The _Bodach Glas_ held the children. The brilliant
sunshine of the High Garden in which they had
listened to the tale became instantly palest
moonlight, and between them and the strawberry bed
they saw the filmy plaid of the Grey Spectre of the
House of Ivor. It had been helpful and even
laudable to play-act the chief scenes when the
story was beginning, but now they had no time. It
would have been an insult to the interest of the
narrative.
Doubtless, if they had had the book, they would
have _skipped_, to know "how it all ended." But it
was time for the evening walk. So, instead of
stringing themselves out along the way as was their
custom, seeing if the raspberry bushes had grown
any taller since the morning, the four collected in
a close swarm about the tale-teller, like bees
about an emigrant queen.
"You must tell us the rest--you _must!_" they said,
linking arms about my waist to prevent any attempt
at an evasion of such just demands.
So, being secretly no little pleased with their
eagerness, I launched out upon the conclusion of
the whole matter--which showed, among other things,
how Waverley-Honour was more honoured than ever and
the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine threefold blessed.