Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards - Queen Hildegarde

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"I shouldn't ha' minded the money," Farmer Hartley was saying, even now,
"if I'd ha' been savin' it jest to spend or lay by. I shouldn't ha'
minded, though 'twould ha' hurt jest the same to hev Simon's son take
it,--my brother Simon's son, as I allus stood by. But it's hard to let
the farm go. I tell ye, Marm Lucy, it's terrible hard!" and he bowed his
head upon his hands in a dejection which made his wife weep anew and
wring her hands.

"But they will not take the farm from you, Farmer Hartley!" cried Hilda,
aghast. "They _cannot_ do that, can they? Why, it was your father's, and
your grandfather's before him."

"And _his_ father's afore _him_!" said the farmer, looking up with a sad
smile on his kindly face. "But that don't make no difference, ye see,
Hildy. Lawyer Clinch is a hard man, a terrible hard man; and he's always
wanted this farm. It's the best piece o' land in the hull township, an'
he wants it for a market farm."

"But _why_ did you mortgage it to him?" cried Hilda.

"I didn't, my gal; I didn't!" said the farmer, sadly. "He'd kep' watch
over it ever sence Simon began to get into trouble,--reckon he knew
pooty well how things would come out; an' bimeby Jason Doble, as held
the mortgage, he up an' died, an' then Lawyer Clinch stepped in an' told
the 'xecutors how Jason owed him a big debt, but he didn't want to do
nothin' onfriendly, so he'd take the mortgage on Hartley's Glen and call
it square. Th' executors was kind o' fool people, both on 'em--_I_ d'no'
what possessed Jason Doble to choose them for 'xecutors, when he might
ha' hed the pick o' the State lunatic asylum an' got some fools as knew
something; but so 'twas, an' I s'pose so 'twas meant to be. They giv'
it to him, an' thanked him for takin' it; and he's waited an' waited,
hopin' to ketch me in a tight place,--an' now he's done it. An' that's
about all there is to it!" added Farmer Hartley, rising and pushing back
his massive gray hair. "An' I sha'n't mend it by sittin' an' mowlin'
over it. Thar's all Simon's work to be done, an' my own too. Huldy, my
gal!" he held out his honest brown hand to Hildegarde, who clasped it
affectionately in both of hers, "ye'll stay by Marm Lucy and chirk her
up a bit. 'T'll be a hard day for her, an' she hasn't no gal of her own
now to do for her. But ye've grown to be almost a daughter to us, Huldy.
God bless ye, child!"

His voice faltered as he laid his other hand for a moment on the girl's
fair head; then, turning hastily away, he took up his battered straw hat
and went slowly out of the house, an older man, it might have been by
ten years, than he had been the night before.

Right daughterly did Hilda show herself that day, and Faith herself
could hardly have been more tender and helpful. Feeling intuitively that
work was the best balm for a sore heart, she begged for Nurse Lucy's
help and advice in one and another item of household routine. Then she
bethought her of the churning, and felt that if this thing was to
befall, it could not have better befallen than on a Tuesday, when the
great blue churn stood ready in the dairy, and the cream lay thick and
yellow in the shining pans.

"Well, that's a fact!" sighed Nurse Lucy. "If I hadn't forgotten my
butter in all this trouble! And it must be made, sorrow or smiles, as
the old saying is. Come with me, Hilda dear, if you will. Your face is
the only bright thing I can see this sad day."

[Illustration: "EACH TOOK A SKIMMER AND SET EARNESTLY TO WORK."]

So they went together into the cool dairy, where the light came in dimly
through the screen of clematis that covered the window; Hilda bared her
round white arms, and Nurse Lucy pinned back her calico sleeves from a
pair that were still shapely, though brown, and each took a skimmer and
set earnestly to work. The process of skimming cream is in itself a
soothing, not to say an absorbing one. To push the thick, yellow
ripples, piling themselves upon the skimmer, across the pan; to see it
drop, like melted ivory, into the cream-bowl; to pursue floating cream
islands round and round the pale and mimic sea,--who can do this long,
and not be comforted in some small degree, even in the midst of heavy
sorrow? Also there is joy and a never-failing sense of achievement when
the butter first splashes in the churn. So Nurse Lucy took heart, and
churned and pressed and moulded her butter; and though some tears fell
into it, it was none the worse for that.

