Hilda of the hippodrome

Contents

CHAPTEB PAGE

I Hilda Sings 9

II Is It a Fairy Tale? 26

Chapter I

HE street was quaint and narrow. The little girl who was walking slowly down it, was even more unusual. At first glance she presented an elfish appearance, not because there was anything weird in her face or figure, for she was physically perfect, but she carried a baby in her arms, and one felt that, being so tiny, she should be protected instead of being the protector. She wore an old-fashioned bodice, and a full, short skirt of red. These once were of substantial homespun, but they had seen much service. Many neat patches testified to this. Her sleeves, stockings and kerchief were of coarse but spotless white. The kerchief was folded primly about her neck. Her shoes were of heavy German make, but she wore a Normandy cap. Altogether her appearance made a charming combination of German and French.

Suddenly she paused. Just ahead she saw some tourists standing in front of a window where carved souvenirs were displayed.

Annette,’’ she cooed to the baby, ‘^here ’s our chance. You must n’t let me be scared. I ’ve just got to do it.”

Pressing her charge closer, she marched resolutely towards the tourists. Her heart beat faster, though, and within a few yards of them, she again paused.

should learn by this time not to be frightened. People are so good. They always give us money,” she reminded herself.

But she was not reassured. The baby, as if conscious of her nervousness, began to cry. Then the mother heart drove out fear.

‘‘There, there, Annette. Sister will sing for thee, ’ ’ she cooed.

Patting the baby with one band, she crooned a little French lullaby. Her singing was too low to attract notice, but the magic of her voice soon quieted Annette.

Again she glanced timidly at the tourists, who were not conscious of her presence. She was no longer afraid; she was only modestly uncertain of her ability.

^‘Dear God, please make them like my singing,” she prayed.

Without further wavering she started to repeat the French lullaby, her voice swelling out full and free.

With one accord the tourists looked around, and the hand-made work was forgotten.

The marvelous voice rang through the clear mountain air, attracting the attention of Mrs. Mortimer, a black-clad American lady. Once music had been the passion of her life, and so in the time of mourning she had fled alone to a foreign land hoping for consolation from some of the world’s great artists. Thus far her quest had been in vain. Her heavy grief was not lightened. It was the more remarkable that the voice of a little, unkniown girl seemed as sunshine dispelling- the shadows.

Interest and curiosity brought Mr|s. Mortimer around the corner. For a moment, astonishment overmastered other feelings. It seemed incredible that this child could be the singer she sought.

‘ ‘ How can that wonderful tone come from that little frame T’ she wondered. Pity was her next sensation. ‘‘She ’s nothing but a child herself. She should n’t be singing thus.”

Soon wonder and pity were forgotten in enjoyment. Being more familiar with French than German it was a pleasure merely to follow every word of the perfectly enunciated luUaby. Mrs. Mortimer’s enthusiasm did not stop at this. She compared the little singer to a Cinderella, the magic of whose voice completely transformed her. It was the raiment befitting royalty. It made its owner worthy to pass from the hut to the palace.

At the close of the lullaby, the girl smiled, with a pleading, wistful look that touched Mrs. Mortimer’s heart. It was a shock, therefore, when the girl paissed from person to person collecting small coins.

^‘One with a voice like that should n’t he a beggar,” said Mrs. Mortimer, and her interest waned.

This coldness was momentary. In gratitude for what had been so generously given the girl began another song. It confirmed Mrs. Mortimer in her belief that she had discovered a child genius, and when the sifnger started away, she followed, until they were alone except for Annette.

‘^Little girl,” she called in French, ^^I want to speak to you.” The child turned, curtesying demurely.

Thank you very much, madame.”

‘‘What is your name?”

“Hilda Waif els, madame”

She spake with so much dignity that Mrs. Mortimer feared that her interest might seem intrusive.

“Why do you sing on the street, Hilda?” she asked gently.

‘ ‘ To get money for food, gracious lady, ’ * answered Hilda, but there was no whine as of a beggar in her tones.

‘‘Are your parents living?’’

“Yes, madame.” Hilda was sensitive, and she felt that Mrs. Mortimer disapproved. So she hastily added, ‘ ‘ My father used to make lots of money before he was crippled. My mother is n’t very strong. She earns a little by sewing, but there are many of us to feed, and we have such big appetites. Sometimes when we have hardly anything in the house, I pray God not to make me so hungry.”

“Poor little girl, you ’re too young to have so much care. ’ ’

“Oh, madame, I ’m so glad I can help,” answered Hilda cheerily.

“Who taught you how to sing, Hilda?”

“Nobody, madame. Only my mother used to be a singer before she married my father, and she says my love of singing is from her. ’ ’

Hilda’s speech and manner did not accord with her size, and Mrs. Mortimer could not repress a smile.

