"We must have the things he
likes best," she said; "for it will be hard enough to make him eat
anything. I will make that apple-pudding that he likes so much; and
there is the fowl for the pie, you know, Nurse Lucy."
The little maid was away on a vacation, so there was plenty of work to
be done. Dinner-time came and went; and it was not till she had seen
Dame Hartley safe established on her bed (for tears and trouble had
brought on a sick headache), and tucked her up under the red quilt, with
a bottle of hot water at her and a bowl of cracked ice by her side,--it
was not till she had done this, and sung one or two of the soothing
songs that the good woman loved, that Hilda had a moment to herself. She
ran out to say a parting word to the farmer, who was just starting for
the village in the forlorn hope, which in his heart he knew to be vain,
of getting an extension of time from Lawyer Clinch while search was
being made for the wretched Simon.
When old Nancy had trotted away down the lane, Hilda went back and sat
down in the porch, very tired and sad at heart. It seemed so hard, so
hard that she could do nothing to save her friends from the threatening
ruin. She thought of her father, with a momentary flash of hope that
made her spring from her seat with a half articulate cry of joy; but the
hope faded as she remembered that he had probably just started for the
Yosemite Valley, and that there was no knowing when or where a despatch
would reach him.
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