THE GREAT SCHEME.
In the latter days of August came a hot wave. It started, we will say,
from the Gulf, which was heated sevenfold on purpose, and which simmered
and hissed like a gigantic caldron. It came rolling up over the country,
scorching all it touched, spreading its fiery billows east and west. New
York wilted and fell prostrate. Boston wiped the sweat from her
intellectual brow, and panted in all the modern languages. Even Maine
was not safe among her rocks and pine-trees; and a wavelet of pure
caloric swept over quiet Bywood, and made its inhabitants very
uncomfortable. Miss Wealthy could not remember any such heat. There had
been a very hot season in 1853,--she remembered it because her father
had given up frills to his shirts, as no amount of starch would keep
them from hanging limp an hour after they were put on; but she really
did not think it was so severe as this. She was obliged to put away her
knitting, it made her hands so uncomfortable; and took to crocheting a
tidy with linen thread, as the coolest work she could think of.
Hildegarde and Rose put on the thin muslins which had lain all summer in
their clothespress drawers, and did their best to keep Benny cool and
quiet; read Dr. Kane's "Arctic Voyages," and discussed the possibility
of Miss Wealthy's allowing them to shave Dr. Johnson.
Bubble spent much of his time in cracking ice and making lemonade, when
he was not on or in the river.
As for Martha, she devoted herself to the concoction of cold dishes, and
fed the whole family on jellied tongue, lobster-salad, ice-cream, and
Charlotte Russe, till they rose up and blessed her.
When Flower-Day came, the girls braved the heat, and went to Fairtown
with the flowers; Miss Wealthy reluctantly allowing them to go, because
she was anxious, as they were, to know how the little patients bore the
heat. They brought back a sad report. The sick children were suffering
much; the hospital was like a furnace, in spite of all that could be
done to keep it cool. Mrs. Murray sighed for a "country week" for them
all, but knew no way of attaining the desired object, as most of the
people interested in the hospital were out of town.
"Oh, if we could only find a place!" cried Hildegarde, after she had
told about the little pallid faces and the fever-heat in town. "If
there were only some empty house,"--she did not dare to look at Miss
Wealthy as she said this, but kept her eyes on the river (they were all
sitting on the piazza, waiting for the afternoon breeze, which seldom
failed them),--"some quiet place, like Islip, where the poor little
souls could come, for a week or two, till this dreadful heat is past."
Then she told the story of Islip, with its lovely Seaside Home, where
all summer long the poor children come and go, nursed and tended to
refreshment by the black-clad Sisters. Miss Wealthy made no sign, but
sat with clasped hands, her work lying idle in her lap. Rose was very
pale, and trembled with a sense of coming trouble; but Hildegarde's
cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with excitement.
There were a few moments of absolute silence, broken only by the hot
shrilling of a locust in a tree hard by; then Zerubbabel Chirk, calmly
unconscious of any thrill in the air, any tension of the nerves, any
crisis impending, paused in his whittling, and instead of carving a
whistle for Benny, cut the Gordian knot.
"Why, there is a house, close by here," he said; "not more 'n half a
mile off. I was going to ask you girls about it. A pretty red house, all
spick and span, and not a soul in it, far as I could see. Why isn't it
exactly the place you want?" He looked from one to the other with
bright, inquiring eyes; but no one answered. "I'm sure it is!" he
continued, with increasing animation. "There's a lawn where the children
could play, and a nice clear brook for 'em to paddle and sail boats in,
and gravel for 'em to dig in,--why, it was _made_ for children!" cried
the boy. "And as for the man that owns it, why, if he doesn't want to
stay there himself, why shouldn't he let some one else have it?--unless
he's an old hunks; and even if he is--" He stopped short, for Rose had
seized his arm with a terrified grasp, and Hildegarde's clear eyes
flashed a silent warning.
Miss Wealthy tottered to her feet, and the others rose instinctively
also. She stood for a moment, her hand at her throat, her eyes fixed on
Bubble, trembling as if he had struck her a heavy blow; then, as the
frightened girls made a motion to advance, she waved them back with a
gesture full of dignity, and turned and entered the house, making a low
moan as she went.
"Send Martha to her, _quick_!" said Hildegarde, in an imperative
whisper. "Fly, Bubble! the back door!"
Bubble flew, as if he had been shot from a gun, and returned, wide-eyed
and open-mouthed, to find his sister in tears, and his adored Miss Hilda
pacing up and down the piazza with hasty and agitated steps.
"What is it?" he cried in dismay. "What did I do? What is the matter
with everybody? Why, I never--"
Hildegarde quieted him with a gesture, and then told him, briefly, the
story of the house in the wood. Poor Bubble was quite overcome. He
punched his head severely, and declared that he was the most stupid
idiot that ever lived.
"I'd better go away!" he cried. "I can't see the old lady again. As kind
as she's been to me, and then for me to call her a--I guess I'll be
going, Miss Hilda; I'm no good here, and only doing harm."
