"UP IN THE MORNING EARLY."
"One! two! three! four! five! six!" said the clock in the hall.
"Yes, I know it!" replied Hildegarde, sitting up in bed; and then she
slipped quietly out and went to call Rose.
"Get up, you sleepy flower!" she said, shaking her friend gently,--
"A l'heure ou s'eveille la rose,
Ne vas-tu pas te reveiller?"
Rose sighed, as she always did at the sound of the "impossible
language," as she called the French, over which she struggled for an
hour every day; but got up obediently, and made a hasty and fragmentary
toilet, ending with a waterproof instead of a dress. Then each girl took
a blue bundle and a brown bath towel, and softly they slipped
downstairs, making no noise, and out into the morning air, and away down
the path to the river. Every blade of grass was awake, and a-quiver with
the dewdrop on its tip; the trees showered pearls and diamonds on the
two girls, as they brushed past them; the birds were singing and
fluttering and twittering on every branch, as if the whole world
belonged to them, as indeed it did. On the river lay a mantle of soft
white mist, curling at the edges, and lifting here and there; and into
this mist the sun was striking gold arrows, turning the white to silver,
and breaking through it to meet the blue flash of the water. Gradually
the mist rose, and floated in the air; and now it was a maiden, a young
Titaness, rising from her sleep, with trailing white robes, which
caught on the trees and the points of rock, and hung in fleecy tatters
on the hillside, and curled in snowy circles through the coves and
hollows. At last she laid her long white arms over the hill-tops, and
lifted her fair head, and so melted quite away and was gone, and the sun
had it all his own way.
Then Hildegarde and Rose, who had been standing in silent delight and
wonder, gave each a sigh of pleasure, and hugged each other a little,
because it was so beautiful, and went into the boat-house. Thence they
reappeared in a few minutes, clad in close-fitting raiment of blue
flannel, their arms bare, their hair knotted in Gothic fashion on top of
their heads. Then Hildegarde stood on the edge of the wharf, and rose on
the tips of her toes, and joined her palms high above her head, then
sprang into the air, describing an arc, and disappeared with a silver
splash which rivalled that of her own sturgeon. But Rose, who could not
dive, just sat down on the wharf and then rolled off it, in the most
comfortable way possible. When they both came up, there was much
puffing, and shaking of heads, and little gasps and shrieks of delight.
The water by the wharf was nearly up to the girls' shoulders, and
farther than this Rose could not go, as she could not swim; so a rope
had been stretched from the end of the wharf to the shore, and on this
she swung, like the mermaids on the Atlantic cable, in Tenniel's
charming picture, and floated at full length, and played a thousand
gambols. She could see the white pebbled bottom through the clear water,
and her own feet as white as the pebbles (Rose had very pretty feet; and
now that they were no longer useless appendages, she could not help
liking to look at them, though she was rather ashamed of it). Now she
swung herself near the shore, and caught hold of the twisted roots of
the great willow that leaned over the water, and pulled the branches
down till they fell like a green canopy over her; and now she splashed
the water about, for pure pleasure of seeing the diamond showers as the
sunlight caught them. But Hildegarde swam out into the middle of the
river, cleaving the blue water with long, regular strokes; and then
turned on her back, and lay contemplating the universe with infinite
content.
"You are still in the shade, you poor Rosebud!" she cried. "See! I am
right _in_ the sparkle. I can gather gold with both hands. How many
broad pieces will you have?" She sent a shower of drops toward the
shore, which Rose returned with interest; and a battle-royal ensued, in
which the foam flew left and right, and the smooth water was churned
into a thousand eddies.
"I am the Plesiosaurus!" cried Hildegarde, giving a mighty splash.
"Beware! beware! my flashing eyes, my floating hair!"
"Shade of Coleridge, forgive her!" exclaimed Rose, dashing a return
volley of pearly spray. "And the Plesiosaurus had no hair; otherwise, I
may say I have often observed the resemblance. Well, I am the
Ichthyosaurus! You remember the picture in the 'Journey to the Centre of
the Earth'?"
Hildegarde replied by plunging toward her, rearing her head in as
serpentine a manner as she could command; and after a struggle the two
mighty saurians went down together in a whirlpool of frothing waves.
They came up quite out of breath, and sat laughing and panting on the
willow root, which in one place curved out in such a way as to make a
charming seat.
"Look at Grandfather Bullfrog!" said Rose. "He is shocked at our
behavior. We are big enough to know better, aren't we, sir?" She
addressed with deep respect an enormous brown bullfrog, who had come up
to see what was the matter, and who sat on a stone surveying the pair
with a look of indignant amazement.
