OLD FRIENDS AND NEW.
It did indeed seem that the advent of the new neighbours might
make a great difference in Hildegarde Grahame's life, if, as she
hoped, they were the right kind of neighbours. She was an only
child. She and her mother had lived now for two years at Braeside,
a lovely country place which they had come to look on as home.
Hildegarde was always happy, and was unconscious of any want in
her life; but her mother often longed for another daughter, or a
pleasant girl in the neighbourhood, to be a companion for her dear
one. True, Hildegarde had one young friend, Hugh Allen, the ward
of Colonel Ferrers, their kind and eccentric neighbour; but Hugh,
though a darling, was a little boy, and could not "dovetail" into
a girl's life as another girl might. Perhaps Mrs. Grahame hardly
realized how completely she herself filled Hildegarde's idea of a
friend and companion. The daughter was enough for her; her own
life seemed full and running over with joy and work; but for the
child she wanted always more and more. So her hopes, as well as
Hildegarde's, rose high when she heard of the pleasant-looking
girls who had come to the next-door house. The house was a large,
old-fashioned one; less stately than Roseholme, Colonel Ferrers'
house; less home-like and comfortable, perhaps, than Braeside,--but that might only be because it had been so long uninhabited,
Hildegarde thought,--yet still pleasant enough, with its tall
columns and broad piazza. The house was yellow, the columns white,
and the cheerful colours were set off by the dark trees, elms and
locusts, that bent over it and almost hid it from the road. A
smooth stretch of lawn lay between the house and the hedge,
through which Hildegarde and the Colonel had made their
observations: a good lawn for tennis, Hildegarde thought. How good
it would be to play tennis again! She had been longing for the
time when Hugh would be big enough to learn, or when Jack Ferrers,
her cousin, would come back from Germany. How surprised Jack would
be when she wrote him that the yellow house was inhabited. What
friends he might make of those two nice-looking boys, unless he
took one of his shy fits, and would have nothing to do with them.
Jack was a trying boy, though very dear.
With these things in her mind, Hildegarde was sauntering toward
the Ladies' Garden, on the day after the new arrival. This was a
favourite haunt of hers, and she was very apt to go there for a
season of meditation, or when she wanted to find Hugh. It was a
curious place,--an old, neglected, forgotten garden, with high,
unclipped box hedges, overhung by whispering larches. Hildegarde
had dreamed many a dream under those larches, sitting beside the
little stream that plashed and fell in a tiny rocky hollow, or
pacing up and down the grassy paths. For the child Hugh, too, this
place had a singular fascination, and he would hang for hours over
a certain still, brown pool at the foot of the garden, thinking
unutterable things, occasionally making a remark to his dog, but
for the most part silent. Knowing his ways, Hildegarde was the
more surprised, on this occasion, to hear the sound of voices in
lively conversation. Whom could the boy have picked up and brought
here? He had no friend of his own age; like herself, he was a lone
child; and it was with a little pang, which she almost laughed to
feel, that she drew near, and softly parted the branches that hung
between her and the pool. The first step was fatal, she thought,
and she was apparently condemned to be a peeper and an
eavesdropper for the rest of her days.
Hugh was sitting beside the pool, but not in his favourite
Narcissus-like attitude. His knees were well up in front of him,
his hands were clasped over them, and facing him, in precisely the
same position, was a boy in blue jean overalls, with a shock of
black hair, and bright, dark eyes.
"What kind of fish?" asked the black-eyed boy, with kindling look.
"Little fish with silver tails," said Hugh, "and shining eyes.
They look at me, and sometimes I think they listen to what I say;
but they cannot speak, you know."
"Ho! I should think not!" said Black-eyes, scornfully. "I mean
what KIND of fish are they, when you catch 'em,--minnows, or dace,
or sticklebacks, or what? What are their names?"
"I do not know that," said Hugh. "I never thought of their names;
and I don't catch them."
