Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards - Queen Hildegarde

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"Why in the name of the airthly didn't ye wait till I kem home, and let
me go down for ye?" demanded the farmer, who was secretly delighted
with the exploit, though he tried to look very grave.

"Oh! I--I never thought of it!" said Hildegarde. "My only thought was to
get down there as quickly as possible. So I waited till I heard you
coming, for I didn't want to leave Nurse Lucy alone; and then--I went!
And I will not be scolded," she added quickly, "for I think I have made
a great discovery." She held one hand behind her as she spoke, and her
eyes sparkled as she fixed them on the farmer. "Dear Farmer Hartley,"
she said, "is it true, as Bubble told me, that your father used to go
down often into the vault of the old mill?"

"Why, yes, he did, frequent!" said the farmer, wondering. "'Twas a fancy
of his, pokin' about thar. But what--"

"Wait a moment!" cried Hilda, trembling with excitement. "Wait a moment!
Think a little, dear Farmer Hartley! Did you not tell me that when he
was dying, your father said something about digging? Try to remember
just what he said!"

The farmer ran his hand through his shaggy locks with a bewildered look.
"What on airth are ye drivin' at, Hildy?" he said. "Father? why, he
didn't say nothin' at the last, 'cept about them crazy di'monds he was
allus jawin' about. 'Di'monds' says he. And then he says 'Dig!' an' fell
back on the piller, an' that was all."

"Yes!" cried Hilda. "And you never did dig, did you? But now somebody
has been digging. Little Jock began, and I finished; and we have
found--we have found--" She broke off suddenly, and drawing her hand
from behind her back, held up the iron box. "Take it!" she cried,
thrusting it into the astonished farmer's hands, and falling on her
knees beside his chair. "Take it and open it! I think--oh! I am
sure--that you will not lose the farm after all. Open it quickly,
_please_!"

[Illustration: "'TAKE IT AND OPEN IT!'"]

Now much agitated in spite of himself, Farmer Hartley bent himself to
the task of opening the box. For some minutes it resisted stubbornly,
and even when the lock was broken, the lid clung firmly, and the rusted
hinges refused to perform their office. But at length they yielded, and
slowly, unwillingly, the box opened. Hilda's breath came short and
quick, and she clasped her hands unconsciously as she bent forward to
look into the mysterious casket. What did she see?

At first nothing but a handkerchief,--a yellow silk handkerchief, of
curious pattern, carefully folded into a small square and fitting nicely
inside the box. That was all; but Farmer Hartley's voice trembled as he
said, in a husky whisper, "Father's hankcher!" and it was with a shaking
hand that he lifted the folds of silk. One look--and he fell back in his
chair, while Hildegarde quietly sat down on the floor and cried. For the
diamonds were there! Big diamonds and little diamonds,--some rough
and dull, others flashing out sparks of light, as if they shone the
brighter for their long imprisonment; some tinged with yellow or blue,
some with the clear white radiance which is seen in nothing else save a
dewdrop when the morning sun first strikes upon it. There they lay,--a
handful of stones, a little heap of shining crystals; but enough to pay
off the mortgage on Hartley's Glen and leave the farmer a rich man for
life.

Dame Hartley was the first to rouse herself from the silent amaze into
which they had fallen. "Well, well!" she said, wiping her eyes, "the
ways of Providence are mysterious. To think of it, after all these
years! Why, Jacob! Come, my dear, come! You ain't crying, now that the
Lord, and this blessed child under Him, has taken away all your
trouble?"

But the farmer, to his own great amazement, _was_ crying. He sobbed
quietly once or twice, then cleared his throat, and wiped his eyes with
the old silk handkerchief. "Poor ol' father," he said, simply. "It seems
kind o' hard that nobody ever believed him, an' we let him die thinkin'
he was crazy. That takes holt on me; it does, Marm Lucy, now I tell ye!
Seems like's if I'd been punished for not havin' faith, and now I git
the reward without havin' deserved it."

