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Page 32
"Possibly to-night, at the Merryweathers'," said her mother.
"These pleasant little tea-parties seem to take in all our little
circle. See! there come the riders back again, Gerald and Phil
racing, as usual. Hear them shout! Certainly, never a family was
better named."
Hildegarde came up behind her mother, and put her arms lightly
round her neck.
"I prefer my pea!" she said. And the two women laughed and kissed
each other and went on with their work.
CHAPTER IX.
MERRY WEATHER INDOORS.
It rained that evening, so the plans for tennis were brought to
naught; but the evening was cheerful enough, in spite of the
pouring rain outside. The wide, book-strewn parlour of Pumpkin
House was bright with many lamps, and twinkling with laughing
faces of boys and girls. Mr. Merryweather, cheerfully resigned to
"company," possessed his soul and his pipe (being duly assured
that Mrs. Grahame liked the smell of tobacco), and the Colonel
puffed his cigar beside him. A little fire crackled on the hearth,
"just for society," Mrs. Merryweather said, and most of the
windows were wide open, making the air fresh and sweet with the
fragrance of wet vines and flowers. The two ladies were deep in
household matters, each finding it very pleasant to have a
companion of her own age, though each reflecting that the children
were much better company in the long run. The children themselves
were playing games, with gusts of laughter and little shrieks and
shouts of glee. They had had "Horned Lady," and Willy's head was a
forest of paper horns, skilfully twisted. Hugh had just gone
triumphantly through the whole list, "a sneezing elephant, a punch
in the head, a rag, a tatter, a good report, a bad report, a
cracked saucepan, a fuzzy tree-toad, a rat-catcher, a well-greaved
Greek, etc., etc., etc.
"There are no thoughts in this game, beloved," said the child when
he had finished, turning to Hildegarde. "My head turns round, but
it is empty inside."
"Good for Hugh!" cried Phil. "Just the same with me, Hugh. It
makes me feel all fuzzy inside my head, like the tree-toad."
"You ARE like a tree-toad!" said Gerald. "That is the resemblance
that has haunted me, and I could not make it out, because as a
rule tree-toads are not fuzzy. I thank thee, Jew--I mean Hugh--for
teaching me that word. My brother, the tree-toad! Every one will
know whom I mean."
"Just as they know you as the 'one as is a little wantin',"
retorted Phil. "Just think, Miss Hilda, Jerry and I spent a week
together at a house at Pemaquid, and Jerry left his sponge behind
him when he came away. Well, and when the captain of the tug
brought it over to the island where the rest of us were, he said
one of the boys had left it, the one as was a little wantin'. And
he said it was a pity about him, and asked if there warn't nothin'
they could do for his wits."
"That was because he heard me reciting my Greek cram to the cow,"
said Gerald. "Most responsive animal I ever saw, that cow, and
mooed in purest Attic every time I twisted her tail. And how about
the pitch-kettle, my gentle shepherd? Was I ever seen, I ask the
assembled family,--WAS I ever seen with a pitch-kettle on my head
instead of a hat?"
"Oh, Hilda!" exclaimed Bell; "you ought to have seen Phil. He had
been pitching the canoe,--this was ever so long ago, of course,--
and he thought it would be great fun to put the pitch-kettle on
his head. He thought it was quite dry, you see. So he did, and
went round with it for a little, so pleased and amused; and then
he saw some ladies coming, and tried to take it off, and it
wouldn't come. Oh dear! how we did laugh!"
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