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Page 15
Very gently the three girls laid the white covering back over the
little dolls, who lay quiet and rosy, and seemed as content as
ever was Sleeping Beauty in her tower. They peeped into the chest
of drawers, and found it full of dainty frocks and petticoats, all
exquisitely made; there was even a pile of tiny handkerchiefs,
marked "Annabel" and "Celia." This sight made Gertrude's tears
flow afresh; she was a tender-hearted child, and tears fell from
her eyes as softly and naturally as dew from a flower.
When all was seen, they closed the little window, and with a mute
farewell to the sweet guardian spirit of the little place,--the
girl who had loved her dolls, and so made herself dear to all
other girls,--the three withdrew, and softly, reluctantly drew the
sliding panel after them.
"I shall not forget," whispered Hildegarde, who was the last to
leave the secret chamber; "I shall come sometimes, Hester dear,
and sit there, just I myself, and we will talk together, the dolls
and I. I shall not forget."
The panel slid into its place with a faint click; no sign was
left, only the white wainscoting, one panel like another, and the
crooked stair winding up to the open, airy room above.
CHAPTER V.
TEA AT ROSEHOLME.
On a certain lovely evening in June, Hildegarde left the house at
six o'clock, or, to be precise, at five minutes before six, and
took the path that led to Roseholme. It was her eighteenth
birthday, and the Colonel was giving her a tea-party. This was a
great event, for many years had passed since guests had been
invited to Roseholme. The good Colonel, always delighted to be
with Hildegarde and her mother, had still kept up his solitary
habits at home, and save for little Hugh, who flitted about the
dark old house like a sunbeam, it was a lonely place. Now,
however, the Colonel had roused himself and declared that he, and
no other, should give his young friend her birthday treat. The
Merryweathers were invited, all except the two youngest, Will and
Kitty. Mrs. Grahame was already there, having gone over early, at
the Colonel's request, to help in arranging certain little matters
which he considered beyond the province of his good housekeeper;
and now it was time for the "beneficiary," as Gerald Merryweather
called her, to follow.
Hildegarde was dressed in white, of course; she always wore white
in the evening. Miss Loftus, her neighbour in the new stone house,
sometimes expressed wonder at that Grahame girl's wearing white so
much, when they hadn't means to keep so much as a pony to carry
their mail; her wonder might have been set at rest if she could
have peeped into the airy kitchen at Braeside, and seen Hildegarde
singing at her ironing-table in the early morning, before the sun
was hot. Auntie, the good black cook, washed the dresses
generally, though Hildegarde could do that, too, if she was "put
to it;" but Hildegarde liked the ironing, and took as much pride--
or nearly as much--in her own hems and ruffles as she did in the
delicate laces which she "did up" for her mother. Her dress this
evening was sheer white lawn, and she had a white rose in her
hair, and another in her belt, and, altogether, she was pleasant
to look upon. Gerald Merryweather, who with his brother was making
his way along another path in the same direction, saw the girl,
and straightway glowed with all the ardour of seventeen.
"I say!" he exclaimed, under his breath, "isn't she stunning?
Look, Ferg, you old ape! Ever see anything like that?"
Ferguson, who was of a cooler temperament, replied without
enthusiasm, maintaining that there had been, in the history of
womankind, maidens as beautiful as Miss Grahame, or even more so.
Becoming warm in the discussion, the two grappled, and rolled over
and over at Hildegarde's feet. She gave a little scream, and then
laughed. "Any one hurt?" she asked. "If not, perhaps I had better
brush you off a bit before we go into the house."
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