Queen Hildegarde | Page 2

trunks, a maid, a footman, and
three lapdogs! That would never do for Hilda."
"You surely are not thinking of leaving her alone here with the
servants?"

The lady shook her head. "No, dear; such poor wits as Heaven granted
me are not yet entirely gone, thank you!"
Mr. Graham rose from his chair and flung out both arms in a manner
peculiar to him when excited. "Now, now, now, Mildred!" he said
impressively, "I have always said that you were a good woman, and I
shall continue to assert the same; but you have powers of tormenting
that could not be surpassed by the most heartless of your sex. It is
perfectly clear, even to my darkened mind, that you have some plan for
Hilda fully matured and arranged in that scheming little head of yours;
so what is your object in keeping me longer in suspense? Out with it,
now! What are you--for of course I am in reality only a cipher (a
tolerably large cipher) in the sum--what are you, the
commander-in-chief, going to do with Hilda, the lieutenant-general? If
you will kindly inform the orderly-sergeant, he will act accordingly,
and endeavor to do his duty."
Pretty Mrs. Graham laughed again, and looked up at the six-feet-two of
sturdy manhood standing on the hearth-rug, gazing at her with eyes
which twinkled merrily under the fiercely frowning brows. "You are a
very disorderly-sergeant, dear!" she said. "Just look at your hair! It
looks as if all the four winds had been blowing through it--"
"Instead of all the ten fingers going through it," interrupted her husband.
"Never mind my hair; that is not the point.
What--do--you--propose--to--do--with--your daughter--Hildegarde, or
Hildegardis, as it should properly be written?"
"Well, dear George," said the commander-in-chief (she was a very
small woman and a very pretty one, though she had a daughter "older
than herself," as her husband said; and she wore a soft lilac gown, and
had soft, wavy brown hair, and was altogether very pleasant to look
at)--"well, dear George, the truth is, I have a little plan, which I should
like very much to carry out, if you fully approve of it."
"Ha!" said Mr. Graham, tossing his "tempestuous locks" again, "ho! I
thought as much. If I approve, eh, little madam? Better say, whether I
approve or not."

So saying, the good-natured giant sat himself down again, and listened
while his wife unfolded her plan; and what the plan was, we shall see
by and by. Meanwhile let us take a peep at Hilda, or Hildegardis, as she
sits in her own room, all unconscious of the plot which is hatching in
the parlor below. She is a tall girl of fifteen. Probably she has attained
her full height, for she looks as if she had been growing too fast; her
form is slender, her face pale, with a weary look in the large gray eyes.
It is a delicate, high-bred face, with a pretty nose, slightly "tip-tilted,"
and a beautiful mouth; but it is half-spoiled by the expression, which is
discontented, if not actually peevish. If we lifted the light curling locks
of fair hair which lie on her forehead, we should see a very decided
frown on a broad white space which ought to be absolutely smooth.
Why should a girl of fifteen frown, especially a girl so "exceptionally
fortunate" as all her friends considered Hilda Graham? Certainly her
surroundings at this moment are pretty enough to satisfy any girl. The
room is not large, but it has a sunny bay-window which seems to
increase its size twofold. In re-furnishing it a year before, her father had
in mind Hilda's favorite flower, the forget-me-not, and the room is
simply a bower of forget-me-nots. Scattered over the dull olive ground
of the carpet, clustering and nodding from the wall-paper, peeping from
the folds of the curtains, the forget-me-nots are everywhere. Even the
creamy surface of the toilet-jug and bowl, even the ivory backs of the
brushes that lie on the blue-covered toilet table, bear each its cluster of
pale-blue blossoms; while the low easy-chair in which the girl is
reclining, and the pretty sofa with its plump cushions inviting to repose,
repeat the same tale. The tale is again repeated, though in a different
way, by a scroll running round the top of the wall, on which in letters
of blue and gold is written at intervals: "Ne m'oubliez pas!" "Vergiss
mein nicht!" "Non ti scordar!" and the same sentiment is repeated in
Spanish, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, of all which tongues the fond
father possessed knowledge.
Is not this indeed a bower, wherein a girl ought to be happy? the bird in
the window thinks his blue and gold cage the finest house in the world,
and sings as