regardless of the beautiful sight behind her. And as usual. Mavis had to follow, though reluctantly. Still she was not quite without curiosity about the lonely cottage herself. Suddenly, when within a short distance of the hut, Ruby stopped short, and glancing back towards her sister, lifted her hand as if to tell her to be silent and listen. Then Mavis became conscious of the sound of voices speaking – not old Adam’s voice certainly, for these sounded soft and clear, and now and then came a ripple of silvery laughter, very sweet and very delicate. The little girls, who had drawn near together, looked at each other.
“Who can it be?” said Mavis in a whisper.
“The mermaids,” replied Ruby mockingly. “Perhaps old Adam has invited them to tea.”
But as she spoke there came distinctly the sound of the words “Good-bye, good-bye,” and then there was silence.
Somehow both children felt rather frightened. “Suppose old Adam’s really dead,” said Ruby, looking rather pale, “and that these are – fairies, or I don’t know what, come to fetch him.”
“Angels,” said Mavis. “Joan says he’s good. But – Ruby – I shouldn’t think angels would laugh.” She had scarcely said the words when they saw running down the rough slope from the hut the figure of a boy. He ran fast and lightly, his feet scarcely seeming to touch the stones; he was slight and very active-looking; it was pretty to watch him running, even though as he came close it was plain that he was only a simple fisher-boy, in rough clothes, barefoot and sunburnt. He slackened his pace a little as he came near the children, then glancing at them with a smile he lifted his dark blue cap and stopped short.
“Can I?” he began, then hesitated. He had a pleasant face and clear grey eyes, which looked one straight in the face with interest and inquiry.
“What do you say?” asked Ruby rather haughtily.
“I 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
