Hildegarde\'s Neighbors

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THE HILDEGARDE SERIES

Hildegarde's Neighbors

A STORY FOR GIRLS

BY LAURA E. RICHARDS

Author of

"The Margaret Series," "The Hildegarde Series," "Captain January,"
"Melody," "Five Minute Stories," etc.

ILLUSTRATED

TO

M.C.G.

IN TOKEN OF THE AFFECTION OF MANY YEARS.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I. THE ARRIVAL

II. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW

III. PUMPKIN HOUSE

IV. HESTER'S PLAYROOM

V. TEA AT ROSEHOLME

VI. ANOTHER TEA-PARTY

VII. IN GOOD GREEN WOOD

VIII. "HANDS ACROSS THE SEA"

IX. MERRY WEATHER INDOORS

X. A NEW LIFE

XI. A NIGHT-PIECE

XII. A-SAILING WE WILL GO

XIII. IN PERIL BY WATER

XIV. ROGER THE CODGER

XV. A MORNING HOUR

XVI. GOOD-BY

HILDEGARDE'S NEIGHBORS

CHAPTER I.

THE ARRIVAL.

"Mamma," said Hildegarde Grahame, flying into her mother's room,
"I have news for you, thrilling news! Guess what it is!"

Mrs. Grahame looked up from her sewing.

"The house is on fire," she said, quietly, "or you have found a
Royal Walnut Moth; or, possibly, Hugh has developed wings and
flown away. None of these things would greatly surprise me; but in
the first case I must take action, while in either of the others I
can finish this seam."

"Continue your prosaic labours!" said the girl. "The dress is
mine, and I want it."

She sat down, and fanned herself with her broad straw hat. "It is
hot!" she announced with emphasis.

"And that is the news?" said her mother. "Astonishing! I should
never have guessed it, assuredly."

"Madam, you are a tease! The big yellow house is let, and the
family is moving in today, at this moment! NOW, how do you feel?"

"Much the same, thank you!" was the reply. "Slight acceleration of
the pulse, with fever-flush; nothing more. But it is great news,
certainly, Hilda. Do you know anything of the people?"

Hildegarde quoted:

"'I saw them come; one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.'

"Mr. and Mrs. Miles Merryweather, six children, cook, housemaid
and seamstress, two dogs, two cats (at least the basket mewed, so
I infer cats), one canary bird, and fourteen trunks."

"Do I understand that Miss Grahame has been looking through the
gap in the hedge?"

"You do, madam. And oh, mammina, it was such fun! I really could
not help it; and no one saw me; and they came tumbling in in such
a funny, jolly way! I rather think we shall like them, but it will
be strange to have such near neighbours."

"I wonder what the Colonel will say!" Mrs. Grahame commented.

"He is pleased," said Hildegarde; "actually pleased. He knows Mr.
Merryweather, and likes him; in fact, he has just been telling me
about them."

"Hildegarde, you are becoming a sad gossip," said Mrs. Grahame,
severely. "I think you would better sit down and work these
buttonholes at once."

"So that I can repeat the gossip to you," said this impertinent
young woman, kissing her mother lightly on the forehead.
"Precisely, dear madam. Where is my thimble? Oh, here! Where are
the buttonholes? Oh, there! Well, now you shall hear. And I fear I
have been a gossip, indeed.

"It began with obedience to my elders and betters. You told me to
go down and see how Mrs. Lankton's 'neurology' was; and I went. I
found the poor old thing in bed, and moaning piteously. I am bound
to say, however, that the moans did not begin till after I clicked
the latch. It is frightful to see how suspicious a course of Mrs.
Lankton always makes me. I went in, and the room was hermetically
sealed, with a roaring fire in the air-tight stove."

"To-day!" exclaimed Mrs. Grahame; "the woman will die!"

"Not she!" said Hildegarde. "I was nearly suffocated, and
protested, with such breath as I could find; but she said, 'Oh,
Miss Grahame, my dear! you don't know anything about trouble or
sickness, and no need to before your time. A breath of air, my
dear, is like the bellers to my neurology--the bellers itself! Ah!
I ain't closed my eyes, not to speak of, since you was here last.'

