Fairies Afield

That was all she heard, and soothe her the sound must have done, for she knew nothing more till she really and unmistakably awoke, to see the sunshine – the lovely, clear early summer morning sunshine – pouring in, to hear the dear birds welcoming another happy beautiful day.

Clodagh started up. She had never felt fresher or brighter; all last night's tiredness had gone. She was used to early rising, and felt that to stay lazily in bed was impossible.

"It would be delicious out-of-doors," she thought, "but I must finish the tidying and sorting, if possible before Paulina awakes," and she sprang out of bed.

But – she rubbed her eyes – was she dreaming? The cupboards, of which there were two in the old-fashioned room, the roomy chest of drawers, all stood open, as if to exhibit their contents and demand approval, and in them were arranged with the perfection of neatness and judiciousness all her possessions, last night in disorder and barely unpacked. And on a chair lay her garments for the day, not only those she had herself placed there, but a spotless cool white gown – much cooler than the black one she had travelled with – the very one she had been hoping to get out and don that morning.

"Have I done it all in my sleep?" she asked, and then some undefined feeling made her open the door and peep out into the passage. Wonder of wonders! All the confusion had disappeared. There stood there, in dignified importance, two roomy, substantial trunks only, one of which she recognised as her cousin's principal one, with her initials in small brass nails on the lid, the other, similar in make and appearance, with the first letters of her own two names marked in the same way. The very sort of thing she had begun to long for since seeing Paulina's.

She lifted the lid – a series of trays was disclosed, and examining further, she perceived at the bottom, most beautifully folded, all her own thicker clothing, gowns and woollens quite unsuitable for present wear, and as she went on in breathless excitement to peer into her cousin's, there was the same arrangement. The very garments she had herself put aside for the present, the evening before, lay there undisturbed, or rather, she suspected, far more exquisitely folded than she had left them. And all the rest, the bandboxes and carpet-bags and unbusiness-like odds and ends she had brought over the sea, had disappeared, as if by magic.

"And magic it is," she said to herself, for, as she stood there listening, a clock in the distance struck five, not another sound or rustle was to be heard. Not a soul was as yet astir in the old house.

Clodagh danced back into her room.

"The fairies are afield," she sang to herself softly. Never had she felt so gay and light-hearted. "I shall dress and run out into the garden," she thought. "There is nothing to keep me indoors. Everything is safe" – for the heavy despatch-box she knew to be in Paulina's keeping. "What will the servants think when they see it?"

What they did think was that each thought the others had cleared away the pile of the young ladies' luggage, leaving only what was required. Or at least, as no questions were asked, no remarks made, they probably thought so, if they thought about it at all! Perhaps their curiosity was put to sleep by some uncanny though not maleficent influence. Who can say?

And in a very short time Clodagh was ready, and hat in hand, looking like the very spirit of the morning in person, she ran downstairs to find the old hall-porter sleepily unbarring the great door, though, sleepy as he was, he could not restrain a smile of admiration and a respectful "You be early about, Miss," to which she laughingly replied, "Who could help it, once they were awake, on such a morning?"

Yet another surprise awaited her, as you shall hear.

The Priory grounds were fairly extensive and delightfully quaint. Great laurel hedges, alternating with curiously high-clipped yews, and some magnificent elms added to the impression of space, as well as to that sort of pleasant "mystery" without which no garden is thoroughly fascinating.

"What a lovely place to explore!" said Clodagh to herself, as she turned down one long shady path, streaked here and there with the early sun-rays filtering through the foliage. Then a sound reached her ears, which recalled her experience of the night before. It was the humming of bees. She stood still for a moment to listen, feeling as if she were on the confines of some enchanted region. Then slowly, treading very softly, she went on. Yes – in a minute or two she saw at the end of the path a huge beautiful beehive, its inhabitants flying in and out, buzzing away, like the busy creatures they are. And in front of it stood a quaint little figure, whom Clodagh this time had no difficulty in at once recognising as the mysterious "Cousin Felicity" again.

Her laces and diamonds of the evening before seemed a dream, though her dress was dainty enough, much finer in quality than the very homely attire in which Clodagh had first seen her. It was a gown of flowered chintz, of the delicate colouring and excellent material that one now and again finds treasured among family relics – such as "my great-grandmother's" or even "great-great-grandmother's dresses." And the skirt was drawn through the pocket-holes in the orthodox old-fashioned way, showing the pink cotton petticoat and the neat little high-heeled shoes. The whole figure, as she stood with her back to the new-comer, was so trim and slim and youthful, that it gave almost a shock to Clodagh when the little lady turned suddenly and she caught sight of the tiny, withered, white face, surmounted by a kind of mob cap, from beneath which escaped a few soft grey curls. Yet it was evident that Cousin Felicity was in very good health and spirits, for she smiled beamingly as she accosted the young girl.

"The top of the morning to you, my dear," she said. "That's your national greeting, is it not? I knew you were not a lie-abed. Well, and how wags the world with you? I have been visiting my friends here, you see. We understand each other, these clever little creatures and I," and she fixed her bright eyes on Clodagh.

For a moment or two Clodagh stood silent. Then a smile broke over her face.

"Madam, lady, what shall I call you?" she exclaimed. "I must say it. I know the truth. You are a fairy. It is you I have to thank for what has been done to help me in the night!"