But as she stamped each ball with the familiar stamp, showing an
impossible cow with four lame legs--"How many more times," said the good
woman, "shall I use this stamp; and what kind of butter will they make
who come after me?" and her tears flowed again. "Lawyer Clinch keeps a
hired girl, and I never saw _real_ good butter made by a hired girl.
They haven't the _feeling_ for it; and there's feeling in butter-making
as much as in anything else."

But here Hilda interposed, and gently hinted that there ought now to be
"feeling" about getting the farmer's dinner. "We must have the things he
likes best," she said; "for it will be hard enough to make him eat
anything. I will make that apple-pudding that he likes so much; and
there is the fowl for the pie, you know, Nurse Lucy."

The little maid was away on a vacation, so there was plenty of work to
be done. Dinner-time came and went; and it was not till she had seen
Dame Hartley safe established on her bed (for tears and trouble had
brought on a sick headache), and tucked her up under the red quilt, with
a bottle of hot water at her and a bowl of cracked ice by her side,--it
was not till she had done this, and sung one or two of the soothing
songs that the good woman loved, that Hilda had a moment to herself. She
ran out to say a parting word to the farmer, who was just starting for
the village in the forlorn hope, which in his heart he knew to be vain,
of getting an extension of time from Lawyer Clinch while search was
being made for the wretched Simon.

When old Nancy had trotted away down the lane, Hilda went back and sat
down in the porch, very tired and sad at heart. It seemed so hard, so
hard that she could do nothing to save her friends from the threatening
ruin. She thought of her father, with a momentary flash of hope that
made her spring from her seat with a half articulate cry of joy; but the
hope faded as she remembered that he had probably just started for the
Yosemite Valley, and that there was no knowing when or where a despatch
would reach him. She sighed, and sank back on the bench with a hopeless
feeling. Presently she bethought her of her little dog, whom she had not
seen all day. Jock had grown very dear to her heart, and was usually her
inseparable companion, except when she was busy with household tasks, to
which he had an extreme aversion. A mistress, in Jock's opinion, was a
person who fed one, and took one to walk, and patted one, and who was in
return to be loved desperately, and obeyed in reason. But sweeping, and
knocking brooms against one's legs, and paying no attention to one's
invitations to play or go for a walk, were manifest derelictions from a
mistress's duty; accordingly, when Hilda was occupied in the house, Jock
always sat in the back porch, with his back turned to the kitchen door,
and his tail cocked very high, while one ear listened eagerly for the
sound of Hilda's footsteps, and the other was thrown negligently
forward, to convey the impression that he did not really care, but only
waited to oblige her. And the moment the door opened, and she appeared
with her hat on, oh, the rapture! the shrieks and squeaks and leaps of
joy, the wrigglings of body and frantic waggings of tail that ensued!

So this morning, what with all the trouble, and with her knowledge of
his views, Hildegarde had not thought to wonder where Jock was. But now
it struck her that she had exchanged no greeting with him since last
night; that she had heard no little impatient barks, no flapping of tail
against the door by way of reminder. Where could the little fellow be?
She walked round the house, calling and whistling softly. She visited
the barn and the cow-shed and all the haunts where her favorite was wont
to linger; but no Jock was to be seen. "Perhaps he has gone over to see
Will," she thought, with a feeling of relief. Indeed, this was very
possible, as the two dogs were very brotherly, and frequently exchanged
visits, sometimes acting as letter-carriers for their two mistresses,
Pink and Hilda. If Jock was at Pink's house, he would be well cared for,
and Bubble would--but here Hildegarde started, as a new perplexity
arose. Where _was_ Bubble? They had actually forgotten the boy in the
confusion and trouble of the day. He had not certainly come to the
house, as he invariably did; and the farmer had not spoken of him when
he came in at noon. Perhaps Pink was ill, Hilda thought, with fresh
alarm. If it should be so, Bubble could not leave her, for Mrs. Chirk
was nursing a sick woman two or three miles away, and there were no
other neighbors nearer than the farm. "Oh, my Pink!" cried Hilda; "and I
cannot go to you at once, for Nurse Lucy must not be left alone in her
trouble. I must wait, wait patiently till Farmer Hartley comes back."