‘ ‘ How old are you, Hilda ? ’ ’

“Thirteen, madame.”

‘‘No one believes I ’m as old as I am.’^

The baby in Hilda ^s arms began to whimper.

“I am afraid she ^s hungry. I must go home, madarne.’’

“Will you let me go with you? I want to see your mother.

“The gracious lady will do us great honor by visiting us.’^

The quaint politeness of Hilda; her friendliness, and her marvelous voice had completely captivated Mrs. Mortimer.

“I wish she were my child. With her voice, and the training I could give her, she would make a wonderful singer I know,’’ thought Mrs. Mortimer as she walked beside Hilda.

‘ ‘ There ^s where I live, madame, ’ ’ Hilda announced as they turned the comer. The house to which she pointed was very old. In fact it was the most dilapidated and the smallest in the neighborhood. The stucco had peeled off leaving the old bricks in wrinkled view and the tiled roofing had suffered from the ravages of time. Still the battered old house was more attractive than many of the others, partly because of its window boxes of flowers, their thriftiness bespeaking loving care.

‘‘What pretty flowers you have, Hilda.’’

Hilda nodded her head, well-pleased.

“Father and I love flowers. We grew many of them from slips, and I brought down some of the plants from the mountain side. Sometimes, madame, we have enough blooms to make nosegays to sell.”

“Come right in, madame,” and Hilda opened the door.

“Mother, mother, here ’s a lady come to see us,” she called

A care-worn little woman came from a back room.

“Mother, this lady speaks French. It will he pleasant for you to talk with her. ’ ’

Mrs. Mortimer observed Hilda’s protecting air. She spoke as if she were the older of the two.

A wonderful smile illumined Mrs. Walfels’ face. For a moment she looked young and pretty.

^^Ah, madame, this is indeed a pleasure. Hilda knows what a delight it is to me to speak to' anyone in my own tongue. I hate German. Please he so kind as to step into this room.^^

As Mrs. Mortimer followed Mrs Walfels and Hilda, she had evidence of the poverty of which Hilda had spoken, but she also saw immaculate neatness on every side.

‘ ^ I thought Annette was hungry, hut she has fallen asleep, ’ ’ said Hilda

‘^ Take her to your father then. You ’d better stay with him. ’ ^

Hilda ^s face fell. It was a deprivation not to be able to hear what the strange lady would say, but she was obedient, and had no thought of demurring. She curtesied to Mrs. Mortimer.

‘‘I am so pleased to have met you, madame.’^

‘‘Hilda, I wish you would come to my hotel— The Goldener Adler— and see me. I get very lonely all by myself. Just ask for Mrs. John Mortimer. I shall love to see you any time.’’

Thank yon, madame, I will surely come,’^ and Hilda departed.

“I hope, Madame Walfels,’’ Mrs. Mortimer began, as she accepted a seat beside her hostesis, ‘‘that yon will not consider my coming an intrusion, but—

‘ ‘ Pray do not speak of it, madame, I am delighted.’’

“After I heard your little girl sing, I was so charmed with her that I felt I must know more about her. So I questioned her, and asked her to bring me here. I want to do something for Hilda. She is too young to be sent out with a baby. It will give me great pleasure if you will let me help so that Hilda shall not have to beg on the streets.”

Mrs. Waif els drew herself up with unexpected dignity. “I do not call what Hilda does begging, madame. We artists do not look at singing in that light. I used to earn my living by my voice when I was a girl. True I sang in halls, and made more money than my Hilda does on the streets. But Grod knows I never gave as much as she does in return for what I got. She has a far better voice than I ever dreamed of having/’

‘ ‘ Hilda has a wonderful voice. She— ’ ’ began Mrs. Mortimer, but Mrs. Waif els was so excited that she did not heed the interruption.

‘‘Madame,” she continued on the verge of tears, “if you gave her something for her singing, and do not feel that you had just returns, I pray you take your money back. Needy as we are, not one of us would want a single sou that did not justly belong to us.”

It was Mrs. Mortimer’s turn to feel humiliated.

“Pray forgive me. I see now that Hilda ’s singing on the street is not begging. Even while I called it that, I felt she was worthy of something so much better that I was unjust. She is unusually gifted. I consider her a genius. That is why I followed her here.”

Tears streamed down Mrs. Waif els’ wan cheeks. Mrs. Mortimer pressed the toil wrinkled hand nearest her.

“I am sorry I have hurt you. I do not know what I can say or do to make atonement’’

Mrs. Waif els smiled. ’m not crying because I ’m hurt, madame. The words you just said give me more joy than any I Ve known since Hilda was bom. You can never realize what it means to me to have an educated lady like you say tbat my Hilda has genius. I ’ve been saying it for years, and I ’ve stuck to it although I ’ve been laughed at for my faith. My husband never did have much of an opinion of singing— at least not to make money by. His great aim was to make Hilda an acrobat like himself.”

