CHAPTER X.—THE NEW MOTHER.
S
uch a disappointment! As the figure drew near, Elsie saw that she had made a mistake. Instead of the beautifully-dressed lady of the carriage, it turned out to be a person dressed in black garments, with a long black veil covering her face.
She walked along quickly, and as she came up to the children, she stopped. Then she turned up her veil, and Elsie saw with astonishment that it was really the lady who had spoken to them that morning, but so changed, that it was no wonder Elsie had not known her. The face that had looked so gay and smiling was now sad and pensive; the fair curling hair, falling in pretty confusion over the white forehead, was drawn smoothly back under the neat crape bonnet, with its widow's cap.
The many bracelets and other jewellery were all gone. So complete was the transformation that Elsie stood staring, not knowing what to believe.
"I told you I was a fairy," the lady said, in a kind, but sad, voice. "You must not be surprised to see me so changed. To-morrow I may change again. A fairy is all sorts of things, you know."
"Ye—es, ma'am," Elsie said, doubtfully.
"I dare say you think that a fairy can change other people as well as herself, do you not?"
"Yes, ma'am; fairies do that in books," Elsie replied.
"Well, and I tell you I am a fairy," the lady said, a little sharply; "and I am going to change you."
"What is she going to change us into, Elsie?" asked the matter-of-fact Duncan.
"Ah! what?" the lady asked, with a laugh. "Shall I change you into two little Highland sheep scampering over the hills, and feeding upon grass?"
"Oh no!" Elsie said quickly; but Duncan, whose mind never readily accepted a new idea, only replied stolidly, "You couldn't, you know."
"Don't be so sure of that," the lady replied. "But I am not going to. I am going to make you into my own little children."
This seemed very nice and kind, but it so completely did away with their own father that Elsie did not know what to say. The lady seemed displeased, and stamping her foot, said very sharply—"Do you hear what I say? I am going to turn you into my little boy and girl."
"Thank you, ma'am," Elsie said slowly. "It is very kind, only we've got our own father."
"I didn't say anything about a father, did I?" the lady said. "I shall be your mother. While you are my children, your father is dead."
"But he isn't indeed, ma'am," Elsie began; but he lady's face suddenly changed. It grew very red, and her eyes blazed with passion.
In place of the sad, pensive face, she saw an angry, furious, dreadful-looking face, that struck terror into her heart. "While you are my children," she exclaimed, in a loud terrible voice, "your father is dead. If you forget that for one moment, I will instantly change you back into the wretched little creatures you now are, and set you down on top of that high mountain, where you will perish of cold and hunger." Then suddenly she dropped her voice, her face grew calm and sweet-looking again, and she said, very gently, "Will you be my children?"
The children were so bewildered and astonished that they could hardly believe their senses. Elsie replied at once—"Oh yes, if we may;" but it was really more because she did not dare to say anything else, for fear of offending this strange being, and the dread of being left alone all night among the dark, gloomy hills.
"Follow me," the lady said, drawing down her veil, and turning away from the road on to the grass.
The children followed. She led them some distance over the lowest part of a small hill. She walked quickly, the children doing their best to keep pace with her light, rapid footsteps, although Duncan was very tired, and both were desperately hungry. Presently they found themselves in a tiny dell, through which ran a little babbling stream, and where large yellow daisies, and bonnie blue-bells, and other flowers bloomed abundantly. Here the strange lady stopped, and opening her bag, she drew forth some black garments. The first one was a frock of fine black stuff with crape. She bade Elsie take off the old gown she was wearing, and put on this.
Elsie was charmed. The dress fastened down the back, and had a narrow skirt, cut in one with the body, forming a complete contrast to her own short full skirt and round body of bright plaid. Then there came forth from the fairy bag a black hat and a pair of beautiful silk gloves. "You will do for to-night," the lady said, when Elsie had put them on. "To-morrow morning we must think of shoes and stockings less clumsy than those you have on."
"'you are to call me mamma,' she said" ([p. 134]).
For Duncan she brought out a black overcoat, which reached nearly to his ankles, and a black cloth cap. Elsie waited impatiently, hoping to see some nice food come out of the bag, but the fairy mother seemed not to have thought of that, for she shut it up when she had taken the cap out, and gave it to Duncan to carry. Then she rolled up the tattered gown and jacket, and threw them into the stream.
"You are to call me mamma," she said sweetly, "or mother, if you are more used to that."
"Then please, ma'am—ma—we are very hungry," Elsie said.
The lady did not seem pleased. "What dreadful things children are! They want to eat!" she exclaimed. "Well, there is no time now; we must get home quickly. Give me a hand each of you."
They did as they were told, and very soon were again upon the road, walking as quickly as they could to keep up with her. Every now and then she gave Duncan a sharp tug to make him walk quicker.
