“I wonder they didn’t turn all the cows in there,” said Rafe practically.
“Why didn’t they, nurse?”
“Oh dear me, Master Rafe, that’s more than I can tell. It was but an old tale. You can’t expect much sense in such.”
“Whom did the old house belong to? Who lived there?” said Alix.
“Nobody knows,” said nurse. “It’s too long ago to say. But there’s always been good luck about the place, that’s certain. You’ve seen the flowers there in the summer time. Some of them look as beautiful as if they were in a proper garden; and it’s certain sure there’s no wood near here like it for the nightingales.”
This was very satisfactory so far as it went, but nurse would say no more, doubtless because she had nothing more to say.
“I do believe, Rafe,” said Alix, when they were sitting together after tea, “that the old garden is a sort of entrance to fairyland, and that it’s been waiting for us to find it out.”
Her eyes were shining with eagerness, and Rafe, too, felt very excited.
“I do hope mamma will let us have all to-morrow to ourselves,” he said. “You see, one has to be very careful with fairies, Alix—all the stories agree about that. We must go to work very cautiously, so as not to offend them in any way.”
“You’re always cautious,” said Alix, with a little contempt; “rather too cautious for me. Of course we shall be very polite, and take care not to spoil any of the plants, but we’ll have to be a little venturesome too. And,” she went on, “you may count that they’ve invited us. The wren brought a regular message. I only hope they’re not offended with us for not going to-day.”