Queen Hildegarde Part 7

"What--oh, you mean Queen Elizabeth!" said Hilda, laughing. "King James was not her brother, Bubble. They were cousins, but nothing more."

"You _said_ she said 'brother,'" persisted the boy.

"So I did," replied Hilda. "You see, it was the fashion, and is still, for kings and queens to _call_ each other brother and sister, whether they were really related to each other or not."

"But I thought they was always fightin'," objected Bubble. "I've got a hist'ry book to home, an' in that it says they fit like time whenever they got a chance."

"So they did," said Hilda. "But they called each other 'our royal brother' and 'our beloved sister;' and they were always paying each other fine compliments, and saying how much they loved each other, even in the middle of a war, when they were fighting as hard as they could."

"Humph!" said Bubble, "nice kind o folks they must ha' been. Well, I must go, Miss Hildy," he added, reluctantly. "I've had a splendid time, an' I'm _real_ obleeged to ye. I sh'll try to larn that story by heart, 'bout the bold Buckle-oh. I want to tell it to Pink! _She_'d like it--oh, my! wouldn't she like it, jest like--I mean jest like spellin'!

Good by, Miss Hildy!" And Bubble ran off to bring home the cows, his little heart swelling high with scorn of kings and queens, and with a fervor of devotion to Walter Scott, first lord of Buccleugh.

CHAPTER VII.

PINK CHIRK.

One lovely morning Hildegarde stood at the back door, feeding the fowls.

She wore her brown gingham frock with the yellow daisies on it, and the daisy-wreathed hat, and in her hands she held a great yellow bowl full of yellow corn. So bright a picture she made that Farmer Hartley, driving the oxen afield, stopped for pure pleasure to look at her.

Around her the ducks and hens were fighting and squabbling, quacking, clucking, and gobbling, and she flung the corn in golden showers on their heads and backs, making them nearly frantic with greedy anxiety.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "SHE FLUNG THE CORN IN GOLDEN SHOWERS ON THEIR HEADS."]

"Wal, Huldy," said the farmer, leaning against Bright's ma.s.sive side, "you look pooty slick in that gown, I must say. I reckon thar ain't no sech gown as _that_ on Fifth Avenoo, hey?"

"Indeed, I don't believe there is, Farmer Hartley," replied Hilda, laughing merrily; "at least I never saw one like it. It _is_ pretty, I think, and _so_ comfortable! And where are you going this morning with the mammoths?"

"Down to the ten-acre lot," replied the farmer. "The men are makin' hay thar to-day. Jump into the riggin' and come along," he added. "Ye kin hev a little ride, an' see the hay-makin'. Pooty sight 'tis, to my thinkin'."

"May I?" cried Hilda, eagerly. "I am sure these fowls have had enough.

Go away now, you greedy creatures! There, you shall have all there is!"

and she emptied the bowl over the astonished dignitaries of the barn-yard, laid it down on the settle in the porch, and jumped gayly into the "rigging," as the great hay-cart was called.

"Haw, Bright! hoish, Star!" said the farmer, touching one and then the other of the great black oxen lightly with his goad. The huge beasts swayed from side to side, and finally succeeded in getting themselves and the cart in motion, while the farmer walked leisurely beside them, tapping and poking them occasionally, and talking to them in that mystic language which only oxen and their drivers understand. Down the sweet country lane they went, with the willows hanging over them, and the daisies and b.u.t.tercups and meadow-sweet running riot all over the banks.

Hilda stood up in the cart and pulled off twigs from the willows as she pa.s.sed under them, and made garlands, which the farmer obediently put over the oxen's necks. She hummed little s.n.a.t.c.hes of song, and chatted gayly with her kind old host; for the world was very fair, and her heart was full of summer and sunshine.

"And have you always lived here, Farmer Hartley?" she asked. "All your life, I mean?"

