CHAPTER XV.
THE GREAT SCHEME.
In the latter days of August came a hot wave. It started, we will say,from the Gulf, which was heated sevenfold on purpose, and which simmeredand hissed like a gigantic caldron. It came rolling up over the country,scorching all it touched, spreading its fiery billows east and west. NewYork wilted and fell prostrate. Boston wiped the sweat from herintellectual brow, and panted in all the modern languages. Even Mainewas not safe among her rocks and pine-trees; and a wavelet of purecaloric swept over quiet Bywood, and made its inhabitants veryuncomfortable. Miss Wealthy could not remember any such heat. There hadbeen a very hot season in 1853,--she remembered it because her fatherhad given up frills to his shirts, as no amount of starch would keepthem from hanging limp an hour after they were put on; but she reallydid not think it was so severe as this. She was obliged to put away herknitting, it made her hands so uncomfortable; and took to crocheting atidy with linen thread, as the coolest work she could think of.Hildegarde and Rose put on the thin muslins which had lain all summer intheir clothespress drawers, and did their best to keep Benny cool andquiet; read Dr. Kane's "Arctic Voyages," and discussed the possibilityof Miss Wealthy's allowing them to shave Dr. Johnson.
Bubble spent much of his time in cracking ice and making lemonade, whenhe was not on or in the river.
As for Martha, she devoted herself to the concoction of cold dishes, andfed the whole family on jellied tongue, lobster-salad, ice-cream, andCharlotte Russe, till they rose up and blessed her.
When Flower-Day came, the girls braved the heat, and went to Fairtownwith the flowers; Miss Wealthy reluctantly allowing them to go, becauseshe was anxious, as they were, to know how the little patients bore theheat. They brought back a sad report. The sick children were sufferingmuch; the hospital was like a furnace, in spite of all that could bedone to keep it cool. Mrs. Murray sighed for a "country week" for themall, but knew no way of attaining the desired object, as most of thepeople interested in the hospital were out of town.
"Oh, if we could only find a place!" cried Hildegarde, after she hadtold about the little pallid faces and the fever-heat in town. "Ifthere were only some empty house,"--she did not dare to look at MissWealthy as she said this, but kept her eyes on the river (they were allsitting on the piazza, waiting for the afternoon breeze, which seldomfailed them),--"some quiet place, like Islip, where the poor littlesouls could come, for a week or two, till this dreadful heat is past."Then she told the story of Islip, with its lovely Seaside Home, whereall summer long the poor children come and go, nursed and tended torefreshment by the black-clad Sisters. Miss Wealthy made no sign, butsat with clasped hands, her work lying idle in her lap. Rose was verypale, and trembled with a sense of coming trouble; but Hildegarde'scheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with excitement.
There were a few moments of absolute silence, broken only by the hotshrilling of a locust in a tree hard by; then Zerubbabel Chirk, calmlyunconscious of any thrill in the air, any tension of the nerves, anycrisis impending, paused in his whittling, and instead of carving awhistle for Benny, cut the Gordian knot.
"Why, there is a house, close by here," he said; "not more 'n half amile off. I was going to ask you girls about it. A pretty red house, allspick and span, and not a soul in it, far as I could see. Why isn't itexactly the place you want?" He looked from one to the other withbright, inquiring eyes; but no one answered. "I'm sure it is!" hecontinued, with increasing animation. "There's a lawn where the childrencould play, and a nice clear brook for 'em to paddle and sail boats in,and gravel for 'em to dig in,--why, it was _made_ for children!" criedthe boy. "And as for the man that owns it, why, if he doesn't want tostay there himself, why shouldn't he let some one else have it?--unlesshe's an old hunks; and even if he is--" He stopped short, for Rose hadseized his arm with a terrified grasp, and Hildegarde's clear eyesflashed a silent warning.
Miss Wealthy tottered to her feet, and the others rose instinctivelyalso. She stood for a moment, her hand at her throat, her eyes fixed onBubble, trembling as if he had struck her a heavy blow; then, as thefrightened girls made a motion to advance, she waved them back with agesture full of dignity, and turned and entered the house, making a lowmoan as she went.
"Send Martha to her, _quick_!" said Hildegarde, in an imperativewhisper. "Fly, Bubble! the back door!"
Bubble flew, as if he had been shot from a gun, and returned, wide-eyedand open-mouthed, to find his sister in tears, and his adored Miss Hildapacing up and down the piazza with hasty and agitated steps.
"What is it?" he cried in dismay. "What did I do? What is the matterwith everybody? Why, I never--"
Hildegarde quieted him with a gesture, and then told him, briefly, thestory of the house in the wood. Poor Bubble was quite overcome. Hepunched his head severely, and declared that he was the most stupididiot that ever lived.
"I'd better go away!" he cried. "I can't see the old lady again. As kindas she's been to me, and then for me to call her a--I guess I'll begoing, Miss Hilda; I'm no good here, and only doing harm."
