CHAPTER XIV.
OVER THE JAM-POTS.
One bright September morning Hildegarde was sitting in the dining-room, covering jam-pots. She had made the jam herself—peach marmalade it was, the best in the world, all golden-brown, like clear old amber—a day or two before, and now it was firm enough to cover. At her right hand was a pile of covers, thick white paper cut neatly in rounds, a saucer full of white of egg, another full of brandy, an inkstand and pen. At her left was an open book, and a large rosy apple. She worked away busily with deft fingers, only stopping now and then for a moment to nibble her apple. First a small cover wet in brandy, fitting neatly inside the jar; then a large cover brushed over with white of egg, which, when dry, would make the paper stiff, and at the same time fasten it securely round the jar. And all the time she was murmuring to herself, with an occasional glance at the volume beside her,—
"'Sabrina fair, listen where thou art sitting,
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.
Listen for dear honour's sake,
Goddess of the silver lake,
Listen and save!
Listen and appear to us,
In name of great Oceanus.'"
Here she stopped to write on several jars the paper on which was dry and hard; a bite at her apple, and she continued,—
"'By the earth-shaking Neptune's crook'—"
"No," glancing at the book. "Why do I always get that wrong?
"'By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace,
And Tethys' grave majestic pace;
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,
And the Carpathian'—"
At this moment a shadow fell on the table, as of some one passing by the window, and the next moment Jack entered.
"What are you doing?" he asked, after the morning greetings, sitting down and scowling at the unoffending jam-pots. "Can't you come out in the garden? It's no end of a day, you know!"
"No end?" said Hildegarde. "Then I shall have plenty of time, and I must finish my jam-pots in any case, and my poetry."
"Poetry? are you making it?"
"Only learning it. I like to learn bits when I am doing things of this sort.
"'By Leucothea's lovely hands,
And her son that rules the strands'—
"Wait just a moment, Jack. I think I know it all now.
"'By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet,
And the songs of Sirens sweet'—
Isn't that lovely, Jack?"
"Oh, yes," answered Jack absently. "What have you been doing here, Hilda?" He was studying the jars that were already marked, and now read aloud,—
"'William the Conqueror, his Jam, 1066.'
"'Peach Marmalade.
Put up by Hamlet, Prince of Denmark,
For his own use.'
"What an extraordinary girl you are, Hildegarde!"
"Not at all extraordinary!" cried Hildegarde, laughing and blushing. "Why shouldn't I amuse myself? It hurts no one, and it amuses me very much."
Jack laughed, and went on,—
"'Marmaladus Crabappulis.
C. J. Cæsar fecit.
Jam satis.'
"'Crab-apple Jelly.
Macbeth, Banquo & Co., Limited.'
"'Peach Marmalade.
Made by
John Grahame, Viscount Dundee. Gold Medal.'
"This ought to be mine."
"It shall be yours, greedy viscount. Get a spoon and eat it at once, if you like."
"Thank you so much. I would rather take it home, if I may. I say, what is that brown stuff out on the porch, with mosquito netting over it? Nothing very valuable, I hope?"
"Oh, Jack!" cried Hildegarde, springing up, "my peach leather! What have you—did you fall into it? Oh, and I thought you were improving so much! I must go—"
"No, don't go," said her cousin. "I—I only knocked down one plate. And—Merlin was with me, you know, and I don't believe you would find any left. I am very sorry, Hilda. Can I make some more for you?"
"I think not, my cousin. But no matter, if it is only one plate, for there are a good many, as you saw. Only, do be careful when you go home, that's a good boy."
"What is it, anyhow?"
"Why—you cook it with brown sugar, you know."
"Cook what? Leather?"
"Oh, dear! the masculine mind is so obtuse—peaches, O sacred bird of Juno!"
"The eagle?"
"The goose. You really must study mythology, Jack. You cook the peaches with brown sugar, and then you rub them through a sieve,—it's a horrid piece of work!—and then spread them on plates, just as you saw them, and cover them to keep the flies off."
