HILARY LANCASTER
While Cathalina Van Buskirk’s aunt was making suggestions, another aunt,
in a different way was shaping the destiny of another young girl, Hilary
Lancaster.
It was an early morning of the first week in June. Mrs. Lancaster always
found it wise to rise with the lark and accomplish what she could before
the door bell and telephone began for the day. This morning the grocery
list was made out, the breakfast cooking, the vegetables partly prepared
for the noon dinner, a blouse cut out for Tommy, and the porches fresh
from the hose. Hilary, too, had risen early to work a hard problem, and
it was she who had turned the hose on the porches.
“Call your father now, Hilary, please, and tell him that breakfast is
nearly ready. I will see about the boys presently. They are up but I
must see that Gordon puts on a clean collar. Is Mary awake?”
“Yes; I’ll dress her as soon as I call Father. June is all ready and
studying her history.”
It was a minister’s busy household. In due season, the breakfast over,
Hilary and June had washed the dishes and with the boys were off to
school. Mary was well established with her family of battered dolls
under the apple tree near the kitchen door. Mrs. Lancaster had commenced
to iron when the mail carrier arrived and Dr. Lancaster presently
appeared, by way of the dining room door, to hand her a letter.
“You are tired already, Grace,” said Dr. Lancaster. “You know I can’t
bear to have you do this.”
“I’ll not, reverend sir, as soon as we catch up a little; and anyway it
is so hard to find anybody. My woman does the washing well, but I tried
her on the ironing and it was hopeless! The children have so many
starched things, too, this hot weather, and they have to look well in
school.”
“All the more reason, then, for having some help.”
“School is almost out and then Hilary and June will be able to help me
more.”
Dr. Lancaster sighed and went back to his study, where much work of a
different sort was waiting him. In a few minutes, Mrs. Lancaster with
her open letter slipped to the study door, peeped in to see if her
husband were writing and under the influence of the divine afflatus; but
finding that he was still reading the morning paper, she went in to
share the news of her rather amazing message.
“Read this, dear, and tell me if I am dreaming.”
Dr. Lancaster looked inquiringly at his wife, laid down the paper, took
the letter and began to read it aloud.
My dear Grace:
It is at least three weeks, I know, since I wrote. But you
can imagine how much there was to do and how sad it all was.
I will write about it in detail later, but I have a special
purpose in this letter.
Although Horace was Mother Garland’s only child and although
she and I have lived together for so long, still it never
occurred to me that she would leave the bulk of the property
to me. That was one surprise, and another was that there is
so much of it. Mother lived so simply and we never knew
until after her death how many people and causes she had
helped. She wrote me a beautiful letter, found with her will
and other papers, and told me to accept it all with her love
and to take the rest and travel I would need. Her home is to
go to an old friend, so that relieves me of much care here,
and I shall make headquarters at my own lovely place, as
soon as my tenant’s lease expires. For the summer I shall go
to the lake as usual, and may have a new cottage built.
Now for the important plan I have to suggest. After I
returned home from my last delightful visit with you all, it
came over me how much all of us, from little Mary to your
husband, depended upon our Hilary. Think it over and see if
it isn’t so. Hilary is so full of life and vim and is so
unusually capable in anything she undertakes that if we are
not careful she may use up some of that vital force too
early. O, I know we grow by activity and all that,—but what
would you think of a change for Hilary from home and high
school to a girls’ school, for her last two years before
college? I gathered from what you and Max said that you are
planning to send her to college; and even then I was hoping
to have a share in that. And now, if you are willing, I can
do much more for my little namesake.
If on thinking over my suggestion, you are agreed, I will
send you a draft for a thousand dollars. As nearly as I can
find out, five hundred will take a girl through a school
such as we should choose for Hilary in comfort, if not in
luxury. But if it takes more, you can begin on the second
five hundred and I will make up the difference when the time
comes.
I hope Max will let me do this. It will be such a pleasure.
I can not tell you how proud I am of Hilary, the dear,
bright child! Please decide soon, and if favorably we can
send for catalogues and have all sorts of nice times getting
her ready to go. Applications ought to be in early at any
school. I know pretty well what Hilary likes, so I am going
to begin picking up pretty things for her outfit.
If Hilary does not like the plan,—well, no “ifs,”—I shall be
anxiously waiting your decision.
Lovingly your sister,
Hilary Garland.
Dr. Lancaster put down the letter and looked at his wife. “What do you
think of it?”
“I scarcely know. I was afraid you might feel a little annoyed, yet
Hilary Senior is always just so enthusiastic over what she wants to do
for her namesake.”
“No; I understand your sister. Her motives are of the best. We shall
only consider what is best for the child.”
At noon Hilary telephoned that she would not be home, for “they” were
practicing the Commencement music and one of the girls whose
accompaniment she was to play lived near the school building and had
invited her there for lunch.
At the Lancaster’s supper hour Hilary had not arrived, but came in
before the family had left the table. “Excuse me, folks,” she said, as
she sat down, unfolded her napkin, and leaned back in her chair in an
attitude of pretended collapse.
“All in?” asked Gordon.
“She’s all in and down and out,” put in Tommy, delighted to try the
slang at home.
Dr. Lancaster looked at his wife and said: “Tell us what you have been
doing today, Hilary.”