"Coax! coax! Brek-ke-ke-kex!" cried Hildegarde. "That is the only
sentence of frog-talk I know. It is in a story of Hans Andersen's. Do
you see, Rose? He understands; he winked in a most expressive manner.
Whom did you get for a wife, when you found Tommelise had run away from
you; and what became of the white butterfly?"
The bullfrog evidently resented this inquiry into his most private
affairs, and disappeared with an indignant "Glump!"
"Now you shall see me perform the great Nose and Toe Act!" said
Hildegarde, jumping from the seat and swimming to the end of the wharf.
"I promised to show it to you, you remember." She seized the great toe
of her left foot with the right hand, and grasping her nose with the
left, threw herself backward into the water.
Rose waited in breathless suspense for what seemed an interminable time;
but at length there was a glimmer under the water, then a break, and up
came the dauntless diver, gasping but triumphant, still grasping the
nose and toe.
"I didn't--let go!" she panted. "I didn't--half--think I could do it, it
is so long since I tried."
"I thought you would never come up again!" cried Rose. "It is a dreadful
thing to do. You might as well be the Great Northern Diver at once. Are
you sure there isn't a web growing between your toes?"
"Oh, that is nothing!" said Hildegarde, laughing. "You should see Papa
turn back somersaults in the water. _That_ is worth seeing! Look!" she
added, a moment after, "there is a log floating down. I wonder if I can
walk on it." She swam to the log, which was coming lazily along with the
current; tried to climb on it, and rolled over with it promptly, to
Rose's great delight. But, nothing daunted, she tried again and yet
again, and finally succeeded in standing up on the log, holding out her
arms to balance herself. A pretty picture she made,--lithe and slender
as a reed, her fair face all aglow with life and merriment, and the
sunshine all round her. "See!" she cried, "I am Taglioni, the queen of
the ballet. I had--a--_oh!_ I _nearly_ went over that time--I had a
paper-doll once, named Taglioni. She was truly--lovely! You stood her on
a piece of wood--just like this; only there was a crack which held her
toes, and this has no crack. Now I will perform the Grand Pas de Fee!
La-la-tra-la--if I can only get to this end, now! Rose, I forbid you to
laugh. You shake the log with your empty mirth. La-la-la--" Here the
log, which had its own views, turned quietly over, and the queen of the
ballet disappeared with a loud splash, while Rose laughed till she
nearly lost hold of her rope.
But now the water-frolic had lasted long enough, and it was nearly
breakfast-time. Very reluctantly the girls left the cool delight of the
water, and shaking themselves like two Newfoundland dogs, ran into the
boat-house, with many exclamations over the good time they had had.
At breakfast they found Miss Wealthy looking a little troubled over a
note which she had just received by mail. It was from Mrs. Murray, the
matron of the Children's Hospital.
"Perhaps you would read it to me, Hilda dear!" she said. "I cannot make
it out very well. Mrs. Murray's hand is very illegible, or it may be
partly because I have not my reading-glasses." So Hilda read as
follows:--
DEAR MISS BOND,--Is there any one in your
neighborhood who would take a child to board
for a few weeks? Little Benny May, a boy of
four years, very bright and attractive, is
having a slow recovery from pneumonia, and has
had one relapse. I dare not send him home,
where he would be neglected by a very careless
mother; nor can we keep him longer here. I
thought you might possibly know of some good,
motherly woman, who would take the little
fellow, and let him run about in the sunshine
and drink milk, for that is what he needs.
With kind regards to your niece, whom I hope we
shall see again,
Always sincerely yours,
ELIZABETH MURRAY.
Miss Wealthy listened attentively, and shook her head; buttered a
muffin, stirred her tea a little, and shook her head again. "I can't
think," she said slowly and meditatively, "of a soul. I really--" But
here she was interrupted, though not by words. For Hildegarde and Rose
had been exchanging a whole battery of nods and smiles and kindling
glances; and now the former sprang from her seat, and came and knelt by
Miss Wealthy's chair, and looked up in her face with mute but eloquent
appeal.
"My dear!" said the old lady. "What is it? what do you want? Isn't the
egg perfectly fresh? I will call--" But Hildegarde stayed her hand as
it moved toward the bell.
"I want Benny!" she murmured, in low and persuasive tones, caressing the
soft withered hand she had taken.
"A penny!" cried Miss Wealthy. "My _dear_ child, certainly! Any small
amount I will most gladly give you; though, dear Hilda, you are rather
old, perhaps,--at least your mother might think so,--to--"
"Oh, Cousin Wealthy, how _can_ you?" cried Hildegarde, springing up, and
turning scarlet, though she could not help laughing. "I didn't say
_penny_, I said _Benny_! I want the little boy! Rose and I both want
him, to take care of. Mayn't we have him, _please_? We may not be
motherly, but we are very sisterly,--at least Rose is, and I know I
could learn,--and we would take such good care of him, and we _do_ want
him so!" She paused for breath; and Miss Wealthy leaned back in her
chair, and looked bewildered.
