Hildegarde's Harvest Part 9

"Under thy window, Maiden, I sing, Though the night's chilly For this kind of thing.

Weather is merry, Hearts too are light; Speak to thy Jerry, Hilda the Bright!"

Hildegarde threw up the sash.

"Come in, Gerald!" she cried. "Oh, you dear boy, I _am_ so glad to see you--hear you, rather! come in, quick!"

She shut the window hastily.

"Did you feel the air, Mamma? I thought if I opened it just for a second,--the room seemed pretty warm. Sure you are not cold, love?"

Mrs. Grahame was quite positive; but Hildegarde must feel her hands to make a.s.surance doubly sure; must tuck a shawl round her mother's shoulders, and throw an encouraging glance towards the fire, before she turned to the door, which now opened to admit Mr. Gerald Merryweather.

"You dear boy!" she repeated, going to meet him with outstretched hand.

"To think that you have been here two days without my seeing you.

Gerald, how you have grown!"

"'Great weeds do grow apace,'" said the tall lad, looking down on her.

"I forestall the remark, you observe. It is the one with which I am commonly greeted by my affectionate family. But it's awfully good to see you, Hilda. I say, how well you're looking!"

"You, too," said Hilda. "And they are all well? and all here, or coming?

Oh, sit down and tell me all about everything, do!"

"I have already told her, Gerald," said Mrs. Grahame; "but I don't think she paid much attention; you may as well tell her over again."

"Well, I was so excited, you see!" cried the girl. "I have been having the most wonderful time in town; and then to come out here and find you,--my cup is rather br.i.m.m.i.n.g over, that's all. Now tell, Jerry."

"We came," said Gerald, curling up his long legs on the hearth-rug; "we have seen--several things; we expect to conquer--shortly--the dust, and to get the house to rights. Our holidays--Ferguson's and mine--began on Sat.u.r.day, so the Mater thought we'd better come right down and get things ready for the others. Then she reflected that she could not trust us; so she decided to come herself; then she further reflected that she could not possibly leave the kids alone with the Pater, so she brought them along. Behold us! Bell and Toots arrive next week, and the Codger at some time known to himself. He is in Arizona, or somewhere this side of it,--sent for to inspect a mine, and see whether it is a good place for planting cabbages."

"Gerald!" said Hildegarde.

"Honoured miss!" replied the boy. "I may not be quite accurate in the details, but there is a mine, I do a.s.sure you."

"And what kind of winter have you all had? You have been in Boston all the time,--that is, your mother and father?"

"In Boston, yes. The winter has been such as might have been expected, far from the sun which etcetera. Barring the fact that we have all existed in a state of acute anguish at being separated from you, we have all been exceedingly well, thank you."

"And how do you and Phil like college? Is it as much fun as you thought it would be? Do you like your rooms? Are you doing all right in your Greek?"

"Hilda," put in Mrs. Grahame, "do let the boy draw breath, and allow yourself to do so. Two such panting young creatures I have seldom seen.

And Gerald is not going away on the night train."

"I suppose not!" said Hildegarde. "But, oh, it does seem so long since I have heard anything about him and Phil. Bell, you see, writes the most enchanting letters, but they are mostly about college and music,--her college, I mean; and she tucks in a little postscript to say that all are well at home, and that is all the news I get."

"Which accounts for your pallid and emaciated appearance!" said Gerald.

"'Thy cheek, my love, of late a living rose, Which could the bulbul cheat with its rich hue, Looks pale--'

"I don't remember any more. I learned that in the Finden book, when I was six years old."

"Why, Gerald, did you have the Finden books, too? How delightful! Dear, ridiculous books! We have them now. I still think the 'Diamond' lady the most beautiful creature that ever lived,--and simpered. But you are not telling me a word about college!"

"I have had so much opportunity, you observe!" said Gerald, appealing to Mrs. Grahame. "My natural diffidence has been allowed such free play by the silent and unconversational att.i.tude of your daughter--"

Mrs. Grahame shook her head, and declared that there was a pair of them, and she would have nothing to say on either side.

Finally, however, boy and girl settled down into an amicable and more or less coherent exchange of information. It appeared that the boys were doing well in college, enjoying the new life to the full, and keeping well in their cla.s.ses.

"Of course we started in with about three times as much sail as we could carry. I had five courses, and Ferguson seven. But some of them were half ones, and after the first term we began to see where we were a bit,--and to perceive that Roger and Pater were right. We couldn't see it at first, of course, being such as we are."

"And such as boys have been since the beginning of colleges!" said Mrs.

Grahame.

"Dear madam, how well you know! Well, Greek has been pretty stiff, but still we peg away, and like it no end. Then we both have Chem.

2,--that's great sport! I blew myself up--"

"Gerald!"

"Fact, I a.s.sure you! Pounding something in a mortar--nice little gla.s.s mortar, you know,--pounding away, having fine sport; suddenly I pounded a little too hard,--old Comprehensive told us we must not pound hard,--and away went the mortar, and away went I. My eyebrows are only just growing out; and you never noticed!" And the boy looked deeply injured.

"My dear boy! What a narrow escape! Oh, your mother must have had a fright!"

"Rather!" said Gerald. "Roger, you know, had that bad time ten years ago, and she thought I had done something of that sort, and would have to live on dark room and excruciating tortures for months. But I got my eyes shut all right, you see; so it only burned my hyacinthine locks a bit, and took off my eyebrows, and spoiled a good suit of clothes. But I learned something, and now I pound the way old Comp tells me to."

"What is the professor's name?" inquired Hildegarde.

"Comprehensive? Oh, well, his real name is Worcester, you know. Of course no one could stand that, and he is so short that it would never do to call him 'Unabridged,' so I suggested 'Comprehensive,' which is the size you have in school, you know; and the fellows took to it, and now he is called that altogether, or 'Comp' for short."

"I see! By the way, what are you and Phil called? Anything except your own names, I suppose!"

"Pretty much!" Gerald admitted. "Phil is called the 'Holy Poker'--don't know why, I'm sure!--and 'Thumbling,'--he has grown about nine feet, Phil has; really, he is a whole head taller than I am!"

"Dear me!" said Hildegarde, innocently. "I had no idea your head was so big as _that_, Gerald! of course I knew it was _rather_--"

"Mrs. Grahame!" cried Gerald, in a tone of anguish. "Will you speak to her, please? She is trampling all over my delicate sensibilities, and talking slang besides!"

"Hildegarde," said Mrs. Grahame, "I am surprised at you!"

"Yes, dear madam!" said Hildegarde, meekly. "You didn't hear the things _he_ said. Go on with the names, Gerald!"

"They call him 'Bottle-washer,' too, and 'Cappadocia.' I think that is rather the favourite name for Ferguson."

"_Why_ 'Cappadocia?'" asked Hildegarde.

"Oh, well, there isn't really much reason,--but then, it doesn't take much. They call me 'Capsic.u.m,' you see, and we are twins, and 'Cappadocia' begins,--surely I need explain no further even to a person of limited intelligence?"

"Go on, Master Impudence! Do they call you 'Cayenne,' too?"

"Yes, indeed! And 'Bricks,' and 'Mortar,' and 'Flag,'--short for 'Conflagration,'--and everything of that sort. I don't care; I don't mind any of these; but when they call me 'Hamlet,' I knock them down."