"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..