At the tower the followers were eagerly expecting the return of their
little chiefs. While the children had been away they had rambled about
under Pat O'Toole's direction, and had each brought a beautiful branch
of mountain-ash, loaded with scarlet berries, to hold in their hands,
and had gathered bunches of white heather. They had added, too, to
the decorations by fixing branches of mountain-ash wherever one of
the festoons was looped, and they were most anxious to know whether
Rosie would approve their taste. She did heartily, and the broad,
good-humored faces beamed with delight at her thanks.
A white table-cloth was hastily thrown over the hampers, and the
followers were told to wash their feet and hurry on their clean
pinafores, which latter had been wisely put on one side in the early
part of the day. Ellie was to be the messenger who was to summon Nessa,
and her shabby green frock was far from suitable to such an occasion.
Rosie looked at her in despair for a moment.
"Quick, quick, Winnie, the needles and thread," she said; and then
she and Winnie tacked a garland of white heather round the hem of the
frock, looped it up over the short, scarlet linsey petticoat, and
placed bunches of white heather on the breast and shoulders with such
effect that when Murtagh crowned the child's golden head with a wreath
of the same white flowers, Winnie cried in delight, "Oh, Ellie, you do
look like a little fairy, so you do."
"All but the boots and stockings," returned Murtagh.
"Tate 'em off," said Ellie, eagerly holding up one foot. "Ellie want to
be a fairy."
"The grass'll prick," said Winnie. But Ellie replied: "Me don't mind.
Ellie be a fairy then, and look so pretty."
So they pulled off the clumsy boots, and she danced gleefully over the
grass, her golden curls falling over her dimpled shoulders, her little
white feet and legs twinkling in the sunlight.
"'Deed it's like an angel right down from heaven she is!" exclaimed
more than one of the followers, while Rose, with anxiety said: "Take
care, Ellie; don't shake off your wreath. Now you're to come with us
where Nessa is behind the rock, and you're to tell her--What shall we
say, Murtagh?"
"Tell her to come and be one of us," replied Murtagh, grandiloquently.
"You lead Ellie down, Rosie. All you followers follow, and as soon as
Miss Nessa comes round the rock, form into two lines for her to pass
through, and scatter your flowers. Now begin to sing."
He touched his violin. Winnie's clear voice rose first, then all the
others joined in, and the music swelled in harmony as the little
procession moved down the slope.
Notwithstanding the sunlight, the flowers, and the gay dresses of the
children, there was a something almost solemn in their voices.
"Now go," said Rosie, loosing the child's hand as the singing began
gently to die away.
With flushed cheeks and the same wondering look still in her eyes,
Ellie sprang round the rock, and holding out her hand to Nessa, she
cried earnestly:
"Oor to tum and be a fairy. Ellie's not frightened. It doesn' hurt."
"No, dear," replied Nessa, taking hold of the little hot hand. "Only
fun for Nessa and Ellie together."
"Yes, _only_ fun," said Ellie. They came out from behind the rock, and
were received with a cheer ending in a burst of music.
"How very, very pretty!" exclaimed Nessa, taking in the whole scene at
a glance and standing still in admiration.
Almost opposite to them rose the grassy slope with the irregular
double file of followers winding down its side. Through their ranks
Nessa could see Murtagh playing his violin. Behind rose the gray ruin
wreathed in flowers, and above and beyond all, clear blue sky flecked
with sunny clouds spread over the purple hilltops as far as the eye
could reach.
"Tum," said Ellie, pulling her hand; and through the singing children
Nessa walked slowly towards the throne. But now Ellie was not the only
one who felt solemnity underlying the play. The children could not
have told how much they were in earnest; their hearts were beating
fast, they scarcely knew why, and there was a tone in their voices that
filled Nessa with emotion.
[Illustration: "THROUGH THE SINGING CHILDREN NESSA WALKED."]
When Nessa was quite close the music ceased. Murtagh descended from
his seat, and with the followers pressing eagerly round to see, Nessa
was with due form received into the tribe, and the green ribbon was
tied about her arm. Then came the moment for her to promise to hate
the "Agents." It was the interesting point, the crisis as it were of
the whole ceremony; and there was an almost breathless silence while
Murtagh, his voice shaking a little with excitement, said to her, "Will
you promise faithfully to hate the 'Agents,' and to defend your tribe
against them?"
She looked round the listening circle with a sort of troubled
astonishment, and then turning to Murtagh she answered quite gravely:
"No. I do not like hating."
A burst of expressive lament escaped from the crowd. Murtagh looked
puzzled and disappointed.
"What shall we do?" he asked at length, turning to the followers.
