present or the future. You will have no difficulties, I assure you.
Now--" and she stood before the two closed boxes. "See," she said, "and
listen. Whenever you have packed them neatly and perfectly, sure that
nothing is forgotten, you lock as usual, deposit the keys safely, then
stand in front of each in turn, touch the initials with your
fore-finger--you have each three, 'P. O'B.' and 'C. O'B.'--saying slowly
and clearly as you do so
"One, two, three,
Dwindle, says Felicity.
"Then close your eyes for a moment, and you will see--hold, I will show
you now. Shut your eyes." Clodagh did so. "Open." She obeyed, and there
in front of her lay, so small that at the first moment she scarcely
perceived them, two miniature editions of her own and Paulina's trunks,
brass nails, letters and all.
"Feel them," said her companion.
Clodagh stooped and picked them up, her eyes sparkling with eagerness.
They were heavy, certainly, but less so than the old lady's own one.
"You have a hand-bag?" this personage enquired.
"Oh yes," replied Clodagh, and in a moment she had fetched it. It held
the toy trunks perfectly.
"Take them out again," came the order.
"Now," her friend continued, "listen. When you reach your destination,
withdraw them from your reticule, place them wherever is most
convenient, touch the letters again, beginning with the last, and say
this time
"Three, two, one,
Journey's done,
and--all will be as you desire."
She smiled as she spoke.
"You may test it at once," she said. "Place them on the floor. Now----"
"Three, two, one,
Journey's done,"
repeated Clodagh, touching the letters, as she did so, "B," the last,
first. Then she shut her eyes, and when she looked again--yes--there
they were, the two neat capacious trunks, as before.
"Oh," she said, with a sigh of delight. "It is too good to be true! How
can I thank you?"
But as she looked up, holding out her hands in gratitude, lo and
behold--Cousin Felicity had vanished. Glancing round quickly, however,
Clodagh fancied she saw a shadow of something disappearing at the turn
in the passage. Whether this was so or not, who can say?
[Illustration: Lo and behold--Cousin Felicity had vanished.]
"I will thank her again when we meet downstairs," thought the girl,
little imagining that this was not to be.
Just then the door behind her opened, and Paulina, her eyes still but
half-awake, peeped out.
"Oh, child," she said, "is it late? You up and dressed already! I must
hurry."
"There is plenty of time," Clodagh replied. "It is still early."
"How well and bright you look!" Paulina exclaimed. "You must have slept
well. So unlike my last travelling companion--that silly Pelagie--not of
course, dear, that I mean to compare you with a maid-servant--but the
airs she gave herself! She could never sleep the first night in a
strange place, nor the last, because she was nervous about the
pack----Oh," she broke off, "I see you've got rid of all the old bags
and bandboxes. What a good thing! I didn't know you had such a nice
sensible trunk, so neat, and just like mine."
"Yes," said the young girl. "It really holds more than I require. I have
planned it all, Paulina. You shall never have any trouble about the
luggage if you will leave the whole to me."
"I shall only be too thankful to do so," said her cousin lazily. "I
think you are a genius, my dear. The way you have arranged my dresses
and everything is simply perfection."
Half an hour or so later, the two, summoned by the breakfast gong, made
their way downstairs, where most of the family were already assembled,
and as the others dropped in, Clodagh looked round eagerly for her
new-old friend. But come she did not, and after a short delay Mrs.
Marriston turned to her elder daughter.
"Thomasine, my dear," she said. "I think you had better go upstairs to
enquire for Cousin Felicity and offer to escort her. I scarcely like to
begin breakfast without her, for fear of seeming to lack respect."
For those old-fashioned days were very ceremonious and any want of
deference to the eccentric old lady was not to be thought of. Thomasine
went at once, but in a very few minutes returned alone, holding a scrap
of paper in her hand, looking somewhat disconcerted, though she was half
laughing also.
"She has gone!" she exclaimed, "bag, baggage and all, leaving this."
Mrs. Marriston took the paper eagerly. "Oh, _can_ we have offended her?"
she said anxiously, but a moment after, she too laughed. "No, I see it
is all right," she went on, reading aloud the note in her hand.
"'Farewell for the present, kind friends,' it said. 'A sudden summons
to----'--no, I can't decipher the word--'cuts short my visit. Fare you
well, one and all.'"
They looked at each other. Annot took the paper from her mother. "No,"
she agreed, "I cannot read it. But we never do know where she goes or
how she goes! It may be Kamschatka or the moon."
"Or fairyland," murmured Clodagh.
"All the same," said Paulina, who, for her part, was by no means sorry
for the mysterious lady's flight, "it cannot but be rather trying to
have such a guest. She expects to be received with regal honours, and
then off she goes like 'old Mother Goose when she wanted to wander.'"
The others laughed.
"My dear Paulina," said Annot, "you are a _young_ 'Mother Goose'
yourself, with your love of travelling."
