Hilda's Mascot Part 13

"I do not deserve to have a roof over my head!" she said to herself as bitter tears welled to her eyes, but she controlled her feelings, for the halting of sleighs at the gate gave token that the bridal party had arrived.

Amid the chattering of merry voices her depression was unnoticed and the guests pa.s.sed up to their rooms. Friends invited to meet them were coming in couples and groups, and she welcomed all smilingly, but her thoughts were upon the old and poorly clad man whom she had turned from her door.

At the moment of the arrival of the bridal party, Hilda Brinsfield, in the cottage of Jerusha Flint, was kneeling upon a chair by the western window; not watching with childlike interest the pa.s.sing sleighs with their joyous jingling of bells, but with a look of interest and hope upon her pale face to which for many a day it had been a stranger.

"Hilda," said Miss Flint, "I am going up to the village on business, and wish you to be quiet and patient. I will not be long away."

Hilda made no reply. She was thinking of a picture she had seen at Dr.

Lattinger's where she had been the day before with Miss Flint.

It represented a group of sweet-faced angels, robed in white, grouped about a harp upon which one of their number was playing an accompaniment to their singing.

She had asked the nurse where the angels lived, and was told that their home was in heaven.

"Where is heaven?" she had asked eagerly.

"Do you see that sun?" asked the nurse, pointing to it from the window of the nursery. "That sun is in heaven."

Hilda had thought of but little else since hearing this. She had at last located the home where her parents and her Aunt Ashley awaited her. All that was required of her was to follow the sun and it would lead her to them. She had watched all day, but the sun had kept itself hidden under dim clouds.

About the time that Miss Flint left the cottage it gleamed forth, and seemed to invite her to follow. A longing to be with father, mother and Aunt Ashley in heaven was too great to be resisted; all was to be gained by following where he led. Without stopping for wraps, the eager child hurried out. The sun, low in the west, seemed very near to her, and she ran to join it on its way. On and on she ran, the snow not crushing under her rapid tread. The air chilled her, but keeping the sun as a guide she pressed on. It sank below the horizon, but Hilda followed, guided by the ruddy glow which marked the spot where it descended. It grew dark and the child became bewildered, retracing her steps or wandering in a circle. Her limbs ached with weariness, and she was about to lie down and rest, when she heard the chatter of happy voices and the sound of sleigh bells, and, encouraged, she followed. But the sound ceased, and again she wandered aimlessly, having nothing to guide her.

At length she saw the gleaming of many lights, and she crept toward them.

"That is heaven!" she said to herself. "It is not far away, but I am so cold, so cold!"

The lights grew more brilliant, but she could scarcely move on toward them. Her thoughts grew confused, strange visions thronged her mind, vivid colors danced before her eyes, sweet music charmed her senses. She was growing less weary; a pleasant warmth comforted her, and her eyelids were heavy with sleep as she toiled on toward the goal, reached it, and sank down between an evergreen shrub and one of the windows of the Merryman farmhouse.

Unconscious of the tragedy transpiring without, the bride, arrayed in a fleecy robe of white, as were her attendants grouped about the piano, was singing, when at the window appeared the wanderer for the second time that evening, bearing in his arms the unconscious form of the little girl.

"She is dead," he murmured in a dazed, helpless way, as he stepped through the window which Mr. Merryman opened for him; "she was in the cold snow!"

"She may be," said Dr. Lattinger, coming quickly toward them. "We must take her to a cool room and make efforts to restore her."

Tear-dimmed eyes gazed upon the pallid face, loving arms were extended to bear her where Mrs. Merryman would direct, when Diana Strong, hearing the subdued exclamations of surprise and pity, came to the parlor door and glanced in.

"It is Hilda!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands and turning pale with emotion. "What could have driven her out this wintry night?"

Although a new anxiety had come to Mrs. Merryman, she experienced relief in again seeing the wanderer, and while Dr. and Mrs. Lattinger, Mrs.

Courtney and Diana were doing all in their power to restore the little girl, she took him to the kitchen and soothed her tried conscience by seeing that he was made comfortable with light and warmth and good food at the table with Perry.

"I knows him," remarked Mose, who with Kitty was enjoying his supper at a table in another corner of the kitchen. "I done seen him many a time on the road."

"You knows a heap of people, Mose, that don't knows you," commented his grandmother.

"Where was the little girl when you found her?" Mrs. Merryman asked Archie, while Diana was pouring his coffee.

"She was sitting among the bushes by the piazza. Archie thought she was looking in at the people. Archie did not know she was dead until he took her up."

"Why were you here?" asked Mrs. Merryman kindly. "I thought you had left."