"I tried to convince her that good air was better than bad, since
she must breathe some kind of air; but she only shook her head and
groaned, and told me about a woman who got into her oven and shut
the door, and stayed there till she was baked 'a beautiful light
brown,' as Mrs. Lincoln says. ''T was a brick oven, dear, such as
you don't see 'em nowadays; and she was cured of her neurology,
slick and slap; but I don't never expect no such help of mine, now
Mr. Aytoun's dead and gone. Not but what your blessed ma is a
mother to me, and so I always tell the neighbours.'

"Do you want any more, missis? I can go on indefinitely, if you
like. I stayed as long as I dared, and managed to hold the door
open quite a bit, so that a little air really did get in; and I
gave her the liniment, and rubbed her poor old back, and then gave
her a spoonful of jelly, and ran. That is the first part of my
tale. Then, I was coming home through the Ladies' Garden, and I
found my Hugh playing Narcissus over a pool, and wondering whether
freckles were dirt on his soul that came out in spots--the lamb!
And I had to stay and talk with him a bit, and he was so dear! And
then I walked along, and just as I came to the gap in the hedge,
Mrs. Grahame, my dear madam, I heard the sound of a lawn-mower on
the other side, and a man's voice whistling. This was amazing, and
I am human, though I don't know whether you ever noticed it. I
looked, I did; and so would others, if they had been there. A
wagon stood at the back door, all piled with trunks and bags and
baskets; I liked the look of the baskets, I can't tell exactly
why. And at that very moment a carriage drove up, with two
delightful brown horses, and a brown man who looked delightful,
too, driving. I know it must be Mr. Merryweather, mammy, and I am
sure we shall like him. Tall and straight and square, with clear
blue eyes and broad shoulders; and handled his horses well, and--
what are you laughing at, Mrs. Grahame, if I may be permitted to
ask?"

"I was only thinking that this charming individual was, in all
probability, the coachman," said Mrs. Grahame, with mild
malignity.

"Mamma!" cried Hildegarde, indignantly. "As if I didn't know a
coachman when I saw him! Besides, the Colonel--but wait! Well, and
then there was Mrs. Merryweather--stout and cheerful-looking, and
I should think very absent-minded. Well, but, mother," seeing Mrs.
Grahame about to protest, "she was dressed for driving, not to say
travelling, and she--she had a pen behind her ear. She truly had!

"There were two big girls, and two big boys, and a little girl,
and a little boy. I thought they all looked nice, and the girls
were pretty, and one of the big boys was so full of fun he
twinkled all over. A handsome boy, with red hair and dark blue
eyes; but, oh, such a pity! his name is Obadiah, for I heard the
other call him so. How can intelligent people call a boy Obadiah?"

She sewed for some minutes in silence, her needle darting in and
out with thoughtful regularity, then went on.

"All the family seem to have strange names. The other boy is
called Ferguson, and one girl is Toots, and another is Chucky. I
detest nicknames; but these people all seemed so jolly, and on
such good terms with each other, that I felt a sort of warming to
them. The girl named Toots tumbled out of the wagon, and the
others all laughed, and she laughed, too. She dropped everything
she was carrying, and she was carrying a great deal,--a butterfly-
net, and a mouse-trap, and three books, and a bandbox,--and
everybody seemed to think that the best joke of all. One called
her medicine dropper, and another drop-cake, and another dropped
egg, and so on; and away they all went into the house, laughing
and shouting and tumbling over each other. Such a jolly family.
Mamma!"

"Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Grahame, very quietly, but without
looking up.

"Nothing!" said Hildegarde. "You are an angel, that is all."

Mrs. Grahame sighed, and thought, as Hildegarde had been thinking,
how good it would be to have many children, like a crown of
sunbeams, about her; and thought of a little grave in Greenwood,
where her only boy lay.

