“Aigh! the blessed wee one!” whispered Bridget, kneeling down beside them. “I am thinking ye had better rest, Mary astore; give me the birdeen to nurse while ye sleep.” And with hunger-arms she reached out for the Holy Child and wrapped it in the white mantle that she wore.
“Aye, take Him,” said Mary. “I would I might, in the years to come, give my babe to every barren breast. But ye, Bridget, are alone blest.”
And through the long night Bridget cradled the Child while Mary slept and the kine looked on, kneeling in their stalls. And when day broke, Bridget closed her eyes and slept, too, for the weariness was upon her.
It was the call of a white bird that wakened her. She started up with a cry of fear and her arms reached over her breast for the Child, but the Child was gone. And when she looked about her she saw she was standing on the crest of the holy hill, while beyond her lay green fields and pastures full of sheep, and her father’s hut, and the blue bay of Iona at her feet.
“’Tis all a dream,” she said, the wonder on her. And then she looked at the mantle she wore. It was woven with golden threads into marvelous pictures of birds and beasts and angels. And Bridget went slowly down the holy hill, the mantle about her; and when she came to her father’s hut she found she had been gone for a year and six months.
X
THE CHAPTER AFTER THE END
The last thing David remembered that night was hearing Mr. Peter’s voice booming out a “Merry Christmas” to each of the departing guests. Incredible and humiliating as it might seem, Johanna had had to help him to bed! He was so worn out with the work and the joy of all that had happened that day that his eyes would not stay open long enough for him to make the proper going-to-bed arrangements for himself.
And the first thing David thought about when he woke Christmas morning was the locked-out fairy. Yes, even before he thought about the gift that was coming that day from father.
Where was the fairy? He had not seen him for two days, had not come upon a single track that might have been his in all his tramping through the woods for greens. He did not like to think it, but perhaps the fairy was shivering and hungry in some hollow tree or deserted rabbit-burrow, homesick and alone, while he, David, had almost, yes, had almost unlocked the door that led back into his old world—almost found opening-time.
It did not seem fair that now the fairy should be left out, when his own happiness was the fairy’s doing, after all; when he would never have found the way to Christmas or the way out of loneliness if the fairy had not made the trail for him to follow. He made up his mind at once, even before he was out of bed, that he would spend Christmas day hunting for the fairy and seeing to it that he had all the comforts that mere mortals could supply.