"Make her princess over us, anyhow, Mr. Murtagh. It can't be helped,"
cried Pat O'Toole, magnanimously, and the other followers by their
acclamations seconded his request.
"Yes, do! yes, do!" cried Winnie, Bobbo, and Rosie.
Murtagh took the wreath of shamrocks and would have placed it on
Nessa's head; but she drew back and said, "No; I do not think I can be
your princess."
Murtagh paused with the wreath in his hands too much astonished to
speak.
"Have you promised what you wanted me to promise?" asked Nessa.
"That we have; _sworn_ it!" cried the children, eagerly, regaining
their voices.
"That was what I thought," said Nessa, beginning to unfasten the ribbon
from her arm. "That is why I cannot be one of your tribe."
"Oh, stop a minute! stop a minute!" cried Rosie and the children, while
Murtagh asked, "What do you want us to do?"
"I want you to undo the promise you have made, and to try never to hate
any one," said Nessa, resolutely, her cheeks flushing a little, and her
eyes dark and bright. "Do you not feel wicked when you hate?"
There was a pause; but for the moment Nessa had the little crowd in her
power. Pat O'Toole was the first to speak.
"'Deed and she's right," he exclaimed. "When my paddy's up, it's little
I care what I do."
"Faix, and it's little good we get by hating them," remarked another of
the elder followers.
But to Murtagh himself the question was a more personal one. He was
thinking deeply. Then, his whole countenance opening out into a sunny
smile, he turned to Nessa and said, "I'll try."
That was all that was needed.
"So will I," said Winnie; and more or less earnestly the promise was
echoed by the crowd.
"Then I will be your princess if you will have me," said Nessa. "And
shall I give you a _device_,--a motto for the tribe?" she added.
"Yes, yes," cried Murtagh. "What is it?"
"'Peace on earth, goodwill towards men.' Will you have that?"
She looked round with a gentle pleading in her eyes, and then taking
off her hat knelt down on the grass before Murtagh.
"God bless her!" cried the followers, and Murtagh's face was white, and
his hands trembling, as he laid the wreath upon her head.
In the midst of the echoing hurrahs Murtagh led her up the steps of the
throne. The excitement of the children had been growing greater and
greater. During the ceremony they had been obliged to keep it down, but
now it burst forth without restraint.
They danced and shouted round the throne like mad creatures. At last
Murtagh struck the first notes of the "Shan van Vaugh," and every one
found relief in spending upon that the force of their lungs. How they
did sing! Their voices rang through the mountain rocks; even little
Ellie, standing on the throne beside Nessa, sang diligently all the
time the only words she knew, "Says de Shan van Vaugh; says de Shan van
Vaugh;" and when with a last triumphant burst came the ending lines:
"We'll pluck the laurel tree,
And we'll call it Liberty,
For our country _shall_ be free,
Says the Shan van Vaugh"--
Nessa clapped her hands and cried in delight: "Oh, how pretty it is out
of doors! How pretty it all is!"
Almost as she did so a strange voice exclaimed, "Well, children, are
you holding a Fenian meeting?" The words were accompanied by a little
laugh, but they had the effect of putting a complete stop to the
children's mirth.
Nessa looked round, and standing by the low wall she perceived a lady.
By her side stood a fashionably dressed girl of sixteen, whose face
wore an expression of amused contempt.
"Or have you quite given up civilized life," continued the lady, with a
series of little laughs, "and resolved to live up here with your select
circle of friends? I thought you were to have some one to take care of
you. How do you get on with the new cousin, eh, Murtagh? Oh, I'm sure I
beg your pardon," she added, suddenly perceiving Nessa, and making up
for her first oversight by a fixed and deliberate stare.
The color deepened in Nessa's cheeks as she bowed.
"So you have a new playfellow, children. That must be very nice for
you. You have good strong nerves, I suppose, and don't mind noise,"
she added, addressing Nessa. "Well, you are quite right; it's no good
having delicate ways and ideas when you have to live with a big
family. Those things do well enough where there's only one or two."
At this point Murtagh seemed to think that she had monopolized the
conversation long enough, for he now walked up to her, and holding out
his hand said gravely:
"How do you do, Cousin Jane? How do you do, Emma?"
The three other children followed his example with automatic
regularity, and no social extinguisher could have been more effective.
Cousin Jane was completely silenced.
"It is no use our staying here any longer, mamma," exclaimed Emma.
"We shall see them all when they are quiet and tidy in the house this
evening. We could not imagine," she said, turning politely to Nessa,
"what all the noise was. That is why we came up."
