“Do I, little woman? Aunt Emma likes doing nice things for good children. But now come along, it’s quite time we were off. Let us go and fetch father and mother. Gardener will bring the baskets.”
Such a merry party they were, trooping down to the boathouse. There lay the boat; a pretty new boat, painted dark blue, with a little red flag floating at her bows, and her name, “Ariel,” written in large white letters on the stern. And all around the boathouse stretched the beautiful blue water, so clear and sunny and sparkling that it dazzled Milly’s eyes to look at it. She and Olly were lifted into the boat beside Aunt Emma and mother, father sat in the middle and took the oars, while gardener put the baskets into the stern, and then, untying the rope which kept the boat tied into the boathouse, he gave it a good push with one hand and off she went out into the blue lake, rising up and down on the water like a swan.
“Oh! mother, mother, look up there,” shouted Olly, “there’s the mountain. Isn’t that where we climbed up this morning?”
Yes, there it was, the beautiful green rocky mountain, rising up above Aunt Emma’s house. They could see it all so clearly as they got farther out into the lake; first the blue sky, then the mountain with the little white dots on it, which Milly knew were sheep; then some trees, and in front, Aunt Emma’s house with the lawn and the boathouse. And as they looked all round them they could see far bigger and grander mountains than Brownholme, some near and green like Brownholme, and some far away and blue like the sky, while down by the edge of the lake were hayfields full of flowers, or bits of rock with trees growing on the top of them. The children hardly knew what it was made them so quiet; but I think it was because everything was so beautiful. They were really in the hill-fairies’ palace now.
“Aren’t there any water-fairies in this lake, mother?” whispered Milly, presently, looking down into the clear blue water, and trying to see the bottom.
“I can’t tell, Milly, I never saw any. But there used to be water-fairies in old days. After tea suppose we ask Aunt Emma to tell us a story about a king in olden times whom the water-fairies loved; she used to tell it to me when I was small, and I liked it best of all stories. But, Olly, you must sit still, or the boat will go tipping over to one side, and father won’t be able to row.”
“Do let me row, father,” begged Olly.
“Not yet, old man—I must get used to the boat first, and find out how to manage her, but presently you shall come and try, and so shall Milly if she likes.”
On they rowed, farther and farther from the shore, till Aunt Emma’s house began to look quite small, and they could hardly see the gardener working on the lawn.
“Father, what a long way we’ve come,” cried Milly, looking all round. “Where are we going to?”