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HILDEGARDE'S HARVEST.
THE
"Queen Hildegarde" Series.
By Laura E. Richards.
=HILDEGARDE'S HARVEST.=
The _fifth volume_ of the Hildegarde Series.
Illustrated with eight full-page cuts. Square
16mo, cloth, $1.25.
A new volume in the "Hildegarde" series, some of the best and most
deservedly popular books for girls issued in recent years. This new
volume is fully equal to its predecessors in point of interest, and is
sure to renew the popularity of the entire series.
=HILDEGARDE'S NEIGHBORS.=
Fourth volume. Illustrated from original designs.
Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. Square 16mo, cloth,
$1.25.
=HILDEGARDE'S HOME.=
Third volume. Illustrated with original designs by
Merrill. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
=HILDEGARDE'S HOLIDAY.=
Second volume. Illustrated with full-page plates
by Copeland. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
=QUEEN HILDEGARDE.=
First volume. Illustrated from original designs by
Garrett (292 pp.). Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
"We would like to see the sensible, heroine-loving girl in her early
teens who would not like this book. Not to like it would simply argue a
screw loose somewhere."--_Boston Post._
=THE HILDEGARDE SERIES.=
as above. 5 vols., square 16mo, put up in a neat box, $6.25.
***Next to Miss Alcott's famous "LITTLE WOMEN" series they easily rank,
and no books that have appeared in recent times may be more safely put
into the hands of a bright, intelligent girl than these five "Queen
Hildegarde" books.
=Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston.=
[Illustration: "HILDEGARDE DANCED THE VIRGINIA REEL WITH THE COLONEL."]
HILDEGARDE'S HARVEST
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "HILDEGARDE'S NEIGHBOURS,"
"QUEEN HILDEGARDE," ETC.
Illustrated
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1897,_
BY ESTES AND LAURIAT.
Colonial Press:
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE MORNING MAIL 9
II. THE CHRISTMAS DRAWER 21
III. AUNT EMILY 41
IV. GREETINGS 59
V. AT THE EXCHANGE 73
VI. MORE GREETINGS 96
VII. MERRY WEATHER SIGNS 117
VIII. CHRISTMASING 137
IX. AN EVENING HOUR 162
X. DIE EDLE MUSICA 176
XI. THE BOYS 196
XII. JIMMY'S POND 217
XIII. MERRY CHRISTMAS 238
XIV. BELLEROPHON 257
XV. AT LAST 279
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"HILDEGARDE DANCED THE VIRGINIA REEL WITH THE
COLONEL" _Frontispiece_
BELL'S LETTER 14
"MRS. DELANSING SCRUTINISED HER AS SHE CAME
THROUGH THE LONG ROOM" 50
"'HILDEGARDE GRAHAME, IN THE NAME OF ALL
THAT'S WONDERFUL!'" 91
"'CONSIDER THE BEAUTY OF YOUR OFFSPRING'" 140
DIE EDLE MUSICA 177
ON JIMMY'S POND 223
"A LITTLE FIGURE . . . STOOD OUT CLEAR AGAINST
THE DARK FIRS" 274
HILDEGARDE'S HARVEST.
CHAPTER I.
THE MORNING MAIL.
HILDEGARDE was walking home from the village, whither she had gone to
get the mail. She usually rode the three miles on her bicycle, but she
had met a tack on the road the day before, and must now wait a day or
two till the injured tire could be mended.
Save for missing the sensation of flying, which she found one of the
most delightful things in the world, she was hardly sorry to have the
walk. One could not see so much from the wheel, unless one rode slowly;
and Hildegarde could not ride slowly,--the joy of flying was too great.
It was good to look at everything as she went along, to recognise the
knots on the trees, and stop for a friendly word with any young sapling
that looked as if it needed encouragement. Also, the leaves had fallen,
and what could be pleasanter than to walk through them, stirring them
up, and hearing the crisp, clean crackle of them under her feet?
Also,--and this was the most potent reason, after all,--she could read
her letters as she walked, and she had good letters to-day.
