The last words were spoken to his Adjutant who already stood holding the Captain's butterfly pony Swallowtail, as well as his own. The Brownies sprang upon the creatures' backs and rode away.
MacWhirlie watched the forms of the horsemen until they were lost to view behind the gable of the house. "Heigh-ho!" he sighed, "the time was when the journey to Hilltop was a safe and pleasant ride. But it's a bold feat nowadays, with Pixies waiting at every corner, and their webs flapping on every bush. But I must e'en leave the Captain with Providence and go about my own business."
Fig. 24.—Bruce and Blythe on Their Way to Hilltop. Pixie Attus Tries to Lasso Them.
The afternoon was well advanced when Bruce and Blythe halted their jaded ponies under the shade of a laurel bush, a little way from the Lone Aspen on Hilltop. "Poor fellow!" said the Captain as he stroked Swallowtail's drooping wings. "It was too bad to bring you on such a service, with plenty of stouter nags in the stable! But we had to run the gauntlet of the Pixies, you know, and those big fellows would never have got through unnoticed. Think they can carry us back?" he asked anxiously.
"I doubt it, Cap'n," was the answer. "But rest and a hearty meal may bring 'em around all right."
"Very well; then do you care for them while I go to the Lone Aspen."
The Boy's Illustration.
Fig. 25.—Bruce Whistling for Madam Breeze.
The Lone Aspen stood on the summit of the hill. It was an old tree, with wide spreading branches, and great girth of trunk. The trunk was hollow, and covered with warts. One of these was quite near the roots, and was pierced in the centre with a hole which exposed the hollow within. Bruce stopped at the foot of the tree beneath this opening, and blew a peculiar note upon a whistle which hung by a chain about his neck. There was no answer. He whistled again. Still no response. Along the rough scales and ridges of bark running up and down the trunk, a stairway had been made like the rounds of a ladder. Upon this the Captain climbed towards the opening. He stepped out upon a bulging wart and peeped within the tree. It was empty. Again he blew his whistle. The echoes rolled up and down the hollow trunk and died away far above toward the branches, where a faint streak of light shone through an opening like the one in which the Brownie stood.