Hildegarde's Harvest Part 21

She hummed a carol to herself, as she recalled the night before, Christmas Eve, which she had spent with the Merryweathers. They had gone together to the carol service at the little church, which they had all helped to make beautiful with spruce and fir and hemlock. After that they sang hymns and carols at home, in full chorus, with such hearty good-will and earnest feeling as it was a joy to remember; and then came the hanging of the stockings. An only child for so long, Hildegarde had never seen before the bewildering, enchanting bustle of Christmas Eve in a large family; the hanging of the stockings, six in a row, the whole length of the great fireplace in the nursery; the delightful mysteries, the parcels which no one saw, the whisperings which no one heard save those to whom they were addressed, the tiptoeing hither and thither, the rustle of tissue-paper,--ah! it was all very pleasant! The kind friends had begged her to stay with them, and share the morning fun, which they declared to be the best of all; but that Hildegarde could not do.

"Mamma and I have only each other!" she said. "You would not really have me leave her alone, dear people!" and the Merryweathers were obliged to confess that they would not, upon any account. So they had parted, with many plans and promises for the next day,--the great, the blessed day of the year. And now it was here! and oh, was it--could it really be snowing?

Hildegarde listened, and heard a sound as of fairy hands beating softly on the window-panes. It was growing lighter every moment, but the light came through a soft, white dimness. Hildegarde ran to the window; the ground was white, the dark branches of the evergreens were bending under a weight of snow, and it was snowing still, not furiously, but in a quiet, determined way, that meant business. Oh, joy! At last, the longed-for winter had come! This ungrateful girl had already received many favours from the Frost King; she had skated, she had had icicles to eat, she had broken through the ice, and got a good wetting,--still she was not content, but longed for snow; and now she had her heart's desire.

"And we'll all go tobogganing, Bog, bog, bogganing!"

she sang, as she dressed herself, stopping now and then to dance about the room a little when she felt cold; for the morning was evidently sharp, and the cold had got into the house in good earnest.

Running down-stairs, she found the breakfast-room warm and bright with a crackling, leaping fire on the hearth. Mrs. Grahame was already down, and her long, silent embrace was the first and best Christmas greeting.

Then it was "Merry Christmas!" and again "Merry Christmas!" as Auntie came into the room, bringing the fragrant coffee, and the tray piled high with good things.

"Oh, and the mail has come!" cried Hildegarde, fairly dancing round the table to her place. "See, my love! Letters from everybody, heaps upon heaps! Oh, what joy!"

There were greetings from all the distant friends, it seemed; from all the good people at Bywood, from Rose and Doctor Flower, from the dear old couple at Hartley's Glen.

"Oh, how good every one is!" cried Hildegarde. "And here is a parcel--Mammina, what can this be? It looks like Aunt Emily's hand."

"It seems a desperate measure to propose," said Mrs. Grahame, "but I _have_ heard of parcels being opened in such a case. I should not wish to influence you--"

"Oh, my dear!" cried the girl, who had been acting on the suggestion, and undoing the box tied carefully with floss silk. "My Respected Parent, will you look at this?"

It was the prettiest watch, surely, that ever was seen, set with blue enamel and pearls; and with it came a stately little note, a.s.suring "my grandniece" that this was a slight return indeed for the pleasure that she had given to her affectionate E. D.

"Poor dear Aunt Emily!" cried Hildegarde. "She has so little pleasure, I suppose every little attention counts for a good deal. Oh, aren't you glad we sent her the Mechlin tabs? She and Hobson will have good times over them, I am sure. Well, Auntie, what now?"

Auntie brought in a huge box. "Dis ain't for you, Miss Hildy, chile, dis for you' Ma. You can' 'spec' to have everyt'ing, young lady!"

"Flowers, Mammina! Oh, the lovely things! Do let me see--From Mr.

Raymond Ferrers! The dear thing! Why, we shall be a perfect bower, for I know the Colonel is going to send you a box. Dear me! What a delightful time we are having, aren't we, love?"

"If you don't eat your breakfast, Hilda, I shall have all these things taken away, and kept till dinner."

"Oh, I will eat, I will indeed! See me! Observe me sacrificing myself to rolls and orange marmalade! But do you see that it is snowing, my own?

And do you know what that means? Tobogganing this afternoon, if there is any faith in Merryweathers."

Hildegarde was so excited it was really difficult for her to eat anything like enough to satisfy the demands of Auntie.

"You ain't goin' to no chu'ch on no empty stomick!" that potentate announced; and she actually stood over Hildegarde till a fair portion of her good things was disposed of. Then, when church-time came, she must see personally that both her "Missies" were properly wrapped, and properly toasted before going out.

"You ain't no right to go out at all, Mis' Grahame, and you knows it well as I do; but dere ain't no holdin' you some times, and dis is one of 'em, I know. Nothin' for old woman to do, 'cept just see dat you's fixed up right. You' bonnet ain't straight, mum; I should go crazy if you started out like ob dat."

The ch.o.r.e-man had already been at work with shovel and broom, so that there was a path cleared through the snow to the road; the snow was already quite deep, and Hildegarde and her mother were glad of their high snow-boots, as they picked their way along. Hildegarde stopped every other moment to take a handful of snow from some hanging branch, sometimes to eat it, oftener to toss it in the air for pure joy. It was beautiful snow, soft and dry, the crystals showing with exquisite distinctness.

"I feel about ten years old, darling!" the girl announced, as she frisked hither and thither.

"So I perceive!" said Mrs. Grahame, who was walking soberly along, even deigning to protect her bonnet with a prosaic umbrella.

