Castle Blair: A Story of Youthful Days

by Flora L. Shaw

He bent forward, as he spoke, and touched her forehead with his lips. Then with a kindly pressure of the hand he walked to the door, and held it open while she passed out. Adrienne, after crossing the hall and wandering about a little among smaller passages, was guided by the sound of voices to a door which she recognized at once, thanks to a crooked brass handle and the letters "L. B." cut with a penknife in the brown wood above the lock.

She opened it, and found herself straightway in the presence of all the children. The large window at the end of the room was open wide, and Winnie seated side-ways on the window-sill, with her head resting against the gray stone framework, was eating a large hunch of bread. A flock of pigeons and white ducks clamored for scraps on the terrace outside; curled up in her lap lay four small kittens, and the big mother cat sat sunning herself upon the window-sill; but Winnie seemed to be paying only a mechanical attention to her pets. She was white from want of food, and there was a general air of preoccupation and disappointment in her attitude,—disappointment which seemed to have communicated itself in a measure to the other children, who stood grouped around her.

"No," she was saying as Adrienne entered; "it's just Peggy's rubbish, and there's an end of it."

"Well, but," said Murtagh, doubtfully, "they might be there another day and not be there to-day."

"No," returned Winnie, decidedly; "I don't believe they're ever there. It was quite dark when I got up on the Liss, and I hid under a bush and watched with my eyes wide open till it was blazing light all over everywhere, and I didn't see a single thing, and there—there's an end of it." She flung a piece of crust out on the grass as she spoke, so that the poor ill-used ducks had to turn round and waddle quite a journey before they got it. But perhaps even ducks can look reproachful, for she broke almost immediately another bit from her hunch of bread, and threw it to a fat laggard, with a compassionate—"There, poor old Senior, that's for you." And then, turning more gently to Murtagh, she said, "Never mind, Myrrh, you know it wasn't any use believing it if it wasn't true."

Murtagh did not answer. But suddenly an idea crossed Bobbo's mind, and he exclaimed, half-doubtfully, "Win, do you think—they might have known you were coming, and perhaps they didn't choose you to see them?"

The notion seemed to find some favor with the other children. Winnie glanced at Murtagh to see what he thought; but Murtagh, who had been aware of Adrienne's entrance, was looking to her, so Winnie's eyes followed his.

"No, I do not think that exactly," said Adrienne. She seated herself on the window-sill, opposite Winnie, and began to stroke the old cat. Then she continued in the same slow, thoughtful tone: "Once I used to believe in fairies, as you do, and I used to want to see them, but I never did. I used to think I did sometimes, but I never did. Then I began to think they could not be true, and that made me very unhappy, for I loved them so. Everything that happened to me I used to think the fairies were there; I was all alone, and hadn't anybody but the fairies. When it was fine I thought the fairies were in the sun; when it rained I thought they were in the rain. I thought they were in the flowers, in the moon,—everywhere, in everything. But still I began to be afraid they could not be true.

"I do not know how long that lasted, but I remember the day when it was all finished—the very last day when I ever believed in them.

"It was when I was eight years old. I had been alone nearly all day, and I had been standing a long time by the window watching the rain beat down upon the pavement. It was growing dark, but still I did not go away; for I always used to think the little splashes were water-fairies dancing, and I liked to watch them. I was thinking about them, and half-dreaming, I think, when suddenly I seemed to know that they were not fairies at all—nothing but water-splashes. I felt almost frightened, and I went away from the window and sat down on the hearth-rug in front of the fire. But then the sight of the fire reminded me that there were no fire-fairies either; no fairies anywhere all over the world. It seemed such a dreadful thing to know; and I couldn't help it,—I just hid my face in the hearth-rug, and cried like a little baby."