THE BEST FINDER
The children had gone on an excursion that would have been too far for
Honeybird, and had left her playing on the grassy path. It was a
favourite place, especially in May, when the apple-trees, that made a
thick screen on one side, were in blossom, and the grass was starred
with dandelions and daisies. There was not a safer spot in the garden,
the hedge was thick, the path was sunny, and it was a part ould Davy,
the cross gardener, never came near. Patsy had allowed her to play
with his rabbits and call them hers while he was away. He had carried
out the hutches for her before he started. Honeybird was quite content
to be left at home when she could play with the rabbits. She played
being mother to them. Mr Beezledum, the white Angora, was her eldest
son. Together, mother and son, they went to market to buy dandelions
for the children at home, bathed in the potato patch that was the sea,
and went to church under the hedge. It was the nature of children to
hate going to church, she knew, so when Beezledum struggled and
protested against having his fur torn by thorns she only gripped him
closer, and sternly sang a hymn. Beezledum suffered a great deal; for
Honeybird liked this part of the game best, and went to church more
often than to market. When Mick looked back from the far end of the
path as he started she was already under the hedge, with Beezledum
struggling in her arms. He heard her shrill voice singing: "Shall we
gather at the river?"
The day was warm and bright. The children tramped for miles, and it
was nearly eight o'clock when they came home, tired and hungry, and
clamouring for food. But the minute they saw Lull's face they saw that
something had happened. Her eyes were red with crying. Teressa was in
the kitchen too, wiping her eyes on the corner of her old plaid shawl.
It was Honeybird, Lull said when she could speak, for the sight of the
children made her cry again. Honeybird was lost; she had been missing
since dinner-time. Andy Graham and ould Davy were out scouring the
countryside for her. The children did not wait to hear more. They ran
at once to the grassy path where they had left Honeybird in the
morning. Mrs Beezledum was turning over half a ginger biscuit in her
hutch, the other rabbits were nibbling at the bars for food, but all
that was left of Honeybird and Mr Beezledum was a tuft of white fur in
the hedge. For a minute the children looked at each other, afraid to
speak. One of their terrors had come at last. Honeybird had been
stolen. Either the Kidnappers or the Wee People had taken her. The
children stared at each other's white faces as they realised what had
happened. If the Kidnappers, those tall, thin, half men, half devils,
had taken her they would carry her away behind the mountains, and there
they would cut the soles off her feet, and put her in a hot bath till
she bled to death. And if the Wee People had got her it would be to
take her under the ground, where she would sigh for evermore to come
back to earth. Mick's voice was thick when he spoke. "We'll hunt for
the wee sowl till we drop down dead," he said.
The fear of the Kidnappers was the most urgent, so towards the
mountains they must go first. The rest started at a run that soon left
Fly behind; but they dared not wait for her, and though she did her
best to keep up they were soon out of sight. But Fly never for a
moment thought of going back. Left to herself she jogged along with
her face to the mountains. The sun, setting behind Slieve Donard,
threw an unearthly glow over the fields. The mountains looked bigger
and wilder than ever, the sky farther away. Everything seemed to know
what had happened, even the birds were still, and a silence like an
enchantment made the whole country strange.
At last, in the middle of the field, Fly stopped, with a stitch in her
side. A flaming red sky stared her in the face, a wild, unknown land
stretched away on every side. Things she had been afraid of but had
only half believed in crowded round her. She saw now that they had
been real all the time, and had only been waiting for a chance to come
out of their hiding-places. Strange faces grinned at her from the
whins, cold eyes frowned at her from the stones. In another minute
that ragged bramble would turn back into an old witch. And behind the
mountains the Kidnappers were cutting the soles off Honeybird's feet.
With a wail of anguish Fly began to run again. She was not afraid of
the fiends and witches. They might grin and frown and laugh that low,
shivering laugh behind her if they liked--her Honeybird, her own
Honeybird, was behind the mountains, alone with those awful Kidnappers.
"Almighty God, make them ould Kidnappers drop our wee Honeybird," she
wailed.
Then she stopped again. She had forgotten that Almighty God could help.
But He would not help unless He were asked properly. For a moment she
doubted the wisdom of stopping to ask. She was conscious of many
grudges against her. This very day she had promised she would not do
one naughty thing if God would let it be fine--and then had forgotten,
and played being Moses when they were bathing, and struck the sea with
a tail of seaweed to make it close over Patsy, who was Pharaoh's host.
But her trouble was so great that, perhaps, if she confessed her sin He
would forgive her this time. So she knelt down, and folded her hands.