Patiently she tried to wait. She stole up to her room, and taking up one
of her best-beloved books, "The Household of Sir Thomas More," lost
herself for a while in the noble sorrows of Margaret Roper. But even
this could not hold her long in her restless frame of mind, so she went
downstairs again, and out into the soft, golden September air, and fell
to pacing up and down the gravel walk before the house like a slender,
white-robed sentinel. Presently there was a rustling in the bushes, then
a hasty, joyful bark, and a little dog sprang forward and greeted
Hildegarde with every demonstration of affection. "Jock! my own dear
little Jock!" she cried, stooping down to caress her favorite. But as
she did so she saw that it was not Jock, but Will, Pink's dog, which was
bounding and leaping about her. Much puzzled, she nevertheless patted
the little fellow and shook paws with him, and told him she was glad to
see him. "But where is your brother?" she cried. "Oh! Willy dog, where
is Jock, and where is Bubble? Bubble, Will! speak!" Will "spoke" as well
as he could, giving a short bark at each repetition of the well-known
name. Then he jumped up on Hilda, and threw back his head with a
peculiar action which at once attracted her attention. She took him up
in her arms, and lo! there was a piece of paper, folded and pinned
securely to his collar. Hastily setting the dog down, she opened the
note and read as follows:--

MISS HILDY,

Simon Hartley he come here early this mornin and he says to
me I was diggin potaters for dinner and he come and leaned
on the fence and says he I've fixed your city gal up fine he
says and I says what yer mean I mean what I says he says
I've fixed her up fine. She thinks a heap of that dorg I
know that ain't spelled right but it's the way he said it
don't she says he I reckon says I Well says he you tell her
to look for him in the pit of the old mill says he. And then
he larf LAUGHED I was bound I'd get it Miss Hildy I don't
see why they spell a thing g and say it f and went away. And
I run after him to make him tell me what he d been up to and
climbin over the wall I ketched my foot on a stone and the
stone come down on my foot and me with it and I didn't know
anything till Simon had gone and my foot swoll up so s I
couldn't walk and I wouldnt a minded its hurtin Miss Hildy
but it s like there wornt no bones in it Pink says I sprante
it bad and I started to go over to the Farm on all fours to
tell ye but I didn't know anythin g agin and Pink made me
come back. We couldnt nether on us get hold of Will but now
we got him I hope he l go straite, Miss Hildy Pink wanted to
write this for me but I druther write myself you aint punk
tuated it she says. She can punk tuate it herself better n I
can I an ti cip ate I says. From

ZERUBBABEL CHIRK

P.S. I wisht I could get him out for ye Miss Hildy.

If Bubble's letter was funny, Hilda had no heart to see the fun. Her
tears flowed fast as she realized the fate of her pretty little pet and
playfellow. The vindictive wretch, too cowardly to face her again, had
taken his revenge upon the harmless little dog. All day long poor Jock
had been in that fearful place! He was still only a puppy, and she knew
he could not possibly get out if he had really been thrown into the pit
of the great wheel. But--and she gave a cry of pain as the thought
struck her--perhaps it was only his lifeless body that was lying there.
Perhaps the ruffian had killed him, and thrown him down there
afterwards. She started up and paced the walk hurriedly, trying to think
what she had best do. Her first impulse was to fly at once to the glen;
but that was impossible, as she must not, she felt, leave Dame Hartley.
No one was near: they were quite alone. Again she said, "I must wait; I
_must_ wait till Farmer Hartley comes home." But the waiting was harder
now than it had been before. She could do nothing but pace up and down,
up and down, like a caged panther, stopping every few minutes to throw
back her head and listen for the longed-for sound,--the sound of
approaching wheels.

Softly the shadows fell as the sun went down. The purple twilight
deepened, and the stars lighted their silver lamps, while all the soft
night noises began to make themselves heard as the voices of day died
away. But Hilda had ears for only one sound. At length, out of the
silence (or was it out of her own fancy?) she seemed to hear a faint,
clicking noise. She listened intently: yes, there it was again. There
was no mistaking the click of old Nancy's hoofs, and with it was a dim
suggestion of a rattle, a jingle. Yes, beyond a doubt, the farmer was
coming. Hildegarde flew into the house, and met Dame Hartley just coming
down the stairs. "The farmer is coming," she said, hastily; "he is
almost here. I am going to find Jock. I shall be back--" and she was
gone before the astonished Dame could ask her a question.

Through the kitchen and out of the back porch sped the girl, only
stopping to catch up a small lantern which hung on a nail, and to put
some matches in her pocket. Little Will followed her, barking hopefully,
and together the two ran swiftly through the barn-yard and past the
cow-shed, and took the path which led to the old mill. The way was so
familiar now to Hilda that she could have traversed it blindfold; and
this was well for her, for in the dense shade of the beech-plantation it
was now pitch dark. The feathery branches brushed her face and caught
the tendrils of her hair with their slender fingers. There was something
ghostly in their touch. Hilda was not generally timid, but her nerves
had been strung to a high pitch all day, and she had no longer full
control of them. She shivered, and bending her head low, called to the
dog and hurried on.

