Laura Richards - Hildegarde's Harvest
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- Название:Hildegarde's Harvest
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- Издательство:Иностранный паблик
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Hildegarde's Harvest: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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Hildegarde gave a half-sigh, as she finished this letter, and walked on in silence, thinking many things. Bell's life seemed very free and full and joyous; it suited her exactly, the strong, sensible, merry girl; and oh, how much she was learning! This letter said little about studies, but Hildegarde knew from former ones how much faithful work was going on, and how firm a foundation of scholarship and thoroughness her friend was laying.
"Whereas I," she said aloud, "am as ignorant as a hedge-sparrow."
As she spoke, a sparrow hopped upon a twig close by her, and cocked his bright eye at her expressively.
"I beg your pardon!" said Hildegarde, humbly. "No doubt you are right, and I am a hundred times more ignorant. I could not even imagine how to build a nest; but neither can you crack a nut – ask Mr. Emerson! – or play the piano."
The sparrow chirped defiance, flirted his tail saucily, and was gone.
"And all girls cannot be students!" said Hildegarde, stopping to address a young maple that looked strong-minded. "Everybody cannot go to college; there must be some who are to be just girls, – plain girls, – and stay at home. As for a girl going to college when there is only herself to – to help make a home – why, – she might as well be Nero, and done with it."
She nodded at the maple-tree, as if she had settled it entirely, and walked on more quickly; the cloud – it was a slight one, but still a cloud – vanished from her brow, leaving it clear and sunny.
"The place one is in," she said, "is the place to be happy in. Of course I do miss them all; of – course – I do! but if ever any girl ought to be thankful on her knees all day long for blessings and happinesses, Hildegarde Grahame, why, you know who she is, and that she does not spell her name Tompkins."
CHAPTER II.
THE CHRISTMAS DRAWER
Christmas was coming. Christmas was only three weeks off. Oh, how the time was flying! "How shall I ever get ready?" cried Hildegarde, quickening her pace as she spoke, as if the holiday season were chasing her along the road.
"One is always busy, of course; but it does seem as if I were going to be about five times as busy as I ever was before. Naturally! there are so many more people that I want to make presents for. Last Christmas, there was Mammina, and Col. Ferrers and Hugh, and the box to send to Jack, – dear Jack! – and Auntie, and Mrs. Lankton and the children, and, – well, of course, Cousin Wealthy and Benny, and all the dear people at Bywood, – why, there were a good many, after all, weren't there? But now I have all my Merryweathers in addition, you see. Of course I needn't give anything to the boys, – or to any of them, for that matter, – but I do want to, so very much; if only there were a little more time! I will go up this minute, if Mammina does not want me, and look over my drawer. I really haven't looked at it – thoroughly, that is – for three days! Hilda Grahame, what a goose you are!"
By this time she had arrived at Braeside, the pretty house where she and her mother passed their happy, quiet life. Running lightly up the steps, and into the house, the girl peeped into the sitting-room and parlour, and finding both empty, went on up the stairs. She paused to listen at her mother's door; there was no sound from within, and Hildegarde hoped that her mother was sleeping off the headache, which had made the morning heavy for her. Kissing her hand to the door, she went on to her own room, which always greeted her as a friend, no matter how many times a day she entered it. She looked round at books and pictures with a little sigh of contentment, and sank down for a moment in the low rocking-chair. "Just to breathe, you know!" she said. "One must breathe to live." Involuntarily her hand moved towards the low table close by, on which lay a tempting pile of books. Just one chapter of "The Fortunes of Nigel," while she was getting her breath?
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