I (for it was I myself, of course) perched again in the ivy beside the dining-room window, partly, I allow, with a view to breakfast; partly and principally to see what would happen.

They did not forget me – us, perhaps I should say, for several other birds collected on the terrace, thanks to the news I had scattered about – and as soon as those within had risen from table, Miss Meadows and her two little companions came to the window, which they opened, and threw out a splendid plateful of crumbs. It was not so cold this morning. I hopped close to them, for I wanted to hear what they were saying as they stood by the open window-door, all the grown-up people having left the room.

The pale little faces looked bright and eager, and very full of something their owners were relating.

“Yes, Miss Meadows; it was quite wonderful. Ivy dreamed it, and I dreamed it. I believe it was a fairy dream.”

“And please do let us try to find out if there are any poor children like that near here,” said Ivy. “I don’t think there could be; do you, Miss Meadows?”

Miss Meadows shook her head.

“I’m afraid, dear, it is not uncommon in either town or country to find children quite as poor as those you dreamt of. But when we go out a walk to-day, we’ll try and inquire a little. It would be nice if you could do something for other people even this first Christmas in England.”

She looked quite bright and eager herself; and as the three started off down the drive about an hour later, on their way to the village, I noticed that they were all talking eagerly, and that Norna and Ivy were giving little springs as they walked along one on each side of their kind governess; and I must confess I felt pleased to think I had had some hand in this improvement.

Miss Meadows had lived most of her life in the country, and she was accustomed to country ways. So she meant to go to the village, and there try to pick up a little information about any of the families who might be very poor this Christmas time. But I had no intention of letting them go so far – no indeed – I knew what I was about.

The cottage of my little friends, Joyce and Jem, was about half-way between the Manor House and the village, and the village was a good mile from the great house. A lane led from the high road to the cottage. Just as the three reached the corner of the lane, Ivy gave a little cry.

“Miss Meadows, Norna,” she said, “there is the robin. I’m sure it’s our robin. Don’t you think it is, Miss Meadows?”

The governess smiled.

“There are a great many robins, Ivy dear. It’s not very likely it’s the same one. We human beings are too stupid to tell the difference between birds of the same kind, you see.”

But, as you know, Ivy was right.

“Do let’s follow him a little way down the lane,” she said. “He keeps hopping on and then looking back at us. I wonder if his home is down here.”

No, it was not my home, but it was my little friends’ home; and soon I managed to bring the little party to a standstill before the cottage gate, where I had perched.

“What a nice cottage,” said Norna; and so it looked at the first glance. But in a moment or two she added: “Oh, do look at that little girl; how very thin and pale she is!”

It was Joyce. Miss Meadows called to her; and in her kind way soon got the little girl to tell her something of their troubles. Things were even worse with them to-day; for Jem’s feet were so bad with chilblains that he could not get about at all. The governess satisfied herself that there was no illness in the cottage that could hurt Norna and Ivy, and then they all went in to see poor Jem; and Miss Meadows went upstairs to speak to the bedridden father. When she came down again her face looked very sad, but bright too.

“Children,” she said, as soon as they were out on the road again, “I don’t think we need go on to the village. We have found what we were looking for.”

Then she went on to tell them that she had left a message with the woodcutter, asking his wife to come up to speak to her that evening at the Manor House.

“I know your mamma won’t mind,” she said. “I will tell her all about it as soon as we get home. She will like you to try to do something for these poor children,” – which was quite true. The lady of the Manor was kind and gentle; only, you see, many years in India had got her out of English ways.

So that evening, when the woodcutter’s wife came up to the great house, there was a grand consultation. And for some days to come, for Christmas was very near, Ivy and Norna were so busy that they had no time to grumble at the cold or to wish they were back in India, though they did find time to skip and dance along the passages, and to sing verses of the carols Miss Meadows was teaching them.

Things improved at the cottage from that day. But it is about Christmas morning I want to tell you.

Joyce and Jem woke early – long before it was light – but they lay still and spoke in a whisper, not to wake their poor father or their tired mother. There was no one to hear except a little robin, who had managed to creep in the night before.

“It’s Christmas, Jem,” said Joyce; “and we shall have a nice fire. They’ve sent mother some coals from the great house; and I believe we’re going to have meat for dinner.”

Jem sighed with pleasure. He could scarcely believe it.

“Shall we go to church like last Christmas, Joyce?” he asked. “My boots is so drefful bad, I don’t know as I could walk in them.”

“So’s mine,” said Joyce. “But p’r’aps if the roads is very dry, we might manage.”

