Long Island was one of the largest of the little islands round which
the river flowed. The river at this part was more considerable, and
even now, at the end of the dry season, it required no little agility
to ford it. The island was so thickly overgrown with trees and bushes
that from the banks it seemed to be only an impenetrable mass of
foliage. But the children knew better. In the centre was a little
cleared spot, and on that clearance their father had, many years ago,
built a hut.
The difficulty of approach, and the delightful loneliness of the place,
formed a great attraction for the children; but the charm of charms was
this hut. Completely hidden as it was, approachable only by two narrow
openings in the bushes, never entered except by themselves, there was a
delicious mystery about it that heightened the pleasures of possession;
and then, it was their very own, built by their father when he was
a child like them, and begged for them by him from their uncle, who
was scarcely aware of its existence. It was their castle, to do with
absolutely as they pleased.
There was no place in the world where the children more enjoyed
playing. Its walls were built of stones cemented with mud; a square
opening on one side served as a window, but in the doorway there was
still the remains of a door, which Murtagh and Bobbo had mended so that
it could shut, fastened on the inside.
Opposite the window was a chimney, and in one of the walls a cupboard
where Rosie and Winnie kept a wooden bowl, four or five broken plates,
two cups, and an old knife. Besides these they had an empty box that
they used as a table, and five flower-pots that served as chairs; also
a piece of soap, an old scrubbing-brush, a lot of raw potatoes, and a
broom which they had made for themselves.
The only drawback was that this island was too far off. There was
a shorter way by the road, but the children always came along the
river-bed, and though the distance was really far less than they
imagined, the high, wooded banks, the desolate fields through which the
river wound, made the course of it so lonely that they always felt as
if they were on an expedition into the depths of a wild country.
This very seclusion, however, made it all the more suitable to their
present purpose, and to-day their sense of proprietorship was perhaps
more delightful than it had ever been before.
For the moment, however, the important matter was to get dinner ready,
and they set to work to collect wood for the fire.
Then the hut had to be cleaned, for it was more than a month since
they had last been here, and cobwebs and dust abounded; so while Rosie
prepared to light the fire, the boys went with the bowl and saucepan to
bring up water from the river, Winnie swept out the hut, and to Theresa
was intrusted the business of getting the fish ready for cooking. Ellie
was sent to pick laurel leaves to strew the floor. "For," remarked
Murtagh, "to-day's a grand festival day, and our floor must be strewed
with rushes like the ancient Britons. I'll be lord of the castle and,
Winnie, you shall be lady."
"I don't know what to do with this fire, Murtagh!" exclaimed Rose. "The
three matches we had left are every one of them damp; I can't strike
them."
"What a sell if we can't have a fire at all!" ejaculated Bobbo. "What's
to be done?"
"Go down to the mill, of course, and get some matches from one of the
men," dictated Winnie, in her bright, decided way.
"Well done, my Lady Winifreda! right as usual," exclaimed Murtagh.
"Be off, you varlet!" he continued in a grandiloquent tone of voice,
turning to Bobbo, "and--" he paused a moment to find proper words,
but fine language running short, the end of his sentence collapsed
miserably into, "look sharp back again."
"Bring a dictionary next time," laughed Bobbo, as he started off to
fetch the matches.
Scrubbing, sweeping, and dusting went on vigorously, till Bobbo came
back from the mill bringing with him not only a whole box of matches
but also a can of buttermilk, which the good-natured miller's wife had
given him.
How the children enjoyed that cleaning! How they rubbed, and scrubbed,
and splashed the water about! They forgot all about being hungry. Any
one might have supposed that they were the most orderly little mortals
in existence.
Even Ellie had her share. With the skirt of her frock pinned back,
and her little sleeves rolled up, she knelt upon the floor arranging
laurel leaves, with the shiny sides uppermost, as though her very life
depended on the completeness of the operation.