"And leave long ends trailing to trip up your visitors."
"One doesn't expect giraffes to make morning calls. So after a few days it hardens, if it has the luck to be left alone, and then you roll it up."
"Plates and all?"
"Of course! and sprinkle sugar over it, and it is really delicious. I might have given you that plate you knocked over, but now—"
"It was the smallest, I remember."
"And, Jack, I made it all myself. No one else touched it. And all this marmalade, and three dozen pots of currant jelly, and four dozen of crab-apple."
"Sacred bird of Juno!" ejaculated her cousin.
"Do you dare call me a goose, sir?"
"She drove peacocks, didn't she? I do know a little mythology.
"But, Hildegarde, be serious now, will you? I'm in a peck of trouble, as Biddy says. I want consolation, or advice, or something."
"Sit down, and tell me," said Hildegarde, full of interest at once.
Jack sat down and drummed on the table, a thing that Hildegarde had never been allowed to do.
"I got a letter from Daddy, yesterday," he said, after a pause. "Herr Geigen is going to Germany now, in a week, and Daddy says I may go if Uncle Tom is willing."
"And he isn't willing?" Hilda said. "Oh!"
Jack got up and moved restlessly about the room, laying waste the chairs as he went. "Willing? He only roars, and says, 'Stuff and nonsense!' which is no answer, you know, Hilda. If he would just say 'No,' quietly, I—well, of course you can make up your mind to stand a thing, and stand it. But he won't listen to me for five minutes. If he could realise—one can get as good an education at Leipsic as at Harvard. But his idea of Germany is a country inhabited by a crazy emperor and a 'parcel of Dutch fiddlers,' and by no one else. I shall have to give it up, I suppose."
"Oh, no!" cried Hildegarde hopefully. "Don't give it up yet. You know when mamma spoke to him, he didn't absolutely say 'No.' He said he would think about it. Perhaps—she might ask him if he had thought about it. Wait a day or two, at any rate, Jack, before you write to your father. Can you wait?"
"Oh, yes! but it won't make any difference. I suppose it's good for me. You say all trouble is good in the end. Have you ever had any trouble, I wonder, Hilda?"
"My father!" said Hildegarde, colouring.
"Forgive me!" cried her cousin. "I am a brute! an idiotic brute! What shall I do?" he said in desperation, seeing the tears in the girl's clear eyes. "It would do no good if I went and shot myself, or I would in a minute. You will forgive me, Hilda?"
"My dear, there is nothing to forgive!" said Hildegarde, smiling kindly at him. "Nothing at all. I shouldn't have minded—but—it is his birthday to-morrow," and the tears overflowed this time, while Jack stood looking at her in silent remorse, mentally heaping the most frantic abuse upon himself.
The tears were soon dried, however, and Hildegarde was her cheerful self again. "You must go now," she said, "for I have all these jam-pots to put away, and it is nearly dinner-time. See! this jar of peach marmalade is for Hugh, because he is fond of it. Of course Mrs. Beadle can make it a great deal better, but he will like this because his Purple Maid made it. Isn't he a darling, Jack?"
"Yes, he's a little brick, certainly. Uncle Tom calls him the Ph[oe]nix, and is more delighted with him every day. Now there's a boy who ought to go to Harvard."
"He will," said Hildegarde, nodding sagely. "Good-by, Jack dear!"
"It is very early. I don't see why I have to go so soon! Can't I help you to put away the jam-pots?"
"You can go home, my dear boy. Good-by! I sha'nt forget—"
"Oh, good-by!" and Jack flung off in half a huff, as auntie would have said.
Hildegarde looked after him thoughtfully. "How young he is!" she said to herself. "I wonder if boys always are. And yet he is two years older than I by the clock, if you understand what I mean!" She addressed the jam-pots, in grave confidence, and began to put them away in their own particular cupboard.