Out from among the trees now, into the dim starlit glade; down the
pine-strewn path, with the noise of falling water from out the beechwood
at the right, and the ruined mill looming black before her. Now came the
three broken steps. Yes, so far she had no need of the lantern. Round
the corner, stepping carefully over the half-buried mill-stone. Groping
her way, her hand touched the stone wall; but she drew it back hastily,
so damp and cold the stones were. Darker and darker here; she must light
the lantern before she ventured down the long flight of steps. The
match spurted, and now the tiny yellow flame sprang up and shed a faint
light on the immediate space around her. It only made the outer darkness
seem more intense. But no matter, she could see two steps in front of
her; and holding the lantern steadily before her, she stepped carefully
down and down, until she stood on the firm greensward of the glen. Ah!
how different everything was now from its usual aspect. The green and
gold were turned into black upon black. The laughing, dimpling,
sun-kissed water was now a black, gloomy pool, beyond which the fall
shimmered white like a water-spirit (Undine,--or was it Kuehleborn, the
malignant and vengeful sprite?). The firs stood tall and gaunt, closing
like a spectral guard about the ruined mill, and pointing their long,
dark fingers in silent menace at the intruder upon their evening repose.
Hildegarde shivered again, and held her lantern tighter, remembering how
Bubble had said that the glen was "a tormentin' spooky place after
dark." She looked fearfully about her as a low wind rustled the
branches. They bent towards her as if to clutch her; an angry whisper
seemed to pass from one to the other; and an utterly unreasoning terror
fell upon the girl. She stood for a moment as if paralyzed with fear,
when suddenly the little dog gave a sharp yelp, and leaped up on her
impatiently. The sound startled her into new terror; but in a moment the
revulsion came, and she almost laughed aloud. Here was she, a great
girl, almost a woman, cowering and shivering, while a tiny puppy, who
had hardly any brains at all, was eager to go on. She patted the dog,
and "taking herself by both ears," as she expressed it afterwards,
walked steadily forward, pushed aside the dense tangle of vines and
bushes, and stooped down to enter the black hole which led into the
vault of the mill.

A rush of cold air met her, and beat against her face like a black wing
that brushed it. It had a mouldy smell. Holding up the lantern,
Hildegarde crept as best she could through the narrow opening. A
gruesome place it was in which she found herself. Grim enough by
daylight, it was now doubly so; for the blackness seemed like something
tangible, some shapeless monster which was gathering itself together,
and shrinking back, inch by inch, as the little spark of light moved
forward. The gaunt beams, the jagged bits of iron, bent and twisted into
fantastic shapes, stretched and thrust themselves from every side, and
again the girl fancied them fleshless arms reaching out to clutch her.
But hark! was that a sound,--a faint sound from the farthest and darkest
corner, where the great wheel raised its toothed and broken round from
the dismal pit?

"Jock! my little Jock!" cried Hildegarde, "are you there?"

A feeble sound, the very ghost of a tiny bark, answered her, and a faint
scratching was heard. In an instant all fear left Hilda, and she sprang
forward, holding the lantern high above her head, and calling out words
of encouragement and cheer. "Courage, Jock! Cheer up, little man! Missis
is here; Missis will save you! Speak to him, Will! tell him you are
here."