At last all began to look a little more clean and tidy, as Rose and
Winnie observed with pride. The fire was lighted, the potatoes were
boiling, the fish ready to cook, and now arose the great question,
"How were the fish to be cooked?" The children had often seen Donnie
cooking fish, but then it was always in a frying-pan, and they had
none. Murtagh was equal to the occasion. He thought he had heard
somewhere that down at Killarney trout used to be grilled over a wood
fire on a kind of gridiron of arbutus twigs; and there was a splendid
arbutus tree on the island.
"All right," said Winnie; "I daresay it's as good a plan as another;
anyhow, let's try."
The boys went out to cut the twigs, and she prepared a little wall of
stones on either side of the fire, so that the sticks might be laid
across, and support the fish nicely over the red mass of glowing wood,
without letting them get burned. Everything was ready except the trout.
The children began to realize how hungry they were; and the boys coming
quickly back with their bundles of rods, every one gathered round the
fire, absorbed in the interest of watching the experiment.
Winnie's plan for making the gridiron answered perfectly, and in a
minute six trout lay sputtering side by side upon it.
"Doesn't it make one hungry to look at them?" cried Bobbo, in delight.
Rosie appealed anxiously to Winnie to know how long she thought they
ought to take cooking.
"I don't know exactly," said Winnie. "We must just guess!" And so well
did they guess that when the six trout were all served up together
in the flat wooden bowl, decorated with sprays of arbutus leaves and
berries, the children decided that they had never sat down to such a
jolly dinner.
They were as hungry as hungry could be. The fish and brown cake were
delicious; the hut was most cosy with its carpet of green leaves
and its blazing fire, and even Theresa could not help being gay and
light-hearted.
By the time dinner was over, however, the short October afternoon was
reminding them that, even taking the shortest way home by the road,
they had some little distance to go, and nothing had yet been quite
settled about Theresa.
"Now, listen, and I'll tell you what my plan is," said Murtagh. "This
hut is a very nice place to live, and I vote Theresa stays here. There
are three fish left, and a bit of cake. That'll do for her supper and
breakfast. We can collect a lot of wood; then she can fasten the door
inside and keep herself warm with a jolly big fire all night; not a
soul will ever know she's here, and to-morrow--"
"Well, but, Murtagh," interrupted Rosie, "we can't--!"
"Stop a minute," said Murtagh, "I thought all about it on the way
up here. To-morrow we must make up our minds to ask old Plunkett
something. It's not very nice, but then, you know, it's not the same as
if it was for ourselves. We'll just tell him all about it; how the rent
was lost, and then, though he is such a--what he is--he'll let them
off paying after an accident like that. Then, Theresa, we'll all go
home with you, and your mother'll be so awfully glad to see you, after
thinking you're lost, that she won't think a word about anything except
kissing, and of course when the rent's all right your stepfather won't
touch you."
"What a splendid plan!" cried Winnie and Bobbo together, as Murtagh
looked round for admiration.
The notion was by no means so agreeable to Theresa; but at the thought
of going home the terror of her stepfather came over her again. She
dared not face him without the rent; the remembrance of her last
beating was too fresh in her mind.
"I think I'd better drown myself and have done with it!" she exclaimed,
relapsing into her former state of despair.
"What in the world should you drown yourself for?" asked Winnie. "You
have nothing to do except to stay here; then we'll come up with the
rent, and we'll all go home to your house together; the night goes
quite quickly when you're asleep."
Winnie's words made the affair seem certainly much simpler. Theresa
felt ashamed of her ingratitude.
"I'm sure I ask yer pardon. It's much too good ye are to me," she
replied warmly. Then with a sudden doubt, "Ye're sure ye'll bring it up
in the morning?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Bobbo and Winnie together. "We'll come up the very
first thing after we've got it," said Murtagh. "You know he won't
actually give us two sovereigns, but he'll say you needn't pay your
rent; that's just the same thing."
"But," suggested Rosie, who understood better what Theresa meant,
"supposing he won't let them off paying."
"Oh, of course he'll let them off!" returned the others, confidently.
"Why," said Winnie, "just think, what's two sovereigns in all the
hundreds of pounds he has paid to him!"