"It is a birthday," said Nessa, smiling, as she glanced at the groups
of followers, "and we are _en grande fête_."
"We've got a jolly good feast for them, too," said Bobbo,
confidentially.
"A feast, have you?" exclaimed Cousin Jane. "Oh, well, there's a lot of
fruit and cakes in the carriage. You'd like them, now, I daresay, as
well as any other time. Here, you little one," turning to one of the
followers; "do you know how to eat sweeties?"
The little girl addressed put her finger sheepishly in her mouth, and
Cousin Jane pulled out of her pocket a large paper of sweeties, which
she proceeded good-humoredly to distribute, while Emma, turning to
Nessa, asked if such a noise did not make her head ache?
"No!" said Nessa; "it amuses me very much."
"And I dare say you've been accustomed to it," added Cousin Jane. "But
I wonder what Ma'mselle would say to such lessons; eh, Emma?"
Emma laughed contemptuously, and Cousin Jane, dropping her voice to a
confidential tone, continued: "You know I'm the only lady they have to
look after them, so we must have some talks about them. The idea of
allowing them to come up here with that pack of dirty children. Nobody
in the world but John would do such a thing. But he's so wrapped up in
books, and stones, and pictures, he puts all his duties on one side.
If it wasn't for Mr. Plunkett, I don't know what would become of the
place; that man is the salvation of the estate."
This seemed a fruitful subject to Cousin Jane, for she continued to
talk without interruption till the carriage was reached.
Nessa found nothing to say, and was only glad that the children had
careered on in front. Frankie was not in the carriage; he had preferred
to drive in the dog-cart with a servant; so it was the affair of a few
minutes only to find the basket Cousin Jane destined for the children;
and then, it must be confessed to the relief of every one, the carriage
drove on towards Castle Blair.
"Wait till you see Frankie," said Murtagh. "_He's_ not a bit like that."
"I say, Murtagh," called Bobbo, "come and wash your hands, and let
us see about unpacking the grub." A hatful of water flung after the
invitation proved irresistible; in another minute Murtagh was taking
his revenge, and water was flying in every direction.
Suddenly in the midst of the fun a splendid Newfoundland dog bounded
through the hedge, fairly upsetting Winnie, and splashing the water
over them all.
"In the name of all that's wonderful, where do you come from?"
exclaimed Murtagh.
A low, rippling laugh made both Nessa and Murtagh look round, and in
a dog-cart on the other side of the hedge they saw a delicate-looking
little boy sitting watching Winnie with delight.
"Frankie!" exclaimed Murtagh, springing forward.
"Yes," said Frankie. "How do you do? What are you doing? Was it you
making that jolly noise? Have you heard why we've come here? There is
such a splendid plan. The doctors say I am to go to the seaside, and
some of you are to come."
Murtagh was busy climbing through the hedge and into the dog-cart,
exclaiming: "How are you, old fellow? Are you any better? Where did you
get him? He is such a beauty!" The last words referred, of course, to
the dog, whom Winnie had caught, and was now leading back to the stream.
The servant who accompanied him began to assure Murtagh that Mr. Frank
was much better, and would soon be quite well now; but Frankie seemed
to wish to change the subject, and said hurriedly: "Yes, isn't he
splendid! He was given to me, but I've been training him for Winnie.
He's no good to me, you know; if he knocks me over, I don't get my
breath back for a week. But I thought she'd like him. He's as quiet as
a lamb unless you set him at anybody, and then he goes at them like--"
"Like an Irishman," suggested Murtagh; but though his words were meant
for a joke he looked wistfully at his cousin, wishing to ask more
questions about his health. He was very fond of Frankie, and it made
him sorry to see the sunken cheeks and wasted hands that told even to
childish eyes how ill the boy was.
Frankie nodded and sat silently looking at Winnie and the dog, with a
pleased smile playing round his mouth.
Winnie had not yet perceived him, and her attention was entirely
absorbed by the dog. Both her arms were round its neck, and as she
walked along by its side, bending down, she showered upon it every
endearing epithet she could think of.
"Perhaps you're lost, and perhaps we won't be able to find your master,
however hard we look, and then you'll stay with us; won't you, my
beauty?" she was saying, when she glanced up and saw Frankie.
Instantly the dog was forgotten, and she flew towards the road,
exclaiming: "Frankie! How jolly!"
Frankie laughed again his low, pleased laugh; but did not attempt to
say more than, "Yes; here I am," as Winnie climbed up on the wheel of
the dog-cart and pulled down his face to be kissed.
"We're having such fun!" she continued; "get down, and come up to the
tower with us."