"As if you _could_ have reward enough!" cried Hildegarde, laying her
hand on his affectionately. "But, oh! do just look at them, dear Farmer
Hartley! Aren't they beautiful? But what is that peeping out of the
cotton-wool beneath? It is something red."

Farmer Hartley felt beneath the cotton which lined the box, and drew
out--oh, wonderful! a chain of rubies! Each stone glowed like a living
coal as he held it up in the lamp-light. Were they rubies, or were they
drops of blood linked together by a thread of gold?

"The princess's necklace!" cried Hilda. "Oh, beautiful! beautiful! And
I _knew_ it was true! I knew it all the time."

The old man fixed a strange look, solemn and tender, on the girl as she
stood at his side, radiant and glowing with happiness. "She said--" his
voice trembled as he spoke, "that furrin woman--she said it was her
heart's blood as father had saved. And now it's still blood, Hildy, my
gal, our heart's blood, that goes out to you, and loves and blesses you
as if you were our own child come back from the dead." And drawing her
to him, he clasped the ruby chain round Hilda's neck.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE TREE-PARTY.

Another golden day! But the days would all be golden now, thought
Hildegarde. "Oh, how different it is from yesterday!" she cried to Nurse
Lucy as she danced about the kitchen. "The sun shone yesterday, but it
did us no good. To-day it warms my heart, the good sunshine. And
yesterday the trees seemed to mock me, with all their scarlet and gold;
but to-day they are dressed up to celebrate our good fortune. Let us
call them in to rejoice with us, Nurse Lucy. Let us have a tree-party,
instead of a tea-party!"

"My dear," said Dame Hartley, looking up with a puzzled smile, "what
_do_ you mean?"

"Oh! I don't mean to invite the whole forest to supper," said
Hildegarde, laughing. "But you shall see, Nurse Lucy; you shall see.
Just wait till this afternoon. I must run now over to Pink's, and tell
her all the wonderful things that have happened, and see how poor Bubble
is."

Away she went like a flash, through the golden fields, down the lane,
where the maples made a flaming tent of scarlet over her head, bursting
suddenly like a whirlwind into the little cottage, where the brother and
sister, both now nearly helpless, sat waiting with pale and anxious
faces. At sight of her Pink uttered a cry of delight, while Bubble
flushed with pleasure; and both were about to pour out a flood of eager
questions, when Hilda laid her hand over Pink's mouth and made a sign to
the boy. "Two minutes to get my breath!" she cried, panting; "only two,
and then you shall hear all." She spent the two minutes in filling the
kettle and presenting Bubble with a pot of peach-marmalade that Dame
Hartley had sent him; then, sitting down by the invalid's chair, she
told from beginning to end the history of the past two days. The recital
was thrilling enough, and before it was over the pale cheeks were
crimson, and the two pairs of blue eyes blazed with excitement.

"_Oh!_" cried Bubble, hopping up and down in his chair, regardless of
the sprained ankle. "Oh, I _say_, Miss Hildy! I dunno what _to_ say!
Wouldn't _he_ ha' liked it, though? My! 'twas jest like himself. Jes'
exactly what he'd ha' done."

"What who would have done, Bubble?" asked Hilda, laughing.

"Why, him! Buckle-oh!" said the boy. "I was jest sayin' over the ballid
when I saw ye comin'. Warn't it like him, Pink, say?"

But Pink drew the stately head down towards her, and kissed the glowing
cheek, and whispered, "Queen Hildegarde! _my_ queen!"

The tears started to Hilda's eyes as she returned the kiss; but she
brushed them away, and rose hastily, announcing her intention of
"setting things to rights" against Mrs. Chirk's return. "You poor
dears!" she cried, "how did you manage yesterday? If I had only known, I
would have come and got dinner for you."

