The girls laughed softly. It was a joy to draw Mary out on her favorite subjects.
“And then,” she went on, “there is the Queen of the Salmon. She is a fairy and not a fish, and all the salmon are her subjects.”
“Are there any bad fairies?” asked Nancy.
“Oh, yes, and unless people are careful they will steal young babies from the cradles and leave changeling elves in their places.”
“Dear me,” exclaimed Billie. “How does one know whether one is one’s self or a changeling elf? Am I a changeling elf, do you think?”
There was a gay rollicking laugh from somewhere after this remark of Billie’s; just one uncontrollable guffaw and then perfect silence.
The girls, who had climbed in among the ruins to have a peep at the cells once occupied by the monks of the abbey, paused and exchanged embarrassed glances.
“I’m glad our remarks have given amusement to somebody,” observed Mary stiffly.
“Please forgive me,” said a familiar voice. “I haven’t laughed for a fortnight and I couldn’t keep it in.”
There was a noise of rolling stones, some one leaped down from a recess in the old wall, and Feargus O’Connor presently appeared, covered with dust and cobwebs and looking so much like a tramp they hardly knew him.