The first that she opened was addressed in a round, childish hand to
"Mis' Hilda," the "Grahame" being added in a different hand. The letter
itself was written in pencil, and read as follows:
"MY DEER,
"I hop you are well. I am well. Aunt Wealthy is
well. Martha is well. Dokta jonSon is well; these
are all the peple that is well. Germya has the
roomatiks so bad he sase he thinks he is gon this
time for sure. I don't think he is gon, he has had
them wers before. Aunt Wealthy gave me a bantim
cock and hens, his nam is Goliath of Gath, and
there nams is Buty and Topknot. The children has
gon away from Joyus Gard; they were all well and
they went home to scool. I miss them; I go to
scool, but I don't lik it, but I am gone to have
tee with Mista Peny pakr tonite, Aunt Wealthy sade
I mite. He has made a new hous and it is nise.
"So goodbi from
"BENNY."
Hildegarde laughed a good deal over this letter, and then wiped away a
tear or two that certainly had no business in her happy eyes.
"Dear little Benny!" she said. "Dear little boy! But when is the
precious lamb going to learn to spell? This is really dreadful! I
suppose 'Germya' is Jeremiah, though it looks more like some new kind of
porridge. And Mr. Pennypacker with a new house! This is astonishing! I
must see what Cousin Wealthy says about it."
The next letter, bearing the same postmark, of Bywood, and written in a
delicate and tremulous hand, was from Miss Bond herself. It told
Hildegarde in detail the news that Benny had outlined; described the
happy departure of the children, who had spent their convalescence at
the pleasant summer home, all rosy-cheeked, and shouting over the joy
they had had. Then she went on to dilate on the wonderful qualities of
her adopted son Benny, who, it appeared, was making progress in every
branch of education.
"I may be prejudiced, my dear," the good old lady wrote, "but I am bound
to say that Martha agrees with me in thinking him a _most remarkable_
child."
Miss Bond further told of the event of the neighbourhood, the building
of Mr. Galusha Pennypacker's new house. The neighbourhood of so many
little children, his friendship with Benny, "but more than all, his
_remembrance of you_, my dear Hildegarde," had, it appeared, wrought a
marvellous change in the old hermit. The kindly neighbours had met him
half-way in his advances, and were full of good-will and helpfulness;
and when, by good fortune, his miserable old shanty had burned down one
summer night, the whole neighbourhood had turned out and built him a
snug cottage which would keep him comfortable for the rest of his days.
"Mr. Pennypacker came here yesterday to invite
Benny to drink tea with him (I employ the current
expression, my dear, though of course the child
drinks nothing but milk at his tender age; I have
always considered tea a beverage for the aged, or
those who are not robust), and in the course of
conversation, he begged me _most earnestly_ to
convey to you the assurance that, in his opinion,
the comfort which surrounds his later days is
owing entirely to you. His actual expression,
though not refined, was forcible, and Martha
thinks you would like to hear it:
"'I was a-livin' a hog's life, an' I should ha'
died a hog's death if it hadn't been for that
gal.'
"I trust your dear mother will not think it coarse
to have repeated these words. There is something
in the very mention of swine that is repugnant to
ears polite, but Martha was of the opinion that
you would prefer to have the message in his own
words. And I am bound to say that Galusha
Pennypacker, though undoubtedly _an eccentric_, is
a thoroughly well-intentioned person."
"Dear Cousin Wealthy!" said Hildegarde, as she folded the delicate sheet
and put it back into its pearl-gray envelope with the silver seal. "It
must have cost her an effort to repeat Mr. Pennypacker's words. Poor old
man! I am glad he is comfortable. I must send him a little box at
Christmas,--some little things to trim up his new house and prettify it.
Oh! and now, Bell, now for your letter! I have kept it for the last, my
dear, as if it were raisins or chocolate, only it is better than
either."
[Illustration: BELL'S LETTER]
The fat square envelope that she now opened contained several sheets of
paper, closely covered, every page filled from top to bottom with a
small, firm handwriting, but no line of crossing. The Merryweathers were
not allowed to cross their letters, under penalty of being condemned to
write entirely on postal cards. Let us peep over Hildegarde's shoulder,
and see what Bell has to say.
