(I do not
altogether agree with Mr. Graham about hanging the caramel-maker, but I
should heartily like to burn all his wares. Fancy a great mountain of
caramels and chocolate-creams and marrons glaces piled up in Union
Square, for example, and blazing away merrily,--that is, if the things
would burn, which is more than doubtful. How the maidens would weep and
wring their hands while the heartless parents chuckled and fed the
flames with all the precious treasures of Maillard and Huyler! Ah! it is
a pleasant thought, for I who write this am a heartless parent, do you
see?)
As I said before, Hilda had no suspicion of the plot which her parents
were concocting. She knew that her father was obliged to go to San
Francisco, being called suddenly to administer the estate of a cousin
who had recently died there, and that her mother and--as she
supposed--herself were going with him to offer sympathy and help to the
widow, an invalid with three little children. As to the idea of her
being left behind; of her father's starting off on a long journey
without his lieutenant-general; of her mother's parting from her only
child, whom she had watched with tender care and anxiety since the day
of her birth,--such a thought never came into Hilda's mind. Wherever her
parents went she went, as a matter of course. So it had always been, and
so without doubt it always would be. She did not care specially about
going to California at this season of the year,--in fact she had told
her bosom friend, Madge Everton, only the day before, that it was
"rather a bore," and that she should have preferred to go to Newport.
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