"Be quiet, Bubble!" said Hildegarde, smiling in the midst of herdistress. "You shall do nothing of the kind. And, Rose, you are not toshed another tear. Who knows? This may be the very best thing that couldhave happened. Of course I wouldn't have had you say it, Bubble, justin that way; but now that it _is_ said, I--I think I am glad of it. Ishould not wonder--I really do hope that it may have been just the wordthat was wanted."
And so it proved. For an hour after, as the three still sat on thepiazza,--two of them utterly disconsolate, the third trying to cheerthem with the hope that she was feeling more and more strongly,--Marthaappeared. There were traces of tears in her friendly gray eyes, but shelooked kindly at the forlorn trio.
"Miss Bond is not feeling very well!" she said. "She is lying down, andthinks she will not come downstairs this evening. Here is a note foryou, Miss Hilda, and a letter for the post."
Hildegarde tore open the little folded note, and read, in Miss Wealthy'spretty, regular hand, these words:--
MY DEAR HILDA,--Please tell the boy that I do not mean to be an old hunks, and ask him to post this letter. We will make our arrangements to-morrow, as I am rather tired now.
Your affectionate cousin, WEALTHY BOND.
The letter was addressed to Mrs. Murray at the Children's Hospital; andat sight of it Hildegarde threw her arms round Martha's neck, and gaveher a good hug. Her private desire was to cry; but tears were a luxuryshe rarely indulged in, so she laughed instead.
"Is it all right, Martha," she asked,--"really and truly right? Becauseif it is, I am the happiest girl in the world."
"It is all right, indeed, Miss Hilda!" replied Martha, heartily; "andthe best thing that could have happened, to my mind. Dear gracious! sooften as I've wished for something to break up that place, so to speak,and make a living house 'stead of a dead one! And it never could ha'been done, in my thinking, any other way than this. So it's a good day'swork you've done, and thankful she'll be to you for it when the shock ofit is over." Then, seeing that the young people were still a little"trembly," as she called it, this best of Marthas added cheerfully:"It's like to be a very warm evening, I'm thinking. And as Miss Bondisn't coming down, wouldn't it be pleasant for you to go out in theboat, perhaps, Miss Hilda, and take your tea with you? There's a nicelittle mould of pressed chicken, do you see, and some lemon jelly on theice; and I could make you up a nice basket, and 't would be rightpleasant now, wouldn't it, young ladies?"
Whereupon Martha was called a saint and an angel and a brick, all inthree breaths; and she went off, well pleased, to pack the basket,leaving great joy behind her.
Late that evening, when Hildegarde was going to bed, she saw the door ofMiss Wealthy's room ajar, and heard her name called softly. She went in,and found the dear old lady sitting in her great white dimity armchair.
"Come here, my dear," said Miss Wealthy, gently. "I h
ave something toshow you, which I think you will like to see."
She had a miniature in her hand,--the portrait of a young and handsomeman, with flashing dark eyes, and a noble, thoughtful face.
"It is my Victor!" said the old lady, tenderly. "I am an old woman, buthe is always my true love, young and beautiful. Look at it, my child! Itis the face of a good and true man."
"You do not mind my knowing?" Hildegarde asked, kissing the soft,wrinkled hand.
"I am very glad of it," replied Miss Wealthy,--"very glad! And in--in alittle while--when I have had time to realize it--I shall no doubt beglad of this--this projected change. You see"--she paused, and seemed toseek for a word,--"you see, dear, it has always been Victor's house tome. I never--I should not have thought of making use of it, like anotherhouse. It is doubtless--much better. In fact, I am sure of it. It hascome to me very strongly that Victor would like it, that it would pleasehim extremely. And now I blame myself for never having thought of such athing before. So, my dear," she added, bending forward to kissHildegarde's forehead, "besides the blessings of the sick children, youwill win one from me, and--who knows?--perhaps one from a voice wecannot hear."
The girl was too much moved to speak, and they were silent for a while.
"And now," Miss Wealthy said very cheerfully, "it is bedtime for you,and for me too. But before you go, I want to give you a little trinketthat I had when I was just your age. My grandmother gave it to me; andthough I am not exactly your grandmother, I am the next thing to it.Open that little cupboard, if you please, and bring me a small redmorocco box which you will find on the second shelf, in the right-handcorner. There is a brown pill-box next to it; do you find it, my love?"
Hildegarde brought the box, and on being told to open it, found abracelet of black velvet, on which was sewed a garland of miniatureflowers, white roses and forget-me-nots, wrought in exquisite enamel.
"I thought of it," said the old lady, as Hildegarde bent over the prettytrinket in wondering delight, "when I saw your forget-me-not room lastwinter. The clasp, you see, is a turquoise; I believe, rather a fineone. My grandfather brought it from Constantinople. A pretty thing; itwill look well on your arm. The Bonds all have good arms, which is aprivilege. Good-night, dear child! Sleep well, and be ready to elaborateyour great scheme to-morrow."