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diff --git a/old/63535-0.txt b/old/63535-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fd4d055..0000000 --- a/old/63535-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5244 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fairy Latchkey, by Magdalene Horsfall - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Fairy Latchkey - -Author: Magdalene Horsfall - -Release Date: October 23, 2020 [EBook #63535] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAIRY LATCHKEY *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, Juliet Sutherland, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - THE FAIRY LATCHKEY - - - BY - - MAGDALENE HORSFALL - -[Illustration] - - R. F. FENNO & COMPANY - 18 EAST 17th STREET :: :: NEW YORK - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I WHICH INTRODUCES THE HEROINE, AND OTHERS - CHAPTER II WHICH INTRODUCES THE HEROINE’S GODMOTHER - CHAPTER III WHICH TELLS OF A KEY-HOLE IN A WALL - CHAPTER IV WHICH INTRODUCES SWEET WILLIAM - CHAPTER V IN WHICH THE HEROINE DISTINGUISHES HERSELF - CHAPTER VI IN WHICH THE HEROINE TAKES ADVICE - CHAPTER VII IN WHICH MASTER MUSTARDSEED TELLS HIS STORY - CHAPTER VIII IN WHICH THE HEROINE MAKES THE FIRST USE OF HER LATCHKEY - CHAPTER IX IN WHICH SWEET WILLIAM TELLS A STORY - CHAPTER X IN WHICH THE HEROINE HAS A BIRTHDAY - CHAPTER XI IN WHICH THE HEROINE IS GIVEN A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION - CHAPTER XII IN WHICH THE HEROINE PRESENTS HER LETTER OF INTRODUCTION - CHAPTER XIII IN WHICH GREAT GOOD FORTUNE BEFALLS THE HEROINE - CHAPTER XIV IN WHICH THE MERMAN TELLS HIS STORY - CHAPTER XV IN WHICH THE TWIN SISTERS TELL A STORY BETWEEN THEM - CHAPTER XVI IN WHICH THE HEROINE HEARS SOME STARTLING NEWS - CHAPTER XVII IN WHICH SWEET WILLIAM TELLS ANOTHER STORY - CHAPTER XVIII OF WHICH THE SCENE IS LAID IN A SICK-ROOM - CHAPTER XIX IN WHICH QUEEN MAB TELLS HER STORY - CHAPTER XX IN WHICH THE HEROINE MAKES FRIENDS WITH A SPIRIT - CHAPTER XXI IN WHICH THE WHITE LÉTICHE TELLS HER STORY - CHAPTER XXII WHICH HERALDS A CHANGE - - - - - THE FAIRY LATCHKEY - - - - - CHAPTER I - WHICH INTRODUCES THE HEROINE, AND OTHERS - - -There was nothing at all remarkable about her, excepting her name, which -was Philomène Isolde, and the fact that a knot of green ribbon had been -sewn upon her christening dress; but the dress had long since lain -folded in a drawer, and her father as often as not called her “Little -Miss Muffet,” because she was very fond of curds and whey, and very much -afraid of spiders. When he did call her “Philomène,” it meant that he -was too busy to have her in the room with him. Unlike most people, she -was satisfied with her own name, indeed she was proud of it; for Daddy -had told her that Philomène meant “beloved,” and as for Isolde, that was -Godmother’s own name. “And Isolde,” said Godmother, “was a real -Princess.” - -“I wish I were a real Princess,” said Philomène, and waited for Nurse to -add, “If wishes were horses, Miss, beggars might ride,” which she -forthwith did. - -Philomène was not a pretty child, but neither was she exactly plain, for -she had small hands and feet, and a trim little figure, hazel eyes and -plenty of soft mouse-coloured hair. And if there was nothing unusual -about her appearance, there was certainly nothing unusual about her -home, for she lived in a commonplace suburb of London, in a commonplace -villa called Sideview. The house undoubtedly had two sides, but scarcely -any view, unless the strip of back-garden counted as such. The -drawing-room and dining-room opened out of a narrow hall, and both had -about them the chill and mustiness of disuse, for since the death of -Philomène’s mother the drawing-room had seen no more parties, and her -father, who was a hard-working doctor, as often as not snatched his -hurried meals in the study, rather than in the dining-room. Philomène’s -own bedroom and schoolroom, on the upper landing, were large airy rooms -for the size of the house. - -At the foot of her bed stood a screen, upon which Froggy went a-wooing, -and Little Red Ridinghood carried her covered basket through the wood, -and on the wall opposite hung a picture of a young shepherdess, clasping -her crook, and kneeling in the shade of a spreading oak-tree. As there -was no flock in sight, Philomène at first supposed her to be Bo-peep -before her sheep came home, but Godmother had told her that it was Joan, -the Maid of Orleans, who died for love of France and of the truth; and -from that time forward, on winter evenings when the salamanders began -their torch-light revels on the hearth, Philomène would lie in bed and -watch the ruddy reflection brighten and broaden among the branches of -the oak, wrapping the frail young figure in a winding-sheet of flame, -and placing the hard-won wreath of martyrdom upon her hair. - -Over the mantelpiece in the schoolroom next door, hung another picture, -one which had belonged to Philomène’s mother. There was a road white -with dust in the foreground, disappearing amidst a clump of trees, above -which floated a wreath of blue smoke. Down to the road there sloped a -bank of grass, and here sat a woman with a child in her lap, while a -bird on the wing paused to peck from an ear of corn which the baby held -in his hand. Beside the two an old man with kind eyes and work-worn -hands was unsaddling a small grey donkey, and a little further down the -road stood a ruined shrine with a broken idol. Philomène liked the -donkey with its long ears and sad eyes, and felt grateful to the old man -for allowing it to nibble the grass at will. - -It was in the schoolroom that Philomène kept her toys. There was the -dolls’ house and the dolls’ kitchen, and the musical box, and the -paint-box with its palettes and saucers and brushes. Last, but by no -means least, came the book-shelf. It held all Mrs Ewing’s stories, and -all Mrs Molesworth’s, Grimm, and Hans Andersen, and many more besides. -Philomène used to act all the stories out of these books, but it is dull -work to be both players and audience yourself, and it needs an -imagination bordering on genius to ride alone upon a bed, and persuade -your heart of hearts that it is Pegasus, the wonderful winged horse. - -“And nothing ever happens to me,” mused Philomène, “as it happens to -people in books. I do not live in a chateau with a terrace and a raven, -like Jeanne in ‘The Tapestry-Room,’ and when I play with the reels in -Nurse’s work-box they do not behave in the least like Louisa’s reels in -‘Tell Me a Story.’ I suppose it is because I am just ordinary.” - -It was a depressing thought, but facts could not be shelved. Philomène’s -cuckoo clock certainly acted very differently from Griselda’s. So far -from inviting her to climb up by the two long dangling chains, and take -a seat opposite to him on a red velvet arm-chair, this disobliging bird -uttered his “cuckoos” in a hasty, perfunctory manner, and then shut to -the door of his house with a snap, as who should say, “That’s over till -next time.” - -In the schoolroom window hung a cage with a canary in it; he was of a -bright yellow, all but his head, which was green, and Philomène had -christened him Master Mustardseed, after one of the fairy pages in -“Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Now this canary had something of a history. -To begin with, he had had a predecessor, a canary that had been yellow -all over, and so tame that he would perch upon Philomène’s needle when -she sewed, or upon her book when she read. Then one day the old -maidservant, Lilian Augusta, had left the schoolroom window open and the -cage-door ajar, and the canary flew out, never to return, and there was -lamentation at Sideview. But a few days later a strange thing happened. -Through the open window, into the empty cage, flew another canary, this -time with a little head as green and velvety as moss; Master -Mustardseed, in short, who had remained with his new mistress ever -since. - -Besides her canary, Philomène had another pet, a white cat called Queen -Mab, with paws as soft as pussy-willow and a footfall as light as any -snowflake. Now this was how Queen Mab had first come to Sideview:—It was -Christmas Eve, and Philomène stood at the dining-room window, listening -to the waits, who were singing a Christmas carol: - - “He lies ’mid the beasts of the stall, - Who is Maker and Lord of us all. - The winter wind blows cold and dreary; - See, he weeps, the world is weary, - Lord, have pity and mercy on me. - Come, come, come to the manger, - Kneel ye now to the newborn King; - Sing, sing, chorus of angels, - Stars of the morning, o’er Bethlehem sing!” - -After that they moved on to the next house, and began the second verse. - - “He leaves all his glory behind, - To be born and to die for mankind; - ’Midst grateful beasts his cradle chooses, - Thankless man his love refuses. - Lord, have pity and mercy on me.” - -It was bitterly cold. Philomène closed the window, and as she did so a -mew caught her attention. In another moment she had the hall-door open, -and a gust of icy air met her, as though the very wind were trying to -force its way into the house for shelter. Upon the doorstep sat a white -kitten, draggled and shivering. Philomène picked it up at once, shut the -door, and ran upstairs to the schoolroom, all in a flutter of pity and -excitement. Nurse looked up from her sewing, and stared at her aghast. - -“Well, Miss Philomène,” she exclaimed at length, “I wonder what you will -be up to next? Put that dirty little cat down this minute.” - -Philomène obeyed. “I wanted it to have some of the milk that was left -over from supper,” she protested timidly. - -“And so it may,” retorted Nurse, whose bark was worse than her bite, “so -long as you don’t go on holding it against your dress.” - -So Philomène took a saucer, and busied herself with the kitten on the -hearth-rug. This was a bearskin, and had figured many a time in solitary -games of Beauty and the Beast, for it had served as the hero’s costume -till he finally became a prince and discarded it, when Philomène, whose -housewifely little soul disliked waste, had made the princess suggest -that it should be lined with red flannel, and turned into a useful rug -for the throne-room. The kitten lapped up the milk eagerly, and settled -itself comfortably in front of the fire. - -“And now you had better put it back where it came from, Miss,” said -Nurse. - -“The saucer?” inquired Philomène blankly. - -“No, child, the cat.” - -“But it came from the doorstep!” exclaimed Philomène, and seeing no -relenting in Nurse’s face, she burst into tears. At this moment her -father came into the room. - -“What? Tears, little maid?” he called out in surprise. - -“Oh, Daddy, it’s so cold outside, and it hasn’t done anybody any harm, -and it won’t have any Christmas, and perhaps it’s one of the ‘grateful -beasts’ in the carol,” sobbed Philomène. - -“It certainly seemed grateful enough for the milk,” said Nurse, who had -not listened to the waits, and was of a literal turn of mind, “but I -don’t much fancy a stray cat in the kitchen all the same.” - -The doctor sat down in the red-cushioned rocking-chair, and took his -child on his knee. He was a tall, well-made man with dark hair, keen -eyes, and a somewhat abrupt manner, but he was never anything but gentle -with his little daughter, and Philomène’s sobs subsided as he stroked -her hair and patted her cheek. - -“Look here, little Miss Muffet,” he said, “I will tell you what we will -do. We will ask Nurse to let us keep the pussy over-night, and later on -we will advertise in the newspaper, just as we did for Master -Mustardseed, and if it doesn’t seem to belong to anyone or to come from -anywhere in particular, you shall have it for your own, and Nurse won’t -mind it if it catches the mice in the scullery, will she?” - -Philomène’s face cleared, and she looked beseechingly at Nurse. “You are -master in this house, sir,” admitted Nurse, “and it seems useless to -fight against this love of dumb things. Cats especially do seem to run -in families.” - -So the white kitten stayed, and grew into a white cat, glossy and -well-liking, that followed Philomène about the house “like a dog,” said -the people who had never taken the trouble to befriend a cat. - - - - - CHAPTER II - WHICH INTRODUCES THE HEROINE’S GODMOTHER - - -If Philomène had not actually a fairy godmother, she had at least the -nearest possible approach to one. To begin with, Godmother was -beautiful. She had the red hair that artists love, a wild-rose -complexion, and a gentle, even voice, which never scolded and never -sneered; she had cool white hands with twinkling rings, and her dresses -made a stately silken frou-frou on the stairs, bringing with them a -faint fragrance of lavender and old-world pot-pourri. - -She had a dear little country house called the Cushats, which stood -among pinewoods where pigeons cooed to each other all day long, and the -sea was not far off. Here the summer holidays were spent by Philomène, -“little cushat” as Godmother called her at times, for, as the Danish -proverb says, “a dear child has many names.” She would sit by the hour -in the oak-panelled drawing-room, strumming on the quaint old spinet, or -in the window-seat reading, while the bees murmured perpetually in the -blossoming lime-tree outside. The garden was full of what are usually -called old-fashioned flowers, though for my own part I should be slow to -connect anything quite so tiresome as fashion, with anything quite so -sweet as flowers. There the snowdrops came at Candlemas, and the -daffodils on Lady Day, and there was a whole big hedge of the rosemary -that Shakespeare loved. - -Besides the Cushats, Godmother had a house in London, where there were -broad flights of stairs with shallow steps, and vistas of reception -rooms with polished floors and beautiful pictures and cabinets filled -with eastern curios. Godmother’s own boudoir was a remote hushed corner, -where in midwinter forced lilac drugged the air with subtle sweetness. - -It was here that Philomène often took tea with her, and when full -justice had been done to the toast and cakes, Isolde would take her seat -in a low chair before the fire, and Philomène, curling herself up on the -hearth-rug, much as Queen Mab might have done had she been invited, -would lay her clasped hands in her godmother’s lap, and begin to “want -to know.” - -“Godmother,” she had said on one of these occasions, “I want to know if -it is cruel to keep caged birds. Do you remember when you took me to -church with you a few Sundays ago, and they went round singing the -Litany? Well, just as the choir-men passed me they were saying, ‘and to -show thy pity upon all prisoners and captives,’ and I thought at once of -Master Mustardseed.” - -“But Master Mustardseed came to you of his own accord,” replied -Godmother in her kind, low voice, “and I think a canary might find it -very difficult to fend for himself if you set him free in England. All -the same, when you are grown up, you need never keep any caged birds if -you do not want to.” - -“Well then, you know the picture in the schoolroom with the baby in it, -and the bird pecking at the ear of corn,” continued Philomène. “I had -just made up such a nice story about it all, when Miss Mills told me -that it was a ‘Flight into Egypt,’ and that I ought not to make a play -of it. But how was I to know? They hadn’t any halos. And, O Godmother, I -had just planned that the ugly idol had enchanted a prince and princess -and had turned them into the donkey and the bird, and that the grass and -the corn they were eating would turn them back again. Then I asked Miss -Mills what the idol and the bird really did mean, but she could not tell -me. She only said she supposed it must be some silly legend. Whenever -Miss Mills does not know the answer to what I ask her, she says it must -be a silly legend. What do they mean, Godmother?” - -“The picture is a modern one,” said Isolde, “that is why the Holy Family -are painted without halos, and Miss Mills was quite right about its -being a legend. Your mother once told me all the different things that -the painter had tried to express in his picture. The smoke above the -trees is supposed to come from an inn, where the inn-keeper and his wife -have just refused to give shelter to the travellers, and it is said that -their children’s children are the gipsies, who have now no settled home -or shelter of their own. Then there is another story that when the idols -of Egypt recognized the true God, they fell down and were broken. The -bird with the outspread wings is the human soul, and the Lord is feeding -it with the Bread of Life.” - -“Still you don’t think the Holy Family will mind my having made up the -other story about them, do you?” inquired Philomène anxiously. But -Godmother only shook her head and smiled. - -Philomène certainly asked a great many questions, but then Isolde was -never tired of answering them. Yet though she loved her goddaughter -dearly, it was not entirely for her own sake. For she was Rachel’s -child. - -Rachel and Isolde had known each other almost all their lives. As little -children they strung daisy chains and made cowslip balls together, as -school-girls they helped each other with their compositions on Simon de -Montfort and the pleasures of a country walk, and when they had grown to -womanhood, Rachel’s marriage in no way lessened their friendship. It was -while she lay dying that she confided her baby to the love of her -friend. “Be good to her, beloved, as you have been to me, and I should -like her to be called Isolde Philomène—Isolde.” - -A portrait of Rachel in her wedding-dress hung in Isolde’s boudoir, and -Philomène had grown to love the sweet face and the white folds of the -train. On entering the room her first glance was always for godmother, -and the second for her mother’s portrait. - - - - - CHAPTER III - WHICH TELLS OF A KEY-HOLE IN A WALL - - -Now when Philomène was still quite a little girl she had had some -playfellows whom neither Nurse nor Miss Mills knew anything about, and -these were her green dwarfs and Mrs Handy. - -The green dwarfs (there were six of them) lived in the wall beside her -bed; they wore pointed shoes and peaked hats, and they waited upon her -as pages. She could not remember ever having deliberately invented them; -she had gradually come to know them. No sooner had Nurse closed the -bedroom door and sat down to her sewing-machine at the schoolroom table, -than Philomène would knock upon the wall against which her bed was -placed, and the dwarfs would appear, not all together, but one by one, -peaked hats foremost. Then they would keep her amused, generally by -story-telling, till she felt herself growing drowsy, when she would wave -her hand right royally, and back they would disappear into the wall. - -Mrs Handy was her companion in the daytime, and she was a most useful -friend, equally good at inventing games and at helping with lessons. -Moreover, strange to say, she always came to live at Sideview when -Godmother was out of town, and as soon as Godmother returned, Mrs Handy -would take a journey to Troy or the Rocky Mountains, or some such place -of interest, promising to re-visit Sideview as soon as Godmother left -London, and to be sure and give Philomène an exciting account of her -adventures abroad. - -But as Philomène grew older, she gradually realised with sorrow that -neither the green dwarfs nor Mrs Handy were anything more than a -make-believe, and in her grief at having had to say good-bye to them, -she turned for comfort to the pleasures of story-writing, and to the -thought of the mysterious key-hole in the garden wall. - -The garden of Sideview was flanked on three sides by a wall, and on the -fourth by the back of the house. There was a lawn bordered by a path, -and at the end farthest from the house there was a large strawberry bed. -Flower-beds were laid out between the path and the wall, some young -fruit-trees that never seemed to bear any fruit grew near the strawberry -bed, and close to the house an iron staircase, with a pump at the foot -of it, climbed to the level of a garden door that opened out of the -schoolroom. - -“I wish a fairy caretaker with a red cloak lived in our garden wall, and -would tell me stories as she did to Mrs Molesworth’s children,” thought -Philomène regretfully, “but then that was in the ‘Enchanted Garden,’ and -I never did see a garden in all my life that looked less enchanted than -ours. It is so flat, and there is no water in it, unless you count the -pump, no pond or fountain, and it isn’t a bit neglected either, with the -man coming twice a week to mow the grass.” - -One large flower-bed, about half way down the garden, was Philomène’s -very own. It was divided in two by a tiny path, on either side of which -grew marigolds and London-pride, and her initials in mustard and cress. -The box-bordered path ended abruptly where it ran against the wall, and -it was in this wall that the unaccountable key-hole was to be seen. -Philomène reasoned that where there was a key-hole there must be a key -and a person to turn it, yet she had watched it by the hour, as a cat -watches a mouse-hole, but without result, so that at last she gave up -hope, and went back to her story-writing. - -It was an afternoon early in May, tea was over, and Philomène sat in the -red-cushioned rocking-chair, scribbling her latest novel. It was very -quiet in the schoolroom; only the ticking of the cuckoo clock, the click -of Nurse’s knitting-needles, and the scratching of Philomène’s pen were -to be heard. - -“There had come to the castle,” Philomène had just written, “an old man -who must have seen the snowdrops herald the Spring some ninety times, -with an aged woman to cook.” She was not altogether pleased with the -sound of this sentence when it was finished, but after making several -vain attempts to alter it, she added a foot-note: “Bad grammar, but -unavoidable.” - -“Miss Philomène,” said Nurse, “I wish you would go out into the garden, -like a dear good child. Only look at the fine weather, and it isn’t as -if you were writing anything for Miss Mills neither.” So Philomène rose -reluctantly, after having first written “To be con” at the end of the -page, for she had not as yet made up her mind whether the story was “to -be continued” or “concluded in our next.” Then she fetched her garden -hat, and went to fill her watering-can at the pump. - -It was still and sunny in the open, and the hum of insects sounded -louder than the hum of traffic. In the lilac bush a blackbird was -practising his grace-notes, so as to be in good voice for the many -concerts of the on-coming season, and a warm west wind passed through -the garden in long, happy sighs, as though the young summer were drawing -its first deep breaths of lazy contentment. Philomène began watering and -weeding her garden, and from time to time she looked up at the key-hole -in the wall. - -“If one is just ordinary oneself,” she said half aloud, “and lives in an -ordinary house, I expect fairy things simply can’t happen. Some day, -though, I must write a book about them, as if they really had happened; -I suppose that is the next best thing.” - -At that moment she caught sight of a dandelion about to seed, growing -between her box borders; she stooped to pick the beautiful thing, and at -once began to blow upon the “nursery clock,” so that the seeds took wing -in all directions. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - WHICH INTRODUCES SWEET WILLIAM - - -“If you could let me have the right time, I should be obliged to you,” -said a voice at her elbow. Philomène started, so that the now -dishevelled globe of seeds fell from her hand on to the gravel, and she -turned to see who it was that had spoken to her. By her side stood a -little man in a vivid green suit; in her first surprise she thought it -must be one of the six dwarfs come back to her again, but in another -moment she noticed that his shoes had rounded toes, and that his hat, -although pointed, had a red and white cockade in it. - -“That is not the proper way in which to treat a watch, child,” said the -mannikin crossly, and stooping to pick up the dandelion, he blew upon it -gently. - -“Five o’clock,” said he, “just about tea-time.” And then Philomène’s -heart gave a sudden throb, for out of his waistcoat pocket he took a -key, which he fitted into the key-hole. A little stone door swung -outwards in the wall, and the mannikin hesitated upon the threshold. - -[Illustration: - - “‘IF YOU COULD LET ME HAVE THE RIGHT TIME I SHOULD BE OBLIGED TO - YOU.’” - _Page 22_ - _The Fairy Latchkey._ -] - -“All things considered,” he remarked slowly, “and especially the green -ribbons, I think I may do myself the pleasure of asking you to step in.” - -He was speaking quite politely this time, and Philomène entered, her -pulse all in a flutter, like some bird that has flown in by the window -and cannot find its way out again. The door shut to behind her, and she -saw that she was in a little square room. The ceiling was of stone, as -indeed was only to be expected, since it was part of the wall, but the -floor was daintily if unevenly paved with shells of different tints and -sizes, while the walls were tapestried with catkins. In the middle of -the room stood a monster mushroom, serving as a table, with big -toadstools to match on either side for chairs. The lighting was supplied -by a will-o’-the-wisp, which hovered about near the ceiling till called -for, when it would settle wherever it was needed. Philomène accepted the -seat offered her on one of the toadstools, while the little man went to -a hollow, mossgrown tree-stump in a corner of the room, and began to -look for something inside it. - -“You must excuse my going to the cupboard and waiting upon myself,” he -remarked. “I do keep a tom-tit, but the weather was so fine that I -thought it only fair to give him an afternoon out, so I must lay my own -tea.” He placed one half of a walnut-shell, a few clover blossoms, and a -scrap of honey-comb upon the mushroom table, and sat down on the other -toadstool, opposite to his guest. - -“If you have not already had your tea,” he continued, “I can recommend -this dew, which is of the very finest quality, and kept cool by means of -an icicle. I get my honey from an excellent firm, Buzz, Bumble and Buzz, -Limited, and the clover was picked this morning. Plain fare, my dear, -for this luxury-loving age, but thoroughly wholesome, I assure you. Have -some?” - -“I have had my tea already, thank you,” said Philomène, “but I do like -the sweet ends of clover very much, if you could spare me one flower.” - -“Certainly, certainly,” said the mannikin, and he handed her two, one -white and one pink. - -“Would you mind telling me, please,” began Philomène, “what you meant -just now by speaking about green ribbons? Whose green ribbons?” - -“Yours, of course,” said the little man. “I shouldn’t need any. If it -hadn’t been for those green ribbons on your christening robe, my young -friend, you wouldn’t be sitting here now. It is only the children that -have worn green ribbons at their christening who can see the fairies at -all.” - -“Then you really, really are a fairy?” cried Philomène. - -“Should I be living in this house and eating these things if I weren’t?” -retorted her host. “I am a fairy, and my name is Sweet William.” - -“Am I to call you that?” asked Philomène, doubtfully. - -She could not help feeling that the name sounded very affectionate, and -that it might be forward for her to use it upon so short an -acquaintance. - -“I don’t know what else you’re to call me,” said the little man, “it -strikes me as a very good name of its kind. Perhaps I ought to tell you -that I am the fairies’ land- and house-agent for this garden; I chose it -for various reasons, partly so as to be near you, for it is the business -of the fairies to look after lonely children.” - -“I suppose I ought to thank him,” thought Philomène, feeling painfully -shy, but Sweet William rattled on and left her no time. - -“You have probably no idea how much work even a small garden like this -entails. I have to attend to the housing of all the live creatures, for -one thing, the bees and snails and birds and caterpillars and so on. The -flowers are not troublesome, for they stay in one place for quite a long -time, but the spiders, for instance, are for ever moving house.” - -“It must be very interesting work,” said Philomène politely. She had -often heard people make this remark to her father. - -“Not bad,” said Sweet William, “if one keeps one’s eyes and ears open. -From being the agent in a big garden, just about a hundred and fifty -years ago, I once pieced together a whole love-story. It was an old -manor-house, and had a very fine garden.” - -“That is the sort of place I should love to live in,” said Philomène, -“with oriel windows and avenues and things.” - -“It is a modern failing to find fault with one’s surroundings,” said -Sweet William pompously, “and young people are especially prone to it. -As I was saying when you interrupted me, it was a fine garden. The -family was very old and very proud, and they kept a peacock on the -terrace. On one side of the lawn ran a green walk and a clipped -yew-hedge, and it was here that my lovers used to walk, up and down, up -and down, at sunset. The hedge overheard every word of what they said, -for you see, being a hedge he could not very well help eavesdropping. -Well, one day they had to say good-bye, and he went away and left her -very sad, and I got to know all about that part of it from a red rose, -which he had picked that last evening, and the girl had pressed the rose -in a big book, and every day she would sit and read in the book, and -would look at the page where the red rose lay. ‘My beloved is mine, and -I am his.’ The rose told me that she had grown desperately tired of -having nothing but this one sentence to read, but the girl never seemed -to tire of it. Then at last her lover came back for her, and they went -away together to the little harbour near by, and one of Mother Carey’s -chickens told me that they were married in the church on the cliff. -After that I heard no more of them for some time, till one day I chanced -to pick up a sea-shell on the beach near the harbour. I had had no -tidings of the mer-folk for ever such a long while, so I put the shell -to my ear and let the sea tell me some, and amongst other things it told -me about those two, and how they had taken ship for the south. The last -news I had of them was from the wind, for he is such a great traveller -that he seldom loses sight of people, but the worst of him is that like -most travellers he is always in a hurry, so he could only stop to tell -me that he had seen them last in another garden, walking up and down an -avenue of cypresses with bits of broken statues on either side; only he -was not holding her hand this time, for she was carrying a white bundle -in her arms. The wind had not waited to find out its precise nature, but -he had overheard a few of their remarks as he went by, and would you -believe it, they were just exactly the same as those which the yew-hedge -had repeated to me.” - -“There is a nice big cypress tree at the Cushats,” said Philomène, “but -I have never seen a whole avenue of them. I wish I could. Oh, Sweet -William, I do get so bored sometimes living in a little house with a -little garden, and nothing exciting happening all day long.” - -“Boredom,” said Sweet William, “is a modern complaint to which the young -are peculiarly prone.” - -“I wish he would call something an ancient complaint to which old people -were prone,” thought Philomène. “And I’m sure it’s just as bad to be -always finding fault with the times in which one lives as with the -house.” But out loud she only said, “And may I come here sometimes, -please, and will you tell me a few more stories? Godmother tells me -beautiful stories which she makes up as she goes along, but she has so -many people to visit and so many things to do that I cannot see her very -often, and I know all my books nearly by heart, and Nurse can only tell -stories about the families she was with before she came to me, and all -those children seem to have been so dull and good.” - -“In these days,” replied Sweet William, “next to nothing can be done -without first passing examinations, so if you are willing to come here -to-morrow afternoon at about this time by a reliable clock (don’t go by -the nursery clock, for it is not very well regulated), I will set you an -examination paper all about fairies and fairyland. If you do well in it, -that is to say if your marks add up to 75 per cent, you shall have a -prize.” - -“What will the prize be?” asked Philomène, shyly. - -“A latchkey just like mine, so that you can let yourself in, whether I -am at home or not. And now,” said Sweet William rising, “I really must -be off. I have a lot of extra work in the spring time, with all the -swallows coming home.” - -Philomène rose also, and the little door swung open in the wall. She -stepped out upon the path, and the sunlight dazzled her, so that she had -to shade her eyes with her hand. “I am very glad to have met you, and I -will certainly come again to-morrow,” she was just beginning to say, -when she noticed that Sweet William was gone. For a minute she stood and -stared at the key-hole, which stared back at her. A warm west wind went -past her, the blackbird was still singing his heart out in the lilac -bush, and the air was full of the fragrance of green and growing things. -At her feet lay the dandelion stalk. - -Philomène picked up her watering-can and ran with it up the iron -staircase into the schoolroom, where she found Nurse asleep in her -favourite basket chair. “Oh, Nurse, do wake up, dear good old Nurse,” -she called out eagerly, “and tell me who put green ribbons on to my -christening dress!” - -“Bless the child,” returned Nurse drowsily, “who ever has been talking -that nonsense to you? It was your godmother, and a heathenish fancy I -thought it too at the time. And there’s no call for you to be speaking -so loud either that I can see; I wasn’t asleep, I was only resting my -eyes.” - - - - - CHAPTER V - IN WHICH THE HEROINE DISTINGUISHES HERSELF - - -The next day seemed a long time in coming, but come it did. So did Miss -Mills. Miss Mills was young and pretty, and she thought herself even -prettier than she was. During the past year or two, she had been giving -daily lessons to Philomène, but she was not fond of teaching, and her -temper was uncertain. - -“Tell me at once,” she said sharply, as the lesson dragged itself -towards its close, “what did Edwin and Morcar do?” - -“They ruled with rods of iron,” responded Philomène absently. - -“You are not attending properly, child,” said Miss Mills, “or you would -not repeat things parrot-fashion out of the book in that way. Do you -suppose that one took the poker and the other the tongs? And, you know, -you were very careless too about reciting your psalm this morning, -saying that the trees of the Lord were full of soup, when you know -perfectly well that they aren’t any such thing. What has come over you? -Take down your work for to-morrow.” - -It was no wonder that Philomène found it difficult to attend to her -lessons that day, for she could think of little else than the coming -examination, and when tea at last appeared she felt too much excited to -eat. - -“Now don’t begin to be faddy, Miss, like Master Harold,” said Nurse. - -“Who was Master Harold?” asked Philomène, “he wasn’t one of the -Ruthven-Smiths, was he?” - -“No,” said Nurse, “he was one of their cousins, and he came to stay with -them, and a mighty long visit he paid too. I never did like him from the -first moment I set eyes on him; he was all fads and fancies, and one -day, I remember, he made my poor dear little Miss Maisie cry by telling -her that her legs looked like two snakes that had swallowed oranges, and -they were no fatter than his own in the middle, for that matter. But if -you won’t get along with your tea, Miss, you had better say grace, and -run into the garden.” - -Outside the afternoon’s sad yellow sunlight lay all across the lawn; it -awoke diamond flashes in the wall, and even gilded the handle of the -pump. The metallic notes of the starlings were heard on every side, and -London was doing its best to forget that it was the largest pile of -brick and mortar in the world. Philomène ran to her own garden and up -its little pathway. A great fear was at her heart lest yesterday’s -experience should prove to have been a make-up also, and nothing more, -like Mrs Handy and the rest. Tremblingly she tapped upon the wall, and -prompt to her signal came the sound of a step inside, and the turning of -the key in the key-hole. Sweet William stood before her in his green -suit, with the red and white cockade in his hat. - -“Come in,” said he in his delicate high-pitched voice, “everything is -quite ready.” - -Philomène entered, and the catkin tapestries rustled in the draught of -the closing door. The little room looked cool and friendly. On the giant -mushroom lay a packet of satin-smooth lily petals, a swan’s quill pen, -and two snails’ shells, one filled with red and the other with violet -ink, distilled from red roses and from violets. There was also a little -pad of moss upon which to dry the pen. Philomène sat down upon the -nearest toadstool. - -“Well,” said Sweet William pleasantly, “have you been reading up much -for the examination?” - -“No, not much,” returned Philomène, “I really know all that’s in my -books already, but I have been trying to remember everything I ever -heard about the fairies.” - -“You see,” said Sweet William, “the Good People do not like letting -children into their secrets who have not first taken the trouble to find -out all they can about us for themselves. Now we had better begin, and -here are the questions. Number your pages, and pin them together with -this thorn when you have finished writing. There is a sun-dial in the -next garden, and he has promised to send word when the time is up.” - -For the next hour Philomène wrote busily; she did not even look round -when Sweet William opened a door opposite to that by which she herself -had entered, and spoke to someone outside. - -“It was a grasshopper,” said Sweet William, “and he came to say that the -hour is over. Poor fellow, he spends his time trying to reach the sun by -high hops, and his friend the dial keeps on assuring him that it is of -no use, but the grasshopper will not believe him. He thinks it is only -that the dial has lost heart and got depressed, from having had “Art is -long and time is fleeting” written across him for so many years.” - -Philomène was pinning her papers together. “I have done my best,” said -she, with a threatening of tears in her voice, “but I am afraid it won’t -be prize-standard.” - -“Well, let us see,” said Sweet William encouragingly, as he took the -neatly written sheets into his hands, “I will read aloud the questions -and what you have written, correcting your mistakes as I go along, and -then we will add up the marks. Perhaps you would like some refreshments -after all that hard work; here are some bee-bread and purest rainwater.” -So saying, Sweet William settled himself comfortably upon his stool, -dipped his pen into the red ink, and began. - -“‘I. Give the names of the King and Queen of Fairyland, of the King’s -favourite page, and of the Queen’s four chief attendant elves.’ - -“‘Oberon, Titania, Puck, Master Mustardseed, Master Peasblossom, Master -Cobweb, Master Moth.’ - -“Perfectly correct. The maximum for that is six marks; half a mark for -the King’s name, half a mark for the Queen’s, and a whole mark for each -of the five elves. Now then: - -“‘II. What events do you connect with the following dates; April 30th, -June 23rd, October 31st, and December 24?’ - -“‘April 30th is the Walpurgis Night, when the witches dance on the top -of a mountain called the Brocken. June 23rd is midsummer eve, when all -the goblins and sprites are abroad, and you light fires to keep them at -a distance; sometimes also you hang up a hatchet in a wood, so that they -can hew themselves timber if they will. On December 24th animals and all -lifeless things are able to speak.’ - -“I see you have left out October 31st. Didn’t you know it? It is the -great feast of Samhain, or of All Fairies.” - -“It is All Hallows’ Eve with us,” replied Philomène innocently, and then -remembered with a pang that fairies cannot bear the sound of church -bells, because it reminds them of a power that is stronger than their -strongest magic. “So I do not suppose they like the Saints much either,” -she reflected ruefully. - -“Well, it is All Fairies’ with us, at any rate,” said Sweet William, -speaking rather fast, “which makes three marks out of a maximum of four -for the second question. Now for the third. - -“‘III. Write all you know, (A) about Leprechauns; (B) about Brownies.’ - -“‘(A). Leprechauns are little men dressed all in green, who generally -live in Ireland; at least I have never heard of their living anywhere -else. They are the fairies’ cobblers, and are kept very busy because the -fairies dance so much that they wear out any number of shoes. They also -know where all the crocks of gold and other hidden treasures are kept, -and if you find a leprechaun, and don’t take your eyes off him, he is -obliged to give you anything you want, but he tries to startle you and -make you look away, and then you have lost your power over him, unless -you can catch him again. The best thing to do is to take him to running -water, for he is very much afraid of that, and will promise you anything -rather than stay near it.’ - -“‘(B) Brownies are little men who come into houses during the night, or -very early in the morning before anyone is up, and sweep and dust and -lay the fires, and make themselves very useful. You may put a bowl of -bread and milk for them, or even cream, if you want to show that you are -grateful, but you must never offer them new suits of clothes. Some -people have caught sight of them, and seen how ragged their coats were, -and have made new clothes for them, and left these near the bread and -milk, but when the brownies saw that they went away, and never came back -again. I suppose it offends them.’ - -“Quite right. You have full marks for that question, five for A and five -for B. That makes the whole ten for the third question. - -“‘IV. Write short notes on:—fairy ring; fairy-gold; witch-apples; -blackthorn; the rainbow.’ - -“‘A fairy ring is a circle of teeny mushrooms in the grass, and it marks -the place where the fairies have been dancing over-night. If you should -ever happen to fall from a height down into the middle of one of these -rings, you would not hurt yourself, not even if you fell from the -clouds. - -“‘Fairy gold is not very satisfactory, for when mortals touch it, it all -turns into withered leaves. - -“‘Witch-apples are very dangerous things, for if a witch gives you an -apple, and you eat it, it makes you restless ever after, so that you are -never able to settle down to anything again. - -“‘Blackthorn is the fairies’ tree, and they do not like its being picked -by us, or brought into our houses. That is why some people say that it -is unlucky to bring home blackthorn after a country walk, and other -people get a little mixed and think that it is hawthorn which is -unlucky, but it isn’t.’ - -“Ah! I see you have left out the rainbow. Do you mean to tell me you -don’t know what a rainbow is for?” - -“I don’t think so,” replied Philomène with some hesitation; Noah was in -her mind, but she fancied that Sweet William might find him as little -acceptable as the Saints. She therefore determined to run no risks this -time. - -“It is the triumphal arch,” explained Sweet William, “which is thrown up -whenever the fairy queen is expected to pass that way.” - -“I never heard that before,” said Philomène, “and I like the idea very -much (though I feel quite sure Nurse wouldn’t),” she added to herself. - -“It isn’t an idea,” retorted Sweet William rather huffily, “it is a -custom. Let me see, that makes four out of five marks for the fourth -question,” he continued, “and now for number five. - -“‘V. Copy three bars of music from the song, either of a mermaid, or of -the Lorelei.’ - -“Five marks for that question. But I see you have left it out -altogether?” - -“I have never had a chance of hearing the Lorelei,” answered Philomène, -“for no one has ever taken me to the Rhine, and I have not heard any -mermaids either, though the Cushats is near the sea.” - -“Well, perhaps it was not quite a fair question,” said Sweet William, -“but never mind, you have done very well so far, and you can well afford -to lose five marks at this stage. Let us see what you have made of -number six. - -“‘VI. Complete the following quotations, and state if possible, in what -work of which author each occurs. - - (A) All under the sun belongs to men; - - (B) Where the bee sucks, there lurk I. - - (A) And all under the moon to the fairies. - From Mrs Ewing’s “Amelia and the Dwarfs.” - - (B) In a cowslip’s bell I lie; - There I couch when owls do cry. - On the bat’s back I do fly - After summer merrily. - Merrily, merrily shall I live now, - Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.’ - From SHAKESPEARE’S ‘Tempest.’ - -“Very good indeed. Two marks for (A) and three for (B), which makes -five. You have full marks for that question. You must have a good -memory. - -“‘VII. (A). When did toads not turn into what, and if not, why not, and -what did they turn into?’ - -“‘(B). Supposing yourself to be escaping from an enchanter’s dwelling, -what three articles would be likely to prove of the most use to you, and -why?’ - -“‘(A). In the story of “Eliza and the Eleven Swans,” out of Hans -Andersen, the wicked stepmother throws toads into Eliza’s bath, wishing -to poison her. The toads were so ugly that they could not turn into -roses, which they would like to have done, and which less ugly creatures -might have been able to do, but they did manage to turn into poppies, -for Eliza was so good that they could not harm her. Miss Mills says -toads are not really poisonous.’ - -“‘(B). I should take with me’ (it would have been better to say,—If I -were escaping from an enchanter’s dwelling I should take with me—always -repeat your question in your answer, it saves the examiner trouble,) ‘I -should take with me a comb, a flower-pot and a tumbler of water, because -when the enchanter pursues you, you can throw the comb behind you, and -it turns into a ridge of mountains, and he has to waste time going back -and fetching a ladder so as to be able to climb up them; later you can -throw the flower-pot behind you which turns into a forest, so that the -enchanter has to turn back again and fetch a hatchet to cut down the -trees; afterwards you can throw the glass of water behind you, which -turns into a lake, so that he has first to get a boat. By that time you -have generally arrived at your own kingdom or wherever else you want to -go.’ - -“Yes, that is very well answered. You get full marks for that question -also, two and a half for (A), and two and a half for (B). Now there is -only number eight left. - -“‘VIII. Write in note form, and as concisely as possible, any story out -of Grimm’s fairy-tales.’ - -“I see you have chosen the story of the flounder. - -“‘Fisherman catches flounder. Flounder owns to being a prince; is let -go. Fisherman’s wife annoyed at wasted opportunity. Fisherman goes back -to beach, finds flounder, states wish. Fisherman’s hovel vanishes, nice -cottage instead. Fortnight later fisherman’s wife grumbles. Fisherman -returns to flounder, flounder rather cross. Cottage disappears, stone -castle instead. After few days fisherman’s wife grumbles again, sends -husband back to flounder. Flounder crosser. Sea rough. However, castle -vanishes, king’s palace instead. Fisherman goes home to find wife -already discontented because only queen, not empress. Has to return to -beach. Flounder angry. Sea very rough. King’s palace disappears, -emperor’s palace comes instead. Wife says she wants to be Pope, sends -husband back to beach. Flounder very angry. Sea stormy. Emperor’s palace -goes, Pope’s palace comes. Sunrise next morning. Wife sees it, says she -wants to be able to make the sun rise. Fisherman returns to seashore. -Sea running mountains high. No flounder, voice only. Fisherman returns -to find old hovel back again.’ - -“The maximum there is ten marks,” Sweet William said, after he had -finished reading the notes aloud, “and you have remembered the story -well, all but the rhyme.” - -“I did remember the rhyme though,” said Philomène eagerly, “and I had -meant to add it, but just then the grasshopper came. The first time the -fisherman says:— - - ‘Flounder, flounder in the sea, - Come, I pray, and talk with me, - For my wife, Dame Isabel, - Sent me here a tale to tell.’ - -And all the other times he says:— - - ‘For my wife, Dame Isabel, - Wishes what I fear to tell.’” - -“Capital!” exclaimed Sweet William with enthusiasm, “Philomène rightly -named, beloved of the fairies! It is not often we have the good luck to -come across such a child. Now we will add up the marks. Six for the -first question, three for the second, ten for the third, four for the -fourth, none for the fifth, five for the sixth, five for the seventh, -ten for the eighth. That makes forty-three out of fifty, which is -eighty-six per cent. I congratulate you, my dear, and have much pleasure -in presenting you with a latchkey, exactly like my own.” - -Philomène’s face lit up, her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled, but -“Thank you very much” was all she said as she took the key and slipped -it into her pocket. - -“I expect it will be a treat for you to come out here now and again,” -said Sweet William, watching her closely, “not indeed that there isn’t -plenty to amuse you indoors.” - -“Not indoors at home,” said Philomène, decidedly, “Daddy is out nearly -all day, and though Nurse and Miss Mills are very kind and all that, -they are neither of them any good at fairy things, or at plays, or at -story-telling. It seems to me it is often very dull at home.” - -“The very young,” remarked Sweet William, gazing into space, “and more -particularly the young of the present day, are apt to condemn the place -in which they live because they are themselves too stupid to find out -its attractions. Do you follow me?” - -“I can’t very well help following you,” said Philomène, almost losing -her temper, “but if you lived at Sideview yourself, perhaps you would -not find it so very amusing either. Even Daddy says it is an -uninteresting little house, though of course I try to be contented so as -to please him, but it is not at all so easy as you make out. It isn’t a -bit like the ‘House of Surprises’ in the story-book.” - -“A good many surprising things go on in it, notwithstanding,” retorted -Sweet William, “as Master Mustardseed could very well tell you, if you -only had the sense to listen to him a bit when you are alone together.” - -“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you about Master Mustardseed,” said -Philomène, “why should I need to be alone with him specially?” - -“Because,” replied Sweet William calmly, “he is every bit as much a -fairy as I am.” - -“A fairy! What fairy?” cried Philomène, jumping off the stool in her -excitement. - -“What fairy? Why, Master Mustardseed, of course. Haven’t you been -writing about him only this very afternoon? Just you listen to a piece -of good advice. When next you are left alone for any length of time, get -as near as ever you can to his cage. And now good-bye for the present, -for I am still up to my eyes in work.” - -“Goodbye,” said Philomène, and she felt in her pocket to make sure that -the key was still there. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - IN WHICH THE HEROINE TAKES ADVICE - - -Philomène ran down the garden walk, her mind in a turmoil. Queen Mab was -trotting to meet her along the path, and as soon as she caught sight of -her pet, she knelt down on the gravel and held out her arms to it. “O -Queen Mab, Queen Mab,” she cried, “I am so happy! It seems it doesn’t -matter being ordinary, if only the Good People love one.” The cat had -scrambled upon her lap in an instant, and was rubbing a white velvety -head against her arm, and licking her hand with a little tongue as rough -as it was red. Philomène carried her pussy into the schoolroom, and set -it down on the bearskin hearth-rug; then she glanced curiously at the -canary in his cage, but he was pecking at the seeds in his seed-trough, -and took no notice of her. - -Before nightfall it rained. Nurse said it was because Lilian Augusta had -sung “Summer suns are glowing” that morning, which, she declared, -invariably brought on wet weather. The next day it went on raining, but -despite the downpour Miss Mills happened to be in a good humour, and -this was just as well, for it was the turn of what Philomène called “the -little speckled book,” and it is not easy to give your attention to -little speckled books when your thoughts are full of fairies. “The World -and All About It” was a very plump little volume, and the squatness of -its figure was only equalled by the omniscience of its author. It -explained at the beginning who had made the world and why; it gave the -exact date for the invention of pottery, and described the best way of -handling chopsticks. Philomène had just been learning all about the -chameleon, and of how by changing its colour it escapes the notice of -its enemies. - -“Does not this show the care which Providence takes of all its -creatures?” demanded Miss Mills. - -“I suppose so,” replied Philomène, thoughtfully. - -“Don’t say, ‘I suppose so,’” returned Miss Mills, “the answer in the -book is Yes.” But the rebuke was given gently and with a smile, and -Philomène was gladder than ever of this easy-going mood when it came to -the Scripture lesson, which was her weekly nightmare. For when Miss -Mills taught the Scriptures she succeeded in making them as dry as the -biscuit which the Red Queen gave to Alice. “Thirst quenched, I hope?” -said the Red Queen, and happily did not wait for an answer. - -Nurse declined to venture out of doors that day, and an interview with -Master Mustardseed was impossible, so when lessons were over Philomène -went down to the kitchen to help Lilian Augusta grate the chocolate for -a pudding. She found her singing to herself, “And now this holy day is -drawing to its end.” “But I don’t see that it is so very holy,” -reflected Philomène, “and it isn’t anywhere near its end either. Nurse -says it is just out of contrariness that Lilian Augusta likes to sing, -“The day thou gavest, Lord, is ended” while she is washing up the -breakfast things, and “When morning gilds the skies” over the -tea-things, but then I think Nurse is sometimes very cross to Lilian -Augusta, and perhaps she doesn’t mean all she sings.” - -Lilian Augusta and Philomène were good friends, and had quarrelled only -twice, once when the first canary had been allowed to make its escape, -and another time on Queen Mab’s account. Lilian Augusta had no love for -cats, and she was not pleased therefore when after some fruitless -advertising it was settled that Queen Mab should become a member of the -household. Philomène, bent on making peace, had carried her new pet into -the kitchen and had placed it on the table. - -“You know, Lilian Augusta,” she said coaxingly, “we really couldn’t have -put such a little, little cat out into the street again, could we? Only -see how small it is, and who would have fed it?” - -“God, I suppose, Miss,” replied Lilian Augusta unmoved, as she measured -out the curry-powder. But Philomène would not hear of this. - -“Poor Pussy!” she exclaimed resentfully, “poor, poor Pussy!” And -snatching up Queen Mab she walked straight out of the kitchen and did -not re-visit it that day. Lilian Augusta, however, had grown first -indifferent to the white cat, and then fond of it, for Queen Mab had -pretty endearing ways, besides which, devotion to Philomène was at all -times a passport to the faithful servant’s good opinion. - -For several days the steady rain continued; gardeners rejoiced, other -people grumbled. Philomène consoled herself with an occasional peep at -her tall silver savings-box, in which she now treasured her latchkey. -This savings-box of hers was never looked at, for her father wished her -to do as she pleased with her pocket-money, and she had therefore chosen -it as a hiding-place for the key. On these wet days, when she could not -play in the garden, it was a comfort merely to look at the key through -the slit in the lid of the box. Towards the end of the week the rain -abated, though it did not stop altogether. People were beginning to -cheer up all round, excepting, of course, the gardeners, who said that -the soil was sodden, and that the rain had brought the slugs. - -Nurse laid aside the pinafore she had been making, and shut her work-box -with a snap. “I want to get some insertion,” she announced, “the same as -is on your other pinafores. I must see if I can match it,” - -“Am I to come too, Nurse?” inquired Philomène anxiously. - -“I don’t see the necessity, Miss. You had your walk this morning. You -had better stay in and meet your father when he comes home, I should -say. He might be back within the next hour.” - -Philomène breathed more freely. “I would ask Lilian Augusta to do that -much shopping for me,” continued Nurse, “but it’s her time off to-day, -and what’s more she never can match things, not so much as a bit of -binding. I’m sure it’s very good of the Lord to make me as patient as I -am with Lilian Augusta every day of my life.” - -No sooner had the hall-door banged downstairs than Master Mustardseed -burst into song, so full of joyous trills and turns and crushing-notes, -that someone who knew no better might have supposed he was merely -showing what difficult music he could contrive to sing if he gave his -mind to it. Philomène cautiously put two fingers through the bars of his -cage, and at that the canary stopped singing as abruptly as he had -begun, cocked his little green head on one side, and perched upon her -hand. Then he spoke in a shrill, small voice, - -“No need to introduce myself, I suppose?” he said gaily. His manner was -good-humoured and easy, and Philomène thought, rightly enough, that he -would prove far slower to take offence than her friend the land-agent. - -“No,” she said, “Sweet William has told me that Master Mustardseed is -really your name; and oh! you cannot think what a difference it has made -to me during lesson time to feel that there is a real fairy in the -schoolroom. I used to think sometimes, when it was quiet and getting -late, that if I listened I might hear my toys talking, as they do in -nearly all the story-books, but that never came to anything. Perhaps I -didn’t wait long enough, or perhaps they knew I was listening.” - -“The story-books are not always as accurate on that point as they ought -to be,” replied the canary, “it is really not at all so easy to hear -toys talk as they make out. To begin with, the house has to be quite -empty; there must be no daylight in the room, only firelight or -moonlight; and there must be no time going on.” - -“How could that be managed?” asked Philomène, as Master Mustardseed -paused to take breath, for he spoke nearly as fast as he sang. - -“The clock must have stopped,” said Master Mustardseed, “so you see, it -is rather a difficult matter first and last. You have no idea, by the -way, what confusion you caused in the dolls’ house the other day by -making the dolls play at a wedding.” - -“I am sorry if I upset them,” said Philomène in distress, “I thought I -should like to have a wedding, because I had read in my history lesson -that morning about King Louis XII. of France, and how he over-ate -himself at his own wedding-banquet when he married Mary Tudor, and he -died, and she was ever so pleased, and went quickly and married someone -else.” - -“I daresay,” said Master Mustardseed, laughing, “but you married two -dolls who did not in the least want to marry each other, poor things, -and what was worse, the mistress of the house had invited the Gollywog -and the Father Christmas to lunch, and she had to tell them not to come, -as there were not enough plates to go round. How would you like to have -to do that if you were a hostess? The dolls’ own lives are constantly -being interrupted and interfered with by those who play with them, but -of course I see that it cannot be helped, and it isn’t your fault. It is -the fault of whoever made them dolls.” - -“I will look very hard at them next time I want to play,” said Philomène -remorsefully, “and perhaps I shall see from the expression on their -faces whether they have a funeral or a party or anything of their own -fixed for that day. Poor dears, I hope they don’t hate me. But, oh -please, will you tell me something about yourself now, and why you are -here?” - -“Well, as you have already heard,” replied the canary, “I am Master -Mustardseed, one of the fairy queen’s four favourite pages, so you made -a remarkably good shot at my name. As for why I am here—well, have you -never heard that once every hundred years fairies have to turn into -animals for a year and a day, and if they are killed during that time, -so much the worse for them, for you see, we haven’t what you call souls. -However, if we survive that year and that day, we can go back to -Fairyland for another hundred years. Now my friend and brother page, -Master Moth, of whom I daresay you have heard, had to put in his time -before my turn came, and he lived with you as your first canary; but -when his year was over he flew away, and knowing that I had shortly to -make up my mind what to change into myself, he recommended me to come -here, saying that you were a very kind little mistress, and that I might -go farther and fare worse. That is why I came, and as for my staying -longer than a year and a day, why, my dear, before I left Fairyland I -played a prank on the Man in the Moon. He had come to court for the -first time, and we pages thought him something of a country cousin. You -see, he did not know anything at all about court etiquette, and made -absurd mistakes. I thought out the prank all by myself, for I did not -want Puck or Moth or Cobweb or Peasblossom to know anything about it; it -does not do to have too many people in a secret. All would have gone off -well enough, had not the Man in the Moon complained to headquarters. It -appears he cannot take a joke; and indeed I might have guessed as much, -for I expect you have noticed even at this distance what a wry face he -can make. The king and queen were so much displeased that they banished -me from court for three years, and I thought I had much better stay on -here. But if one day I leave you, you must not be sorry, for I shall -only have flown back to Fairyland.” - -“Do many of the fairies turn into song-birds?” asked Philomène. - -“Yes, a good many of them,” replied Master Mustardseed, “and the court -musician always turns into a nightingale. As for the fairies who dislike -the bother of housekeeping, they become cuckoos, and lay their eggs in -other birds’ nests, which saves them a lot of trouble. Brownies become -bees and ants, for they cannot bear to be idle, and a court-lady as -often as not turns into a butterfly or humming-bird for the sake of the -fine clothes.” - -“Have you ever heard the Lorelei sing?” inquired Philomène, “I had to -leave out the question about her in Sweet William’s examination paper.” - -“No,” replied Master Mustardseed decidedly, “I have always avoided the -lady. You know, I suppose, what it is that she sings for? The boatmen -hear her, and listen and listen, and watch her combing her shimmering -hair, and forget to steer their boats, so that they are sucked down into -the whirlpools of the Rhine. The gnomes never did mortals a worse turn -than when they made that golden comb for her, and when all’s said and -done her hair is no prettier than your own godmother’s. But don’t let’s -talk about her any more; I know plenty of stories about much nicer -people. Perhaps you would like to hear one right away. Stop me if I talk -too fast; Moth says it is a failing of mine.” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - IN WHICH MASTER MUSTARDSEED TELLS HIS STORY - - -“In a mean, dingy house in the midst of a great city, there once lived a -cobbler and his apprentice, and together with them in that same house -there also lived a certain evil and malicious boggart. Now a boggart is -just the opposite of a brownie, for while a brownie tidies and sweeps -and puts things to rights, a boggart only works mischief and makes -confusion. He would break the crockery, and mislay the tools in the -workshop, and once he dropped so much salt into the soup that the -cobbler lay awake half the night with thirst. Now the cobbler, who was a -harsh, unreasonable man, suspected his apprentice of these pranks, and -soon took him roughly to task. - -“Master,” said the apprentice, “you do me wrong. It is not I who have -done you this harm, but a mannikin in tattered clothes and a peaked cap. -It must be that we are living under one roof with a boggart, for more -than once have I seen him at his tricks when twilight fell.” - -But the cobbler would not believe a word of what the apprentice said, -for he himself had never set eyes on the boggart, and though one day the -apprentice pointed him out, not even then could he catch so much as a -glimpse of him. It is true that the cobbler’s yellow cat, who lay -stretched upon the hearth, could see the imp plainly enough with her -green and glimmering eyes, but then it was not in her power to say so, -nor to put in a good word for the apprentice. - -“You had better stop making game of me,” said the angry cobbler, each -time that a fresh mishap occurred, “for my temper is but a short one, -and I am growing tired of your fool’s tricks, and of your fool’s tales -too, for that matter, about boggarts and what not, so mark my words, and -mend your ways.” - -Now one evening as the cobbler sat stitching at a neighbour’s shoes, he -said to the apprentice, “I am ready for my supper. Go and get me the -flitch of bacon from the corner cupboard.” But when the apprentice -opened the cupboard door, the bacon was nowhere to be seen. - -“Master, it is gone!” he cried, “I fear the boggart has played you -another trick, and this time it is an ill turn indeed!” - -“The boggart! The boggart! What’s all this talk of boggarts?” screamed -the cobbler, “so I have been teaching my trade to a thief, have I? -You’re a fine fellow to keep as an apprentice, eating a poor man out of -house and home! Get you gone from my door, or you shall have blows from -me, and not words alone.” - -Again the apprentice tried to defend himself, but his master would not -listen, so he sadly put together his few belongings in a knapsack, and -set out upon his travels, with none to wish him well save only his -friend the yellow cat, who came and rubbed herself against his legs -before the house-door closed behind him. All night he paced the streets -disconsolate, and at dawn when the city gates stood open he set forth -upon the king’s highway. - -As dusk fell, he entered a wild, bleak hill country, and he had not gone -far upon the lonely road when he heard a voice singing a plaintive -refrain. Eagerly he hurried onwards, wondering who the wayfarer might -be, but soon the singing ceased, and a sound of weeping took its place. -Then the apprentice caught sight of a maiden seated upon the grassy bank -by the roadside. She was beautifully dressed in silks and jewels, but -briers clung to her rich trailing robes, and the blustering wind had -disordered her golden tresses. - -“Madam,” said the apprentice, “if my poor services may assist you, they -are at your command.” - -“I thank you with all my heart,” said she, “let us travel on together -and seek a night’s lodging. But for you I should have been left -friendless upon this waste hillside.” So together they took the road -again, and journeyed on into the mountains. - -“I am a king’s daughter,” said the maiden, “and my father and mother -have accused me of witchcraft, and have driven me from my home.” - -“I too have been driven away on an unjust charge,” said the apprentice, -“and now I know not how I may earn my bread, for my master the cobbler -would not finish teaching me my trade.” After that they both fell -silent, for they were weary and sad at heart. - -Now when they had gone some considerable distance, they overtook a -shepherd who was driving home his flock, and of him they begged a -night’s shelter. - -“Come with me to my goodwife,” the kindly shepherd made reply, “and we -will do all in our power to serve you both.” So saying he guided them to -the sheltered hollow where his cottage stood. His wife came to greet him -at the doorway, and when she saw the strangers she welcomed them also. -In the kitchen a bright fire was burning, and supper was on the table, -broth, and bread, and a bowl of porridge. Far back in a shadowy corner -of the room sat an old, old woman, toothless and hairless, bent and -shrunken with her years. - -“That,” said the shepherd, “is my grandmother, and she is reputed one of -the wisest women in the countryside, but she is aged and weak, and -speaks but seldom.” - -Now as soon as supper was ended, the company drew around the fire, and -the shepherd begged his guests to relate the story of their wanderings. - -“My father is a mighty king,” the princess made answer, “and dwells in a -city many leagues distant. Not long ago a strange series of misfortunes -befell us. One night as I stood by my window and looked out upon the -palace garden, I saw that a fairy was pillaging the blossom of the -king’s favourite almond-tree, and I called in haste to my waiting-woman, -and pointed the strange sight out to her, but she protested that she -could see nothing, and the next morning she went and told my parents -what had taken place. The night following I stood again by my window, -looking out upon the terrace, and this time I saw a fairy luring away -the queen’s favourite peacock. Again I called to my waiting-woman, for I -was afraid, but again she declared that she could see nothing. The next -morning the faithless woman went once more to my parents, and told them -what had befallen, and this time she even dared assure them that I must -be a witch, for had there indeed been a fairy in the castle she would -certainly have seen it as well as myself. At first my parents were -unwilling to credit her charge, for, said the king my father, the -almond-tree had most assuredly been plundered, though none knew by whom, -and, said the queen my mother, that the peacock was lost there could be -no doubt. Nevertheless, they were both much disturbed, and bade the -woman watch me narrowly. Now as evening fell I was sitting in my bower, -when all at once I heard a sound behind me as of breaking flax, and -turning round I saw a fairy standing in the middle of my room, breaking -the flax that hung upon my golden spinning-wheel. Then I became -frightened, and pointed her out to my waiting-woman, but again she said -she saw nothing. The next day when my parents heard what had happened, -they summoned me to their presence and questioned me, and I could but -affirm that each time I had seen a fairy, though my waiting-woman had -seen none. Now the king my father lives in great dread of witches and -their charms, and forthwith he charged me with witchcraft, because I saw -things that were not good to see, and which were hidden from other folk, -and when my mother pleaded for me he would not listen, but said that -there was a spell upon the palace and that I must go, or else no one -could tell what might come of it, and he sent me away. But indeed, good -people, I am no witch, yet the fairies I did most assuredly see, three -several times.” - -After that the apprentice also told his story, and how the cobbler had -blamed him for the boggart’s pranks, and had driven him out. “Yet I am -unjustly accused,” said he, “for I myself saw the boggart at his work, -not once nor twice.” - -“These are the strangest tales that ever I heard!” cried the shepherd. - -“The old grandmother is learned in fairy lore,” added his wife; “it may -be that she can solve the riddle.” When she heard that, the princess -rose, and went to the dark corner where the old crone sat, and knelt -down beside her. - -“Tell me, I pray you, good mother,” said she, “how comes it that this -stranger and I both saw the fairies where others saw none?” But the old -crone only blinked at her with dull eyes, and made no reply. - -“It is a king’s daughter who kneels to you, granddame,” cried the -shepherd, “will you not give her an answer?” - -“A peaked cap and fernseed,” muttered the old hag, “the boggart put on -his peaked cap, and the fairies carried fernseed.” - -“But whoever carries fernseed becomes invisible,” said the princess, -“and in spite of that I saw them.” - -“Over those who are born on an Ember Day neither a cap of darkness nor -the fairies’ fern itself has any power,” said the crone; “both of you -must have been born in one of the four Ember Weeks.” And her voice died -away into indistinct mumblings. - -“It is a dower that none need envy,” quoth the apprentice, and the -princess sighed in answer. - -Now on the following morning the shepherd and his wife urged the -princess to remain with them, and she joyfully consented. “I will not be -a burden to you,” said she, “for I can spin, and I will learn to do all -manner of things about the house, and will take care of the old -grandmother.” - -But the apprentice set out upon his travels again, and this time he felt -even sadder than on the previous day, for it went to his heart to part -from the princess, whom already he loved for her fair face and gentle -ways. After journeying for some distance he left the hills behind him, -and at noon he entered a deep and shady wood. There, in a mossy glade, -seated upon a bank of primroses, he caught sight of a little man dressed -all in green, who was busily mending shoes. But as the apprentice drew -nearer, the mannikin flung aside his work, and snatching up a green cap -with a sprig of fern in the brim, he set it upon his head. - -“That much trouble you might have spared yourself,” laughed the -apprentice, “for I was born on an Ember Day, they tell me.” - -“Is that so?” said the mannikin, and he resumed his cobbling. - -“And who may you be?” asked the apprentice. - -“I am the fairies’ cobbler,” replied the little green man. - -“Then I pray you teach me my trade,” said the apprentice, “for I am a -cobbler’s apprentice, but I have not served my full time, since my -master has sent me away on a wrongful charge.” - -“Where did your master live?” asked the mannikin. - -“Over the hills yonder,” replied the apprentice pointing, but when he -turned round again the fairies’ cobbler was nowhere to be seen. On the -instant he felt himself pelted by a shower of acorns from above, and -looking up he saw a squirrel, perched among the oak boughs overhead. - -“You are a fine fellow for letting your opportunities slip,” said the -squirrel; “do you not know that when you meet the fairies’ cobbler you -should never take your eyes off him for a moment? So long as you keep on -looking at him, he is bound to give you whatever you may ask, though you -should demand of him all the crocks of gold in Fairyland, but he will -try to startle or deceive you, and then your chance is lost.” - -“I will remember your good advice another time,” said the apprentice, -and he went on into the wood. At sunset he came to another glade, and -there he once more caught sight of the fairies’ cobbler, seated upon a -tree-stump. - -“This time you shall not escape me,” he cried, and fixing his eyes upon -the mannikin he repeated his request, “I pray you, teach me my trade.” - -“The cobbler’s craft is not an easy one,” replied the little man -surlily, “the fairies dance so much and so often that it is all I can do -to keep them in shoes. Only look at this pair now—it was new at -moonrise.” - -“They are indeed much worn,” said the apprentice, but even as he spoke -he became aware that the fairies’ cobbler had once more disappeared. The -next moment he heard a soft chuckle behind him, and looking round he -noticed a large white owl perched upon a bush hard by. - -“He had you that time,” said the owl; “why ever did you look down at the -shoes? The safest way to make sure of the fairies’ cobbler is to steal -up from behind and catch hold of him, and should he seem unwilling to -grant your request you have but to hold him over running water, and he -will give you all you ask.” - -“I will remember your good advice another time,” said the apprentice, -and he went further into the wood. Now after a while he heard the sound -of a waterfall, and came upon yet another glade that lay all silvered in -the light of the moon, and he was just debating within himself whether -this were not a good place in which to spend the night, when for the -third time he caught sight of the fairies’ cobbler, seated upon a -toadstool. Softly he crept up behind him, and took hold of the mannikin -firmly by the lappets of his green coat. - -“You shall not escape me again,” said he. - -“That is as may be,” quoth the fairies’ cobbler morosely; “pray what -reason is there that I should teach the tricks of my trade to a mortal?” - -“We shall see about that,” said the apprentice, “for if I am not -mistaken there is a waterfall close at hand.” And with the mannikin -under his arm he made his way among the trees till he came to where the -cascade ran white over the rocks. Then the fairies’ cobbler began to -utter small, shrill cries of protest. - -“Come away! Come away!” he cried, piteously, as the apprentice held him -over the foaming torrent, “only take me back into the glade, and I will -teach you all I know.” - -Now the apprentice knew that the fairies are no promise-breakers, so he -carried the little green mannikin back into the glade, and all that -night the fairies’ cobbler taught him the utmost that may be known about -the art of making and mending shoes. Therefore as soon as the sun rose, -the newly-made cobbler said to the mannikin, “I am truly grateful for -what you have taught me, and if there be any favour which a poor -craftsman like myself can do to one of the Good People, I pray you tell -it me.” - -“There is one favour then which I would ask of you,” the fairies’ -cobbler made reply; “promise me that you will never break off any -blackthorn or bring it into your house, for it is our tree, and we are -offended when it is tampered with.” This the cobbler promised -faithfully, and when he had once more thanked the little green man, he -went upon his way. - -After some days’ journey he came to a great city, and here he remained -and worked at his craft. It was not long before he discovered that it -was in this city that the princess’s parents ruled as king and queen, -and he soon learnt from the talk of the people about him, that the -fairies were still wreaking their vengeance on the palace. Only the -other day, said the gossips, the king and the queen had made ready to -receive the ambassador of a foreign prince, but when the court entered -the throne-room in state, all the wreaths and garlands with which it had -been festooned were torn down, withered, and trampled upon. As soon as -he heard this, the cobbler hastened to the palace, and begged for an -audience from the king, but the haughty servants to whom he addressed -himself refused admission to so humble a suitor, and the cobbler had to -return to his cobbling, and bide his time till a better opportunity -should offer. - -All this while the princess had remained behind in the shepherd’s -cottage. The good man and his wife treated her as a daughter, and even -the old crone seemed glad of her company, and loved to finger with her -palsied hands the princess’s beautiful embroidered cloak and sparkling -gems, and more especially she fancied a certain jewelled cross that the -king’s daughter wore about her neck. “Keep it, good mother, since it -pleases you,” said the kind-hearted princess one day, and she laid it in -the old woman’s lap, who after that would sit contented by the hour, -counting the stones and holding them up to the light. - -Now among the mountains in the neighbourhood of the cottage lay a deep -and lonely tarn, where waterfowl made their nests, and bulrushes grew in -profusion, and often the princess would go and gather these rushes, -which she plaited into mats and baskets and sold in the hamlets near by. -One day when she was thus picking rushes by the lakeside, she heard a -plashing close at hand, and looking up she saw a beautiful black horse -standing knee-deep in the water, gazing at her intently. At first she -was frightened, but since the creature seemed gentle and harmless she -soon regained courage, and when it waded out of the water and came and -stood beside her, she began to fondle it and to stroke its glossy mane. -After that the beautiful black steed came to greet her every time that -she went to the tarn, but when she spoke of it to the shepherd, he said -that he had heard tell of no riderless horse in those parts. - -One evening when autumn was drawing on, the shepherd and his wife were -absent at a fair in one of the neighbouring villages, but the princess -had remained at home with the old grandmother and sat spinning in the -firelight. - -“Daughter, what ails you?” asked the crone from her corner by the -hearth, for she had heard the princess draw a deep, sad sigh. - -“I am troubled for my parents’ sake,” replied the king’s daughter; -“would that I knew the cause of ill-will which the fairies have against -them, and how they might be appeased.” - -“Samhain,” muttered the old woman, “Samhain.” - -“What is the meaning of Samhain?” asked the princess, but the crone had -fallen silent again, and nothing more was to be got out of her. Then the -princess went and stood in the doorway, watching for the return of the -shepherd and his wife, for it was growing late, and as she stood there -the nightwind hurried past her. - -“O wind,” said the princess, “you are the greatest of all travellers, -therefore if you know it, tell a forlorn king’s daughter what is meant -by Samhain.” - -“Samhain is the feast of All Fairies,” said the wind. - -“And when do they keep it?” asked the princess. - -“On All Hallows’ E’en,” the wind made answer. - -“And where do they keep it?” asked the princess. - -“In the brown bog country,” said the wind, “where you may see a myriad -pools, and each pool bathes one star.” And when he had said that he sped -away, for the wind is ever in haste. - -Therefore as soon as the shepherd and his wife returned, the princess -told them that she could remain with them no longer, but must set out -upon her quest, and though they were loath to part with her, the good -people let her go. So the next morning she bade them farewell, and as -she went along the road that led to the mountain tarn, the beautiful -black horse came trotting to meet her. - -“It may be that I shall have far to go,” said the princess, “and that -this gallant horse will consent to carry me.” So she mounted upon its -back and rode onwards, but when they reached the tarn the black horse -plunged straightway into the ice-cold water, and began to swim across, -and as soon as it gained the centre of the lake, it dived under. Then -the princess cried out and struggled, and the black horse threw her, and -in that moment she knew that it was no real horse at all, but a kelpie, -a wicked water-sprite that assumes at times the form of a horse. - -“All the summer through have I loved and watched you, king’s daughter,” -said the kelpie, as he stood before her in his proper shape, “and now -you must live with me in my palace, and be my wife.” - -Pearly white and very fair to see was the palace of the water-kelpie, -with its towers and minarets, and a great white dome in the midst, and -within, the walls were hung with iridescent tapestries. Here the -princess was held a prisoner, and day after day she would sit under the -magical milk-white dome, and weep till she had no more tears to shed. -But wed the water-kelpie she would not. Her happiest hours were when he -left her to roam the hills under the shape of the black horse, and then -she would pace to and fro in her beautiful prison-house and call to mind -the peaceful days in the shepherd’s cottage, and the young apprentice -whom in her secret heart she loved, though because she was a king’s -daughter she was too proud to own it to anybody but herself. - -Meanwhile the cobbler had won for himself a great reputation by his -skill in shoe-making, for those who wore his shoes could walk for -leagues or dance for whole nights together without growing tired, so -that before long his fame reached the ears of the king, who summoned him -to the palace. Now, as soon as the cobbler found himself in the presence -of the king and queen, he made haste to tell them of his meeting with -the princess, and of what the old crone had told them. - -“It may be as you say,” said the king, “and glad indeed should I be to -think that my child is no witch, but only dowered above other mortals, -for so great is my fear of witchcraft that I would sooner have my palace -pillaged from end to end than suffer any about me who have eyes for -uncanny sights.” - -“I fear we have done our daughter a great wrong,” said the queen -sorrowfully, “and none of us knows the cause of the fairies’ -displeasure, nor the remedy for it. We have called in the Prime -Minister, and the Lord High Chamberlain, and the Keeper of the Great -Seal, and the Lords and Ladies of the Bedchamber, but they are all -utterly at a loss.” - -Then an idea came to the cobbler. “Madam,” said he, “was there by chance -any blackthorn brought into the palace last spring?” - -“I do not know,” replied the queen, “but it shall be inquired into.” - -So the entire court and household were assembled, and a strict inquiry -was made. Then it was that the lowest scullery-maid in the royal kitchen -confessed that she had broken off a spray from a blackthorn hedge in the -foregoing spring, and had placed it in her attic room. So the king, at -the cobbler’s advice, published a proclamation, forbidding the breaking -of blackthorn throughout the realm, but to the cobbler himself he said; -“Do you go and fetch my daughter back, for we will receive her with due -honour, and if she be willing you shall have her hand in marriage. As -for the waiting-woman who accused her to me, she shall be dismissed the -kingdom.” - -Then the cobbler set out and made his way back to the shepherd’s -cottage, but when he reached it the good man and his wife told him of -how the princess had left them, and that they had had no tidings of her -since. “But if you are in search of her,” said the shepherd’s wife, -“take with you this jewelled cross and restore it to her, for she gave -it to the old granddame who is now dead, and it is not ours that we -should keep it.” So the cobbler took the cross, and continued his -journey. - -Now as he passed by the lonely tarn he heard a voice singing, and -recognised that same plaintive refrain which the princess had sung when -first he met her on the hillside. - -“Alas! Alas!” he cried aloud, “my dear lady is drowned in this desolate -pool.” - -“Would that I were, good friend,” the princess’s voice made answer, “it -had been better than this my sad captivity, for I am in the power of a -wicked water-kelpie who woos me for his wife.” - -When he heard these words, the cobbler fell to thinking how he might -deliver his princess from her sorrowful fate, and soon he bethought him -of the jewelled cross. This he took and flung it far into the tarn, and -as the saving sign touched the surface the evil, wine-dark water began -to seethe and boil in its depths, and the stately pearl-white palace of -the kelpie broke up and dissolved upon the instant. So the princess was -released and came forth from the tarn. Then the cobbler hastened to tell -her of the discovery of the blackthorn, and of how he had come to bring -her home to her parents. - -“Tell me first,” said she, “what day it is, for I have lost all count of -time.” - -“It is All Hallows’ E’en,” replied the cobbler. - -At that the princess began to lament bitterly, for she feared lest she -might be too late to reach the bog country where the fairies would keep -their feast. - -“Do not be sorrowful, princess,” replied the cobbler, “I promise you we -shall both see Samhain kept to-night, and to-morrow I will restore you -to your home.” - -“How is that to be?” asked she. - -“I will make shoes of swiftness,” said the cobbler, “which will carry us -more fleetly than the swallows.” And immediately he set to work and made -her a pair of fairy shoes, and next he began making a pair for himself. -But while he was still working at the second shoe, there came a sound of -hoof-beats far away. - -“O hasten, hasten!” cried the princess, wringing her hands, “for the -kelpie is returning.” Nearer and nearer drew the sound of the thundering -hoofs upon the road, faster and faster stitched the cobbler. - -“O make haste, make haste!” cried the princess; “see, he is in sight!” -Fleetly down the steep hillside the black horse came galloping, with -streaming mane and glaring eyes. - -“We are lost!” cried the princess, and indeed the horse was already upon -them, and had caught the fringe of her cloak in its mouth. But in that -same instant the cobbler slipped on his second shoe, and he and the -princess sped away together like birds upon the wing. But the -embroidered cloak they left behind between the horse’s teeth. - -Over land and ocean they went, yet felt no weariness, and at nightfall -they reached the brown bog country, studded with innumerable pools, and -every pool bathed a star. The moon was rising, and from all the four -winds the fairies came trooping, elves and gnomes and pixies, brownies -and hobgoblins, with the fairy queen and her retinue in their midst, and -at a little distance the cobbler and the princess stood and watched them -assemble. At last one dainty elf came towards them, in dress of pearly -gossamer, and in her yellow hair a wreath of starry white flowers, such -as you may see for yourself on the window-pane any frosty day. - -“I owe you thanks for many a past kindness,” said she to the cobbler. - -“Yet I have never seen you till this moment, elf lady,” he replied. - -“Are you so sure of that?” laughed she; “look well, look well at my -eyes.” Then the cobbler looked long and earnestly, and indeed they were -wondrous eyes, green and glimmering, nor were they like the eyes of any -mortal. - -“Every hundred years,” said the elf, “we fairies must take the shape of -some beast or bird or fish for the space of a year and a day, and if we -die during that time we perish, for we have no souls. Now I was the -cobbler’s yellow cat when my turn came, and you befriended me in my -exile. But follow me, and I will take you to the fairy queen, that you -may tell her on what errand you are come to-night.” - -Then she led them through a throng of fairies, amongst whom the cobbler -recognised his enemy the boggart, and the princess the three fairies who -had filched the almond blossom, and lured away the peacock, and broken -the flax. Presently they reached the steps of the elfin throne, and here -both knelt to the fairy queen. - -“For what purpose have you sought us out?” asked she. - -“I come to appease your displeasure, greatest of all queens,” replied -the princess, “for in the spring time a spray of blackthorn was -heedlessly broken and brought into our palace, and since that day the -fairies have borne us a grudge. How may we turn away their anger?” - -“Say to the king your father, and to the queen your mother,” the fairy -queen made answer, “that if at the next full moon they will deliver up -their throne-room to us for an elfin bridal, we shall bear them ill-will -no longer, for my people love nothing better than to feast and make -merry in a human dwelling.” Then the queen made them sit down upon the -steps of the throne, and commanded that the revels should begin. - -“You have done me credit, Master Apprentice,” piped a voice at the -cobbler’s elbow, as a train of fairies swept past, and looking round he -caught sight of the little green man, who nodded and smiled at him. But -when the cobbler and the princess had watched the dancing till the moon -rode high in the heavens, the fairy queen laid a hand upon both their -heads, and soon a great drowsiness overcame them. Soundly they slept, -and when they woke it was to find themselves stretched upon a patch of -heather, while all around them the brown bog country lay very still in -the light of the paling stars. Then they rose and made haste homewards, -and when they reached the palace there were great rejoicings to welcome -them back; the king and queen received their daughter with much -affection, and besought her pardon for the wrong they had done her, and -when the cobbler made bold to ask her hand in marriage, she willingly -consented. - -So the wedding was celebrated with great pomp and splendour; the city -saw nothing but festivities and illuminations for seven days and seven -nights, and from far and near the crowds poured in to share in the -merry-making. Amongst these came the shepherd and his wife, and the -cobbler’s former master, and upon all three the bride and bridegroom -showered gifts and benefits. - -Now the night after the wedding it was full moon, so the throne-room was -garlanded with fresh flowers, and left to the fairies till cock-crow. -None saw them come nor go, but in the morning there was found a little -golden casket, wrought by the dwarf goldsmiths of the elfin court, and -inside the casket was a clump of four-leaved clover. This was the fairy -queen’s wedding present, and the bridal couple planted it below their -window, and it grew and throve, and brought them untold happiness and -good fortune. - -Philomène had some difficulty in making out the last word of the story, -for Master Mustardseed had half turned it into a trill, and began -singing at the top of his voice. The schoolroom door opened; the doctor -had come home. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - IN WHICH THE HEROINE MAKES THE FIRST USE OF HER LATCHKEY - - -It was about this time that Philomène first began to remark a change in -her father. He was not at any time a man of many words, but he now -became unusually silent even for him. He was not unkind to his little -girl, but he saw less of her, and gave her only half his attention when -she spoke to him. She suffered acutely from his altered manner, but was -far too loyal to confide her trouble to either of her fairy friends, let -alone to Nurse or Miss Mills. Once when writing to her godmother, who -was abroad at the time, she put at the end of the letter; “_P.S._—I wish -I had a mother.” But she had no very clear idea as to how a mother would -have mended matters, and Isolde in her answer did not refer to the -postscript. - -It was in these days, when her father called her “little Miss Muffet” -less often than formerly, that Philomène grew doubly glad of the key in -the savings-box and of the bird-cage in the schoolroom. Master -Mustardseed was somewhat of a gossip, and told her many stories about -the children to whom the fairy queen stands sponsor, for Titania is very -fond of children, though she has none of her own. Then he would tell her -all that he had seen in the course of his flight through the air astride -of a shooting-star; he would sing to her, till she knew it by heart, the -serenade piped by a bulrush who was fast fading for love of an ivory -white moth that used to settle on a reed close by, but never came to -him. Master Mustardseed had been asleep at the time, curled up inside a -yellow waterlily on a pond, having asked a friendly frog to sway the -stalk of the lily gently to and fro, so as to produce a drowsy rocking -motion. The bulrush’s love-song, however, had waked him up, and having a -good musical memory he had learnt it then and there. - -The recent wet weather had altogether prevented Philomène from going -into the garden, so that May with its lilac was gone, and June with its -roses had come, before she had her first opportunity of letting herself -into Sweet William’s house by means of her own latchkey. On entering she -saw that the room was empty but for the tom-tit, who was trying, it must -be confessed without much success, to reduce it to order. The catkin -tapestry had to be taken down, shaken, beaten, and rehung; the -tree-stump cupboard had been emptied, and its contents littered the -mushroom table, while the tom-tit complained that the things had been so -closely packed inside it, that it was far easier to take them out than -to make them fit in again after they had been dusted. - -“I wish he would have a sparrow in by the day,” wailed the tom-tit; -“it’s more than I can manage single-handed.” So Philomène comforted and -helped him as best she could, and by the time Sweet William returned, -the room was as neat as a new pin, and a great deal bonnier. It was -after the tom-tit had got leave to fly away, that Philomène asked if -there had been any news of the grasshopper lately. - -“Nothing much,” replied Sweet William; “he is still trying to reach the -sun in high hops, and his friend the dial has given him up as a bad job. -Well, and has Master Mustardseed been making himself agreeable? Are you -any less bored than you used to be? Is the schoolroom quite as -commonplace as you were pleased at one time to imagine?” - -Philomène blushed. “I am afraid you must have thought me discontented,” -she said, humbly; “but indeed I am not at all bored any longer. How -should I be, with Master Mustardseed to tell me stories whenever we are -alone together? And, oh, you can’t think what lovely stories they are! -He began with one about a poor apprentice who was taught his trade by -the fairies’ own cobbler, and in the end he married a princess.” - -“Dear me! how enthusiastic we are, to be sure,” remarked Sweet William, -with his head in the air; “you talk as though there were nobody who -could tell stories but Master Mustardseed, which is very far from being -the case.” - -“Oh, I know you could tell beautiful stories too, if you tried,” said -Philomène hastily, “and indeed I wish you would, for there is nothing I -should like better.” - -“Very well,” said Sweet William, “but I’m afraid my story hasn’t a -princess in it, only a goose-girl who married a troll.” - -“Is it a true story?” asked Philomène. - -“I daresay it’s true enough as far as it goes,” replied Sweet William, -and Philomène wondered how far it went. - -“And where did the troll live?” she asked again. - -“He lived at home,” retorted Sweet William; “and really you must not ask -so many questions; it quite puts me off.” - - - - - CHAPTER IX - IN WHICH SWEET WILLIAM TELLS A STORY - - -There was once a goose-girl named Kora, who used to herd her master’s -geese in a certain field. Now at one end of this field there was a -grassy mound, inside which lived a very rich and wicked troll, who came -every day to his doorway to watch the goose-girl as she sat in the -shadow of a hollow tree, knitting and singing, and minding her geese. -“She is so cheerful and industrious,” said he to himself, “that -doubtless she would make a very good wife.” - -But one day when he stood at his threshold to look at her, he saw that -she had let her knitting fall into her lap, and that instead of singing, -she was weeping bitterly. Very cautiously he crept up behind her, and -touched her gently on the arm. Kora started and screamed when she caught -sight of the troll, for he was ugly and misshapen, and had an uncommonly -large head. - -“Why are you crying, my girl?” he asked. - -“Because one of my geese has strayed,” said she, “and I have sought for -it till I am tired out, and I know that my master will be very angry -with me.” - -“That is soon mended,” replied the troll, “for in my house I have a -magic crystal, which tells me where I may find all lost and missing -things. Come with me, pretty maid, and I will see what I can do for -you.” - -So Kora followed him joyfully into the little house within the knoll, -and looked with great curiosity at the wonderful crystal. She noticed -that it bore the following inscription:— - - “In all the world there is but one spot, - Unknown to men, by fays forgot, - Wherein my power availeth not.” - -But she did not pay much attention to the words at the time. - -“I can see your goose already,” cried the troll, as he peered into the -crystal; “it has strayed as far as the sand dunes.” - -“Then I must go and seek it immediately,” replied Kora, “and I thank you -most heartily for your courtesy.” - -“Not so fast, not so fast,” the troll made answer, catching her by the -arm; “you are pretty and neat-fingered, my girl, and have a sweet voice. -You shall stay and keep house for me, and be my wife.” - -Kora protested with tears and cries and wringing of hands, but it was -all to no purpose; so she pretended to resign herself to her lot, though -in reality she never ceased planning how she might escape from it. -Presently an idea came to her, and one day, instead of busying herself -about the house as usual, she remained seated by the hearth, her head in -her hands, the picture of dejection. - -“What is the matter now?” demanded the troll. - -“The matter!” cried Kora, with a great show of indignation; “when you -have never so much as given me a wedding-ring! When men take wives in -the upper world, they give them golden wedding-rings in token of their -troth.” - -“Is that all?” said the troll. “Dry your eyes then, my love, for you -shall soon have rings in plenty.” - -So saying he went into his own private closet, a dark little room at the -back of the house, and presently returned laden with sacks and caskets, -all full of gold and silver, jewels and trinkets. Kora began trying on -one ring after another, but none of them seemed to please her, and at -last she turned away with a gesture of impatience. - -“These are not the right sort,” said she scornfully, “for they are all -set with precious stones, while a real wedding-ring is only a plain gold -circlet. I will not do another stroke of work about the house till you -have brought me a proper wedding-ring.” - -“I will go to the goldsmith and get you one, my love,” said her husband, -and he set out that same day. - -No sooner, however, had Kora watched him out of sight, than she ran into -the wood that skirted the meadow, and kept on running till she was so -tired and out of breath that she had to sit down and rest. Then she -noticed that something underground was shovelling up the earth at her -feet, throwing it about in all directions. She expected to see a mole -emerge, but when the creature did at last appear it proved to be a -little brown gnome, with a sack flung across his shoulder. - -“Tell me, good gnome,” cried Kora, “how I may escape from my husband the -troll. He has a magic crystal by means of which he is able to find all -lost and missing things, so that I cannot think of a safe enough -hiding-place.” - -“You must take another shape,” replied the gnome, and he turned her into -a crystal that twinkled on the edge of a jagged rock. - -When the troll came home and missed his wife, he was very angry, and -went straight to his magic crystal; and there, sure enough, he not only -saw the sparkle in the rock, but also recognised his wife under her -assumed shape. Immediately he hurried into the wood, carrying a hammer, -and having broken away the splinter of rock, he took it home in triumph, -and no sooner had he crossed his own threshold than his wife stood -before him. After that the troll treated her very hardly, and Kora hated -him more than ever. - -[Illustration: - - “PRESENTLY AN ELF CAME PAST HER, RIDING ON A LIZARD.” - _Page 96_ - _The Fairy Latchkey._ -] - -Now one day the troll was going fishing, and this time he said to his -wife: “You shall play me no second trick, madam; I will lock you in till -I come back.” So saying he turned the key upon her, and went his way. -But Kora did not despair. She hurried into her husband’s private closet, -and took the keys of all the various caskets in which he kept his -treasure. Then with trembling hands she tried them one by one in the -lock of the door, and as good luck would have it, the last key fitted. -The next thing she did was to try to destroy the magic crystal. She -dashed it on to the floor and against the wall, but finding that she -could not break it, she went and hid it inside the hollow tree in the -field, beneath which in former days she had been wont to sit and watch -her geese. Then she fled into the forest, and ran as fast and as far as -she could. Presently an elf came past her, riding on a lizard. - -“Tell me, kind elf,” said she, “how I may escape from the cruel troll, -my husband, for I have hidden his magic crystal which tells him where to -find all lost and missing things.” - -“I will do the best I can for you,” replied the elf, and turning Kora -into a dockleaf by the brook, he rode on. - -When the troll returned home from his fishing, and found that his wife -had escaped a second time, he was much enraged, and made his way at once -to the place where he kept his crystal. But when he saw that this had -also disappeared, he was in a greater rage than ever, and began to hunt -for it all over the house. At last he thought of the hollow tree, and -there, inside the trunk, and smothered in dry leaves and moss, he found -his missing talisman. No sooner had he looked into it, than he saw the -dockleaf growing by the brook, and once more recognised his wife. -Immediately he went into the wood, and having picked the dockleaf, he -took it home in triumph, and when he had crossed his own threshold his -wife stood before him. After that he treated her yet more hardly, and -Kora hated him even more than before. - -Now it is customary that trolls should be the money-lenders of mighty -kings, and Kora’s husband had many a time lent gold and silver and -treasure of all sorts to a certain avaricious king, who loved wealth -above everything, and oppressed his people with unendurable imposts. It -so happened that just at this time the troll received an urgent message -from this king, entreating him for a large sum of money. So he called -his wife to him, and said to her, “I must now go on a journey which will -last several days, and I will take my crystal with me, so that should -you try to escape from me again, I shall be able to discover your -hiding-place in a trice. Bear this in mind, wife, and let me have no -more of these follies.” - -For some time after she was left alone, Kora made no further attempt at -escape. She did nothing but sit and brood over her troubles, and say to -herself that there was no way out of them, till she suddenly called to -mind the words of the inscription on the crystal, and understood that -there must be just one country under the sun where she would be safe -from her husband’s pursuit. - -“I will try to find it,” said she, “it is the one chance left me.” And -in this forlorn hope she went for the third time into the wood. Far, far -she went, through forest and field and heath, till at last she was -obliged to sit down by the roadside and rest. It had begun to rain, and -dusk was falling. Kora was worn out with her wanderings, and shed many -tears. All at once she felt a hand upon her shoulder. At first she -started and cried out, believing that it was the troll, but then she saw -that it was only an old crone with bent back and grizzled hair, leaning -upon a stick. - -“Daughter,” said the old woman, “what is your trouble?” - -“I am escaping from my husband, the troll,” said Kora, “and I am afraid -lest he should find me by looking into his magic crystal. I am in search -of an unknown land where the crystal has no power.” - -“You seem tired out,” said the old crone kindly, “come with me, for I -can at least offer you shelter.” - -Kora thanked her earnestly, and they walked on together. Heather and -bracken stretched to either side of them for mile upon mile, the last -curlew had gone to rest, and it was very still and eerie on the lonely -moor. Kora looked to right and to left, hoping to catch sight of a -shepherd’s cottage, or at least of some hovel which might prove to be -the old woman’s home, but she could see nothing save certain giant -boulders scattered here and there upon the heath. What then was her -surprise when the old crone hobbled up to the largest of these, and -struck it with her stick. Immediately the door was opened by a tabby -cat. - -“You are late, mistress,” said he. - -“I have brought a guest,” replied the old woman, “so you must all bestir -yourselves.” Then she led Kora into a snug little room, where a bright -fire of peat blazed invitingly on the hearth. - -“First you must eat and sleep,” said she, “and to-morrow you shall tell -me of your trouble. I am a Wise Woman, and may be able to help you.” - -Kora sank down by the fireside, too weary to make any protest. She -stretched out her cold hands to the ruddy glow, and began to dry her wet -dress and hood. Meanwhile the Wise Woman’s servants were busy preparing -the evening meal, which was soon ready. A black cat served the soup and -a white cat the fish, a grey cat the joint and a tortoiseshell cat the -sweets. Then a sandy cat lit a taper and lighted her to her room, where -she soon fell sound asleep. - -When the morning came, Kora at once sought out the Wise Woman, told her -her whole story, and begged for advice. - -“The unknown country to which no man has found the way,” replied the -Wise Woman, “is the country whither the cuckoos go in winter, nor do I -myself know the way, but if you will consent to be turned into a cuckoo, -you will at once be able to find it.” - -Rather than fall again into her husband’s hands, Kora willingly agreed, -and the Wise Woman thereupon, with a wave of her stick, changed her into -a cuckoo, which spread its wings and flew away, far across the pathless -sea. - -The troll meanwhile felt so sure that his wife would not again try to -escape, that several days passed before he thought it necessary to look -into the magic crystal. Great was his dismay, therefore, when he did at -last look into it, to see nothing but a blank. Never before had it -failed him. He hurried home with all speed, and finding his house -deserted, he at once resolved to set out in pursuit of Kora. But since -his heart was in his treasure, he would not start before he had gathered -together as much as he could possibly carry with him, and had loaded it -upon his back. He travelled a long way, through forest and field and -heath, till at last he came to the shores of a great ocean. Here he took -a boat, and began paddling himself out to sea, but the sack of gold -proved so heavy that the boat sank, and the troll was drowned. - -But Kora reached the unknown land in safety, and married the king of the -cuckoos, with whom she lived in great happiness and contentment, and -they reigned together over the most beautiful country in all the world. - - - - - CHAPTER X - IN WHICH THE HEROINE HAS A BIRTHDAY - - -As the weather brightened and warmed into midsummer, most of Philomène’s -free time was spent in the garden, and consequently with Sweet William. - -It was on a morning towards the end of June that she awoke with the -delightful sensation that her birthday had come at last. Had she not -waited a whole year for it? By her plate at breakfast time lay a big box -of wild flowers, sent by the gardener’s wife at the Cushats. Godmother -had taught her the names of all sorts of flowers during her last summer -holidays, so that she recognised almost all in the box, but a certain -little white, blue and red pyramid was quite a stranger to her; she -therefore christened it “N. or M.,” like the person in the Catechism, -and N. or M. it remained to her ever afterwards, though later she knew -it to be a kind of wild orchid. The doctor gave her a sketch-book and a -whole box full of beautiful new pencils, and Miss Mills a book called -“Legends from River and Mountain.” - -“I haven’t a notion what it’s about,” she said, apologetically, “but I -thought from the title that you might take to it, and it was written by -a queen.” - -“A real queen!” cried Philomène, “as real as Marie Antoinette, or Mary, -Queen of Scots?” - -“Quite as real,” replied Miss Mills, laughing, “and now you must look at -the beautiful pincushion that Nurse has made for you. Won’t it look nice -on your dressing-table?” - -“Yes, and I will put the date of my birthday on it in pins,” said -Philomène, but Nurse shook her head. - -“I wouldn’t put pins into it, Miss, if I were you,” she said, -reproachfully, “that would spoil it;” and Philomène with her arms about -the old woman promised, “I won’t, Nursie dear, indeed I never will.” - -The morning of the birthday was blissfully spent in the making of -toffee, a rather hot occupation for June, no doubt, but Philomène’s -wishes were law throughout that day. It did not turn out to be nice -toffee when made, but it was not wasted, for Lilian Augusta used it to -light the kitchen fire, and said it was as good as any patent -fire-lighter. At dinner Philomène was allowed to carve the chicken -herself, though her carving proved as unsuccessful as her cookery. “But -as it’s my birthday I can have the liver!” she announced, triumphantly, -“and I do know where to find that—it is somewhere under its arms.” - -All that afternoon Philomène sat sketching busily or reading in her new -story-book, nor did she forget before putting it away to make a note -both of its title, and of the names of its author and publisher, in a -little red leather pocket-book kept for that purpose. This custom had -been introduced by Godmother. - -“If you are at all like me,” Isolde had said, “you will be very sorry as -you grow older to find that some of the dearest books of your childhood -have been thrown away, or given away, with or without your knowledge. -Your wise elders will say, ‘She is getting too old now ever to want to -read this or that again,’ and they will forget that just now you may be -neither young enough or old enough for the book, but that in a few more -years you will begin to grow younger again and want to read it, and then -it will be too late to recover it. You will remember the exact colour of -the binding, and how your favourite story in it began half way down on -the right hand page, but you will not remember who wrote it or who -printed it. Perhaps you will not even remember the name of the book, and -if you want it back again, you cannot very well write to a shop and say, -‘Dear Sirs, please send me a thin green book with a picture of a lizard -as the frontispiece, and the last story but one is the nicest of all. -Yours faithfully—’ So here is a little pocket-book, and I want you to -make a note of the titles of all the books you are fond of, with the -names of their authors and publishers, and even if you find it a bother -now and then to remember to write them down, I think you will be glad of -it later on.” - -Just as Philomène was going to bed, a letter from Godmother arrived. - -“My own little cushat,” wrote Isolde, “I am afraid you will have to wait -a little while before you can have your birthday present, for it is a -trap and a white donkey, and though you had better leave them at the -Cushats as parlour boarders when you are in London, they are to be your -very own all the same. I want you to come and stay with me, my little -bird, for July and August and part of September. You and I will get on -very well together in the summer, I hope, and take out the new white -Neddie for lots of drives. We shall have a great deal to tell each other -when we meet, but I have no time for more now. Goodbye, my bairnie. Love -and all good wishes from Godmother.” - -It was when Philomène looked out of her bedroom window on the morning of -the day following her birthday, that she noticed a large fairy ring on -the lawn, and felt very much flattered, for by it she knew that the -fairies had not forgotten the occasion, but had given a ball in her -honour. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - IN WHICH THE HEROINE IS GIVEN A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION - - -During the remaining days of that gladsome rose-red June, Philomène went -about the house with a face as glad as any sunbeam and as rosy as any -flower. Nurse thought that the prospect of riding in a hay-cart and -digging in the sand with a new spade sufficiently accounted for these -radiant looks, but though the haystacks loomed large, they loomed only -in the background—it was Godmother’s figure which occupied the -foreground. - -The plan cast only one shadow. Philomène felt very sorry at having to -leave Master Mustardseed and Sweet William, and when the day for packing -arrived, she had tears in her eyes as she opened the cage-door, and put -in her hand so that the canary might perch upon her wrist. Unhappily -Nurse was present, so Philomène could only kiss the canary’s green head -tenderly, and whisper, “It isn’t for so very long, dear,” before she -again closed the cage-door. As for Queen Mab, she put a soft padded paw -into her mistress’s hand, and rubbed a soft whiskered face against her -mistress’s arm, as who should say, “Goodbye, and don’t get too fond of -any other pussycats.” - -Then Philomène went into the garden and let herself into Sweet William’s -house. He had been expecting her visit, and held out a lean little brown -hand with what was for him an air of unusual condescension. - -“Sit down,” he said, “you are a good child, and I shall miss you. But we -shall meet again in September, I understand. By the way, I have decided -to give you a letter of introduction to the fairy agent at the Cushats. -The garden must have one, though I do not happen to know him. I don’t -expect you will see very much of him, for you will not be as lonely -there as here, and so much left to yourself. Considering that she isn’t -a proper fairy godmother, yours seems to do very well by you. Still, it -would be nicer for you to have the chance of getting to know another -fairy if you could.” - -All this while Sweet William had been rummaging in his cupboard. He now -drew from it a white Japanese anemone, with its petals tightly shut up. -This he handed to Philomène. “Is it the envelope?” she asked, -wonderingly. - -“No, child,” he replied, “it is the letter. I have written all that is -necessary on the inside of the petals, and the anemone will open only -when you have found the person for whom it is intended.” Philomène -thanked him, and they took a friendly farewell of each other. - -It was Lilian Augusta with whom she travelled to the little country -station where Godmother was to meet her. She sat bolt-upright in her -corner of the carriage, looking at the daisied fields as they sped by; -she watched the miniature carts and horses as they toiled along the road -below the level of the train, and her spirits were so high that nothing -could chill or damp them, not even the drink concocted by Nurse for the -journey, a horrible mixture of tea and milk with far too much sugar in -it. - -The little station of Wyndham-on-Ferry, at which the travellers -presently arrived, was altogether too sleepy for this bustling age. The -fiery red geraniums in the station-master’s garden nodded drowsily in -the hot sun, the solitary porter seemed almost as drowsy as the -geraniums, and the only wide-awake creature about the place was a cock -that crowed from a neighbouring farmyard. Outside the station Godmother -was waiting with the new trap and the white donkey, and Philomène had -soon scrambled up on to the seat beside her. - -“O Godmother,” she cried, “he really is a dear, with just the same big -brown eyes as the donkey in the picture over the schoolroom mantelpiece, -and the same long ears laid back.” - -They had not driven far before the breath of the pinewoods met them, and -that sound which is older than all the world beside, the primeval -cadence of the league-long surf. - -The gate of the Cushats stood open, white and friendly. The pigeons were -cooing heart to heart in the woods, and the mingled sweets of -heliotrope, rose, and jasmine, streamed out in wordless welcome. The -lime-tree outside the bow-window of the drawing-room was casting a -tremulous shadow on the lush-green turf of the lawn, and the pale gold -of early evening was on the little old gabled house. - -The furnishing of Philomène’s room was as innocently white and as -hopefully green as any snowdrop; there was no carpet on the floor, only -some green and white matting in places. A copy of one of Watts’ -pictures, that of a knight standing lost in thought beside his white -horse, was hanging where Philomène could see it as she lay in bed. - -“The knight’s horse is very beautiful, Godmother,” she murmured just -before dropping off to sleep, “but I think I like a white donkey even -better.” Her hand was in Isolde’s, and the shoheen of the night wind in -the pinewoods sounded in her ears as the sound of the sea. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - IN WHICH THE HEROINE PRESENTS HER LETTER OF INTRODUCTION - - -Philomène’s first day at the Cushats happened to be a Sunday, and after -breakfast on the lawn Isolde took her goddaughter to the weekly -children’s service. These services were short and simple, and the vicar -of Wyndham-on-Ferry was acknowledged by everybody to be at his best when -addressing children. He was a tall, spare man, with a somewhat stern -expression of face, “and what his servant is about is more than I can -tell,” Nurse had once remarked, “for he has the look of a person who -lives on nothing but mince and hot water.” - -In the side-chapel of the village church hung a copy of an Italian -picture, S. Mary Magdalene, black-haired and crimson-robed, and to -Philomène the pale sad face, framed in its shadowy tresses, seemed like -the face of some sorrowful mermaid. Neither her father nor her godmother -had ever insisted upon her attending drearily long services which could -have held no meaning for her, and the result was that she was very fond -of going to church. She loved the sweet-voiced bells and the vibrating -tones of the organ, the rich colouring of the stained-glass and the -stately rhythm of the prayers. - -“It just makes me feel like a king’s daughter,” she had once confided to -Isolde, “and do you know, Godmother, I really think I like it better -than the theatre, because there is no tiresome clapping to interrupt in -the middle, and disturb one, and make one feel every-dayish again all of -a sudden.” - -“What would you like to do, little cushat?” asked Isolde, as the two -strolled home together across the fields. “I have some letters that I -must write, and I am afraid they will take me till lunch-time.” - -“I will look at your Granny’s big picture Bible first,” said Philomène, -“and then write to Daddy and play with the pussies, and after that I -will go and have a look at the dove-cot.” - -“There aren’t any doves, you know,” said Isolde, “I don’t particularly -want to keep any. There are quite enough in the woods all round.” - -“Oh, that doesn’t matter a bit,” said Philomène, “one can always -pretend.” - -So Godmother settled herself to write on the verandah, and Philomène -brought out the Bible. It was a very bulky book, for it contained not -only the Old and New Testaments, but the Old and New Testament -Apocryphas as well. Judging from the dog’s-eared pages thereabouts, it -would appear that Godmother’s Granny had looked oftenest at the picture -of Jacob blessing his twelve sons from a four-poster bed, and at another -of the Last Judgment, the grouping of which suggested nothing so much as -a prize-giving. But Philomène preferred Martha, cumbered with a -pepper-pot and a soup-tureen, because she reminded her of Lilian -Augusta, and Pharaoh’s daughter with the rosettes on her shoes, and best -of all she liked S. Anne by the laurel-bush, complaining to the sparrow -in its nest that she had no child. Again and again had Philomène peeped -over the edge of that nest to count the eggs, but the mother bird spread -wide its brooding wings, and baffled her curiosity. - -As soon as Philomène had had a look at her favourite pictures, she put -away the book and wrote two whole sheets to her father. After that she -began to play with Don Whiskerandos, Isolde’s black Persian, who sat -blinking in the sun at his mistress’s feet. Occasionally he roused -himself sufficiently to wash his front paws, which were like velvet -tassels for softness, but for the rest he was sleepy and -undemonstrative. Philomène had christened him Dives, because he fared -sumptuously every day and took no notice of his neighbours, and she soon -gave up trying to play with him, and went in search of Lazarus, the -gingery stable cat. Lazarus was certainly as plain and as under-bred as -it is possible for a cat to be, but as Philomène always loved anything -which other people did not consider it worth their while to love, his -very gingerliness and the bullet shape of his head cried out to her for -affection. - -By the time Lazarus had had his full share of attention, the bell rang -for luncheon on the verandah, and when lunch was over, Isolde gave -herself up to her godchild. She swung her untiringly in the swing -between the two horse-chestnut trees, she tucked her up in the hammock -and read to her, they played battledore and shuttlecock together on the -lawn, and at tea-time retreated to the shadow of a giant haystack in a -field close by, to eat home-made scones and strawberries and cream. - -It was here that the vicar found them. He was no stranger to Philomène, -for he often dropped in at the Cushats on a Sunday afternoon, and she -was not shy with him, but as soon as he and her godmother began talking -politics, she thought it was about time for the dove-cot. As she left -the field and came back into the garden, it occurred to her that it -might be as well to take with her Sweet William’s letter of -introduction. The tall silver savings-box stood on the dressing-table in -her room, and inside were the latchkey and the anemone. With the flower -in her hand she hurried towards the disused dove-cot, and upon reaching -it was very much surprised by a slight flutter of wings from inside it. -She put her hand into one of the pigeon-holes, and something brushed -past it and flew out into the open. Could it be a dove after all? she -wondered. But then she saw that the anemone was full blown, and in -another minute she became aware of a little creature perched upon the -dove-cot. It was a fairy; who but a fairy could have had such glistering -wings, and worn a dress of tussore-coloured silk from a caterpillar’s -cocoon? The elf rather reminded Philomène of Master Mustardseed, for she -had small, bright eyes like those of a bird, and her little head was -cocked on one side as she sat and looked at the intruder. - -“I am very sorry to have disturbed you,” began Philomène, “but I had no -idea that this was your house. I think I have a letter for you,” and so -saying she handed the Japanese anemone to the fairy, who buried her face -in its petals. When she looked up from the letter, she was smiling -kindly. - -“Did you have any green ribbons——” - -“Yes,” interrupted Philomène eagerly, “I did; on my christening robe.” - -“Ah, that accounts for it,” said the elf, still smiling, “and I shall be -very glad to do anything I can to amuse you while you are here. I only -wish I were not quite so busy, but the grounds are large, very large for -the size of the house, and my time is not my own. However, I will do -what I can, during the hours when you and your godmother are not -together. I do not know Sweet William at all, not even by name, but he -has written of you in the most flattering terms. I was asleep just now -when you put your hand into my bedroom, and I am sure I ought to feel -very grateful to you for waking me up out of my shockingly long noon-day -nap, for I have any amount of work before me, so that I am afraid I -cannot be of much service to you this afternoon.” - -“What is it that you are going to see to?” asked Philomène with -interest. - -“I am in great difficulties about housing a mole,” replied the little -agent in a troubled voice, “I let part of the front lawn to him, but the -gardener interfered. He is a most tiresome old man.” - -“Godmother says he doesn’t know much about gardening,” remarked -Philomène, “and I know that whenever I ask him the name of a flower he -just goes on muttering, ‘What’s this we call it now? What’s this we call -it?’ till either I remember it myself, or someone else comes up and -tells me. But Godmother keeps him on because he has been here a long -time, and I expect the other man and the boy really do all the work. -Besides, I once heard her say to my Daddy that the one thing he did -understand was grass, and that he makes her lawns as good as any in the -county. She seemed quite pleased about it.” - -The elf nodded her head sagely. “That is just the trouble,” she replied, -“I mean from the point of view of a land- and house-agent. He is so -careful of the lawns that he won’t allow any mole to rent them. However, -I must see what I can do for my tenant in some out of the way corner. -And now I must really say good afternoon, and ask you to put off our -next meeting till to-morrow. Oh, by the way though, before I go you had -better tell me your name—Sweet William has forgotten to mention it.” - -“My name is Philomène, Philomène Isolde,” said the little girl, “and -please, what is yours?” - -“Speedwell,” answered the other, and she spread her wings, nodded a -friendly good-bye, and flew away. Philomène stood watching her flight -till the glittering wings disappeared behind the rosemary hedge, after -which she made her way to the wilderness of currant and gooseberry -bushes behind the house. Here stood a tub, and a see-saw, and a shed, -but before she had made up her mind whether to go to sea in the tub, or -turn the shed into a Red Indian wigwam, her attention was distracted by -what sounded like the twittering of two birds at once in a currant bush -near by. - -“And yet it doesn’t sound quite like an ordinary bird either,” thought -Philomène, and she went close up to the bush. One bird there certainly -was, perched on a leafy twig and twittering shrilly, but it was -Speedwell who was sitting upon another branch, and arguing with the -bird. As Philomène came up both stopped talking, seemingly quite out of -breath. - -“What have you done with the letter?” asked Philomène smiling, “did you -throw it away when you started house-hunting for the mole?” - -The elf cocked her head on one side, and looked up with small bright -eyes; her shimmering wings were folded, and her little green shoes -peeped from beneath her dress of tussore-coloured silk. “I do not -understand you,” said she, “I don’t even know who you are. Oh, yes, I do -though, you must be the little girl who was to arrive yesterday; the -stable cat told me you were expected. But we have not met till this -moment.” - -“But I was speaking to you only a few minutes ago at the dove-cot, and I -gave you Sweet William’s letter of introduction!” exclaimed Philomène in -amazement. - -The elf laughed. “It must have been my twin sister whom you saw just -now,” said she, “I am Spirea. However, I don’t wonder at your mistake, -for when we were babies and cradled in the same pod, our own mother did -not know us apart. We will settle about your lease some other time,” she -added, turning to the bird, who had been preening his feathers to -conceal his annoyance at the interruption, “and you had better not -mention it to the people at the Rookery till you hear something more -definite from me. Now I am at your disposal,” she continued to -Philomène, “where shall we go? To the swing? You might sit in it, and I -could talk to you from a mossy settee between the roots of one of the -horse-chestnuts.” - -The place was soon reached, and the two remained chatting there very -pleasantly, till Philomène thought it must be getting late, and that she -ought to find out if her godmother intended to go to evensong; so she -said good-night to Spirea, who promised to see her again the following -day. - -Isolde was still sitting in the hayfield, and the vicar stood before -her, abusing modern operas. “What dreadfully dull things they do talk -about,” thought Philomène, “when they might have been making friends -with twin fairies all this time! But perhaps they couldn’t, even if they -wanted to, not without the green ribbons.” - -“You’re fond of music, aren’t you?” asked the vicar, sitting down and -drawing Philomène towards him into the lengthening shade of the hayrick. -Philomène nodded. - -“Yes,” she replied, “some music. I don’t like Lilian Augusta’s hymns -much, but I do like it when Godmother sits by herself at the spinet and -sings: - - ‘I would I were on yonder hill, - ’Tis there I’d sit and cry my fill, - Till every tear should turn a mill.’” - -Isolde blushed. “It is only a little Irish song,” she explained in some -confusion, “a very plaintive little love-song; I believe Hændel is -supposed to have said that he would rather have written that one air -than the whole of the ‘Messiah.’” - -“Are you going to church, Godmother?” asked Philomène, as she lay full -length on the hot grass, looking up at the clouds that were drifting -white, fleecy, and unshepherded, across their native pastures, and -asking herself whether in the long run she would prefer blue fields to -green. - -“I think so,” said Isolde, and she got up as she spoke. - -“Then I will too,” said Philomène, “and of course you will come anyhow, -because you have to,” she added in her serious, understanding way to the -vicar. He laughed good-humouredly, and walked by her side, swinging his -cane, and repeating half aloud as he went: - - “The sun, above the mountain’s head, - A freshening lustre mellow - Through all the long green fields has spread, - His first sweet evening yellow.” - -“Capital,” murmured the tall, gaunt vicar, “the very words for it, the -only words for it! ‘His first sweet evening yellow’—what wouldn’t I give -to have written that myself?” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - IN WHICH GREAT GOOD FORTUNE BEFALLS THE HEROINE - - -Sweet William had been right when he foretold that Philomène would not -see much of the fairy agent at the Cushats, for Isolde devoted herself -whole-heartedly to the amusement of her godchild, and the days chased -each other in their eagerness to turn into to-morrow, with its fresh -succession of walks and talks and drives and picnics. Yet there were of -necessity times when Philomène was left to amuse herself, and it was -then that Speedwell and Spirea came skimming towards her through the -air, or peeped up at her out of the flowers, or hopped down to her from -the trees. It was not, however, till August that anything of importance -befell. - -Philomène was in the stable, feeding the white donkey with sugar, and -begging him to talk to her if he could. “If Balaam’s donkey talked to -him when he was unkind and stupid and hit it,” she reasoned -persuasively, “I think the least you can do is to talk to me when I am -giving you all this sugar. Of course if you really can’t, that is -another thing, but I never feel sure of that these days. Oh, you there, -Spirea?” The last exclamation was due to the sudden appearance of one of -the twins between the donkey’s glossy ears. - -“I’m not Spirea, I’m Speedwell,” replied the fairy, “but it’s of no -consequence. Is your godmother likely to want you within the next hour -or so?” - -“No,” said Philomène, “she has driven off to pay a call, and won’t be -back till nearly supper-time.” - -“That is really very fortunate,” said Speedwell, “because it would have -been a pity for you to miss this chance. There is an old merman in a -little creek about half a mile from here, and if you come with me -quickly, I will introduce you to him.” - -[Illustration] - -For a moment Philomène’s heart seemed to stand still with the very joy -and marvel of the thing, but the next she had begun to run, and the elf -half ran, half flew, by her side. The beach was of yellow sand, hard and -smooth, stretching for mile upon mile along the coast; the tide was -coming in, blue fringed with white by the shore, but a vague, sad purple -farther out to sea. The little creek was soon reached, and as the sea -ran up into it, smooth and shallow, Philomène took off her shoes and -stockings, and began to paddle; and there, sure enough in the shelter of -a projecting rock, screened from the steady August sunshine, and with -his tail in the water, sat the old merman, gazing out to sea. - -“This is Philomène,” said Speedwell, and turning round, she half ran, -half flew, back across the sands, as fast as glistening wings and little -green shoes could carry her. - -Philomène sat down on a low boulder, her feet dangling in the warm -caressing water, her wide eyes fixed upon the merman. She had neither -the breath nor the courage to start a conversation. The merman raised -his head and tossed back his sea-green hair from his sea-green eyes; -then passing his fingers through the matted locks, where tiny shells -hung tangled, he turned upon Philomène a rugged, weather-beaten face. - -“I am glad to see you,” he said in a deep, musical voice, “the fairies -seem to be your very good friends.” - -“I should be very much obliged if you would tell me about the sea,” -suggested Philomène timidly. - -The merman laughed a deep, musical laugh. “That would indeed be a long -story,” said he, “it is as if some one were to say to you, ‘Tell me -about the land.’ So you love the sea, do you?” - -“Yes, I love it,” replied Philomène, looking away over it towards the -horizon, “it is beautiful in the same sort of way as the deep red of S. -Mary Magdalene’s dress in the chapel, burning red like cherries with the -sun on them, and like the third chord in ‘Lead, kindly Light,’ and like -the smell of the garden early in the morning, and they all make one hurt -inside in just the same way, though they are such very different -things.” - -Philomène was wondering if anything were making the merman “hurt -inside,” he was so silent and grave, but then she remembered that the -mer-folk are said to have no souls, and must feel that everything -beautiful is but for a very little while. - -“I don’t expect he would marry me even if I asked him to,” she -reflected, “and that is supposed to be the only way of helping a -merperson to a soul. Oh, I do wish I could get one for him! But perhaps -there is another way after all, though no one has found it out yet. I -must not forget to think of him next time I go to church.” - -She was not quite sure what particular prayer could be made to fit him, -but at last decided that he might very well count as one of the people -in the Litany who “travel by water.” She had just arrived at this -conclusion, when the merman roused himself from his reverie, and turned -towards her. - -“I cannot tell you all about the sea in one conversation,” he said, “but -a little is better than nothing at all, so I will tell you a story. It -is the way of the land-folk to speak of the sea as treacherous, but this -story will show you that she keeps faith with her own.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - IN WHICH THE MERMAN TELLS HIS STORY - - -There was once upon a time a poor fisher couple who lived together in a -hut upon a lonely beach, and while the husband was absent fishing upon -the high seas, the wife earned a scanty livelihood by spinning. - -Now one stormy winter’s night a little daughter was born to them, and -because the mother would have it that the child was ailing, the -fisherman struggled forth into the howling gale to fetch a priest for -the christening. The path was narrow between the cliffs and the sea, and -the waves were so violent that he feared lest they might overwhelm him -at any moment. All at once he caught sight of a merman mounted on one of -the crested billows. - -“Whither away, good neighbour, in the wind and dark?” quoth he. - -“My wife lies at home with a newborn child,” replied the fisherman, “and -I go in search of a priest that he may christen it.” - -“I pray you, let me stand sponsor,” said the merman. - -“That shall never be,” the fisherman made answer, “what part or lot have -you in any christening?” - -At that the merman grew very angry. “You fool!” he cried, “is the -good-will of the sea nothing to you? Has she no treasures in her depths -for those whom she favours?” - -Now the fisherman had no mind to set the sea against him, moreover he -was in haste; he therefore gave his consent, and hurried on. That same -night a priest came to the little hut on the beach, and christened the -baby, and they called her name Carey, because, like one of Mother -Carey’s chickens, she had made her nest in the storm. And all the while -the sea roared around the hut, and the fisherman, casting a furtive -glance at the window behind him, saw that the merman was looking in. -From that time forward things went well with him; his fishing prospered, -and the tempest spared his boat. Nevertheless he resolved to say no word -to his wife about the merman’s sponsorship. - -Now when Carey had grown to be a little maid of some seven years old, -she was playing by herself late one summer’s afternoon upon the yellow -sands that sloped to the water’s edge. All of a sudden a voice called to -her. “Carey!” it said, and again, “Carey!” Then, turning her head, she -became aware of a merman, seated under a rock near by, and basking in -the hot afternoon sunshine. He had a rugged, somewhat world-weary look, -and the hair hung about his face like ribbons of brown seaweed, while -his eyes were brown and gentle like the eyes of a seal. - -“So we meet at last, goddaughter,” said he. - -“Are you my godfather then?” asked Carey, and she came fearlessly and -sat down beside him on the rippling sand. - -“That I am indeed,” the merman made answer, “and here is a belated -christening gift.” And so saying he hung about her neck a necklace of -sea-shells. “Do not despise it,” he added, “though it looks but a poor -thing. It may be that some day you will learn its worth, for so long as -you wear it the sea will know you for her own.” Then he told her how it -happened that he had come to be her godfather, after which little Carey -said she must go home, but she promised to return to that same creek on -the following day, and to say nothing to her parents of the meeting. - -So the next day she came again, and the day after, and every day -throughout the summer she ran to the little creek to see her godfather, -and hear from him strange songs and stories of the sea, to which she -loved to listen, for all they were so sad. And in the winter, when the -rough weather kept her indoors, she would sit contentedly by the fire -while her father was mending his nets and her mother span, and would -tell over the wondrous tales to herself till she had them by heart. Nor -was it long before the summer came again, and then another winter. - -Now one Christmas night Carey lay broad awake, and listened to the bells -from the grey church on the wind-swept cliff, chiming far and wide -across the sea, and on the following morning she slipped out unnoticed -and ran to the sheltered creek. This time her godfather was nowhere to -be seen, but nothing doubting she called to him, standing barefooted -where the waves broke, and at her call he rose straightway out of the -sea. - -“Last night I heard the church bells, godfather,” said Carey as she sat -beside him under their favourite rock, “were they not beautiful?” But -the old merman’s face darkened as she spoke. - -“They are not beautiful to me,” he made answer, “I know that your race -has a love for the sound, and soon grows homesick for the want of it, -but with my people it is not so. I will tell you what befell me long -ago. There stood a little chapel on a rocky islet, and one Christmas -night the bells rang out so joyously and with such a note of welcome in -their voices, that I pressed as close as I might to the window of -many-coloured glass, and within there was light, and the sound of -chanting. But when the monks came forth, they drove me away with hard -words, and called me an evil spirit.” - -Then Carey put her arms about him, and kissed him many times, saying, -“Never mind, dear godfather; I know that you are not an evil spirit, and -I will always love you.” And at that the smile came again to his face. -These were happy years for them both, and they sped past unheeded, till -Carey was no longer a little maid, but a fair tall maiden with many -suitors. - -Now it happened that one Shrovetide Carey went to church, and as she -followed the straggling path along the top of the cliffs, a stranger -joined her, clad like a huntsman all in green, with a horn by his side, -and two great hounds at his heels. - -“Where are you going, fair maid?” asked he. - -“I go to church,” she said, “because it is Shrovetide.” - -“May I walk by your side?” he asked. - -“That you may, if it so please you,” said she. So they walked on -together, talking as they went, but when they reached the little grey -church he stopped short. - -“Do you go in alone, mistress,” he said, “and I will wait for you here.” - -So Carey entered the church alone, but as soon as she came out the -huntsman joined her again, and they walked homewards together. Now he -was a fair-spoken man, with much to tell of distant climes and strange -adventures, so that Carey contrasted him in her thoughts with the -uncouth, tongue-tied fisher lads, her wooers, and was sorry when the -moment came for parting. - -“Here I must bid you farewell,” said she, when the pathway was reached -that led down to the shore, “for my home lies yonder.” - -“Will you not first appoint me a trysting-place?” quoth he. - -At that Carey’s heart took fright in her breast, nevertheless she made -answer, as though compelled thereto; “To-morrow I go cockling down upon -the sands.” - -“And may I seek you there?” asked the huntsman. - -“That I did not say,” said she, and she turned and ran from him down the -winding path, her thoughts all in a turmoil of fear and joy and wonder. -But when she reached home she found sorrow awaiting her, for her father, -whom she dearly loved, had fallen grievously sick. All night she nursed -him, but on the morrow her mother took her place, and bade her go -cockling. - -So Carey took her basket and made her way along the yellow sands, with -joy and grief at war in her heart, and as she went the waves cast up a -large sea-shell at her feet. Stooping she picked it up, and put it to -her ear, for the sake of the music that it held. “Turn back, turn back,” -murmured the voice of the sea, “have nothing to do with this stranger.” - -“This is surely a message from my godfather,” said Carey to herself, and -for a while she stood irresolute with the shell in her hand, but at last -she threw it from her, back into the tumbling foam. “I will go to the -trysting-place all the same,” said she, “for I have pledged my word.” -But it was not the thought of her promise that moved her, but her fancy -for the stranger, which she mistook for love. Not many minutes later she -saw him coming towards her, and at first they talked together as on the -previous day, but soon he began to court her with words and caresses, -and besought her to follow him to his home. - -“That I cannot do,” said Carey, “for my father lies dying.” - -“Appoint me at least to-morrow’s trysting-place,” said he, “and then I -will let you go. Know you the inland woods, and the green ride in their -midst, with a fallen tree-trunk at the end of it?” - -“I know it well,” replied Carey, “it is where the early primroses blow.” -So saying she turned away from him, and made haste homewards. - -Now the next day, when the fisherman lay at the point of death, he said -to his wife; “Wife, I have something on my mind; it is a secret I have -kept from you these many years.” And thereupon he told her of Carey’s -godfather, the merman, and of how he had been present at the -christening. “I charge you,” added the dying man, “not to deal harshly -with our daughter on this account, since it was none of her doing. -Moreover, it has brought us good fortune.” And having said these words, -the sick man breathed his last. - -But that very hour the fisherman’s widow said to Carey; “This is no -light matter that your father has confessed to me. Swear to me that you -have had no intercourse with this sea-monster.” - -“That will I not,” said Carey staunchly, “for I have known him since I -was a little maid, and he is no sea-monster at all, but the kindest -godfather in the world.” - -At that her mother flew into a frenzy of rage. “You deceitful hussy!” -she screamed, “so behind my back you have had dealings with a wicked -sprite that is without an immortal soul! Get you gone this instant!” And -so saying she drove her from the house. - -Then Carey went sadly along the beach till she reached the familiar -creek, and there she sought her godfather in his wonted haunts, and when -she could not find him she called to him many times, but he neither came -nor answered. The sea was running high, and the weather was dark and -lowering. - -“He is angry with me because I did not heed his message yesterday,” -thought Carey, “he too has forsaken me. I will go to the wood and meet -the huntsman there, for he alone is left to love me.” - -Now it happened that on her way inland Carey came across a horse-shoe, -which she picked up and took with her for good luck. As soon as she had -reached the green ride in the midst of the wood, she saw the stranger at -the farther end of it, standing by the fallen tree-trunk, with a great -coal-black steed at his side, and the two hounds with him. She held up -the horse-shoe in token of welcome, and when she had drawn nearer she -called to him merrily, “Only see what I have found! It will bring us -good fortune!” - -But even as she spoke, the horse reared and pawed the ground, the hounds -whined and cowered at their master’s feet, and the huntsman himself held -out both hands before his face, as though to avert a danger. - -“Maid, if you bear me any love,” cried he, “throw the thing from you! I -come of a race that is at enmity with iron!” - -So Carey, though she understood him not at all, tossed the horse-shoe -into a thicket hard by, and approached her lover. But he on a sudden -sprang upon his horse, and caught her to him, and set her on the saddle -before him. Then the great black steed rose up into the air, and the -hounds with it, and Carey screamed aloud in her terror. - -“You are no other than the Wild Huntsman!” she cried out, “woe worth the -day that I met you!” Then it was that she remembered how all evil -spirits stand in great fear of iron, and knew too late that had she but -kept firm hold of the horse-shoe, he could have done her no harm. - -Over the tree-tops they soared, and on through the air like a whirlwind, -away and away over forest and field and morass, till they came to the -mountain fastness where the Wild Huntsman had his home. Bleak and grim -was his castle, and it stood amidst sombre, impenetrable forests. Here -he held Carey a captive, but whenever he rode forth in the night he -would take her with him, and set her before him on his mighty, -coal-black steed. Then when the storm blast shrieked overhead, the -forest folk would cower together in their huts, and say trembling one to -the other; “The Wild Huntsman passes on his way. Hark to the baying of -his hounds!” - -But on midsummer’s eve Carey saw from the battlements that there were -beacon fires burning on all the hill tops far and near, and she rejoiced -to think that he could not venture forth that night, for the fires one -and all were lit to keep evil spirits at a distance. - -Wearily, wearily, the nights and days wore away, and Carey soon lost all -count of time. The trees grew leafless and the winds more blustering, -and the Wild Huntsman rode abroad more often. Only one day as Carey sat -by her casement, she saw a long procession of gnomes, bent and brown and -wrinkled, filing through a cleft in a rock, and disappearing one by one. -By that she knew that it must be Martinmas already, when the dwarfs bid -farewell to the bleak upper world, and retreat to their warm winter -quarters in the heart of the earth. - -Drearily, drearily, the days and nights wore on, and when Carey rode -forth with the Wild Huntsman, she could see nothing below her but -pathless wastes of snow, and forest trees groaning beneath a grievous -burden of icicles. Then she called to mind the cheery winter evenings in -her father’s hut, and she would have wept save that all her tears seemed -frozen, even as the world. - -At the last came Yuletide. Carey sat alone in the great hall of the -castle, and the Yule log sputtered on the hearth. - -“Ah me, how bitter cold it is,” chirruped a cricket, breaking silence, -and Carey, rousing herself from her sad musings, remembered an old -wife’s tale that birds and beasts and even stocks and stones gain speech -on Christmas Eve. - -“If you are cold, friend cricket,” quoth the Yule log in a crackling -voice, “I pray you draw a little nearer to my blaze.” And he burst -asunder into such a lively flame, that it would have done any heart good -to see it, and warmed even the sad heart of Carey. - -“This is no proper house for the keeping of Yule,” muttered the -hearthstone morosely, “never so much as a sprig of yew or holly, let -alone a goodly show of mistletoe, with tankards of brown ale and a -boar’s head all a-smoking.” - -“It is indeed a desolate hearth, my friends,” said Carey sorrowfully, -“and I have greater reason for complaint than you all.” - -“Take courage, mistress,” said the Yule log cheerily, “things may take a -turn for the better with you, just as they did with me. Look you, I -stood a long while in the forest, perished with cold, snow upon my head -and snow at my feet, but now I am a merry Yule log, and warm to the -inmost heart of me.” - -“Then I too will take courage,” said Carey, though she sighed as she -spoke. - -Now between Christmas and Twelfth Night the Wild Huntsman rode abroad -every night, and Carey rode with him. But on Twelfth Night itself, as -she sat before him on horseback, she caught a glimpse of a far silver -streak upon the horizon, and as the Wild Hunt swept onward through the -frosty air, the streak broadened and broadened till it grew to a shining -expanse, and Carey knew that at last she was within sight of the sea. -Tremblingly she put up her hand to her neck, and felt for the necklace -of shells that was still securely clasped about it. - -“I will throw myself upon the mercy of the sea,” said she to herself, -“am I not its godchild? And if I die, death will be better than my -present lot.” Already the waters were rolling beneath her, ashen grey in -the moonlight. Therefore, on a sudden, she sprang down from the Wild -Huntsman’s horse, and plunged into the wintry sea. Coldly, darkly, -thunderously, the waves closed overhead, and her senses forsook her. - -When she came to herself she was lying stretched upon an immense plain, -with strange trees waving above her and strange flowers round about; -strange, many-eyed creatures slipped past her, gazing curiously, and -over her hung the still waters, green as twilight skies. Carey got to -her feet, all lost in wonder, and as she stood looking about her, a -mighty shadow purpled the water, and towards her a monstrous serpent -came swimming. - -“Fear nothing, Carey,” it said, “for we are all your friends.” - -“Then I pray you take me to my godfather,” she begged, “I am afraid to -linger in this strange country all alone.” - -“Mount upon my back then,” quoth the sea-serpent, “and cling to my -shaggy mane.” So together they sped away over mountain and valley, -through forests of branching coral, past cities and hamlets where the -mer-folk dwelt, and sunken ships in the midst of forgotten treasures. - -At last they reached a cave in a hillside, and here the sea-serpent set -her down and left her. On the instant her godfather came to meet her; -tenderly he kissed away her self-reproaches, and bidding her rest and -refresh herself, he led her to an inner room, where the roof and walls -were all of amber, while the floor was strewn with pure white sand. Then -he sent his servants to her, swift and silent fishes, who waited upon -her with the choicest dainties of the sea, and prepared for her a bed of -seamew’s down, upon which she lay and slept for many hours. - -As soon as she was awake again, the noiseless fishes returned, and -deftly robed her in a fair green dress of feathery seaweed, more -delicate than any lace; also they adorned her with chains of lustrous -pearls, and wound red sea-anemones in her dark hair, and when she was -ready she went in to her godfather, who greeted her with all affection. - -“I have been lonely without you, Carey,” said the old merman, “have you -come to stay with me now, and to be my little maid as in the former -days?” - -“If you will have me, godfather,” said Carey, “I will remain with you -here, and be as a daughter to you.” - -So for nearly a year these two lived together in great contentment, but -on New Year’s Eve Carey said to her godfather; “There is a longing -within me to-night that will not be stayed; I must needs rise to the -surface once again, and hear the midnight chimes from our little grey -church on the cliffs.” - -At these words the merman grew very sad. “I knew it would come sooner or -later,” said he, “go, my child, since you must. You are free.” - -Thus it was that when midnight drew on, Carey rose out of the waves hard -by the familiar coast, and sitting down under the rock where first she -had seen her godfather, she held her breath and listened. - -All in a moment the bells burst forth, ringing in the new year; merrily -they chimed, yet with an undertone of sadness for the year that was -past; over sea and land they clashed and pealed, rushing, swelling, -dying, and as Carey heard them her heart-strings nigh snapped with -homesickness. Nevertheless when the golden tongued bells had fallen -silent once more, she went back into the breaking seas. - -At home in his cave the old merman sat and mused. “It were better to die -at once and dissolve into foam,” said he to himself, “than to live on -through the unnumbered years without her.” Yet even as he thought it, -Carey entered, whom he had never hoped to see returning, and put her -arms about his neck. - -“So, Carey, you have come back to me after all,” he said wonderingly, -“back from your own kind and the free upper air, away from the memories -and the bells?” - -“There are none left upon the shore to love me now,” she made answer, -“my father is dead, and my mother has cast me out. I will remain here -with you.” - -At that the old merman rejoiced greatly, for he knew that he would now -be lonely no longer. As for Carey, his goddaughter, she left off from -her homesickness, and lived among the mer-folk as one of themselves. - -“And is she living there still?” asked Philomène. - -But the merman had forgotten her, and was looking out to sea again. So -she rose quietly, and paddled out of the creek; the tide was all but in -now, and she ran home barefooted along the yellow sands. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - IN WHICH THE TWIN SISTERS TELL A STORY BETWEEN THEM - - -It was August still, and early evening; an evening of balmy airs and -dappled skies. Philomène, bedded in bracken, lay nestling at the foot of -a mighty pine-tree on the outskirts of the woods, separated only by a -haha from the garden of the Cushats, and the twin fairies were with her. -Speedwell was seated in a swinging hammock of green tendrils, in among -the undergrowth, and was busy making herself some intricate spider’s web -lace, while Spirea, on a fallen pine-cone, stitched away industriously -at a dainty patchwork coverlet of sweetpea petals for the bed in the -dove-cot. - -“I do wonder,” Philomène was saying, “whether my merman knew the merman -who was Carey’s godfather. Perhaps they were old friends, like Godmother -and my mother, only of course at the bottom of the sea.” - -“That reminds me,” said Speedwell, “that neither of us has ever yet told -you a story. We seem always to have had so many other things to talk -about. Would you like one now?” - -“Why, yes, I should, ever so much,” replied Philomène, “and I think I -should like it to be about water, and about trees and ferns and mosses, -just like these here, if you don’t mind.” - -“If it’s a fresh-water story she wants,” observed Spirea, “you might as -well tell her the one about the pixie’s nursling.” - -“So I might,” said Speedwell, and she began:— - -“In the heart of a certain forest there was a deep pool, still and -green, where waterlilies rocked in the summer time. Now it happened that -a woodcutter had daily to pass this pool as he went to and fro from his -work, and one evening as he came by he heard a sweet voice calling to -him from the water, saying; “Good master woodcutter, I pray you make me -a cradle.” Then, because he was under the spell of the sweet voice, the -woodcutter went home and sat up all night, making an oaken cradle. - -“What are you about?” asked his wife, “why will you not come to bed?” - -“I met a stranger in the forest,” replied her husband, “and she begged -me of my charity to make her a cradle for her newborn child.” - -When morning broke, the woodcutter went back to his work, and as he -passed the pool he set down the cradle upon its mossy bank; and that -same evening when he came by again, he heard the cradle rocking under -water, and the sweet voice called to him a second time, and said; “Of -what use to me is a cradle except I know a lullaby also? Good master -woodcutter, I pray you teach me a lullaby.” So the woodcutter went home -and said to his wife; “Tell me now, wife, what are the words of the -cradle-song which you sing to our little son?” - -“They are but an idle jingle,” returned his wife. - -“Tell me them notwithstanding,” persisted her husband, “for the tune -runs in my head, but the words I have forgotten.” - -“These are the words then,” said she. - - “The hermit has tolled his bell, - And the wizard moon rides high; - Ah me, the bell and the moon! - Bye, bye, little sweeting, bye, bye; - Sing-song; ding-dong; - And so good-night to the moon.” - -“It is but a meaningless jingle, as you said,” quoth the woodcutter. - -But the next day when he went to his work in the forest, he stood still -among the rushes by the pool, and sang the lullaby aloud; and that same -evening as he came by he heard the cradle rocking under water, and the -sweet voice singing the cradle-song; but as he drew nearer it broke off, -and called to him the third time, and said; “Of what use to me are a -cradle and a lullaby, except I have a baby also? Good master woodcutter, -I pray you bring me a baby.” Then, because he was bewitched, the -woodcutter went home and said to his wife, “Wife, there is a fair -to-morrow at the town. Would you like to go?” - -“I should like nothing half so well,” said she, “but I cannot leave the -little one.” - -“Give the child to me,” said her husband, “and I promise you that no -harm shall befall him.” - -So when it was morning the woodcutter took his little son, and went and -laid him down on a bed of sorrel by the pool, and hurried on into the -forest; and that same evening as he came by again, he heard the cradle -rocking under water, and the sweet voice singing the lullaby and the -happy cooing of a baby. But when he reached home he told his wife that -as he had been hewing timber in one of the forest glades, a kite had -swooped down and carried off the child. Then the poor mother wept -bitterly, and would not be consoled. - -Now within the pool there dwelt a beautiful pixie, fair and white as any -swan, with radiant golden hair, and eyes clearer than crystal. Yet for -all she was so fair, and had her home in among the white and yellow -waterlilies, the pixie hated her life and was weary of it, for she had -lived already through unnumbered years. - -“Did I not know the world when it was young?” sighed she to herself, -“ah, would that I might grow old along with it.” - -[Illustration: - - “KISSED IT SO THAT IT MIGHT BE ABLE TO LIVE UNDER WATER.” - _Page 153_ - _The Fairy Latchkey._ -] - -Now it had been told her that a draught of the elixir of death could -alone release her, and that both the elixirs of death and of life were -in the keeping of a mighty wizard, who lived in a great castle -surrounded by a golden wall. In this wall was a golden gate which would -open only to one who had no love for gold, while the little glass -postern door that led into the castle would open only to him who had no -love for lies, and across the doorway of the wizard’s chamber hung a -silken curtain which could be drawn aside only by one who had never -loved a woman. Now the pixie knew very well that it would be all but -impossible for any man brought up among his kind to stand these three -tests, so she resolved to rear a human child in the safe, secluded pool, -and send it forth upon her quest. Already she had had three nurslings, -who had grown to manhood and gone forth into the world, but not one of -them had returned to bring her the elixir. - -“Three generations have failed me,” said the pixie to herself, “but I -will try yet once again.” So she cast a spell upon the woodcutter, and -took his child and kissed it, so that it might be able to live under the -water, and drew it down into the pool; and she gave it the name of -Sorrel because of the bed of wood-sorrel upon which she had found it. -Every night she sang to him his mother’s lullaby, and little Sorrel -would look up through the crystal clear water at the mirrored moon, and -would bid it good-night. Then when he grew older, the pixie taught him -to play most sweetly upon a bulrush pipe, and many a wondrous story did -she tell him of the early days before men lived upon the earth. - -At last when Sorrel had grown to be a tall, strong youth, the pixie said -to him; “The time has come, my son, when you should go forth into the -upper world for my sake, and ask the elixir of death from a great wizard -who lives far from here, for I am weary of my long, long life.” - -At first Sorrel was much grieved at her words, for he loved the pixie -dearly, as though she had been his own mother, but when he saw that it -was indeed her heart’s desire, he promised that he would not rest till -he had found the elixir. Then he bade her a tender farewell and set out, -and as he walked through the great forest that was a new, strange world -to him, he played a sweet air upon his bulrush pipe to keep up his -spirits. - -Beyond the forest lay a populous city which Sorrel reached at sundown, -and as he wandered through it he gazed curiously at the many streets and -houses, and at the fountains that played in the great squares. Now it -happened that the king and queen of the country lived in that city, and -as they sat together at one of the windows of their palace, they caught -the strains of Sorrel’s pipe as he passed in the street below. So -enchanted were they by its music, that they at once gave orders that he -should Be brought before them. - -“Who taught you to play so melodiously upon a bulrush pipe?” asked the -king. - -“Sire, it was my mother,” replied Sorrel. - -“Will you remain with us and be our court musician?” asked the queen. - -“Madam, that I cannot,” returned Sorrel, “for my mother has sent me upon -a very urgent quest. But I will gladly play to you now, it if so please -you.” So Sorrel played to the king and queen, and after that they led -him into the great banqueting-hall, where there was much feasting and -merry-making. - -Now it was in this very palace that all the pixie’s former nurslings had -loitered and remained. The first had soon grown covetous of money, and -became so skilful in the management of it that he was made Lord High -Treasurer. He was now a very old man, and his one delight was to handle -the gold pieces in the royal exchequer, which he did every day. The -second had quickly learnt the art of lying, and soon flattered so -adroitly that he was appointed court chaplain, and in every one of his -sermons he told the king and queen what an excellent influence they -exerted upon the court. “My dear,” said each to the other, “we are -indeed fortunate to have secured so eloquent a preacher and so wise a -man.” As for the third, he had fallen in love with the king’s daughter, -and had married her, and now lived in the greatest pomp as the king’s -son-in-law. Thus it came about that not one of the three nurslings had -given another thought to the pixie, who had longed hourly for their -homecoming. - -But Sorrel took no delight in the splendours which he saw about him, for -it seemed to him that the yellow gold was not half so pleasant to look -at as the yellow waterlilies at home. The courtiers paid him well turned -compliments upon his skill in music, but he noticed that for all their -flattery they looked at him askance as soon as he began to speak about -his mother and his life in the forest pool. As for the court ladies, so -far from falling in love with any one of them, he thought them all quite -ugly when he compared them with the beautiful pixie. The very next day -he again set out upon his travels, and would not linger at the palace, -because he had his mother’s quest at heart. - -“And now, sister,” said Speedwell, breaking off suddenly, “I have come -to the most difficult part in all my pattern, where one mistake would -spoil the lace, so you had better tell the rest.” - -“Willingly,” said Spirea, and she continued:— - -“Beyond the city lay another great forest in which Sorrel wandered all -day long without finding a way out. At last night fell, and he was just -wondering whether he would have to seek shelter under a tree, when he -heard the sound of a bell tolling near by, and soon came upon a -hermitage which stood upon the edge of the forest, with a bare and -lonely heath stretching away in front of it. Sorrel knocked at the door -of the hut, whereupon an old hermit at once opened to him, and greeted -him kindly. - -“Come in,” said he, “all strangers are welcome here.” And he made Sorrel -sit down, and gave him some rye bread and salt fish for his supper, with -a mug of sour wine to drink. - -“Have you come from far?” asked the old man. - -“My home is in the forest on the other side of the city,” replied -Sorrel. - -“Are you a forester’s son then?” asked the hermit. - -“No, good father,” replied Sorrel, and he began telling the old man all -about his beautiful mother and his home, but no sooner had he uttered -the first word about living under water, than the hermit started to his -feet, and trembled all over with rage. - -“You must be the son of a witch!” he screamed, “get out of my house!” -And he took Sorrel by the shoulders and thrust him out into the night. - -“These men are a strange race,” thought Sorrel, greatly bewildered, “I -was happier under the water.” And feeling somewhat disconsolate, he went -out upon the waste heath and stood looking about him. Just then the moon -broke through a cloud. - -“Good-night,” said the moon. - -“Good-night,” said Sorrel. - -“It is not everyone who bids me good-night as regularly as you did when -you were a child,” said the moon, “is there anything I can do for you?” - -“You can light me across this heath if you will,” replied Sorrel. - -“With all my heart,” the moon made answer. - -So Sorrel set out across the wide expanse of heath, and all the while -the moon went on before him and showed him the way, till at last they -came to a deep ravine, at the bottom of which stood the wizard’s -splendid castle, while on either hand there rose steep walls of rock, as -sheer as the side of any house, so that Sorrel looked down into the -chasm with dismay. - -“Catch!” cried the moon, and flung him a ladder of moonbeams, by the -help of which he descended the precipice in safety. - -No sooner had he reached the golden gate of the castle than it opened of -itself, and crossing the great courtyard, he saw that the little glass -postern door stood open already. Then Sorrel mounted flight upon flight -of marble steps, till he came upon an arched doorway. He drew aside the -silken curtain that hung across it, and with a bold step entered the -room where the mighty wizard sat, among his phials and talismans and all -manner of magical appliances. - -“What is your errand?” asked the wizard in a harsh voice. - -“I seek the elixir of death,” replied Sorrel fearlessly. - -“Many desire the elixir of life,” said the wizard, “the other is sought -but seldom. Here they are, both together. Choose.” So saying he handed -Sorrel two tall crystal vases, each filled with a clear colourless -fluid. - -Then Sorrel dipped his bulrush pipe into one of the vases, and it -blossomed, but when he dipped it into the other it withered and died. So -he took the elixir of death with him, and left the castle, and scaled -the steep cliff by the help of the ladder. His friend the moon was still -high in the heavens, and lighted him back across the trackless heath. - -With all possible speed Sorrel hastened onwards, but when he reached the -forest in which his home lay, he became very thirsty, and wandered to -and fro among the thickets seeking for a brook or a spring. At last, -faint and weary with his fruitless search, he lay down under a spreading -tree, but the crystal vase he placed beyond his reach, lest in his great -thirst he should be tempted to drink the deadly elixir. Soon there came -by a fair young pixie, gathering mosses and ferns for her grotto, and -Sorrel begged her for some water. - -“Water is close at hand,” said she, “for we pixies may not stray far -from our springs,” and she went and fetched some water in a shell and -gave it to him. - -“But tell me now,” she said, “is there not water in yonder vase?” - -“That is the elixir of death,” replied Sorrel, and he told her of his -quest, and as they sat together under the tree, they loved one another -and plighted their troth. - -“Only first I must go back to my mother,” said Sorrel, “and after that I -will return to you.” - -So she brought him to a mossgrown path which led him at last to the -pool, and when the pixie saw him she rejoiced. “O Sorrel, you were -rightly named,” said she, “for does not wood-sorrel betoken mother’s -joy?” - -Then she drank the elixir of death and straightway dissolved into a -brook which gushed forth out of the pool, and flowed babbling through -the forest. But Sorrel sat down by the brookside and lamented. Now it -happened that the woodcutter’s wife was passing that way, and she -stopped to ask him the cause of his sorrow. - -“I am mourning for my mother,” he replied. - -“As for me, I have mourned a son these twenty years,” said the -woodcutter’s wife. - -But Sorrel was not attending to what she said, for his thoughts were -full of his own grief. Yet because he was young, he soon called to mind -the starry eyes of his newly betrothed, and when he had gone back to her -he found her waiting for him by the same spreading tree. Then they made -their way to a bubbling spring close at hand, and together they went -down into her grotto. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - IN WHICH THE HEROINE HEARS SOME STARTLING NEWS - - -It was towards the end of September that Philomène returned home. Her -godmother was coming up to town also, and they travelled together, so -that on that journey there was ginger-beer to drink, and not cold tea. -She had not been at home more than an hour or so before she found an -opportunity of taking her latchkey and running out into the garden, -though the day was wet and windy. Sweet William was at home, and -received her cordially. - -“I came as soon as ever I could,” she cried, holding out both hands to -him, “I only waited till Nurse began unpacking for me next door, because -I was afraid she would say I ought not to be out in the rain. And now I -must tell you all about the Cushats, and Speedwell and Spirea, and the -merman, and they both said it was the chance of a life-time, having him -all to myself as I did.” So Philomène told him all her adventures, and -Sweet William listened very attentively. - -“Is the Cushats haunted?” he asked suddenly. - -“Oh, no,” replied Philomène indignantly, “certainly not. Lilian -Augusta’s sister-in-law once saw a ghost,” she continued, “and Lilian -Augusta said she was as proud as a cat with two tails ever after; but I -shouldn’t be proud, only desperately frightened, if I thought a ghost -was anywhere near me.” - -“That is a pity,” said Sweet William blandly, “considering that there is -a little spirit waiting to make friends with you in your very own room.” - -Philomène started up from her toadstool, and went quite white. “In my -room?” she exclaimed, and her breath caught, “in my bedroom here at -home?” - -“Sit down, child,” said Sweet William, “and don’t be theatrical, for -pity’s sake. There’s nothing at all to make a commotion about; it’s only -a White Létiche.” - -“And what is that, please?” asked Philomène, sitting down again and -trying to steady her voice, though she was still rather pale. - -“A White Létiche,” said Sweet William, “is the spirit of a child who was -never christened, and visits, unseen, the rooms of children.” - -“Is my Létiche a baby, then?” asked Philomène. - -“Oh, no,” said Sweet William, “she was about twelve when she died, and a -very sweet little girl she was too. She won’t even appear to you unless -you want her to, and then only on the 31st of October.” - -“Only on All Souls’ Eve if I want her to,” thought Philomène, “oh, well -then, it isn’t nearly as bad as it sounded at first.” - -“I was meaning to tell you something more about the people in your -house,” Sweet William continued, “the same house which, if I may remind -you, you at one time considered so extremely uninteresting, but you -seemed so much upset when I told you it had a White Létiche, that -perhaps you will leave me altogether when I tell you that there is a -white witch living in it too.” - -“I certainly shouldn’t be rude and ungrateful enough to leave you,” -returned Philomène stoutly, “and I will try not to get frightened again, -but I am afraid I don’t know what a white witch is either. Godmother -told me lots about fairies, but I think she did not want me to know a -great deal about witches, perhaps because she thought it might make me -nervous when I went to bed.” - -“And judging from the exhibition you made of yourself just now,” -retorted Sweet William, “your godmother seems to have proved herself a -woman of sense. Well, you must know that there are black witches and -white witches, and that black witches often turn into black cats, and -white witches into——” - -“Queen Mab!” interrupted Philomène excitedly. - -“Into white cats,” resumed Sweet William, “such as Queen Mab. Here again -there is nothing to be alarmed about, for white witches are a kindly -race, and help people by white magic instead of injuring them by black -art. I thought that as winter was coming on, I had better tell you that -you will have another comrade in the house besides Master Mustardseed, -for in the cold weather you are not likely to see much of me. But you -still look so disturbed, that I think I must distract your thoughts a -little by telling you a story, not about spirits or witches, but about a -poor little foundling whom the Good People befriended. I hope this may -quiet you down a bit before you have to go indoors.” - -“I should like to hear about the foundling very much, thank you,” said -Philomène, and set herself to listen. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - IN WHICH SWEET WILLIAM TELLS ANOTHER STORY - - -Once upon a time there lived a miller, who because he was a kind-hearted -man and as well off as anyone needs to be, had taken pity upon a poor -little foundling and had given him a home in the mill. On a bitter -winter’s night the child had been laid at his door, and the miller -therefore christened him Jack Frost. - -Some years later the miller took a wife, a young woman of a shrewish -disposition and over-fond of money. She was not kind to little Jack -Frost, and made him feel that he was a burden both to her husband and -herself. Times were hard, she said, and he was too slow-witted to be of -any real use about the mill. In the course of time a son was born to the -miller’s wife, and then things went from bad to worse with the -foundling. - -Nevertheless Jack Frost felt that he had good friends near at hand, and -these were none other than the Little People. In a field beyond the -mill-race there was a fairy ring, in the centre of which grew a -thorn-tree, and under this thorn-tree Jack Frost would sit by the hour, -thinking and dreaming and talking to himself. More than once it had -seemed to him that the fairy ring had brought him good fortune. - -The first occasion was on an evening not long after the birth of the -miller’s son, when Jack Frost had been set to mind the baby, while the -miller’s wife cooked the supper. But being somewhat feather-headed, he -forgot to rock the cradle, so that the baby woke up and began to cry. At -that its mother grew so angry that she boxed the ears of Jack Frost and -thrust him out of doors. But the miller felt sorry for him, and when his -wife was not looking he went up to the table where a savoury dish had -been set for his supper and hers, with a stale crust and a bowl of -skimmed milk for the foundling. These he took, and stealing out of the -mill by a back door gave them to the child, so that at least he might -not have to go supperless to bed. Jack Frost thanked him, and went off -to the field with the fairy ring in it, but no sooner had he sat down -under the thorn-tree to eat his supper, than he discovered that he no -longer held a crust and a bowl of skimmed milk, but a little new loaf -and a bowl of cream. - -Again, a few years later, when it was winter-time, the miller’s wife -sent Jack Frost into the neighbouring town to do some errands for her. -It was very cold, and the skies were overcast. - -“It is going to snow,” said the miller, as he stood by the window, “you -should not have sent the boy out so late, my dear.” - -“A little snow never hurt anybody yet,” replied his wife, and she drew -her shawl closer round her shoulders and poked the fire. - -Meanwhile Jack Frost was making his way home from the town, but before -the mill came in sight it began to snow, and soon it was snowing so fast -that he could not see a yard ahead of him. Thicker and thicker fell the -flakes, blotting out hedge and stile and milestone. Jack Frost stumbled -on a little farther, but he was cold and tired, and soon his legs began -to give way under him. Then a great drowsiness overcame him, and he lay -down to rest. As he fell asleep, it seemed to him that he was pillowed -on a bed of down, and that a rich green canopy was spread above him, yet -when he awoke in the morning, warm and well and light at heart, he saw -that he had slept all night upon the snow, and that there was no canopy -overhead save the little stunted thorn-tree. - -Now when Jack Frost had grown to be a youth, a great calamity befell the -country. Not long before, the queen had given birth to a son, and -throughout the land there were great festivities to do honour to the -heir. But on Roodmas Eve, when the fairies are abroad, they stole away -the little prince, and put a changeling in his stead, so ugly and -malicious that he soon became the plague and terror of the whole court. -The king at once summoned all his wisest counsellors, and inquired of -them what should be done in such a case, and they all with one accord -assured him that there were but two remedies; either the fairy -changeling must be made to laugh, or to refer in some way to his real -age. Unfortunately, however, the new prince was far too cross-tempered -to laugh under any circumstances, though the court jester and all the -wits of the land did their utmost to amuse him; and though every device -was tried to make him say that he had many and many a time seen the -acorn turn to an oak and the oak to a cradle, the impish creature could -not be induced to say anything of the sort. Then the king issued a -proclamation, promising untold riches as a reward to anyone who should -restore his son, but it was all to no purpose. - -At last it came into the mind of the foundling at the mill to test the -good-will which the Little People had to him. “I will set out in search -of the king’s son,” said he, “who can tell but that I may persuade the -fairies to give him up, for surely the People of Peace have shown -themselves my friends?” - -“A likely thing indeed,” sneered the miller’s wife, “that you should -succeed where the wisest of the land have failed! I suppose it is the -king’s proclamation which has put this nonsense into your head, but what -would you do with all those riches, even if you had them, I should like -to know? A great stupid loutish fellow like you!” - -Jack Frost was not to be discouraged, however. He took a knapsack with -him for his travels, and bidding good-bye to all at the mill, he set -out. But first he thought he would like to go once more to the field -beyond the mill-race, and take a last look at his thorn-tree; and no -sooner had he stepped into the fairy ring, than he saw the fairies -dancing in a circle round him. - -“Whither away, Jack Frost?” asked they. - -“I go in search of the king’s son,” replied the foundling. - -“It is the fairy queen herself who has stolen him away,” said the elves, -“for he was very fair of face.” - -“Then I fear she will be loath to give him up,” sighed Jack Frost. - -At that one of the elves stepped forward, and said; “Listen to me, Jack -Frost. You have just one chance of success. Not so very long ago our -queen was choosing a christening gift for a poor charcoal-burner’s child -to whom she had promised to stand sponsor; all her choicest treasures -were spread out before her, when suddenly a magpie swooped down and -carried off a certain magic ring to its nest in a belfry. Now this ring -was one of the queen’s most priceless gifts, for it conferred on him who -should possess it the good-will of wind and weather, the friendship of -all the dumb creatures, and the power of making himself beloved wherever -he might love. The queen is much grieved at its loss, and since no fairy -may enter a belfry, none but a mortal can recover it. Now if you should -find this ring, it may be that in her gratitude the queen will consent -to grant your request, to take back the changeling and to restore the -king’s son.” - -“How shall I find the belfry?” asked Jack Frost. - -“Go by forest and road and sea, and you shall find it,” replied the elf, -“but first, Jack Frost, tell me what it is that you see in our -thorn-tree?” - -“I see a nest,” replied Jack Frost, “and in it are seven speckled eggs.” - -“Take three of them,” said the elf, “and you will find them useful. A -bird does not build in the fairies’ tree for nothing.” - -So Jack Frost took the three speckled eggs, thanked the Little People, -and went his way. He soon came to a dense forest in which he wandered -till nightfall without seeing any trace of a human dwelling. He was -therefore very glad when at last he caught sight of a ruddy glint among -the trees, and came upon a smithy in a clearing of the wood. Now this -smithy belonged to a very wicked hobgoblin, who forged upon his anvil -all the weapons that are wielded in unrighteous wars. Whoever fights in -a wrongful quarrel or in defence of a bad cause, may be quite sure that -his steel was forged at the hobgoblin’s smithy. But Jack Frost did not -know this, and felt very thankful at having come across any kind of -shelter, so approaching the smith he asked him for a night’s lodging. - -“You shall have supper and a bed,” replied the hobgoblin, and leading -Jack Frost into his house he gave him some broken victuals, and motioned -him to a bed of straw. The foundling fell to with a good appetite, and -then lay down upon the straw and fell fast asleep. In the morning he -thanked his host for his hospitality, and prepared to continue his -journey. - -“Wait a bit,” said the hobgoblin, “you have not yet paid me for your -supper, nor for your bed over-night.” - -“Alas,” replied Jack Frost, “I cannot pay you save in thanks, good sir, -for I have no money.” - -“I have no need of money,” replied the wicked sprite, “but you must pay -me in service. All who break my bread are bound to serve me for seven -years. Make haste therefore to sweep my room and cook my breakfast.” - -And so saying, he went out to his forge. As soon as Jack Frost was left -alone, he took out the three speckled eggs, and broke them one after -another, hoping to find inside either something which he might offer to -the hobgoblin in payment of his debt, or at least some means of escape. -But in this he was disappointed. The first egg contained a pod with -three seeds in it, the second a gossamer lasso, and the third a tiny -packet of eye-salve. - -“These things are of but little use to me at present,” reflected the -foundling sadly, and he submitted to his lot with as good a grace as -might be. Seven years long he served the hobgoblin, who made him a hard -master, but when the time had expired allowed him to go on his way -unmolested. - -Onwards through the forest went Jack Frost, sad at heart at the loss of -time and the thwarting of his quest, and after some days’ wanderings he -came upon a path which at last led him out of the wood and into open -country. Soon, however, he reached a place where four roads met, and -stood still in some perplexity. Then he bethought him of the pod with -the three seeds, and cast one seed upon each of the three roads before -him. Straightway three young trees shot up, all bearing leaves, while -the tree on the right bore blossoms and fruits as well. He therefore -took the right hand road, and walked along it for some considerable -distance, till at length it sloped down to the sea shore and came to an -end. Now upon the strand Jack Frost caught sight of a beautiful white -horse, with streaming mane, and riderless, pacing to and fro. - -“What is your name, fair steed?” asked he, “and who is your master?” - -“My name is the wind,” the beautiful white horse made answer, “and I -have no master.” - -Then Jack Frost bethought him of the gossamer lasso, and threw it -deftly, and caught the fleet-footed wind. - -“Carry me across the water,” said he, “for there is neither boat nor -bridge.” - -“Then mount upon my back,” returned the wind, “and lean your head -against my long mane, and shut your eyes, for should you look downwards -you would surely turn giddy.” - -So Jack Frost did as the wind bade him, and together they sped away -across the waste of rolling billows that rocked and foamed far below -them. Upon the opposite shore the wind set him down safely, and Jack -Frost put his arms about the neck of the beautiful, swift steed, and -kissed it between the eyes, but even as he did so the wild creature -started away from him, and fled back across the sea. - -Then Jack Frost turned and went on his way, glad at heart, for already -he had caught a glimpse of an old ivy-clad belfry among thick-standing -trees. Into the low-browed porch he went, and up the winding stair, till -he found the magpie’s nest, and in among the sticks and straw he saw the -gleam of the magic ring. - -“And now it but remains to find the fairy queen,” said Jack Frost to -himself, as he stood again in the open, “yet I know not where she holds -her court.” - -Then he bethought him of the tiny packet inside the third egg, and -rubbing some of the eye-salve upon his eyes, he at once became aware of -the fairy queen and her retinue, assembled in a grove close at hand. -Then Jack Frost went and knelt to the queen, and offering her the magic -ring, begged for the king’s son in exchange. - -“So, young sir, you would rob me of my bonny page?” said she, with one -fair hand held out for the ring, and the other resting upon the curls of -a beautiful seven-year-old boy at her side. But she smiled very -graciously as she spoke, for she was rejoiced at the recovery of the -ring. - -So the changeling returned whence he came, and the little prince was -restored to his parents. As for Jack Frost, the foundling, he sat him -down among the fairies in the grove, and having eaten and drunk in their -midst, was seen of his own kind no more. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - OF WHICH THE SCENE IS LAID IN A SICK-ROOM - - -No sooner had Philomène returned to the house than Nurse began scolding -her for having gone out into the wet. “As if you couldn’t have waited -till to-morrow to have a look at your garden,” she said impatiently, -“and the air as raw this afternoon as it might be November.” - -The next day Philomène was in bed with a bad chill, and was very far -from well for several weeks, but she made a good little patient, -swallowed her medicines without a grimace, and bravely hid her -disappointment when Nurse refused to let her have Master Mustardseed in -the room with her, on the ground that his loud singing would give her a -headache. - -“If I could only explain to her,” she thought sadly, “that he doesn’t -speak nearly as loud as he sings.” - -Philomène therefore had to do the best she could by herself. She crowned -herself queen of her bed-kingdom to begin with; the sheets and blankets -were her subjects, her Prime Minister was the quilt, and the pillows -made up her body-guard under the leadership of their captain the -bolster. The eider-down she raised to the rank of Prince Consort, -because he was arrayed in royal satin, and being wadded and yielding, -was not likely to stand in the way of any of his wife’s plans. - -She also had the big globe out of the schoolroom placed on the chair by -her bed, and proceeded to invent a geographical game worthy of a student -of “The World and All About It.” “Lady World is the mother,” she said to -herself, “and the continents are the governesses. I like Miss Europe -best, and trust her most, because I know the most about her. The -countries are head-nurses, and Mrs England is the headest of them all. -Provinces and counties are under-nurses, and the towns are the children. -Then I think mountains had better be coachmen and grooms and gardeners, -and people of that sort, and the rivers can be maids, because they keep -things clean, and gradually grow more important. The Isis only starts as -a scullery-maid, but by the time it has got to London it is an upper -house-maid, and is called the Thames. I think the Atlantic is to be the -big playground for the children, and the Indian Ocean is Lady World’s -drawing-room, because it has coral reefs and flying fish and phosphorus -and exciting things in it, like the curios in Godmother’s cabinets. The -little seas like the Caspian and the White Sea are rather dull, so they -can be used as store-rooms, and the five great lakes in North America -are turned into sick-rooms when any of the towns get ill. Let me see, -the Pacific had better be the kitchen, because there are so many islands -in it which will do as cooks. The Arctic ocean is the bathroom, so that -the children may get used to cold baths, and the Antarctic can be the -lumber-room, because nobody goes there much.” - -It was on a dark and foggy afternoon that Philomène lay in bed, watching -a goblin castle in among the coals, with twinkling battlements that -would presently fall ruining, till drowsiness overcame her, and she -closed her eyes. She had been wandering in the vasty entrance-hall of -the play-house of sleep, though the spectacle of dreams had not as yet -begun—(as she herself would have expressed it, the Dusty-Man in the -theatre-office was just going to give her the tickets, so that she might -go in and see the show), when a strange yet strangely familiar voice -purred into her ear; “Wake up, Philomène, wake up, beloved of the Little -People.” - -Philomène started up, and looked straight into the green, affectionate -eyes of Queen Mab. “Oh, Queen Mab, you dear thing,” she stammered, -“Sweet William told me about you, and I am only a very, very tiny bit -afraid of you.” - -“There is no reason even for that tiny bit,” replied the white cat, -putting one of her paws into Philomène’s hand, “have I ever thought of -scratching or biting you, even when you put me to bed in a doll’s -cradle, and tried to make my ears fit into a doll’s nightcap? Do you -suppose I have forgotten how on that Christmas Eve when I first came to -you, you as a little, little girl clung to Nurse, and told her how very -little trouble I should be, because I would eat up the scraps and take -in my own washing? No, Philomène, white witches are not ungrateful; I -would not harm a hair of your dear little head.” - -Philomène lay back among the pillows. “Will you teach me how to work -spells?” she asked, “so that I can spirit away the little yellow book -all about quarts and bushels and perches which Miss Mills loves, and the -green dress that I can’t bear because it hooks all up the back, and has -such a vulgar broad stripe in it?” - -“I wouldn’t advise you to meddle with spells, my dear,” returned Queen -Mab, curling her tail right round her till it met her chin, “they are -rather tricky things, and apt to go off at the wrong time, like -chemicals. But if you like I will tell you a story which I think will -make clear to you, better than anything else, the difference between -black and white witches. Is the very, very tiny bit still there?” - -“No,” said Philomène, “you are my own dear Pussy, and I am sure you love -me, and I am very glad that I can have you to talk to me in the -winter-time when I sit nursing you by the fire. And now please begin the -story.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - IN WHICH QUEEN MAB TELLS HER STORY - - -On a bleak and rocky coast there once stood a little fishing town, and -on the high cliffs above it, looking seaward towards the sunrise, rose -the stately pile of an old Abbey church, which was the pride of the -place, for the folk in the little red-roofed town were poor and -struggling, and had not much in their midst that was beautiful. - -Legend said that long ago a certain wicked king had set his heart upon -the Abbey treasures, and that at his command a ship had left the harbour -laden with the choicest of them, but a great storm had arisen, so that -the ship foundered, and the treasure went all to the bottom. Some said -it might still be recovered if men would but dive for it outside the -harbour bar, others declared that at night you could hear the buried -Abbey bells chiming out at sea, others again did not believe in the -story at all, and had never heard any bell ringing below water save the -bell of the buoy. - -Now just beyond the harbour bar there was a great rock, and this was -said by some to be the haunt of a very evil black witch, but the people -who said this were the same people that had heard the Abbey bells by -night, and so got laughed at for their pains. - -On the outskirts of the fishing town lived a poor man with one daughter, -named Yolande, who was so beautiful and gracious that the richest farmer -in all that countryside had asked her hand in marriage, but being very -avaricious, he would not take her, fair as she was, without a dowry. -Yolande herself had no wish to marry the old man, for all his fat cattle -and his comfortable farmstead, for she loved his goatherd, a youth as -poor as herself. - -Now it so happened that on midsummer eve Yolande’s father went fishing, -and as he passed the witch’s rock, that towered above him like a great -black house, he thought he heard the sound of muttering, but he rowed on -quickly, and paid no heed. He caught no fish that day, and cursed his -bad fortune as he hauled in his empty nets. - -“If only Yolande might marry a rich man,” he said to himself, “I should -have no more need to work for my living,” and he made his way home with -a heavy heart. The night was hot and still, and the lights of the town -winked at him from the shore like gleaming, sleepless eyes. He had to -pass below the rock outside the harbour, and as his boat entered its -shadow, he again heard mutterings up above him, only this time he caught -the words: “Amen. Malo a nos libera sed, tentationem in inducas nos ne.” -At this the fisherman grew very much afraid, for he knew that this could -be no other than the black witch, who was saying the Pater Noster -backwards, as all black witches do. - -“Stop a while, friend,” cried a hoarse voice from the rock, “I know your -trouble, I know all about your daughter and the rich farmer who has -asked her in marriage. What should you say to the old Abbey treasure as -a dower for your girl?” - -The black witch sprang from the rock, dived, and came up again, and -before the fisherman could so much as cross himself or utter a cry, she -was sitting opposite to him in the boat, her hands and the lap of her -dress full of the Church’s treasure. - -“Ha! ha!” she laughed, “you are wondering, friend, how it is that I can -handle these holy things? Have you forgotten that it is midsummer eve, -when evil spirits are abroad, and the devil has it all his own way? See, -would not these be a fitting dower for a princess?” And she held up to -him golden cross and golden crozier, rosaries of amber and pearl and -coral, censers studded thick with gems; one precious thing after another -she flashed before his eyes, fondling them with her wicked webbed hands, -as though the shining vessels had never held the oil and wine of the -altar. - -“What answer do you give me?” cried the witch, tossing them back into -the sea, “shall your daughter wed or no? Speak man, and do not stare at -me with eyes like a dead fish! I tell you the treasure shall work her no -harm; I have not strung unanswered prayers on the rosaries, I cannot -curse what was once blessed, I have but made you an offer fair and -square, and the bargain is between you and me.” - -“Give me time, give me time,” cried the fisherman, sorely tempted, yet -afraid to yield; “give me time, and let me pass.” - -The witch leapt laughing from the boat, and sat looking at him from the -summit of her crag. “You shall have nine months,” she called out to him. - -“Ten, give me ten,” pleaded the fisherman, for he knew that he had no -right to the treasure, and that his soul was at stake in this bargain. - -“Ten, then,” replied the witch with a loud laugh, “but I promise you -they shall slip through your grasp as quickly as the ten pearls that lie -side by side on a rosary.” - -On the morning of the day when the fisherman had to make his decision, -it happened that Yolande rose very early and went into the woods to -gather cowslips. Her father had lain awake all night, turning the whole -matter over and over in his mind as he had done for months past. The -winter gales had injured his boat, he was poorer than ever, and the -farmer was growing impatient. Yolande was the fairest girl in the -countryside, said he, but even she was not worth waiting for more than a -year. - -Yolande herself had slept serenely, and as she went with her basket -deeper and deeper into the woods, she was glad with the gladness of the -April morning, for her thoughts were with the poor goatherd, and she -sang of love. In the heart of the forest lay a wide clearing called the -golden meadow, for every spring it was golden with cowslips, which grew -here in greater sweetness and profusion than in any other field. Yolande -picked and picked till her basket was full, and then sat down to refresh -herself with the bread and cheese and the flask of milk she had brought -with her. - -She had no sooner begun eating than a little field mouse popped up out -of its hole, and watched her with bright fearless eyes. “You dear little -tame thing,” said she, “you shall have some of my bread, because you are -so venturesome for your size.” The mouse took a few crumbs of the bread -which she scattered for it, and disappeared down its hole. - -Not long after, a robin hopped up to where she was sitting, and preened -its red breast with its beak. “You shall have your share too,” said -Yolande, “because you were moved with pity on Good Friday, and tried to -pluck away the nails, so that your little breast is now all stained with -red.” And since she had no more bread left, she threw a morsel of cheese -towards it. The robin pecked at the cheese, and then flew away, carrying -the rest in its beak. - -Then Yolande poured out some milk into a pewter mug, and was about to -drink, when she noticed a white adder coiled at her feet. She gave a -stifled cry and drew back, but the creature did not stir. - -“Poor thing,” said Yolande, “I wonder is it thirsty? I will give it some -of my milk, because it is so ugly, and people hate it, and never have a -good word for it.” The white adder drank the milk, and then coiled -itself round Yolande’s arm. At first she was afraid to move, but knowing -that she must not be late for the market where she hoped to sell her -cowslips, she at last got up and went back into the wood. She had not -gone far before she passed a spreading sycamore, beneath which stood a -small shrine. Here she placed some of her cowslips, and sprinkled -herself with water out of the holy water stoup. A few drops lighted upon -the adder, and in an instant it uncoiled itself, slipped to the ground, -and turned into a white witch. - -“Do not be frightened, Yolande,” said she in a gentle voice, “I am a -white witch, and practise only white magic, which is helpful and not -hurtful to men. Listen to me; the black witch who dwells on the great -rock beyond the harbour tempted your father last midsummer eve to accept -at her hands the buried Abbey treasure, so that you might have a rich -dowry, and marry the farmer who has asked you to be his wife. To-day -your father has to make his decision. But I will give you a better -dowry, since you have given me food and drink, and are a good girl, -Yolande, worthy of my help. Come back with me a few steps into the wood. -Tell me, why do you suppose that this clearing is called the golden -meadow?” - -“Is it not because of the yellow carpeting of cowslips?” asked the girl. - -“No,” replied the witch, “there is another and an older reason.” She -made a movement in the air with her hand, and immediately the ground of -the meadow became transparent, so that Yolande looked through it as -through glass, and saw below it a mighty treasure rich in all manner of -jewels and trinkets, gold and silver, jade, ivory and crystal. - -“This is the dwarf’s treasure,” continued the white witch, again making -the magic sign so that cowslips covered the ground as before, “but -generations ago, when man first came to live upon this coast, and built -the Abbey and the town, the dwarfs fled further inland towards the -mountains, to escape from human dwellings. And since they had more -treasure than they could carry with them, they buried this great hoard -here. I will give it to you as your dowry, so that your father may do no -hurt to his soul.” - -Yolande fell at the witch’s feet to thank her, but when she had spoken -her thanks, she confessed with a blush that it was not the rich farmer -whom she loved, but his poor goatherd. - -“I know that,” said the white witch smiling, “but this treasure of the -dwarfs is more than the old farmer’s riches multiplied a thousandfold, -so that your father will not stand in the way of your marriage with the -man you love. But you must make haste. Go to your father, and tell him -all that I have told you. Then when the black witch comes to market to -hear his answer, he will be able to say that he will have nothing to do -with her and her treasure.” - -“How shall I know her?” asked Yolande. - -“She will come to market,” said the witch, “riding on a donkey that has -no cross upon its back. Moreover, when she reaches the brook that flows -hard by the market-place, she will turn and go round by another way, -since it is not lawful for an evil spirit to cross running water. Take -these two straws, and when you and your father return home together, lay -them on the ground behind you, across and across—so—and then she will -not be able to bewitch you. If you should need my help again, call your -name to the sevenfold echo on the beach, and I shall hear it and come to -you.” - -All fell out as the white witch had said, and great was the joy of the -fisherman on hearing that a rich dowry was to fall to his daughter -without his having to call the black witch to his help. He was glad of -the two straws, however, for when she rode up to him and heard his -answer, she was so angry that he quailed before her; but Yolande had -seen and spoken with her lover, and both were so happy at the thought of -their approaching marriage that they felt no fear. - -But the black witch lost no time in setting about her revenge. She came -to the goatherd in the guise of a peddling gipsy, and offered him for -sale the picture of a beautiful maiden. Now over this picture the black -witch had pronounced a charm, so that the goatherd could see nothing in -it aright, but fancying it as fair as it seemed, fell so deeply in love -with the beautiful face that he straightway ceased to love Yolande. The -days went by; the goatherd did not keep his trysts with his betrothed, -and when he met her he was cold and careless. Yolande wondered and wept, -but could not solve the mystery. - -At last she bethought her of the kindly white witch, so one day she went -alone to the beach, and raising her voice, she called out “Yolande! -Yolande!” in the hope that the white witch would befriend her a second -time. The echo from the rocks caught up her cry and passed it on, one -echo echoing another, till it reached the ears of the white witch, who -came flying towards the coast in the form of a gull. High above the old -Abbey she soared, on strong white wings, and flew to Yolande’s side. - -“Tell me your trouble, child,” said she, assuming her own shape. So -Yolande told her all that had happened. - -“It is black art,” said the white witch, “your enemy has bewitched your -lover. She has shown him the picture of a maiden whom he now loves -instead of you. Look, Yolande, here is a mirror; what do you see in it?” - -“I see the reflection of a maiden’s face,” replied Yolande, “and she is -very fair, fairer than I.” - -The white witch then turned the other side of the mirror towards her. -“Look again, Yolande,” said she, “what is it now that you see?” - -“A hideous, terrible wolf’s face!” cried Yolande, shrinking back, “old -and grey, with grinning teeth, and a mouth red and gaping, and hungry -eyes.” - -“It is the face of a were-wolf,” replied the white witch, “and we must -force the black witch to remove her spell from your lover.” She stood -and considered for a moment. “Wait for me here,” she said at last, and -took flight in the shape of a gull. As twilight fell she returned. “I -have found out,” said she, “that the black witch is brewing a charm for -which she requires many herbs, and none so much as myrrh. She will -therefore go to church this evening, in the hope of snatching a little -myrrh out of the censer as it swings. If only pure prayers mount with -the incense, she will be foiled in her attempt; but if a single vengeful -or presumptuous prayer is offered, the myrrh will be within her power to -take. You must slip into the Abbey after vespers have begun, and kneel -by the north door, taking with you some dragonwort. Now evil spirits can -only leave, just as they can only enter a church, on the north side, -which is the devil’s side, and as soon as the church is empty the black -witch will hurry to the north door and try to get out. But you must -stand within a circle of dragonwort, which will protect you from her, -and not allow her to pass till she has promised to remove her wicked -spells from your lover, and to molest you and yours no longer. She will -be the more ready to promise anything you may ask, as to-night is -Walpurgis Night, and she will be in haste to join her sister witches on -the summit of the Brocken.” - -The lights were low in the Abbey church when Yolande came to kneel by -the north door. The censer swung to and fro, and the prayers of the -faithful rose heavenward with the incense. There were many holy prayers, -but one evil prayer rose with the rest. Straightway a magpie swooped -down from the rood-screen, and, snatching a grain of myrrh as the -acolyte swung the censer to right and to left, flew back to its perch. -When the service was over and the church empty, the magpie fluttered to -the north door, and with a hoarse cry turned into the black witch, who -stamped and raved, coaxed and cursed, but Yolande stood firm within her -sheltering circle of dragonwort, till the witch at last, afraid lest she -should miss the tryst on the Brocken, angrily promised to molest the -young couple no more. Then Yolande stood aside, and the black witch -hurried out of the church. - -So Yolande and the goatherd were married, and at their wedding a -snow-white gull hovered about the porch of the Abbey, waiting till the -bridal procession should pass out, and when it came, the bird flew on -before it to Yolande’s new home, and perched upon the roof in token of -welcome. And that same night she fancied she heard the ringing of -joy-bells, far out at sea. - -“Do you know, Queen Mab,” said Philomène, “though I was a little bit -afraid when I first heard about you, having thought of you all these -years as just a pussy, I was really more frightened when I heard about -the White Létiche. Sweet William told me that she would appear on All -Souls’ Eve, if I liked, but after that I don’t quite know what to do. -Will she speak to me?” - -“No, certainly not,” replied Queen Mab, “a spirit never speaks first. -You must begin.” - -[Illustration: - - “THE FAIRIES HAD ALREADY BEGUN TO ASSEMBLE.” - _Page 198_ - _The Fairy Latchkey._ -] - -“I suppose Sweet William will be keeping Samhain that evening,” said -Philomène, and her eyes grew wide with longing. “Oh, I do so wish I -could go with him, and yet I don’t want to miss the White Létiche.” - -“Well, be a good child then,” said Queen Mab, “and go to sleep, and I -will see what I can do for you in the way of a dream, so that you may -know how All Fairies is kept. White magic is not much talked about, but -it has its uses.” - -So Philomène slept, and in her dream she saw a wide, waste bog land, -studded with numberless little pools, each a round, bright mirror framed -in rushes, large enough to bathe the reflection of just one star, so -that the bog was called the Bog of Stars. The fairies had already begun -to assemble; elves and goblins, leprechauns, kobolds and dwarfs. There -were so many little men dressed in green, and so many elves in cocoon -silk, that from a distance Philomène failed to distinguish the twin -sisters or Sweet William, but she recognised Master Mustardseed in his -bright yellow coat, with a moss green cap upon his curls, for he, with -Moth and Cobweb and Peasblossom, surrounded the fairy queen. - -“How glad I am,” thought Philomène, “that they have allowed him to go -back to Fairyland just for to-night. I am sure he would have hated to -spend Samhain all by himself in his cage.” - -In her dream he nodded to her, and she nodded back and smiled. At first -the fairies danced, and mystic, fantastic dances they were; Philomène -tried to follow their mazes till her eyes ached, so rapidly, so airily, -did the groups dissolve and re-unite and dissolve again. And all the -while sweet joy-peals chimed from unseen foxglove bells. But when the -moon was near its setting, a herald blew upon a trumpet-daffodil, and -after that there was silence, and Puck was bidden by the queen to read -out the roll of the names of those who still kept their faith in the -fairies. - -“The number lessens,” said Oberon, “but there is still a goodly company -left, and we have many secret believers.” - -Then Puck began to read; name after name, name after name. Philomène was -already growing confused and wearied when her own name rang out, clear -and unexpected, “Philomène Isolde.” - -She sat up in bed, dazed and wondering, but no one had called her. The -firelight was playing upon Joan of Arc’s picture, and the red glare -brightened and broadened among the branches of the oak-tree. Queen Mab -lay curled up at the foot of the bed, but she seemed to be fast asleep, -so Philomène turned on her side and fell fast asleep also, and this time -her sleep was deep and sound, and uncoloured by dreams. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - IN WHICH THE HEROINE MAKES FRIENDS WITH A SPIRIT - - -“Nursie, do you believe in ghosts?” This question was put by Philomène -as she sat at her dressing-table on the evening of the last of October, -while Nurse brushed out her hair. She was almost well again now, though -not quite. - -“There are ghosts and ghosts, you know, Miss,” replied Nurse decidedly. -“I don’t hold with modern ghosts myself, your pencils and tumblers and -noises made by tables. But in the house where I first went into service -there was a most undoubted ghost. He was of the good old-fashioned sort, -and pulled your bedclothes right off you. There was no mistaking him.” - -When Nurse had left her, Philomène stood for a moment irresolute in the -middle of the room. “I will say some prayers first of all,” she -reflected, “and then——” - -[Illustration: - - “BY HER BEDSIDE THERE STOOD A SMALL FIGURE.” - _Page 202._ - _The Fairy Latchkey._ -] - -The prayers did not take long. From the tower of a church near by came a -rushing sound of bells, and Philomène went and knelt on the chair by the -window. It was a wild night, and she was afraid to push up the sash lest -she should catch cold, in spite of her warm red dressing-gown and -slippers, but she pressed her face close to the glass, and listened with -strained attention. Fitfully upon the gusts of wind the fragmentary -music reached her, rising and falling with the gale. The beautiful -mellow-throated chimes seemed to be sending some message through the -storm, to be ringing out some good news across the mighty, toilworn, -unheeding city that lay beneath them. At one time Philomène fancied that -she could almost make out the words: “O ye spirits and souls of the -righteous, bless ye the Lord, praise him and magnify him for ever!” - -“I think if the White Létiche came now,” she thought, “I should not -mind.” - -Timidly she looked behind her. By her bedside there stood a small -figure, bright-haired and all in white; it was leaning against the -bed-post, and the little, transparent hand rested upon the burnished -brass knob at the top. Philomène got down from the chair and approached -it softly. The White Létiche turned, and looked at her with eyes as blue -as a midsummer sea; they were not merry eyes, but there were happy -lights in them, as when the sea mirrors blue heaven. - -“I hope you noticed that I sang, ‘I’m sitting on the stile, Mary,’ while -I undressed,” said Philomène, rather shyly, remembering that Queen Mab -had told her to set the conversation going. “I once read somewhere that -it was the kind thing to do on All Souls’ Eve, to sing or whistle, so -that the souls who are hurrying to keep their feast need not brush up -against one on their way, which is supposed to hurt them. I didn’t ask -Nurse to do it too, because she can’t sing, only in church.” - -“It was good of you to think of it,” said the White Létiche smiling, -“though indeed many is the time you have brushed past me in this room -without its hurting me.” - -Philomène was now sitting on the bed, feeling quite at her ease with her -strange little companion. “And do the unchristened children really live -among the water-babies?” she asked curiously. “Is it nice where you come -from?” - -“I can’t tell you about where I come from,” said the White Létiche, “it -is against rules. But I could tell you other things, things which I did -not know when I slept in this room.” - -“What sort of things?” asked Philomène; “stories?” - -“Why, yes, some of them are stories,” said the White Létiche. “I wonder -now would you care to hear the story of the very strangest christening -that ever befell?” - -“What made it so strange?” asked Philomène, eagerly; “and what was the -baby’s name?” - -“Wait a bit,” said the White Létiche. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - IN WHICH THE WHITE LÉTICHE TELLS HER STORY - - -Upon the outskirts of a village there once lived a weaver, who was very -skilful at his loom, and wove many fine and beautiful stuffs, while in a -wretched cabin out in the fields beyond the village dwelt a certain poor -widow woman, who had to earn her livelihood by spinning. It was from her -that the weaver bought his flax, but indeed he often went to the cabin -when there was still a plentiful store of flax at home, in the hope of -seeing the widow’s only daughter. - -Now the maiden was not the widow’s own child, for the poor woman as she -came home one evening through the fields had found a little baby lying -among the stubble, and having no children of her own, she had brought it -home with her and adopted it. And because she had found it under the -Michaelmas moon, she had it christened Micheline. - -Micheline was very beautiful, and in the spring time when the weaver -would walk by her side, and watch her break a sprig of blackthorn from -the hedge to place it in her hair or in the folds of her ragged green -dress, it seemed to him that all the world could not hold another maid -so fair as she. But she was indifferent to his suit, and this made him -very sad. Also there was a mystery about her which he could not solve, -for often she would disappear from home altogether, sometimes for a few -days only, sometimes for months at a time, and when he questioned her -fostermother she only made excuses and gave evasive answers. - -One day the weaver went into the neighbouring city to offer some of his -stuffs for sale at court, and it happened that just as he entered the -gateway of the palace, a gallant prince came riding forth, with a plume -in his hat and a sword by his side, mounted upon a splendidly accoutred -horse. - -“It must be a fine thing to be a prince,” thought the weaver. - -Good luck befriended him, for the queen and her daughter bought all his -beautiful woven stuffs, and he left the palace with his pockets full of -gold. On his way home he again saw the prince, who was watering his -horse at a roadside trough. - -“Are you not the poor weaver who trudged past me under the palace -gateway but an hour ago?” asked the prince. - -“I was poor enough then,” replied the weaver, “but I am rich now, for -the queen and the princess her daughter were graciously pleased to buy -my whole store of stuffs.” - -“Then you had better fortune than I,” returned the prince, “for I have -been courting the princess this year and more, but she will have none of -me. She is so cold and listless that she cares for no man’s addresses.” - -“Alas, we are then brothers in misfortune,” quoth the weaver, “for I too -love a maid who does not love me in return.” And with that they parted, -and the weaver went home, only to find that Micheline had once more -disappeared, he knew not whither. But the prince mounted his good steed -and rode forth into the world, to seek adventures and forget his sorrow. - -He soon came to a dense wood, and when night fell, seeing a great castle -before him, he knocked at the gates and asked for shelter. Now in this -castle lived a mighty magician, who received the prince with all -hospitality, and bade him sit down with him to supper. But as the prince -sat at table, he often turned his head and listened intently, for it -seemed to him that ever and anon he caught a sound like the ticking of -innumerable clocks. - -“What may that be?” he asked at length. - -“It is the beating of many hearts,” replied the magician, “for I have -the hearts of all men in my keeping.” - -“Is the cold, proud heart of my dear princess amongst them?” asked the -prince. - -“Most certainly,” said the magician, “and if you would know what is her -heart’s desire, you need only go and see wherein her heart lies.” - -“I go upon the instant!” cried the prince, starting to his feet. Then he -entered a great hall adjoining, and there he found the hearts of all -men, each beating in its own chosen place. Some lay within coffers of -gold, some upon altars, others between the leaves of a book, others -again were half smothered beneath a pile of fripperies and tinsel. But -the heart of his princess lay within a certain gold crown of strange -workmanship. - -As soon as he had caught sight of it, the prince drew his sword with its -jewelled cross-hilt, and waving it above his head, he cried: “Though I -should first have to conquer all the kingdoms of the world, I will win -that crown for my lady, no matter whose it be. And then perhaps her -heart will turn to me, and she will love me.” - -The next day he set forth upon his quest, but as he rode out of the -castle gates, he remembered the weaver who was a lover like himself, and -meeting a doe in the forest, he said to her: “Run swiftly, pretty doe, -and carry a message to my brother the weaver. Tell him of this castle, -that he too may come, and learn what it is on which his lady has set her -heart.” - -So the fleet-footed doe ran till she reached a brook, where she stooped -to drink. “O brook,” said she, “hidden in a thicket I have a baby fawn, -and I dare not leave it long alone. Bear you the prince’s message to the -weaver.” - -So the brook took the message, and flowed on through the forest till it -became choked with sedges. “O dragonfly,” it said in a stifled voice to -a dragonfly that hovered among the flags, “bear you the prince’s message -to the weaver.” - -Then the dragonfly flew to the weaver’s house, and gave him the prince’s -message, and that same day the weaver set out. But when he had reached -the castle, and had sought for the heart of Micheline among the rest, he -could not find it. - -“Since that is so, it means that she is not a mortal,” said the -magician, “you must go seek for her in Fairyland.” - -“I pray you tell me the way,” said the weaver. - -“That I cannot do,” the magician made answer, “each must find the way to -Fairyland for himself.” - -Then the weaver set forth upon his travels, and sought Micheline at -every fairy ring and haunted pool, by cairn and by waterfall, but -nowhere could he find her. At last one day as he went along the road -feeling much disheartened, he thought he recognised the rich trappings -of a horse that was cropping the grass by the roadside, and the next -moment he caught sight of the prince standing near by. - -“Fortune has again brought us together, friend,” said the prince, -“therefore let us continue our journey in each other’s company.” - -And as they went along they told one another all their adventures. The -prince too had been in many lands, but his quest had led him into courts -and palaces, where he had been sumptuously feasted; kings and queens had -put on their crowns in his honour, but that one crown of strange -workmanship he had nowhere found. Presently the two travellers reached -the entrance of a narrow, gloomy gorge. - -“Let us press on,” counselled the prince, “it may be that on the other -side we shall find some shelter for the night, for already it grows -dusk.” - -But no sooner had they entered the gorge, with steep hillsides to either -hand, than the prince’s steed took fright, and reared and threw his -rider, and galloped madly back by the way they had come. - -“What can have startled the horse?” cried the prince, as he sprang up -unhurt. - -“Hush,” said the weaver, “listen.” Then, as they stood and listened, a -sound of laughter and revelry reached them from within the hillside to -their right. - -“We have found the way into Fairyland,” cried the weaver, “and I must go -and seek Micheline among her own people.” - -“Be wary, friend,” cautioned the prince, “for if I am not mistaken the -hill fairies have a bad reputation, and have worked harm to wayfarers -before now.” - -But the weaver would not be dissuaded. “How shall we enter, prince?” he -cried, on fire with impatience. - -Then the prince drew his sword, and smote the hillside, so that it cleft -asunder by reason of the cross-shaped hilt, and together they entered a -hall dim and vasty, where the hill fairies were holding their revels. -The elfin king the while sat moodily watching the dance, but upon the -entry of the strangers he descended the steps of his throne and came -forward to greet them. The weaver then saw that his eyes were -treacherous and cruel, but the prince saw only that upon his head he -wore the crown that was the desire of his lady’s heart. The king placed -them on either side of his throne, and made them welcome. - -“Tell me, I beg of you,” said the weaver, impatient of delay, “is there -at your court a maid of the name of Micheline?” - -“The maid is indeed at my court,” replied the king, “though among us she -goes by another name.” - -“How came I then to meet her among mortals?” asked the weaver. - -Then the king made answer: “The widow who is now her fostermother found -her among the stubble under the harvest moon, and the next night she -heard a tapping at her window, and went, and saw a fairy nurse standing -by the sill. ‘Give me back my child,’ said the fairy nurse, ‘the child -whom I laid to sleep among the stubble.’ ‘That will I not,’ quoth the -widow woman, ‘for she is mine now, and I have had her christened like -one of ourselves.’ ‘I love her too well to take her against her will,’ -answered the fairy nurse, ‘in years to come she shall choose between -us.’ ‘I love her too well to keep her against her will,’ said the widow -woman, ‘so it shall be as you say.’ Thus it happens that the maid is -sometimes with us, and sometimes with her fostermother.” - -Then the weaver turned and saw a troop of fairies coming towards him, -and Micheline was of the number, fair as ever in her dress of green, -with a blackthorn wreath in her hair. Forthwith he sprang to meet her -and caught her in his arms, and at once was whirled away into the midst -of the dance. But all this time the prince sat silent and thoughtful, -pondering by what means he might obtain possession of the elfin crown. - -Louder and louder grew the bursts of song, madder and madder reeled the -dance. The weaver’s senses swam, his feet seemed to become leaden, and -the sweat stood out upon his forehead. The fairies pressed hard upon -him, and strange evil faces peered into his, like the faces of ape and -wild cat, bear, and bat and viper. Now as the rout swayed backwards and -forwards before the steps of the throne, the prince awoke from his -musing, and caught sight of the weaver, who with blanched face and -dishevelled hair was stretching out his hands in a prayer for help. Then -the prince started to his feet, and with a cry drew his sword from its -sheath. The fairies fell back before the cross-shaped hilt, and the -elfin king himself quailed upon his throne. Micheline alone stood her -ground. - -“Little care I for your holy sign,” quoth she, “have I not been -christened even as you?” So saying she stepped forward, and touching the -prince and the weaver upon brow and breast, she turned them both into -nightingales. - -“So shall you remain,” said she, “until I die.” And with that she burst -out laughing, knowing that fairies are immortal. Then the nightingales -took wing and flew away out of the cleft in the hillside by which they -had entered. - -“It seems we are still to be brothers in misfortune,” said the prince, -“let us therefore remain together, good friend.” - -“With all my heart, prince,” replied the weaver. “Whither shall we go?” - -“Let us go to the palace garden,” said the prince, “so that I may sing -my sweetest beneath my lady’s window.” - -So day after day they flew over mountain and valley, till they reached -the city where the princess lived, and that same night as she leant -forth from her casement, she heard two nightingales singing, more -sweetly and more sorrowfully than any hitherto. The weaver sang of his -lost love, and the prince made known to her all the toil and peril he -had suffered for her sake. - -“Ah me, poor prince, would that I might disenchant you!” said she. - -“Your love would disenchant me!” cried the prince. - -“Not so,” the princess made answer, “remember the fairy’s curse. Alas, -it was just on such a night as this that I stood at my window and -watched the fairies making merry on the greensward. Then it was that the -desire took hold of me to become queen of their revels, so that I too -might wear the blackthorn and the fatal green, and till that desire is -laid to rest there is no room in my thoughts for love. I know no peace -of mind through the longing that I have for the elfin crown, and it may -be that I also am enchanted, even as you.” So saying she wept bitterly, -and the nightingales hushed their singing for very sorrow. - -Now the next night the princess could not sleep for thought of the -crown, so she went down into the dewy, dusky garden, and wandered in and -out among the flowers. She was all in white, with a jewelled dagger in -her hair, and as the prince watched her, his heart nearly broke for love -of her beauty. - -All at once the trumpets of the honeysuckle blew a blast, and over the -greensward the fairies came trooping, with the elfin king and his train -in their midst. For a while the princess stood apart, sadly and silently -watching the revelry, but at last she stepped forward with clasped hands -and beseeching eyes, and, as it chanced, it was to Micheline that she -spoke: “I pray you, sweet fay, teach me to dance as beautifully as -yourself.” - -“And if I do,” said Micheline, “will you give me in exchange the -precious thing that sparkles so royally in your hair?” - -“That will I gladly,” quoth the princess, and she drew forth the -jewelled dagger, and gave it to the fairy. “Only see that you handle it -carefully,” said she, “for it carries death at its point, for all it is -so bright and beautiful.” - -“Death!” laughed Micheline, “we fairies have no fear of death. See, it -will do me no hurt!” And so saying she stabbed herself in reckless -frolic. But as she did so she grew white to the lips, and sank upon her -knees. - -“Ah, the waters of my baptism!” she cried out, “they have stolen my -immortality from me!” And she fell lifeless to the ground. - -At that the spell was broken, and the prince and the weaver resumed -their proper shapes. Then once more the prince’s sword flashed from out -its sheath. - -“I have nothing to fear from the rest of you!” he cried, “therefore now, -O fairy king, yield up your crown, for my lady will know no rest till it -is hers!” - -Then the king stepped forward, smiling strangely, and set his crown upon -the brow of the princess. But even as he did so it turned all to -withered leaves, which lightly kissed her waving hair and then fluttered -to the ground. - -“See, my beloved,” said the prince, “this fairy gold is not for us. At -the touch of a mortal it decays, therefore cease from your desire.” - -“It was but an idle dream,” said she, “love is the better diadem.” - -Then they turned and looked again upon the greensward, but the king and -his court were gone, and from far away, borne to them fitfully upon the -nightwind, there came a sound which none had ever heard before, of -fairies keening their dead. - -Now that same night, when the fields lay grey in the moonlight, and the -shadows were long between the haycocks, the widow woman sat in her -lonely cabin, and it seemed to her that she heard a tapping at the -window. So she went and looked, and there stood the fairy nurse beside -the sill. - -“Micheline is dead,” said she, “and will return no more, neither to you -nor to me. Go back to your spinning and forget her.” So saying she moved -away, and passed in and out among the haycocks till she was lost to -sight. - -But the prince and princess were married, and in the course of time they -became king and queen and reigned long and prosperously. As for the -weaver, he was made court weaver, and remained the prince’s friend all -his days. - -Philomène drew a deep breath. “Well, I am sure I like you ever so much -better than Micheline,” said she, “though Micheline was christened and -you weren’t. Oh, I wonder will you be able to tell me another story next -All Souls’ Eve, you dear little White Létiche?” - -“I wonder,” replied the White Létiche, thoughtfully. - -“And I shall not see you till then?” - -“No, we do not show ourselves. And now good-night.” - -Then the White Létiche kissed her frail little hand to Philomène. “Shut -your eyes,” she said softly, “you did not see me come, and you must not -see me go.” And when Philomène again opened her eyes she was alone in -the room. - -The gale rattled at the window, and the curtains waved in the gust; the -night was stormy, and the bells were silent. Philomène hurriedly took -off her dressing-gown and slippers, and crept into bed. - -“After all,” she thought as she dropped asleep, “I don’t think it can -matter such a lot about being christened; the holy Innocents couldn’t -possibly have been christened, not a single one of them, and yet I know -they have got a collect all to themselves.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - WHICH HERALDS A CHANGE - - -“Daddy is calling me, Nurse. Do remember to take the price off the -herald angels, and the cornflower calendar with the ten commandments on -it will go for a halfpenny. I thought the commandments might make it -over-weight, but they don’t. Coming, Daddy!” It was the afternoon of -Christmas Eve; Philomène was busy with all sorts of cards and parcels, -and later on she was to go to her godmother’s for tea and presents and a -Christmas tree. - -Her father was waiting for her in the study. He took her on his knee, -and stroked her hair for a little while before speaking. Then he said -tenderly; “I have not been a very good Daddy to you these last few -months, little maid, and I am sorry, and I want to explain.” - -Philomène opened her eyes wide. “You know, little Miss Muffet,” -continued her father gently, “if one cares very, very much, ever so -much, for someone, and doesn’t know if that someone cares back, it makes -one very unhappy.” - -“But why don’t you ask and find out, right away?” said Philomène. - -“I have asked, and I have found out, but it took me a long time to make -up my mind, and meanwhile I was so much worried that I’m afraid I was -often cross to my little girl. Has she forgiven me, I wonder?” - -Philomène hid her face. “Oh, Daddy,” she whispered, “don’t talk so; it -doesn’t sound quite proper, somehow, for you to put it that way round.” - -The doctor laughed. “My dear,” he said, “if it sometimes occurred to -parents that their children might possibly have something to forgive in -them, they would have a good deal less to forgive in their children.” - -He gave her a fond kiss, and she flung her arms round him, declaring -that he was the best Daddy in the world, and got down from his knee. Not -long afterwards he was standing in Isolde’s boudoir, holding both her -hands in his. - -“I have loved you,” she was saying slowly, “ever since I first met you.” - -“And did Rachel know?” - -“No, it was the only secret I had from her.” - -“I waited,” said the doctor, “I waited, dear, because I was a coward. -Two things held me back. Your riches, for I found it hard to take so -much from any woman, and my fear lest you should think that it was only -for the child’s sake, just because I could not bear to see her -motherless any longer.” - -She looked at him wistfully, knowing that what he had given to his first -wife he could not give again, but she knew also that his love for her -was deep and true. She smiled at him, and was about to answer when -Philomène’s voice was heard outside. - -“You had better go now,” said Isolde hastily, “I would rather be alone -with her when I tell her.” - -In another moment Philomène had entered. The cold wind had heightened -her colour, and her hazel eyes shone with eager expectation. “O, -Godmother,” she exclaimed, running up to Isolde, “I have been thinking -all to-day how very, very sorry one ought to feel for the poor people in -the Old Testament who never had any Christmases. I do so wonder how they -got on without them.” - -“I daresay they had a great many more birthdays than we have, little -cushat,” Isolde replied merrily, “you see, they are supposed to have -lived so very very long. Only think how many birthdays Methuselah must -have had, and they would more than make up for the Christmas presents he -didn’t get!” - -“I suppose so,” said Philomène, thoughtfully, “and of course they had -the Passover; not that they got anything then, except dull roast lamb -and parsley, but at least it must have been rather fun striking the -hyssop on to the door lintels.” - -The Christmas tree was standing in the bow-window, decorated with fir -cones and lighted candles, and below it was a little crèche, with the -Madonna and the Christchild, and the ox and ass standing by the manger. -Beside it was a table, on which Philomène’s Christmas presents had been -spread, and it was when these had been looked at and admired, that -Isolde sat down on the floor close to the crèche, and drew Philomène -towards her. - -“Little cushat,” said she, “on this night, of all nights in the year, -when we are thinking of the best and dearest mother that ever was or -will be, I want to tell you that Daddy has asked me to be your mother. -Are you a little bit glad?” - -Philomène was very glad, too glad to speak at first. Then a shadow fell. -“Godmother,” she whispered, “there is just one thing I should like to -say, but I’m afraid it may hurt you. I was thinking that you would want -me to call you “Mother,” as though I were really your own little girl, -and I wish I were, or at least I wish I had been to start with, because -you know how I love you, Godmother dear, and I should have been ever so -glad if you had been my real mother properly from the beginning. But you -aren’t, you see, and it seems to me it would be better not to call you -‘Mother,’ nor to make-believe, but to go on calling you Godmother just -as I used to do, and to keep ‘Mother’ for when I meet my own mother -later on. Don’t you think she might feel a little bit sorry and left out -if I had used up that name for someone else, even for you?” - -“You are right,” said Isolde in a very low voice, “we will not defraud -the dead.” - -The next day Philomène went to announce the news to Sweet William. She -sat opposite to him on the toadstool which she had come to consider her -own, with her elbows propped on the mushroom table between them, as she -had sat many and many a time during the past year. - -“I quite see that it cannot be helped,” said Sweet William, when she had -finished speaking, “but I am sorry.” - -A startled look came into Philomène’s eyes. “What do you mean?” she -asked uneasily, “why should you be sorry?” - -“For one thing, you will not live at Sideview any longer,” replied Sweet -William, gravely. This had not yet occurred to Philomène, and now that -she realised it she put her head down on the mushroom, and cried -bitterly. - -“Oh, and I used to think it such a dull little house,” she sobbed, “and -now I shall be ever so sorry to leave it. I have found a fairy in the -garden, and another indoors, and a witch and a White Létiche as well, -such a dear, pretty little White Létiche. Are the fairies going to leave -me, Sweet William, all because Daddy wants to marry again?” - -“You are not putting the matter quite fairly,” replied Sweet William, -with a momentary return of his severest manner, “it is not your father’s -marriage in itself which will oblige us to leave you for the present, or -rather, you to leave us. It is that the Good People are only the -comrades of lonely children, and now you will not be lonely any more. -Your godmother will make you a good mother, and a good friend, and you -will need us no longer. Remember, Griselda never went up into the cuckoo -clock again after she had found a playmate.” - -“But even if I have to leave you behind me,” said Philomène, fighting -with her tears, “I shall have Master Mustardseed and Queen Mab with me -still, and Speedwell and Spirea live at the Cushats.” - -Sweet William shook his head. “That makes no difference,” he said, “you -will still have a canary and a cat, but not a fairy and a white witch. I -daresay you may catch a glimpse of the twins now and then when it is -growing dusk, but it will be of no use trying to get them to speak to -you, unless they make the first move. Of course I don’t for a moment say -that you and I will never meet again; I may very possibly turn up years -hence in some other garden. After all, you had the green ribbons on your -christening robe, and that will always count for something.” - -Philomène dried her tears, but she was far from feeling comforted. She -looked sadly all round the little room, and had hard work to prevent -them from flowing afresh as she wished Sweet William good-bye. She was -half way down the garden path before she remembered that she had left -her latchkey sticking in the lock. She went back at once, but it was -gone. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - DADDY TAKES US CAMPING - - -“Oh, Hal!” cried Mabel Blake, as she ran down the garden walk. “Guess -what’s going to happen.” - -“I don’t know,” answered Hal, who was making a kite. “What?” - -“Daddy is going to take us camping!” went on Mab. - -“Oh, joy!” cried Hal. - -Camping in the woods, living in a tent, and having many wonderful -adventures, are only a few things Hal, Mab and their father did. You -liked to read the Bedtime Stories, and you will like these new books by -the same author, Howard R. Garis. - -Send to your book store, and get the volume “Daddy Takes Us Camping.” -The book tells of nature, outdoor life and animals in a way children -like. - -R. F. Fenno & Company, of 18 East 17th Street, New York City, publish -the Daddy books, of which there are several. They will mail any volume -on receipt of price, if your store does not have it. The books are -prettily gotten up, with pictures. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. P. 65, changed “fairy in the case” to “fairy in the castle”. - 2. Table of Contents added by transcriber. - 3. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 4. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - 5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Fairy Latchkey, by Magdalene Horsfall - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAIRY LATCHKEY *** - -***** This file should be named 63535-0.txt or 63535-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/3/63535/ - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, Juliet Sutherland, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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