THE BLUE-SILK ROOM
For this let each remember--life cannot all be play.
_The New Year's Answer._
But the children's plans for the next day did not come to pass.
Unluckily, Leonore had caught cold. It was nothing very bad, but she was
subject to sore throats sometimes, which made Fraulein doubly careful,
if ever she saw any symptoms of her having had a chill. And for some
days to come the little girl was not allowed to go out.
At first she felt rather dull and depressed, but as her friends were
soon satisfied that there was not much the matter with her, Hildegarde
was allowed to come to see her.
'How did you catch cold?' were her visitor's first words; 'it couldn't
surely have been from----' and she stopped short with a smile, for
curiously enough the children did not talk very much when they were
together, in an ordinary way, of their fairy adventures.
Leonore gave a little laugh.
'From riding on a cloud,' she said softly. 'No, I am quite sure it was
not from that, though certainly if we told anybody about it, they would
think it a sure way of catching cold.'
'They wouldn't believe it,' said Hildegarde, 'or at least they would
think we had been dreaming, but do you know, Leonore,' she went on
eagerly, 'I shouldn't wonder if some good came of your cold; it's only a
fortnight to Christmas now, and what grandmamma said that last day you
were at the Castle seems coming true. There are all the signs of a hard
winter, they say, and though grandmamma hasn't told me so, I have a
great idea that they are planning for you all to come and stay at the
Castle with us.'
Leonore's eyes danced with pleasure.
'How lovely that would be,' she said, 'do tell me what makes you think
so, Hildegarde?'
'Two or three things,' was the reply. 'I heard grandpapa talking about
this house, "Aunt Anna's little house," he called it. He said the roof
should have something done to it, in case of heavy snow, and that the
bailiff should have told him of this before, for it scarcely could be
done while the ladies were living in it. Then grandmamma smiled, and
said that she thought the difficulty might be got over. And once or
twice lately I have met old Maria on her way to the blue-silk room. One
day, she and another maid were carrying mattresses and things in there,
and when I asked her what it was for, she looked funny, and said
something about airing things, and evidently didn't want me to go into
the room, or ask her any more questions about it. So I shouldn't wonder
at all if they are preparing for your all coming. You see grandmamma is
like that; she doesn't do things by halves, and if you are to come, she
would like to add to our pleasure by giving us the blue-silk room
together.'
Leonore felt so excited that she could scarcely speak.
'I wonder how soon we shall know?' she said at last. 'It wouldn't do to
ask Aunt Anna, or Fraulein, I suppose?'
Hildegarde shook her wise little head very decidedly.
'Oh no,' she said, 'if they wanted us to know they would have told us.
If it is to be at all, it is to be a surprise; we must just be patient
for a few days.'
Their patience, as it proved, was not very sorely tried. The very first
day that Leonore was well enough to go out again without fear of fresh
cold, she was met by Hildegarde at the foot of the hill, and
Hildegarde's beaming face told its own tale.
'May I, oh may I tell Leonore?' she said to Fraulein Elsa, 'grandmamma
has given me leave provided you and Aunt Anna have no objection.'
Fraulein could not help smiling.
'My dear child,' she said, 'there would not be much use in stopping you
now; Leonore cannot but guess that there is a surprise in store; the
very way you came dancing down the hill was enough to show it. But we
must not keep Leonore standing. Come home with us and chatter as much as
you like.'
And in another moment the secret, which of course Leonore had already
guessed, was told.
'You are all coming to stay at the Castle for Christmas,' she exclaimed,
'that is to say if your cold doesn't get worse, or----'
Here Fraulein positively laughed.
'And that was to be decided by testing, if it did her no harm to come
out to-day,' she said. 'You should have waited till to-morrow,
Hildegarde.'
The little girl looked rather penitent, but Leonore soon reassured her--
'Of course it won't get worse,' she said, 'I haven't the least, tiniest
bit of a scrap of sore throat now; the only thing is,' she went on,
'that it doesn't seem as if any snowstorms were coming,' and she looked
up doubtfully into her governess's face.
'But why should you want snowstorms?' asked Fraulein, 'one can be very
happy at Christmas time, even if the weather is mild and the fields
still green.'
'Oh,' said Leonore, a little confused, for she did not want to take away
the pleasure of the 'surprise,' 'it was only that I thought----' and she
hesitated.
Hildegarde came to the rescue.