"DEAREST HILDEGARDE:
"It is two full weeks since I have written, and I
am ashamed; but it is simply because they _have_
been full weeks,--very full! There is so much to
tell you, I hardly know where to begin. A week ago
to-night our play came off,--'The Mouse Trap.' It
went beautifully,--not a hitch anywhere, though we
had only had five rehearsals. I was Willis, as I
told you. I wore my ulster without the cape, and
really looked quite masculine, I think. I had a
curly, dark-brown wig (my hair tucked down my
neck,--it didn't show at all!) and the prettiest
little moustache! Marion Wilson was Amy, and she
screamed most delightfully. In fact, they all
screamed in such a natural and heartfelt way, that
some of the ladies in the audience seemed to feel
quite uncomfortable, and I am sure I saw Madame
Mirabelle tuck her skirts close around her
feet, and put her feet up on the bench in front of
her. Well, we all did our best, though Clarice
Hammond was the best; she is a born actress! and
the audience was very cordial, and we were called
before the curtain five times; and altogether it
was a great success. I enclose a flower from a
bouquet that was thrown at me. It was a beauty,
and it struck me right on the head. I thought it
was for Clarice, and was going to hand it to her,
but somebody in the audience cried out, 'Why don't
you speak for yourself, Willis?' and everybody
laughed, and they said it was really for me, so I
kept it, and was pleased and proud. I have pressed
two or three flowers in my blue-print book, with
the pictures of the play. I am going to send you
some as soon as I can print some more. The girls
snatched all the first batch, so that I have not a
single one left.
"Let me see! What comes next? Oh, next you must
hear about my surprise party. I was in my room one
evening, grinding hard at my Greek (do you think
your mother would object to 'grinding?' It is such
old, respectable college slang, mamma allows it
once in a while), when I heard whispering and
giggling in the hall outside. I don't mind telling
you, my dear, that my heart sank, for I had a good
lot of Pindar to do, and there is no sense in
shirking one's lessons. But I went to the door
with as good a grace as I could, and there was our
dear Gerty, and Clara Lyndon, and three or four
other girls from Miss Russell's school. They said
they had double permission, from Miss Russell at
that end, and Mrs. Tower at this, to come and give
me a surprise party; and here they were, and they
were coming in whether I liked it or not. Of
course I did like it after the first minute, for
they were all so dear and jolly. They had borrowed
chairs as they came along through the hall, and
one had her pocket full of spoons, and another had
a basket,--oh, but I am getting on too fast. Well,
Gerty and I sat on the bed, and the others on the
chairs, and we chattered away, and I heard all the
school news. Then presently Mabel Norton opened a
basket, and took out--oh, Hilda! the most
beautiful, _beautiful_ rose-bush, simply covered
with blossoms. It was for me, with a card from
Miss Russell and the whole school; and when I
asked what it all meant, why, it seems that this
was the anniversary of the day last year when I
pulled a little girl out of the river, down near
the mill-dam. It was the simplest thing in the
world to do, for any one who was strong and knew
how to tread water; but these dear people had
remembered the date, and had done this lovely
thing to--well, Hilda, I didn't cry that evening,
but somehow I want to now, when I come to tell you
about it. You will understand! It is so lovely to
have such dear, kind friends, that I cannot help
it. Well, then out of another basket came a most
wonderful cream tart, with my initials on it in
caramel, and a whole lot, dozens and dozens, of
the little sponge-cakes that I am so fond of. They
cannot make them anywhere in the world, I think,
except at Miss Russell's, and dear good Miss Cary,
the housekeeper, remembered that I was fond of
them. Oh, and a huge box of marshmallows; and we
all knew what _that_ meant. Marshmallows are
the--what shall I say?--the unofficial emblem of
Miss Russell's school; and soon two or three were
toasting over the gas on hat-pins, and I was
cutting the tart, and Gerty was handing round the
sponge-cakes, and we were all as happy as
possible. I ran and asked the girls along the hall
to come in, and as many of them did come as could
