Queen Hildegarde | Page 7

Mrs. Hartley!" he said, hastily. "You will take
good care of her, I know. My darling, good-by! I go on to Dashford,
and home by return train in an hour. God bless you, my Hilda! Courage!
Up, Guards, and at them! Remember Waterloo!" and he was gone. The
engine shrieked an unearthly "Good-by!" and the train rumbled away,
leaving Hilda gazing after it through a mist which only her strong will
prevented from dissolving in tears.
"Well, my dear," said Dame Hartley's cheery voice, "your papa's gone,
and you must not stand here and fret after him. Here is old Nancy
shaking her head, and wondering why she does not get home to her
dinner. Do you get into the cart, and I will get the station-master to put
your trunk in for us."
Hilda obeyed in silence; and climbing into the neat wagon, took her
seat and looked about her while Dame Hartley bustled off in search of
the station-master. There was not very much to look at at Glenfield
station. The low wooden building with its long platform stood on a bare
spot of ground, from which the trees all stood back, as if to mark their
disapproval of the railway and all that belonged to it. The sandy soil
made little attempt to produce vegetation, but put out little humps of
rock occasionally, to show what it could do. Behind, a road led off into
the woods, hiding itself behind the low-hanging branches of chestnut
and maple, ash and linden trees. That was all. Now that the train was
gone, the silence was unbroken save by the impatient movements of the
old white mare as she shook the flies off and rattled the jingling
harness.
Hilda was too weary to think. She had slept little the night before, and
the suddenness of the recent changes confused her mind and made her
feel as if she were some one else, and not herself at all. She sat
patiently, counting half-unconsciously each quiver of Nancy's ears. But
now Dame Hartley came bustling back with the station-master, and
between the two, Hilda's trunk was hoisted into the cart. Then the good

woman climbed in over the wheel, settled her ample person on the seat
and gathered up the reins, while the station-master stood smoothing the
mare's mane, ready for a parting word of friendly gossip.
"Jacob pooty smart!" he asked, brushing a fly from Nancy's shoulder.
"Only middling," was the reply. "He had a touch o' rheumatiz, that last
spell of wet weather, and it seems to hang on, kind of. Ketches him in
the joints and the small of his back if he rises up suddin."
"I know! I know!" replied the station-master, with eager interest. "Jest
like my spells ketches me; on'y I have it powerful bad acrost my
shoulders, too. I been kerryin' a potato in my pocket f'r over and above
a week now, and I'm in hopes 't'll cure me."
"A potato in your pocket!" exclaimed Dame Hartley. "Reuel Slocum!
what do you mean?"
"Sounds curus, don't it?" returned Mr. Slocum. "But it's a fact that it's a
great cure for rheumatiz. A grea-at cure! Why, there's Barzillay Smith,
over to Peat's Corner, has kerried a potato in his pocket for five
years,--not the same potato, y' know; changes 'em when they begin to
sprout,--and he hesn't hed a touch o' rheumatism all that time. Not a
touch! tol' me so himself."
"Had he ever hed it before?" asked Dame Hartley.
"I d'no as he hed," said Mr. Slocum, "But his father hed; an' his
granf'ther before him. So ye see--"
But here Hilda uttered a long sigh of weariness and impatience; and
Dame Hartley, with a penitent glance at her, bade good-morning to the
victim of rheumatism, gave old Nancy a smart slap with the reins, and
drove off down the wood-road.
"My dear child," she said to Hilda as they jogged along, "I ought not to
have kept you waiting so long, and you tired with your ride in the cars.
But Reuel Slocum lives all alone here, and he does enjoy a little chat

with an old neighbor more than most folks; so I hope you'll excuse
me."
"It is of no consequence, thank you," murmured Hildegarde, with cold
civility. She did not like to be called "my dear child," to begin with;
and besides, she was very weary and heartsick, and altogether
miserable. But she tried to listen, as the good woman continued to talk
in a cheery, comfortable tone, telling her how fond she had always been
of "Miss Mildred," as she called Mrs. Graham, and how she had the
care of her till she was almost a woman grown, and never would have
left her then if Jacob Hartley hadn't got