"Oh! we got on very well indeed," replied Pink, laughing, "though there
were one or two mishaps. Fortunately there was plenty of bread in the
cupboard, where we could easily reach it; and with that and the molasses
jug, we were in no danger of starvation. But Mother had left a
custard-pie on the upper shelf, and poor Bubble wanted a piece of it for
dinner. But neither of us cripples could get at it; and for a long time
we could think of no plan which would make it possible. At last Bubble
had a bright idea. You remember the big fork that Mother uses to take
pies out of the oven? Well, he spliced that on to the broom-handle, and
then, standing well back, so that he could see (on one foot, of course,
for he couldn't put the other to the ground), he reached for the pie. It
was a dreadful moment, Hilda! The pie slid easily on to the fork, and
for a moment all seemed to promise well; but the next minute, just as
Bubble began to lower it, he wavered on his one foot--only a little, but
enough to send the poor pie tumbling to the ground."

"Poor pie!" cried Bubble. "Wal, I like that! Poor _me_, I sh'd say. I'd
had bread'n m'lasses three meals runnin', Miss Hildy. Now don't you
think that old pie might ha' come down straight?"

"You should have seen his face, poor dear!" cried Pink. "He really
couldn't laugh--for almost two minutes."

"Wal, I s'pose 'twas kind o' funny," the boy admitted, while Hilda
laughed merrily over the catastrophe. "But thar! when one's used to
standin' on two legs, it's dretful onhandy tryin' to stand on one. We'll
have bread and jam to-day," he added, with an affectionate glance at
the pot of marmalade, "and that's a good enough dinner for the Governor
o' the State."

"Indeed, you shall have more than that!" cried Hildegarde. "Nurse Lucy
does not need me before dinner, so I will get your dinner for you."

So the active girl made up the fire anew, swept the floor, dusted tables
and chairs, and made the little room look tidy and cheerful, as Pink
loved to see it. Then she ran down to the cellar, and reappeared with a
basket of potatoes and a pan of rosy apples.

"Now we will perform a trio!" she said. "Pink, you shall peel and core
the apples for apple-sauce, and Bubble shall pare the potatoes, while I
make biscuit and gingerbread."

Accordingly, she rolled up her sleeves and set busily to work; the
others followed her example, and fingers and tongues moved ceaselessly,
in cheerful emulation of each other.

"I'd like to git hold o' Simon Hartley!" said Bubble, slicing vengefully
at a big potato. "I wish't he was this tater, so I do! _I'd_ skin him!
Yah! ornery critter! An' him standin' thar an' grinnin' at me over the
wall, an' I couldn't do nothin'! Seemed's though I sh'd _fly_, Miss
Hildy, it did; an' then not to be able to crawl even! I sw--I tell ye,
now, I didn't like that."

"Poor Bubble!" said Hilda, compassionately, "I'm sure you didn't. And
did he really start to crawl over to the farm, Pink?"

"Indeed he did!" replied Pink. "Nothing that I could say would keep him
from trying it; so I bandaged his ankle as well as I could, and off he
started. But he fainted twice before he got to the gate, so there was
nothing for it but to crawl back again, and--have the knees of his
trousers mended."

"Dear boy!" said Hilda, patting the curly head affectionately. "Good,
faithful boy! I shall think a great deal more of it, Bubble, than if
you had been able to walk all the way. And, after all," she added, "I am
glad I had to do it myself,--go down to the mill, I mean. It is
something to remember! I would not have missed it."

"No more wouldn't I!" cried Bubble, enthusiastically. "I'd ha' done it
for ye twenty times, ye know that, Miss Hildy; but I druther ha' hed you
do it;" and Hildegarde understood him perfectly.

The simple meal prepared and set out, Hilda bade farewell to her two
friends, and flitted back to the farm. Mrs. Chirk was to return in the
evening, so she felt no further anxiety about them.

She found the farmer just returned from the village in high spirits.
Squire Gaylord had examined the diamonds, pronounced them of great
value, and had readily advanced the money to pay off the mortgage,
taking two or three large stones as security. Lawyer Clinch had
reluctantly received his money, and relinquished all claim upon
Hartley's Glen, though with a very bad grace.