"I feel rather doubtful about taking you, Hildegarde. Suppose you should turn round and smile at the little boy behind you, as you did the first time I took you to church!"

But by the time they reached the old stone church, Hildegarde was grave enough. This was the best of all, she said to herself, as she took her place in the choir, and heard Bell's firm touch on the keys of the organ behind her.

The Pastoral Symphony! Hildegarde gave a long sigh of pure happiness, and leaned back in her seat. She might have known Bell would play it!

She knew that her friend was to take the organist's place during the Christmas vacation; but she did not know that somehow, in all the hurry and happy bustle of yesterday, two young musicians had contrived, by hook or by crook, to get an hour's practice together in the church, as a Christmas surprise for her very own self, and when, above the deep, throbbing tones of the organ, rose the exquisite voice of the violin, Hildegarde felt her cup very full indeed, and hardly tried to check the thankful tears that sprang to her eyes. The church was full of the warm fragrance of balsam fir; the long garlands of green clothed the old gray walls with a lovely grace; she saw her mother's face in the pew near by; the music soared heavenward and her soul mounted with it. "Glory to G.o.d in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will to men!" When it came her turn to sing, she felt heaven near, indeed, and the peace of blessedness descending on her.

By noon it had stopped snowing; by three o'clock the sky was clear and the world lay white and glittering, a new thing under a sky of crystal.

"Just like the biggest plummy cake that ever was baked!" cried w.i.l.l.y Merryweather as he capered about before his toboggan. The clan was gathering for the first tobogganing of the season. Here was Mr.

Merryweather, tall and stalwart, in a fur cap big enough for the Czar of all the Russias; Here were all the children, big and little, in "m.u.f.fs and furs and fluffs," all rosy and happy and beaming; here was Hildegarde, in moccasins, and the prettiest scarlet blanket-suit; finally, here was Jack Ferrers, striding across the fields at a tremendous rate when he saw that the others were waiting for him.

"Oh, Jack! couldn't Hugh come?" cried Hildegarde, as her cousin came up.

"He looked pretty pale this morning, I thought, dear little fellow! Is he feeling badly to-day?"

Hugh had not been like himself since the fall on the ice. He had a good deal of headache, and seemed heavy and drowsy, not at all his own bright self. Hildegarde spoke anxiously, and Jack answered her look as well as her question.

"Not much the matter, I hope, but Uncle Tom thought he'd better keep quiet this afternoon, so as to be all fit for the tree this evening. His head does ache, Hilda, but he says it isn't bad, and he sent you all kinds of messages, and said you were to have twice as good a time, for his sake, as you would have had if he had been on hand. Poor little chap! I promised him I would give you a famous time; so come on, Hilda, and don't let me see those grave looks any more."

"You are darkening the sky, Hilda," cried Gerald, "and we can't have our Christmas sunshine spoiled! Look at the Pater! Isn't he immense? Like a Russian Boyar, or a Wallachian Hospodar, or something of that kind."

"We might all find some good, snowy t.i.tle!" said Bell. "You shall be a Starosta, Jerry, and Phil a Voevoda, and Mr. Ferrers a Magyar."

"Oh, there are plenty more t.i.tles!" said Jack. "We must have a Sotnik, and a Hetman, and a--"

"Who is coming tobogganing?" cried Mr. Merryweather. "Is this a _conversazione_, or an expedition?"

They all started off, talking and laughing, for the nearest hill. They chose the well-known slope that swept round the foot of Braeside, beyond the stone wall that separated it from Roseholme. Climbing the slope, Hildegarde remembered the first time she had climbed it, and how she climbed a tree, too, and was caught by Colonel Ferrers in the act, and taken for a marauding boy. How long ago it all seemed; and how strange to think of their ever having been strangers to their dear Colonel, or to any of the good friends who had grown so near and so dear.

At the top, they paused to draw breath, for the ascent was steep; then Mr. Merryweather, as commander-in-chief, marshalled his forces, and arranged them in line of march.

"Let me see! Hilda, will you come with me? and Gertrude? So! Now, Phil, you shall take Bell and Kitty; and you and Mr. Ferrers, Gerald, take the little one. There! How will that do?"

All declared themselves satisfied, and proceeded to take their places on the toboggans. The girls tucked up their skirts carefully, the boys pressed their caps down firmly over their ears.

"All ready?" asked the Chief. "Now then! one, two, three--off!"

Down swept the toboggans; down, down, down! Hildegarde was clutching Mr.

Merryweather's leather belt, and she felt as if it were the only thing that kept her from flying off entirely. The swift motion took her breath away; the light snow, puffing in her face, rising up in clouds on every side, half blinded her. On and on, gliding now over the long meadow at the foot of the hill, still with the flight of an arrow; till at last, with a skilful turn, they were brought up alongside the stone wall that bounded the field, and landed in a good soft drift.

Up they all jumped, rosy and snow-powdered, shouting with glee.

"Oh! wasn't it glorious!" cried Hildegarde. "We kept the lead, didn't we, Mr. Merryweather? And I kept the top of my head on, which is more than could have been expected. I really never felt anything so delightful in my life. Where are Jack and Gerald?"

"There they come! They went round the other way, down the steep side."

"The steep side! Oh, me! Is there a steeper side? Why, they must have turned somersaults all the way down. Oh! oh, my poor dears!"

The boys came round the curve in fine style, shooting straight as a dart, both leaning back, and evidently enjoying themselves to the full.

Suddenly, as if propelled by some invisible engine, they shot into the air, the toboggan followed, and for a moment there was an extraordinary vision of legs and arms, caps and splinters, all whirling together. Then they plunged into an enormous drift, and disappeared.