"Why not? Wouldn't you be let? Don't the people in the house allow
fishing? I thought you said they were nice people!" and my lord
showed a face of keen disgust.
"I don't want to catch them," said Hugh, quietly. "Why should I?
They swim about, and I see them shine like silver and purple under
the brown water. Sometimes they have crimson spots, like drops of
blood, or ruby stones. Look! there is one now, a ruby-spotted
one!"
"Oh, my crickey!" cried the strange boy, jumping up, and dancing
from one foot to the other. "It's a trout, you idiot! Gimme a
line! gimme a net, or something! Gimme--" He snatched off his cap,
and made a frantic effort to catch the trout, which flipped its
tail quietly at him, and withdrew under a rock.
The boy sat down, breathless, and stared at Hugh with all his
eyes.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, at length "What kind of a
fellow ARE you, anyhow? Are you loony?"
Hugh pondered, the question being new to him.
"I--don't--know!" he announced, after sufficient thought.
There was a moment of silence, and black eyes and blue exchanged
an ardent gaze. Hugh's eyes were bright, with the brightness of a
blue lake, where the sunbeams strike deep into it, and transfuse
the clear water with light; but the eyes of the strange boy
twinkled and snapped, as when sunshine sparkles from ripple to
ripple. He was the first to break the silence.
"Where do you go to school?" he asked. "How old are you? how far
have you got in arithmetic? fractions? So am I! Hate 'em? so do I!
Play base-ball?"
"No!" said Hugh.
"Isn't there a nine here?"
"Nine?" Hugh turned this over in his mind. "I only know of three
at Roseholme. One is carved ivory, carved all over with dragons,
and of course one could not play with that; and there are two
cricket balls that the Colonel had when he was a boy, and he says
I may play with those some day, when I know enough not to break
windows. Perhaps you have learned that, if you are used to having
nine balls."
The stranger stared again, with a look in which despair was
dawning. "You must be loony!" he muttered. And then, aloud, "Can't
you play anything? What can you do?"
"I can run," said Hugh, after another pause of reflection, "and
swim, of course, and box a little, and fence."
"Fence!" said Black-eyes; his voice took a more respectful tone.
"Where did you learn to fence? You're too young, aren't you?"
"I am nine!" said Hugh. "I began to learn two years ago, and I
have outgrown my first foil, and the Colonel has given me a new
one, almost full size."
"Who's the Colonel?"
"Colonel Ferrers, the gentleman I live with. My great-aunt is his
housekeeper; and he is my dearest friend, except my Beloved and
her mother AND my great-aunt."
"Who is your Beloved? What makes you talk so funny?"
The black-eyed boy no longer spoke scornfully, the fencing having
made a deep impression on him, but he looked more puzzled than
ever.
"How do I talk?" asked Hugh, in return. "This is the way I DO
talk, you see. And my Beloved is Miss Grahame, and that is what
you have to call her; but I call her my Beloved, because she is
that; and she is the most beautiful--"
But here the young gentleman was interrupted; there was a hasty
putting aside of the branches, and Hildegarde, with pink cheeks
and a guilty conscience, stood before the two boys. They both
jumped up at once, having good manners; but Hugh's rising was calm
and leisurely, while the black-eyed lad scrambled to his feet, and
darted swift looks here and there, preparing for flight.
"How do you do?" said Hildegarde, coming forward quickly and
holding out her hand. "You are not going, are you? I think you
must be one of our new neighbours, and we ought to make
acquaintance, oughtn't we?"
The boy smiled, a little quick, frightened smile, "just the way a
bird would do if it could," Hildegarde thought, and laid a small
brown paw timidly in hers.
"This is my Beloved!" said Hugh, by way of introduction. "So you
can see for yourself."
"And am I not to hear my neighbour's name?" asked Hildegarde.
"I am Will Merryweather," said the black-eyed boy.