"A child! here!" she said; and she looked round the room, as if she
rather expected the pictures to fall from the walls at the bare idea. In
this survey she perceived that one picture hung slightly askew. She
sighed, and made a motion to rise; but Hildegarde flew to straighten the
refractory frame, and then returned to the charge.
"He is very small!" she said meekly. "He could sleep in my room, and we
would wash and dress him and keep him quiet _all_ the time."
"A child!" repeated Miss Wealthy, speaking as if half in a dream; "a
little child, here!" Then she smiled a little, and then the tears filled
her soft blue eyes, and she gave something like a sob. "I don't know
what Martha would say!" she cried. "It might disturb Martha;
otherwise--"
But Martha was at her elbow, and laid a quiet hand on her mistress's
arm. "Sure we would all like it, Mam!" she said in her soothing, even
tones. "'T would be like a sunbeam in the house, so it would. You'd
better let the child come, Mam!"
So it was settled; and the very next day Hildegarde and Rose, escorted
by Jeremiah, went to Fairtown, and returned in triumph, bringing little
Benny with them.
Benny's eyes were naturally well opened, but by the time he reached the
house they were staring very wide indeed. He held Hildegarde's hand very
tight, and looked earnestly up at the vine-clad walls of the cottage.
"Don't want to go in vere!" he said, hanging back, and putting his
finger in his mouth. "Want to go back!"
"Oh, yes!" said Hildegarde. "You do want to come in here, Benny. That
is what we have come for, you know. I am going to show you all sorts of
pretty things,--picture-books, and shells, and a black kitty--"
But here she had touched a string that wakened a train of reflection in
Benny's mind; his lip began to quiver. "Want--my--Nelephant!" he said
piteously. "He's lef' alone--wiv fits. Want to go back to my Nelephant."
An ominous sniff followed; an outbreak of tears was imminent.
Hildegarde caught him up in her arms and ran off toward the garden. She
could _not_ have him cry, she thought, just at the first moment. Cousin
Wealthy would be upset, and might never get rid of the first impression.
It would spoil everything! The little fellow was already sobbing on her
shoulder, and as she ran she began hastily to repeat the first thing
that came into her mind.
"Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's Feast.
The trumpeter Gadfly has summoned the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you!
"On the smooth-shaven grass by the side of the wood,
Beneath a broad oak that for ages has stood,
See the children of earth and the tenants of air
For an evening's amusement together repair."
The sobs had ceased, and Hildegarde paused for breath; but the arm
tightened round her neck, and the baby voice, still tearful, cried,
"Sing! Sing-girl want to sing!"
"Oh me!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "You little Old Man of the Sea, how
can I run and sing too?" She sat down under the laburnum-tree, and
taking the two tiny hands in hers, began to pat them together, while she
went on with the "Butterfly's Ball," singing it now to the tune of a
certain hornpipe, which fitted it to perfection. She had not heard the
verses since she was a little girl, but she could never forget the
delight of her childhood.
"And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back.
And there came the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their relations, green, orange, and blue.
"And there came the Moth--"
At this moment came something else, more welcome than the moth would
have been; for Rose appeared, bearing a mug in one hand, and in the
other--what?
"Cow!" cried Benny, sitting upright, and stretching out both arms in
rapture. "_My_ cow! mine! all mine!"
"Yes, your cow, dear, for now!" said Rose, setting the treasure down on
the table. "Look, Benny! she is such a good cow! She is going to give
you some milk,--nice, fresh milk!"
The brown crockery cow was indeed a milk-jug; and Benny's blue eyes and
Hildegarde's gray ones opened wide in amazement as Rose, grasping the
creature's tail and tilting her forward, poured a stream of milk from
her open mouth into the mug. The child laughed, and clapped his hands
with delight.
"Where did you get it?" asked Hildegarde in a low tone, as she held the
mug to Benny's lips.
"Saint Martha!" replied Rose, smiling. "It belonged to her grandmother.
She brought it down just now, and said she had seen many a child quieted
with it, and the little one would very likely be for crying at first, in
a strange place! Isn't it nice?"
"Nice!" said Hildegarde; "I never want to drink out of anything else but
a brown cow. Dear Martha! and observe the effect!"
Indeed, Benny was laughing, and patting the cow, and chattering to it,
as if no such thing as a gray rubber elephant had ever existed. So
fickle is childhood!