"Archie was cold and hungry and tired. He went to the barn to sleep; he had no other place to go. Archie heard sleigh bells and people coming in with horses, and was afraid they would drive him away. Archie walked about to keep warm; he heard singing and came to look in the window and found the little girl."

The efforts of Dr. Lattinger were rewarded; after a time Hilda had recovered sufficiently to be taken to the nursery where Diana watched beside her until time to help serve refreshments.

"Where is mamma?" whispered Hilda without opening her weary eyes. "I heard the sweet music and saw the beautiful angels, but did not know my mamma or Aunt Ashley."

"You will see them after a time," said Diana tenderly; "go to sleep now and get rested."

"I will," whispered the little girl; "I am tired, so tired, but I have found heaven."

Tears flowed from Diana's eyes as she watched her sleeping, and tender-hearted Norah wept in sympathy.

Hilda was so changed; she seemed no longer the light-hearted, care-free, high-spirited child which had been loved and cherished by Mrs. Ashley.

Sadness had its place upon the wan face, the pinched features, in the deep-sunken eyes. Diana almost censured herself for a share in the cause.

Fortunately Diana could remain at the farmhouse while the bridal company stayed, and her heart was comforted by knowing that Hilda had found a good home; for the next morning Mrs. Merryman received a note from Miss Flint saying that as Hilda had run away from the cottage, she should not be received again under that roof.

The same afternoon as Perry was returning from the village with a wagon, Miss Jerusha stopped him at her gate and helped him place in it three trunks which had belonged to Mrs. Ashley. They contained clothing, books and bric-a-brac, Jerusha retaining the furniture until claimed by Mrs.

Warfield.

Cast upon the charity of Mr. and Mrs. Merryman, Hilda was heartily accepted, and Miss Flint went from her cottage in the morning and returned to it in the evening, rejoicing that she was at last free from the burden that had oppressed her. So sprightly did she become, in addition to her naturally independent and arbitrary manner that she gave no one reason to suspect that her conscience was troubled by three secrets, one of which in after years she strove vainly to divulge to Hilda.

The bridal company had been entertained at the Courtneys, the Lattingers and several other homes, had seen the places of interest in the neighborhood, had heard the traditions and chronicles, especially that of the spectre that haunted "My Lady's Manor" and had returned to their homes.

One evening Norah was preparing the evening meal and crooning an Irish melody-to which Hilda, sitting in Erma's cradle, was listening attentively-and had just placed tea biscuits in the oven when the door opened and Archie came in.

He was comfortably clothed in the suit given him by Mr. Merryman, and without glancing at Norah or Hilda he went directly to the seat in the corner of the hearth which he had occupied the night of the reception.

"It is Archie!" cried Hilda in delight, "he has brought me a mocking bird."

"No, Archie is ashamed that he could not bring one," said the wanderer sadly. "He has tried and tried to catch one, but Archie has brought something," and untying a plaid handkerchief he gave her a dead oriole, a bit of moss, several snail and mussel sh.e.l.ls, and other trifles which he had gathered in the woods and streams perhaps miles away.

When Mr. and Mrs. Merryman and their little Erma returned from Dorton and with Hilda sat down to tea in the dining-room, Archie fell asleep in his chair, but awoke to take supper with Norah and Perry; then went to the room over the kitchen which he had previously occupied, and before the sun rose was away upon his aimless wanderings.

Thus the years pa.s.sed, and in the home of the Merrymans contentment and peace reigned. Hilda was looked upon as the elder daughter of the house and was treated as kindly as though indeed their own. She went daily to the village school and was beloved by teachers and companions.

Although each school day she pa.s.sed the cottage twice, and the same on Sabbaths to the village church, she never had a glimpse of Jerusha Flint, from which the inference could be rightly drawn that Jerusha had frequent glimpses of her.

One Sat.u.r.day morning Hilda was helping Mrs. Merryman arrange the potted plants upon the porch when Mose, hat in hand, made his appearance with a note from Mrs. Courtney inviting them to take tea at "Friedenheim" that evening.

Hilda's eager glance at Mrs. Merryman, hoping for acceptance of the invitation, was met by an a.s.senting smile; a reply was written and Mose hurried away.

When it came time to dress for the visit Norah, who took great pride in Hilda's beauty, arranged her hair in soft, full ringlets and helped her don a pretty pink gown, Hilda's favorite, and singularly becoming.

The visit was one of unalloyed pleasure, for during the afternoon Mr.

Valentine Courtney drove out from the city in a handsome carriage drawn by a pair of ponies, and finding Hilda and Erma there took them out for a drive, and after tea he took them the short walk to "My Lady's Manor,"

too short to Mr. Courtney, so interested and amused was he with the conversation of Hilda.