JOYOUS GARD.
It was the tenth day of September, and as pleasant a day as one could
wish to see. The sun shone brightly everywhere; but Hildegarde thought
that the laughing god sent his brightest golden rays down on the spot
where she was standing. The House in the Wood no longer justified its
name; for the trees had been cut away from around it,--only a few
stately pines and ancient hemlocks remaining to mount guard over the
cottage, and to make pleasant shady places on the wide, sunny lawns that
stretched before and behind it. The brook no longer murmured unseen, but
laughed now in the sunlight, and reflected every manner of pretty
thing,--fleecy cloudlet, fluttering bird or butterfly, nodding fern or
soldierly "cat-tail."
The house itself looked alert and wide-awake, with all its windows
thrown open, and its door standing hospitably ajar, as if awaiting
welcome guests. From an upper window came a sound of singing, for Rose
was there, arranging flowers in the vases; from another direction was
heard the ring of a hammer, as Bubble gave the last strokes to a
wonderful cart which he had been making, and which was to be his
contribution to the Country Home.
Hildegarde stood on the piazza, alone; her hands were full of flowers,
and the "laughing light" of them was reflected in her bright, lovely
face. She looked about her on the sunny greenery, on the blue shining
stream, up to the bluer sky above. "This is the happiest day of my
life!" said the girl, softly. She wondered what she had done, that all
this joy and brightness should be hers. Every one was so good to her;
every one had helped so kindly in the undertaking, from the beginning
down to this happy end. There had been a good deal to be done, of
course; but it seemed as if every hand had been outstretched to aid this
work of her heart.
Cousin Wealthy, of course, had made it possible, and had been absorbed
in it, heart and soul, as had all the others of the household. But there
had also been so many pleasant tokens from outside. When Mrs. Brett
arrived a week before, to take charge of the house, she brought a box of
contributions from her neighbors in Bixby, to whom she had told the
story of the Country Home,--scrap-books, comforters, rag-babies,
preserves, pop-corn, pincushions, catsup, kettle-holders. Bixby had
done what it could, and the girls and Miss Wealthy and Martha were
delighted with everything; but there was much laughter when the widow
pulled out a huge bottle of Vino's Vegetable Vivifier, and presented it,
with a twinkle in her eye, as the gift of Mr. Cephas Colt. Nor had the
scattered villagers of Bywood been less generous. One good farmer had
brought a load of wood; another, some sacks of Early Rose potatoes; a
third presented a jar of June butter; a fourth, some home-made
maple-syrup. The wives and daughters had equalled those of Bixby in
their gifts of useful trifles; and Rose, who was fond of details,
calculated that there were two tidies for every chair in the house.
The boys of the neighborhood, who had at first shown a tendency to sit
round on stumps and jeer at the proceedings, had now, at Hildegarde's
suggestion, formed themselves into a Kindling-Wood Club, under Bubble's
leadership; and they split wood every afternoon for an hour, with such
good results that Jeremiah reckoned they wouldn't need no coal round
this place; they could burn kindlin's as reckless as if they was
somebody's else hired gal!
Then, the day before, a great cart had rumbled up to the door, bringing
a packing-case, of a shape which made Hildegarde cry out, and clap her
hands, and say, "Papa! I _know_ it is Papa!"--which for the moment
greatly disconcerted the teamster, who had no idea of carrying people's
papas round in boxes. But when the case was opened, there was the
prettiest upright piano that ever was seen; and sure enough, a note
inside the cover said that this was "for Hildegarde's Hobby, from
Hildegarde's Poppy." But more than that! the space between the piano and
the box was completely filled with picture-books,--layers and layers of
them; Walter Crane, and Caldecott, and Gordon Browne, and all the most
delightful picture-books in the world. And in each book was written "The
Rainy-Day Library;" which when Hildegarde saw, she began to cry, and
said that her mother was the most blessed creature in the world.
But after all, the thing that had touched the girl's heart most deeply
was the arrival, this very morning, of old Galusha Pennypacker,
shuffling along with his stick, and bent almost double under the weight
of a great sack which he carried on his back. Mrs. Brett had been
looking out of the window, and announced that a crazy man was coming:
"Looks like it, anyway. Hadn't I better call Zee-rubble, Miss Grahame?"
But Hildegarde looked out, recognized the old man, and flew to meet him.
"Good-morning, Mr. Pennypacker!" she cried cordially. "Do let me help
you with that heavy bag! There! now sit down here in the shade, for I am
sure you are very tired."
She brought a chair quickly; and the old man sank into it, for he was
indeed exhausted by the long walk under his heavy burden. He gasped
painfully for breath; and it was not till Hildegarde had brought him
water, and fanned him diligently for some minutes, that he was able to
speak.
"Thank ye!" he said at last, drawing out something that might once have
been a handkerchief, and wiping his wrinkled face. "It's a warm day--for
walkin'."
