"There is quite a lovely little book just come out about children,
'Castle Blair.'... The book is good and lovely and true, having the
best description of a noble child in it that I ever read, and nearly
the best description of the next best thing--a noble dog."--JOHN
RUSKIN.
[Illustration: "MRS. DALY'S COTTAGE."]
CASTLE BLAIR
A STORY OF YOUTHFUL DAYS
BY
FLORA L. SHAW
AUTHOR OF "HECTOR," "PHYLLIS BROWNE," AND "A SEA CHANGE"
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
MRS. MARY A. LIVERMORE
_ILLUSTRATED BY I. AND H. WHITNEY_
D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1902,
BY D. C. HEATH & CO.
1L2
INTRODUCTION.
I find "Castle Blair" a bright, breezy story for children, most
entertainingly told. The scenes are laid in Ireland. A bachelor uncle
makes a home at Castle Blair for the children of his brother in
India, in the English service, and for an orphaned niece from France,
older than her cousins, who becomes the mistress of the house. She
is educated and is altogether charming, possesses French tact and
adaptability, is very fond of children, and lives out her motto, "Peace
on earth, and good will toward men." The children from India are
utterly untrained, high-spirited, and lawless, but are good-hearted,
very capable, and innately noble. These, with the benignant bachelor
uncle, absorbed in making collections of antiques and curios, and his
disagreeable agent, Plunkett, who manages the estate, and is hard
and unlovely, are the main characters of the story. Everything ends
happily, the tone of the story is uplifting, and the young people who
read "Castle Blair" will not only be charmed with it, but will be made
happier and better for having read it.
MARY A. LIVERMORE.
MELROSE,
September 22, 1902.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
"Mrs. Daly's Cottage"
"Rosie pushed him so violently"
"She quickly clasped ... the Trout"
Showing Nessa the Grounds
"Through the Singing Children"
"'What have you to say?'"
"They chattered and laughed"
"On the Other Side of the Hedge"
CASTLE BLAIR;
A STORY OF YOUTHFUL DAYS.
CHAPTER I.
Night had closed in round Castle Blair. In the park the great trees,
like giant ghosts, loomed gloomily indistinct through the dim
atmosphere. Not a sound was to be heard but the steady down-pour of
rain, and, from time to time, a long, low shudder of trees as the
night wind swept over the park. But there was one spot of light in
the landscape. The hall door of the castle stood open, and behind it,
in hospitable Irish fashion, there blazed a fire from which the warm
rays streamed out and illumined the very rain itself; for the dampness
caught the pleasant glow and reflected it back again, till all round
about the doorway there was a halo of golden mist. The stone arch was
hidden by it, but it formed a beautiful framework of light for certain
little figures, who, dark and ruddy against the glowing background,
were to be seen dancing backwards and forwards as though impatiently
waiting for something. They were only children, and there were three of
them, two fair-haired girls, and a boy.
"When will she come, I wonder?" said the elder of the girls, looking
anxiously through the darkness in the direction of the avenue. "The
train must have been ever so late."
"Of course it was!" replied the boy; "and besides it would take half
the day to get from Ballyboden in this weather. We ought to have sent a
sailing vessel for her instead of the carriage."
"I say, Murtagh, I wonder what she _will_ be like. It's very funny
having French cousins one doesn't know anything about."
"Oh, she's sure to be all right; Uncle Harry was papa's favorite
brother! But I wish Bobbo and Winnie had got in in time. Hark! what's
that?"
"That" was the sound the little listeners expected. It drew nearer and
nearer; the wet gravel crunched under the wheels, and at last out of
the darkness emerged a heavy old carriage drawn by a pair of heavy old
horses.
"I say, David, look sharp!" called Murtagh, from the doorway, and the
next instant the carriage stopped at the bottom of the steps.