"He kind o' insinuated that the di'monds had prob'ly ben stole by Father
_or_ me, he couldn't say which; and he said somethin' about inquirin'
into the matter. But Squire Gaylord shut him up pooty quick, by sayin'
thar was more things than that as might be inquired into, and if he
began, others might go on; and Lawyer Clinch hadn't nothin' more to say
after that."

When dinner was over, and everything "redded up," Hildegarde sent Dame
Hartley upstairs to take a nap, and escorted the farmer as far as the
barn on his way to the turnip-field. Then, "the coast being clear," she
said to herself, "we will prepare for the tree-party."

Accordingly, arming herself with a stout pruning-knife, she took her way
to the "wood-lot," which lay on the north side of the house. The
splendor of the trees, which were now in full autumnal glory, gave Hilda
a sort of rapture as she approached them. What had she ever seen so
beautiful as this,--the shifting, twinkling myriads of leaves, blazing
with every imaginable shade of color above the black, straight trunks;
the deep, translucent blue of the sky bending above; the golden light
which transfused the whole scene; the crisp freshness of the afternoon
air? She wanted to sing, to dance, to do everything that was joyous and
free. But now she had work to do. She visited all her favorite
trees,--the purple ash, the vivid, passionate maples, the oaks in their
sober richness of murrey and crimson. On each and all she levied
contributions, cutting armful after armful, and carried them to the
house, piling them in splendid heaps on the shed-floor. Then, after
carefully laying aside a few specially perfect branches, she began the
work of decoration. Over the chimney-piece she laid great boughs of
maple, glittering like purest gold in the afternoon light, which
streamed broadly in through the windows. Others--scarlet, pink, dappled
red, and yellow--were placed over the windows, the doors, the dresser.
She filled the corners with stately oak-boughs, and made a bower of the
purple ash in the bow-window,--Faith's window. Then she set the
tea-table with the best china, every plate and dish resting on a mat of
scarlet leaves, while a chain of yellow ones outlined the shining square
board. A tiny scarlet wreath encircled the tea-kettle, and even the
butter-dish displayed its golden balls beneath an arch of flaming
crimson. This done, she filled a great glass bowl with purple-fringed
asters and long, gleaming sprays of golden-rod, and setting it in the
middle of the table, stood back with her head a little on one side and
surveyed the general effect.

"Good!" was her final comment; "very good! And now for my own part."

She gathered in her apron the branches first selected, and carried them
up to her own room, where she proceeded to strip off the leaves and to
fashion them into long garlands. As her busy fingers worked, her
thoughts flew hither and thither, bringing back the memories of the past
few days. Now she stood in the kitchen, pistol in hand, facing the
rascal Simon Hartley; and she laughed to think how he had shaken and
cowered before the empty weapon. Now she was in the vault of the ruined
mill, with a thousand horrors of darkness pressing on her, and only the
tiny spark of light in her lantern to keep off the black and shapeless
monsters. Now she thought of the kind farmer, with a throb of pity, as
she recalled the hopeless sadness of his face the night before. Just the
very night before, only a few hours; and now how different everything
was! Her heart gave a little happy thrill to think that she, Hilda, the
"city gal," had been able to help these dear friends in their trouble.
They loved her already, she knew that; they would love her more now. Ah!
and they would miss her all the more, now that she must leave them so
soon.

Then, like a flash, her thoughts reverted to the plan she had been
revolving in her mind two days before, before all these strange things
had happened. It was a delightful little plan! Pink was to be sent to a
New York hospital,--the very best hospital that could be found; and
Hildegarde hoped--she thought--she felt almost sure that the trouble
could be greatly helped, if not cured altogether. And then, when Pink
was well, or at least a great, great deal better, she was to come and
live at the farm, and help Nurse Lucy, and sing to the farmer, and be
all the comfort--no, not all, but nearly the comfort that Faith would
have been if she had lived. And Bubble--yes! Bubble must go to
school,--to a good school, where his bright, quick mind should learn
everything there was to learn. Papa would see to that, Hilda knew he
would. Bubble would delight Papa! And then he would go to college, and
by and by become a famous doctor, or a great lawyer, or--oh! Bubble
could be anything he chose, she was sure of it.