"No, not all my life," replied the farmer, "though pooty nigh it. I was ten year old when my uncle died, and father left sea-farin', and kem home to the farm to live. Before that we'd lived in different places, movin' round, like. We was at sea a good deal, sailin' with father when he went on pleasant voyages, to the West Indies, or sich. But sence then I ain't ben away much. I don't seem to find no pleasanter place than the old farm, somehow."

"I don't believe there _is_ any pleasanter place in the world!" said Hilda, warmly. "I am sure I have never been so happy anywhere as I have here."

Farmer Hartley looked up with a twinkle in his eye. "Ye've changed yer views some, Huldy, hain't ye, sence the fust day ye kem heer? I didn't never think, then, as I'd be givin' you rides in the hay-riggin', sech a fine young lady as you was."

Hilda gave him an imploring glance, while the blood mounted to her temples. "Please, Farmer Hartley," she said in a low voice, "please try to forget that first day. It isn't my views that have changed," she added, "it is I myself. I don't--I really don't _think_ I am the same girl who came here a month ago."

"No, my gal," said the farmer, heartily, "I don't think ye are." He walked along in silence for a few minutes, and then said, "'Tis curus how folks kin sometimes change 'emselves, one way or the other. 'Tain't so with critturs; 't least so fur's I've obsarved. The way they're born, that way they'll stay. Now look at them oxen! When they was young steers, hardly more'n calves, I began to train them critturs. An' from the very fust go-off they tuk their cue an' stuck to it. Star, thar, would lay out, and shake his head, an' pull for all he was wuth, as if there was nothin' in the world to do _but_ pull; and Bright, he'd wait till Star was drawin' good an' solid, an' then he'd as much as say, 'Oh!

you kin pull all that, kin ye? Well, stick to it, my boy, an' I'll manage to trifle along with the rest o' the load.' Wo-_hoish_, Star!

haw, Bright! git up, ye old humbug! You're six year old now, an' you ain't changed a mite in four years, though I've drove you stiddy, and tried to spare the other every time."

The green lane broke off suddenly, and such a blaze of sunlight flashed upon them that Hilda involuntarily raised her hand to shield her eyes.

The great meadow lay open before them, an undulating plain of gold. The hayc.o.c.ks looked dull and gray-green upon it; but where the men were tossing the hay with their long wooden rakes, it flashed pale-golden in the sunlight, and filled the air with flying gleams. Also the air was filled with the sweetness of the hay, and every breath was a delight.

Hilda stood speechless with pleasure, and the old farmer watched her glowing face with kindly gratification.

"Pooty sightly, ain't it?" he said. And then, in a graver tone, and removing his battered straw hat, "I don't never seem to see the glory of the Lord no plainer than in a hay-field, a day like this. Yes, sir!

if a man can't be a Christian on a farm in summer, he can't be it nowhere. Amen!" and Farmer Hartley put on his hat and proceeded straightway to business. "Now, Huldy," he said, "here ye be! I'm goin'

to load up this riggin', an' ye kin stay round here a spell, if ye like, an' run home _when_ ye like. Ye kin find the way, I reckon?"

"Oh, yes!" said Hilda; "yes, indeed! But I shall stay here for a while, and watch you. And mayn't I toss the hay too a little?"

But her courage failed when she found that to do this she must mingle with the crowd of strange haymakers; and besides, among them she saw the clumsy form and shock head of Caliban, as she had secretly named the clownish and surly nephew of her good host. This fellow was the one bitter drop in Hilda's cup. Everything else she had learned to like, in the month which had pa.s.sed since she came to Hartley's Glen. The farmer and his wife she loved as they deserved to be loved. The little maidservant was her adoring slave, and secretly sewed her boot-b.u.t.tons on, and mended her stockings, as some small return for the lessons in crochet and fancy knitting that she had received from the skilful white fingers which were a perpetual marvel to her. But Simon Hartley remained what she had at first thought him,--a sullen, boorish churl. He was a malevolent churl too, Hildegarde thought; indeed she was sure of it. She had several times seen his eyes fixed on his uncle with a look of positive hatred; and though Farmer Hartley was persistently kind and patient with him, trying often to draw him into conversation, and make him join in the pleasant evening talks which they all enjoyed, his efforts were unsuccessful. The fellow came in, gobbled his food, and then went off, if his work was over, to hide himself in his own room.

