Dame Hartley laughed, and climbed leisurely down from the cart. "Never
mind, Jacob!" she said; "I'm spry enough yet to take care of you, if I
can't jump as well as I used."

"This missy's trunk?" continued the farmer. "Let me see! What's missy's
name now? Huldy, ain't it! Little Huldy! 'Pears to me that's what they
used to call ye when ye was here before."

"My name is Hildegardis Graham!" said Hilda in her most icy
manner,--what Madge Everton used to call her
Empress-of-Russia-in-the-ice-palace-with-the-mercury-sixty-degrees-below-zero
manner.

"Huldy Gardies!" repeated Farmer Hartley. "Well, that's a comical name
now! Sounds like Hurdy-gurdys, doosn't it? Where did Mis' Graham pick up
a name like that, I wonder? But I reckon Huldy'll do for me, 'thout the
Gardies, whatever they be."

"Come, father," said Dame Hartley, "the child's tired now, an' I guess
she wants to go upstairs. If you'll take the trunk, we'll follow ye."

The stalwart farmer swung the heavy trunk up on his shoulder as lightly
as if it were a small satchel, and led the way into the house and up the
steep, narrow staircase.




CHAPTER III.