"Quite so," Paulina agreed. "But you will allow that I give my
hospitable friends _some_ notice of my intentions. And, after all," she
added, "some day, when Clodagh and I have had enough of wandering, we
shall settle down, no doubt."
"And, to do our late guest justice," said Mrs. Marriston, "erratic as
she is, her visits have never brought us anything but good luck. Her
crossing the threshold is always beneficent. This very morning we have
excellent news from India of our dear Humphrey, who, we heard by the
last mail, was seriously ill. He has quite recovered."
She spoke of a younger son in the--in those days--_very_ far-off East.
Clodagh had glanced up with quick interest when Paulina alluded to "some
day settling down." Her feelings at present were very mingled. She
scarcely understood them herself. She was ready keenly to enjoy the
novelty and exhilaration of travel, seeing new places and people, and
now that her one misgiving had been so marvellously removed, her spirits
rose high. But still--she had not yet been away a week from her own old
home, hers no longer, and already there were moments when, if she closed
her eyes, she saw in fancy the dear rugged walls of Grey Rocks--the
scene of her own and Paulina's childhood--and heard the splash of the
waves at the foot of the cliffs, and then she would feel the tears
creeping into her eyes, and she thought to herself, "I suppose it is
what is called 'home-sickness,' but I must not give way to it. If only I
could hope some day to go there again!"
It was not a very ambitious hope, for Grey Rocks was but a small domain,
and had Clodagh's father lived it might have still been their own.
In the meantime, however, she greatly enjoyed the stay at the Priory,
and every day she grew cleverer with regard to her duties. She practised
folding and arranging Paulina's many garments till she really reached
perfection, and she was so methodical and careful, yet never fussy or
overwhelmed, that Paulina declared she had never been so splendidly
looked after in her life. So far this was most satisfactory. Still, when
the week to which their visit had been extended drew to its close, it
must be confessed that Cousin Felicity's young protegee was not without
nervousness as to the working of the spell.
"Suppose," she thought, "suppose I had dreamt it all!" But then her
glance fell on her own beautiful new trunk--"No, no," she added, "of
course it was real and true."
And when the morning of their departure came, nothing could have
exceeded her care to remember everything.
She waited till Paulina, fully attired for the journey, had gone
downstairs for a few last minutes with her hosts, then she rapidly
deposited the precious despatch-box in a corner of her own trunk, in
which there was still room; closed and locked both; recited as directed
the words of the spell, shut her eyes, and waited, as before.
Yes--all was right. There lay the miniature luggage, and in another
moment both toy boxes were safe in her reticule, and with light feet and
a light heart she ran down to join the others, just as the chariot which
was to take them to the nearest posting-house drew up at the door.
"Everything is ready," she said to Paulina. "I have seen to the
luggage," and Paulina nodded carelessly.
"The ladies' things have gone on in a cart, I suppose?" asked one of the
Marristons. The dignified butler replied that he understood it had been
seen to, the truth being that he had not thought about it; and on his
side the old hall-porter took for granted that the housemaids had had it
conveyed down the back-stairs, that is to say if _he_ thought about it
at all!
Anyway, as the mysterious lady had promised, so it fell out. Clodagh was
troubled with no enquiries, no interference.
And arrived at St. Aidan's Wells, where they were to spend some weeks,
all continued satisfactory. Once, it must be confessed, on their way,
Clodagh had a fright. For they had to make two breaks in the long
journey, spending one night at each, and on the second occasion, after
Clodagh had closed and locked and repeated the spell, lo and behold, it
refused to act! She started in terror, then her eyes fell on her own
little slippers, which she had forgotten to pack. In a moment she had
repaired the mistake, and then--yes, all went as before.
"But," said the girl to herself, "I must be _more_ than careful. For
possibly a second lapse on my part might not be forgiven."
They remained at the watering-place for a month or two, then started off
again; this time for a lively seaside town where Paulina had arranged to
meet friends; then, as the autumn drew on, to country-houses in the
hunting districts, for the elder girl was a good horsewoman, as indeed
was Clodagh also. What true Irish girl is not?
It was all very pleasant and exciting and the cousins enjoyed it, yet
sometimes Paulina declared herself tired and wishful for a rest, even
though her journeys were accomplished with the smallest possible
trouble. The variety of their visits called of course for constant
renewal of dresses and additions to them, but never did the two
spell-bound trunks seem too full, and every time she packed and
unpacked, Clodagh thought with inexpressible gratitude of the "fairy
lady," as to herself she called her, and her bestowal of the strange
secret.
"But for her, I could not have managed," she often reflected. "I should
have had to give it up--it would not have been fair to Paulina, and then
where could I have gone, for home in my own country I have none? And oh,
how, through all the novelty and amusement and excitement of
travelling, in spite of the kindness I meet with, oh how I sometimes
long to be in dear grandmother's old turret room, listening to the faint
whirr of her spinning-wheel, and the louder sound of the waves breaking
on the cliffs below! I can feel the breeze that always blew in if the
casement in the deep window-seat was open; I can taste the salt flavour
of the spray that sometimes on stormy days flew up to where I sat! Oh
dear old home! I wonder if Paulina ever feels about it in the least as I
do?" and then she would fall to wishing that she could somehow earn
money enough to buy back the old "eyrie," and be its little chatelaine.
