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.
[Illustration]
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?"
"Oh no!" Elsie said quickly; but Duncan, whose mind never readily
accepted a new idea, only replied stolidly, "You couldn't, you know."
"Don't be so sure of that," the lady replied. "But I am not going to. I
am going to make you into my own little children."
This seemed very nice and kind, but it so completely did away with their
own father that Elsie did not know what to say. The lady seemed
displeased, and stamping her foot, said very sharply--"Do you hear what
I say? I am going to turn you into my little boy and girl."
"Thank you, ma'am," Elsie said slowly. "It is very kind, only we've got
our own father."
"I didn't say anything about a father, did I?" the lady said. "I shall
be your mother. While you are my children, your father is dead."
"But he isn't indeed, ma'am," Elsie began; but he lady's face suddenly
changed. It grew very red, and her eyes blazed with passion.
In place of the sad, pensive face, she saw an angry, furious,
dreadful-looking face, that struck terror into her heart. "While you are
my children," she exclaimed, in a loud terrible voice, "your father is
dead. If you forget that for one moment, I will instantly change you
back into the wretched little creatures you now are, and set you down on
top of that high mountain, where you will perish of cold and hunger."
Then suddenly she dropped her voice, her face grew calm and
sweet-looking again, and she said, very gently, "Will you be my
children?"
The children were so bewildered and astonished that they could hardly
believe their senses. Elsie replied at once--"Oh yes, if we may;" but it
was really more because she did not dare to say anything else, for fear
of offending this strange being, and the dread of being left alone all
night among the dark, gloomy hills.
"Follow me," the lady said, drawing down her veil, and turning away
from the road on to the grass.
The children followed. She led them some distance over the lowest part
of a small hill. She walked quickly, the children doing their best to
keep pace with her light, rapid footsteps, although Duncan was very
tired, and both were desperately hungry. Presently they found themselves
in a tiny dell, through which ran a little babbling stream, and where
large yellow daisies, and bonnie blue-bells, and other flowers bloomed
abundantly. Here the strange lady stopped, and opening her bag, she drew
forth some black garments. The first one was a frock of fine black stuff
with crape. She bade Elsie take off the old gown she was wearing, and
put on this.
Elsie was charmed. The dress fastened down the back, and had a narrow
skirt, cut in one with the body, forming a complete contrast to her own
short full skirt and round body of bright plaid. Then there came forth
from the fairy bag a black hat and a pair of beautiful silk gloves. "You
will do for to-night," the lady said, when Elsie had put them on.
"To-morrow morning we must think of shoes and stockings less clumsy than
those you have on."
For Duncan she brought out a black overcoat, which reached nearly to his
ankles, and a black cloth cap. Elsie waited impatiently, hoping to see
some nice food come out of the bag, but the fairy mother seemed not to
have thought of that, for she shut it up when she had taken the cap out,
and gave it to Duncan to carry. Then she rolled up the tattered gown and
jacket, and threw them into the stream.
"You are to call me mamma," she said sweetly, "or mother, if you are
more used to that."
"Then please, ma'am--ma--we are very hungry," Elsie said.
The lady did not seem pleased. "What dreadful things children are! They
want to eat!" she exclaimed. "Well, there is no time now; we must get
home quickly. Give me a hand each of you."
They did as they were told, and very soon were again upon the road,
walking as quickly as they could to keep up with her. Every now and then
she gave Duncan a sharp tug to make him walk quicker.
The poor child was so tired and hungry that he hardly knew how to get
along, but the lady took no notice. Elsie really was beginning to think
that there was something about her quite different from ordinary people,
but she was not sure that she liked her any better for that. She
wondered whether she knew what it was to feel very hungry.
They walked what seemed to the weary children a very, very long way, but
at last they saw houses, and they perceived that they had arrived at a
little village. Here the lady bought them some buns and rolls, which
they eagerly devoured, but to their infinite disappointment they found
they were not to stay here. On they walked another long way, till they
reached a place with many houses and streets and shops, such as Elsie
had never seen in her life before.
It was now quite dark, but the lady hurried them through the streets,
not allowing them to stop for a moment. By-and-by they arrived at a
strange building of wood. They were presently lifted into a carriage.