The boy who had spoken dashed down to open the door, but a sudden
shyness seemed to fall upon his companions, and they shrank back into
the hall. There was, however, little to be afraid of in the girl who
in another moment stood upon the threshold. She seemed to be about
eighteen or nineteen. There was a quiet grace in the slight figure;
and the face in its setting of ruffled gold hair, was as soft as it
was sparkling. Her most remarkable feature was a pair of large, dark
gray eyes, which were looking out just now with a half-interested,
half-wistful expression, that seemed to say this was no common arriving.
And indeed for her it was not. An absolute stranger, she was arriving
for the first time at Castle Blair, to make a new home in a new country
amongst relations she did not know. She had been told she was to live
with an old bachelor uncle. She was not even aware of the children's
existence.
The elder little girl seemed quite to understand that upon her devolved
the duties of hostess, for she came forward now, and holding out her
hand, said shyly, "How do you do?"
The new-comer took the hand and kept it in hers, drawing the child
nearer to her as she answered in a sweet, clear voice: "I am very well,
thank you, only a little tired with traveling. A long journey is very
tiring."
"Yes, very," said the little girl, blushing; and there the conversation
would have been likely to stop, but the boy, having taken the
stranger's wraps from her, had now followed her into the hall and
exclaimed heartily:
"Awfully tiring, and that drive from Ballyboden is so long. You must be
very cold; come over to the fire."
As he spoke he dropped her rug and bag on the floor, and ran and pulled
forward a wooden arm-chair. "Did you see the fire as you came up?" he
added; "the door had got shut somehow, but we opened it on purpose."
"Yes, I saw it just now," she replied, as after a minute's hesitation
she seated herself in the chair. "It looked so pleasant and cheerful
through the rain, it made me wish to get to it."
"A fire's rather a jolly thing to see after a long drive in the dark,"
said the boy; "and we do know how to make fires here if we don't know
anything else."
The children evidently expected their guest to stay in the hall, so she
unfastened her gloves, and drawing them off, held out two white hands
to the blaze in quiet enjoyment of the warmth. Then, after a pause, she
turned again to the boy and said:
"We have not any one to introduce us to each other, so we must
introduce ourselves; I daresay you know my name is Adrienne. Will you
tell me your name, and the names of your sisters?"
The boy replied at once:
"I'm Murtagh. That tallest one is Rosamond Mary; Rosie we call her.
She's twelve years old."
"No, Murtagh, you always make mistakes; I'm thirteen, very nearly!"
exclaimed Rosie, suddenly forgetting her shyness.
"Oh, well! it's all the same. Of course, girls always like to be
thought old," he explained, with a funny little chuckle. "Besides, you
won't be thirteen till the winter.
"And that little thing is Eleanor Grace," he continued; "Ellie, she's
called. She's only three. Winnie's the best of them; but she and Bobbo
are out in the garden."
"Out! In this pouring rain?" said Adrienne, looking towards the open
door.
"What does that matter?" returned Murtagh. "We don't mind rain. We're
little barbarians; you needn't expect to find us like fussy French
children."
A merry twinkle woke in Adrienne's eyes. Already she was forgetting the
fear of strange bachelor uncles.
"No," she replied, with a significant glance at the disheveled state of
the children's toilettes. "I did not think you were fussy."
Murtagh blushed in spite of himself, and looked deprecatingly at the
knees of his somewhat worn knickerbockers, while his sister hastened to
excuse herself.
"It is impossible to keep tidy with the boys," she explained; "they do
pull one about so."
"Come now, the boys didn't tear that dress; you tore it yourself,
coming down a tree," said Murtagh.
A contemptuous reply from Rosie seemed likely to lead to a sharp
answer, but Adrienne interposed a question.
"Do you always live here?" she asked.
"Of course we do!" answered both the children at once. "There's nowhere
else where we could live since we came back from India."
"Are there any more of you besides Winnie and Bobbo?"
"No," said Murtagh, "that's all. And quite enough, I expect you'll
think before long," he added, looking into the fire, and suddenly
ceasing from his flippant manner.
