Chapter 7 A Young Mutineer by L. T. Meade
A WEDDING PRESENT
But my lover will not prize
All the glory that he rides in,
When he gazes in my face:
He will say: "O Love, thine eyes
Build the shrine my soul abides in,
And I kneel here for thy grace!"
--E. BARRETT BROWNING.
There was a holly tree not far from the church with berries so red and leaves so green and shining that it was generally denuded of its beauties to decorate the most important parts of the church.
Judy knew this holly tree well. It had been much crippled in shape and color for the Christmas decorations, but one perfect branch had been left where the berries still grew in full rich clusters--this special branch had not been noticed by the gardener when he was cutting the holly for Christmas, and Judy determined that from it she would pick the crimson berries which were to constitute Hilda's wedding present.
"Barnes," she said to the old gardener the day before, "you mustn't allow anyone to touch my bough of holly."
"Well, Miss Judy, you're a queer child; what bough of holly do you mean?"
"The bough on the round tree near the church. I want it most particular badly; you won't let anyone pick it--will you, Barnes?"
"No, that I won't," said Barnes, good-naturedly; and Judy, quite satisfied and happy in her mind, ran away.
On the wedding morning, just when the day broke, she got softly, very softly out of bed. Babs was having happy dreams at the moment, for smiles were flitting across her face and her lips were moving. Judy, heavy-eyed and pale, rose from her broken slumbers and proceeded to dress herself. She must go out now to fetch her holly bough. She could dress herself nicely; and putting on a warm jacket she ran downstairs and let herself out into the foggy, frosty air. She was warmly clad as to her head and throat, but she had not considered it necessary to put on her out-door boots. The boots took a long time to lace, and as she did not expect to be absent from the house more than ten or twelve minutes, she did not think it worth while to go to this trouble.
She ran swiftly now, her heart beating with a certain pleasurable excitement. It was so nice to be able to make a beautiful, quaint wedding present out of the red berries and the glistening leaves and the little note full of love hiding away in their depths. How delighted Hilda would be by and by to open that note and to read some of Judy's innermost thoughts.
"Even though she has Jasper, she loves me," thought the child. "She will know _something_ of what I think of her, the darling, when she has read my note."
The little letter, written on a tiny pink sheet of paper, was put away all ready in Judy's drawer; she had but to cut the bough of holly and her unique wedding present would be almost ready. She reached the tree, having to go to it through long grass heavy with hoar frost. Her stockings and feet were already very wet, but she thought nothing of this fact in her excitement. She had a small knife in her pocket which she proceeded to take out in order to cut the bough away--it grew low down and she had to pull the grass aside to look for it.
Alack, and alas! where was it, who had taken it? Had wicked, wicked Barnes been faithless? There was a torn gash on the trunk of the tree, and no long bough red with berries was anywhere to be seen.
Poor little Judy could not help uttering a cry of anguish. Hot anger against Barnes swelled up in her heart. Miss Mills was in reality the culprit. Knowing nothing of Judy's desire, she had cut the bough late the night before for some window decoration.
"I won't go back to the house until I get some holly," thought the child. She wiped away her fast-falling tears and set her sharp little wits to work. This was the most scarce time in the whole winter for holly berries, the greater number of them having been used for church and Christmas decorations; but Judy, whose keen eyes noticed Nature in all her aspects, suddenly remembered that on the borders of a lake nearly a mile away grew another holly tree--a small and unremarkable bush which might yet contain sufficient bright berries for her purpose. Without an instant's hesitation she determined to walk that mile and reach that tree. She must go quickly if she would be back before anyone noticed her. She was particularly anxious that her gift should not be seen in advance. Running, racing, and scrambling she effected her purpose, reached the tree, secured some berries and leaves, and returned to the house wet through and very tired.
Babs was rubbing her eyes and stretching her limbs in her snug bed in the nursery when her sister came back.
"Oh, Judy, what have you been doing?" she exclaimed, sitting up and staring in round-eyed astonishment.
"Hush, Babs," said Judy, "don't speak for a moment--don't say a single word until I have locked the door."
"But you oughtn't to lock the door. Miss Mills doesn't wish it."
"I am going to disobey her."
"But you'll be punished."
"I don't care."
The key was turned in the lock, and Judy, going over to Babs' bed, exhibited her spoils.
"See," she said, "here's my wedding present."
