"Blue-bells the news are spreading,
Ring-a-ting, ting, ting, ting!
All the flowers have voices,
Lovely the songs that they sing;
_How_ the blue-bell rejoices,
Ting-a-ring, ting, ting, ting!"
Ruby shrank back a little.
"I don't want to see Winfried," she said, "after all we did. And, oh
Mavis, I must be in such a mess--my clothes were all soaked in the sea."
"No, they weren't," said Mavis, laughing; "at least if they were they've
come right again. Stand up, Ruby, and shake yourself, and look at
yourself. There now, did you ever look neater or nicer in your life?"
Ruby stood up and looked at herself as Mavis advised her.
"Is this my own frock?" she said. "No, it can't be. See, Mavis, it's
all beautifully embroidered with forget-me-nots! And what lovely blue
ribbon my hair is tied with; and my hands are so white and clean Mavis,
did the princess dress me while I was asleep?"
Mavis nodded her head sagely.
"Something like it," she said.
"And oh," continued Ruby, "your frock is just the same, and your ribbons
and all. _How_ nice you look, Mavis! Is the princess here? I should
so like her to see us."
"She's not here to-day," said Mavis. "She's away somewhere--I'm not
sure," she added in a lower voice, "but that it's about Bertrand."
Ruby gave a sort of shiver.
"Oh Mavis!" she said, "he was so cruel and so heartless, and I was so
miserable. I do hope the princess will make him go quite away."
"Or--if he was to be quite changed," said Mavis.
"No, no. I don't want him. I only want you, my darling little Mavis,
and we shall be so happy--much, much happier than we have ever been.
Kiss me, Mavis, and tell me you quite forgive me, and if ever I am
naughty or horrid again, I hope the princess will punish me."
"She won't let you forget her any way," said Mavis. "I think that is
how she punishes."
Ruby looked rather puzzled; but before she could ask more they heard
Winfried's whistle, and in a moment he appeared. His face was all one
smile--all Ruby's fears and misgivings faded away before it.
"Grandfather is waiting for you," he said. "There are some cakes, Miss
Ruby, that you will find even better than those others. For
_everything_ is better here, you see."
"How lovely it must all be," said Ruby, with a little sigh. "Aren't you
sorry, Winfried, that you can't stay here altogether? Mavis says you
have to go away to work."
"Of course," said Winfried cheerily. "It would never do, young as I am,
not to work. And we shouldn't enjoy this half as much if we had it
always--it's the rest and refreshment after common life that makes half
the happiness. It's different for gran--he's done _his_ part, none
better, and now his work should be light I'm thankful to know he's safe
here. Now we had better go--down that little hill is the way to his
cottage."
Children, you have perhaps never been in fairyland, nor, for that
matter, have I been there either. But I have had glimpses of it a good
many times in my life, and so I hope have you. And these glimpses, do
you know, become more frequent and are less fleeting as one grows older.
I, at least, find it so. Is not that something to look forward to?
Though, after all, this sweet country to which our three little friends,
thanks to the beautiful princess, had found their way, was scarcely the
dream region which we think of as fairyland; it was better described by
little Mavis's own name for the nameless garden--"Forget-me-not Land";
for once having entered there, no one can lose the remembrance of it,
any more than once having looked into _her_ eyes one can forget Princess
Forget-me-not herself.
But it would be difficult to describe this magic land; I must leave a
good deal of it to that kind of fancy which comes nearer truth than
clumsy words. Though, as it is nice to be told all that _can_ be told
of the sweetest and most beautiful things, I will try to tell you a
little of what Ruby and Mavis saw.
It might not have seemed such a lovely place to everybody, perhaps.
Time had been even when Ruby herself might not have thought it so; for
this garden-land was not a gorgeous place; it was just sweet and
restful. As I told you, all the flowers were wild flowers; but that
gives you no idea of what they looked like, for they were carefully
tended and arranged, growing in great masses together in a way we never
see, except sometimes in spring when the primroses almost hide the
ground where they grow, or at midsummer when a rich luxuriance of
dog-roses and honeysuckle makes it seem as if they had been "planted on
purpose," as children say. All along the grassy paths where Winfried
led them, every step made the little girls exclaim in new admiration.
"Oh see, Ruby, there is a whole bank of `Robin.' I could not have
believed it would look so beautiful; and there--look at those masses of
`sweet Cicely,' just like snowflakes. And in _our_ fields it is such a
poor frightened little weed of a flower you scarcely notice it," said
Mavis.
"But it's lovely if you look into it closely," said Winfried. "Some of
the very tiniest flowers are really the most beautiful."
