"She's gone, Robin," she called out, "the pretty baby's gone. But there's no call to be afraid for her. She ran off when she was playing with your little sisters in front of the house, and chase her as we might, we couldn't catch her. She danced away like a will-o'-the-wisp, laughing as I've never heard a child laugh, so fine and pretty and mischievous it was. And I've bethought me what it means. 'Twas the day for the moor-fairies to show themselves, it comes but once in seven years, and we've been in luck indeed."
'Then Robin told her of the laughing he, too, had heard, and of the good news he was bringing, and together they went on to the cottage, thankful that they had not missed the chance which had come to them by fear or selfishness. And from that day for seven years to come anyhow it did seem as if they were specially befriended, everything went well with them, and so far as I remember what my grandmother said, this good turn helped Robin on through his life. He was a grandfather himself when he told the story, much respected through the country-side—a good, kind man, as he had been a good, kind boy.'
Nance stopped. Rosamond gave a sigh of satisfaction.
'What a pretty story,' she said, 'and how nicely you've told it—Mrs. Crag,' for she did not quite know what to call the old woman.
Nance smiled, well pleased. It was true; she had a real gift for story-telling, and though her accent sounded strange, her words were so correctly chosen, and her whole tone had so much charm about it, that it was almost difficult to believe that she had not at some time of her life been in a much better position than now.
'I'm right glad that you've liked my old story,' she said. 'But don't call me Mrs. Crag, missie dear; it doesn't suit me. Say "Nance," like the young gentlemen. I've plenty more stories packed away somewhere in my head that I can get out for you if you care to hear them.'
'I wonder,' said Pat, 'if the fairies were seen again ever? Do you think they kept coming back every seven years, Nance?'
The old woman shook her head.
'I can't say, Master Pat,' she replied, 'but I'm afraid those days are over now, the world's too changed, and all the new-fangled ways frighten the good people away.'
'Do you think there were ever fairies on this moor?' said Archie. 'It says in our story-books that there are ever so many different kinds, some in forests, some in brooks and rivers, but I never heard of moor ones before. Are you sure, Nance, that if we sat up all night, or got up very, very early in the morning some particular day, we mightn't see something queer, or hear something? Like the boy, Johnnie— Somebody? who climbed up the mountain on Midsummer's eve.'