"Let's follow it along," said Alix, after another moment or two's
hesitation.
They were standing, as I said, not many yards from the end of the wall,
and thither the sound seemed to lead them. When they got quite to the
corner the tapping had stopped. But the children were not discouraged.
"That's what fairies do," said Alix, as if all her life she had lived on
intimate terms with the beings she spoke of. "They show you a bit, and
then they leave you to find out a bit for yourself. We must poke about
now and see what we can find."
Rafe had already set to work in this way: he was feeling and prodding
the big, solid-looking stones which finished off the corner.
"Alix," he exclaimed, "one of these stones shakes a little; let's push
at it together."
Yes, there was no doubt that it yielded a little, especially at one
side. The children pushed with all their might and main, but for some
time an uncertain sort of wobbling was the only result. Rafe stood back
a little to recover his breath, and to look at the stone more
critically.
"There may be some sort of spring or hinge about it," he said at last.
"Give me the parasol again, Alix."
He then pressed the point of it firmly along the side of the stone, down
the seam of mortar which appeared to join it to its neighbour in the
wall. He need not have pressed so hard, for when he got to the middle
of the line the stone suddenly yielded, turning inwards so quickly and
sharply that Rafe almost fell forward on the parasol, and a square dark
hole was open before them.
Alix darted forward and peeped in.
"Rafe," she cried, "there's a sort of handle inside; shall I try to turn
it?"
She did so without waiting for his answer. It moved quite easily, and
then they found that the two or three stones completing the row to the
ground, below the one that had already opened, were really only thin
slabs joined together and forming a little door. It was like the doors
you sometimes see in a library, which on the outside have the appearance
of a row of books.
The opening was now clear before them, and they did not hesitate to pass
through. They had to stoop a little, but once within, it was easy to
stand upright, and even side by side. Alix caught hold of Rafe's hand.
"Let's keep fast hold of each other," she whispered.
For a few steps they advanced in almost total darkness, for the door
behind them had noiselessly closed. But this was in the nature of
things, and quite according to Alix's programme.
"I only hope," she went on, "that we haven't somehow or other got inside
the cave where the pied piper took the children. It might have an
opening into England somehow, even though I think Hamelin was in
Germany; but, of course, there's nothing to be frightened at, is there,
Rafe?" though her own heart was beating fast.
Rafe's only answer was a sort of grunt, which expressed doubt, though we
will not say fear. Perhaps it was the safest answer he could make under
the very peculiar circumstances. But no doubt it was a great relief to
both when, before they had time really to ask themselves whether they
were frightened or not, a faint light showed itself in front of them,
growing stronger and brighter as they stepped on, till at last they
could clearly make out in what sort of a place they were.
It was a short, fairly wide passage, seemingly hollowed out of the
ground, and built up in the same way as the wall outside into the soil--
in fact it was like a small tunnel. The light was of a reddish hue, and
soon they saw the reason of this. It came from an inner room, the door
of which was half open, where a fire was brightly burning, and by the
hearth sat a small figure.
The children looked at each other, then they bent forward to see more.
Noiseless though they were, the little person seemed to know they were
coming. She lifted her head, and though her face was partly hidden by
the hood of the scarlet cloak which covered her almost entirely, they
saw that it was that of a very old woman.
"Welcome, my dears," she said at once. "I have been looking for you
this long time."
Her voice, though strange--in what way it was strange the children could
not have told, for it seemed to come from far away, and yet it seemed to
them that they had often heard it before--encouraged them to step
forward.
"Good-morning," Alix began, but then she hesitated. Was it morning, or
evening, or night, or what? It was difficult to believe that only a few
minutes ago they had been standing outside in the warm sunshine, with
the soft spring breeze wafting among the fresh green leaves, and the
birds singing overhead. _That_ all seemed a dream. "I beg your
pardon," the little girl began again; "I don't quite know what I should
say, but thank you for speaking so kindly. How did you know we were
coming?"
"I heard you," replied the old woman. "I heard your little footsteps up
to the gateway yesterday, and I knew you'd come again to-day."
By this time Rafe had found his tongue too.
"Did you send the wren?" he said.
"Never mind about that just now," she answered. "I've many a messenger;
and what's better still, I've quick eyes, and even quicker ears, for all
that I'm so very old. I know what you want of me, and if you're good
children you shall not be disappointed. I've been getting ready for you
in more ways than one."
"Do you mean you've got stories to tell us?" exclaimed the children
eagerly.
"Of course," she replied, with a smile.
"I wouldn't be much good if I hadn't stories for you."
All this time, I must tell you, the old woman had been busily knitting.
Her needles made a little silvery click, but there was nothing fidgeting
about this sound; now and then her words seemed to go in a sort of time
with it. What she was knitting they could not see.
Alix gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"How beautiful!" she said; "and may we come every day, and may we stay
as long as we like, and will you sometimes invite us to tea, perhaps?
and--"
"Alix!" said Rafe, in a tone of reproval.
"Nay, nay," said their hostess. "Let her chatter. All in good time, my
love," she added to Alix, and the click of the needles seemed to repeat
the words, "All in good time," like a little song.
Rafe's eyes, which were sometimes more observant than Alix's, as his
tongue did not use up so much of his attention as hers, had meanwhile
been wandering round the room. It can, I think, be best described as a
very cosy kitchen, but, unlike many kitchens, it was fresh and not the
least too hot. There was a strange, pleasant fragrance in the air that
made one think of pine woods. Afterwards the children found out that
this came from the fire, for it was entirely of fir-cones, of which a
large heap stood neatly stacked in one corner.