Then they came in sight of a stretch of hair-bells--white and blue--the
kind that in some places are called "blue-bells."
"Stop a moment," said the boy. "Stop and listen--hush--there now, do
you hear them ringing? That is a sound you can never hear in--anywhere
but here."
They listened with all their ears, you may be sure. Yes, as they grew
accustomed to the exceeding stillness, to the clear thin _fineness_ of
the air, they heard the softest, sweetest tinkle you can imagine; a
perfect fairy bell-ringing, and the longer they listened the clearer it
grew.
"Oh, how wonderful," said Mavis.
And Ruby added, "I should think if we lived long enough in this country
we should end by hearing the grass growing."
"Perhaps," said Winfried.
"But don't you miss the sea things?" Ruby went on. "You love them so,
Winfried, and somehow you seem to belong to the sea."
"So I do," the boy replied. "The sea is my life. Coming here is only a
rest and a holiday."
"I wonder," said Mavis, "I wonder if there is a garden country for the
sea to match this for the land. A place where seaweeds and corals and
all the loveliest sea things are taken care of, like the wild flowers
here?"
"You may be sure there is," said the fisher-boy, smiling. "There is no
saying what the princess won't have to show us, and where she won't take
us now she has us in hand. Why, only to look into her eyes, you can see
it--they seem to reach to everywhere; everywhere and everything
beautiful seems in them."
"You have seen farther into them than we have," said Mavis thoughtfully.
"But still I think I can understand what you mean."
"So can I, a _very_ little," said Ruby. "But--they are rather
frightening too, don't you think?"
"They must be at first," said Winfried.
But just then, a little way off, they caught sight of old Adam coming to
meet them. His cottage was close by; they came upon it suddenly, for it
stood half-hidden under the shelter of the hill they had been
descending. Such a lovely cottage it was--so simple, yet so pretty;
_quite_ clean, with a cleanness you never see out of fairyland or places
of that kind, with flowers of all kinds, forget-me-nots above all,
clustering about it and peeping in at the windows.
Adam welcomed his little guests as kindly as if no unkind thought of him
had ever entered Ruby's head; he made no difference between her and
Mavis, and I think this caused Ruby to feel more sorry than anything
could have done.
If they had been happy that afternoon in the cottage by the sea, you can
fancy how happy they were in this wonderful new fairy home of the good
old man's. There was no end to the things he had to show them and teach
them, mostly, I think, about flowers; things they had never dreamt of,
beauties of form and colour such as it would be impossible for me to
describe. And each time they came to see him he promised to show and
teach them still more. But at last Winfried said they must be going.
"I promised the princess," he said, for now he spoke of her quite openly
to the children, "that I would take you home by the time the sun sets
beside the castle, and it must be near that now."
"And how are we to go home?" asked Ruby.
"The boat is ready," Winfried answered.
"But where's the sea for it to sail on?" whispered Ruby to Mavis. She
had not the courage to ask Winfried anymore.
"Wait and see," said Mavis. "I don't know, but it is sure to be all
right."
Then they bade Adam farewell, promising to come to visit him again
whenever they should be allowed to do so--and rather wondering where
Winfried was going to take them, they set off.
There was some reason for Ruby's question, for so far they had seen no
water at all in Forget-me-not Land. Everything seemed fresh and
fragrant, as if there was no dearth of moisture, but there was neither
lake, nor pond, nor running brook. Winfried mounted the hill a little
way, then turning sharply, they found themselves in a sort of small
wooded ravine or glen. Steps led down the steep sides to the bottom,
which was a perfect thicket of ferns, mostly of the deep green delicate
kind, which loves darkness and water.
Winfried stooped and lifted, by a ring fixed into it, a heavy stone.
"You won't be frightened," he said. "This is the way. We have to go
down the well. I'll go first; you'll find it quite easy."
It scarcely looked so, for it was very dark. Winfried stepped in--there
was a ladder against the side--and soon disappeared, all but his head,
then Mavis, and lastly, trembling a little it must be confessed, Ruby.
As soon as they were all inside, the stone lid shut itself down; but
instead, as one might have expected, of this leaving them in darkness, a
clear almost bright light shone upwards as if a large lamp had been
lighted at the foot of the well, and without difficulty the children
made their way down the ladder.
"That's very nice," said Ruby. "I was so afraid we were going to be in
the dark."
"Were you, dear?" said a voice whose sweet tones were not strange to
her. "No fear of that when I have to do with things. Jump, that's
right; here you are, and you too, Mavis."
The princess was standing in the boat, for the "well" widened out at one
side into a little stream large enough to row along.
