Part 11 (1/2)
”So they are, they are soaking; I forgot to put on my boots.”
”Oh, won't you catch an awful cold! won't Miss Mills be angry!”
”Never mind; I'll change my stockings and shoes after I have arranged my present.”
”It's such a funny wedding present,” said Babs. ”Do you think Hilda will like it?”
”She'll do more than like it: she'll love it. Don't talk to me any more--I'm too busy to answer you.”
Babs fidgeted and mumbled to herself. Judy stood with her back to her.
She used her little fingers deftly--her taste as to arrangement and color was perfect. The sharp thorns p.r.i.c.ked her poor little fingers, but she was rather glad than otherwise to suffer in Hilda's cause. The wedding present was complete, no sign of the note could be seen in the midst of the green leaves and crimson berries. Judy unlocked the door and tumbled back into bed. Miss Mills knew nothing of her escapade, for Babs was far too stanch to betray her.
Just as Hilda in a cloud of white was stepping into the carriage to go to church that morning, a little figure, also in cloudy white with wide-open greeny-gray eyes, under which heavy dark marks were already visible, rushed up to her and thrust something into her hand.
”Your--your wedding present, Hilda,” gasped Judy. The strong colors of the red and green made almost a blot upon Hilda's fairness. Her father, who was accompanying her to church, interposed.
”Stand back, my dear, stand back, Judy,” he said. ”Hilda, you had better leave those berries in the hall; you're surely not going to take them to church.”
”Your promise, Hilda, your faithful promise,” said Judy in an imploring voice.
Hilda looked at the child; she remembered her words of the night before, and holding the p.r.i.c.kly little bunch firmly, said in a gentle voice:
”I particularly want to take Judy's present to church with me, father.”
”As you like, my love, of course; but it is not at all in keeping with that lovely bouquet of hot-house white flowers sent to you by Lady Dellacoeur.”
”Then, if so, Lady Dellacoeur's flowers shall stay at home,” said Hilda. She tossed the splendid bouquet on the hall table, and with Judy's holly berries in her hand, sprang into the carriage.
”Isn't she a darling?” said Judy, turning with eyes that glowed in their happiness to Miss Mills.
”A goose, I call her,” muttered Miss Mills; but Judy neither heard nor heeded her words.
The little church was nearly full of spectators, and one and all did not fail to remark Judy's wedding present. A bride in white from top to toe--a lovely bride in the tenderest bloom of youth, to carry a bouquet of strong dark green and crimson--had anything so incongruous ever been seen before? But Hilda held the flowers tightly, and Judy's hungry heart was satisfied.
”Good-by, my darling,” said Hilda to her little sister a couple of hours later; ”good-by, Judy; my first letter shall be to you, and I will carefully keep your dear wedding present.”
”Hilda, Hilda, there's a little note inside of it, in the heart of it; you'll read it, won't you, and you won't show it to Jasper?”
”If you wish me not, I won't, dearest. How hot your lips are, Judy, and how flushed your face.”
”I am just a wee bit s.h.i.+very,” said Judy, ”but it's nothing, nothing at all. I'll promise you not to fret, Hilda. Good-by, dear, dear, darling Hilda.”
”Good-by, my sweetest little treasure, good-by.”
Hilda got into the carriage; her husband took his place by her side.
Mildred Anstruther tossed a great shower of rice after them, Miss Mills and Babs hurled slippers down the avenue, Judy was nowhere to be seen.