So the girl's happy thoughts flew on through the years that were to
come, weaving golden fancies even as her fingers were weaving the gay
chains of shining leaves; but let us hope the fancy-chains, airy as they
were, were destined to become substantial realities long after the
golden wreaths had faded.

But now the garlands were ready, and none too soon; for the shadows were
lengthening, and she heard Nurse Lucy downstairs, and Farmer Hartley
would be coming in soon to his tea. She took from a drawer her one white
frock, the plain lawn which had once seemed so over-plain to her, and
with the wreaths of scarlet and gold she made a very wonderful thing of
it. Fifteen minutes' careful work, and Hilda stood looking at her image
in the glass, well pleased and a little surprised; for she had been too
busy of late to think much about her looks, and had not realized how sun
and air and a free, out-door life had made her beauty blossom and glow
like a rose in mid-June. With a scarlet chaplet crowning her fair locks,
bands of gold about waist and neck and sleeves, and the whole skirt
covered with a fantastic tracery of mingled gold and fire, she was a
vision of almost startling loveliness. She gave a little happy laugh.
"Dear old Farmer!" she said, "he likes to see me fine. I think this will
please him." And light as a thistledown, the girl floated downstairs and
danced into the kitchen just as Farmer Hartley entered it from the other
side.

"Highty-tighty!" cried the good man, "what's all this? Is there a fire?
Everything's all ablaze! Why, Hildy! bless my soul!" He stood in silent
delight, looking at the lovely figure before him, with its face of rosy
joy and its happy, laughing eyes.

"It's a tree-party," explained Hildegarde, taking his two hands and
leading him forward. "I'm part of it, you see, Farmer Hartley. Do you
like it? Is it pretty? It's to celebrate our good fortune," she added;
and putting her arm in the old man's, she led him about the room,
pointing out the various decorations, and asking his approval.

Farmer Hartley admired everything greatly, but in an absent way, as if
his mind were preoccupied with other matters. He turned frequently
towards the door, as if he expected some one to follow him. "All for
me?" he kept asking. "All for me and Marm Lucy, Hildy? Ye--ye ain't
expectin' nobody else to tea, now?"

"No," said Hilda, wondering. "Of course not. Who else is there to come?
Bubble has sprained his ankle, you know, and Pink--"

"Yes, yes; I know, I know!" said the farmer, still with that backward
glance at the door. And then, as he heard some noise in the yard, he
added hurriedly: "At the same time, ye know, Hildy, people do sometimes
drop in to tea--kind o' onexpected-like, y' understand. And--and--all
this pretty show might--might seem to--indicate, ye see--"

"Jacob Hartley? what are you up to?" demanded Nurse Lucy, rather
anxiously, as she stood at the shed-door watching him intently. "Does
your head feel dizzy? You'd better go and lie down; you've had too much
excitement for a man of--"

"Oh, you thar, Marm Lucy?" cried the farmer, with a sigh of relief that
was half a chuckle, "Now, thar! you tell Hildy that folks does sometimes
drop in--onexpected-like--folks from a _con_sid'able distance sometimes.
Why, I've known 'em--" But here he stopped suddenly. And as Hilda,
expecting she knew not what, stood with hands clasped together, and
beating heart, the door was thrown open and a strong, cheery voice
cried, "Well, General!" Another moment, and she was clasped in her
father's arms.

THE LAST WORD.

The lovely autumn is gone, and winter is here. Mr. and Mrs. Graham have
long since been settled at home, and Hildegarde is with them. How does
it fare with her, the new Hildegarde, under the old influences and amid
the old surroundings? For answer, let us take the word of her oldest
friend,--the friend who "_knows_ Hildegarde!" Madge Everton has just
finished a long letter to Helen McIvor, who is spending the winter in
Washington, and there can be no harm in our taking a peep into it.

