Hildegardes Neighbors | Page 4

bursting
through the hedge in pursuit,--oh, it was too funny! When we got round
the corner we both sat down on the steps and giggled, like two infants;
and then he said he was deeply ashamed of me, and bade me go in and
make confession to you for both of us. So now I have done it, dear
madam, and you are to forgive all our sins, negligences and ignorances,
please, and the Colonel is coming to tea, with his compliments."

CHAPTER II
.
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW.

It did indeed seem that the advent of the new neighbours might make a
great difference in Hildegarde Grahame's life, if, as she hoped, they

were the right kind of neighbours. She was an only child. She and her
mother had lived now for two years at Braeside, a lovely country place
which they had come to look on as home. Hildegarde was always
happy, and was unconscious of any want in her life; but her mother
often longed for another daughter, or a pleasant girl in the
neighbourhood, to be a companion for her dear one. True, Hildegarde
had one young friend, Hugh Allen, the ward of Colonel Ferrers, their
kind and eccentric neighbour; but Hugh, though a darling, was a little
boy, and could not "dovetail" into a girl's life as another girl might.
Perhaps Mrs. Grahame hardly realized how completely she herself
filled Hildegarde's idea of a friend and companion. The daughter was
enough for her; her own life seemed full and running over with joy and
work; but for the child she wanted always more and more. So her hopes,
as well as Hildegarde's, rose high when she heard of the
pleasant-looking girls who had come to the next-door house. The house
was a large, old-fashioned one; less stately than Roseholme, Colonel
Ferrers' house; less home-like and comfortable, perhaps, than
Braeside,-- but that might only be because it had been so long
uninhabited, Hildegarde thought,--yet still pleasant enough, with its tall
columns and broad piazza. The house was yellow, the columns white,
and the cheerful colours were set off by the dark trees, elms and locusts,
that bent over it and almost hid it from the road. A smooth stretch of
lawn lay between the house and the hedge, through which Hildegarde
and the Colonel had made their observations: a good lawn for tennis,
Hildegarde thought. How good it would be to play tennis again! She
had been longing for the time when Hugh would be big enough to learn,
or when Jack Ferrers, her cousin, would come back from Germany.
How surprised Jack would be when she wrote him that the yellow
house was inhabited. What friends he might make of those two
nice-looking boys, unless he took one of his shy fits, and would have
nothing to do with them. Jack was a trying boy, though very dear.
With these things in her mind, Hildegarde was sauntering toward the
Ladies' Garden, on the day after the new arrival. This was a favourite
haunt of hers, and she was very apt to go there for a season of
meditation, or when she wanted to find Hugh. It was a curious
place,--an old, neglected, forgotten garden, with high, unclipped box
hedges, overhung by whispering larches. Hildegarde had dreamed

many a dream under those larches, sitting beside the little stream that
plashed and fell in a tiny rocky hollow, or pacing up and down the
grassy paths. For the child Hugh, too, this place had a singular
fascination, and he would hang for hours over a certain still, brown
pool at the foot of the garden, thinking unutterable things, occasionally
making a remark to his dog, but for the most part silent. Knowing his
ways, Hildegarde was the more surprised, on this occasion, to hear the
sound of voices in lively conversation. Whom could the boy have
picked up and brought here? He had no friend of his own age; like
herself, he was a lone child; and it was with a little pang, which she
almost laughed to feel, that she drew near, and softly parted the
branches that hung between her and the pool. The first step was fatal,
she thought, and she was apparently condemned to be a peeper and an
eavesdropper for the rest of her days.
Hugh was sitting beside the pool, but not in his favourite Narcissus-like
attitude. His knees were well up in front of him, his hands were clasped
over them, and facing him, in precisely the same position, was a boy in
blue jean overalls, with a shock of black hair, and bright, dark eyes.
"What kind of fish?" asked the black-eyed boy, with kindling look.
"Little fish with silver tails," said Hugh, "and shining eyes. They look
at