get in the door, and the rest sat in a semicircle
on the floor in the hall, and we sang everything
we could think of. All of a sudden we heard a
knocking at the window. I ran and looked out, and
there was something hanging and bobbing against
the glass. I opened the window, and drew in a
basket, full of all kinds of things, oranges and
bananas and candy, with a card, 'Compliments of
the Third Floor!' So of course I was running up to
thank them, and say how sorry we were that there
was not room for them, when I almost ran plump
into Mrs. Tower, who was coming along the entry,
very stately and superb. She had heard all about
it, and she came to say that, if we liked, we
might dance for half an hour in the parlour. You
can imagine--no, you cannot, for you never were at
college!--the wild rush down those stairs. We
called the third floor (they are mostly freshmen),
and they came careering down like a herd of
ponies; and the first floor came out of their
studies when they heard the music, and we had the
wildest, merriest, most enchanting dance for just
half an hour. Then it was hurry-scurry off, for
Miss Russell's girls were on the very edge of
their time allowance, and had to run most of the
way home (it is only a very little way, and one of
the maids had come with them, and waited for
them). And we all thanked Mrs. Tower as prettily
as we knew how, and she said pleasant things, and
then some of the girls helped me to take back the
chairs and straighten things up generally. So the
great frolic was over, and most delightful it
was; but, my dear, I had to get up at five o'clock
to finish my Greek next morning, and the ground
floor was not much better off with its philosophy.
And now there are no more gaieties, for the
examinations are 'on,' and we must buckle to our
work in good earnest. I don't expect to have much
trouble, as I have kept up pretty well; but there
is enough for any one to do, no matter how well up
she is. So this is the last letter you will have,
my dear, before the happy day that brings us all
out to the beloved Pumpkin House. Oh, what a
glorious time we shall have, all together once
more! Roger is still out West, but hopes to get
back for the last part of the holidays, at least;
and Phil's and Jerry's vacation begins two days
before Gerty's and mine. Altogether, the prospect
is enchanting, and one of the very best parts of
it is the seeing you again, dear Hilda. Only three
weeks more! Gerty paints a star on her screen for
every day that is gone. Funny little Gerty! Give
my love to your mother, please, and believe me
always, dear Hilda,
"Your affectionate
"ISABEL MERRYWEATHER."
Hildegarde gave a half-sigh, as she finished this letter, and walked on
in silence, thinking many things. Bell's life seemed very free and full
and joyous; it suited her exactly, the strong, sensible, merry girl; and
oh, how much she was learning! This letter said little about studies,
but Hildegarde knew from former ones how much faithful work was going
on, and how firm a foundation of scholarship and thoroughness her friend
was laying.
"Whereas I," she said aloud, "am as ignorant as a hedge-sparrow."
As she spoke, a sparrow hopped upon a twig close by her, and cocked his
bright eye at her expressively.
"I beg your pardon!" said Hildegarde, humbly. "No doubt you are right,
and I am a hundred times more ignorant. I could not even imagine how to
build a nest; but neither can you crack a nut--ask Mr. Emerson!--or play
the piano."
The sparrow chirped defiance, flirted his tail saucily, and was gone.
"And all girls cannot be students!" said Hildegarde, stopping to address
a young maple that looked strong-minded. "Everybody cannot go to
college; there must be some who are to be just girls,--plain girls,--and
stay at home. As for a girl going to college when there is only herself
to--to help make a home--why,--she might as well be Nero, and done with
it."
She nodded at the maple-tree, as if she had settled it entirely, and
walked on more quickly; the cloud--it was a slight one, but still a
cloud--vanished from her brow, leaving it clear and sunny.
"The place one is in," she said, "is the place to be happy in. Of course
I do miss them all; of--course--I do! but if ever any girl ought to be
thankful on her knees all day long for blessings and happinesses,
Hildegarde Grahame, why, you know who she is, and that she does not
spell her name Tompkins."