The poor child was so tired and hungry that he hardly knew how to get along, but the lady took no notice. Elsie really was beginning to think that there was something about her quite different from ordinary people, but she was not sure that she liked her any better for that. She wondered whether she knew what it was to feel very hungry.
They walked what seemed to the weary children a very, very long way, but at last they saw houses, and they perceived that they had arrived at a little village. Here the lady bought them some buns and rolls, which they eagerly devoured, but to their infinite disappointment they found they were not to stay here. On they walked another long way, till they reached a place with many houses and streets and shops, such as Elsie had never seen in her life before.
It was now quite dark, but the lady hurried them through the streets, not allowing them to stop for a moment. By-and-by they arrived at a strange building of wood. They were presently lifted into a carriage. The lady followed; the door was shut. There was a shrill scream, and then the lights outside began to glide past them. They were, for the first time in their lives, in a train.
Duncan had not been in the carriage two minutes before his head fell back against the woodwork, and he was asleep. Elsie's brain was too busy for her to do the same thing. The sensation of gliding along in the dark was so new and strange that she was at first very frightened, but as every one else looked quite comfortable, her fears began to abate, and she could turn her mind to the strange adventures that had befallen them.
After some little time they stopped, and their companion lifted them out, rousing Duncan out of his heavy sleep with much difficulty.
A tall, dark gentleman was waiting, on the platform for them. "Here are the dear children," the lady said, in a sweet, sad voice. "Children, say 'How do you do?' to your Uncle William."
The gentleman shook hands with each of them, and taking Elsie by the hand, led her forward, the lady following with Duncan. They passed through some gates, and found some carriages waiting outside. Into one of these the gentleman and lady took the children, and they were driven away.
These two strange individuals conversed a great deal, but the noise of the wheels prevented Elsie from hearing much of what they said. She made out that the lady was telling the gentleman about her journey, and she thought they both seemed rather pleased.
Suddenly the gentleman leaned over, and laid a hand upon Elsie's arm. "Mind what you are about," he said in her ear. "If you say anything to displease this lady, your good mother, it will be the worse for you. The less you say to anybody, the better; and look after the boy. What is your name?"
"Elsie."
"No it isn't. It is Effie Donaldson. Don't forget it again. Your brother's name is Donald Donaldson. Don't let him forget it, either."
Elsie saw in a moment that there was no trifling meant, and that she would have to obey. It was the same gentleman who had called the driver an idiot in the morning. She had stolen a glance at him then, and had not liked his face. She liked it still less now. Still, they must be kind people, or they would not have brought her and Duncan all this way, and given them such nice clothes. Elsie very much wished, however, that gentlefolk had not such strange manners.
She was very glad and thankful when at last they alighted at a house, into which they entered. A neat, tidy-looking woman came forward to meet them. "Everything's quite ready, ma'am, as the gentleman ordered," she said, with a curtsey. "I've made up an extra bed in your room, ma'am, for the little boy, which the gentleman said would suit you, and the supper's waiting to be served in a moment. I dare say the children are tired, ma'am."
"Yes," said the lady, in a sweet, gentle voice. "They have had a long journey, and they are tired to-night. They will be glad to get to bed as soon as we have had supper, won't you, dears?"
"Yes, mamma," Elsie answered quickly. Duncan made no reply.
"You go in there, and sit down till I come," the lady said, pointing to an open door, through which came the gleam of a fire. She took Elsie's hat and Duncan's cap, and went upstairs, leaving the children, as they thought, alone.
But that was a mistake, for the gentleman came in the next moment. However, he told them, not unkindly, to sit down and warm themselves, which they were glad enough to do. The table was already spread for a meal. Presently the woman brought in a dish of ham and eggs, which made the famished creatures ready to cry with delight.
Their new mamma watched them very narrowly as they ate. Fortunately, Mrs. MacDougall had been very strict about their behaviour, but there were still several things that displeased their new friend, for which she corrected them pretty sharply; and to show how easily children can remember when they really know they must, Elsie not only bore in mind the faults that were found with herself, but also those points in which Duncan had offended.
The woman of the house came in by-and-by, to ask whether she should see the children in bed. She looked so kind and nice, that Elsie hoped their new mamma would say "Yes." She, however, declined, saying that she could not bear any one to do anything for the children but herself. Then she took them upstairs, and locking the door, bade them undress. She then went to a box, and got out some night garments, which were much too large; but the children did not mind that. She tucked Elsie kindly into the snuggest, sweetest bed that could be, and then went to do the same kind office for Duncan. Then telling them that they were on no account to get up till she came to them the next morning, she left them to such a night's rest as they had not had since they left the cottage on Dunster Moor.