"You ain't no right to go out at all, Mis' Grahame, and you knows it well as I do; but dere ain't no holdin' you some times, and dis is one of 'em, I know. Nothin' for old woman to do, 'cept just see dat you's fixed up right. You' bonnet ain't straight, mum; I should go crazy if you started out like ob dat."
The chore-man had already been at work with shovel and broom, so that there was a path cleared through the snow to the road; the snow was already quite deep, and Hildegarde and her mother were glad of their high snow-boots, as they picked their way along. Hildegarde stopped every other moment to take a handful of snow from some hanging branch, sometimes to eat it, oftener to toss it in the air for pure joy. It was beautiful snow, soft and dry, the crystals showing with exquisite distinctness.
"I feel about ten years old, darling!" the girl announced, as she frisked hither and thither.
"So I perceive!" said Mrs. Grahame, who was walking soberly along, even deigning to protect her bonnet with a prosaic umbrella.
"I feel rather doubtful about taking you, Hildegarde. Suppose you should turn round and smile at the little boy behind you, as you did the first time I took you to church!"
But by the time they reached the old stone church, Hildegarde was grave enough. This was the best of all, she said to herself, as she took her place in the choir, and heard Bell's firm touch on the keys of the organ behind her.
The Pastoral Symphony! Hildegarde gave a long sigh of pure happiness, and leaned back in her seat. She might have known Bell would play it! She knew that her friend was to take the organist's place during the Christmas vacation; but she did not know that somehow, in all the hurry and happy bustle of yesterday, two young musicians had contrived, by hook or by crook, to get an hour's practice together in the church, as a Christmas surprise for her very own self, and when, above the deep, throbbing tones of the organ, rose the exquisite voice of the violin, Hildegarde felt her cup very full indeed, and hardly tried to check the thankful tears that sprang to her eyes. The church was full of the warm fragrance of balsam fir; the long garlands of green clothed the old gray walls with a lovely grace; she saw her mother's face in the pew near by; the music soared heavenward and her soul mounted with it. "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will to men!" When it came her turn to sing, she felt heaven near, indeed, and the peace of blessedness descending on her.
By noon it had stopped snowing; by three o'clock the sky was clear and the world lay white and glittering, a new thing under a sky of crystal.
"Just like the biggest plummy cake that ever was baked!" cried Willy Merryweather as he capered about before his toboggan. The clan was gathering for the first tobogganing of the season. Here was Mr. Merryweather, tall and stalwart, in a fur cap big enough for the Czar of all the Russias; Here were all the children, big and little, in "muffs and furs and fluffs," all rosy and happy and beaming; here was Hildegarde, in moccasins, and the prettiest scarlet blanket-suit; finally, here was Jack Ferrers, striding across the fields at a tremendous rate when he saw that the others were waiting for him.
"Oh, Jack! couldn't Hugh come?" cried Hildegarde, as her cousin came up. "He looked pretty pale this morning, I thought, dear little fellow! Is he feeling badly to-day?"