"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!"