THEY had climbed up the slope of a hill, and they came to a broad old
ditch, beneath the shade of a wood of pine trees. Below them was a wide
marsh, all yellow with marsh flowers, and above them was a steep slope
made of stones. Now the dry ditch, where they sat down on the grass,
looking towards the Tweed, with their backs to the hill, was called the
_Catrail_. It ran all through that country, and must have been made by
men very long ago. Nobody knows who made it, nor why. They did not know
in Randal’s time, and they do not know now. They do not even know what
the name _Catrail_ means, but that is what it has always been called.
The steep slope of stone above them was named the Camp of Rink; it is a
round place, like a ring, and no doubt it was built by the old Britons,
when they fought against the Romans, many hundreds of years ago. The
stones of which it is built are so large that we cannot tell how men
moved them. But it is a very pleasant, happy place on a warm summer day,
like the day when Randal and Jean sat there, with the daisies at their
feet, and the wild doves cooing above their heads, and the rabbits
running in and out among the ferns.
Jean and Randal talked about this and that, chiefly of how some money
could be got to buy corn and cattle for the people. Randal was in
favour of crossing the Border at night, and driving away cattle from the
English side, according to the usual custom.
“Every day I expect to see a pair of spurs in a dish for all our
dinner,” said Randal.
That was the sign the lady of the house in the Forest used to give her
men, when all the beef was done, and more had to be got by fighting.
But Jeanie would not hear of Randal taking spear and jack, and putting
himself in danger by fighting the English. They were her own people
after all, though she could not remember them and the days before she
was carried out of England by Simon Grieve.
“Then,” said Randal, “am I to go back to Fairyland, and fetch more gold
like this ugly thing?” and he felt in his pocket for the fairy bottle.
But it was not in his pocket.
“What have I done with my fairy treasure?” cried Randal, jumping up.
Then he stood still quite suddenly, as if he saw something strange.
He touched Jean on the shoulder, making a sign to her not to speak.
Jean rose quietly, and looked where Randal pointed, and this was what
she saw.
She looked over a corner of the old grassy ditch, just where the marsh
and the yellow flowers came nearest to it.
Here there stood three tall grey stones, each about as high as a man.
Between them, with her back to the single stone, and between the two
others facing Randal and Jean, the old nurse was kneeling.
If she had looked up, she could hardly have seen Randal and Jean, for
they were within the ditch, and only their eyes were on the level of the
rampart.
Besides, she did not look up; she was groping in the breast of her dress
for something, and her eyes were on the ground.
“What can the old woman be doing?” whispered Randal. “Why, she has got
my fairy bottle in her hand!”
Then he remembered how he had shown her the bottle, and how she had gone
out without giving it back to him.
Jean and he watched, and kept very quiet.
They saw the old nurse, still kneeling, take the stopper out of the
black strange bottle, and turn the open mouth gently on her hand. Then
she carefully put in the stopper, and rubbed her eyes with the palm of
her hand. Then she crawled along in their direction, very slowly, as if
she were looking for something in the grass.
Then she stopped, still looking very closely at the grass.
Next she jumped to her feet with a shrill cry, clapping her hands; and
then she turned, and was actually _running_ along the edge of the marsh,
towards Fairnilee.
“Nurse!” shouted Randal, and she stopped suddenly, in a fright, and let
the fairy bottle fall.
It struck on a stone, and broke to pieces with a jingling sound, and the
few drops of strange water in it ran away into the grass.
“Oh, ma bairns, ma bairns, what have you made me do?” cried the old
nurse pitifully. “The fairy gift is broken, and maybe the Gold of
Fairnilee, that my eyes have looked on, will ne’er be seen again.”
[Illustration: Chapter Thirteen]