And so they chattered, till at last the first rays of winter daylight began to find their way into the little room. The children looked about them – somehow they had a feeling that things could not look quite the same on Christmas morning! But what they did see was something very wonderful. On the floor near the window were two very big brown paper parcels; and Joyce jumping out of bed to see what they were, saw that to each was pinned a card; and on one card was written, “Joyce,” on the other, “Jem.”

“Jem,” she cried, “it must be fairies,” and with trembling fingers they undid the packages.

It is difficult to tell you their delight!

There was a new frock of warm linsey for Joyce, and a suit of corduroy for Jem, boots for both – stockings and socks – two splendid red comforters, one knitted by Ivy and one by Norna; a picture book for each, a bag of oranges, and a beautiful home-made cake.

Never were children so wild with joy; never had there been such a Christmas surprise.

I was so pleased that I could not remain hidden any longer. Out I came, and perching on the window-sill, warbled a Christmas carol in my own way. And I must say children are very quick.

“Dear robin,” said Joyce; “do you know, Jem, I do believe he’s a fairy! I shouldn’t wonder if he’d somehow told the kind little young ladies to come and see us.”

There was a pause. Rafe and Alix waited a moment to make sure that the robin had quite finished; then they looked up. He was not in such a hurry to fly off as the other bird had been.

“Thank you very much, dear robin,” they said. “It is a very pretty story indeed; and then it’s so nice to know it’s quite true.”

The robin looked pleased.

“Yes,” he said, “there’s that to be said for it. It’s a very simple, homely story; but it’s my own experience. But now I think I must bid you good-bye for the present, though there’s no saying but what we may meet again.” He flew off.

“Rafe,” said Alix, “besides all the things mamma does and lets us help in sometimes for the poor people, wouldn’t it be nice if we found some children we could do things for, more our own selves, you know?”

“Yes,” Rafe agreed, “I think it would be.”

Chapter Ten.
The Magic Rose

The days and weeks and months went on, till it was full summer time again; more than full summer indeed. For it was August, and in a day or two Rafe and Alix were to go to the seaside for several weeks. They were very pleased of course, but still there is always a little sad feeling at “going away,” especially from one’s own home, even though it is only for a short time. They went all round the garden saying good-bye, as well as to the stables and the poultry yard and all the familiar places.

Then a sudden thought struck Alix.

“Rafe,” she said – it was the very evening before they left – “do let’s say good-bye to the old garden too. And perhaps if we stood close to the corner of the wall and called through very loud, perhaps Mrs Caretaker would hear us. It seems so funny that we’ve never seen her again. I think she must be away.”

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” Rafe replied.

“I’ve sometimes had a feeling like you, Alix, that she was there all the time.”

“And of course it was she who made the birds tell us their stories,” said Alix, “so we really should be very much obliged to her. Just think what nice games we’ve made out of them; and what nice things we’ve begun to get ready for the poor children next Christmas. I do think, Rafe, we’ve never felt dull since we’ve played so much in the Lady wood garden.”

Rafe quite agreed with her, and they made their way down the lane and through the well-known old gateway. It was the first time they had been in the deserted grounds so late of an evening. For they had had tea long ago, and it was not so very far off bedtime: already the bushes and shrubs began to look shadowy and mysterious in the twilight, and the moon’s profile – for it was about half-way to full – to gleam pearl-like up among the branches.

“We mustn’t stay very long,” said Rafe.

“Nurse won’t mind our being a little later than usual, as she’s busy packing,” said Alix. “And it’s still so hot, indoors at least. Last night I couldn’t get to sleep, though I pushed off everything except one sheet. I was just boiling. And when I told mamma she said it was no use going to bed only to toss about, and that we might as well sit up a little later.”

“I hope it will be cooler at the seaside,” said Rafe.

“It’s pretty sure to be,” Alix replied. “If it was just about as cool as it is here just now. Isn’t it lovely? And that breeze is so refreshing.”

They were standing near the walled-up mound as she spoke, and the wind came with a long sighing sound through the trees. It seemed at first like a sigh, but by degrees it changed into a soft kind of laughter, which did not fade away, but grew, as they listened, more and more distinct. And then it sounded as if coming not from up among the trees overhead, but from somewhere underground. And it was not the wind after all, for by this time everything was perfectly, strangely still. The children looked at each other; they were used to odd things happening in the garden. They just stood still and waited to see what was going to take place.

