns by the roadside.
It was less than an hour's trip to Fairtown, nor was the walk longthrough the pleasant, elm-shaded streets. The hospital was a brickbuilding, painted white, and looking very neat and trim, with itsstriped awnings, and its flagged pathway between rows of box. One sawthat it had been a fine dwelling-house in its day, for the wood of thedoorway was cunningly carved, and the brass knocker was quite a work ofart.
Jeremiah knocked; and when the door was opened by a neat maidservant, hebrought the box of flowers, and laid it on a table in the hall. "MissBond's niece!" he said, with a nod of explanation and introduction."Thought she'd come herself; like to see the young ones. I'll be backfor ye in an hour," he added to Hildegarde, and with another noddeparted.
After waiting a few minutes in a cool, shady parlor, where she satfeeling strange and shy, and wishing she had not come, Hildegarde wasgreeted by a sweet-faced woman in spotless cap and apron, who bade herwelcome, and asked for Miss Bond. "It is some time since she has beenhere!" she added. "We are always so glad to see her, dear lady. But herkindness comes every week in the lovely flowers, and the children dothink so much of them. Would you like to distribute them yourselfto-day? A new face is always a pleasure, if it is a kind one; and yourswill bring sunshine, I am sure."
"Oh, thank you!" said Hildegarde, shyly. "It is just what I wanted, ifyou really think they would like it."
Mrs. Murray, as the matron was called, seemed to have no doubt upon thispoint, and led the way upstairs, the servant following with the flowers.She opened a door, and led Hildegarde into a large, sunny room, withlittle white beds all along the wall. On every pillow lay a littlehead; and many faces turned toward the opening door, with a look ofpleasure at meeting the matron's cheery smile. Hildegarde opened hergreat box, and taking up three or four bouquets, moved forwardhesitatingly. This was something new to her. She had visited girls ofher own age or more, in the New York hospitals, but she was not used tolittle children, being herself an only child. In the first cot lay alittle girl, a mite of five years, with a pale patient face. She couldnot move her hands, but she turned her face toward the bunch ofsweet-peas that Hildegarde laid on the pillow, and murmured, "Pitty!pitty!"
"Aren't they sweet?" said Hildegarde. "Do you see that they have littlewings, almost like butterflies? When the wind blows, they flutter about,and seem to be alive, almost."
The child smiled, and put her lips to the cool fragrant blossoms. "Kissbutterf'ies!" she said; and at this Hildegarde kissed her, and went onto the next crib.
Here lay a child of seven, her sweet blue eyes heavy with fever, hercheeks flushed and burning. She stretched out her hands toward theflowers, and said, "White ones! give me white ones, Lady! Red ones ishot! Minnie is too hot. White ones is cold."
A nurse stood beside the crib, and Hildegarde looked to her forpermission, then filled the little hands with sweet alyssum and whiteroses.
"The roses were all covered with dew when I picked them," she saidsoftly. "See, dear, they are still cool and fresh." And she laid themagainst the burning cheek. "There was a great bed of roses in a lovelygarden, and while I was at one end of it, a little humming-bird came tothe other, and hovered about, and put his bill into the flowers. Hishead was bright green, like the leaves, and his throat was ruby-red,and--"
"Guess that's a lie, ain't it?" asked the child, wearily.
"Oh, no!" said Hildegarde, smiling. "It is all true, every word. Whenyou are better, I will send you a picture of a humming-bird."
She nodded kindly, and moved on, to give red roses to a bright littletot in a red flannel dressing-gown, who was sitting up in bed, nursing arubber elephant. He took the roses and said, "Sanks!" very politely,then held them to his pet's gray proboscis. "I's better," he explained,with some condescension. "I don't need 'em, but Nelephant doos. He's asevere case. Doctor said so vis mornin'."
"Indeed!" said Hildegarde, sympathetically. "I am very sorry. What isthe matter with him?"
"Mumps 'n' ague 'n' brown kitties 'n' ammonia 'n' fits!" was the promptreply; "and a hole in his leg too! Feel his pult!"
He held up a gray leg, which Hildegarde examined gravely. "It seems tobe hollow," she said. "Did the doctor think that was a bad sign?"
"It's fits," said the child, "or a brown kitty,--I don't know which. Isyou a nurse?"
"No, dear," said Hildegarde; "I only came to bring the flowers. I mustgo away soon, but I shall t
hink of you and the elephant, and I hope hewill be better soon."
"Sing!" was the unexpected reply, in a tone of positive command.