"Who else is there in the house? Who takes care of you?"
"Oh!" said Rosie, "there's Mrs. Donegan. She takes care of everything,
and cooks the dinner and all that. Then there's Peggy Murphy. She does
the schoolroom, and mends our clothes; and there is Kate Murphy; and
there's the new housemaid, and Uncle Blair's man, Brown; and that's all
except Mr. Plunkett."
"Mr. Plunkett!" repeated Murtagh, in a tone of disgust.
"Oh, he is so horrible," continued Rosie. "He settles all about
everything, and gives us our pocket-money on Saturdays, and gives Mrs.
Donegan money to buy our clothes, and orders everybody about, and
interferes. Mrs. Plunkett says his mother was a second cousin of Uncle
Blair's mother, but I don't believe she was. But he doesn't live in
this house; he lives in a house in the park."
"He's dot such a nice ickle baby," put in Ellie, who had been following
the conversation with wide-open eyes and ears.
"Has he?" said Adrienne, encircling the child with her arm. "What is it
like?"
"It's dot two dreat big eyes and--"
"It's got a nose, Ellie, don't forget that," interrupted Murtagh,
mockingly.
Little Ellie was silenced; she flushed up, and tears came into her
eyes. But without paying any attention to her, Rosie continued:
"And that's all the people there are in the house."
"Except--Monsieur Blair," suggested Adrienne, comforting Ellie as she
spoke by hanging her watch round the child's neck.
"Oh! Uncle Blair! Yes, of course he's here, only I forgot all about
him."
"You don't see much of him?"
"No," said Murtagh, with a chuckle; "he thinks we're perfect savages.
He has breakfast with us, because he thinks he ought to; but you should
see how funny he looks. I believe he's always expecting us to set upon
him and eat him, or do something of that kind."
"Hullo, Mrs. Donegan!" he called out suddenly, as a good-humored,
shrewd-looking woman entered the hall. "There you are! and it's high
time you came, too. Here's a poor lady freezing just for want of some
one to show her to her room. Allow me to introduce Mrs. Bridget Donegan
Esquire of Tipperary."
Adrienne acknowledged the introduction with a smile, and Mrs. Donegan,
curtseying, began at once to apologize for not having met her at the
door.
"It's very sorry I am, Ma'am, that you should have been kept sitting
out here. I've been waiting this last half-hour to hear the bell go,"
she began with much respectful dignity. And then suddenly turning round
upon the children: "It's you, Master Murtagh, might ha' thought to ring
it; and where's your manners, Miss Rose, to keep Miss Blair sitting
out here in the cold instead of taking her into the drawing-room?"
"It's not very cold," said Adrienne, with a smiling glance at the fire.
And Mrs. Donegan continued: "Mr. Blair desired his compliments, Ma'am,
and he was sorry he was engaged to dine out the evening you arrived,
but he hoped the young ladies and gentlemen would make you comfortable.
And, if you please, Ma'am, I've boiled a couple of fowls for you, and
there's a nice little drop o' soup; and will you have dinner served in
the dining-room, or wouldn't it be more comfortable, if I sent it up
with the children's tea into the schoolroom?"
"Oh, I should like that much the best, please," said Adrienne.
"Then it's no use going to that smelly old drawing-room!" exclaimed
Murtagh. "Come along to the schoolroom."
He turned round as he spoke, and led the way across the hall. He told
Ellie to run on and open the door, so that there might be some light
in the passage; but her little fingers not proving strong enough to
turn the handle, the whole party had to grope their way in the dark.
At the end of a long passage Rosie threw open a door, saying: "Here's
the schoolroom! It's not particularly tidy. We did make it neat this
morning, but somehow it always gets wrong again."
