Hilda's Mascot Part 32

After receiving this epistle it appeared to be a suitable time for Mr.

and Mrs. Courtney to again urge their loved friend to remain with them, and as that letter seemed to be the only thing required to make her decide, she agreed to stay.

They all had occasion to rejoice that she had thus decided, for the next week after she had appointed to go to Ohio, little Valentine was ill of scarlet fever, and Mrs. Warfield, who loved the boy as if he were of her own flesh and blood, was, next to Hilda, his devoted nurse.

"'Pears like ter me, Kitty," said Andy one morning when the dangerous symptoms were at their height, "dat Ma.r.s.e Val didn't seem chipper dis mornin' when he com'd over to see Ma.r.s.e Carl an' Mis' Emma; has yer took notice to it, Kitty?"

"Ma.r.s.e Val never looked handsomer than he did this yer mornin'," replied Kitty, decidedly.

"I didn't say nothin' 'bout handsome, Kitty!" exclaimed Andy irately. "I done said he wan't so chipper. I don't like dat pale face, Kitty; 'tain't for no good, min' dat."

"I may as well tell you, Uncle Andy," said Kitty, hesitatingly, "that Chloe told me all about it; she was in de china closet when Mis' Emma was over dar yistady, and heard her an' Mis' Warfield talkin'. De doctor comes twice a day to see little Ma.r.s.e Valentine and little Mis' Sarah; dey has de scarlet fever, an' Dr. Lattinger is afeard dat little Ma.r.s.e Valentine won't live."

"Well! well! well!" cried Andy, shaking his white head, and brus.h.i.+ng away a tear with the back of his wrinkled hand. "I's nearly a hundred years ol', an' has toted Ma.r.s.e Val in my arms when he was a chipper baby. I done lubed dat chile like I lubed my own chillen, an' now can't help him none in his trouble."

"We must all have trouble in dis world, Uncle Andy."

"I know dat, but de good Lord won't sh.o.r.ely take little Ma.r.s.e Val an'

leave me who ain't no 'count nohow. I's like a withered apple on a dead branch, dat no wind nor frost nor hail kin fotch down from offen de tree."

"Chloe told me that Dr. Lattinger says much depends on de nursin', and dey has good nurses. I tell you that it is a mighty good thing Mis'

Hilda has dat Ohio lady to call on in time of trouble."

"'Pears ter me yer knows a heap dis mornin', Kitty," remarked Andy dryly. "'Spose yer was 'tendin' to keep all dis from de ol' man."

"No, Uncle Andy, but Mis' Emma said it was better not to tell you unless you asked, for it would only distress you, for you think so much of Ma.r.s.e Val."

"Of course I does, Kitty, but n.o.body wants to be kep' in de dark, yer knows dat yer own self! Ol' folks wants ter know what is goin' on, an'

how is dey ter know widout somebody tells 'em?"

"I will tell you all I know, Uncle Andy," said Kitty remorsefully, as the old man took out a remnant of plaid handkerchief to dry his tears.

"What do you want to know next?"

"Whar did de chillen catch de feber?"

"Dr. Lattinger says it is in de atmosphere."

"Is dat sumpin' to eat or drink, Kitty?"

"No, it is the air."

"Den why couldn't he say de air? Oh, 'twill be mighty hard for Ma.r.s.e Val to part wid dat little boy and gal. Dey is de light of his eyes."

"But maybe he won't have to part wid dem, Uncle Andy," said Kitty, cheerfully, "and de sorrow of a night will be forgot in de joy of de mornin'."

"But I am afeard dey'll be taken, Kitty," sighed the old man tearfully.

"I ain't axed my heavenly Marster to let me lib a little longer, not sense I had seen Ma.r.s.e Val so happy in dem chillen, but I suttenly wants to lib now; an' if dey is taken I hope de good Lord will spare ol' Andy to comfort Ma.r.s.e Val."

Andy was spared this grief, for to the joy of many hearts the children recovered; and when the balmy summer weather came were well enough to enjoy many pleasant drives over the shady country roads.

