IT IS HILDEGARDE
A pair of friends.--WORDSWORTH.
Fraulein was right. Both driver and horses woke up wonderfully as the
first straggling houses of the village came in sight; it would be
impossible to describe the extraordinary sounds and ejaculations which
Friedrich, as he was called, addressed to his steeds, but which they
evidently quite understood.
'How nice it is to go so fast, and to hear the bells jingling so,' said
Leonore. 'I wish we had farther to go.'
'If that were the case we should soon sober down again,' said Fraulein
with a smile, adding the next moment, 'and here we are. See the good
aunt, my child, as I told you--standing at the gate, just as I last saw
her, when I left her five years ago! But then it was parting and
tears--now it is meeting and joy.'
Tears nevertheless were not wanting in the eyes of both the good
ladies--tears of happiness, however, which were quickly wiped away.
'How well you are looking--not a day older,' said the niece.
'And you, my Elsa--how well _you_ look. A trifle stouter perhaps, but
that is an improvement. You have always been too thin, my child,' said
the aunt, fondly patting Fraulein's shoulders, though she had to reach
up to do so. Then she moved quickly to Leonore with a little exclamation
of apology.
'And I have not yet welcomed our guest. Welcome to Dorf, my Fraulein--a
thousand times welcome, and may you be as happy here as the old aunt
will wish to make you.'
Leonore had been standing by eyeing the aunt and niece with the greatest
interest. It amused her much to hear her governess spoken to as 'my
child,' for to _her_ Fraulein seemed quite old, long past the age of
thinking _how_ old she was. Indeed, the white-haired little lady did not
seem to her much older!
'Thank you,' she said in reply to the aunt's kind words. 'I hope I
shall be very happy here, but please don't call me anything but
Leonore.'
'As you please,' her new friend replied, while Fraulein smiled
beamingly. She was most anxious that her aunt and her pupil should make
friends, and she knew that, though Leonore was a polite and
well-mannered little girl, she had likes and dislikes of her own, and
not always quite reasonable ones. Perhaps, to put it shortly, she felt
anxious that her charge was just a trifle spoilt, and that she herself
had had a hand in the spoiling.
'A motherless child,' she had said to herself many and many a time in
excuse during the five years she had had the care of Leonore, for
Fraulein had gone to her when the little girl was only four years old,
'and her papa so far away! Who could be severe with her?'
Not tender-hearted Fraulein Elsa, most certainly!
So she felt especially delighted when Leonore replied so prettily to her
aunt, and still more so when the child lifted up her face for the kiss
of welcome which Aunt Anna was only too ready to bestow, though she
would have been rather surprised had she known the thoughts that were in
Leonore's head at the moment.
'I believe she _does_ know something about fairies,' the little girl
was saying to herself. 'She has nice twinkly eyes, and--oh, I don't know
what makes me think so, but I believe she _does_ understand about them.
Any way, she won't be like my aunts in England who always want me to
read improving books and say I am getting too big for fairy stories.'
That first evening in the quaint old village was full of interest for
Leonore. Aunt Anna's house in itself was charming to her, for though
really small as to the size and number of its rooms, it did not seem so.
There were such nice 'twisty' passages, and funny short flights of
steps, each leading perhaps to only one room, or even to nothing more
than a landing with a window.
And, standing at one of these, the little girl made a grand discovery,
which took her flying off to the room where Fraulein was busily
unpacking the boxes which the carrier had already brought.
'Fraulein, Fraulein,' she cried; 'I've been looking out at the back of
the house, and just across the yard there's a lovely sort of big
courtyard and buildings round it, and I saw a man all white and powdery
carrying sacks. Is there a mill here?'
'Yes, my dear,' Fraulein replied. 'Did I not tell you? It is a very old
mill, and the same people have had it for nearly a hundred years--such
nice people too. I will take you all over it in a day or two--it will
amuse you to see the different kinds of grain and flour, all so neatly
arranged.'