It was a good-sized room, with a large window at one end and another
smaller one at the side. But the curtains were not drawn before
either of them, and one was open, letting the rain beat in upon the
carpet. The fire had burnt low, and the fender was full of ashes and
chestnut-husks. The rest of the room was so strewn with toys, books,
cooking-utensils, and rubbish of every description, that there was
some difficulty in distinguishing any article of furniture: only the
tea-table, clean and white in the midst, stood out against the general
disorder like an ark in a second deluge.
"Deed faith, it's time ye had some one to see after yez," muttered Mrs.
Donegan to herself. "Where's Miss Winnie and Master Bobbo?" she added
aloud.
"Gone to the garden to get some apples," answered Murtagh. "I wish
they'd look sharp."
"Well, when they do come in there isn't a dress for Miss Winnie to put
on. All the print dresses are gone to the wash-tub, and she soaked her
old black one through and through this morning."
"Oh, well, she can dry herself all right. Don't you bother her about
it and she won't bother you," replied Murtagh, good-humoredly, sitting
down to the piano as he spoke, and beginning to play "St. Patrick's Day
in the Morning."
"That's just the way it is with them all; there's no getting them to
listen to reason; an' it isn't that they don't have frocks enough,"
explained poor Mrs. Donegan, in despair, "but you might just every bit
as well try to keep clean pinafores on the ducks and chickens out in
the yard as try to keep them tidy."
Murtagh's only answer was to crow like a cock, and then he fell
into the more meditative quacking of ducks as he began an elaborate
variation upon his air.
Their guest began to look just a little forlorn. After traveling for
three or four days people are apt to be tired, and it did not seem to
occur to any one that she might like to be shown to a room where she
could rest a little and wash away the dust of her long journey. There
was apparently no chair disengaged either, upon which she might sit
down, so she stood leaning against the chimney-piece, while Rosie tried
hurriedly to make the room tidier, and Ellie sat down upon the floor,
delighted with the treasure that had been left hanging round her neck.
But Rosie had some idea of the duties of a hostess, and she soon
noticed how white the girl looked.
"You look dreadfully tired," she said in a voice so gentle that
Adrienne was quite surprised. "Wait a minute, here's a comfortable
chair; I'll clear the music out of it." As she spoke she tipped up an
arm-chair and wheeled it to the fireplace.
"Thank you," said Adrienne; "but if you would show me where my room
is--I am so tired."
"Oh, yes," said Rosie; "and I'll get you some--" but the end of her
sentence was lost as she ran out of the room.
The variation of "St. Patrick's Day" was growing so intricate that
Murtagh was completely absorbed by it. Mrs. Donegan was picking up
books and toys from the floor; there was nothing for Adrienne to do but
to sit down and wait.
"You do look tired, Ma'am," said Mrs. Donegan, presently, pausing with
a broken Noah's ark in her hand. "I think, Master Murtagh, I'll go and
send the tea in at once. There's no use waitin' for Miss Winnie and
Master Bobbo."
"Fire away," grunted Murtagh, from the piano. His music was very good,
and Adrienne began to think it pleasant to listen to as she lay back in
the big chair.
But in another moment the music was interrupted by a collision of some
kind, and then a confusion of voices in the hall.
"Whatever are you thinking of, Master Bobbo?" came out in Donnie's
energetic tones.
"I do wish you'd look where you're going, Donnie; you've nearly knocked
me into the middle of next week!" retorted a hearty boy's voice.
"Hurrah! here they are," cried Murtagh; and he started up and dashed
into the hall. There was some whispering outside the door; and then
Bobbo and Murtagh entered the room, followed by Winnie.
Bobbo was a pleasant, strong-looking boy, with clear eyes, rosy cheeks,
and a turned-up nose.
Winnie was a little elf-like thing; her scarlet cloak twisted all
crooked with the wind, the skirt of her brown dress gathered up to
hold the apples, her hair beaten down over her forehead by the rain,
her great dark eyes dancing, her cheeks glowing, the merry mouth ready
to break into smiles, she seemed the very incarnation of life and
brightness.
