“Perhaps it’s haunted, or some nonsense like that,” said Ruby with her contemptuous air. “I’ll ask Joan to-day. And if we pass it I’ll walk just as slow as ever I can on purpose. You’ll see, Mavis.”
“We’d better run now,” said Mavis. “The sands are pretty firm just here, and cousin Hortensia said we were to make ourselves warm. Let’s have a race.”
They had left the cove and were making their way to the hamlet by the foot of the rocks, where at low tide there was a narrow strip of pebbly sand, only here and there broken by out-jutting crags which the children found it very amusing to clamber over. Their voices sounded clear and high in the air. For the wind seemed to have fallen with the receding tide. By the time they reached the cottages they were both in a glow, and Ruby had quite forgotten her indignation at old Bertha’s fireless rooms.
Chapter Two.
Winfried
“And somewhat southward toward the noon,
Whence lies a way up to the moon;
And thence the fairy can as soon
Pass to the earth below it.”
Joan, a pleasant-faced young woman who had once been the children’s nurse, and was now married to a fisherman who owned several boats, and was a person of some consequence among the villagers, was standing at the door of her cottage with a baby in her arms as the children came up. Her face beamed with smiles, but before she had time to speak Ruby called out to her.
“How are you, Joan? We’ve come round to ask how baby is, but it’s very easy to see he is better, otherwise you wouldn’t be so smiling.”
“And here he is to speak for himself, Miss Ruby,” said Joan. “How very kind of you to think of him! And you too, Miss Mavis, my dear. Are you both quite well?”
“Yes, thank you, Joan,” said Mavis quietly. But Ruby was fussing about the baby, admiring him and petting him in a way that could scarcely fail to gain his mother’s heart. Joan, however, though fond of both the children, had plenty of discernment. She smiled at Ruby – “Miss Ruby has pretty ways with her, there’s no denying,” she told her husband afterwards, – but there was a very gentle tone in her voice as she turned to Mavis.
“You’ve had no more headaches, I hope, Miss Mavis? Have you been working hard at your lessons?”
“I have to work hard if I work at all, Joan,” said the little girl rather sadly.
“She’s so stupid,” said Ruby; “and she gets her head full of fancies. I daresay that prevents her having room for sensible things. Oh, by-the-bye, Joan, tell us who lives in that queer cottage all by itself some way farther along the coast. I never saw it till the other day – it’s almost hidden among the rocks. But Mavis says she once passed it with you, and you made her run by quickly. Why did you, Joan? I do so want to know.”
Joan looked rather at a loss.
“You mean old Adam’s cottage,” she said. “I really don’t know why people speak against him. He’s never done any harm, indeed, he’s a kind old man. But he’s come from a long way off, and he’s not like the other folk, and they got up a tale that there were queer sounds and sights in his cottage sometimes – singing and lights late at night, that couldn’t be canny. Some spoke of mermaids swimming down below in front of his hut and him standing talking to them quite friendly-like. But that’s a good while ago now, and I think it’s forgotten. And he goes to church regularly. You’ll always be sure of seeing him there.”
“Then why don’t people like him?” said Mavis.
“Perhaps it’s just because he is good and goes to church,” said Ruby. “I’m not at all sure that I like extra good people myself. They’re so tiresome.”
“He’s not one to meddle with others,” said Joan. “He keeps very much to himself, and his talking doesn’t sound like ours. So they call him a foreigner. Indeed, he’s often not heard of or seen for weeks and even months at a time, unless any one’s ill or in trouble, and then he seems to know it all of himself, and comes to see if he can help. That’s one reason why they think him uncanny.”
“Did he come when baby was ill?” asked Ruby. Joan shook her head.
“No, for a wonder he didn’t.”
“Perhaps he’s dead,” said Ruby indifferently.
“We’re going past that way, Mavis. Let’s peep in and see.”
Mavis grew rather pale.
“Ruby,” she said, “I wish you wouldn’t – you frighten me.”
“Miss Ruby would be frightened herself. She’s only joking,” said Joan. “I don’t suppose there’s aught the matter, still I don’t think you’d better stop at old Adam’s. It isn’t like as if he was one of our own folk.”
“Rubbish!” said Ruby again. “I’m off. You can send your husband to see if the old wizard has turned us into frogs or sea-gulls, in case we are not heard of any more. Good-night;” and off she ran.
Mavis had to follow her. There was not much fear of Ruby’s really doing anything rash, for she was by no means a very brave child, still Mavis always felt uncomfortable when her sister got into one of these wild moods.
“Good-bye, Joan,” she said gently. “I’m so glad baby’s better. I daresay Ruby’s only joking;” and then she ran along the path, which just here in the hamlet was pretty level and smooth, after Ruby.
They had quite half a mile to go before they got to the lonely cottage. It stood some way back from the shore, and great craggy rocks near at hand almost hid it from sight. One might have passed by that way often without noticing that there was any human dwelling-place there. But the children were on the look-out.
“There,” said Ruby, “the old ogre can’t be dead: there’s smoke coming out of the chimney. And – oh, just look, Mavis, what a big fire he must have; do you see the red of it in the window?”
“No,” said Mavis, “it’s the sun setting. Look out to sea – isn’t it splendid?”
But Ruby had set her heart upon exploring the fisherman’s hut. She began scrambling up the stones, for there was really nothing worthy of the name of a pathway, quite regardless of the beautiful sight behind her. And as usual. Mavis had to follow, though reluctantly. Still she was not quite without curiosity about the lonely cottage herself. Suddenly, when within a short distance of the hut, Ruby stopped short, and glancing back towards her sister, lifted her hand as if to tell her to be silent and listen. Then Mavis became conscious of the sound of voices speaking – not old Adam’s voice certainly, for these sounded soft and clear, and now and then came a ripple of silvery laughter, very sweet and very delicate. The little girls, who had drawn near together, looked at each other.
“Who can it be?” said Mavis in a whisper.
“The mermaids,” replied Ruby mockingly. “Perhaps old Adam has invited them to tea.”
But as she spoke there came distinctly the sound of the words “Good-bye, good-bye,” and then there was silence.
Somehow both children felt rather frightened. “Suppose old Adam’s really dead,” said Ruby, looking rather pale, “and that these are – fairies, or I don’t know what, come to fetch him.”
“Angels,” said Mavis. “Joan says he’s good. But – Ruby – I shouldn’t think angels would laugh.” She had scarcely said the words when they saw running down the rough slope from the hut the figure of a boy. He ran fast and lightly, his feet scarcely seeming to touch the stones; he was slight and very active-looking; it was pretty to watch him running, even though as he came close it was plain that he was only a simple fisher-boy, in rough clothes, barefoot and sunburnt. He slackened his pace a little