“The usual things, of course, at school. Then we practiced the
Commencement music at noon and again after school. On the way home, Miss
Bird stopped me first to see if I would take charge of the King’s
Heralds for a few meetings,—she is going away for a vacation. Next, Jim
Randall called across the street that I would have to lead League next
Sunday. One of the leaders has gone away and they have to move the
program up, the Leaders, I mean. Then Myrtle came along and told me that
the Sunday-school orchestra meets tonight, here if we can have it.”
“Take them over to the church, Hilary; the official board meets here,”
said Dr. Lancaster.
“And when I was about half way home Miss Brown stopped me to give me
back some themes,—said they were good—and while she was talking who
should come along but Professor Morton, wanting somebody to fill a gap
in the choir Sunday.”
“Going to do it all?” asked Tommy.
“O, yes, I couldn’t think of any excuse.”
“And examinations coming on,” suggested her father.
“O, no; I get out of them all. You always do if your grades are high
enough.”
At this remark Tommy grew very red, but kept quite still, while Gordon
winked at June. Poor Tommy was the only one of the children not excused
from examination, and while his grades were not low, he felt much
disgraced. Another year would probably find young Thomas taking his
studies more seriously.
“And what do you do after orchestra practice tonight?” inquired Dr.
Lancaster.
“Well, I get my last Caesar lesson,—hurrah!—and I thought I might begin
to copy your article for you, Father, unless Mother wants me to do
something else.”
“No typewriting tonight, daughter, both for your sake and that of the
official board.”
“Eat your supper, dear child,” said Mrs. Lancaster. “Aren’t these the
finest strawberries? Mr. Short brought them in from the country this
morning,—his choicest berries!”
“Sometimes it does pay to be the minister’s family, doesn’t it?” laughed
Hilary. “And your grand cake! How could you bake it when it was so hot?”
“Another donation, my dear; that is Mrs. Blake’s cake.”
“Ours now,” put in Gordon between bites.
“This is a good time, Mother,” said Dr. Lancaster, “to tell Hilary about
Aunt Hilary’s letter. It would seem that she is right about Hilary’s
busy life.”
The effect of the news upon the children was varied. All exclaimed and
looked at Hilary, who hardly knew at first whether to be glad or sorry,
provided the plan was adopted. She caught her breath in astonishment.
“How lovely of Aunt Hilary!—but how can I give up my class and all the
girls?” Then, thinking of the reported charms of boarding school life
she added, “It would be fun, I suppose. May I go to any school I want?”
“Yes,” replied her father, “unless you choose some ultra-fashionable
place. We want a real preparation for college. As your aunt suggests, we
can send for catalogues and decide together.”
“Father talks as if he’s going to let you do it,” said Gordon.
“But,” said June, who was trying hard not feel left out and to be
generously glad for Hilary, “what can we ever do without Hilary?”
“Your very question, little daughter, goes a long way to prove that it
might be just as well for Hilary to have a little less pressure outside
while she is working so hard at her lessons. I do want her to excel
there,—as she does.”
“But I _like_ everything!” cried Hilary. “Do you suppose I can ever
_stand_ it to leave you all?”
“You have been planning to stand it when you go to college,” remarked
Mrs. Lancaster, who was wondering privately how she could bring herself
to spare her oldest.
“But I’d be older then.”
“Think what fun it will be, Hilary,” continued her mother, “to buy your
clothes and get everything ready this summer.”
“O, can I choose my clothes, Mother?—think of it,—little old Hilary! It
is too wonderful! I wonder what Annette and the rest of the girls will
say.”
“Hilary said ‘can’ for ‘may,’” corrected June, putting a spoonful of
powdered sugar on a few remaining strawberries in her dish.
“I’m not sure, but I meant ‘can,’ anyway, Junie. You will have to help
me plan with Mother and Auntie.”
Such happy weeks for Hilary that summer. Aunt Hilary announced that none
of them would kill themselves sewing; so while they made some pretty
things, others were purchased ready-made, or the material handed over to
a dressmaker. “Suit, raincoat, winter coat, gloves,”—the list was made
out a dozen times before they actually started in to buy. And how they
rejoiced in the summer bargains for the simple summer dresses or pretty
accessories.
Aunt Hilary had invited Hilary, June and the boys to come and stay
through August at her summer cottage, while Dr. Lancaster, with Mrs.
Lancaster and little Mary, took his usual vacation in a more quiet spot.
Mrs. Garland took pains to show June, Gordon and Tommy that she was
interested in them as well as in her namesake. Parties, picnics, boating
and swimming where the little inland lake stretched placid waters, with
different performances of the enterprising Tommy, made the days fly.
From time to time Aunt Hilary made dainty additions to Hilary’s
“trousseau”, as she called it. Among other things which looked “bridey”,
according to Hilary, was a cedar chest, over which Hilary hung with
clasped hands, so great was her surprise and admiration.
“Look at the lovely lining and pockets, June! Why, Aunt Hilary, it will
be my hope box for ever!”
“What is a ‘hope box,’ Hilary?”
“Why, don’t you know? That is what the girls call the box where they put
their guest towels and doilies and silver and things they are saving for
when they get married.”
“O, yes; a bridal chest. I see.”
“I have several embroidered towels and some silver spoons already.”
“Mercy, child, I hope you are not thinking of such things yet!”
“No, indeed, Aunt Hilary; all I can think of is Greycliff and the
wonderful year I’m going to have. Honestly, I feel like dancing up and
down sometimes and can hardly wait.”
So sped the summer days on wings, until finally golden September came
once again with the ringing of school bells all over the land.