"No, I mustn't do that," replied Frankie, looking wistfully at the
tower and then smiling again as his eyes fell to the dog standing by
Winnie's side. "I only stopped to see what you'd think of Royal."
"You don't mean to say that this beautiful dog is yours!" exclaimed
Winnie. "Oh, Frankie, you are a lucky boy!"
"Yes, it is," said Murtagh.
"Your very, very own?" inquired Winnie, doubtful whether it were
possible for any child to possess such a treasure.
"No," said Frankie; "he isn't mine, he is yours."
"Wha--what do you mean?" asked Winnie, astonished, the color deepening
a little in her cheeks.
"I mean what I say," repeated Frankie, his face beaming. "He is your
very own dog; I have been training him for you, and I've brought him
here for you!"
Winnie did not seem able to take it in. The color spread over her
cheeks and mounted to her forehead. Her big eyes grew round and bigger,
but she did not dare to believe such a thing could be till Murtagh
exclaimed:
"Frankie's given him to you. He's your very own, as own as own can be!"
Then a light broke over her face, and tightening the grasp of her arms
round Royal's neck she half strangled him in an embrace, while all she
could say was, "Oh, Frankie!"
Frankie seemed well satisfied with her thanks.
Murtagh laughed and said, "She doesn't believe it now."
"Yes, I do," said Winnie, "only it's too good! I can't seem to know it.
Oh, Frankie, I think I shall go crazy with gladness!" Suddenly she tore
up the hill, calling to Royal to follow, and burst upon the assembled
children, exclaiming: "He's mine! He's my very own! Frankie's just
given him to me!" Then she raced down again like some mad thing, and
ran away at full speed over the heather with Royal at her heels.
Frankie stayed only to display some of Royal's accomplishments and
to show Winnie's name engraved upon the collar. Then he drove away,
leaving their new treasure with the children.
But it was getting to be quite afternoon by this time, and nobody had
had any dinner yet, so Murtagh careered up the hill, crying: "Come
along now, and let's have scene number two in the entertainment. I feel
as if I was quite ready. How are you, Winnie?"
Winnie's answer was more expressive than elegant. In a very few moments
the cloth was spread upon the ground and covered with Mrs. Donegan's
dainties. The children were in no way disappointed in the pleasure of
watching the queer expressions of the faces as dish after dish came
out of the hampers. Poor hungry followers! they had had nothing to eat
since an early hour that morning, and few of them had ever even seen
such things as Mrs. Donegan had prepared.
Winnie was in ecstasy over their pleasure. At first they were too
shy to help themselves to anything, but she jumped up and had soon
piled some of their plates. Rosie and the boys did the same, and the
followers quickly recovered themselves sufficiently to talk, and eat,
and laugh.
"Now, whatever more you want you must really help yourselves," cried
Murtagh, returning to his place, after having gone once round. "I'm so
starving that if I don't get something soon, I shall eat one of you."
Royal had waited like a perfect gentleman, as he was, till all were
helped; but now he gravely poked his black muzzle into Winnie's hand
in a manner that said as plainly as any words, "Give me a little cold
pie, if you please." He had not to ask twice. Winnie gave him a great
plateful of miscellaneous food, and a constant cry of, "Here, Royal!
Royal!" kept him racing round the table-cloth. One little girl wished
to be very polite, and as he was Winnie's dog thought it better to call
him Master Royal. That made the others ashamed of their bad manners,
but they soon corrected themselves, and from that day forth he was
Master Royal to the followers.
At first there was not very much talking, for all were so hungry they
were glad to eat. But when once the edge was taken off their appetites
the Irish tongues got loose; and then they chattered, they laughed,
they sang snatches of songs, they drank healths in water, and made mock
speeches each more ludicrous than the last, till everybody was half
incapacitated with laughter. Murtagh was the soul of the party. Nessa
wondered where his words and ideas came from. Seated in state at the
head of the table she was very gay and happy. She was unusually amused
by this wild, merry crew, and such spirits as theirs were infectious.
The feast over, Royal was with much mock solemnity received into the
tribe, a ceremony which he disrespectfully brought to an abrupt ending
by knocking over four or five of his sponsors. They then divided into
parties, and played robber games among the hills, till the fading light
warned them that even the pleasantest of days _will_ come to an end.
The remains of the feast were divided between the followers. Tommie was
yoked into the cart again, and his willing head turned homewards.
But even then the children were not tired. It was wonderful to see how
they caracoled round the cart, and sang and laughed the whole way home;
and when, finally, they drove up in state and deposited Nessa upon the
hall door-steps, the last cheer they gave her was as hearty as any they
had uttered that day.