The Children of the Castle. Molesworth Mrs.

thoughtfulness. My little wood-cupboard is always kept filled by Tim. And when you come in from your walk we will have tea there instead of here, and spend a cosy evening.”

      Ruby darted at Miss Hortensia and kissed her.

      “That will be lovely,” she said. “And as it’s to be a sort of a treat evening, do tell us a story after tea, dear cousin.”

      “If you’re not tired,” put in Mavis. “Cousin Hortensia had a headache this morning,” she said to Ruby, turning to her.

      “Rubbish!” cried Ruby, but she checked herself quickly. “I don’t mean that,” she went on, “but Mavis is such a kill-joy. You won’t be tired will you, dear cousin? Mavis doesn’t care for stories as much as I do. I’ve read nearly all the books in the library, and she never reads if she can help it.”

      “I’ve enough to do with my lesson-books,” said Mavis with a sigh. “And I can scarcely ever find stories to read that I understand. But I like hearing stories, for then I can ask what it means if there comes a puzzling part.”

      “Poor Mavis!” said Ruby contemptuously, “she’s always getting puzzled.”

      “We must try to make your wits work a little quicker, my dear,” said Miss Hortensia. “You will get to like reading when you are older, I daresay. I must look out for some easier story-books for you.”

      “But I love hearing stories, cousin,” said Mavis. “Please don’t think that I don’t like your stories. I do so like that one about when you came to the castle once when you were a little girl and about the dream you had.”

      “I don’t care for stories about dreams,” said Ruby. “I like to hear about when cousin Hortensia was a young lady and went to balls at the court. I would love to have beautiful dresses and go to the court. Do you think father will take me when I’m grown up, cousin Hortensia?”

      “I daresay he will. You will both go, probably,” Miss Hortensia replied. “But you must not think too much of it or you may be disappointed. Your mother was very beautiful and everybody admired her when she went out in the world, but she always loved best to be here at the castle.”

      Ruby made a face.

      “Then I don’t think I’m like her,” she said. “I’m very tired of this stupid old place already. And if you tell your dream-story to Mavis, you must tell me the one about how mother looked when she went to her first ball. She was dressed all in white, wasn’t she?”

      “No,” Mavis answered. “In blue – wavy, changing blue, like the colour the sea is sometimes.”

      “Blue,” Ruby repeated, “what nonsense! Isn’t it nonsense, cousin Hortensia? Didn’t our mother wear all white at her first ball – everybody does.”

      Miss Hortensia looked up in surprise.

      “Yes, of course,” she said. “Who ever told you she wore blue, Mavis?”

      Mavis grew very red.

      “I wasn’t speaking of our mother,” she said. “It was the lady you saw in your dream I meant, cousin Hortensia.”

      “You silly girl!” said Ruby. “Isn’t she stupid?” Mavis looked ready to cry.

      “You must get out of that habit of not listening to what people say, my dear,” said Miss Hortensia. “Now you had better both go out – wrap up warmly, and don’t stay very long, and when you come in you will find me in my own room.”

      “And you’ll tell us stories, won’t you, dear good cousin?” said Ruby coaxingly, as she put up her pretty face for a kiss. “If you’ll tell me my story, you may tell Mavis hers afterwards.”

      “Well, well, we’ll see,” said Miss Hortensia, smiling.

      “I do so like the story of the blue lady,” said Mavis, very softly, as they left the room.

      Five minutes later the twins were standing under the great archway which led to the principal entrance to the castle. At one end this archway opened on to a winding road cut in the rock, at the foot of which was a little sandy cove – a sort of refuge among the cliffs. On each side of it the waves broke noisily, but they never entirely covered the cove, even at very high tides, and except in exceedingly rough and stormy weather the water rippled in gently, as if almost asking pardon for intruding at all. When the sea was out there was a scrambling path among the rocks to the left, by which one could make one’s way to a little fishing-hamlet about a quarter of a mile off on the west. For, as I should have explained before, the castle stood almost at a corner, the coast-line turning sharply southwards, after running for many miles almost due east and west.

      The proper way to this hamlet was by the same inland road which led to the castle, and which, so the legend ran, was much more modern than the building itself, much more modern at least than the north side of it. That grim fortress-like front was very ancient. It had been built doubtless for a safe retreat, and originally had only been accessible from the sea, being in those days girt round on the land side by enormous walls, in which was no entrance of any kind. A part of these walls, ivy-clad and crumbling, still remained, but sufficient had been pulled down to give space for the pleasant sunny rooms and the sheltered garden with its terraces.

      Ruby shivered as she and Mavis stood a moment hesitating in the archway.

      “It is cold here,” she said; “the wind seems to come from everywhere at once. Which way shall we go, Mavis?”

      “It would be a little warmer at the back, perhaps,” said Mavis. “But I don’t care much for the gardens on a dull day like this.”

      “Nor do I,” said Ruby, “there’s nothing to see. Now at the front it’s almost nicer on a dull day than when it’s sunny – except of course for the cold. Let’s go down to the cove, Mavis, and see how it feels there.” It was curious that they always spoke of the fortress side as the front, even though the southern part of the building was what would have naturally seemed so.

      “I’d like to stay out till sunset and see the colours up in the turret windows,” said Mavis, as they clambered down the rocky path. “I wish I knew which of these rooms is the one where the blue fairy lady used to come. I do think cousin Hortensia might have found out.”

      “Rubbish!” said Ruby. It was rather a favourite expression of hers, I am afraid. “I don’t believe cousin Hortensia ever saw her. It was all a fancy because she had heard about it. If ever she did come, it was ages and ages ago, and I don’t believe she did even then. I don’t believe one bit about spirits and fairies and dreams and things like that.” Mavis said nothing, but a puzzled, disappointed look crept into her eyes.

      “Perhaps it’s because I’m stupid,” she said, “but I shouldn’t like to think like you, Ruby. And you know the story wouldn’t have come all of itself, and cousin Hortensia, though she calls it a dream, can’t really explain it that way.”

      “If you know so much about it, why do you keep teasing to have it told again?” said Ruby impatiently. “Well, here we are at the cove; what are we to do now?”

      Mavis looked about her. It was chilly, and the sky was grey, but over towards the west there was a lightening. The wind came in little puffs down here, now and again only, for they were well under the shelter of the cliffs. And up above, the old castle frowning down upon them – his own children, whose ancestors he had housed and sheltered and protected for years that counted by centuries – suddenly seemed to give a half unwilling smile. It was a ray of thin afternoon sunshine striking across the turret windows.

      “See, see,” said Mavis. “The sun’s coming out. I’m sure the sky must be pretty and bright round where the cottages are. The sea’s quite far enough back, and it’s going out. Do let us go and ask how the baby – Joan’s baby, I mean – is to-day.”

      “Very well,” said Ruby. “Not that I care much how the baby is, but there’s rather a nice scrambly way home up behind Joan’s house. I found it one day when you had a cold and weren’t with me. It brings you out down by the stile into the little