Hildegarde's Home

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them she did, with all her heart, as she threw open the shutters and let the glad June sunlight stream in

hes swimming all over it. She did not know that Captain Robert Aytoun had brought it in the hold of his ship all the way from Singapore, for his little Hester, but she did know that it was the most delightful tub she had ever dreamed of; and as she splashed the crystal water about, she almost ceased, for the first time, to regret the blue river which had been her d

after breakfast, or arrange the Penates now and go out later?" One more glance from the window decided the matter. "They must wait, poor dears

hich a flagged walk led toward the back of the house. Here was a pleasant sort of yard, partly covered with broad flags, with a grassy space beyond

e!" said Hildegarde. "This i

does. I kin have some chickens here, and do my washin' out-doors, an

ie's domain, and Hildegarde

rom the long, pendent branches of the trees. The paths were damp, and covered with fine green moss. Great hedges of box grew on either side, untrimmed, rising as high as the girl's head; and as she walked between them their cool glossy leaves brushed against her cheek. Here and there was a neglected flower-bed, where a few pallid rosebuds looked sadly out, and pinks flung themselves headlong over t

ld clematis called virgin's-bower. She peeped in, but did not venture across the threshold, because it looked as if there might be spiders in it. Through the opposite door, however, she caught a glimpse of a very different prospect, a flash of yellow sunlight, a sunny meadow stretching up and away. Skirting the summer-house carefully, she

orld and t

orld and th

o find herself dropping in

whatever to do with the green. "Hi-ya! Miss Hildy chile!" the mellow African voice came floating down through the trees wit

and the strawberry jam" were things of the past, and they were out on the piazza

to change anything in Miss Barbara's sacred parlour, it is not exactly the place to be cosy in. But, dear child, I shall have to

e shall live here a great deal, I am sure. It is just a great pleasant room, with one side of it taken off. And it is very quiet, with the strip of lawn, and the ledge

dear, you asked me a few minutes ago what was to be done. I thought it would be ple

om the trunk, and waiting for me. But don't you want me to see the butcher for you, love, or let aun

ling, and Hildegarde flew upstai

r cast of the Venus of Milo, another of the Pompeian Psyche, both "treated" in some way that gave them the smooth lustre of old ivory; a hideous little Indian idol, carved out of dark wood, with eyes of real carbuncle; a doll's tea-set of exquisite blue and white china, brought to Hildegarde from Pekin by a wandering uncle, when she was eight years old; a stuffed hawk, confidently asserted by its owner to be the original "jolly gosshawk" of the Scottish ballad, which could "speak and flee"; a Swiss cuckoo clock; several great pink-lipped shells; a butterfly net; a rattlesnake's skin; an exquisite statuette of carved wood, representing Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths, a copy of the famous bronze statue at Innsbruck; a large assortment of pasteboard boxes, of all sizes and shapes; three or four work-baskets; last of all, some frame

hame of C

unt Du

any other head, but seemed not out of place here. The face was not beautiful, but calm and strong, with e

of Oran

Stadt-holder of

ip II. of Spain. It was a constant gratification to her to know that it was there, and she occasionally, as now, turned it round and made insulting remarks

was, Which hero was t

into the calm eyes of the majestic Dutchman, "and we all know it. Bu

he fancied that she saw a look of impatience in those of the Scottish chieftain. Then she looked again at t

hotograph of the Sistine Madonna, "I put her in the middle, a

the Raphael "violin-player," and "St. Cecilia," were easily disposed of on the various panels, while over th

new home. "So dear they are!" she said fondly. "I wish Hester could see them. Don't you suppo

n, smooth shelves. Those big volumes on the lowest shelf are Scudder's "Butterflies," a highly valued work, full of coloured plates, over which Hildegarde sighs with longing rapture; for, from collecting moths and butterfl

looks as if it had been read almost to pieces, as indeed it has. (There is a mark laid in at the "Burial March of Dundee," which Hildegarde is learning by heart. This young woman has a habit of keeping a

the "Tales of a Grandfather," and "Lorna Doone," and the dear old "Days of Bruce," and "Scottish Chiefs," side by side with the "Last of the Barons," and the "

ngham's Ballad Book, and Mrs. Browning, and "Sir Launfal," and the "Golden Treasury," and "Children's Garland." There is no room for the handy volume Shakespeare, so he and his box must live on top of the bookcase, with his own bu

e collection comprehensively, "then I never saw one, that's all. Isn't it nice, dear persons?" she continu

t could read English; and Dundee's knowledge of literature was slight, if we may j

om this the natural step was to the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" (which she had not read so very lately, she thought, with a guilty glance

the dinner-table, and gave a furtive pat to her hair, which she had smoothed rather hurriedly. "You know you would have brained me with the

emarks," she said. "A pretty idea he would have of my maternal care. After all, my desire is to keep tacks out of your fo

It dropped off my glove, and it would not have disagreed with you in the least. I mov