Castle Blair: A Story of Youthful Days

by Flora L. Shaw

Mr. Plunkett was rather pleased that the children should know the punishment came through him, and he assented willingly. It was a great relief to Cousin Jane to find any one upon whom she could lay her responsibility, and on her return she took refuge in saying that she could not help it. Mr. Plunkett was determined they should not go. She had been down to him to ask him again, and she could not do any more.

Of all the children Frankie seemed to feel most keenly the slight put upon Murtagh, though after the first indignant outburst he avoided with a kind of shrinking pain any allusion to his departure. Unable to remain outside the heart of any one he loved, he understood and forgave his mother, and by his redoubled tenderness to Murtagh, and the wistful, yearning looks with which he followed him about, he seemed to ask Murtagh to forgive her, too.

Greatly distressed by Frankie's trouble, Murtagh tried to console him, showing himself perfectly cordial with Cousin Jane, and pretending that he did not care so very much for the disappointment. Winnie, too, did her very best, but Frankie was not to be comforted. He seemed to have some secret reason for his depression, and though he followed their footsteps like a shadow, he paid no heed to their attempts at consolation.

The natural result of his trouble was that he became ill, and his mother in despair was twenty times on the point of changing her mind. But Emma told her that that was nonsense; as for Frankie's health, the best thing she could do was to get him away to the sea at once.

So Cousin Jane, notwithstanding many tears and protestations of affection to Frankie, held to her resolution, and the day of their departure drew near.

But Frankie grew more and more ill, and the sight of his grief rendered his little cousins more determinedly and bitterly indignant against Mr. Plunkett. There was no reason why they should not express as openly as they pleased their opinions of his conduct, and they railed against him in turn, as with each day their angry resentment of the injustice grew stronger.

Nessa was so troubled by their state of mind that she asked Mr. Blair to interfere so far at least as to establish a clear understanding that Cousin Jane might take the children if she chose. But he was tired of children and their concerns, and he only laughed at her a little, and told her that when people are in Ireland they must do as the Irish do—leave things to take care of themselves. It would all come right as soon as Cousin Jane was gone.

Royal was the only refuge. He was always good-humored, always ready to entice the children to play. He seemed to understand quite well that they were in trouble, and to want to comfort them. When they were talking angrily he would stand looking up into their faces with a sort of half-puzzled, half-coaxing expression, that seemed to say: "I can't understand a single word. What is the good of it all? Come and play with me," and his invitation was almost always successful. Winnie seldom could resist him long.

The moment he saw signs of relaxing in her face he would wag his tail and bound away, looking back to see if she were coming. Then, if she did not come at once, he would stop suddenly and stand with his forepaws spread wide apart, his head down and his tail up, saying as plainly as action could say it, "You can't catch me; now just try if you can."

That invitation was always irresistible; the children would rush after him in a body, and generally dog and children were in another moment rolling over together in a heap. Then Royal would shake himself free, and bound off again to have the same rolling repeated further on, till the children forgot their troubles in a sheer romp.