Presently she looked up with her usual bright smile.

"This is all very interesting, Hilda, and I fully sympathize with
your feelings behind the hedge; but you have not told me how you
came to know about our new neighbours. Did Colonel Ferrers join
you at your peep-hole?"

"He did, mamma! He did just precisely that. I saw him coming along
the road, swinging his stick, and frowning and humming to
himself,--dear thing! And when he came near the house, and heard
the voices, he stopped and looked, and began to go softly and
slowly; so then I knew that he, too, wanted to see what was going
on. So I slipped to the gate and beckoned to him, and he came in
on tiptoe and joined me. Such fun we had,--just like two
conspirators! He could see over my head, so we could both look at
once; and he kept muttering scraps of information in my ear, so
that it quite buzzed. Yes, I know you are shocked, dear madam, but
it really could not be helped; and you said once to Jack--poor old
Jack!--that his uncle was a criterion of gentle breeding and
manners! So now, Mrs. Grahame!"

"Well," said Mrs. Grahame, "since matters are so, I may as well
hear what my criterion had to say about our new neighbours. A
pretty state of things, truly! the magnate and the maiden, spying
through bushes on these unsuspecting strangers. Say on, unhappy
girl!"

"Of course he said, 'Hum, ha!' first, a good many times; and we
laughed at each other, under our breath, and were very happy. And
then he said, 'Miles Merryweather, my dear! Excellent person!
Heard he had taken the old house, but had no idea he was coming so
soon. Eminent scientific man, manager of the new chemical works at
Brompton, over yonder. Met him once, some years ago; glad to renew
the acquaintance. Large family, I see, yes, yes; hum, ha! Boy
about Hugh's age; inferior to him in intellect, my dear, I'll bet
a--I should be tolerably certain. Astonishing lad, my Hugh! Ha!
Mrs. Merryweather, presumably; literary, I hear, and that sort of
thing. Don't care for literary people myself; prefer their books;
but looks amiable. Pretty girl that, Hilda, my dear! the tall slip
with the fair hair! Yes, yes! "A pretty girl's the noblest work
of"--you remember? What's that? "An honest man," in the original?
Now, will you hear this girl setting her elders to rights? I
wonder what your mother was thinking of when she brought you up,
young woman!' and so on, and so on, in his own delightful way.
Really, mammina, from what he said, we are going to have a great
acquisition to the little neighbourhood. We must call as soon as
it would be in any way decent, mustn't we? Oh, but wait! I must
tell you the end. We had been so interested in watching the
children, and in seeing them go tumbling down and up into the
house, that we had lost sight of Mr. Merryweather himself. I
suppose he must have driven round to the stable and left the
horses there; for suddenly, almost in our ears, we heard a deep
voice saying, 'A fine hedge, but needs clipping badly; we must set
the boys to work in the morning.' We started back as if we had
been shot. Colonel Ferrers turned purple, and I felt every colour
in the rainbow flooding my cheeks. We made sure we had been seen
or heard, and I think Colonel Ferrers was on the point of stepping
forward like a soldier, and apologizing; but I held his arm for a
moment, in pure cowardice, and the next moment we saw Mr. and Mrs.
Merryweather, arm in arm, gazing calmly at the hedge, and
evidently unconscious of any guilty crouchers on the other side.
Oh, mammy! if you could have seen us stealing away, how you would
have laughed. The Colonel is not very light, you know, bless him!
and to see him mincing along on the tips of his dear toes,
scarcely daring to draw breath, still purple with embarrassment
and suppressed laughter, and looking over his shoulder at every
step, as if he expected to see Mr. Merryweather come bursting
through the hedge in pursuit,--oh, it was too funny! When we got
round the corner we both sat down on the steps and giggled, like
two infants; and then he said he was deeply ashamed of me, and
bade me go in and make confession to you for both of us. So now I
have done it, dear madam, and you are to forgive all our sins,
negligences and ignorances, please, and the Colonel is coming to
tea, with his compliments."

CHAPTER II.

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.

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