The Staying Guest

But if so, Ladybird made no sign, and old Matthew tramped up and down the orchard, peering anxiously about while the shadows deepened.

At last, as he stood beneath an old gnarled apple-tree, he heard what seemed to be a far-away crooning sort of song.

“Bird, bird,
Ladybird;
They called and called,
But she never stirred.”

“Arrah, miss! an’ are ye up there? Come down, ye rascally baby. Yer aunts is afther huntin’ high an’ low for ye. Do ye hear?”

“I hear and I hear, and I don’t heed,” came back the answering voice.

“Ye must heed,” said old Matthew, earnestly. “Yer aunts is clean daft. Come down, little lady, come down now.”

“Nixy,” said Ladybird, saucily. “You know very well, Matthew, that if I come down my aunts will send me away, and I won’t be sent away.”

“But ye can’t stay up in the tree forever, miss.”

“Well, I can stay for the present. I don’t think it’s going to rain to-night, do you, Matthew?”

“The saints presarve us, miss, how ye do talk! And are ye going to stay up there all night, now?”

“Of course I am; I’ve got to sleep somewhere. And say, Matthew, I’m awful hungry.”

“Are ye that, miss? Well, thin, come down to yer supper.”

“Nay, nay,” said Ladybird, laughing merrily; “but do you, O good Matthew, go to Bridget and beg for me a bit of supper.”

“Oh, miss, what dratted foolishness!”

“Foolish nothing! I am a captive princess; you are my henchman. Do you hear, Matthew? – henchman.”

“What’s that, miss?”

“Oh, well, it only means that you must do just as I tell you, because you love me.”

“Yes, miss.”

“So go to Bridget and ask her to put up some supper in a basket, and bring it out here to me.”

“And thin will ye come down and get it, miss?”

“Go at once, Matthew! Henchmen do as they’re told without question.”

“Yes, miss”; and half dazed, the old man shuffled away, followed by a ringing peal of Ladybird’s laughter.

He soon shuffled back again, bringing a fair-sized basket well filled with good things.

“Hello, henchman!” called Ladybird, “you’re mighty spry. What did you tell my aunt?”

“Nothing, miss,” said Matthew; “sure, ye gave me no message.”

“Good Matthew,” said Ladybird, approvingly. “It seems to me we shall be great friends, you and I. And now for my supper.”

“But I can’t climb up with it to ye,” said Matthew.

“Small need,” said Ladybird, who was already uncoiling a long bit of string.

Tying a bunch of twigs to the end of it, she carefully let the string down through the branches of the old apple-tree.

“Tie the basket on, Matthew,” she called, and the old man, mumbling, “It’s as much as me place is worth,” tied the basket firmly to the string and started it on its ascending course.

After safely passing several dangerous obstacles in the way of knots and twigs, the savory basket-load reached Ladybird, and she gleefully examined the contents.

“It seems to me,” she said reflectively, “that Bridget is a duck – a big fat duck.”

“She is that, miss,” said Matthew, agreeably.

The conversation flagged then, for Ladybird was busily engaged; and Matthew was bewildered, and quite uncertain what course to pursue. He could not see the child, though between the thickly leaved branches he could catch glimpses of her red frock at the very top of the tree.

Presently he heard her voice again.

“Matthew, there’s no use of your staying there; you’ll get rheumatism. You may go now. I shall stay here. There is no message for my aunts. Good night.”

“Oh, miss, don’t be foolish now; come down; let me take ye to the house.”

“Good night, Matthew.”

“Miss, yer aunts is that worrited!”

“Good night, Matthew.”

“Well, miss,” with a sigh of resignation, “it does be awful cold here after dark. Sha’n’t I bring ye a blanket jist?”

“Good night, Matthew.”

Baffled, the old man went back to the house. His emotions were rioting within him; his sense of duty was dulled. He well knew he ought to tell the Flint ladies where the child was; and yet she had said there was no message, and somehow the little witch’s word seemed like an iron law.

But when he reached the farm-house and found the Misses Flint pale with real anxiety concerning their niece, he felt intuitively that their feelings had changed, and so he said:

“Well, yes, ma’am; I do know where she is.”

“Oh, Matthew, where?” cried Miss Priscilla, mistaking the cause of his hesitation; and Miss Dorinda said faintly:

“Is she down the well?”

“Down the well!” exclaimed Matthew. “No, indeed, ma’am; she’s up a tree. She’s up in the tiptopmost branch of the old Bell-flower apple-tree, and she won’t come down. She says she’s going to stay there all night, ma’am.”