The Primrose Ring Part 11

"Then ye been't the wee gray woman--back yonder?" asked Sandy.

"Maybe I'm not--and maybe I am." And then she laughed. "Dear children, it doesn't matter in the least who I am. I look a hundred different ways to a hundred different people. Now let me see--I think you wanted some--clothes."

A long, rapturous sigh was the only answer. It lasted while the queen got down on her knees--just like an every-day, ordinary person--and pulled from under the throne a great carved chest. She threw open the lid wide; and there, heaped to the top and spilling over, were dresses and mantles and coats and trousers and caps. They were all lengths, sizes, and fas.h.i.+ons--just what you most wanted after you had been in bed for years and never worn anything but a hospital s.h.i.+rt; and everything was made of cloth o' dreams and embroidered with pearls from the River of Make-Believe.

"You can choose whatever you like, dearies," said the queen. And that--according to Susan--was the best of all.

Next came the dancing; the Apostles remembered about that co-operatively. They had donned pants of pink and yellow, respectively, with s.h.i.+rts of royal purple and striked stockings, when the pipers began to play. James said it sounded like soldiers marching; John was certain that it was more like a circus; but I am inclined to believe that they played "The Music of Glad Memories" and "What-is-Sure-to-Come-True," for those are the two popular airs in Tir-na-n'Og.

Away and away must have danced pairs of little feet that had never danced before, and pairs of old feet that had long ago forgotten how; and millions of faery feet, for no one can dance half as joyously as when faeries dance with them. And I have heard it said that the pipers there can play sadness into gladness, and tears into laughter, and old age young again; and that those who have ever danced to the music of faery pipes never really grow heavy-hearted again.

Needless to say, the Apostles danced together, and Peter danced with Toby; and it must have been the maddest, merriest dance, for they never told about it afterward without bursting into peal after peal of laughter. Truth to tell, the Apostles' patch of fancy ended right there--all raveling out into smiles and squirms of delight.

Another memory of Sandy's adjoins that of the Apostles'; and he told it with great precision and regard for the truth.

Ever since crossing the River of Make-Believe Sandy had been able to think of nothing but the story Bridget had told--the very last thing in Ward C--and ever since he had left the leprechaun's bush behind he had been wondering and scheming how he could get rid of his hump. He was the only person in Tir-na-n'Og that night who did not dance.

Unnoticed, he climbed into a corner of the throne--among the sleeping baby faeries--and there he thought hard. As he listened to the pipers'

music he shook his head mournfully.

"A canna make music mair bonny nor that--a canna," he said; and he set about searching through the sc.r.a.ps of his memory for what music he did know. There were the hymns they sang every Sunday at Saint Margaret's; but he somewhat doubted their appropriateness here. Then there were the songs his mother had sung to him home in Aberdeen. Long ago the words had been forgotten; but often and often he had hummed the music of them over to himself when he was going to sleep--it was good music for that. One of the airs popped into his mind that very minute; it was a Jacobite song about "Charlie," and he started to hum it softly.

Close on the humming came an idea--a braw one; it made him sit up in the corner of the throne and clap his hands, while his toes wriggled exultantly inside his faery shoes.

"A can do't--a can!" He shouted it so loud that the baby faeries woke up and asked what he was going to do, and gathered about him to listen the better.

The pipers played until there were no more memories left and everything had come true; and the queen came back to her throne to find Sandy waiting, eager-eyed, for her.

"A have a bonny song made for ye. Wull ye tak it frae me noo?"

"Take what?"

"The hump. Ye tuk it frae the ither loonie gien he made ye some guid music; an' a ha' fetched ye mair--here." And he tapped his head to signify that it was not written down.

"Is the song ready, now?"

Sandy nodded.

"Then turn about and sing it loud enough for all to hear; they must be the judges if the song is worth the price of a hump." And the queen smiled very tenderly.

Sandy did as he was bid; he clasped his hands tightly in front of him.

"'Tis no for the faeries," he explained. "Ye see--they be hardly needin' ony music, wi' muckle o' their ain. 'Tis for the children--the children i' horspitals--a bonny song for them to sleepit on." He marked the rhythm a moment with his foot, and hummed it through once to be sure he had it. Then he broke out clearly into the old Jacobite air--with words of his own making:

"Ye weave a bonny primrose ring; Ye hear the River callin'; Ye ken the Land whaur faeries sing-- Whaur starlicht beams are fallin'.

'Tis there the pipers play things true; 'Tis there ye'll gae--my dearie-- The bonny Land 'at waits for you, Whaur ye'll be nae mair weary.