"Be quiet, Bubble!" said Hildegarde, smiling in the midst of her
distress. "You shall do nothing of the kind. And, Rose, you are not to
shed another tear. Who knows? This may be the very best thing that could
have happened. Of course I wouldn't have had you say it, Bubble, just
in that way; but now that it _is_ said, I--I think I am glad of it. I
should not wonder--I really do hope that it may have been just the word
that was wanted."
And so it proved. For an hour after, as the three still sat on the
piazza,--two of them utterly disconsolate, the third trying to cheer
them with the hope that she was feeling more and more strongly,--Martha
appeared. There were traces of tears in her friendly gray eyes, but she
looked kindly at the forlorn trio.
"Miss Bond is not feeling very well!" she said. "She is lying down, and
thinks she will not come downstairs this evening. Here is a note for
you, Miss Hilda, and a letter for the post."
Hildegarde tore open the little folded note, and read, in Miss Wealthy's
pretty, regular hand, these words:--
MY DEAR HILDA,--Please tell the boy that I do
not mean to be an old hunks, and ask him to
post this letter. We will make our arrangements
to-morrow, as I am rather tired now.
Your affectionate cousin,
WEALTHY BOND.
The letter was addressed to Mrs. Murray at the Children's Hospital; and
at sight of it Hildegarde threw her arms round Martha's neck, and gave
her a good hug. Her private desire was to cry; but tears were a luxury
she rarely indulged in, so she laughed instead.
"Is it all right, Martha," she asked,--"really and truly right? Because
if it is, I am the happiest girl in the world."
"It is all right, indeed, Miss Hilda!" replied Martha, heartily; "and
the best thing that could have happened, to my mind. Dear gracious! so
often as I've wished for something to break up that place, so to speak,
and make a living house 'stead of a dead one! And it never could ha'
been done, in my thinking, any other way than this. So it's a good day's
work you've done, and thankful she'll be to you for it when the shock of
it is over." Then, seeing that the young people were still a little
"trembly," as she called it, this best of Marthas added cheerfully:
"It's like to be a very warm evening, I'm thinking. And as Miss Bond
isn't coming down, wouldn't it be pleasant for you to go out in the
boat, perhaps, Miss Hilda, and take your tea with you? There's a nice
little mould of pressed chicken, do you see, and some lemon jelly on the
ice; and I could make you up a nice basket, and 't would be right
pleasant now, wouldn't it, young ladies?"
Whereupon Martha was called a saint and an angel and a brick, all in
three breaths; and she went off, well pleased, to pack the basket,
leaving great joy behind her.
Late that evening, when Hildegarde was going to bed, she saw the door of
Miss Wealthy's room ajar, and heard her name called softly. She went in,
and found the dear old lady sitting in her great white dimity armchair.
"Come here, my dear," said Miss Wealthy, gently. "I have something to
show you, which I think you will like to see."
She had a miniature in her hand,--the portrait of a young and handsome
man, with flashing dark eyes, and a noble, thoughtful face.
"It is my Victor!" said the old lady, tenderly. "I am an old woman, but
he is always my true love, young and beautiful. Look at it, my child! It
is the face of a good and true man."
"You do not mind my knowing?" Hildegarde asked, kissing the soft,
wrinkled hand.
"I am very glad of it," replied Miss Wealthy,--"very glad! And in--in a
little while--when I have had time to realize it--I shall no doubt be
glad of this--this projected change. You see"--she paused, and seemed to
seek for a word,--"you see, dear, it has always been Victor's house to
me. I never--I should not have thought of making use of it, like another
house. It is doubtless--much better. In fact, I am sure of it. It has
come to me very strongly that Victor would like it, that it would please
him extremely. And now I blame myself for never having thought of such a
thing before. So, my dear," she added, bending forward to kiss
Hildegarde's forehead, "besides the blessings of the sick children, you
will win one from me, and--who knows?--perhaps one from a voice we
cannot hear."
The girl was too much moved to speak, and they were silent for a while.
"And now," Miss Wealthy said very cheerfully, "it is bedtime for you,
and for me too. But before you go, I want to give you a little trinket
that I had when I was just your age. My grandmother gave it to me; and
though I am not exactly your grandmother, I am the next thing to it.
Open that little cupboard, if you please, and bring me a small red
morocco box which you will find on the second shelf, in the right-hand
corner. There is a brown pill-box next to it; do you find it, my love?"
Hildegarde brought the box, and on being told to open it, found a
bracelet of black velvet, on which was sewed a garland of miniature
flowers, white roses and forget-me-nots, wrought in exquisite enamel.
"I thought of it," said the old lady, as Hildegarde bent over the pretty
trinket in wondering delight, "when I saw your forget-me-not room last
winter. The clasp, you see, is a turquoise; I believe, rather a fine
one. My grandfather brought it from Constantinople. A pretty thing; it
will look well on your arm. The Bonds all have good arms, which is a
privilege. Good-night, dear child! Sleep well, and be ready to elaborate
your great scheme to-morrow."