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I can now understand why Mügge calls his heroine Ilda "the strong maiden." A drive of thirty-five miles down the picturesque valley of the Gûûl brought us to Drontheim the next day the eighth after leaving Christiania. Below us, at the bottom of a crescent-shaped bay, lay Drontheim a mass of dark red, yellow, and brown buildings, with the grey cathedral in the rear.
There stood his imposing grandmother, so overwhelmed with amazement that her trenchant sentences failed her completely; his stepmother, wearing an expression that almost suggested delight in his discomfiture; and Diantha, as grim as Rhadamanthus. Poor little Ilda burst into wild sobs and choking explanations, clinging to Diantha's hand. "If I'd only listened to you!" she said.
"The men are not so bad," explained Catharine Kelly, at a club meeting, meaning the men servants; "they respect an honest girl if she respects herself; but it's the young masters and sometimes the old ones!" "It's all nonsense," protested Mrs. James, widowed cook of long standing. "I've worked out for twenty-five years, and I never met no such goings on!" Little Ilda looked at Mrs.
Madam Weatherstone marched into the room. Ilda, with a little cry, fled out of it to Diantha. There was a jump, a scramble, two knuckly hands appeared, a long leg was put through the transom, two legs wildly wriggling, a descending body, and there stood before them, flushed, dishevelled, his coat up to his ears Mat Weatherstone.
Maybe she was jealous! So Ilda was rather unconvinced, though apparently submissive, and Diantha kept a careful eye upon her. She saw to it that Ilda's room had a bolt as well as key in the door, and kept the room next to it empty; frequently using it herself, unknown to anyone. "I hate to turn the child off," she said to herself, conscientiously revolving the matter.
Perhaps if you'll come and look I shan't have to say much." She led her to a window that looked on the garden, the rich, vivid, flower-crowded garden of Southern California by the sea. Little Ilda, in a fresh black frock and snowy, frilly cap and apron, ran out to get a rose; and while she sniffed and dallied they saw Mr. Mathew saunter out and join her.
The woman had taken out her handkerchief, and was wiping her eyes; but the girl sat quiet, as the mouse she somewhat resembled in that coat. "Yes, Mrs. Mitchett?" He said gently, at last. The woman put away her handkerchief, sniffed resolutely, and began: "It's 'Ilda, sir. Such a thing Mitchett and me never could 'ave expected, comin' on us so sudden.
Weatherstone, musing to herself, "and I engaged Mrs. Halsey!" "Do you like it here?" she continued kindly. "Oh yes, ma'am!" said Ilda. "That is " she stopped, blushed, and continued bravely. "I like to work for you, ma'am." "Thank you, Ilda. Will you ask Mrs. Halsey to come to me at once, please." Ilda went, more impressed than ever with the desirability of her new place, and mistress.
You can't carry on with a man like that as you can with one of your own friends. He is not to be trusted. One nice girl I had here simply left the place he annoyed her so." Ilda was a little sulky. She had been quite a queen in the small Norwegian village she was born in. Young men were young men and they might even perhaps! This severe young housekeeper didn't know everything.
"You told me he was bad! I never thought he'd do such an awful thing!" Young Mathew fumbled at the door. He had locked it outside in his efforts with the pass-key. He was red, red to his ears very red, but there was no escape. He faced them there was no good in facing the door. They all stood aside and let him pass a wordless gauntlet. Diantha took the weeping Ilda to her room for the night.
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