'And the same people have been there for nearly a hundred years!'
exclaimed Leonore. 'How _very_ old they must be.'
Fraulein laughed. Though Leonore was so fond of wonders and fancies, she
was sometimes very matter-of-fact. Aunt Anna, who just then joined them,
smiled kindly.
'Elsa did not mean the same _persons_,' she explained, 'but the same
family--the same name. Those there now--the miller himself--is the
great-grandson of the man who was there first when the mill was built,
which was, I think, fully _more_ than a hundred years ago,' she added,
turning to her niece.
Leonore looked rather disappointed.
'Oh,' she said, 'I thought it would be so nice to see people who were a
hundred. Then, I suppose, the people here aren't any older than anywhere
else.'
'I can scarcely say that,' Aunt Anna replied. 'There are some very old,
and--there are odd stories about a few of the aged folk. I know one or
two who do not seem to have grown any older since _I_ can remember, and
my memory goes back a good way now. But, my dears, I came to tell you
that supper is ready--we must not let it get cold.'
She held out her hand to Leonore as she spoke. The little girl took it,
and went off with her very happily, Fraulein calling after them that she
would follow immediately.
'Please tell me, Aunt Anna,' said Leonore--it had been decided that she
should thus address the old lady--'please tell me, do you mean that some
of these very old people who don't grow any older are a kind of
_fairy_?'
She spoke almost in a whisper, but she was quite in earnest.
'Well,' said Aunt Anna, 'this country is on the borders of Fairyland, so
who can say? When we were children--I and my brothers and sisters and
the little barons and baronesses up at the Castle--when we all played
together long ago, we used often to try to find the way there--and
fairies, of course, are much cleverer than we are. I don't see why some
of them may not stray into our world sometimes.'
'And pretend to be _not_ fairies,' said Leonore eagerly. 'P'raps they go
back to Fairyland every night, and are here every day; fairies don't
need to go to sleep ever, do they?'
But Aunt Anna had not time to reply just then, for supper was on the
table, and all her attention was given to seeing that the dishes were
what they should be, and in helping her little guest to Leonore's
liking.
When Fraulein joined them, however, the conversation took a more general
turn.
'I was speaking just now to Leonore,' Aunt Anna began, 'of my
childhood--when your dear father, Elsie, and the others, and I used to
play with the castle children. And that reminds me that I have a piece
of news for you--things repeat themselves it is said. It will be strange
if a second generation----' she said no more, and for a moment or two
seemed lost in thought--the thought of the past!
Fraulein was used to her aunt's ways; the old lady was a curious mixture
of practical commonsense and dreamy fancifulness. But after a little
pause the niece recalled her to the present.
'A piece of news, you said, aunt? Good news, I hope?' she inquired.
'I think so,' said the aunt. 'It is about the family at the Castle.
Little Baroness Hildegarde is probably, almost certainly, coming here
to spend the winter with her grandparents. She may arrive any day.'
'Oh I _am_ pleased to hear it,' said Fraulein. 'It was just what I was
hoping might happen, but I dared scarcely think of it. It would be so
nice for our dear Leonore to have a companion.'
Leonore pricked up her ears at this.
'Yes, my dear,' Fraulein went on, in answer to the question in her eyes,
'I have not spoken of it to you before, for there seemed so little
chance of its coming to pass. It is about the little Hildegarde who
would be such a delightful companion for you. She is just about your
age, an only child as you are, and such a dear little girl by all
accounts. I have not seen her since she was six, but Aunt Anna knows her
well, and the family at the Castle have been our most kind friends for
so long.'
Leonore looked full of interest but rather perplexed.
'I don't quite understand,' she said. 'Do you mean that the little girl
is perhaps coming to live here in this house with us?'
'Oh no, my dear. Her own home is a good way off, but her grandpapa and
grandmamma live at the Castle--a large old gray house half way up the
hill above the village. I will show it to you to-morrow. It is a
wonderfully quaint old place. And the little Baroness comes sometimes on
long visits to her grandparents, who love to have her.'