Hilda was quite sure that Nurse Lucy liked this oaf no better than she herself did, though the good woman never spoke impatiently or unkindly to him,--and indeed it would be difficult for any one to like him, she thought, except possibly his own mother.

Our Queen took presently her seat on a right royal throne of fragrant hay, and gave herself up to the full delight of the summer morning, and of the "Field of the Cloth of Gold," as she had instantly named the shining yellow plain, which more prosaic souls knew as "the ten-acre lot." The hay rustled pleasantly as she nestled down in it, and made a little penthouse over her head, to keep off the keen, hot sun-arrows.

There was a great oak-tree too, which partly shaded this favored hayc.o.c.k, and on one of its branches a squirrel came running out, and then sat up and looked at Hildegarde with bright, inquisitive eyes. A maiden, all brown and gold, on a golden hayc.o.c.k! What strange apparition was this? Had she come for acorns? Did she know about the four young ones in the snug little house in the hollow just above the first branch!

Perhaps--dreadful thought!--she had heard of the marvellous beauty of the four young ones, and had come to steal them. "Chip!" whisk! and Madam Squirrel was off up the branch like a streak of brown lightning, with its tail up.

Hilda laughed at the squirrel's alarm, and then turned her attention to a large green gra.s.shopper who seemed to demand it. He had alighted on her knee, and now proceeded to exhibit his different points before her admiring gaze with singular gravity and deliberation. First he slowly opened his wings, to show the delicate silvery gauze of the under-wings; then as slowly closed them, demonstrating the perfect fit of his whole wing-costume and the harmony of its colors. He next extended one leg, calling her attention to its remarkable length and muscular proportions. Then, lest she should think he had but one, he extended the other; and then gave a vigorous hop with both of them, to show her that he did not really need wings, but could get on perfectly well without them. Finally he rubbed himself all over with his long antennae, and then, pointing them full at her, and gazing at her with calm and dispa.s.sionate eyes, he said plainly enough: "And now, Monster, what have _you_ to show _me_?"

Hildegarde was wondering how she could best dispel the scorn with which this majestic insect evidently regarded her, when suddenly something new appeared on her gown,--something black, many-legged, hairy, most hideous; something which ran swiftly but stealthily, with a motion which sent a thrill of horror through her veins. She started up with a little shriek, shaking off the unlucky spider as if it had been the Black Death in concrete. Then she looked round with flaming cheeks, to see if her scream had been heard by the hay-makers. No, they were far away, and too busy to take heed of her. But the charm was broken. Queen Hildegarde had plenty of courage of a certain sort, but she could _not_ face a spider. The golden throne had become a "siege perilous," and she abdicated in favor of the gra.s.shopper and his black and horrent visitor.

What should she do now? The charm of the morning had made her idle and drowsy, and she did not feel like going home to help Nurse Lucy in making the b.u.t.ter, though she often did so with right good-will. She looked dreamily around, her eyes wandering here and there over the great meadow and the neat stone walls which bounded it. Presently she spied the chimneys and part of the red roof of a little cottage which peeped from a thick clump of trees just beyond the wall. Who lived in that cottage, Hilda wondered. Why should she not go and see? She was very thirsty, and there she might get a gla.s.s of water. Oh! perhaps it was Bubble's cottage, where he and his mother and his sister Pink lived. Now she thought of it, Bubble had told her that he lived "over beyont the ten-acre lot;" of course this must be the place. Slowly she walked across the meadow and climbed the wall, wondering a good deal about the people whom she was going to see. She had often meant to ask Bubble more about his sister with the queer name; but the lesson-hour was so short, and there were always so many questions for Bubble to ask and for her to answer besides the regular lesson, that she always forgot it till too late. Pink Chirk! what could a girl be like with such a name as that?

