Читать книгу A Princess in Tatters - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 6

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A kingfisher sat on a willow-bough just above the water. With bent head and ready beak he waited for a fish to come within his reach, but he was not more motionless than Eilidh. In the long grass on the bank she lay hidden from sight, and waited patiently, her attention divided between the fascinating green and orange bird, and the plank bridge a few yards up stream.

It was very early morning. Mr. Raby would not be awake for a couple of hours, and did not want her till ten o’clock. Though lonely she was not quite without friends, and the little bridge was the meeting-place.

A curtain of white mist lay over loch and distant shore. The twin mountains and the heathery island were out of sight. Up here in Glenaroon, where the brown salmon river ran swiftly to the head of the loch, everything was drenched in dew, but Eilidh cared little for a wetting.

The birds were singing everywhere—larks, blackbirds, thrushes, robins, wrens—golden birds, blue birds, red birds, many whose English names she did not know. The gulls were screaming as they sailed over the loch, great black “hoodiecrows” were circling over the meadows looking for breakfast, for their hunting-ground on the shore was under water at high tide—and the kingfisher sat waiting for that minnow. He was her favourite because of his brillant colouring, but it was difficult to see him well because he was so shy. She held her breath and watched him in delight.

Suddenly he was gone, a flash of green and blue and orange, and she sat up, wondering resentfully what had startled him. Then a footstep on the road explained his flight, and a boy tramped down the bank to the bridge.

Eilidh sprang up. “Oh, why did you come shust then? You haf scared him away. You are a clumsy thing! Great heafy feet——”

He was four years older than she, and tall, and brown, and strong—the lad with whom she had walked those six miles to school every day till the holidays came, every day, that is, that he was not wanted on the farm where he lived, and she was not needed with the babies.

She met him on the bridge above the hurrying water, eyeing him wrathfully. But he was full of other matters to-day.

“Eilidh,” he said, “I’m going away. It iss good-bye. I came yesterday to tell you, but you weren’t here.”

“Going away, Rory? But—but—why? Where?”

“My uncle in Arran has written for me to go to him. He has a fine big farm now, and no son to help him, so he wants me. I’m sorry to go—I’m ferry sorry to say good-bye, but it means learning, and perhaps having a farm of my own some day, and here I haf no chance of getting on.”

“But—but—what shall I do without you? I shall miss you effery day, Rory. I ton’t know whateffer I’ll do.” She gazed down at the river, but could not see the water for her tears. “You haf been so ferry good to me, helping me an’ telling me things——”

“There’ll be nobody to lift you ofer the burns now, or teach you your lessons on the way to school, Eilidh. Well, you must shust get on without me, and I’ll try to get on without you, but we’ll both be a bittie lonely at first. Eilidh, you mustn’t cry. I ton’t like to see you crying. Let’s talk of something else. It iss our last time together mebbe, and we must be happy. Eilidh, the great folks have come!”

“What? The lord and lady?” she cried eagerly, and forgot her grief for the time.

“They came last night, in a shut-up carriage——”

“I know! He iss ferry old, an’ walks with a stick, an’ swears——”

“How do you know?”

“Somebody told me. Did you see the lady?”

“I didn’t see anything, but I was told they had come. You must write an’ tell me what they’re like, Eilidh.”

“Oh, yess! I’ll write—when I learn how! It woult be funny writing shust now! I woult like to see the lord! Woult it be any use going to the house and peeping through the gates, do you think? Will he be in his bed still?”

“Yess, for effer so long yet. English folk and town folk rise effer so late.”

“I woult like to see him! What iss his name, Rory?”

“Lord Avery. I heard it at the inn up Glenaroon.”

“What a ferry funny name!—Oh, Rory, there iss someone riding on the road!”

She darted up the bank and stood gazing excitedly. A boy, no bigger than herself, and a year younger, reined in his pony at sight of her. He was well dressed, in Norfolk suit, and knickerbockers, and little cap, and had a handsome, clear-cut face. Eilidh looked at him approvingly, then gazed eagerly at the pony. Such a beauty, with his glossy skin and long silky tail, she had never seen before.