"Benny!" said Mrs. Murray, who came up at this moment; "you mustn'ttease the young lady, dear. See! the other children are waiting fortheir flowers, and you have these lovely roses."
"She looks singy!" persisted Benny. "I wants her to sing. Doctor said Icould have what I wanted, and I wants _vat_."
"May I sing to him?" asked Hildegarde, in a low tone. "I can sing alittle, if it would not disturb the others."
But Mrs. Murray thought the others would like it very much. SoHildegarde first gave posies to all the other children in the room, andthen came back and sat down on Benny's bed, and sang, "Up the airymountain," in a very sweet, clear voice. Several little ones had beentossing about in feverish restlessness, but now they lay still andlistened; and when the song was over, a hoarse voice from a corner ofthe room cried, "More! more sing!"
"She's _my_ more! she isn't your more!" cried Benny, sitting erect,with flashing eyes that glared across the room at the offender. But asoft hand held a cup of milk to his lips, and laid him back on thepillow; and the nurse motioned to Hildegarde to go on.
Then she sang, "Ring, ting! I wish I were a primrose;" and then anotherof dear William Allingham's, which had been her own pet song when shewas Benny's age.
"'Oh, birdie, birdie, will you, pet? Summer is far and far away yet. You'll get silken coats and a velvet bed, And a pillow of satin for your head.'
"'I'd rather sleep in the ivy wall! No rain comes through, though I hear it fall The sun peeps gay at dawn of day, And I sing and wing away, away.'
"'Oh, birdie, birdie, will you, pet? Diamond stones, and amber and jet, I'll string in a necklace fair and fine, To please this pretty bird of mine.'
"'Oh, thanks for diamonds and thanks for jet, But here is something daintier yet. A feather necklace round and round, That I would not sell for a thousand pound.'
"'Oh, birdie, birdie, won't you, pet? I'll buy you a dish of silver fret; A golden cup and an ivory seat, And carpets soft beneath your feet.'
"'Can running water be drunk from gold? Can a silver dish the forest hold? A rocking twig is the finest chair, And the softest paths lie through the air. Farewell, farewell to my lady fair!'"
By the time the song was finished, Benny was sleeping quietly, and thenurse thanked Hildegarde for "getting him off so cleverly. He needed anap," she said; "and if he thinks we want him to go to sleep, he setsall his little strength against it. He's getting better, the lamb!"
"What has been the matter?" asked Hildegarde.
"Pneumonia," was the reply. "He has come out of it very well, but Idread the day when he must go home to a busy, careless mother and adraughty cottage. He ought to have a couple of weeks in the country."
At this moment the head nurse--a tall, slender woman with a beautifulface--came from an inner room, the door of which had been standing ajar.She held out her hand to Hildegarde, and the girl saw that her eyes werefull of tears. "Thank you," she said, "for the song. Another little birdhas just flown away from earth, and he went smiling, when he heard yousing. Have you any sweet little flowers, pink and white?"
The quick tears sprang to Hilda's eyes. She could not speak for amoment, but she lifted some lovely sprays of blush rosebuds, which thenurse took with a smile and a look of thanks. The girl's eyes followedher; and before the door closed she caught a glimpse of a little stillform, and a cloud of fair curls, and a tiny waxen hand. Hildegardeburied her face in her hands and sobbed; while Benny's gentle nursesmoothed her hair, and spoke softly and soothingly. This was what shehad called a "frolic,"--this! She had laughed, and come away as if tosome gay party, and now a little child had died almost close beside her.Hildegarde had never been so near death before. The world seemed verydark to her, as she turned away, and followed Mrs. Murray into anotherroom, where the convalescent children were at play. Here, as she tookthe remaining flowers from the box, little boys and girls came crowdingabout her, some on crutches, some with slings and bandages, some onlypale and hollow-eyed; but all had a look of "getting well," and all wereeager for the flowers. The easiest thing seemed to be to sit down onthe floor; so down plumped Hildegarde, and down plumped the childrenbeside her. Looking into the little pallid faces, her heart grewlighter, though even this was sad enough. But she smiled, and pelted thechildren with bouquets; and then followed much feeble laughter, andclutching, and tumbling about, while the good matron looked on wellpleased.
"What's them?" asked one tiny boy, holding up his bunch.
"Those are pansies!" answered Hildegarde. "There are little faces inthem, do you see? They smile when the sun shines, and when children aregood."
"Nein," said a small voice from the outside of the circle, "dat issStiefmuetterlein!"
"Du Bluemlein fein!" cried Hildegarde. "Yes, to be sure. Come here,little German boy, and we will tell the others about the pretty Germanname."