Along chain hung down the chimney, with a hook at the end, to which a
bright red copper pan was fastened; a little kettle of the same metal
stood on the hearthstone, which was snowy white. The walls of the room
were of rough stone, redder in colour than the wall outside, or else the
firelight made them seem so. Behind where the old woman sat hung a
grass-green curtain, closely drawn; there was no lamp or candle, but the
firelight was quite enough. A wooden dresser ran along one side, and on
its shelves were arranged cups and plates and jugs of the queerest
shapes and colours you could imagine. I must tell you more about these
later on. There was a settle with a very curious patchwork cushion, but
besides this and the rocking-chair on which sat the old woman--I forgot
to say that she was sitting on a rocking-chair--the only seats were two
little three-legged stools. The middle of the floor was covered by
matting of a kind the children had never seen; it was shaded brown, and
made you think of a path strewn over with fallen leaves in autumn.
The old woman's kindly tone encouraged Rafe to speak in his turn.
"May I ask you one or two things," he said, "before you begin telling us
the stories?"
"As many as you like, my boy," she replied cheerfully. "I don't say
I'll answer them all--that's rather a different matter--but you can ask
all the same."
"It's so puzzling," said Rafe, hesitating a little. "I don't think it
puzzles Alix so much as me; she knows more about fairy things, I think.
I do so want to know if you've lived here a very long time. Have you
always lived here--even when the old house was standing and there were
people in it?"
"Never mind about always," replied the old woman. "A very, very long
time? Yes, longer than you could understand, even if I explained it!
Long before the old house was pulled down? Yes, indeed, long before the
old house was ever thought of! I'm the caretaker here nowadays, you
see."
"The caretaker!" Rafe repeated; "but there's no house to take care of."
"There's a great deal to take care of nevertheless," she replied.
"Think of all the creatures up in the garden, the birds and the
butterflies, not to speak of the flowers and the blossom. Ah, yes! we
caretakers have a busy time of it, I can tell you, little as you might
think it. _And_ the stories--why, if I had nothing else to do, the
looking after them would keep me busy. They take a deal of tidying.
You'd scarcely believe the state they come home in sometimes when
they've been out for a ramble--all torn and jagged and draggle-tailed,
or else, what's worse, dressed up in such vulgar new clothes that their
own mother, and I'm as good as their mother, would scarcely know them
again. No, no," and she shook her head, "I've no patience with such
ways."
Alix looked delighted. She quite understood the old woman.
"How nicely you say it," she exclaimed. "It's like something papa told
us the other day about legends; don't you remember, Rafe?"
Rafe's slower wits were still rather perplexed, but he took things
comfortably. Somehow he no longer remembered any more questions to ask.
The old woman's bright eyes as she looked at him gave him a pleasant,
contented feeling.
"Have you got a story quite ready for us?" asked Alix.
"One, two, three, four," said the old woman, counting her stitches.
"I'm setting it on, my dear; it'll be ready directly. But what have you
got in your basket? It's your dinner, isn't it? You must be getting
hungry. Wouldn't you like to eat something while the story's getting
ready?"
"Are you going to _knit_ the story?" said Alix, looking very surprised.
"Oh dear no!" said the old woman, smiling. "It's only a way I have.
The knitting keeps it straight, otherwise it might fly off once I've let
it out. Now open your basket and let's see what you've got for your
dinner. There, set it on the table, and you may reach down plates and
jugs for yourselves."
"It's nothing much," said Alix, "just some sandwiches and two
hard-boiled eggs and some slices of cake."
"Very good things in their way," said the old woman, as Alix unpacked
the little parcels and laid them on the plates which Rafe handed her
from the dresser. "And if you look into my larder you'll find some
fruit, maybe, which won't go badly for dessert. What should you say to
strawberries and cream?"
She nodded towards one corner of the kitchen where there was a little
door which the children had not before noticed, so very neatly was it
fitted into the wall.
The opening of it was another surprise; the "larder" was quite different
from the room inside. It was a little arbour, so covered over with
greenery that you could not see through the leaves to the outside,
though the sunshine managed to creep in here and there, and the
twittering of the birds was clearly heard.
On a stone slab stood a curiously-shaped basket filled with--oh! such
lovely strawberries! and beside it a bowl of tempting yellow cream;
these were the only eatables to be seen in the larder.
"Strawberries!" exclaimed Rafe; "just fancy, Alix, and it's only April."
"But we're in Fairyland, you stupid boy," said Alix; "or at least
somewhere very near it."
"Quick, children," came the old woman's voice from the kitchen. "You
bring the strawberries, Alix, and Rafe the cream. There'll be no time
for stories if you dawdle!"
This made them hurry back, and soon they were seated at the table, with
all the nice things neatly before them. They were not greedy children
fortunately, for, as everybody knows, fairy-folk hold few things in
greater horror than greediness; and they were orderly children too.
They packed up their basket neatly again when they had finished, and
Alix asked if they should wash up the plates that had been lent to them,
which seemed to please their old friend, for she smiled as she replied
that it wasn't necessary.
"My china is of a different kind from any you've ever seen," she said.
"_Whiff_, plates," she added; and then, to the children's amusement,
there was a slight rattle, and all the crockery was up in its place
again, shining as clean and bright as before it had been used.
There was now no doubt at all that they were really in Fairyland.