‘‘An acrobat!” repeated) Mrs. Mortimer even more horrified than she had been at the idea of Hilda’s begging.

“Yes, my husband was an acrobat.

That ’s how he was crippled. He fell from the bars. Before he used to make lots of money.” Then half in extenuation and half in pride, added, “I saw you were shocked to think of Hilda’s being an acrobat, but acrobats are not like what you believe. Before I met Fritz, I had a wrong opinion of them myself, but, madamc, they are good people. No one could have a better husband than my Fritz. He does n’t agree with me about Hilda, and he thinks it ’s the finest thing on earth to be a German, and I ’m always saying my country is the best, and so it is. But even when I get angry he ’ll never quarrel. He ’s the best man I ever knew. After he was hurt he learned wood-carving, but he can’t make much at that. You can’t expect him to do as well as people who ’ve been carving all their lives. ’ ’

With her voluble French nature, Mrs. Waif els was glad of an opportunity to talk. She hardly drew breath between sentences, and Mrs. Mortimer was content to listen.

‘‘But to go back to Hilda. If it had n’t been for her having a wonderful voice, I ’d have liked to have her an acrobat. It does seem as if she were fitted for that almost as well as for singing. Just see how small she is, and beautifully formed, and so strong. From the time she could walk, Fritz began training her. You ought to see the things she can do. Fritz says she ’s a prodigy. He thinks she ’d make a fortune for us if she were on the stage.

There are greater things in the world than money/’ interrupted Mrs. Mortimer. ‘‘Hilda ought to be a singer. No matter what other ability she has, her voice should be considered first. It would be wicked not to cultivate it.”

Mrs. Walfels’ face beamed. “Fritz ought to hear you talk. I wanted Hilda to be a singer so much that when Fritz was hurt it seemed almost providential.”

Mrs. Waif els looked appealingly at Mrs. Mortimer, and added hastily, “You know I don’t mean by that that I was glad that he was crippled. I was awful sorry, even before I realized what a, terrible change it would make for us. But I thought, ‘now perhaps Hilda can be a singer!’ ”

Mrs. Waif els sighed and shook her head, “Perhaps I was wicked, and am being punished for it. I ’ve seen since then that Hilda is no nearer being what I want than she was before. We never can do much for her while we ’re so poor. ’ ’

She brushed a tear from her eye. “I don’t mean to complain, madame. Even when I was saddest I did the best I oonld by Hilda. She speaks French like a Parisian, and my knowledge of music has been some help to her. Then, too, I made up my mind years ago to leave Hilda’s future with God. He gave her her voice, and if He intends that she shall be a singer, He will make her one no matter what happens. ’ ’

Mrs. Mortimer hardly knew what answer she could make. Thus far she had acted on impulse. Before making any serious move, she wished to consider matters calmly.

She held out her hand to Mrs. Waif els. ‘‘I hope you will consider me a friend,” she said. Then she glanced at the old fashioned clock, and immediately rose.

^Ht is later than I thought. I must be going, but I will come and talk with you again about Hilda. I do think her voice marvelous. Possibly I can do something for her.”

‘ ‘ God bless you, madame. You put new hope into my heart.”

Mrs. Walfels hurried toward the kitchen.

and as she went, she hummed an air she had snng in her girlhood days.

‘‘Why, mother is singing,’^ cried Hilda in happy surprise to her father.

Big Fritz, once so strong and agile, was seated in his usual chair by the window. Accident had crippled his body but not his spirit. He smiled brightly at his wife, and his hands did not cease from work on the rude croiss which he was fashioning.

“Ach! but I ’m glad to see you so happy. Hilda told me about your lady visitor. She has done you good. It brings a breath of summer joy into the room to hear you sing.^’

‘ ‘ How long since you have cared for singing, Fritz? demanded his wife in surprise.

“I always liked to hear the housefrau sing about her work. I never quarreled with singing then.’^

“Then why do you say Hilda should n^t be a singer?’^

Big Fritz put his muscular hand on Hilda’s dark head, but his touch was very gentle.

«5

‘ ‘ She need years of training, and then she ’d have to go away.’^

^ ^ Well, if she were an acrobat, she ^d have to leave ns just the same/’ interrupted his wife.

“Yes, but she ’d soon be making money for us, and we can’t get along without her help. Hilda ’s our mainstay.’’

“That ’s true,” agreed his wife with a sigh. Her air castle that had risen so high a moment before, now seemed a ruin.

If Hilda had not been cheerful and brave like her father, she , too, would have sighed. She was more ambitious to be a singer than an acrobat. Still she would not repine. She intended to do her duty bravely no matter what came to her in life.