house in itself was charming to her, for though really small as to the size and number of its rooms, it did not seem so. There were such nice 'twisty' passages, and funny short flights of steps, each leading perhaps to only one room, or even to nothing more than a landing with a window.
And, standing at one of these, the little girl made a grand discovery, which took her flying off to the room where Fraulein was busily unpacking the boxes which the carrier had already brought.
'Fraulein, Fraulein,' she cried; 'I've been looking out at the back of the house, and just across the yard there's a lovely sort of big courtyard and buildings round it, and I saw a man all white and powdery carrying sacks. Is there a mill here?'
'Yes, my dear,' Fraulein replied. 'Did I not tell you? It is a very old mill, and the same people have had it for nearly a hundred years – such nice people too. I will take you all over it in a day or two – it will amuse you to see the different kinds of grain and flour, all so neatly arranged.'
'And the same people have been there for nearly a hundred years!' exclaimed Leonore. 'How very old they must be.'
Fraulein laughed. Though Leonore was so fond of wonders and fancies, she was sometimes very matter-of-fact. Aunt Anna, who just then joined them, smiled kindly.
'Elsa did not mean the same persons,' she explained, 'but the same family – the same name. Those there now – the miller himself – is the great-grandson of the man who was there first when the mill was built, which was, I think, fully more than a hundred years ago,' she added, turning to her niece.
Leonore looked rather disappointed.
'Oh,' she said, 'I thought it would be so nice to see people who were a hundred. Then, I suppose, the people here aren't any older than anywhere else.'
'I can scarcely say that,' Aunt Anna replied. 'There are some very old, and – there are odd stories about a few of the aged folk. I know one or two who do not seem to have grown any older since I can remember, and my memory goes back a good way now. But, my dears, I came to tell you that supper is ready – we must not let it get cold.'
She held out her hand to Leonore as she spoke. The little girl took it, and went off with her very happily, Fraulein calling after them that she would follow immediately.
'Please tell me, Aunt Anna,' said Leonore – it had been decided that she should thus address the old lady – 'please tell me, do you mean that some of these very old people who don't grow any older are a kind of fairy?'
She spoke almost in a whisper, but she was quite in earnest.
'Well,' said Aunt Anna, 'this country is on the borders of Fairyland, so who can say? When we were children – I and my brothers and sisters and the little barons and baronesses up at the Castle – when we all played together long ago, we used often to try to find the way there – and fairies, of course, are much cleverer than we are. I don't see why some of them may not stray into our world sometimes.'
'And pretend to be not fairies,' said Leonore eagerly. 'P'raps they go back to Fairyland every night, and are here every day; fairies don't need to go to sleep ever, do they?'
But Aunt Anna had not time to reply just then, for supper was on the table, and all her attention was given to seeing that the dishes were what they should be, and in helping her little guest to Leonore's liking.
When Fraulein joined them, however, the conversation took a more general turn.
'I was speaking just now to Leonore,' Aunt Anna began, 'of my childhood – when your dear father, Elsie, and the others, and I used to play with the castle children. And that reminds me that I have a piece of news for you – things repeat themselves it is said. It will be strange if a second generation – ' she said no more, and for a moment or two seemed lost in thought – the thought of the past!
Fraulein was used to her aunt's ways; the old lady was a curious mixture of practical commonsense and dreamy fancifulness. But after a little pause the niece recalled her to the present.
'A piece of news, you said, aunt? Good news, I hope?' she inquired.
'I think so,' said the aunt. 'It is about the family at the Castle. Little Baroness Hildegarde is probably, almost certainly, coming here to spend the winter with her grandparents. She may arrive any day.'
'Oh I am pleased to hear it,' said Fraulein. 'It was just what I was hoping might happen, but I dared scarcely think of it. It would be so nice for our dear Leonore to have a companion.'
Leonore pricked up her ears at this.
'Yes, my dear,' Fraulein went on, in answer to the question in her eyes, 'I have not spoken of it to you before, for there seemed so little chance of its coming to pass. It is about the little Hildegarde who would be such a delightful companion for you. She is just about your age, an only child as you are, and such a dear little girl by all accounts. I have not seen her since she was six, but Aunt Anna knows her well, and the family at the Castle have been our most kind friends for so long.'
Leonore looked full of interest but rather perplexed.
'I don't quite understand,' she said. 'Do you mean that the little girl is perhaps coming to live here in this house with us?'
'Oh no, my dear. Her own home is a good way off, but her grandpapa and grandmamma live at the Castle – a large old gray house half way up the hill above the village. I will show it to you to-morrow. It is a wonderfully quaint old place. And the little Baroness comes sometimes on long visits to her grandparents, who love to have her.'
'Only they fear it is lonely for her, as she is accustomed to the life of a great capital,' said Aunt Anna. 'They were delighted to hear I was expecting a little guest, when I saw them the other day, and they told me of the probability of Hildegarde's coming.'
Fraulein almost clapped her hands at this.
'Nothing could be more fortunate,' she said. 'There will be no fear now of your finding Dorf dull, my dearest Leonore.'
Leonore smiled back in return. It was impossible not to be touched by her kind governess's anxiety for her happiness, but she herself had had no fears about being dull or lonely at Dorf. She was not much accustomed to companions of her own age, and just a little shy of them, so the news of Hildegarde's coming was not quite as welcome to her as to her friends.
'I should have been quite happy without anybody else,' she said to herself. 'I love old Aunt Anna, and I am sure she knows plenty of fairy stories whether she has ever seen any fairies herself or not.'
Still she felt, of course, a good deal of curiosity to see the grandchild of the Castle, and could not help letting her thoughts run on her. Would she be taller or smaller than herself – dark or fair, merry or quiet? Above all, would she care for the same things – would she love fairies, and be always hoping to see one some day?
There was plenty for Leonore to think about, and dream about, that first night in the quaint little house, was there not?
And dream she did. When she woke in the morning it seemed to her that she had been busy at it all night, though only one bit of her dreams remained in her memory. This bit was about Hildegarde, and, strange as it seemed, about a person she had only given a passing moment's attention to – the old dame in the market-place at Alt.
She dreamt that she was walking along the village street, when she heard a voice calling. She was alone, and she looked back expecting to see Fraulein. But no – a queer little figure was trotting after her,