'Only they fear it is lonely for her, as she is accustomed to the life
of a great capital,' said Aunt Anna. 'They were delighted to hear I was
expecting a little guest, when I saw them the other day, and they told
me of the probability of Hildegarde's coming.'
Fraulein almost clapped her hands at this.
'Nothing could be more fortunate,' she said. 'There will be no fear now
of your finding Dorf dull, my dearest Leonore.'
Leonore smiled back in return. It was impossible not to be touched by
her kind governess's anxiety for her happiness, but she herself had had
no fears about being dull or lonely at Dorf. She was not much accustomed
to companions of her own age, and just a little shy of them, so the news
of Hildegarde's coming was not quite as welcome to her as to her
friends.
'I should have been quite happy without anybody else,' she said to
herself. 'I love old Aunt Anna, and I am sure she knows plenty of fairy
stories whether she has ever seen any fairies herself or not.'
Still she felt, of course, a good deal of curiosity to see the
grandchild of the Castle, and could not help letting her thoughts run on
her. Would she be taller or smaller than herself--dark or fair, merry or
quiet? Above all, would she care for the same things--would she love
fairies, and be always hoping to see one some day?
There was plenty for Leonore to think about, and dream about, that first
night in the quaint little house, was there not?
And dream she did. When she woke in the morning it seemed to her that
she had been busy at it all night, though only one bit of her dreams
remained in her memory. This bit was about Hildegarde, and, strange as
it seemed, about a person she had only given a passing moment's
attention to--the old dame in the market-place at Alt.
She dreamt that she was walking along the village street, when she heard
a voice calling. She was alone, and she looked back expecting to see
Fraulein. But no--a queer little figure was trotting after her, and as
it came nearer she heard that the name that reached her ears was not
'Leonore,' but 'Hildegarde,' and with that, some queer feeling made her
slip inside the shade of a gateway she was passing to watch what
happened. And as the figure came quite close she saw that it was that of
the old apple-woman--then to her surprise there came flying down the
hill, for the village street lay closely below the rising ground at one
side, a child all dressed in white, with fair hair blowing about her
face as she ran.
'Here I am,' she said, 'what is it?'
And now glancing at the dame, Leonore saw that she was quite changed--at
first indeed she thought she was no longer there, till some unuttered
voice seemed to tell her that the figure now before her was still the
same person. She had grown tall and wavy-looking--her wrinkled face was
smooth and fair--only the bright dark eyes remained, and as she held out
her hand as if to welcome the pretty child, Leonore saw that in it lay
three nuts small and dry and brown--just like the three still stored in
her own jacket pocket.
'Take these,' said a sweet low voice, 'they will match hers. You will
know what to do with them, and by their means you will bring her to me.
We must make her happy--she has travelled far, and she has longed to
cross the borderland.
And Hildegarde, for the same inner voice seemed to tell Leonore that
Hildegarde it was, took the nuts and nodded, as if to say 'I
understand,' and with that, to her great disappointment, Leonore awoke!
Awoke, however, to what goes far to take away disappointment of such a
kind. For the sun was shining brightly, her simple but cosy little room
seemed painted in white and pale gold, and a soft green by the window
told her that the creepers had not yet faded into their winter bareness.
'I wonder what o'clock it is,' thought the little girl, as she gazed
about her in great content. 'How glad I am that it is such a fine day! I
do want to go all about the village, and especially to see the Castle. I
_wonder_ if Hildegarde is like the little girl in my dream. I do hope
she is. And how funny that I should have dreamt about the nut-woman
turning into a fairy--it does seem as if Hildegarde must care for
fairies just as I do--and as if she knew a good deal about them, too. By
the bye I do hope my nuts are safe. I never remembered to take them out
of my jacket pocket!'
She was on the point of jumping up to see if they were still there when
the door opened softly and Fraulein peeped in. She was already dressed,
and her face was beaming; it seemed to reflect the sunshine coming in
at the window.