"Yes, indeed it is!" Hildegarde assented. "And it is a long walk from
your house, Mr. Pennypacker. I fear it has been too much for you. Could
you not have got one of the neighbors to give you a lift?"
"No! no!" replied the old man quickly, with a cunning gleam in his
sharp little eyes. "I'd ruther walk,--I'd ruther! Walkin' don't cost
nothin'! They'd charged me, like's not, a quarter for fetchin' on me
here. They think the old man's got money, but he hain't; no, he hain't
got one red cent,--not for them he hain't." He paused, and began
fumbling at the string of the sack. "Hearin' you was settin' up a
horspittle here," he said, "I cal'lated to bring two or three apples.
Children likes apples, don't they?" He looked up suddenly, with the same
fierce gleam which had frightened Hildegarde and Rose so when they first
saw him; but Hildegarde had no longer any fear of the singular old man.
"Yes, they do!" she said warmly. "I don't know of anything they like so
well, Mr. Pennypacker. How very kind of you! And you came all this way
on foot, to bring them?"
"The' warn't no shorter way!" replied old Galusha, dryly. "Thar'! I
reckon them's good apples."
They were superb Red Astrakhans; every one, so far as Hildegarde could
see, perfect in shape and beauty. Moreover, they had all been polished
till they shone mirror-like. Hildegarde wondered what they had been
rubbed with, but dismissed the thought, as one unwise to dwell upon.
"They's wuth money, them apples!" said the old man, after she had
thanked him again and again for the timely gift. "Money!" he repeated,
lingering on the word, as if it were pleasant to the taste. "Huh! there
ain't nobody else on the yearth I'd ha' give so much as a core of one of
'em to, 'cept you, young woman."
"I'm sure you are extremely kind, Mr. Pennypacker!" was all Hildegarde
could say.
"Ye've took thought for me!" said the old man. "The' ain't nobody took
thought for old G'lushe Pennypacker, round here, not for a good while.
Ye was to my place yesterday, warn't ye?" He looked up again, with a
sudden glare.
"Yes," Hildegarde admitted, "I was; and my friend too. She knit the
stockings for you, sir. I hope you liked them."
"Yes, yes!" said the old man, absently. "Good stockin's, good stockin's!
Nice gal she is too. But--'t was you left the book, warn't it, hey?"
"Yes," said Hildegarde, blushing. "I am so fond of 'Robinson Crusoe'
myself, I thought you might like it too."
"Hain't seen that book for fifty year!" said the old man. "Sot up all
last night readin' it. It'll be comp'ny to me all winter. And you--you
took thought on me!--a young, fly-away, handsome gal, and old G'lushe
Pennypacker! Wal, 't won't be forgot here, nor yet yender!"
He gave an upward jerk of his head, and then passed his rag of a
handkerchief over his face again, and said he must be going. But he did
not go till he had had a glass of milk, and half-a-dozen of Mrs. Brett's
doughnuts, to strengthen him for his homeward walk.
All this came back to Hildegarde, as she stood on the piazza; and as she
recalled the softened, friendly look in the old man's eyes as he bade
her good-by, she said again to herself, "This is the happiest day of my
life!" The next day would not be so happy, for Rose and Bubble were
going,--one to her home at Hartley's Glen, the other to his school in
New York; and in a fortnight she must herself be turning her face
homeward.
How short the summer had been!--had there ever been such a flying
season?--and yet she had done very little; she had only been happy, and
enjoyed herself. Miss Wealthy, perhaps, could have told another
story,--of kind deeds and words; of hours spent in reading aloud, in
winding wools, in arranging flowers, in the thousand little
helpfulnesses by which a girl can make herself beloved and necessary in
a household. To the gentle, dreamy, delicate Rose, Hildegarde had really
_been_ the summer. Without this strong arm always round her, this strong
sunny nature, helping, cheering, amusing, how could she have come out of
the life-long habits of invalidism, and learned to face the world
standing on both feet? She could not have done it, Rose felt; and with
this feeling, she probably would not have done it.
But, as I said, Hildegarde knew nothing of this. She had been happy,
that was all. And though she was going to her own beloved home, and to
the parents who were the greater part of the world to her, still she
would be sorry to leave this happiness even for a completer one.
But hark! was that the sound of wheels? Yes; they were coming.
"Cousin Wealthy!" cried the girl, running to the door. "Rose! Bubble!
Martha! Mrs. Brett! Benny! Come out, all of you! The stage is here!"
Out they came, all running, all out of breath, save Miss Wealthy, who
knew the exact number of steps that would bring her to the exact middle
of the piazza, and took these steps with her usual gentle precision of
movement. She had no sooner taken up the position which she felt to be
the proper one for her, than round the corner came the Bywood stage,--a
long, lumbering, ramshackle vehicle, in which sat Mrs. Murray, a
kind-looking nurse, and the twelve convalescent children who were to
have the first delights of the Country Home.