"Almighty God," she began, "I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise about
being good, I'm sorry I was Moses, I'm sorry I'm such a bad girl, but
as sure as I kneel on this grass I'll be good for iver an' iver if
ye'll send back our wee Honeybird."
Tears blinded and choked her for a moment. Almighty God could do
everything, could help her now so easily. It wouldn't hurt Him just
for once, she thought. She went on repeating her promise to be good,
begging and coaxing, but no sign came from the flaring heavens. At
last she got desperate. "If ye don't I'll niver believe in ye again,"
she shouted, then added: "Oh, please, I didn't mean to be rude, but we
want our poor, poor, wee Honeybird." She laid her face down on the
grass, and sobbed.
Almighty God might have helped her, she thought. It wasn't much she
had done to make Him cross after all--but, then, He was just--and she
had made Moses cross too. But Honeybird must be saved from the
Kidnappers, and if Almighty God would not help Fly knew she must go on
herself. She dried her eyes on her sleeve, and was getting up from her
knees, when something white hopped out from behind a whin. It was
Beezledum; and when Fly looked in under the whin there was Honeybird
fast asleep. She knelt down, and folded her hands again. "Almighty
God," she said, "I'll niver, niver to my dyin' day forget this on ye."
Then with a yell of joy she ran to wake Honeybird.
[Illustration: When Fly looked in under the whin there was Honeybird
fast asleep.]
There was great rejoicing when they got home. Lull hugged and kissed
them both, and made Honeybird tell her story over and over again.
"It was that ould Beezledum," Honeybird said; "he didn't like goin' to
church, an' he ran away through the hedge. An he run on an' on, an' I
thought I'd niver catch him. An' when I catched him, an begun to come
home, I was awful tired, an' I just sat down to get my breath, and Fly
came and woke me up."
About ten o'clock the others came home, despairing of ever seeing
Honeybird again. They had met ould Davy at the gates, who told them to
run on and see what was sitting by the kitchen fire.
What was sitting by the kitchen fire when they came in was Honeybird
eating hot buttered toast.
Lull pulled up their stools to the fire, and took a plate of toast that
she had made for them out of the oven. The rest of the evening was
spent in rejoicing. Fly began to be elated.
It was she who had found Honeybird. The others had run on and left
her, but she was the best finder after all. They praised her till she
was only second to Honeybird in importance. The desire to shine still
more got the better of her; though her conscience hurt she would not
heed it.
"Ye'll find I knowed where to look," she said; "ye'll find I know
things."
Lull and the four others listened with breathless interest to her tale.
Andy Graham came in from the stables to hear it. Fly got more and more
excited. "When ye all left me," she said, "I just run on till I come
to the quarest place, all whins an' big stones an' trees, an' I can
tell ye I was brave an' scared; I was just scared out a' my skin. But
I keep on shoutin': 'Where's our wee Honeybird? Give us back our wee
Honeybird,' an' all the time I run on like mad, shoutin' hard, an' I
lifted a big stick, an' sez I: 'If ye don't give us back our wee
Honeybird I'll wreck yer ould country an' I'll burn yer ould
thorn-trees,' an' I shook the big stick. 'Do ye hear me?' sez I--'for
I will, as sure as I'm standin' on this green grass.' An' with that
something white jumped out, an', sure enough, this was Beezledum, and
Honeybird fast asleep in under a whin."
"God love ye, but ye were the brave chile," said Lull.
"An' as I was comin' away," Fly went on, "I throwed down the big stick,
an' I shouted out: 'I'll thank ye all, an' I'll niver, niver to my
dyin' day forget it on ye.'"
They praised her again and again. No one had ever such a triumph. But
in the middle of the night yells of terror from the nursery brought
Lull from her bed. Fly was sitting up in bed howling, the others were
huddled round her. Mick and Honeybird were crying with her, but Jane
and Patsy were dry-eyed and severe. Almighty God's eye had looked in
at the window at her, Fly said. He had come to send her to hell for
the awful lie she had told. Patsy said she deserved to go. "It's in
the Bible," Jane said: "all liars shall have a portion of the lake of
burnin' fire an' brimstone."
"Sure, she's only a wee chile, an' how could she know any better?" Mick
remonstrated. "God'd be the quare old tyrant if He sent her to hell
for a wee lie like thon."
"But, after Him lettin' her off one lie, He'll be clean mad with her by
this time," said Patsy.
"Whist, childer dear," said Lull, as she put them all back to bed and
tucked them in. "Sure, the Almighty has somethin' better to do than be
puttin' the likes a' yous in hell. Just be aff to sleep, an' I'll say
my beads, an' the Holy Mother'll put in a good word for the chile afore
mornin'."