"I am very glad to see you, Will. I hope you and Hugh will be
friends, for it is so nice to have friends of one's own age, and
Hugh has no one. You, of course, have brothers and sisters, and
that is the best of all, isn't it?"
There was no resisting Hildegarde's smile; the young Merryweather
wavered, smiled, smiled again, and in five minutes they were all
seated together, and chatting away like old friends.
It appeared that Master Will was pleased with his new
surroundings, but that the absence of a base-ball nine was a
tragic thing, not lightly to be contemplated. The house was "no
end;" the dwelling they had just left was entirely too small for
them.
"You see," he said, "when we went to that house we weren't born at
all, most of us; that is, there was only Bell and the boys. So it
was big enough then, and they had rooms to themselves, and all
kinds of things. But then we began to come along, and at last it
got so small that the boys had to sleep in the barn, and when
there was more than one visitor I had to go on the parlour sofa,
and it's a beast of a sofa to sleep on,--haircloth, you know, and
you slide off all night; so father thought we'd better move, and
we came here."
"Is Bell your eldest sister?" asked Hildegarde, not sure how far
it would be right to question this frank youth.
"Yes, that's Bell. She's no end nice and jolly; and she's in
college, you know, and we have such larks when she comes home."
In college! Hildegarde's hopes fell. She knew she could not get on
with college girls, though she had great respect for them. Dear
me! Probably Bell would be very learned, and would despise her as
an "unidead girl." Cruel Dr. Johnson, to originate that injurious
epithet!
At this moment she heard a fresh, joyous voice calling,--
"Will! Willy boy! W--I--Double--L, where are you?"
"That's Bell," cried Will, starting up. "She's come after me."
"Here I am, Bell!" he shouted. "Here's a jolly place; come along!
I say, may she come along?" he added, turning to Hildegarde with a
conscience-stricken look. Hildegarde nodded eagerly, hoping that
his request had not been heard. Just beyond the Ladies' Garden was
a high board-fence which separated Braeside from the neighbouring
place. At the top of this fence appeared two small but strong-looking hands, and following them, a girl's face, blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked and smiling.
"You little rascal!" cried the girl; and then she caught sight of
Hildegarde. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" she cried, hastily. "I didn't
know,--I was looking for my brother--"
"Oh, please come up!" cried Hildegarde, running to the fence.
"Please come over! Oh, you mustn't hang by your hands that way;
you'll get splinters in them. You are Miss Merryweather, and I am
Hildegarde Grahame; so now we are introduced, and let me help you
over, do!"
Hildegarde delivered this breathlessly, and held out both hands to
help the stranger; but the latter, with a frank smile and a nod,
drew herself up without more ado, perched on the top of the fence,
then sprang lightly to the ground.
"Thank you so much!" she said, warmly, taking Hildegarde's
outstretched hand. "Of course I didn't know I was trespassing, but
I'm glad I came. And oh, what a lovely place! I didn't know there
was such a place out of a book. Oh, the hedges! and the brook! and
the trees! How can it be real?"
Hildegarde nodded in delight. "Yes!" she said. "That is just the
way I felt when I first saw the place. It was some time before I
could feel it right to come here without apologizing to the
ghosts."
"Your ancestors' ghosts?" said Bell Merryweather, inquiringly.
"Aren't they your own ghosts? Haven't you lived here always?"
Hildegarde explained that the place had belonged to a cousin of
her mother's, who left it to her at his death.
"Oh!" said Miss Merryweather; then she considered a little, with
her head on one side. Hildegarde decided that, though not a
beauty, the new-comer had one of the pleasantest faces she had
ever seen.
"On the whole," the girl went on, "I am rather glad that my theory
was wrong. The truth is less romantic, but it makes you much more
real and accessible, which is, after all, desirable in a country
neighbourhood."
"Do tell me what you mean!" cried Hildegarde.
Miss Merryweather laughed.
"If you are quite sure you won't mind?" she said, tentatively.
