Hildegarde's Neighbors, Laura E Richards [ebook reader 7 inch .TXT] 📗

my

first smoke. Possibly you might be amused to hear about it?"

 

The boys seemed to think there was no doubt about their being

amused; they drew up two ottomans beside the Colonel's armchair,

and prepared to listen, open-mouthed.

 

"Forty years ago, then," said the Colonel, "or, to be more exact,

forty-five years, I was a lad of fifteen."

 

He paused, and smoked in silence for some minutes. Gerald could

not help thinking of Alice and the Mock Turtle, and wondered what

would happen if he should get up and say, "Thank you, sir, for

your interesting story." But he held his peace, and waited.

 

"Fifteen years old, young gentlemen, and a sad scapegrace, I am

sorry to say. My poor mother had an anxious time of it with me. I

was in the water, or in the fire, or in the clouds from morning

till night, as it seems on looking back. But with all my vagaries,

I had one great desire which had never been gratified,--that was,

to smoke a cigar. My father was a clergyman, and though he had

never forbidden my smoking, I should never have dared to suggest

such a thing to him, for he was strict in his notions, in many

ways. Not too strict, sir, not too strict, by any means, though he

may have seemed so to me then.

 

"To make a long story short, I fell in with some lads of my own

way of thinking, and we determined to have a smoke. We gathered

sweet fern and dried it, and rolled cigars for ourselves; odd-looking things they were, but we were vastly proud of them. When

all was ready, we chose a dry, warm spot behind a dyke (for it was

the fall of the year, and the days growing cold), and there we

lighted our cigars and fell to work, puffing away in mighty fine

style. Well, sir, they were horrible things, as you may well

imagine; not one of us, I'll go bail, liked them in his heart, but

we all pretended our best, and praised the cigars, and said what a

fine thing it was to smoke, and thought ourselves men, as sure as

if we had felt our beards pushing.

 

"By-and-by--I have the feeling of it still, when I think of it--I

chanced to look up, and saw my father standing over the top of the

dyke, looking down on us. The other boys, catching sight of my

face, lifted their eyes and saw him, too; and there was a pretty

moment. He said never a word for some time; no more did we. At

last, 'What are you smoking, boys?' he asked, speaking in his

usual even voice; yet I did not like the sound of it, somehow.

 

"So we told him, sweet fern; but he shook his head at that. 'That

is poor stuff, indeed,' he said. 'Now, if you must smoke, here is

something worth your while. Take these, Thomas, and share them

with your friends; they are genuine, and I hope you may enjoy

them.'

 

"With that he took a parcel of cigars from his pocket, and handed

them to me; then bowed to us all very grand, and marched off,

never looking behind him.

 

"I was not comfortable in my mind at this, for I knew my father

pretty well, and had looked for something different; but the other

lads were in high feather, and lighted their cigars on the

instant, bidding me do likewise, and crying out that my father was

a fine old buck, and that I was a lucky fellow to have such a

parent. I could not be behind the rest, so I lit up, too, and for

a few minutes all was as gay as a feast. But, Harry Monmouth, sir!

in half an hour we were the sickest boys in Westchester County. It

was all we could do to crawl home to our beds; and not one of us

but was sure he was dying, and cried to his mother to send for the

doctor before it was too late."

 

The Colonel laughed heartily, the boys chiming in with a merry

peal.

 

"What were the cigars?" asked Phil.

 

"The strongest Havanas that were made,--that was all. Fine cigars,

I have no doubt; but I was forty years old before I touched

tobacco again, and I have never smoked anything less delicate than

a Manilla."

 

He puffed in silence, chuckling to himself now and then; the boys

meditated on the tale they had heard.

 

"Colonel Ferrers," said Gerald, at last.

 

"Yes, my boy. You are thinking that it is time to join the ladies?

Quite right; we will go in at once."

 

"I wanted to ask," said Gerald, "if you don't mind telling us,

that is--well--I was only thinking that perhaps those cigars you

offered us--were they very mild ones, Colonel Ferrers?"

 

The Colonel looked grave for a moment, then he gave way and

laughed aloud.

 

"Found me out, hey?" he said. "Well, since you ask me, Master

Merryweather, I believe they were--not--the mildest that are made.

But you--hark! what was that?"

 

From the next room came the sound of a crash, and then a cry.

 

"I am very sorry, sir," said the boys in a breath. "It is probably

our sister Gertrude, who has broken something."

 

"She has no fingers to her thumbs," added Gerald, "and the result

is destruction."

 

They passed into the next room, and found that there had indeed

been an accident. Gertrude had knocked down a great pink vase, and

broken it into fifty pieces; she had also fallen over it, and now

sat among the ruins on the floor, too frightened to cry, while the

others picked up the pieces as best they might.

 

"Colonel Ferrers, what will you think of us?" cried Mrs.

Merryweather, looking up as her host entered the room. "This

unlucky child of mine has done something dreadful. Get up, Gerty,

and let me get the pieces from under you. I do so hope it may be

mended."

 

"Heaven forefend," said Colonel Ferrers, hastily. "Is it--I can

hardly hope it--is it truly the pink vase, the pink vase with the

stag's head on it?"

 

"Ye--yes!" sobbed poor Gertrude, getting up from the floor, and

seeking vainly for her handkerchief. "Oh, I am so sorry!"

