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, and she found it
hard to fix her mind on what he was saying. What did she care about
swinging on gates, or climbing apple-trees, or riding unruly colts! She
was not a boy, nor even a tomboy. When he spoke of the delights of
walking in the country through woodland and meadow, her thoughts strayed
to Fifth Avenue, with its throng of well-dressed people, the glittering
equipages rolling by, the stately houses on either side, through whose
shining windows one caught glimpses of the splendors within; and to the
Park, with its shady alleys and well-kept lawns. Could there be any
walking so delightful as that which these afforded? Surely not! Ah!
Madge and Helen were probably just starting for their walk now. Did they
know of her banishment? would they laugh at the thought of Queen
Hildegardis vegetating for three months at a wretched--
"Glenfield!" The brakeman's voice rang clear and sharp through the car.
Hilda started, and seized her father's hand convulsively.
"Papa!" she whispered, "O papa! don't leave me here; take me home! I
cannot bear it!"
"Come, my child!" said Mr. Graham, speaking low, and with an odd catch
in his voice; "that is not the way to go into action.
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