Fairies Afield Part 17

"And you promise me I won't miss the coach," said the girl, as she followed the kind woman into the little sitting-room behind the bar.

"No fear, no fear," replied her hostess, and as Clodagh sat down in the comfortable chintz-covered old armchair--the landlady's own, which she drew forward for the unexpected guest--the girl gave a sigh of content.

"It is nice and cool in here," she said, "and I _am_ so tired already and so thirsty. I wish I were going to stay here for a bit."

"Indeed and I wish it too, Miss, and it's our best we'd do to make you comfortable," said the dame, as she bustled about to make the tea, which she fetched from the kitchen hard by, and to cut some tempting slices of bread and b.u.t.ter. "But travelling's very pleasant, some folks say.

There's an old lady not far from here--that's to say, her own home is--but she's for ever on the go. They do say as she's been all over the world, and old as she is, she seldom rests."

"Is she so very old?" asked Clodagh.

"No one knows," was the mysterious reply. "My husband's mother, and she's no chicken as you can fancy, remembers her as quite aged when she was young. But she never seems to get no older. Some say she was spirited away by the good folk when she was a baby and that she's got a fairy's life--indeed there's some that will have it she's not really one of us at all."

Clodagh, by this time refreshed by the tea, sat up eagerly. "Oh," she exclaimed, "I'm so glad you talk of the good folk. I thought it was only at home--in Ireland, I mean, that people still believed in them."

"Dear me, no," said her hostess, with a smile. "Maybe in the big towns you never hear of them nowadays, and no wonder. They can't abide noise and bustle and dirt. But in these parts, oh dear yes. I've heard tell of them all _my_ life, I know, and of their tricksy ways. They can be the best of friends, but, my word! if they take offence they can worry one's life out."

Clodagh was listening with all her ears. Her eyes had grown brighter, and some colour had come into her cheeks, with the mere mention of fairy folk, so familiar to her since her infancy.

"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 pa.s.sed in the coach, and I've just said a word to her at the door. Once she asked for a gla.s.s 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 Iris.h.!.+" 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.senger 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 c.o.c.k-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 enc.u.mbrances. 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 cla.s.s."

"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 s.p.a.ce 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, as she settled herself down again in her wraps, "thank goodness, we have no fellow-pa.s.sengers. 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 pa.s.senger."

"What sort of one?" her cousin demanded. "I hope to goodness it's not a first-cla.s.s 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.