a began, wondering greatly, "my dresses are all
hanging in my wardrobe."

"Not all of them, dear!" said her mother, smiling. "Hark! papa is
calling you. Make haste and go down, for dinner is ready."

Wondering more and more, Hildegarde made a hasty toilet, putting on the
pretty pale blue cashmere dress which her father specially liked, with
silk stockings to match, and dainty slippers of bronze kid. As she
clasped the necklace of delicate blue and silver Venetian beads which
completed the costume, she glanced into the long cheval-glass which
stood between the windows, and could not help giving a little approving
nod to her reflection. Though not a great beauty, Hildegarde was
certainly a remarkably pretty and even distinguished-looking girl; and
"being neither blind nor a fool," she soliloquized, "where is the harm
in acknowledging it?" But the next moment the thought came: "What
difference will it make, in a stupid farm-house, whether I am pretty or
not? I might as well be a Hottentot!" and with the "quiet and cold" look
darkening over her face, she went slowly down stairs.

Her father met her with a kiss and clasp of the hand even warmer than
usual.

"Well, General!" he said, in a voice which insisted upon being cheery,
"marching orders, eh? Marching orders! Break up camp! boot, saddle, to
horse and away! Forces to march in different directions, by order of the
commander-in-chief." But the next moment he added, in an altered tone:
"My girl, mamma knows best; remember that! She is right in this move, as
she generally is. Cheer up, darling, and let us make the last evening a
happy one!"

Hilda tried to smile, for who _could_ be angry with papa? She made a
little effort, and the father and mother made a great one,--_how_ great
she could not know; and so the evening passed, better than might have
been expected.

The evening passed, and the night, and the next day came; and it was
like waking from a strange dream when Hilda found herself in a railway
train, with her father sitting beside her, and her mother's farewell
kiss yet warm on her cheek, speeding over the open country, away from
home and all that she held most dear. Her dressing-bag, with her
umbrella neatly strapped to it, was in the rack overhead, the check for
her trunk in her pocket. Could it all be true? She tried to listen while
her father told her of the happy days he had spent on his grandfather's
farm when he was a boy; but the interest was not real