Fairies Afield. Molesworth Mrs.
that there was a narrow sort of passage through the hedge. She turned towards it.
"Thank you," she said, adding timidly, "May Aria come with me? Together we might find our way better perhaps. We might bring a little lantern."
"It will not be needed, and you must come alone. You may tell Aria all I have told you; and if she is wise she will encourage you. I make no promises. It is not for me to do so. But this you may depend upon – never will you have cause to regret obedience to this summons," and as he spoke, he spread his wings again and flew upwards. As he passed her, there came a breath of the delicious perfume, and Linde felt that it meant a promise after all, which raised her spirits, as pushing her way through the hedge she found herself on the path outside and started on her way home.
"Aria will be getting anxious," she thought. "I must hurry. I do believe it is all going to come right, but – oh dear, I do feel frightened at the idea of finding my way here alone through these gloomy woods in the very middle of the night. Why wouldn't the robin let Aria come too? I suppose it had to be a rather dreadful thing to do, to make up for that cruel boy's wickedness. Oh dear, oh dear!"
But as she ran on as fast as her feet would take her, some things grew clearer. She must make the best of it to her sister. She must conceal her terrors as much as possible.
"For supposing," she reflected, "that dear Aria really wouldn't let me go and that it all came to nothing – the dreams and the feathers and this wonderful talking robin, how could I ever get over it? We should have to be parted pretty certainly, and would not that be a thousand times more terrible than having to face the dark forest for once? For deep down in my heart I feel certain that I shall be taken care of. I am proud to be chosen to break the spell and to make the forest again a happy place – a home for the dear robins, and favoured by the fairies as it used to be all those years ago – yes, I am proud to be the chosen one. And I know it will lead to our getting the precious leaves to sell, as many as we want, and that means everything to us, home and comfort and the being together. Yes, I will be brave."
So when, at some little distance from the boundary of the forest, she caught sight in the gloaming of her sister's figure anxiously looking out for her, she ran towards her with cheerful eagerness, calling out as loudly as she could, "It's all right, darling. Good news – good news."
Nevertheless, when Aria had heard the whole strange story, her face grew very grave.
"Linde, my sweetest," she said, "I cannot let you do it. Alone in the middle of the night, and winter close at hand! Wolves have been known to find their way into the forest, and not only that, we ourselves have every reason to believe there is some unhappy enchantment over the place – "
"Yes," Linde agreed. "That is exactly why I have been chosen – to break the spell."
"But," persisted poor Aria, "how do we know that the robin may not be deceiving us? Possibly he is a witch or wizard in disguise! Possibly a fairy, not wishing you harm, but hoping to steal you away. Fairies always try to lure human children to live with them. Folks say it prolongs their own spell of life if they succeed."
Linde considered.
"No," she said at last. "The fairies who love these woods are good and true, I feel certain. I daresay there are different kinds of fairies, just as there are of people. But you can feel that these ones are kind and loving by their care for the robins. Then, remember my dreams, sister. Our mother's godmother would not wish harm to come to us, and so far, all her messages to us have only brought us great good, and greater is in store for us, I am firmly convinced. Be quite happy about it, darling. You know I am naturally rather cowardly, much less courageous than you, yet see how cheerful I feel about it. I have no misgivings."
And this was true. For the time, at least, all the little girl's fears had flown away. So Aria said no more, though from time to time during the next few days when she glanced at her sister she could not repress a sigh.
"Supposing," she thought to herself, "supposing I never see her again! They might steal her away and let her come back twenty or even fifty years hence without her knowing that more than a few hours had passed. She would find me an old broken-down woman, if she found me at all, which I doubt, for I could not live without her."
As these gloomy ideas floated through her mind she was standing in the porch of the cottage, gazing at the forest. Suddenly, a soft chirping reached her ears, and looking up, she caught sight of a redbreast perching on the little garden gate. He seemed to look at her, then spread his wings and flew away, passing near her overhead. And at that moment there came to the elder girl the same breath of the familiar delicious perfume which had cheered Linde when she parted with the robin, and with the same effect. From that moment Aria's misgivings left her, and to a great extent even her anxiety.
"Yes," she said to herself, "she must go. It is meant. It would be useless for me to interfere."
This happened on the very morning of the fated day.
The weather was already almost wintry.
"Linde," said her sister that evening, "I won't ask you to undress and go to bed, but I will keep up a good fire here in the kitchen, so that you shall at least start warm. And you shall have a cup of good hot soup last thing."
"Very well and thank you, dear," Linde replied. "I will sit here in father's comfortable old chair till the time comes for me to go. And I will promise to drink all the soup and to put on all my wraps, if you, Aria, will go to bed as usual and try to sleep till I come back again. The only thing that would make me lose courage would be to leave you standing at the door looking after me. I may sleep myself. I daresay I shall, if I know you are in bed. For I am certain I shall wake in good time. As to that I have no fear."
Rather reluctantly, Aria consented to do as Linde wished, on condition that the little girl gave her promise to come to her at once on her return, and to arouse her if by chance she were sleeping.
Linde sat by the fire and listened to the ticking of the old clock, and the occasional fall of a cinder, till her eyes grew drowsy and she dozed. Though not conscious of being really asleep, she felt as if but a few minutes had passed, when the clock striking – more loudly than usual, it seemed to her – made her start.
"One, two, three," she counted, on to eleven.
"Yes, actually eleven," she said to herself. "I have had a nice long sleep and I feel quite fresh, and it is time to be off."
She drank the soup, and wrapped herself up; and after laying a large log on the fire, there to smoulder till she came back, she softly opened the door and stepped out, closing it again, though happily, in that peaceful and friendly part of the world, there was no need for bars or bolts.
A little exclamation of surprise escaped her as she glanced about her. It was full moon – the garden and the open space between it and the beginning of the forest were flooded with light. Somehow she had not expected this. In fact, relying upon the mysterious guidance and help which she felt sure would be given to her, she had not troubled herself beforehand about how it was all to be managed, and the sisters went so early to bed that they were often asleep before moonrise, if it were late.
Linde smiled to herself with pleasure and ran gaily through the garden and along the field-path. And for some little way inside the forest her route was quite clear. But after a while it grew darker. The trees became more dense, and denser still she knew they would be the farther she advanced. So she walked more slowly, looking well about her, and now and then pressing the three precious feathers in the front of her bodice.
"The great thing is not to miss the little path," she kept repeating, and after she had walked what seemed a considerable way, she began to fear she had done so.
Then for the first time her courage threatened to fail her, and her heart took to beating much faster than was pleasant. She stood still. Strange uncanny sounds seemed in the air. Wailings far off among the trees; faint groans and stealthy rustlings as if some weird creatures were trying to get near her, a sudden sharp screech – it was only an owl, but that the child did not know! – and then the very curious, very thin and minute squeal of a bat, so seldom audible to human ears.
"Oh dear," whispered Linde. "Robin, have you tricked