'Oh,' she said, 'it was only that grandmamma had already mentioned
something to us about your perhaps coming to stay at the Castle for
Christmas, if the weather got very bad; and there was something about
Aunt Anna's house needing repair. But all that doesn't matter now in the
least. It is fixed, quite fixed, do you hear, Leonore?--that you are
all coming next Monday, whether it snows, or hails, or thunders, or
whatever it does.'
So far as the present was concerned, there was not much sign of any
great weather disturbance, for the day was mild and bright, and Leonore
was by no means the worse, but decidedly the better, for her little
expedition. Both children, as children always do, whenever there is any
pleasure in prospect, thought that the days would never pass till 'next
Monday.' But pass they did, and it would have been difficult to find two
happier little maidens than Hildegarde and her guest, when the rather
lumbering old carriage, which had been sent to fetch the three visitors,
drew up in front of the Castle door.
'Come, come, quick,' were Hildegarde's first words to Leonore, 'I am in
such a hurry to take you to our room,' and scarcely allowing her little
friend time to receive the greetings of the Baron and Baroness, and
their two younger sons, Hildegarde's uncles, who had arrived the night
before to spend Christmas at home, she seized her little friend's hand,
and hurried her off to a part of the Castle, which Leonore had not yet
seen.
'Leonore,' she said, stopping to take breath, for though the steps of
the staircase which they were mounting were shallow, she had raced up
them at a tremendous rate. 'Leonore, it is as I thought, we are to have
the blue-silk room.'
Up one other little flight they went, across a small landing and along a
corridor, at the end of which a door stood partly open. A pleasant
sparkle of firelight met them, and in another moment they were in the
most fascinating room that Leonore had ever seen or even dreamt of.
As Hildegarde had described, it was all hung with blue silk, round which
were worked lovely wreaths of rosebuds. And the remarkable thing was
that the colours both of the silk and the embroidery were as fresh as if
they had only just been made, though, as the Baroness had told her,
Leonore knew that certainly more than a century and a half had passed
since the room had first been furnished. She stood still, gazing round
her.
'Oh what a lovely room!' she exclaimed. 'I had no idea any room could
have been so beautiful, though you told me about it. But where are our
beds, Hildegarde?'
Hildegarde laughed.
'That's the beauty of it,' she said, drawing back, as she spoke, the
blue hangings at one end, thus disclosing to view a recess in which
stood two little beds side by side. 'It is like several rooms instead of
one, there are two or three alcoves that you don't see when the curtains
are drawn at night; one of them has a great big window to the south,
where it is beautifully warm. I think we shall call that alcove our
boudoir.'
It was a delightful room, and the two children were very happy, till
summoned downstairs to supper, in arranging the newcomer's possessions,
and planning how they should spend their time during Leonore's stay at
the Castle.
'We are sure to have a good deal of fun,' said Hildegarde, 'for the next
week or so while my uncles stay; it is rather a pity that the hard
winter that was talked so much about hasn't begun yet, for they would
have skated with us.'
'I have never learnt to skate,' said Leonore, 'but your uncles look very
kind, and perhaps they would have taught me.'
'Yes,' Hildegarde replied, 'I am sure they would; they are very nice,
though not to be compared with papa. If only he and mamma were here, and
your father, Leonore, we should have everything we could want in the
world, wouldn't we?'
'Even to knowing that we have still two nuts to crack,' said Leonore in
a low voice.
Hildegarde's grandfather looked round the well-filled table with
pleasure, when all had taken their places.
'This is much better,' he said heartily, 'than being alone, as we were
last Christmas, not even our little Hildegarde was here. If only your
father and mother and our little friend's father too,' he added kindly,
turning to Leonore, 'were here, I should feel quite satisfied.'
'That is just what we were saying on our way downstairs,' said
Hildegarde, 'I do believe grandpapa, you have something of a fairy about
you too, to guess one's thoughts as you often do. Grandmamma is
certainly a kind of fairy godmother, as well as being grandmamma. She
plans such lovely surprises. Leonore and I are _so_ happy in the
blue-silk room.'
'Oh that is where you have taken up your quarters, is it?' said her
grandfather. 'Well, you could not be anywhere better; it has the name of
being the luckiest room in the Castle under fairy guardianship, not that
I quite believe in such things, though I do think the Castle has some
fairy visitors,' he went on more gravely; 'the fairies of love and
kindness are with us I hope; indeed, when I look back through a long
life, mostly spent here, I think we have been a specially favoured
family. My own parents and grandparents were good and kind to
everybody.'
