Hilda's Mascot Part 24

"I suppose she compares me with her brother Jack. It is a pity that he is such a burlesque upon his own name. I take it for granted that he will be as awkward as ever this evening and will break his goblet and upset his chair before he leaves."

"Yes, one cannot help noticing his awkwardness," said Hilda, laughing in spite of herself; "but I think it is caused by embarra.s.sment, and he has so many good traits that one can easily overlook such small defects."

"You seem to be well posted as to his good qualities. Please inform me of what they consist," remarked Fred dryly.

"In kindness to his mother and sister; in his genuine goodness, earnestness and stability; there is nothing trifling in his manner; one may be sure that he means what he says, and can depend fully upon him."

"You appear to have made quite a study of our friend Jack," commented Fred, flushing uneasily. "I scarcely thought that one year's acquaintance could make one so thoroughly competent to judge."

"But I have the opinion of others; everyone speaks well of Jack Prettyman."

"Have you more than a friendly interest in him?"

"Not at all; I never thought of such a thing; but am only saying what is my real opinion of him. He is your friend; you should be glad to know that he is appreciated."

"So I am in a certain sense, but if I tell the truth I must say that he is awkward and uncouth."

"That is owing to his having so little confidence in himself. He hasn't a particle of conceit. Conceited people are so comfortable that they can afford to be agreeable. It really appears to be a desirable thing to have a good opinion of one's self. Don't you realize this?"

"Do you speak from experience?"

"Yes, and from observation."

"Conceit would be too ridiculous in Jack Prettyman with his red head and pug nose."

"But he is very entertaining. The last time he took me out driving he taught me the language of flowers."

"I did not know that you go out driving with him," responded Fred, his face flushing and his eyes shadowed.

"Neither did I know that it was expected of me to inform you. Aunt Sarah sanctioned it and I supposed that sufficient."

"It is cruel in you to take that tone with me. Oh, Hilda, I feel so uncertain of you! You never appear to believe me in earnest. Promise that you will not go driving with anyone but me."

"Wouldn't you think it selfish if I asked the same of you?"

"No, indeed; I promise gladly. Do you agree to it?"

"Yes, I don't care. Aunt Sarah and I drive out as often as I wish to go."

"Then you only agree because you sacrifice nothing. Hilda, why are you so cold, so indifferent to me? You keep me always anxious. Promise me-"

taking her reluctant hand in his, "promise to be my wife!"

"Oh, Fred, what is the use of promising? You will change your mind as soon as you see a new face."

"Promise! I will not let go your hand until you do!"

"The tea-bell is about to ring. I heard Angie take it from the sideboard."

"Then promise!"

"I will," the hand was pressed, then released, and Hilda gathered up the bouquets.

"Here is yours, Cousin Fred," she said, holding the boutonniere toward him.

"I had forgotten it," he said, candidly.

"You will notice that I have arranged them according to their language.

See, here is a sprig of arbor-vitae:

"'The true and only friend is he, Who, like the arbor-vitae tree, Will bear our image in his heart.'

"With it I have placed "'The generous geranium With a leaf for all who come.'

"Then a spray of myrtle: "'Myrtle placed on breast or brow, Lively hope and friendship vow.'

"Then two pansies: "'Pray you love, remember.

There's pansies, that's for thought.'"

Fred placed the boutonniere without comment in the b.u.t.ton-hole of his coat, and they went up the broad path to the house.

Mrs. Warfield read in Fred's happy face and in the bloom upon the fair cheek of Hilda that which she had hoped for was in the way of being realized, but gave no evidence of it by word or manner-she would wait until the young people saw their own time to tell her of the agreement into which they had entered.

Fred was at his best that evening in the way of entertaining their guests, and Mrs. Warfield smiled at the dignity of his demeanor, bespeaking as it did the engaged young man, while Hilda comported herself as if engagements of marriage had ceased to be a novelty.

The luckless Jack Prettyman succeeded in pa.s.sing one evening without upsetting his chair or breaking his goblet, and to all it was an enjoyable evening.

The next morning Fred arose earlier than usual and descended to the garden, which was dewy and fragrant, and wended his way to the arbor.

Birds were twittering in the trees overhead, and colonies of ants dotted with their hills the ground at his feet. Innumerable filmy webs festooned the evergreen borders and flowering shrubs, which, jeweled with dewdrops, sparkled in the beams of the sun.

Happy as Fred had been in all his favored life, he had never been so happy as that morning. Owing to the relations existing between them, he fully expected that Hilda would give him a few minutes of her society before he left for Springfield. But anxiously as he looked toward the house, he saw no evidence of her coming. Instead, Angie rang the bell and he went in to his breakfast, and found Hilda quietly reading by the window which commanded a view of the arbor.

"She could not have helped seeing me," thought Fred; "she might have come out for a few words!"

It had always been his custom to leave for Springfield as soon as breakfast was finished, and he had no excuse for waiting that morning.

Moreover, Paul, his mother and Hilda lingered, as usual, to say good-bye before separating for the duties of the day.

"I may not let two weeks elapse before coming home next time, mother,"

he said, as he kissed her at parting.

"Come whenever it suits you, my son; your homecoming is always a joy to us."

c.o.ke and Blackstone gave precedence to Hilda Brinsfield in Fred's mind for several days after his visit home, and with chair tilted back, feet elevated and eyes closed, he recalled the conversation in the arbor, while alone in the office of Mr. Meade, attorney-at-law.

Mr. Meade noticed the abstraction and surmised the cause, but was not disturbed in the least, satisfied that in Fred's case the malady was not incurable.

CHAPTER XI-HILDA'S LETTERS TO HER OLD HOME

Hilda, in the meantime, was pursuing the even tenor of her way. Her church and Sabbath school duties were faithfully performed; she went daily to the Woodmont high school, enjoyed her music and art lessons, and took interest in the minor employments of the home which would have naturally devolved upon a daughter of the house. Always busy, cheerful, amiable and affectionate, she endeared herself more and more to the motherly heart of Mrs. Warfield.