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Updated: May 5, 2025
The house was a large, old-fashioned one; less stately than Roseholme, Colonel Ferrers' house; less home-like and comfortable, perhaps, than Braeside, but that might only be because it had been so long uninhabited, Hildegarde thought, yet still pleasant enough, with its tall columns and broad piazza.
The broad, out-door room was hung with roses, some of the very garlands which had graced the dark walls of Roseholme the night before; but here they were twined in and out of the vines which grew on all sides of the piazza, screening it from outside view, and making it truly a bower and a retreat.
The panel slid into its place with a faint click; no sign was left, only the white wainscoting, one panel like another, and the crooked stair winding up to the open, airy room above. On a certain lovely evening in June, Hildegarde left the house at six o'clock, or, to be precise, at five minutes before six, and took the path that led to Roseholme.
So am I! Hate 'em? so do I! Play base-ball?" "No!" said Hugh. "Isn't there a nine here?" "Nine?" Hugh turned this over in his mind. "I only know of three at Roseholme.
"Yes," said Hildegarde, "it is! and the thing is a singular one for a mother to be toward her daughter. If ever I saw PLOT written all over an expressive countenance, but no more of this! Dear Colonel Ferrers, how wonderful the roses are!" Surely there never were so many roses as at Roseholme.
It was the very day after the great affair at Roseholme that Hildegarde had her own tea-party; in fact, it had been planned for the birthday itself, and had only been postponed when Colonel Ferrers made known his kind wish. This was a piazza party.
They were in the Roseholme woods, all four girls, Hildegarde, Bell, Gertrude and little Kitty. Kitty was only eight years old, but she liked good times as well as if she were sixteen, and when the sisters said "Come along, Kitty," she had dropped her doll and flown like a bird to join them.
It was her eighteenth birthday, and the Colonel was giving her a tea-party. This was a great event, for many years had passed since guests had been invited to Roseholme. The good Colonel, always delighted to be with Hildegarde and her mother, had still kept up his solitary habits at home, and save for little Hugh, who flitted about the dark old house like a sunbeam, it was a lonely place.
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