Hildegarde's Neighbors Part 15

She paused for the compliment that should follow, but Roger only said, "Bear away, please!" and loosened the sheet a little.

"Did your ears burn yesterday, Professor Merryweather? I am sure they must have. Everybody was talking about you at the hotel, and they said you had done something so remarkable,--something about a prism, wasn't it? You remember, Hilda, all the prisms on the chandeliers at Madame Haut Ton's! Do yours go on a chandelier, Professor Merryweather?"

"Not exactly!" said Roger. "You have a large party at Pollock's, I believe, Miss Everton? I think I heard the Sinclairs say they were to be there this month."

"Oh, aren't the Sinclairs enchanting?" cried Madge, with effusion.

"And isn't Jack simply delicious? I danced with him ten times last night, and each dance was better than the last. Professor Merryweather, I shall give you no peace till you promise to come over for the next hop."

"We are not to expect peace in this world, are we?" said Roger, smiling. "Steady, Miss Grahame! as you are!"

"I think nautical terms are too delicious!" cried Madge. "And that reminds me, Hilda, Grace Atherleigh has just come back from Europe. She has been away three years, you know; in Paris most of the time,--dear Paris! Don't you adore it, Professor Merryweather?

And she has brought back forty-three dresses. Yes, my dear, it is true, for I had it from her aunt, Mrs. Gusham. Forty-three dresses, all made this spring. And she had the most horrible time at the custom-house--"

"Madge," said Hildegarde, as patiently as she could, "will you please wait for the stories till we get back to the wharf? I must attend to the steering, and I cannot listen at the same time."

"My dear, I am dumb! I only just want to tell you before I forget it--you know what a wretched memory I have--what happened--"

"Luff!" said Roger, suddenly. "Luff, child, LUFF!"

Startled and confused, Hildegarde tried to do as she was told, but, in her distress, did exactly the opposite, and bore away; a grating sound was heard: the boat slid forward a few feet and stopped short.

"Oh, what have I done?" cried poor Hilda.

"Nothing of consequence! We have run on a shoal, that is all. Sit steady, please, ladies!"

Roger was overboard in an instant, up to his waist in water, pus.h.i.+ng at the boat. Hilda sat dumb and scarlet, and even Madge was subdued for the time, and murmured exclamations under her breath. It was only a moment; a few vigorous shoves set the Keewaydin afloat again, and Roger leaped lightly in.

"Perhaps I would better take the tiller this time!" he said. "The bottom seems to be shoal all about here. And if you and Miss Everton will sit a little forward, Hilda, you will be more comfortable; I fear I cannot help dripping like h.o.a.ry Nereus all over the stern here."

He had never called her by her name before. Hildegarde reflected that for once she could not blush, being already a Tyrian purple.

Of course it slipped out without his knowing it; but she was conscious of Madge's gaze, and for once was thankful for her crimson cheeks.

This incident, or something else, had a quieting effect upon Miss Everton, and the sail home was a silent one. Roger was not inclined to talk, and he had a power of silence which was apt to extend to his companions; so they were all relieved when the Keewaydin glided gracefully to her moorings, and Ferguson appeared in the small boat to take them ash.o.r.e.

"This is my brother Philip, Miss Everton!" said Roger. "Now if you will step into the boat, he will take you and Miss Grahame ash.o.r.e, while I make all fast here. If you will take his hand, and be careful to step in the middle of the boat. In the MIDDLE of the boat, Miss Everton! Ah!" For Madge, with an airy leap, had alighted full on the gunwale. Down went the boat; the girl tried to regain her balance, but in vain, and after a few moments'

frantic struggle, fell headlong into the water.

Phil had thrown himself to starboard the moment he felt the shock of her alighting, hoping to counterbalance her weight; but he was too light. Now, however, he leaned swiftly forward, and caught the little French boots as they disappeared under the clear water.

There was nothing else to be done. In this ignominious way, feet foremost, poor Madge had to be dragged in over the gunwale, dripping and shrieking.

"You odious boy!" she cried, as soon as she could find breath.

"You did it on purpose! You tried to drown me, I know you did!"

Hildegarde hastened to her a.s.sistance. Roger, his face set like a rock, but his eyes dancing wickedly, proffered his aid, but was peevishly repulsed. As for Phil, he could only try to control himself, and murmured broken excuses between the gusts of laughter which shook him like a reed. Madge was a sorry sight, all her gay plumes broken and dripping, her spotted veil in a little wet mop over one eye, her floating curls reduced to forlorn strings of wet hair, her light dress clinging about her. How different from the bright bird of paradise that had so lately fluttered down on the camp, bent on conquest! Now her only thought was to escape. Mrs.