The lady followed; the door was shut. There was a shrill scream, and
then the lights outside began to glide past them. They were, for the
first time in their lives, in a train.
Duncan had not been in the carriage two minutes before his head fell
back against the woodwork, and he was asleep. Elsie's brain was too busy
for her to do the same thing. The sensation of gliding along in the dark
was so new and strange that she was at first very frightened, but as
every one else looked quite comfortable, her fears began to abate, and
she could turn her mind to the strange adventures that had befallen
them.
After some little time they stopped, and their companion lifted them
out, rousing Duncan out of his heavy sleep with much difficulty.
A tall, dark gentleman was waiting, on the platform for them. "Here are
the dear children," the lady said, in a sweet, sad voice. "Children, say
'How do you do?' to your Uncle William."
The gentleman shook hands with each of them, and taking Elsie by the
hand, led her forward, the lady following with Duncan. They passed
through some gates, and found some carriages waiting outside. Into one
of these the gentleman and lady took the children, and they were driven
away.
These two strange individuals conversed a great deal, but the noise of
the wheels prevented Elsie from hearing much of what they said. She made
out that the lady was telling the gentleman about her journey, and she
thought they both seemed rather pleased.
Suddenly the gentleman leaned over, and laid a hand upon Elsie's arm.
"Mind what you are about," he said in her ear. "If you say anything to
displease this lady, your good mother, it will be the worse for you. The
less you say to anybody, the better; and look after the boy. What is
your name?"
"Elsie."
"No it isn't. It is Effie Donaldson. Don't forget it again. Your
brother's name is Donald Donaldson. Don't let him forget it, either."
Elsie saw in a moment that there was no trifling meant, and that she
would have to obey. It was the same gentleman who had called the driver
an idiot in the morning. She had stolen a glance at him then, and had
not liked his face. She liked it still less now. Still, they must be
kind people, or they would not have brought her and Duncan all this way,
and given them such nice clothes. Elsie very much wished, however, that
gentlefolk had not such strange manners.
She was very glad and thankful when at last they alighted at a house,
into which they entered. A neat, tidy-looking woman came forward to meet
them. "Everything's quite ready, ma'am, as the gentleman ordered," she
said, with a curtsey. "I've made up an extra bed in your room, ma'am,
for the little boy, which the gentleman said would suit you, and the
supper's waiting to be served in a moment. I dare say the children are
tired, ma'am."
"Yes," said the lady, in a sweet, gentle voice. "They have had a long
journey, and they are tired to-night. They will be glad to get to bed as
soon as we have had supper, won't you, dears?"
"Yes, mamma," Elsie answered quickly. Duncan made no reply.
"You go in there, and sit down till I come," the lady said, pointing to
an open door, through which came the gleam of a fire. She took Elsie's
hat and Duncan's cap, and went upstairs, leaving the children, as they
thought, alone.
But that was a mistake, for the gentleman came in the next moment.
However, he told them, not unkindly, to sit down and warm themselves,
which they were glad enough to do. The table was already spread for a
meal. Presently the woman brought in a dish of ham and eggs, which made
the famished creatures ready to cry with delight.
Their new mamma watched them very narrowly as they ate. Fortunately,
Mrs. MacDougall had been very strict about their behaviour, but there
were still several things that displeased their new friend, for which
she corrected them pretty sharply; and to show how easily children can
remember when they really know they must, Elsie not only bore in mind
the faults that were found with herself, but also those points in which
Duncan had offended.
The woman of the house came in by-and-by, to ask whether she should see
the children in bed. She looked so kind and nice, that Elsie hoped their
new mamma would say "Yes." She, however, declined, saying that she could
not bear any one to do anything for the children but herself. Then she
took them upstairs, and locking the door, bade them undress. She then
went to a box, and got out some night garments, which were much too
large; but the children did not mind that. She tucked Elsie kindly into
the snuggest, sweetest bed that could be, and then went to do the same
kind office for Duncan. Then telling them that they were on no account
to get up till she came to them the next morning, she left them to such
a night's rest as they had not had since they left the cottage on
Dunster Moor.
[Illustration: "'YOU ARE TO CALL ME MAMMA,' SHE SAID" (_p. 134_).]