"Wow!" said Will, manfully, scuttling about in the darkness. "Wa-ow!"
replied a pitiful squeak from the depths of the wheel-pit. Hilda reached
the edge of the pit and looked down. In one corner was a little white
bundle, which moved feebly, and wagged a piteous tail, and squeaked with
faint rapture. Evidently the little creature was exhausted, perhaps
badly injured. How should she reach him? She threw the ray of light--oh!
how dim it was, and how heavy and close the darkness pressed!--on the
side of the pit, and saw that it was a rough and jagged wall, with
stones projecting at intervals. A moment's survey satisfied her. Setting
the lantern carefully at a little distance, and bidding Will "charge"
and be still, she began the descent, feeling the way carefully with her
feet, and grasping the rough stones firmly with her hands. Down! down!
while the huge wheel towered over her, and grinned with all its rusty
teeth to see so strange a sight. At last her feet touched the soft
earth; another instant, and she had Jock in her arms, and was fondling
and caressing him, and saying all sorts of foolish things to him in her
delight. But a cry of pain from the poor puppy, even in the midst of his
frantic though feeble demonstrations of joy, told her that all was not
right; and she found that one little leg hung limp, and was evidently
broken. How should she ever get him up? For a moment she stood
bewildered; and then an idea came to her, which she has always
maintained was the only really clever one she ever had. In her
pre-occupation of mind she had forgotten all day to take off the brown
holland apron which she had worn at her work in the morning, and it was
the touch of this apron which brought her inspiration. Quick as a flash
she had it off, and tied round her neck, pinned up at both ends to form
a bag. Then she stooped again to pick up Jock, whom she had laid
carefully down while she arranged the apron. As she did so, the feeble
ray from the lantern fell on a space where the ground had been scratched
up, evidently by the puppy's paws; and in that space something shone
with a dull glitter. Hildegarde bent lower, and found what seemed to be
a small brass handle, half covered with earth. She dug the earth away
with her hands, and pulled and tugged at the handle for some time
without success; but at length the sullen soil yielded, and she
staggered back against the wheel with a small metal box in her hands. No
time now to examine the prize, be it what it might. Into the apron bag
it went, and on top of it went the puppy, yelping dismally. Then slowly,
carefully, clinging with hands and feet for life and limb, Hilda
reascended the wall. Oh, but it was hard work! Her hands were already
very sore, and the heavy bundle hung back from her neck and half choked
her. Moreover the puppy was uncomfortable, and yelped piteously, and
struggled in his bonds, while the sharp corner of the iron box pressed
painfully against the back of her neck. The jutting stones were far
apart, and several times it seemed as if she could not possibly reach
the next one. But the royal blood was fully up. Queen Hildegarde set her
teeth, and grasped the stones as if her slender hands were nerved with
steel. At last! at last she felt the edge; and the next moment had
dragged herself painfully over it, and stood once more on solid ground.
She drew a long breath, and hastily untying the apron from her neck,
took poor Jock tenderly in one arm, while with the other she carried the
lantern and the iron box. Will was jumping frantically about, and trying
to reach his brother puppy, who responded with squeaks of joy to his
enraptured greeting.

"Down, Will!" said Hilda, decidedly. "Down, sir! Lie still, Jocky! we
shall be at home soon now. Patience, little dog!" And Jock tried hard to
be patient; though it was not pleasant to be squeezed into a ball while
his mistress crawled out of the hole, which she did with some
difficulty, laden with her triple burden.

However, they were out at last, and speeding back towards the farm as
fast as eager feet could carry them. Little thought had Hilda now of
spectral trees or ghostly gloom. Joyfully she hurried back, up the long
steps, along the glade, through the beach-plantation; only laughing now
when the feathery fingers brushed her face, and hugging Jock so tight
that he squeaked again. Now she saw the lights twinkling in the
farm-house, and quickening her pace, she fairly ran through lane and
barnyard, and finally burst into the kitchen, breathless and exhausted,
but radiant. The farmer and his wife, who were sitting with disturbed
and anxious looks, rose hastily as she entered.

"Oh, Hilda, dear!" cried Dame Hartley, "we have been terribly frightened
about you. Jacob has been searching--But, good gracious, child!" she
added, breaking off hastily, "where have you been, and what have you
been doing to get yourself into such a state!"

Well might the good woman exclaim, while the farmer gazed in silent
astonishment. The girl's dress was torn and draggled, and covered with
great spots and splashes of black. Her face was streaked with dirt, her
fair hair hanging loose upon her shoulders. Could this be Hilda, the
dainty, the spotless? But her eyes shone like stars, and her face,
though very pale, wore a look of triumphant delight.

"I have found him!" she said, simply. "My little Jock! Simon threw him
into the wheel-pit of the old mill, and I went to get him out. His leg
is broken, but I know you can set it, Nurse Lucy. Don't look so
frightened," she added, smiling, seeing that the farmer and his wife
were fairly pale with horror; "it was not so _very_ bad, after all." And
in as few words as might be, she told the story of Bubble's note and of
her strange expedition.

"My child! my child!" cried Dame Hartley, putting her arms round the
girl, and weeping as she did so. "How could you do such a fearful thing?
Think, if your foot had slipped you might be lying there now yourself,
in that dreadful place!" and she shuddered, putting back the tangle of
fair hair with trembling fingers.

"Ah, but you see, my foot _didn't_ slip, Nurse Lucy!" replied Hilda,
gayly. "I wouldn't _let_ it slip! And here I am safe and sound, so it's
really absurd for you to be frightened now, my dear!"

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