"Well, your place is so beautiful,--even apart from this--this--bower of nymphs,--it is so shadowed with great trees, and so green
with old turf, that when I saw you this morning walking under the
tree, I made up a romance about you,--a pretty little romance. You
are quite sure you don't mind? You were the last of an ancient
family, and you were very delicate, and your mother kept you in
this lovely solitude, hoping to preserve your precious life. And
now," she burst into a clear peal of laughter, in which Hildegarde
joined heartily, "now I see you near, and you are no more delicate
than I am, and you are not the last of an ancient family. At
least, I hope you are not," she cried, growing suddenly grave.
"Oh! do you like to make romances?" cried Hildegarde, with ready
tact waiving the last question. "It is my delight, too. No, I am
not in the least delicate, as you say, and we have only been here
two years, my mother and I; yet it seems like home, and I hope we
shall always live here now. And are you beginning to feel at all
settled in,--I don't know any name for your house; we have called
it just the 'Yellow House' as it had no special interest, being
uninhabited. But I suppose you will give it a name?"
"If we can decide on one!" said Bell Merryweather, laughing. "The
trouble is, there are so many of us to decide. I want to call it
Gamboge: brief, you see, and simple. But one boy says it must be
Chrome Castle, and another votes for Topaz Tower; so I don't know
how it will end."
"When I was a little girl," said Hildegarde, "I had a book, the
dearest little book, called 'Pumpkin House.' It was about--"
"Oh, DID you have 'Pumpkin House?'" cried Bell Merryweather,
eagerly. "Oh! wasn't it a darling? And didn't you think you never
could be perfectly happy till you could live in a pumpkin? And to
think of my forgetting it now, just when the opportunity has come!
Of course we shall call the new home Pumpkin House!"
"Will the others like it?" asked Hildegarde.
"They'd better!" said Bell. "And they will, of course. It was only
because we had not found the right name that we did not agree.
Thank you so much, Miss Grahame! Oh, I must go now, for I have
fifty thousand things to do! But,--I am so glad to have met you."
"And I to know you," cried Hildegarde, warmly. "I hope we shall
see a great deal of each other. We shall come to call in due form,
as soon as you are ready to receive visitors. But meanwhile, allow
me to present you with the freedom of the fence and of the Ladies'
Garden. See! our two boys are deep in confidences already."
In truth, the black head and the red one were laid close together,
and the two round faces wore the same look of deep importance.
"Mine are green and white," said Will. "That is Austrian, but I
have them Crusaders a good deal of the time."
"Mine are blue," said Hugh, "and sometimes they are Americans, and
sometimes they are Greeks and Trojans. Will you be my friend, and
shall we fight great fights together?"
"All right," said Will Merryweather, shyly.
"We will plan a campaign," cried Hugh, his eyes shining with
ardour.
"Yes; but now you must come in to your music lesson," said
Hildegarde, taking his hand, and frowning at herself for feeling
another little pang, as Hugh's face turned toward his new
acquaintance.
"Read the Talisman?" cried Will. "I'll be Saladin, and you be
Richard."
"Come along, Will," said his sister, taking him by the shoulders
and marching him toward the fence.
"Lots of sand that will do for Palestine!" "Plains of Marathon
over beyond the stone wall!" "Turbans and lances!" "Horsetail
helmets and real armour!"
Still shouting, Will was pitched bodily over the fence by his
stalwart sister, while Hugh went away holding Hildegarde's hand,
and looking backward as he passed.
"We will fight!" he said, giving a little leap of joy. "Our necks
shall be clothed with thunder, and we shall say, 'Ha! ha!' among
the trumpets. And will you bind my wounds, Beloved?" he added,
looking up in Hildegarde's face. "And will you give me my shield,
and tell me to come back with it or upon it? Will you do that? The
cover of the washboiler will do beautifully for a shield."
"So it will!" said Hildegarde; and they went into the house
together.