"Call me what you please, my dear, when we are alone," said the old lady, "but keep what you know, or suspect – rather more than the actual fact, by the bye," she added – "keep it to yourself. I know you are discreet, otherwise I could not be of service to you as I intend to be. Now tell me, child, what are your troubles or anxieties, for some I know you have – "

"I don't feel as if I had any at all this morning," Clodagh interrupted laughingly.

"Ah, well – so much the better, it shows a healthy nature," was the reply. "But, tell me, is that very autocratic young woman, your cousin, good to you? Are you happy to be with her?"

"Yes, yes, truly I am," Clodagh replied eagerly. "That is to say, I feel sure I am going to be so. You see we only met again yesterday, after not having seen each other for several years, not since I have been grown-up. But I must explain. Paulina is very kind. I am sorry she was rude to you yesterday. She was sorry herself afterwards, but she is only quick-tempered and spoilt. She has a kind heart. When my dear grandmother died I should have been homeless, forced to earn my living with strangers, but for her," and by this time Clodagh's eyes were filled with tears.

Cousin Felicity nodded her head slowly, and in a moment or two she spoke again.

"Did you love your Irish home very dearly?" she asked.

"Did I? Do I, rather," the girl replied. "Oh, dear lady, I adore it! But it is mine no longer. It belongs to strangers, it is best for me not to think of it; though I have known all my life that I should have to leave it when Granny left me, I don't think I realised it. That is why I am glad to travel. It is interesting, and takes my thoughts off, to see new places and people. I am glad that Paulina travels so much, if only – " and here she gave a deep sigh.

"Ah, ha," cried the little old lady, but though slightly mocking, her tone was not the least unkindly, "now we are getting to your troubles. What is that deep sigh about?"

"It's my fear that I can't manage things properly for Paulina," said Clodagh, "and if so, I must leave her. She is not very rich. She can't afford to buy me pretty gowns and things, as she means to do, if I cannot save her having a maid. She cannot take two about with her. Oh, it's the luggage! Do you know, yesterday I thought I had lost her jewellery – I'll never forget my horror!"

"Would you like to know how I travel? Shall I show you?" said her new friend.

Clodagh looked at her wonderingly.

"Indeed I would," she said. "But then," she went on, "though I am afraid you do not like me to say it, I know you are a – "

"S-sh. Never mind about that. Come with me," was the reply.

It was still very early. No one was about. Cousin Felicity took the girl's hand and turned to re-enter the house by a different way from that by which Clodagh had come. But before doing so, she stopped a moment and waved her tiny hand as if in adieu to the beehive.

"Thanks many," her companion heard her murmur. "You did your work well last night," and to Clodagh she went on, with a twinkle in her bright eyes, "Were you pleased with what you found this morning – the new trunk and all?"

"Pleased!" exclaimed the girl rapturously, "I couldn't believe my eyes. Not that I mind work," she went on, "I think I can soon learn to pack and unpack cleverly. It is the responsibility of all the things, the terror of losing them, that distresses me."

"Yes, yes," said her friend, "I understand. I do not mean to do all your work for you. It is the industrious and active, not the idle and lazy, that" – and here she gave her funny twinkling smile again – "that they help, as all the stories you have heard over the sea always tell. You shall see what I can do, and what you must do yourself."

By this time they had reached a side entrance to the house. The door stood open; a small staircase faced them, up which with wonderful quickness, considering her great age, Cousin Felicity sprang, followed by Clodagh, and crossing a landing, opened the door of a room, inviting the girl to enter with her.

It was a pleasant room; the first impression it made on Clodagh was of whiteness – and exquisite neatness. It matched the little old lady to perfection.

"This is where I always am, when I visit these kind people," she said. "No one ever has this room but myself. And," she went on in a low voice as if speaking to herself, "who, if I tried to tell it, would believe for how many generations it has been appropriated to me?"

Clodagh felt a thrill of awe as she caught the mysterious words. But in another moment Cousin Felicity had turned to her briskly, pointing to a neat, good-sized trunk standing in front of the fireplace.

"That is all my luggage," she announced. "It holds more than Paulina's fine lady's maid would have got into half-a-dozen like it, because I know how to pack. But – look at it well."

Clodagh stared at it obediently.

"Shut your eyes." She did so. Then it seemed to her that she heard a murmur of words.

"Open." Clodagh again obeyed. And this time, stare she did, for – the box was no longer there, it had vanished from view!

She was too astonished to speak.

"Hold out your hand," was the next command.

Cousin Felicity laid something on the outstretched palm. Clodagh gazed at it in amazement and admiration. It was a miniature trunk, evidently of the finest make. Never had she seen such a perfect toy of its kind, and it was an exact facsimile of her strange old friend's substantial box, which a minute before had been standing in front of her in the most matter-of-fact way. It was small – not above a couple of inches in length, and half as much in width and depth, but curiously heavy. It might almost have been a small block of lead, fashioned to represent a Liliputian portmanteau, and still Clodagh stood there staring at it, without speaking.

"That is how I travel," said the mysterious little lady at last. "It contains all my belongings, just as I told you the other – or rather itself in its other proportions – does. See, I slip it in here," and she held out the black hand-bag, or reticule, which the girl had noticed in the coach, and taking the little box from Clodagh she did as she said, "I draw the strings, I hang it over my arm," accompanying her explanations by the appropriate actions, "and there I am, ready to journey from one end of Europe to the other, or farther still, with no anxiety."

Her young protégée lifted her eyes.

"It is too marvellous, too delightful for words!" she exclaimed.

The little old lady smiled graciously.