Fairies Afield

"Oh," she said with a little sigh, "what you say does make me wish still more that I could stay here a few days and get rested, and you would tell me stories, as my dear old nurse used to do."

"That I would," said the landlady, "and indeed I wish you could stay to hear them. Not that I've ever really come across the fairies – brownies and pixies, they call them in some parts – myself, nor even set eyes on one of them – unless indeed – " and here she stopped abruptly, lowering her voice.

"Unless what?" asked Clodagh. "Do tell me."

"Just what I was saying a minute ago," the dame went on. "Unless that strange old lady is one herself, as I'm more than half inclined to think by what I've heard tell of her."

"Then you've seen her?" questioned the girl eagerly.

The landlady nodded.

"Just seen her," she said. "Twice – no, I think three times, she's passed in the coach, and I've just said a word to her at the door. Once she asked for a glass of milk. 'Twas a very hot morning, like as it might be to-day."

"How I wish she might be in the coach this morning!" exclaimed the traveller, her eyes sparkling. "It would be so interesting, and if she knew I was Irish she might take a fancy to me, for the good people do love the Irish!" and at the idea the girl laughed merrily for the first time.

"Yes," agreed the dame, "indeed she might, my pretty young lady. But it's a long time since she's passed this way. One never knows where she is, or how she'll travel. Now and then she'll set off in her own coach and four, like any princess, and I've heard it whispered that she'll sometimes disappear from her home, no one knows how."

"Oh, a broomstick, maybe, or has she a pet gander?" laughed Clodagh.

But the landlady looked a little frightened.

"Hush, Missy, my dear," she whispered, "it doesn't do to – " Then she suddenly started. "I'm afraid that's the coach," she exclaimed, "and sorry I am to part with you, but if you're bound to go, we'd best be at the door ready."

Clodagh jumped up at once.

"And thank you a thousand times," she said, "for all your kindness. Yes, I must go. My cousin will be looking out for me. I've not seen her for five years," she added nervously. "Wish me good luck, my kind friend."

"That I will," said the dame heartily.

"You've cheered me greatly," said the girl, and in her impulsive Irish way she held up her sweet young face for a kiss.

The coach it was, sure enough. There was some trouble about getting Clodagh's rather complicated belongings on to it, it was already so piled up. But with difficulty all was at last disposed, outside and in, and thanks to the landlady nothing was left behind.

There were tears in the kind woman's eyes when at last it rumbled off, her young guest of an hour waving good-bye out of the window.

But it is Clodagh's adventures we have to follow. For a minute or two the bustle of getting her bags and boxes settled prevented her realising that there was already a passenger in the coach, and before looking round she felt obliged to lean out once again in a last farewell to her kind new friend. She was soon, however, recalled to the present.

"Who is there?" said a voice – a rather petulant one – from the corner. "Whatever is the matter? I was fast asleep till there was all this fuss! Oh! – " with an exclamation, "can it be you, Clodagh O'Beirne? I had no idea we were at Crossway Corner already?"

"Yes, indeed," Clodagh replied, "it is I. I didn't know it was you, Cousin Paulina. I wasn't sure, you see, if I would find you here, or if you would only meet me at the next stage. Lady Roseley wasn't certain from your letter which it would be."

"Humph," murmured Mistress Paulina. "Well, after all I decided that to avoid any mistake I'd get up for once by cock-crow, so as to start from Stracey. I hate getting up early, and I was fast asleep as you saw. Did Lady Roseley send some one with you, then, to see you off? You seemed to be nodding good-byes."

"No," said Clodagh. "That's to say only the old coachman who drove me over and left me at the inn. I was all right. No, it was only the landlady I was waving to. She was so kind, helping to carry out my things," and she glanced round at the various encumbrances. The place was certainly inconveniently crowded, and so Paulina, now wide-awake, seemed to think, as she took it all in, and that with evident annoyance.

"I must say, Clodagh," she remarked, "that you have a queer collection of luggage. I hope you will get rid of some of these bags and baskets before we start again. I don't deny that I travel with a fair amount myself," and indeed the coach had seemed well packed inside and out, before the younger girl's belongings had been added, "but a child like you can't need such an amount. You'll have to learn to be a clever traveller, my dear, if we're to get on together."

"I'm very sorry," said Clodagh apologetically. "You see, cousin, I never have left home before, and I didn't know how to manage. I'll do my best, and I hope I'll soon learn, for of course I shall pack for you as well as for myself. That I quite understand."

"Well, yes," said Paulina. "I can't go about with you and a maid. And as things have unfortunately turned out so sadly for you, it seemed to me you'd be better off with me than going among strangers. And on my side, I'm sick of maids with their airs and graces and vulgarities. I prefer to have a companion of my own class."

"Yes, thank you," Clodagh replied. "It was a very kind thought of yours, and I shall soon learn to manage well, I hope. To begin with, I think we might arrange all these things better," and she stood up and pulled about and pushed and lifted, till the narrow space looked more orderly, Paulina from her corner now and then directing and advising. She was a handsome young woman, with a by no means disagreeable expression. Indeed there was often a kindly light in her bright eyes, and gentle curves about her mouth. But she was self-willed and quick-tempered, "spoilt" in short, though generous and well-meaning, entirely unused to contradiction and impatient of any obstacles in the way of her wishes or fancies.