"SO DOWN PLUMPED HILDEGARDE."]
A roly-poly lad of six, with flaxen hair and bright blue eyes, cameforward shyly, and after some persuasion was induced to sit down inHildegarde's lap. "See now!" she said to the others; "this pansy has adifferent name in Germany, where this boy--"
"Namens Fritzerl!" murmured the urchin, nestling closer to the wonderfulFraeulein who knew German.
"Where Fritzerl came from. There they call it 'Stiefmuetterlein,' whichmeans 'little stepmother.' Shall I tell you why? See! In front here arethree petals just alike, with the same colors and the same marking.These are the stepmother and her own two daughters; and here, behind,are the two step-daughters, standing in the background, but keepingclose together like loving sisters. I hope the little stepmother is kindto them, don't you?"
"I've got one!" piped up a little girl with a crutch. "She's real good,she is. Only she washes my face 'most all day long, 'cause she's 'fearedshe won't do her duty by me. She brought me red jelly yesterday, and anoil-cloth bib, so's I wouldn't spill it on my dress. My dress 's new!"she added, edging up to Hildegarde, and holding up a red merino skirtwith orange spots.
"I see it is," said Hilda, admiringly; "and so bright and warm, isn'tit?"
"I've got a grandma to home!" cried another shrill voice. "She makessplendid mittens! She makes cookies too."
"My Uncle Jim's got a wooden leg!" chimed in another. "He got it fallingoff a mast. He kin drive tacks with it, he kin. When I'm big I'm goingto fall off a mast and git a wooden leg. You kin make lots o' noise withit."
"My grandma's got a wig!" said the former speaker, in triumph. "Ipulled it off one day. She was just like an aig on top. Are you like anaig on top?"
Here followed a gentle pull at one of Hildegarde's smooth braids, andshe sprang up, feeling quite sure that her hair would stay on, but notcaring to have it tumbling on her shoulders. "I think it is nearly timefor me to go now," she was beginning, when she heard a tiny sob, andlooking down, saw a very small creature looking up at her with roundblue eyes full of tears. "Why, darling, what is the matter?" she asked,stooping, and lifting the baby in her strong young arms.
"I--wanted--" Here came another sob.
"What did you want? Come, we'll sit here by the window, and you shalltell me all about it."
"Ze uzzers told you sings, and--I--wanted--to tell you sings--too!"
"Well, pet!" said Hildegarde, drying the tears, and kissing the roundvelvet cheek, "tell me then!"
"Ain't got no--sings--to tell!" And another outburst threatened; butHilda intervened hastily.
"Oh, yes, I am sure you have things to tell, lots of things; only youcouldn't think of them for a minute. What did you have for breakfastthis morning?"
Baby looked doubtful. "Dat ain't a sing!"
"Yes, it is," said Hildegarde, boldly. "Come, now! I had a mutton chop.What
did you have?"
"Beef tea," was the reply, with a brightening look of retrospectivecheer, "and toasty strips!"
"_Oh_, how good!" cried Hilda. "I wish I had some. And what are yougoing to have for dinner?"
"Woast tsicken!" and here at last came a smile, which broadened into alaugh and ended in a chuckle, as Hilda performed a pantomime expressingrapture.
"I never heard of anything so good!" she cried. "And what are you goingto eat it with,--two little sticks?"
"No-o!" cried Baby, with a disdainful laugh. "Wiz a worky, a wealworky."
"A walk!" said Hildegarde, puzzled.
"Es!" said Baby, proudly. "A atta worky, dess like people's!"
"Please, he means fork!" said a little girl, sidling up with a finger inher mouth. "Please, he's my brother, and we've both had tripod fever;and we're going home to-morrow."
"And the young lady must go home now," said Mrs. Murray, laying a kindhand on the little one's shoulder. "The man has come for you, MissGrahame, and I don't know how to thank you enough for all the pleasureyou have given these dear children."
"Oh, no!" cried Hildegarde. "Please don't! It is I who must thank youand the children and all. I wish Rose--I wish my friend had come. Shewould have known; she would have said just the right thing to each one.Next time I shall bring her."
But "Nein! Muessen selbst kommen!" cried Fritzerl; and "You come, Lady!"shouted all the others. And as Hildegarde passed back through the longroom where the sick children lay, Benny woke from his nap, and shouted,"Sing-girl! _my_ sing-girl! come back soon!"
So, half laughing and half crying, Hildegarde passed out, her heart veryfull of painful pleasure.