"Why," added Murtagh, "he has more hundreds of pounds every year than
we have halfpennies, all five of us put together."
"So it would be just the same," continued Winnie, "as if some one asked
us to give two halfpennies between us, and we would have to be pretty
mean if we wouldn't do that."
"Yes," said Rosie, "then I think it'll be all right. He couldn't
possibly refuse that."
"I should rather think not!" answered Bobbo.
"There's only one thing more," said Murtagh. "About your mother,
Theresa; is that what you're thinking about? Are you afraid she'll be
frightened at your not going home?"
"Oh, Murtagh, we can't help that!" said Winnie. "We must keep it all
secret, or half the fun will be gone!"
Theresa replied dolefully that "She didn't know what her mother would
do. She thought maybe it would kill her."
"I'm sure it won't," said Bobbo, "and just think how jolly it'll be to
see her face when we take you back to-morrow."
"If once we let out the secret of the hut, we'll never have any peace
here again," urged Winnie.
"Now do just listen to me," said Murtagh. "Nobody's going to let out
the secret of the hut. Of course we can't tell your mother, because it
would never do to let anybody know where you are; but we might write
something on a piece of paper, just to let her know you're safe, and
poke it under the door. We can do it on the way home, when it's too
dark for any one to see us."
"Oh, Murtagh!" cried Bobbo, in delight. "How ever do things get into
your head?"
Murtagh tried not to look too proud of himself, but he began to feel
really elated at his own genius for arranging details.
"Who's got a pencil?" he continued, producing a bit of dirty paper from
his pocket.
None of them possessed such a thing; but a stick blackened in the fire
and then dipped in buttermilk answered fairly well for a pen. It was
found dreadfully difficult to write with; so Rose, who was the best
scribe of the party, was directed to write only these words: "Theresa
is safe,"--that being the very shortest message they could think of.
Then Murtagh put the letter in his pocket, and they all set to work to
collect fire wood.
Left alone, Theresa dared not move even to bolt the door which the
children had closed behind them, but turning the skirt of her dress
over her head, she sank down in the corner of the hut with her face to
the wall, and quivering with fear lay still and listened.
Nothing came, and before long the perfect stillness of her position
produced its own effect; she fell into a short, troubled sleep. But
her dreams were of terrible things, and she awoke suddenly a few hours
later convinced that she had heard something, she was too agitated to
attempt to define what. She gave one scream, and then sitting up she
held her breath and listened. A gentle wind had arisen, the branches
of the trees were swaying, and she imagined she heard a sound as of
ghostly footsteps.
Trembling greatly she crept across the hut. The moon was up now, and
the first object that met her eyes was a great white shimmering thing
that seemed to be coming towards her, waving its arms as it approached.
She stood still a moment transfixed with fright; two long white arms
were raised as if to seize her, and she could bear it no longer.
Shrieking at the top of her voice she fled blindly, out of the hut down
to the river's edge. The sight of the shining water recalled her just
sufficiently to her senses to prevent her from attempting to cross the
river; but still screaming she turned and rushed--right into the arms
of the ghost itself, where she fell exhausted and terrified among the
straggling branches of a tall laurel.
For a moment she lay shuddering with closed eyes; but presently,
venturing to look around her, she found that the ghost had vanished;
that the moon was shining peaceably on the white backs of the laurel
leaves as they fluttered on the swaying branches; and after the first
moment of astonishment, she began to understand that all her fright had
been caused by nothing more nor less than a big bush.
Poor little Theresa! She had sense enough left to feel ashamed of
herself, so she went quietly into the hut. This time she barricaded
the window and bolted the door, then blowing the fire into a blaze she
ate some supper, and lying down once more fell soon into a peaceable
slumber.
The children, meanwhile, had trotted in the deepening gloom along the
road till they came to the Dalys' cottage, standing back in a little
garden. But alas for Murtagh's plan. The door was wide open, and
opposite to it, near the fire, a man stood smoking.
"What's to be done now?" whispered Rose. "We'd better go away."
