The Late Miss Hollingford | Page 7

giving
daintiness to her attire. Her son breakfasted with us, and I fancied he
often looked at me curiously as if to say, "What concern can she have
with us? why did she come? how long will she remain?" I had talked to
him without embarrassment as we drove along, but now I could hardly
speak. Never had I felt so shy in any company as I did in the presence
of my mother's friend.
After breakfast she led me to my room, bright and airy, but scantily
furnished. It had a window looking out on an orchard threaded by long
alleys, over which hung a glowing roof of fruit-laden branches. And
here I unpacked my trunks and stowed away my elegant dresses in a
huge painted wardrobe smelling of apples. I laid aside with a kind of
shame all the little ornaments I was accustomed to wear, and dressed
myself in the plainest gown I possessed. Descending the quaint old
staircase again, I found Mrs. Hollingford walking up and down the hall
waiting patiently for my appearance.
"What a great woman you have grown, my love!" she said, drawing my
hand within her arm, and leading me through the open hall door. "But
you have still your mother's fair hair and sunny eyes. Will you walk
with me for an hour? I have much to say to you, and the sooner it is
said the better."
Then she told me the story of her life, and misfortunes, sternly, sweetly,
with strange humility and fortitude. I knew much of it before, but she
would tell it all.
"And now, my love," she said, "you know us as we are. Your mother,
when she made me your guardian, did not foresee the changes that were
to take place. You have other friends who are willing to give you a
home. You have come here of your own will. When you wish to leave
us we shall not wonder."
I threw my arms round her neck and told her I would not leave her.
Never, since Miss Kitty Sweetman went to India, had my heart gone

forth so completely to anyone.
She bade me not be too hasty. "You will find our life so different from
anything you have ever known," she said. "We all fear it for you. We
are so busy here. We have always a purpose before our eyes to make us
work."
"Then I shall work too," I said. "I will not be the only drone in such a
thrifty hive."
She smiled at this, and shook her head. But I immediately began to cast
about for the means by which I might find it possible to keep my word.
CHAPTER III.
I soon learned to love the farm. I began to know the meaning of the
word "home." The beauty and lovableness of some persons and places
takes you by surprise; with others they steal upon you by degrees; but
there was that about Hillsbro' Farm which I loved much at once and
more afterwards. Looking at it in the most commonplace way, it had all
the peace and plenty of an English farmhouse, while for eyes that
sought more they would find enough that was picturesque in the
orchard's ruddy thickets, where the sun struck fire on frosty mornings;
in the wide pasture lands sloping to the sedgy river, where the cows
cooled their feet on sultry evenings. You know as well as I the curious
bowery garden beyond the lower window of the parlour, stocked with
riches and sweets of all kinds, rows of bee-hives standing in the sun,
roses and raspberries growing side by side. The breaths of thyme and
balm, lavender and myrtle, were always in that parlour. You know the
sheep-fold and the paddock, the old tree over the west gable where the
owl made his nest--the owl that used to come and sit on our
school-room windowsill and hoot at night. You know, the sun-dial
where the screaming peacock used to perch and spread his tail; the
dove-cote, where the silver-necks and fan-tails used to coo and ruffle
their feathers. You know, too, all the quaint plannings and accidents of
the old house; how the fiery creeper ran riot through the ivy on the dark
walls, dangling its burning wreaths over the windows; how the hall

door lay open all day with the dogs sleeping on the broad door-step.
Also, within, that there were long dark passages, rooms with low
ceilings; a step up here, and a step down there; fireplaces twisted into
odd corners, narrow pointed windows, and wide latticed ones. You
know all the household recesses, the dairies and pantries and
store-rooms; but you cannot know how Mrs. Hollingford toiled
amongst them, filling them with her industry one day that they