"Thank goodness," she ejaculated, as she settled herself down again in her wraps, "thank goodness, we have no fellow-passengers. Now I mean to go to sleep again, and so may you, child, if you like. We shall stop at Oddingstowe for dinner and fresh horses, and by four o'clock we should be at Felway, where the Marristons' carriage – and, it is to be hoped, a cart for the luggage – is to meet us. They expect us to stay at the Priory for two or three days. They know you will be with me."

"Yes, thank you," replied Clodagh again, feeling mortally shy at the prospect before her, yet not venturing to say so.

Paulina composed herself to sleep once more, and before long, in spite of the thoughts that crowded her mind – anxieties, hopes, and fears, as she realised more clearly her new position as her kinswoman's companion – Clodagh too, though a few minutes ago she would not have believed it possible, Clodagh too dozed off.

And she slept, as did Paulina, for some time. The stopping of the vehicle, the cessation of the monotonous rumbling, aroused them both.

Paulina sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Dear me," she exclaimed, "Oddingstowe already!"

Clodagh looked out of the window.

"No," she said hesitatingly. "I don't think it can be. There's no village or houses; only a turnpike. Oh, yes," she went on, "I see what it is. We're stopping to take up another passenger."

"What sort of one?" her cousin demanded. "I hope to goodness it's not a first-class one – an inside one – we are stuffed up enough already. There's scarcely air to breathe."

"N-no," Clodagh replied, continuing to look out. "I don't think it can be. It's only a little old woman, quite poor, and she doesn't seem to have any luggage. She's only carrying a hand-bag – just a sort of reticule."

"All right," Paulina responded, lazily settling herself again for another nap. "All the same, I wish they wouldn't pull up in this unnecessary way. I was so comfortably asleep. It's the only thing to do in this tropical heat."

Clodagh too was sitting down again, congratulating herself, more on Paulina's account than her own, that their privacy was not to be disturbed – when, alas, her unspoken relief proved premature. To her astonishment, the guard approached the door, which he opened, and with a "your pardon, ladies," to the two girls, held it civilly by the handle, for the new-comer to enter.

Clodagh instinctively drew back a little for her to pass. There were four places – two and two – facing each other. Hitherto the younger girl had been sitting beside her cousin – the opposite seat covered with their possessions. But now she at once began to clear a space on it for herself, for she saw at a glance that the stranger was old, and looked fragile and delicate, and in spite of the extreme simplicity of her attire – she wore only a clean but faded cotton of an old-fashioned flowery pattern, half covered by a sort of market-woman's cloak, and surmounted by a huge black straw bonnet – in spite of this there was a certain dignity about her as in reply to Clodagh's silent attention she murmured, "I thank you, young lady. But do not disturb yourself. I can occupy the back seat."

"I should think so indeed," exclaimed Paulina angrily. "Indeed, my good woman, I am inclined to believe that your coming in here at all is some mistake. This is for first-class passengers, and moreover our places have been engaged for some days ahead. – What are you thinking of, you silly child?" she went on sharply, turning to her cousin. "Why should you give up your place to this person and her bundles? I won't have it. Sit down beside me at once," for Clodagh with a crimson face was still hesitating and moving about the bags and baggage nervously, though the new-comer had already settled herself quietly with her back to the horses.

"Paulina," said the younger girl in a low voice, "do not be so excited. She has no bundles, or anything, so it cannot really inconvenience us. And she is old, and looks so fragile. It is only right that I should offer her my seat."

Paulina was about to reply in the same irritated tone, when she was interrupted.

"I thank you, my kind young lady," said the stranger in a clear voice, which somehow enforced attention, "I thank you for your courtesy and consideration. But I have no desire to take your place, I assure you. In fact I prefer this side. I am an old traveller. Nor will my presence incommode you for long. I shall leave the coach before we reach Oddingstowe."

Clodagh murmured a gentle "Thank you." She was grateful to the old woman for not resenting her cousin's rudeness. And to Paulina she whispered, "She cannot be a mere peasant. Her voice and words show it"; and to do her justice, the elder girl looked a little ashamed of herself.

"Don't tease me," she said. "It always upsets me to be wakened suddenly. I'm going to sleep again," and so saying she leant back and closed her eyes.

And after a few minutes Clodagh followed her example, though she was no longer sleepy. But something – a vague feeling of slight shyness – made her do so, for she was conscious of her opposite neighbour's scrutiny. Now and then from the depths of the quaint black bonnet she caught the gleam of dark bright eyes, and the sensation caused her cheeks to grow pink again.

"Who and what can she be?" the girl said to herself. "She certainly looks like a peasant, but her voice – her expressions – her dignity belie it," and thus puzzling over the anomaly, Clodagh after all fell asleep.

Now I must mention what may seem strange and most improbable. You will remember the description given to the young traveller only an hour or two before the coach stopped at the turnpike, of the old lady in the neighbourhood, concerning whom such curious and even uncanny things were said?

Yes – well, this is the strange fact. Though Clodagh was at once impressed in an unusual way by the personality of their fellow-traveller, and perplexed to explain her inconsistencies, never once during the day's journey did it occur to her to put "two and two together"; to guess, as no doubt you, children, who are reading this little old story, will already have done, that here in person was the mysterious lady of the landlady's legend – the being who, if not actually of fairy race herself, still had much in common with the "good people," and doubtless dealings with them.