"Hold your tongue," returned Murtagh. "He can't see us because we're in
the dark, but he'll hear us if you don't mind."
Rose was silenced, and Murtagh stood a minute thinking.
"We'll hide in the ditch," whispered Winnie. "You wrap it round a
stone, then shy it in and hide; don't run away."
Murtagh nodded; and while he looked for a stone the four others
concealed themselves in the ditch. Standing a little on one side of the
door he flung in his note. The children saw the little white thing fall
at the man's feet. He started, looked round, and picked it up. As he
opened it they heard him say something in a low, thick voice. There was
a shrill cry of "Peter, what is it?" He seemed to answer; took a great
stick from the chimney corner, came to the door, and looked out. They
heard the woman's voice say, "Oh, Peter, catch the villains!" and their
hearts began to beat a little faster.
To their intense relief, however, he exclaimed with a drunken laugh,
"May old Nick fly away with 'em. I'm well rid of her." Then the door
was shut to with a bang. They scampered away home, not feeling quite
sure he wasn't after them till they were safe inside the house.
They rushed along the passages, slamming the doors behind them, till at
the drawing-room door they were brought to a full stop by Adrienne, who
hearing the noise came out to meet them.
"How late you are!" she said. "Come in here and warm yourselves while
they are getting your tea ready."
The drawing-room behind was bright with lamp and firelight. In her
white dress, her face a little flushed with bending over the fire,
she seemed to the children almost like a being from some other world.
Murtagh looked doubtfully at his muddy boots before he followed her.
The room smelt of flowers, a low chair was drawn up to the fire, and
on a small table beside it was a bit of needlework and a china bowl
full of ivy and late roses. The "mustiness" of the old room had somehow
disappeared, as if by enchantment.
Adrienne knelt down upon the hearth-rug, and taking Ellie's hands in
hers rubbed them to bring back the heat.
"Where have you been?" she asked. "You must be very hungry."
"Don't!" burst out Murtagh, who was apparently fascinated by the
contrast between Ellie's dirty little fingers and the hands in which
they lay. "They are so fishy; you'd better let them alone. Ellie can
warm them herself at the fire."
"Ellie is so tired," said Ellie, plaintively, leaning her little body
against Adrienne. Adrienne sat down on the floor and took the child
into her lap.
"Poor little thing!" she said, looking up at the others. "Have you been
fishing? I think you have been rather too far for her."
"I should rather think we have," replied Bobbo, enthusiastically. "And
we found something else besides fish; didn't we, Myrrh?"
An admonitory kick from Winnie, accompanied by a _sotto voce_ "Hold
your tongue, little donkey," warned him to be quiet, and Rosie hastily
covered his abrupt silence by remarking, "We caught nine trout, and
four of them were the very biggest I have ever seen."
Adrienne was all attention and interest, and without mentioning Theresa
the children had plenty to tell. Lolling in easy-chairs by the fire,
they were so warm and comfortable that they paid no attention to
Peggy's announcement that tea was ready, and presently Mr. Blair's step
was heard coming along the hall. Then Adrienne looked up quickly, and
said with a little hesitation:
"Hadn't you better go and take your tea now? I think that is Uncle
Blair, and you are not quite dressed for the drawing-room."
The children started out of their chairs. Murtagh contented himself
with one of his queer, significant glances, embracing the whole group
that stood upon the hearth-rug. Rosie blushed, and explained that,
"When we were with mamma, we always dressed for the evening."
Adrienne, without answering, led sleepy little Ellie to the door. The
children vanished promptly through one door as their uncle entered by
the other.
The schoolroom was cold, and as untidy as usual. The door was standing
open, and the flame of the candle which lighted the tea-table flickered
in the draught. As they surveyed it, and heard in the distance the
drawing-room door shut behind them, the children had a vague shut-out
sort of feeling.
"What a set of dirty vagabonds we do look," said Murtagh, shivering.
"Shut the door, Bobbo; the candle's running down one side on to the
table-cloth."