"Did you go to fetch those holly berries this morning?" asked Babs.
"Yes, I did, and I had to go a long way for them too; that horrid, wicked old Barnes had cut away my bough, and I had to go all the way to the lake."
"Your feet do look so sloppy and wet."
"So they are, they are soaking; I forgot to put on my boots."
"Oh, won't you catch an awful cold! won't Miss Mills be angry!"
"Never mind; I'll change my stockings and shoes after I have arranged my present."
"It's such a funny wedding present," said Babs. "Do you think Hilda will like it?"
"She'll do more than like it: she'll love it. Don't talk to me any more--I'm too busy to answer you."
Babs fidgeted and mumbled to herself. Judy stood with her back to her. She used her little fingers deftly--her taste as to arrangement and color was perfect. The sharp thorns pricked her poor little fingers, but she was rather glad than otherwise to suffer in Hilda's cause. The wedding present was complete, no sign of the note could be seen in the midst of the green leaves and crimson berries. Judy unlocked the door and tumbled back into bed. Miss Mills knew nothing of her escapade, for Babs was far too stanch to betray her.
Just as Hilda in a cloud of white was stepping into the carriage to go to church that morning, a little figure, also in cloudy white with wide-open greeny-gray eyes, under which heavy dark marks were already visible, rushed up to her and thrust something into her hand.
"Your--your wedding present, Hilda," gasped Judy. The strong colors of the red and green made almost a blot upon Hilda's fairness. Her father, who was accompanying her to church, interposed.
"Stand back, my dear, stand back, Judy," he said. "Hilda, you had better leave those berries in the hall; you're surely not going to take them to church."
"Your promise, Hilda, your faithful promise," said Judy in an imploring voice.
Hilda looked at the child; she remembered her words of the night before, and holding the prickly little bunch firmly, said in a gentle voice:
"I particularly want to take Judy's present to church with me, father."
"As you like, my love, of course; but it is not at all in keeping with that lovely bouquet of hot-house white flowers sent to you by Lady Dellacoeur."
"Then, if so, Lady Dellacoeur's flowers shall stay at home," said Hilda. She tossed the splendid bouquet on the hall table, and with Judy's holly berries in her hand, sprang into the carriage.
"Isn't she a darling?" said Judy, turning with eyes that glowed in their happiness to Miss Mills.
"A goose, I call her," muttered Miss Mills; but Judy neither heard nor heeded her words.
The little church was nearly full of spectators, and one and all did not fail to remark Judy's wedding present. A bride in white from top to toe--a lovely bride in the tenderest bloom of youth, to carry a bouquet of strong dark green and crimson--had anything so incongruous ever been seen before? But Hilda held the flowers tightly, and Judy's hungry heart was satisfied.
"Good-by, my darling," said Hilda to her little sister a couple of hours later; "good-by, Judy; my first letter shall be to you, and I will carefully keep your dear wedding present."
"Hilda, Hilda, there's a little note inside of it, in the heart of it; you'll read it, won't you, and you won't show it to Jasper?"
"If you wish me not, I won't, dearest. How hot your lips are, Judy, and how flushed your face."
"I am just a wee bit shivery," said Judy, "but it's nothing, nothing at all. I'll promise you not to fret, Hilda. Good-by, dear, dear, darling Hilda."
"Good-by, my sweetest little treasure, good-by."
Hilda got into the carriage; her husband took his place by her side. Mildred Anstruther tossed a great shower of rice after them, Miss Mills and Babs hurled slippers down the avenue, Judy was nowhere to be seen.
"Hilda," said Quentyns, as they were driving to the station, "why did you have such a very funny bouquet in church? You showed me Lady Dellacoeur's flowers last night. Why didn't you wear them, darling? Those harsh holly berries and leaves weren't in your usual taste."
"But you're not angry with me for carrying that little bouquet, Jasper, are you?"
"My darling, could I be angry with you for anything?"
"The little bunch of holly was Judy's wedding present," said Hilda, tears dimming her eyes; "I promised her that I would wear them. Sweet little darling, my heart aches at leaving her."
Quentyns took Hilda's hand and held it firmly within his own. He said some sympathetic words, for Hilda's slightest grief was grief to him, but in his heart he could not help murmuring:
"That tiresome, morbid child. Poor darling Hilda, I must show her very gently and gradually how terribly she is spoiling Judy."