Hilda, though favored with efficient helpers, lived far from an idle, aimless life, for her days were filled with good works. The plans originated by Mr. Courtney for promoting the temporal and spiritual welfare of his fellow creatures were heartily seconded by her; she was in every way a helpmeet.

Time pa.s.sed speedily and happily in their home, varied by visits from friends from the city and the neighborhood, one of the best loved being Erma Merryman. She had returned from her school in Baltimore, a cultured and accomplished young lady, cherished by the home circle and admired in society.

Fred, in his frequent visits to "My Lady's Manor," saw, admired, and as was his wont, fell in love with her which impelled Hilda to have a serious talk with him.

"Erma is a sweet, confiding girl," she said, "and if you are only intending to flirt with her I consider it my duty to warn her and her parents that their confidence in you is misplaced; for you will leave her for the next pretty face you see."

"Oh, Cousin Hilda, please don't prejudice them against me! I am really in earnest this time."

"So you always say. Fred, what does make you so fickle and inconsistent?"

"Absence, Cousin Hilda."

"Absence! Oh, shame. What style of husband would you make when you so easily forget a loved one when separated for a time?"

"But the case would be entirely different, if the lady were my wife.

Never fear, Cousin Hilda. If I am fortunate enough to win Miss Erma Merryman you will see me one of the best of husbands; you will be proud of me yet."

"Listen, Fred; you and your family have been dear, kind friends to me; but so, also, have been Uncle and Aunt Merryman, and it would distress me beyond measure to have them made unhappy through you."

"But I will not give them unhappiness; instead, I wish to give them a son-in-law first-cla.s.s in every respect. Do, Cousin Hilda, lend a helping hand by speaking a good word for me."

"No, sir; I will do nothing of the kind. Making or breaking matrimonial engagements is something at which my conscience rebels; and if ever I should be tempted to aid in that line, it certainly would not be for one so unsettled in the affections as yourself."

Fred laughed in his usual amiable and lighthearted manner, but Hilda was too much disturbed to smile.

"It was never excusable in you, Fred, even with youth on your side; but at your age it is positively culpable. You will lose the respect of all right-minded people, for if there is a person who merits ridicule, it is a light-headed, trifling old beau."

"But Cousin Hilda, how can I convince you that I am in earnest this time? I really love Miss Erma and intend asking her to be my wife."

"No doubt; but unless you give me your word of honor, as a gentleman, that you will not trifle with the affections of that lovely girl, but will keep your word, Mr. Courtney and myself will not consider you worthy of respect, and our home will be closed against you."

"I do give you my word of honor as a gentleman that I will ask Erma Merryman to be my wife; and if she accepts, will ask the very earliest time that she will agree to for our marriage, and will not make the least effort to break the engagement though the face of an houri should tempt me. Will that satisfy you, Cousin Hilda?"

"Yes, and no one will rejoice more than I to see you happily married; and you cannot fail in happiness if your wife be Erma Merryman."

The evening that Hilda and Fred had this conversation Erma received a letter from Anita Appleton, a school friend in Hagerstown, accepting the cordial invitation given her by Erma the week before, to pa.s.s a month at the Merryman farmhouse.

She had scarcely finished the perusal of it when Fred called and was told of the expected visitor, and innocent satisfaction beamed in her gentle face when she noticed that his brow grew clouded, and the smile left his lips.

"You do not seem glad, Mr. Warfield," she said. "I am sure you will be pleased with her. She is not only very beautiful, but is lovely in disposition. She is accomplished and witty; very different from me, which is, I suppose, my reason for loving her more than any girl in the school in Baltimore."

"I am glad for your sake, Miss Erma, but not for my own. I wish only your society," he said, taking her small, white hand in his, "not only for the evenings of the coming month, but for all time. I came to ask you to be my wife," and accustomed as was Fred to making proposals of marriage, his voice trembled with apprehension as to the answer.

Erma's face flushed, then paled, and she remained silent; a silence which Fred misconstrued.

"I am aware that it was my duty to have first asked your parents'

consent, but you have given but little encouragement that you cared for me, and now this expected visitor has unsettled my plans."