'Oh, Fraulein, dear,' said Leonore, 'how lazy I am! You are dressed, and
I only woke up a few minutes ago.'
'All the better, my child,' was Fraulein's kind reply. 'It means, I
hope, that you have slept well and soundly. My native air brings back
old habits to me, you see. I was always accustomed to getting up very
early here. And see, what a lovely day it is! As soon as we have had
breakfast I must take you out to see the village and----'
'The Castle,' interrupted Leonore. 'Can't we go to the Castle? I do so
want to know if Hildegarde has come. I have been--' 'dreaming about
her,' she was going to say, but something, she knew not what, made her
hesitate and change the words into 'thinking of her--' 'so much.'
Which was of course quite true.
And something of the same feeling prevented her looking for the nuts
till Fraulein left the room.
'It is not likely that the little Baroness has already arrived,' her
governess replied. 'We shall be sure to hear as soon as she comes. But
we can see something of the Castle _outside_ at any rate. For the next
few days I think it must be all holiday-time,' she went on, smiling.
'Aunt Anna begs for it, and we have been working pretty steadily these
last months.'
Leonore had no objection to this proposal, though she was fond of
lessons, never having been over-dosed with them, and she jumped out of
bed and bathed and dressed in the best of spirits. The nuts were quite
safe in her jacket pocket. She wrapped them in a piece of paper for
better security and put them back again.
'I should not like to lose them,' she thought. 'My dream has given me a
feeling that there is something out of the common about them, and I
should like to take them with me wherever I go. Just _supposing_ I ever
met any fairy sort of person, perhaps the nuts might turn out to be of
use in some queer way.'
After breakfast, and when Fraulein had helped Leonore to arrange her
books and work and other little things in the room that was to serve as
her schoolroom during the winter, they set off on their first ramble
through and round the village.
It was a pretty village--lying as it did at the foot of the hills, which
were beautifully wooded, it could scarcely have been ugly. But besides
these natural advantages, it was bright and clean; many of the houses,
too, were pretty in themselves, with deep roofs and carved balconies,
and in some cases many coloured designs painted on the outside walls.
Leonore was delighted; it was so different from any place she had ever
seen before.
'Oh, Fraulein,' she exclaimed, 'it's like a toy-town. It doesn't look as
if real people had built it.'
'But it looks as if very real people had built _that_, does it not?'
said Fraulein, stopping short and drawing Leonore a little backward.
'_That_' was the grim old Castle, of which they now had the first view,
standing lonely and gray up on the heights overlooking the village, like
a stern guardian keeping watch on the doings of playful children at his
feet.
The little girl gazed at it with all her eyes.
'It's a real Castle,' she exclaimed; 'I _am_ so pleased. It looks as if
it had dungeons and--and--forti-- What is the word, Fraulein?'
'Fortifications,' said her governess. 'You mean that it is fortified.
Yes; at least it used to be in the old days. There are the holes in the
walls which the defenders used to shoot through in time of siege, and
there are battlements still quite perfect round the front. It is so
pleasant to saunter on them, and think of the strange scenes the old
place must have witnessed. We can walk up the hill towards the gates if
you like, and you will see a little more.'
Leonore, of course, _did_ like, and the nearer they got to the Castle
the more was she fascinated by the view of the ancient building. Just
outside the entrance they stood still, and Fraulein began pointing out
to her its different parts and giving her a little historical account of
it, to which she listened with interest. Suddenly--for all was very
silent just then--they heard steps approaching and a clear young voice
singing softly. And--Fraulein stopped talking and stood gazing before
her, as did Leonore, till--from among the trees which bordered the short
approach to the inner gateway, there appeared a childish figure, running
towards them, singing as she came. A young girl, dressed all in white,
with fair floating hair----
'It is Hildegarde,' said Leonore, growing pale with excitement. For the
figure was exactly like the little girl in her dream!