nel Ferrers!" said
Hildegarde, who had already taken off her skates. "We will go back
together, and the others can follow whenever they are ready. We shall
find him comfortable already, with Mrs. Beadle tucking him up in bed,
and talking about chicken broth and wine jelly, neither of which he will
need in the least. Come, dear sir!"

"I will come!" said the Colonel. "You are a good child, Hilda! I--I am
rather shaken, I believe. I will come with pleasure, my love! Be good
enough to take my arm!"

CHAPTER XIII.

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

HILDEGARDE awoke in the dark, with the sound of bells in the air. Her
first thought was that of all women in similar case--fire! She sat up in
bed and listened; but these were no fire-bells that rang so joyously,
breaking through the hush of the winter morning with glad rejoicing.
"Glory to the newly born!" she said, softly, and was silent for a
little. Presently she waved her hand in a comprehensive greeting to the
friends on walls and shelves, whom she could not yet see.

"Merry Christmas!" she cried. "Merry Christmas, Sir Walter! Merry
Christmas, Viscount, and you too, Saint William! What a pity I cannot
say it in Dutch!"

She hummed a carol to herself, as she recalled the night before,
Christmas Eve, which she had spent with the Merryweathers. They had
gone together to the carol service at the little church, which they had
all helped to make beautiful with spruce and fir and hemlock. After that
they sang hymns and carols at home, in full chorus, with such hearty
good-will and earnest feeling as it was a joy to remember; and then came
the hanging of the stockings. An only child for so long, Hildegarde had
never seen before the bewildering, enchanting bustle of Christmas Eve in
a large family; the hanging of the stockings, six in a row, the whole
length of the great fireplace in the nursery; the delightful mysteries,
the parcels which no one saw, the whisperings which no one heard save
those to whom they were addressed, the tiptoeing hither and thither, the
rustle of tissue-paper,--ah! it was all very pleasant! The kind friends
had begged her to stay with them, and share the morning fun, which they
declared to be the best of all; but that Hildegarde could not do.

"Mamma and I have only each other!" she said. "You would not really have
me leave her alone, dear people!" and the Merryweathers were obliged to
confess that they would not, upon any account. So they had parted, with