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Page 29
"Ou avez-vous procure ce chapeau?" inquired Gerald, politely.
"My dear Gerald, you know that I will not endure slang that is
less than fifty years old."
"It isn't slang, Mother! At least it may be; but I want to know,
because, really, you know, ma'am, when it comes to baskets--"
Mrs. Merryweather put up her hand, and removed her head-gear.
"Dear me!" she said, "it is a basket, sure enough. That is very
curious! Why--why then, I must have picked the raspberries into my
hat."
A shout of laughter, in which Mrs. Merryweather joined placidly,
greeted this announcement. "I put plenty of green leaves in it,"
she said; "it will be all right. But I sent it to the minister's
wife, and I fear she will be surprised. My dear Gertrude, have you
learned your Latin lesson, that I see you starting off so freely?"
"Yes, mother," said Gertrude, sadly. "I learned it, and it was a
detestable lesson. I am SO tired of hearing that Titus Labienus
was stationed on a hill!"
"I know!" chimed in Phil. "I remember when I was in Caesar, about
forty years ago, and Titus Labby was on the hill then. It's my
belief he got stuck there, and was afraid to come down."
"That is curious!" said Mrs. Merryweather, meditatively. "Always
on a hill; why, so he is! That is rather interesting, don't you
think so?"
"With all respect, I do not!" said Mr. Merryweather. "I desire to
depart. If Caesar had had a wheel, he would not have been so
tedious."
"Oh, jolly!" cried Gerald. "Caesar commanded to let scoot the
legions through the morasses and bogges the bogs. Then came
Vercingetorix on a '91 Columbia, weighing seventy-three pounds,
and said, 'How in time am I to get up this hill?' Then spake to
him Caesar, and said these words,--Get out, you Ferguson!"
For Ferguson, swiftly departing, had launched a kick at his
brother in passing, nearly sending him from his seat. Gerald
whirled off in pursuit; the others followed more soberly, and the
whole party disappeared round the curve of the road.
Hildegarde looked after them rather dolefully. A year ago a girl
on a bicycle was a shocking thing to our heroine; she shook her
little head severely, and said that nothing would induce her to
mount one. Somehow her views had changed since she had seen the
Merryweathers on theirs. She began to think that it would be
uncommonly pleasant to go skimming along like a swallow, swooping
down the hills and whirling along the levels. "The nearest
approach to flying that this generation will see," Mr.
Merryweather called it, and Hilda inclined to think he was right.
However--
"Remember that you are both coming over this morning," called Mrs.
Merryweather, cheerfully. "I mean this evening, of course, to tea.
We will have some music. Kitty, my dear, we must go to our
French."
"Shall we bring our sewing out on the verandah, mammy?" asked
Hilda, rousing herself from a little reverie. "Ah, you have the
letters, sly one, and never told me!"
"I doubted if there was anything that would interest you, my
love," said Mrs. Grahame. "Yes; let us have our work, by all
means. There are one or two business letters that I should like
you to look over."
Hilda smiled and departed, revolving the thought that she was a
selfish and empty-headed wretch. She did not want to read business
letters; she wanted to be on a wheel, flying over the smooth road,
with the wind lifting her hair and breathing cool against her
cheek. And here was her mother sitting alone, and the new
tablecloths to hem, and--and altogether--"If you COULD tell me why
they thought it worth while to keep you," she said to herself, "I
should be glad to know it. Perhaps you can tell me what P-I-G
spells."
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