The Children of the Castle. Molesworth Mrs.

thought perhaps you had lost your way,” he answered quietly. “There’s not many gentry comes round here;” and then he smiled, for no very particular reason apparently, though his smile nevertheless gave one the feeling that he had a reason if he chose to give it.

      “No, we haven’t lost our way,” said Ruby; “we came here on purpose. Do you know the old man who lives up there?” and she pointed to the hut.

      “Is it true that there’s something queer about him?”

      The boy looked at her, still smiling.

      “Queer?” he repeated.

      Ruby began to feel annoyed. She tapped her foot impatiently.

      “Yes,” she said, “queer. Why do you repeat my words, and why don’t you say ‘Miss,’ or ‘My Lady?’ Lots of the people here call me ‘My Lady.’ Do you know who I am?”

      The boy’s face had grown graver.

      “Yes,” he said. “You are the little ladies from the castle. I have seen you sometimes. I have seen you in church. We always call you the little ladies – grandfather and I – when we are talking. He has told me about you – and – I’ve heard about the castle, though I’ve never been in it. It’s very fine. I like to look up at it from the sea.”

      Ruby felt a little smoothed down. Her tone became more gracious. Mavis, who had drawn near, stood listening with great interest, and as the boy turned towards her the smile came over his face again.

      “Who do you mean by ‘grandfather’?” asked Ruby eagerly. “Is it old Adam? I didn’t know he had any children or grandchildren.”

      “Yes,” the boy replied, “I’m his grandson. Was it grandfather you meant when you said he was queer?”

      “Oh,” said Mavis, “Ruby didn’t mean to be rude. It was only nonsense. People say – ”

      “They say he’s very queer indeed,” said Ruby, who had no intention of deserting her colours. “They say he’s a kind of a wizard or an ogre, and that you hear all sorts of sounds – music and talking and I don’t know all what – if you’re near his cottage in the evening, and that there are lights to be seen in it too, not common lights like candles, but much more. Some say he’s friends with the mermaids, and that they come to see him – is that true?” and notwithstanding her boasted boldness Ruby dropped her voice a little, and glanced over her shoulder half nervously seawards, as if not quite sure but that some of the tailed ladies in question might be listening to her.

      The boy did more than smile now. He laughed outright; but his laugh, though bright and ringing, was not the laugh the sisters had heard from the cottage.

      “The mermaids,” he said. “No, indeed, poor little things, they never visit grandfather.”

      “Well, why do you laugh?” said Ruby angrily again. “You speak as if there were mermaids.”

      “I was thinking of stories I have heard about them,” said the boy simply. “But I couldn’t help laughing to think of them coming to see grandfather. How could they ever get up these stones?”

      “Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure,” Ruby answered impatiently. “If he’s a wizard he could do anything like that. I wish you’d tell us all about him. You must know, as you live with him.”

      “I’ve not been long with him,” said the boy. “He may be friends with the mermaids for all I know. He’s friends with everybody.”

      “You’re mocking at me,” said Ruby, “and I won’t have it. I’m sure you could tell me things if you chose.”

      “We did hear talking and laughing,” said Mavis gently, speaking almost for the first time, “and it seemed as if there was some one else there.”

      The boy looked at her again, and a very pleasant light came into his eyes – more than that, indeed, as Mavis watched him it seemed to her that they changed in colour. Was it the reflection from the sky? No, there was a mingling of every hue to be seen over by the western horizon certainly, but scarcely the deep clear midsummer sky-blue they suddenly became.

      “What funny eyes you’ve got,” exclaimed the child impulsively. “They’re quite blue now, and they weren’t a minute ago.”

      Ruby stared at him and then at Mavis. “Nonsense,” she said, “they’re not. They’re just common coloured eyes. You shouldn’t say such things, Mavis; people will think you’re out of your mind.” Mavis looked very ashamed, but the boy’s face flushed up. He looked both glad and excited.

      “If you please, miss,” he said, “some people see things that others don’t. I don’t even mind that nonsense about gran and the mermaids; those that say it don’t know any better.”

      Ruby looked at him sharply.

      “Then there is something to know,” she said. “Now you might as well tell us all about it. Is old Adam a wizard?”

      “That he’s not,” answered the boy stoutly, “if so be, as I take it, that a wizard means one that has to do with bad spirits – unkind and mischief-making and unloving, call them what you will. None of such like would come near gran, or, if they did, he’d soon send them to the right-about. I’d like you to see him for yourself some day, but not to-day, if you’ll excuse it. He’s very tired. I was running down to the shore to fetch a pailful of sea water to bathe his lame arm.”

      “Then we mustn’t keep you,” said Mavis. “But might we really come to see your grandfather some day, do you think?”

      “I’ll ask him,” said the boy; “and I think he’d be pleased to see you.”

      “You might come up to the castle if there’s anything he would like – a little soup or anything,” said Ruby in her patronising way. “I’ll speak to the housekeeper.”

      “Thank you, miss,” said the boy, but more hesitatingly than he had spoken before.

      “What’s your name?” asked Ruby. “We’d better know it, so that you can say who you are when you come.”

      “Winfried,” he answered simply.

      “Then good-bye, Winfried,” said Ruby. “Come on, Mavis;” and she turned to pursue her way home past the cottage.

      Winfried hesitated. Then he ran a step or two after them.

      “I can show you a nearer way home to the castle,” he said, “and if you don’t mind, it would be very kind of you not to go near by our cottage. Grandfather is feeble still – did you know he had been very ill? – and seeing or hearing strangers might startle him.”

      “Then you come with us,” said Ruby. “You can tell him who we are.”

      “I’m in a hurry to get the salt water,” said the boy. “I have put off time already, and if you won’t think me rude I’d much rather you came to the cottage some day when we could invite you to step in.”

      His manner was so simple and hearty that Ruby could not take offence, though she had been quite ready to do so.

      “Very well,” she said, “then show us your nearer way.”

      He led them without speaking some little distance towards the shore again. After all there was a path – not a bad one of its kind, for here and there it ran on quite smoothly for a few yards and then descended by stones arranged so as to make a few rough steps.

      “Dear me,” said Ruby, “how stupid we were not to find this path before.”

      Winfried smiled. “I scarce think you could have found it without me to show you,” he said, “nor the short way home either for that matter. See here;” and having come to the end of the path he went on a few steps along the pebbly shore, for here there was no smooth sand, and stopped before a great boulder stone, as large as a hay-cart, which stood out suddenly among the broken rocks. Winfried stepped up close to it and touched it apparently quite gently. To the children’s amazement it swung round lightly as if