"You ask me about Hilda Graham; but, _alas!_ I have
NOTHING pleasant to tell. My dear, Hilda is simply
LOST to us! It is all the result of that _dreadful_
summer spent among _swineherds_. You know what the Bible
says! I don't know exactly _what_, but something _terrible_
about that sort of thing. Of course it is _partly_ her
mother's influence as well. I have always DREADED
it for Hilda, who is so _sensitive_ to _impressions_. Why, I
remember, as far back as the first year that we were at Mme.
Haut-Ton's, Mrs. Graham saying to Mamma, 'I wish we could
interest our girls a little in _sensible_ things!' My dear,
she meant _hospitals_ and _soup-kitchens_ and things! And
Mamma said (you know Mamma isn't in the _least_ afraid of
Mrs. Graham, though I confess I AM!), 'My _dear_
Mrs. Graham, if there is _one_ thing Society will
NOT tolerate, it is a _sensible_ woman. Our girls
might as well have the small-pox at once, and be done with
it.' Wasn't it _clever_ of Mamma? And Mrs. Graham just
LOOKED at her as if she were a _camel_ from
_Barnum's_.

"Well, poor Hildegarde is sensible enough _now_ to satisfy
_even_ her mother. Ever since she came home from that
_odious_ place, it has been one round of hospitals and
tenement-houses and _sloughs of horror_. I don't mean that
she has given up school, for she is studying harder than
ever; but out of school she is simply _swallowed up_ by
these wretched things. I have remonstrated with her _almost_
on my KNEES. 'Hildegarde,' I said one day, 'do you
REALIZE that you are practically _giving up_ your
_whole_ LIFE? If you once _lose your place_ in
Society among those of your _own age_ and _position_, you
NEVER can regain it. Do you REALIZE this, Hilda?
for I feel it a SOLEMN DUTY to _warn_ you!' My
dear, she actually LAUGHED! and only said, 'Dear
Madge, I have only just begun to have any life!' And that
was _all_ I could get out of her, for just then some one
came in. But even _this_ is not _the worst_! Oh, Helen! she
has some of the _creatures_ whom she saw this summer,
actually _staying_ in the house,--in THAT house,
which we used to call Castle Graham, and were almost afraid
to enter ourselves, so stately and beautiful it was! There
are two of these creatures,--a girl about our age, some sort
of dreadful cripple, who goes about in a bath-chair, and a
freckled imp of a boy. The girl is at ---- Hospital for
treatment, but spends _every Sunday_ at the Grahams', and
Hilda devotes _most_ of her spare time to her. The boy is at
school,--one of the _best_ schools in the city. 'But _who_
are these people?' I hear you cry. My dear! they are simply
_ignorant paupers_, who were Hilda's constant companions
through that _disastrous summer_. Now their mother is dead,
and the people with whom Hilda stayed have adopted them. The
boy is to be a doctor, and the girl is going to get well,
Dr. George says. (_He_ calls her a beautiful and interesting
creature; but you know what _that_ means. _Any diseased_
creature is beautiful to _him_!) Well, and THESE,
my dear Helen, are Hilda Graham's FRIENDS, for whom
she has _deserted_ her OLD _ones_! for though she
is _unchanged_ towards me when I see her, I hardly ever
_do_ see her. She cares nothing for _my_ pursuits, and I
certainly have NO intention of joining in _hers_. I
met her the other day on _Fifth Avenue_, walking beside that
_odious_ bath-chair, which the freckled boy was pushing. She
looked so _lovely_ (for she is prettier than ever, with a
fine color and eyes like _stars_), and was talking so
earnestly, and walking somehow as if she were treading on
air, it sent a PANG through my heart. I just paused
an instant (for though I _trust_ I am not SNOBBISH,
Helen, still, I _draw the line_ at bath-chairs, and will
_not_ be seen standing by one), and said in a low tone,
meant _only_ for _her ear_, 'Ah! has _Queen Hildegarde_ come
to _this_?' My dear, she only LAUGHED! But that
_girl_, that cripple, looked up with a smile and a sort of
flash over her face, and said, just as if she _knew_ me,
'Yes, Miss Everton! the Queen has come to her kingdom!'"

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