'And so, I am sure, are you and grandmamma,' said Hildegarde eagerly.
Leonore looked up half timidly.
'There are other fairies too, the fairies of industry and perseverance,
that your grandmother told us about,' she said to Hildegarde.
The Baroness overheard her.
'Yes,' she said, with a smile, 'they must have had a hand in the
adornment of the blue-silk room.'
It was a charming nest in which to fall asleep, with the firelight
dancing on the lovely colours of the sheeny silk, and it was a charming
room to wake up in the next morning, when the first rays of the pale
wintry sunshine began to creep in through the one window, which the
little girls had left uncurtained the night before. They were later than
usual of getting up, for they had been later than usual of going to bed.
Rules were to be relaxed somewhat during the Christmas holidays.
'Are you awake, Hildegarde?' said Leonore. 'Oh yes,' was the reply.
'Doesn't the room look pretty?'
Leonore raised herself on her elbow. 'Yes,' she said, 'and so
beautifully neat. Did you tidy it at all after I got into bed last
night, Hildegarde?'
'No indeed,' laughed her friend, 'I was too sleepy. I wonder if Amalia
has been in already this morning without waking us.'
'I could almost fancy she had,' said Leonore, for I have a dreamy
feeling of having heard some one moving about softly, as if they were
putting things straight or dusting.'
Just then came the maid's tap at the door; but on being questioned as to
whether she had been in before, she laughingly shook her head, owning
that she herself had slept later than usual that morning--if the young
ladies had heard any one arranging the room, it must have been a
'brownie.'
The children were not unwilling to think so.
'I daresay it was,' said Hildegarde in a whisper, 'it is only to be
expected in a fairy room like this.'
And certainly the next few days passed happily enough to justify the
pleasant belief that the blue-silk room brought joy to those who
inhabited it. Though frost and snow kept off, and there was no chance
of skating, there were plenty of other amusements out of doors, as well
as indoors; for Hildegarde's uncles proved quite as kind as Leonore
thought they looked, and planned pleasant walks and drives and games for
the two little girls.
Then came Christmas itself, the happiest that Leonore had ever known,
for her father had never been with her, that she could remember, at that
season, and she had often, at home in England, felt it a little lonely.
They had a Christmas-tree of course, a great beauty, provided with
exactly the right presents for everybody, servants and humble friends
connected with the Castle, as well as for the family itself and their
visitors. And in the midst of all this enjoyment and excitement, the
little girls almost forgot that they had still two magic nuts to crack,
when the right time should come.
Two days after Christmas the scene changed. In the first place, the
uncles had to leave to rejoin their regiments--greatly to the little
girls' regret, and then began the fulfilment of the weather prophet's
predictions. There came sudden and severe cold, soon followed by a heavy
fall of snow, accompanied by gales, such as were seldom known in that
inland part of the country; weather indeed, almost approaching what is
nowadays called a 'blizzard.'
At first the children found it rather amusing, though the Baron looked
grave, as news was brought in of the destruction among his trees, and
after a day or two, the wind fell, but the snow continued. And even when
it ceased to fall, leaving the house was completely out of the question,
so deep did it lie, and to such a height had it, in many parts, drifted.
After some days of this enforced imprisonment, Hildegarde and Leonore
began to think a snowstorm by no means a laughing matter. They had
played all their games so often, that they were growing tired of them;
they had read and re-read their books, of which there was no great
number suitable for children in the Castle, and one afternoon, when they
were by themselves, in their own room, they looked at each other rather
disconsolately, the same question rising to the lips of both.
'What shall we do with ourselves?'
Fraulein had done her utmost to amuse them, but she too, by this time,
was almost at the end of her resources, and they knew it was no use to
apply to her again, unless they wished to begin lessons, in earnest
before the holidays were over! So they sat down together on the floor,
in front of the fire, half laughing at their own dullness.
Suddenly, in one corner of the room, they heard a little tapping; had it
been summer, and had the windows been open, they could have fancied it
the tap of a wood-pecker, so clear and dainty did it sound.
'What can that be?' exclaimed Hildegarde; 'listen, Leonore,' and again
came the tapping.
The children held their breath to listen. Then----
[Illustration: THE UNSELFISH MERMAID.]