At sight of them Bubble began to wave his hat violently. "Hooray!" he
shouted. "Three cheers for the young uns!"
"Hooray!" echoed Benny, flapping his hands about, as he had no hat to
wave.
The children set up a feeble shout in reply, and waved heads, arms, and
legs indiscriminately. Then ensued a scene of joyous confusion. The
little ones were lifted out, kissed, and welcomed; their bundles
followed; and for a few minutes the quiet place was filled with a very
Babel of voices.
High above them all rose the clarion tones of Benny, explaining to a
former fellow-patient his present position in life. "I don't lives
here!" he said; "I lives a little way off. I's ve boy of ve house where
I lives, and I takes care of a whole lot of womenfolks, and Jim Maria
helps me, and vere's anover boy who does fings for me. It's bully, and
I'm goin' to stay vere all my life long."
Mrs. Murray looked quickly at Miss Wealthy. "Does he know of his
mother's death?" she asked in a low tone.
"No!" replied Miss Wealthy. "He has almost forgotten her, poor little
lad! I fear she was not very kind to him. And I have decided to keep
him, Mrs. Murray, and to give him a happy childhood, and then send him
to a good school. He is a most lovable child, and it will be a privilege
to have him, especially as my dear young relative is to leave me soon."
Both looked instinctively toward Hildegarde, who was standing, flushed
and radiant, the centre of a group of children, who clustered round
her, pulling at her hands and clinging to her gown.
"What's the name of this place?" one little fellow was asking her. "I
like this place! What is its name?"
"It is called Joyous Gard!" replied Hildegarde. "That was the name of a
beautiful castle, long and long ago, which belonged to a very brave
knight; and we think it will be a good name for your Country Home,
because we mean to make it full of joy and happiness, and yet to guard
you well in it. So Joyous Gard it is to be. Say it now, all of
you,--'Joyous Gard!'"
And "Joyous Gard!" shouted the children, their voices echoing merrily
among the trees, and spreading away, till Rose, the romantic, wondered
if some faint tone of it might not reach a pale shade called Lancelot du
Lake, and bring him comfort where he sorrowed for his sins.
So in Joyous Gard let us leave our Hildegarde,--in each hand a child,
around her many loving hearts, in her own heart great joy and light and
love. Let us leave her, and wish that all girls might know the cheer and
happiness that was hers, not for that day only, but through all her
days.
THE END.
Selections from L. C. Page & Company's Books for Young People
THE BLUE BONNET SERIES
_Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ $ 2.00
_The seven volumes, boxed as a set_ 14.00
=A TEXAS BLUE BONNET=
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=BLUE BONNET'S RANCH PARTY=
By CAROLINE E. JACOBS AND EDYTH ELLERBECK READ.
=BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON=
By CAROLINE E. JACOBS AND LELA HORN RICHARDS.
=BLUE BONNET KEEPS HOUSE=
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=BLUE BONNET--DEBUTANTE=
By LELA HORN RICHARDS.
=BLUE BONNET OF THE SEVEN STARS=
By LELA HORN RICHARDS.
=BLUE BONNET'S FAMILY=
By LELA HORN RICHARDS.
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"Blue Bonnet and her companions are real girls,
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=THE HENRIETTA SERIES=
By LELA HORN RICHARDS
_Each one volume, 12mo, illustrated_ $1.90
=ONLY HENRIETTA=
"It is an inspiring story of the unfolding of
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=HENRIETTA'S INHERITANCE=
"One of the most noteworthy stories for girls
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=THE BOYS' STORY OF THE RAILROAD SERIES=
By BURTON E. STEVENSON
_Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated,_ $1.75
=THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND=; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF ALLAN WEST.
"The whole range of section railroading is
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=THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER=
"A vivacious account of the varied and often
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=THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER=
"It is a book that can be unreservedly
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=THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY SERIES=
=Of Worth While Classics for Boys and Girls=
_Revised and Edited for the Modern Reader
Each large 12mo, illustrated and with a poster
jacket in full color_ $2.00
=THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY=
By W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS.
=THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS=
By C. M. YONGE.
=ERLING THE BOLD=
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By HELEN KATHERINE BROUGHALL
_Each one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated_ $2.00
=BARBARA WINTHROP AT BOARDING SCHOOL=
=BARBARA WINTHROP AT CAMP=
=BARBARA WINTHROP: GRADUATE=
=BARBARA WINTHROP ABROAD=
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By MARION AMES TAGGART
_Each large 12mo, cloth, illustrated, per volume,_ $1.75
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=NANCY PORTER'S OPPORTUNITY=
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* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
In the Hildegarde-Margaret Series advertisement, the price per volume
had been blotted out by a reader and $2.00 written in. A search for
advertisements of this set costing $19.75 shows them individually at
$1.75 and the text has been changed to reflect that.
End of Project Gutenberg's Hildegarde's Holiday, by Laura E. Richards