CHAPTER VI.
Long Island was one of the largest of the little islands round which the river flowed. The river at this part was more considerable, and even now, at the end of the dry season, it required no little agility to ford it. The island was so thickly overgrown with trees and bushes that from the banks it seemed to be only an impenetrable mass of foliage. But the children knew better. In the centre was a little cleared spot, and on that clearance their father had, many years ago, built a hut.
The difficulty of approach, and the delightful loneliness of the place, formed a great attraction for the children; but the charm of charms was this hut. Completely hidden as it was, approachable only by two narrow openings in the bushes, never entered except by themselves, there was a delicious mystery about it that heightened the pleasures of possession; and then, it was their very own, built by their father when he was a child like them, and begged for them by him from their uncle, who was scarcely aware of its existence. It was their castle, to do with absolutely as they pleased.
There was no place in the world where the children more enjoyed playing. Its walls were built of stones cemented with mud; a square opening on one side served as a window, but in the doorway there was still the remains of a door, which Murtagh and Bobbo had mended so that it could shut, fastened on the inside.
Opposite the window was a chimney, and in one of the walls a cupboard where Rosie and Winnie kept a wooden bowl, four or five broken plates, two cups, and an old knife. Besides these they had an empty box that they used as a table, and five flower-pots that served as chairs; also a piece of soap, an old scrubbing-brush, a lot of raw potatoes, and a broom which they had made for themselves.
The only drawback was that this island was too far off. There was a shorter way by the road, but the children always came along the river-bed, and though the distance was really far less than they imagined, the high, wooded banks, the desolate fields through which the river wound, made the course of it so lonely that they always felt as if they were on an expedition into the depths of a wild country.
This very seclusion, however, made it all the more suitable to their present purpose, and to-day their sense of proprietorship was perhaps more delightful than it had ever been before.
For the moment, however, the important matter was to get dinner ready, and they set to work to collect wood for the fire.
Then the hut had to be cleaned, for it was more than a month since they had last been here, and cobwebs and dust abounded; so while Rosie prepared to light the fire, the boys went with the bowl and saucepan to bring up water from the river, Winnie swept out the hut, and to Theresa was intrusted the business of getting the fish ready for cooking. Ellie was sent to pick laurel leaves to strew the floor. "For," remarked Murtagh, "to-day's a grand festival day, and our floor must be strewed with rushes like the ancient Britons. I'll be lord of the castle and, Winnie, you shall be lady."
"I don't know what to do with this fire, Murtagh!" exclaimed Rose. "The three matches we had left are every one of them damp; I can't strike them."