"A wee man by a blackthorn-tree Maun st.i.tchit shoes for dancin', An' there's a pair for ye an' me-- To set our feet a-prancin'.

'Tis muckle gladness 'at ye'll find In Tir-na-n'Og, my dearie; The bonny Land 'at's aye sae kind, Whaur ye'll be nae mair weary.

"Ye'll ken the birdeen's blithie song, Ye'll hark till flo'ers lauchen; An' see the faeries trippit long By brook an' brae an' bracken.

Sae doon your heid--an' shut your een; Gien ye'd be away, my dearie-- An' the bonny sauncy faery queen Wull keep ye--nae mair weary."

You may think it uncommonly strange that Sandy could make a song like this, by himself; but, you see, he was not entirely alone--there were the baby faeries. They helped a lot; as fast as ever he thought out the words they rhymed them for him--this being a part of the A B C of faery education.

When the song was finished Sandy turned to the queen again.

"Aighe--wull it do?"

"If the faeries like it, and think it good enough to send down to the children, they will have it all learned by heart and will sing it back to you in a minute. Listen! Can you hear anything?"

For a moment only the rustle of the trees could be heard. Sandy strained his ears until he caught a low, sobbing sound coming through the hazel-leaves.

"'Tis but the wind--greetin'," he said, wistfully.

"Listen again!"

The sound grew, breaking into a cadence and a counter-cadence, and thence into a harmony. "'Tis verra ilk the grand pipe-organ i' the kirk, hame in Aberdeen."

"Listen again!"

Mellow and sweet came the notes of the Jacobite air--a bar of it; and then the faeries began to sing, sending the song back to Sandy like a belated echo:

"Ye weave a bonny primrose ring; Ye hear the River callin'; Ye ken the Land whaur faeries sing-- Whaur starlicht beams are fallin'."

"For the love o' Mike!" laughed Sandy. "A'm unco glad--a am." He dropped to his knees beside the queen and nestled his cheek in the hand that was resting in her lap. "'Tis aricht noo." And he sighed contentedly.

And it was. The queen leaned over and lifted off the hump as easily as you might take the cover from a box. Sandy stretched himself and yawned--after the fas.h.i.+on of any one who has been sleeping a long time in a cramped position; and without being in the least conscious of it, he sidled up to the arm of the throne and rubbed his back up and down--to test the perfect straightness of it.

"'Tis gone--guid! Wull it nae mair coom back?" And he eyed the queen gravely.

"Never to be burdensome, little lad. Others may think they see it there, but for you the back will be straight and strong."

Rosita came back--empty-handed; she was so busy holding tight to Bridget's hand and getting ready to be afraid that she forgot everything else. As for Michael, he gave his patch into Bridget's keeping; which brings us to what Bridget remembered.

From the moment that the penny had been given over to her she had been weighed down with a mighty responsibility. The financier of any large syndicate is bound to feel hara.s.sed at times over the outcome of his investments; and Bridget felt personally accountable for the forthcoming happiness due the eight other stockholders in her company.

She was also mindful of what had happened in the past to other persons who had speculated heedlessly or unwisely with faery gifts. There was the case of the fisherman and his wife, and the aged couple and their sausage, and the old soldier; on the other hand, there was the man from Letterkenny who had h.o.a.rded his gold and had it turn to dry leaves as a punishment. She must neither keep nor spend foolishly.

"Sure I'll think all round a thing twict afore I have my mind made to anythin'; then I'll keep it made for a good bit afore I give over the penny."

She repeated this advice while she considered all possible investments, but she found nothing to her liking. The children made frequent suggestions, such as bagpipes and clothes-chests, and contrivances for feast-spreading and transportation; and Susan was strongly in favor of a baby faery to take back to Miss Peggie. But to all of these Bridget shook an emphatic negative.

"Sure ye'd be tired o' the lot afore ye'd gone half-way back. Like as not we'll never have another penny to spend as long as we live, an' I'm goin' to see that ye'll all get somethin' that will last."

She was beginning to fear that theirs would be the fate of the man from Letterkenny, when she chanced upon Peter and Toby performing for the benefit of the pipers.

"Them trusters will never be lettin' Pether take that dog back to the horspital," she thought, mindful of the sign in Saint Margaret's yard that dogs were not allowed. "He'd have to be changin' him back into a make-believe dog to get him in at all; an' Pether'd never be satisfied wi' him that way, now--afther havin' him real."

Her trouble took her to the queen. "Is there any way of buyin' a dog into a horspital?" she asked, solemnly.

"I think it would be easier to buy a home to put him in."