 

"My dear child," cried the Colonel, and he took Gertrude by both

hands, "my dear young benefactress, how can I ever thank you! You

have relieved me of a heavy burden."

 

"Why? what?" cried all.

 

The Colonel pointed to the broken china, and gave a great sigh of

relief. "You behold there," he said, "now happily in fragments,

the bane of my existence. That--that horror--was given me three

years ago by a valued servant and friend, my man Guiseppe. He

bought it for my birthday; spent ten of his hard-earned dollars on

it, foolish, faithful creature that he is. What could I do? It

was,--the enormity you perceive. I was obliged to give it a place

of honour,--fortunately, I seldom use this room when I am alone; I

was forced to praise its tint, which I abominate, and its shape,

which is wholly detestable. What would you? I could not wound my

good Guiseppe; the vase has remained, the chief ornament--in his

eyes--of my drawing-room. Now, thanks to you, my charming child, I

am delivered of this encumbrance, and my poor white and gold can

appear without this hideous blot on its purity."

 

Gertrude wiped her eyes, much relieved at this novel view of her

infirmity, and all the others laughed heartily.

 

"And now," said the good Colonel, "is it not time for some games,

Hilda, or something of the kind? Command me, young people. Shall I

be blind man, at your service?"

 

It was a pleasant sight to see the Colonel, a silk handkerchief

tied over his eyes, chasing the young folks hither and thither;

pulled this way, twitched that, but always beaming under his

bandage, and shouting with merriment. It was a pleasanter sight,

later in the evening, to see him leading out Hildegarde for a

quadrille, and taking his place at the head of the figure with

stately, old-fashioned grace. Mrs. Grahame, turning round a moment

from her place at the piano, saw his fine face aglow with

pleasure, and felt a corresponding warmth at her own heart. She

thought of the gloomy, solitary man he had been a year ago, living

alone with his servants, scarcely seeing or speaking to a soul

outside his own grounds. And who shall blame the mother for saying

in her heart, with a little thrill of pride, "It was my child who

helped him, who brought the sunshine into this good man's life. It

was my Hildegarde!"

 

CHAPTER VI. (ANOTHER TEA-PARTY.)

It was the very day after the great affair at Roseholme that

Hildegarde had her own tea-party; in fact, it had been planned for

the birthday itself, and had only been postponed when Colonel

Ferrers made known his kind wish. This was a piazza party. The

broad, out-door room was hung with roses,--some of the very

garlands which had graced the dark walls of Roseholme the night

before; but here they were twined in and out of the vines which

grew on all sides of the piazza, screening it from outside view,

and making it truly a bower and a retreat. The guests had been

asked to come at five o'clock, but it was not more than three when

Hildegarde, coming to the door by chance, saw two or three little

figures hanging about the gate, gazing wistfully in. At sight of

her, their heads went down and their fingers went into their

mouths; they studied the ground, and appeared to know neither

where they were, nor why they had come.

 

"Euleta!" exclaimed Hildegarde; "is that you, child? and Minnie

and Katie, too. Why, you are here in good time, aren't you?"

 

She ran down and took the children by the hand, and led them up to

the piazza. "I am very glad to see you, chicks," she said. "Shall

we take off the hats? Perhaps we will leave them on for a little,"

she added, quickly, seeing a shade of distress on Euleta's face;

"they look so--gay and bright, and we might want to walk about the

garden, you see."

 

Euleta beamed again, and the others with her. They were sisters,

and their careful mother had given them hats just alike, dreadful

mysteries of magenta roses and apple-green ribbon. Their pride was

pleasant to see, and Hildegarde smiled back at them, saying to

herself that the dear little faces would look charming in

anything, however, hideous.

 

Soon more children came, and yet more: Vesta Philbrook and Martha

Skeat, Philena Tabb and Susan Aurora Bulger,--twelve children in

all, and every child there before the stroke of four.

 

"Well," said Hildegarde to herself, "the tea-table will not be

quite so pretty as if I had had time to make the wreaths; but they

would rather play than have wreaths, and I should not have left it

till the last hour, sinner that I am." She proposed "Little Sally

Waters," and they all fell to it with ardour.

 

 

 

   "Oh, little Sally Waters, sitting in the sun,

     Crying, weeping, for your young man;

     Rise, Sally, rise, wipe your weeping eyes," etc.

 

Martha Skeat was the first Sally; she chose Susan Aurora, and

Susan Aurora chose Hildegarde. Down went Hildegarde on the floor,

and wept and wrung her hands so dramatically that the children

paused in alarm, fearing that some real calamity had occurred.

 

"Oh! oh!" moaned Hildegarde; "my young man! Go on, children. Why

are you stopping? Oh, where IS my young man?" she sobbed; and the

children, reassured by a twinkling smile, shrieked with delight.

"What shall I do?" sobbed the girl. "I--haven't--got--any young

man! Now, children, you MUST say 'Rise, Sally,' or my foot will be

sound asleep, and then I couldn't get up at all, and what would

become of your supper?"

 

Aghast at this suggestion, the children began to chant, hastily,--

 

 

     "Rise, Sally, rise,

     Wipe your weeping eyes;

     Turn to the east,

     Turn to the west,

     Turn to the one that you love the best!"

 

Hildegarde sprang to her feet, whirled to the east, with her hands

clasped in entreaty; turned to