"The Queen of robin redbreasts!" flashed through Adrienne's mind, and
she sat up with revived animation to greet the new-comers.
Bobbo walked up to her and said, "How do you do?" with a decidedly
Irish intonation, retiring then behind her chair and entering into a
whispered conversation with little Ellie.
Winnie dropped all her apples upon the hearth-rug, saying, "Fetch the
dishes, Bobbo, from the pantry." Then she shook hands with Adrienne,
looking at her with clear, intelligent eyes.
"You have your apples," said Adrienne. "Your brother said you did not
mind being wet."
"Mind being wet!" said Winnie, with a bright look of amusement, "of
course we don't. Are you fond of apples?" she continued, looking down
at the rosy fruit and wet leaves. "We thought we'd have some for tea as
you were coming, so Bobbo and I went to fetch them. We meant to have
been in by the time you came, only it was so dark it made us longer.
See, here's a beauty!" she added, picking out a fine pippin. "Do try
this; I'm sure it's good."
She held it up towards Adrienne, large and rich-colored, still wet
with rain, the cluster of leaves under which it had ripened yet crisp
upon its stalk, and Adrienne could not help taking it, and answered
smilingly:
"I will have it for dessert after the chickens."
But with a sudden change of expression, forgetting all about Adrienne,
Winnie turned to Murtagh, and exclaimed eagerly:
"Oh, it has been such fun getting these; I _must_ tell you all about
it. Well, we got past Bland's cottage all safe enough; the rain and the
wind were making such a noise there wasn't a chance of our being heard."
"Bland's the gardener," explained Murtagh to Adrienne, "and he always
tries to catch us when we bag the fruit."
"But just as we were nearly in the garden," continued Winnie, "what
should we hear but Bland coming, tramp, tramp, along the gravel; and
Bobbo called out, 'I say, he's got a lantern, an' he's sure to see us.'
And, of course, that made him hear us, and it would be all up if we
couldn't get hid quick enough; so I jumped down and squeezed in under a
bush, but when Bobbo tried to get down, one of the spikes of the gate
went through his knickerbockers, and there he stuck. On came Bland,
and called out, 'Ha! ye good-for-nothing vagabones; it's caught ye are
this time!' and, lo and behold! it wasn't Bland at all, but a great big
policeman. He pulled Bobbo down off the gate, and didn't he tear a
fine hole in the back of his knickerbockers! Poor Bobbo got in such a
fright he couldn't say a word, so I jumped out from under the bush, and
I said: 'We're not stealing! we're only going to take some apples for
tea. We're ladies and gentlemen.' So he looked at the hole in Bobbo's
clothes as if he wasn't quite sure, so I said, 'You tore that, taking
him off the gate!' Bobbo did look awfully untidy though, with the light
of the lantern shining full on the raggy part of him. Then he turned
the lantern on to my face, and laughed, and said, 'I'm sure I beg your
pardon, Miss; I hadn't an idea it would be any one but ragamuffins out
o' the village about this wild night.'
"So I said, very politely, you know: 'Please _would_ you just help us
over the gate? It's so very high to climb when the bars are slippery
with rain.' So he helped us both over, and then I said: 'Would you
mind just standing about here till we come back? And if you hear Bland
coming, give a good loud whistle, will you?' So he said he would, and
we ran off and got the apples, and then he helped us back over the gate
again, and we gave him some apples, and here we are. By the bye, Bobbo,
I've left my hat up in that first apple tree. But wasn't it fun making
the policeman keep watch for us?"
"Awfully jolly!" said Murtagh. "What's his number? we'll make him do
it to-morrow night, too. No, no, Winnie; that's not the way to settle
those apples. Put the streaked one next the rosy one. So. Now put a
yellow one, and a Virginia creeper leaf. There; that's it! You've no
more eye for color than a steam-engine."