"How I would enjoy receiving Paulina, and making _her_ enjoy it!"
But for these day-dreams she had not much leisure, and she knew that she
should not indulge in them. Still the longing was always there, and as
time went on it grew more persistent and intense.
"It is just home-sickness," thought Clodagh, and she felt that she must
not give way to it.
"I wish I could meet 'Cousin Felicity' again," she often said to
herself. "She was so wise. I am sure she would advise me how to keep
cheerful and content. And yet she must have understood, for I remember
her asking me if I loved my home very dearly."
The weeks and months and almost the years--for one had fully gone, and
the second since Clodagh's arrival on this side of the water was well on
its way--passed, and then one day came little looked-for tidings.
The cousins were just then again at St. Aidan's, which Paulina, who had
great faith in its waters, made a point of visiting once or twice a
year. One morning, when Clodagh came in from doing some little
commissions on the Parade, she found her friend, pale as death, half
fainting in her chair, an open letter in stiff, formal writing on her
knee.
"Clodagh, oh Clodagh," she exclaimed, "read, read. Who could have dreamt
of it?"
And truly her distress was not to be wondered at, for the news was
appalling, being nothing less but that of the poor young woman's almost
total ruin by the failure of a bank. Clodagh for a moment felt stunned,
but she soon collected herself and did her best to comfort her cousin.
"Take courage, dear Paulina," she said. "There is no need for despair.
You have still enough for comfort of a simple kind, and I will work for
you. It will be my turn to repay your generosity."
"Dear child," murmured her poor cousin, all her high spirit broken, "you
have already far more than repaid anything I have done for you. But
don't leave me, promise me. If we must starve, let it be together."
"We shall not starve," said Clodagh cheerfully. "If--oh, Paulina, I
wonder if you could make up your mind to live at Grey Rocks. My old
nurse would take us in. She has a little farm and a nice clean house.
Granny gave it to her and furnished it. We could live there on almost
nothing, and every one would know who we were and be good to us." Her
eyes actually sparkled at the prospect.
And after a little Paulina caught some of the younger girl's spirit.
"Yes," she said, "it is the best thing we can do. I have none but happy
remembrances of the old place."
So Clodagh wrote to the friend of her grandmother who had been her
guardian, asking him to see her nurse and arrange it. Writing direct
would have been useless, as the simple woman had never learnt to read.
And as quickly as the slow mails of those days could bring it, came Mr.
Fitzgerald's reply. More than a reply indeed, for he began the letter by
saying that he had pen in hand to write to her when her request reached
him, for he had an extraordinary communication to make.
"Grey Rocks, my dear Clodagh," he wrote, "is yours, your own property.
It has again been for sale, as the late purchaser inherited unexpectedly
a large property and did not care to retain the smaller one, and on the
very day before I heard from you, a certain firm of lawyers, well known
to me and entirely trustworthy, sent over a confidential clerk to
arrange for the purchase for yourself--Miss Clodagh O'Beirne--of the
entire little property, as a gift, an absolute gift from an unknown
friend, on one condition only, that you will never seek to discover the
giver. I rejoiced inexpressibly, but my rejoicing is doubled and trebled
since the receipt of your distressing news this morning. Surely never
was a kind deed more appropriate. All is already in train, and whenever
it suits you to return, you, accompanied I hope by Miss Paulina
O'Beirne, will be welcomed with heartfelt joy by us all."
Clodagh's delight may be imagined, and to Paulina also the news was an
immense relief.
"Who can be the unknown friend?" she exclaimed, adding, however, "But as
you must never try to find out, perhaps it is better not to speak of
it."
"Much better," said Clodagh, and they never did.
And a happy home old Grey Rocks proved. It was but seldom they cared to
leave it. But when they did "want to wander," and with good management
their joint means were enough to enable them to do so now and then, you
may be sure that their only luggage was the two well-tested trunks,
whose marvellous properties never failed. Clodagh, of course, in her
heart had her own secret belief as to the identity of her benefactor or
benefactress, but the mysterious "fairy lady" she never saw again. And
whether her visits to the Marristons at the Priory continued or not, I
cannot say.
Nor can I tell you the after history of the cousins, though something
whispers to me that their lives were happy. But it all happened a long
time ago. I cannot go over to Grey Rocks, for I do not know, to tell the
truth, in what part of old Ireland it stands. Possibly still, in some
forgotten corner of a deserted attic are hidden away the enchanted
trunks, no one guessing their fairy powers! Who can say, though I am
sure most of us wish that they, or others of their kind, belonged to us.
How delightful it would be!
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Fairies Afield, by Mary Louisa Molesworth