“There has been a good deal of blindness in Ireland from the smoke of burning peat in the houses,” said Bee, looking thankfully at her own broad chimney and deep fireplace.
“Hark!” said Kathleen suddenly, “there’s the child calling this minute,” and she ran out into the garden to see what was the matter.
Mary Ellen had been exploring the little farm for herself. She had found her way through the garden to the old fort and was catching the pink and white petals as they drifted down to her from the trees. An old magpie had built his nest in the tree over her head and he was scolding so angrily that the child was afraid of him.
“Was it only a bird, Kathleen dear?” she asked, when her sister tried to quiet her by telling her just how funny he looked, sitting up there in the tree and opening and shutting his big bill. “Faith, I thought it was an ogre!”
“That’s the very magpie that steals my young turkeys,” said Bee, who had run out after Kathleen. “If you children will find a way to drive him off I will give you a shilling.”
Then she left the little girls to play by themselves, and Mary Ellen lay on the grass among the spring blossoms while Kathleen sat down beside her to tell her a long story.
“This is a truly fairy rath,” she began, “and Cousin Bee’s farm is the fortune fairy’s palace.”
And Cousin Bee, putting her cream into the churn, said to herself, “Sure, the farm is big enough to keep both the children for awhile. I’ll let Kathleen stay on with Mary Ellen till her Aunt Hannah sends for her again.”
CHAPTER IX
MAY-DAY ON LOUGH GARA