The boy returned her gaze with interest, for her sudden appearance from the shadowy river-glen had startled him. He looked her over from her loose bright hair to her bare feet, and laughed. Rory, coming up behind, saw his laugh and grew suddenly angry.

But the boy was asking in a crisp English voice, “Can you tell me the way to Darmidale Pier?”

“Yess, inteet!” and Eilidh’s eyes sparkled naughtily. “You will go back to the big stone bridge and cross the river, and go straight on along the road till you will get there. It iss not ferry far on a fine morning like this.”

“Thanks!” and he waved his whip and rode off.

Eilidh sat in the grass and laughed. Rory looked down at her severely.

“You haf sent him on the wrong road, and the wrong side of the loch, you ferry bad girl. He will neffer get to Darmidale to-day. He will be miles and miles away, with all the loch between him and the pier——”

“Yess, an’ he will ask someone else, an’ they will point across the water an’ say, ‘There it iss! But there iss no ferry-boat, and you can’t swim a quarter of a mile!’ Then he’ll haf to go all the way back again. Who will he be, Rory, do you think?”

“I ton’t know, but it iss ferry wrong of you, Eilidh.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?”

“I hadn’t time, as you know ferry well.”

“He shouldn’t haf laughed at me. I ton’t like him.”

“No, it iss true. He had no right to laugh,” and Rory frowned again.

Eilidh sat thinking hard. Suddenly she sprang to her feet.

“I want to know who the boy iss! He was English, so he iss living either at the inn in Glenaroon, or with the lord and lady. There iss no other place. I’ll go up to the big house, an’ perhaps I will ask if he lives there, or perhaps they will tell me. Perhaps I shall see the lord or the lady, whateffer! Why shall I say I haf come?—Be quiet, Rory! Ton’t speak!—I know! Of course.”

She sped off up the road. He sprang after her, but she reached the great iron gates just in time, ran through, and up the path to the back door.

Rory shrugged his shoulders and waited at the gate.

“She iss a wild lassie. I hope she doesn’t get into trouble.”

Even the servants’ entrance at Darmidale Hall seemed imposing to Eilidh. She gazed round, frightened at her own daring. A great doorway and big windows opened on a paved courtyard. All round were other houses—one with open doors showed a grand carriage inside, from another came the neighing of horses.

She hesitated, not liking to knock, yet unwilling to go back to Rory and confess herself afraid. Then the door opened suddenly and a maid came out. She was neat and pretty, dressed in blue, with a white cap and apron, and Eilidh gazed at her round-eyed.

“If I could be like that some day, an’ wear a pretty dress, and live in a big house with a lord and lady, it woult be fine whateffer! I wonder if I could! I’ll ask Rory—or Mr. Raby.”

The girl stopped at sight of her, and asked in rough, quick English,

“Well, what do you want? What are you doing here, I’d like to know? My word! I’ll put you out in a jiffy, Miss Rags-and-Tatters——”

“I haf come to ask,” said Eilidh, with dignity, “if the lady woult like some eggs or milk from our farm, or some honey from the garden, or some scones——”

“Eggs! Milk! We have our own farm, thank you!” with a scornful toss of her head. “Scones—honey—I don’t know. She might fancy them. You wait there, and don’t stir a step till I come back.

“Yes,” she said, returning presently, “we’ll have a pot of honey and some scones. Bring them this afternoon——”

“The scones will only be baking then. I coult come in the efening,” said Eilidh, mindful of her engagement for the day.

“That’ll have to do, then. By the way, have you seen the young master anywhere about? He’s gone out, and we don’t know where he’s off to.”

Eilidh’s eyes sparkled, but she asked quietly,

“Who iss he? An’ what iss he like?”

“Lord Avery, to be sure,” said the girl importantly. “He’s riding his pony and wearing a gray suit——”

“A boy? A boy as big as me?” gasped Eilidh. “Iss he the lord?”

The girl laughed. “He is about your size. Oh, yes, he’s my lord now, since his father died.”

“He iss riding—I saw him on the road”—Eilidh stammered, and turned and fled.

“Rory!” she gasped. “Rory! The boy was the lord himself, an’ I haf sent him miles away on the wrong road. Oh, what shall I do? Why effer did you let me do it? You might haf stopped me, Rory. It was too bad of you!”