Merryweather met her on the wharf with open arms and a warm blanket, and she was brought to the camp, and dried and warmed as quickly as possible. But Madge's temper, none of the sweetest by nature, was completely spoiled; she had only peevish or sullen answers for all the expressions of sympathy and condolence that were poured out by the kindly campers. It was all the boy's fault, and there was no excuse for him. She ought to have known better than to come among such. But here Hilda pressed her hand, and said "Be still!" in a low tone, but with a flash of the eye that so forcibly recalled the "Queen Hildegarde" of old days that Madge subsided, and whimpered to herself till the steamer came to take her back to Pollock's Cove.

When she was gone Hildegarde slipped away, saying that she would pick some apples for tea; and on reaching the apple tree, she sat down under its hanging branches and indulged in a good cry, a rare luxury for her. It was a comfort to let the tears come, and to tell the friendly tree over and over again that he would never forgive her; that she was the most imbecile creature that ever lived, and that Madge was the only person she deserved to have for a friend, and that, now the others had found her out, the sooner she went home to her mother the better. Her mother would not expect her to be sensible; her mother knew better than to expect things of her. She was not fit to be with these people, who were so terribly clever, and knew so many things: and so on and so on, in the most astonis.h.i.+ng way, our quiet, self-possessed girl sobbing and crying as if her heart would break, utterly amazed at herself, and wondering all the time what was the matter with her, and whether she would ever be able to stop.

She stopped suddenly enough; for Roger, coming through the fields with the milk, heard this piteous sobbing, and setting down his cans, parted the branches of the apple tree, saying in his kindest voice: "Why, my Kitty, my Pretty, what is the matter with you? who hurt my little--I--I beg your pardon, Miss Grahame!"

Hildegarde felt the hand of fate very heavy on her, but was quite helpless, and sobbed harder than ever.

What was a poor professor to do? Fortunately, Roger had plenty of sisters, and knew that a girl did not kill herself when she cried.

After a moment's thought, in which he reminded himself severely that he was getting to be an old fellow, and might be this child's uncle, he came under the tree and sat down on the gra.s.s.

"Can you tell me what troubles you?" he asked, still in the gentle voice that was rather specially Kitty's privilege. "You have had no bad news?"

Hilda shook her head.

"Perhaps if you were to tell me what the trouble is, I could help you; or would you rather I would go away and not bother you?"

No! Hildegarde, to her own amazement, would rather he stayed.

Whereupon, Roger, drawing from his experience of girls, perceived that there was nothing to do but sit and wait till the storm had spent itself. So he picked the apples within his reach, and reflected on the feminine character.

Presently a small and shaken voice said from under the handkerchief, "I--am so sorry--you got wet, Captain Roger!"

"Got wet?" said Roger, vaguely. He was generally more or less wet, being an amphibious creature, and did not for the moment grasp Hildegarde's meaning.

"I ran--the--boat aground, and you jumped overboard, and got--all wet!" and Hildegarde sobbed afresh.

"You don't mean--" said Roger. "You are not troubled about THAT?"

But it appeared that Hildegarde was troubled about that.

"My dear child, do you think I did not see that it was not your fault? You were doing beautifully, if that--if Miss Everton had let you alone for an instant. And do you think I mind a wetting, or twenty wettings? Miss Hilda, I thought you knew better than that."

"I was so stupid!" said Hildegarde, wiping her eyes, and trying to speak evenly. "I thought you were very angry, because you were so silent. I thought you would never--"

"Silent, was I? Well, you know I am in a brown study half the time. Isn't that why they call me Roger the Codger? But this time,--oh, I remember! I was trying to make out how that shoal came to be there, when it is not buoyed out on the map. Come, Miss Hilda, you must laugh now!"

And Hilda laughed, and dried her eyes, and looked up,

"All kinder smily round the lips, And teary round the lashes."

"That's right!" said Roger, heartily. "Now you shall be Kitty, and we will---we will shake hands and be friends, and eat an apple together. Kitty and I always do that when we have had a tiff."

So they did; and the apples on that tree were the best apples in the world.

CHAPTER XIII.

IN PERIL BY WATER.

"All aboard!" said Roger.