"The brook takes us to the river, and the river to the sea; that is your
way home," she said. "Winfried will row, and you two shall nestle up to
me."
She put an arm round each, and in silence, save for the gentle drip of
the oars, the little boat made its way. It was a still evening, not yet
dark, though growing dusk, and though they were back in the winter world
by now the children felt no cold--who could have felt cold with the
princess's mantle round them? They grew sleepy, too sleepy to notice
how, as she had said, the brook turned into the river, and the river led
on to the sea, the familiar sea, not more than a mile or two from the
cove below the castle. And it was only when the boat grated a little on
the pebbly shore that both Ruby and Mavis started up to find themselves
alone with Winfried. The princess had left them.
"I will go up to the door with you," said the boy. "Miss Hortensia is
expecting you. See, there she is standing under the archway with a
lantern."
"My darlings," said their cousin. "So Winfried has brought you safe
home."
"And I must hurry back," said the fisher-lad. And almost before they
could thank him or say good-night, he had disappeared again in the
fast-gathering gloom.
It seemed to the children as Miss Hortensia kissed them that _years_ had
passed since they had seen her or their home.
"Haven't you been dreadfully lonely without us all this time, dear
cousin?" said Mavis.
"No, dears, not particularly so. It is a little later than usual, but
when Winfried ran back to tell me he would bring you safe home, he said
it might be so."
"Was it only _this_ afternoon we went?" said Ruby wonderingly.
Miss Hortensia looked at her anxiously.
"My dear, are you very tired? You seem half asleep."
"I am rather sleepy," said Ruby. "Please may we go to bed at once."
"Certainly. I will tell Ulrica to take your supper upstairs. I do hope
you haven't caught cold. We must shut the door;" for they were standing
all this time at the entrance under the archway. "Bertrand is behind
you, I suppose?"
The little girls looked at each other.
"We have not seen him for ever so long," they replied.
"He would not stay with me," said Ruby.
"I thought perhaps we should find him here," said Mavis.
Miss Hortensia looked more annoyed than anxious. "I suppose he will
find his way back before long," she said. "Bad pennies always turn up.
But he is a most troublesome boy. I wish I had asked Winfried what to
do--"
"I don't think he could have done anything," said Mavis. "But--I'm sure
Bertrand is safe. What's the matter, Ulrica?"
For at that moment--they were on their way upstairs by this time--the
young maid-servant came flying to meet them, her face pale, her eyes
gleaming with fear.
"Oh," she cried, "I am glad the young ladies are safe back. Martin has
seen the blue light in the west turret; he was coming from the village a
few minutes ago, and something made him look up. It is many and many a
year since it has been seen, not since the young ladies were babies, and
it always--"
"Stop, Ulrica," said Miss Hortensia sharply. "It is very wrong of you
to come startling us in that wild way, and the young ladies so tired as
you see. Call Bertha and Joseph. You take the children to their room,
and see that they are warm and comfortable. I will myself go up to the
west turret with the others and put a stop to these idle tales."
But Ruby and Mavis pressed forward. A strange thought had struck them
both.
"Oh cousin, let us go too," they said. "We are not a bit frightened."
So when old Joseph and Bertha had joined them, the whole party set off
for the turret.
As they got near to the top of the stair, a slight sound made them all
start.
"Hush!" said Miss Hortensia. They stood in perfect silence. It came
again--a murmur of faint sobs and weeping. Ulrica grew whiter and
whiter.
"I told you so," she began, but no one listened. They all pressed on,
Miss Hortensia the first.
When she opened the door it was, except for the lamp she held in her
hand, upon total darkness. But in one corner was heard a sort of
convulsive breathing, and then a voice.
"Who's there? Who's there? Oh the pain, the cruel pain!"
And there--lying on the same little couch-bed on which years and years
ago Miss Hortensia had slept and dreamt of the lovely fairy lady--was
Bertrand--weeping and moaning, utterly broken down.
But he turned away sullenly from Miss Hortensia when she leant over him
in concern and pity; he would not look at Ruby either, and it was not
till after some moments had passed that they at last heard him whisper.
"Mavis, I want to speak to Mavis. Go away everybody. I only want
Mavis."
They all looked at each other in mute astonishment. They thought he was
wandering in his mind. But no; he kept to the same idea.
"Mavis," he repeated, "come here and give me your hand. I can't see
you. Oh the pain, the pain!" Then Mavis came forward, and the others
drew back in a group to the door.
"Try and find out what it is; surely it is not another naughty trick
that he is playing," said Miss Hortensia anxiously.
"No, no. I am sure it isn't. Don't be afraid, dear cousin," said the
little girl.