Just as Winnie stopped speaking, the schoolroom door was pushed slowly
open, and Rosie entered, carefully holding in both hands a salver with
some refreshment. "You look so tired," she said to Adrienne, "that I
thought you'd better have this without waiting for tea."
"Thank you," said Adrienne. It was just what she needed, and as she
put the glass back upon the salver, she added gratefully, "You are
accustomed to be mistress of a house, I see."
Rosie flushed with pleasure, and replied: "There's nobody but me except
when Cousin Jane's here. I'll go and see now about hurrying tea; I
can't think what they're taking such a time for."
"But my room," suggested Adrienne again; "if I might go to it first, I
am so dusty."
"Oh, yes!" said Rosie, "I'll be back in a minute;" and she departed on
her errand to the kitchen.
"I'll show you your room, if you like," said Winnie, jumping up from
the floor. "Come along!"
But the fire was drawing clouds of steam from the child's wet clothes,
and as Adrienne looked towards her she perceived it.
"Do you know," she exclaimed in dismay, "your dress must be quite
wet through? Please do not mind about my room, but go and change it
quickly."
"Oh, it doesn't hurt me being wet," laughed Winnie.
"Besides," said Murtagh, "she hasn't got anything to change into.
Didn't you hear Donnie say all her clothes were in the wash-tub?"
"Haven't you a dressing-gown?" she asked at length. "I think it must be
very bad to stay so wet as that."
"Oh, yes!" said Winnie, "I'll go and undress and put on my
dressing-gown, then I'll be ready to jump into bed; that'll be rather
fun. Do you know where my dressing-gown is, Murtagh?" she added, as
she danced off towards the door. "You had it last, the day we were
dressing up."
"I'm sure I don't know where we left it," replied Murtagh.
"Oh, well, never mind. I'll get Rosie's. Don't finish settling those
apples till I come down."
Murtagh dropped the apples which he held, and jumped up.
"Shall I show you your room?" he asked, taking a candle from the
chimney-piece and turning to Adrienne. "You really must want to get
your things off. Let me carry your umbrella. And you would like to have
your bag. We left it in the hall, I think."
He led the way, as he spoke, out again into the hall, and crossing over
to the other end began to mount a broad oak staircase.
It was dark with age, and the candle sufficed to show that in places
bits of carving had dropped or been broken from the high wainscot and
massive balustrade; doors were let into the wainscoting, and two of
them stood open, but they only disclosed dark distances that seemed to
tell of long passages or descending flights of steps.
Murtagh was quite silent at first, preceding Adrienne by a few steps,
but when they reached the corridor above he fell back so as to walk
beside her.
She said something about the house being very large.
"Yes, and it seems lonely to you now; doesn't it?" he said, in a tone
different from any he had used before. "I did feel so dreary at first
when we came from India. But you must cheer up, you know; you won't
think us so bad, I expect, when you get accustomed to us, and it's a
dear old place. There's a beautiful river full of rocks, and real wild
mountains with heather on them."
"I'm sure I shall like everything," she replied warmly.
"Well, you know," said Murtagh, thoughtfully, "we're awfully rampageous
and everything. That's why people don't like us. You see we can't help
it exactly, we're always that way." There was a half-sad undertone in
the boy's voice, and his companion turned her sweet eyes kindly upon
him as she answered, "You've been very kind to me."
He looked gratified, but he put an end to the conversation by throwing
open a door and exclaiming, "This is your room."
It was a large, comfortable room with old-fashioned, faded furniture,
and a great four-post bed; the big fire that blazed cheerily at one end
filling it all with warm light and dancing shadows.
"Have you water, and all that kind of thing?" he inquired with a look
round the room.
"Yes, thank you. Will you unfasten that little box for me?"
Murtagh, having unfastened the box and poked the fire, retired, saying
that he would come and fetch her as soon as tea was ready; and the girl
was left alone to realize that her new life had actually begun.