Hilda fancied her a stout, buxom maiden, with very red cheeks and very black eyes--yes, certainly, the eyes must be black! Her hair--well, one could not be so sure about her hair; but there was no doubt about her wearing a pink dress and a blue checked ap.r.o.n. And she must be smiling, bustling, and energetic. Yes! Hilda had the picture of her complete in her mind. She wondered that this active, stirring girl never came up to the farm; but of course she must have a great deal of work to do at home.

By this time Hildegarde had reached the cottage; and after a moment's hesitation she knocked softly at the green-painted door. No one came to open the door, but presently she heard a clear, pleasant voice from within saying, "Open the door and come in, please!" Following this injunction, she entered the cottage and found herself directly in the sitting-room, and face to face with its occupant. This was a girl of her own age, or perhaps a year older, who sat in a wheeled chair by the window. She was very fair, with almost flaxen hair, and frank, pleasant blue eyes. She was very pale, very thin; the hands that lay on her lap were almost transparent; but--she wore a pink calico dress and a blue checked ap.r.o.n. Who could this be? and whoever it was, why did she sit still when a visitor and a stranger came in? The pale girl made no attempt to rise, but she met Hilda's look of surprise and inquiry with a smile which broke like sunshine over her face, making it for the moment positively beautiful. "How do you do?" she said, holding out her thin hand. "I am sure you must be Miss Hilda Graham, and I am Bubble's sister Pink.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE PALE GIRL MADE NO ATTEMPT TO RISE."]

"Please sit down," she added. "I am so _very_ glad to see you. I have wanted again and again to thank you for all your kindness to my Bubble, but I didn't know when I should have a chance. Did Bubble show you the way?"

Hildegarde was so astonished, so troubled, so dismayed that she hardly knew what she was saying or doing. She took the slender fingers in her own for an instant, and then sat down, saying hastily: "Oh, no! I--I found my way alone. I was not sure of its being your cottage, though I thought it must be from what Bubble told me." She paused; and then, unable to keep back longer the words which sprang to her lips, she said: "I fear you have been ill, you are so pale. I hope it has not been serious. Bubble did not tell me--"

Pink Chirk looked up with her bright, sweet smile. "Oh, no! I have not been ill," she said. "I am always like this. I cannot walk, you know, but I am very well indeed."

"You cannot walk?" stammered Hilda.

The girl saw her look of horror, and a faint color stole into her wan cheek. "Did not Bubble tell you?" she asked, gently; and then, as Hilda shook her head, "It is such a matter of course to him," she said; "he never thinks about it, I suppose, dear little fellow. I was run over when I was three years old, and I have never been able to walk since."

Hildegarde could not speak. The thought of anything so dreadful, so overwhelming as this, coming so suddenly, too, upon her, seemed to take away her usually ready speech, and she was dumb, gazing at the cheerful face before her with wide eyes of pity and wonderment. But Pink Chirk did not like to be pitied, as a rule; and she almost laughed at her visitor's horror-stricken face.

"You mustn't look so!" she cried. "It's very kind of you to be sorry, but it isn't as if I were really _ill_, you know. I can _almost_ stand on one foot,--that is, I can bear enough weight on it to get from my bed to my chair without help. That is a _great_ thing! And then when I am once in my chair, why I can go almost anywhere. Farmer Hartley gave me this chair," she added, looking down at it, and patting the arm tenderly, as if it were a living friend; "isn't it a beauty?"

It was a pretty chair, made of cherry wood, with cushions of gay-flowered chintz; and Hilda, finding her voice again, praised it warmly. "This is its summer dress," said Pink, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. "Underneath, the cushions are covered with soft crimson cloth, oh, so pretty, and so warm-looking! I am always glad when it's time to take the chintz covers off. And yet I am always glad to put them on again," she added, "for the chintz is pretty too, I think: and besides, I know then that summer is really come."

"You like summer best?" asked Hilda.