The laughing ceased, and there came a voice instead, and the voice grew clearer as the hidden door in the wall which they had sought for so often, swung round, and out from the dark passage came the small figure, red cloak, hood, and all, of Mrs Caretaker. She was still laughing just a little, and her laugh was so bright and rippling that it made the children laugh too, though they did not know why.

“And so you are going away, my dears,” said their old friend. How she got up so quickly to where they stood they did not see, but there she was, as alert as possible. And again she laughed.

“If you please, if it’s not rude, we’d like to know what you’re laughing at,” said Alix, not quite sure if she was pleased or not.

“Only a little joke, my dear; only a little joke I was having all to myself. I hear so many funny stories, you see. They all have to tell me them: the wind and the rain often chatter to me, as well as the birds and the bees and all the others that you call living creatures. And the sea, ah! the sea has grand stories to tell sometimes.”

“We’re going to the seaside,” said Rafe.

Mrs Caretaker nodded.

“I know,” she said, “I know most things about my friends. I thought you would come to say good-bye before you left. I’ve been waiting for you. And if there is anything you would like me to take care of for you while you’re away, you have only to tell me.”

“Thank you,” said the children. But Alix did not feel quite pleased yet.

“Mrs Caretaker,” she said, “you shouldn’t speak as if this was the only time we’ve come to see you. We’ve been and been ever so often, but we never could find the door. And we’ve always kept saying how kind you’d been; making the birds tell us stories too.”

“It’s all right, my dear,” said the old woman. “Yes, I heard you on the other side of the wall. But I’m very busy sometimes; too busy for visitors. I’m not busy to-night though, and it’s getting chilly out here. Come inside with me for a while, and tell me about where you’re going to.”

“We mustn’t stay long,” said the children. “It’s later than usual for us to be out, but it’s been so hot all day; we got leave to stay a little longer.”

“I will see you home. Don’t be uneasy,” said Mrs Caretaker. She led the way to the wall – almost without her seeming to touch it, the door opened, and they followed her along the little passage into the kitchen.

The fire was pleasantly low; the curtains were drawn back, and through the open window the moonlight, much clearer and fuller than in the garden outside, fell on a little lake of water, where two or three snow-white swans were floating dreamily. Rafe and Alix almost screamed with surprise, but Mrs Caretaker only smiled.

“You didn’t know what a view I had out of my window,” she said, as she seated herself in her rocking-chair, and drew forward two stools – one on each side for the children. “Yes, it is beautiful with the moon on it; and to-morrow night you will be looking at a still more beautiful sight – the great sea itself.”

“Do you love the sea?” they asked.

“Sometimes,” Mrs Caretaker replied. “You said it told you stories,” said Alix. “Will you tell us one of them? Just for a treat, you know, as we are going away, and we can think of it when we are walking along the shore watching the waves coming in.”

Mrs Caretaker did not speak for a moment.

Then she said – and her voice sounded rather sad – “I can’t tell you one of the stories the sea tells me. They’re not of the laughing kind, and it’s best for you to hear them for yourselves when you are older. But I will tell you a little story, if you like, of some of the folk that live in the sea. Did you ever hear tell of mermaids?”

“Oh yes!” cried the children, eagerly; “often. There are lovely stories about them in some of our fairy books; and when we are at the seaside we do so wish we could see them.”

Mrs Caretaker smiled.

“I can’t promise you that you ever will,” she said; “but you shall have my story. Yes; sit closer, both of you, and rest your heads on my knees.”

“You’re not knitting to-night,” said Alix. “The last time the needles made us hear the story better somehow; it was like as if you took us a long way off, and the story came so clear and distinct.”

“It will be all right, never fear,” said the old woman. And as she spoke, she gently stroked the children’s heads. Then the same strange feeling came over them; they felt as if they were far away; they forgot all about its being nearly bedtime and about going away to-morrow; they just lived in the story which Mrs Caretaker’s clear voice began to tell.

“It is called ‘The Magic Rose,’” said she; “but it is a story of those that live in the sea. Down, deep down below the waves, all is calm and still, and there is the country of the mermen. Strange things have happened before now down there among the sea-folk. Some who have been thought drowned have been cared for there, and lived their lives long after those who had known them up above were past and gone. For the mer-folk are long-lived; what men count age is to them but youth; their days follow each other in a calm that human beings could scarce imagine. They live now in these stirring times as their forbears lived when men and women had their homes in the forests, long before there were houses or towns, or roads, or any of the things which you now think the commonest necessities.

“But the sea-folk have their troubles too, sometimes; and my story has to do with trouble. The Queen – the beautiful Queen of the sea-country – was ill, and the King was in despair. