Read Ebook: Little Folks (September 1884) A Magazine for the Young by Various

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Ebook has 825 lines and 89356 words, and 17 pages

"I don't think you are, ma'am," Elsie replied, in her best manner.

"Oh dear!" the lady exclaimed; "how annoying when we are in such haste! Can you direct us?"

"There's a road right over there leads to it," Elsie replied, pointing with her hand.

"But how do we get on to the road? Does this one meet it anywhere? Driver, don't you know?"

The driver muttered something in a rather surly fashion, whereupon the gentleman, who had not yet spoken, leaned forward, and said angrily, "You told us you knew this neighbourhood. You are an idiot!"

"Perhaps this little lass could show him," the lady remarked.

"Indeed, ma'am, it's right glad I'd be to do it," Elsie began , "but we're quite strange, and have lost our own way, our mother being dead and our father in London, which we're trying to find; and perhaps, ma'am, you would be so kind as to tell us the way." All this was said very rapidly.

"If they can't help us, why not drive on?" the gentleman remarked impatiently.

"Stay a moment," the lady said. "These children may possibly be of great use to us. Look at the girl, William. She hasn't at all a bad face, if she were well dressed," she added, in a low tone, which, however, did not escape Elsie.

"You say your mother is dead and your father in London," the lady added. "Who are you living with?"

"There was a woman who took care of us," Elsie replied quickly, "but she let our father think we were dead, so we ran away to find him; and a man who gave us a ride in his cart robbed us of our pennies and our clothes, and was very cruel. We ran away in the clothes they gave us."

"What a deal of running away," the lady said, not unkindly; "and your little brother looks tired. Do you know how far it is to London?"

"No, not exactly, ma'am," Elsie replied.

"Well, it is hundreds and hundreds of miles; and let me tell you at once you will never get there if you walk for ever. But," she added quickly, leaving Elsie no time to reply, "I may be able to help you. I am a sort of good fairy. Walk on towards Killochrie. Ask any one you see the way there, and before night I will come back again. That is all. Coachman, drive on. You must look out for some one else to direct us."

Then the man whipped up his horses and drove off, leaving Elsie standing by the roadside in a sad state of bewilderment. Could she have heard aright? Before three minutes had passed she began to think she had been mistaken, but that could not be, for Duncan presently said to her--

"She won't ever come back, Elsie, will she? But she was a bonnie lady, wasn't she?"

"She was bonnie, and real kind," Elsie said. "I wonder whether she will come back after all."

"She might have put us inside the carriage if she'd liked," Duncan said, doubtfully.

"Perhaps the gentleman wouldn't have let her," Elsie replied. "I think she meant she would come alone."

"Will she be very long?" Duncan said, pitifully; "and will she take us to London, to him--our father, Elsie?--or will you ask her to take us back to Dunster?"

"We must wait till she comes," Elsie said, evasively. In her heart of hearts she would not have been sorry to find herself back in Mrs. MacDougall's cottage, but the humiliation of returning and acknowledging why she had run away, and how she had failed, was too much for her proud, stubborn will.

"Do you like running away?" Duncan asked, looking up anxiously in her face.

"I don't mind it," Elsie answered. She was getting into a contrary mood, partly because Duncan's remarks touched her so keenly, partly out of anger and impatience at the misfortunes that had befallen them.

They had been walking along slowly in the direction the carriage had taken. Duncan did not seem inclined to go faster. Presently he stopped, and stood watching a number of black-faced Highland sheep scampering down the side of a hill. There were sounds of barking, and at last there appeared a shepherd and collie.

"He will know the way," Elsie cried, with delight. "Come on, Duncan; let's run and ask him."

"You run, Elsie. I'll wait till you come back," Duncan said, wearily. It was very unusual for him to hang behind, but Elsie was too eager to notice it. She left him sitting by the roadside, and flew after the shepherd.

"The way to Killochrie? Weel, you just keep to the road right away till it runs into another one, an' that'll take you straight through; but it's a long, long way to walk."

The man was engaged in eating a large piece of bread and cheese. Elsie, who was very hungry, eyed it longingly.

"Ye look a wee bit starved," the man said.

"We'll be getting some food at Killochrie," Elsie said, evasively.

"I did hear last night that there was two children lost off Dunster Moor--stolen, they do say. I suppose you bain't one of them?" the man continued, eyeing her curiously "Was dressed in plaid frock and cloth jacket. That ain't you, any way."

"We live at Killochrie," Elsie said quickly and wickedly, not hesitating to conceal the truth, and to tell a falsehood to do so. "We've come farther than we should, and I wasn't quite sure of the way."

"Aweel! aweel!" the man said, in his slow northern fashion. "It's a good thing ye're not lost away from your natural home, which I'd be sorry to think of happening to any bairn. It's a goodish bit out of my road, but I'd like to carry the poor bairnies back to their mother, wherever she be."

Elsie waited to hear no more. She bade the man a hasty "Good-day," and ran off. How strange it was that this out-of-the-way shepherd should have heard the tale, and yet not so strange when one thinks how quickly such a tale spreads far and near, and how few other concerns the shepherd had to drive it from his mind. Already the news of the lost children was being discussed in every whiskey-shop and cottage. It had reached the little village three miles out of Killochrie, where the shepherd's wife lived. And if the children had been elsewhere than in the crofter's lonely cottage they must have been discovered, as there was every chance that they would be before long.

Now, if Elsie had known it, the first piece of good fortune that had really come to them was when she met the shepherd. He was an honest, kind-hearted man, the father of children. At one word of explanation he would have taken the children in charge, and delivered them safely over to their proper guardian. Providence, watching over the misguided children, had put this means of deliverance in their way. But Elsie was still obstinate, and the very thought of being taken back roused every feeling of opposition and anger.

If only poor little Duncan had known the opportunity, which was every moment retreating farther away!

Elsie breathed freely when she perceived the shepherd disappear in the valley. "We are all right," she said to Duncan, keeping to herself the shock she had received. "This will lead us to Killochrie."

Duncan said nothing. He seemed neither glad nor sorry. He was not much of a companion, Elsie thought.

The day crept on. They did not make much progress, for Duncan was cross, and lagged dreadfully.

Elsie had in her mind a firm conviction that the kind lady would return, and she was not wrong, for at last they saw a female figure coming towards them; she carried a good-sized leather bag in her hand, which Elsie believed contained food for them. How glad she was now that she had fled from the shepherd. The good fairy had come.

There was one thing Elsie had never thought of. Wicked spirits often assume the appearance of good fairies. Every one knows that, so that it was to be seen whether this was a good fairy or not.

Such a disappointment! As the figure drew near, Elsie saw that she had made a mistake. Instead of the beautifully-dressed lady of the carriage, it turned out to be a person dressed in black garments, with a long black veil covering her face.

She walked along quickly, and as she came up to the children, she stopped. Then she turned up her veil, and Elsie saw with astonishment that it was really the lady who had spoken to them that morning, but so changed, that it was no wonder Elsie had not known her. The face that had looked so gay and smiling was now sad and pensive; the fair curling hair, falling in pretty confusion over the white forehead, was drawn smoothly back under the neat crape bonnet, with its widow's cap.

The many bracelets and other jewellery were all gone. So complete was the transformation that Elsie stood staring, not knowing what to believe.

"I told you I was a fairy," the lady said, in a kind, but sad, voice. "You must not be surprised to see me so changed. To-morrow I may change again. A fairy is all sorts of things, you know."

"Ye--es, ma'am," Elsie said, doubtfully.

"I dare say you think that a fairy can change other people as well as herself, do you not?"

"Yes, ma'am; fairies do that in books," Elsie replied.

"Well, and I tell you I am a fairy," the lady said, a little sharply; "and I am going to change you."

"What is she going to change us into, Elsie?" asked the matter-of-fact Duncan.

"Ah! what?" the lady asked, with a laugh. "Shall I change you into two little Highland sheep scampering over the hills, and feeding upon grass?"

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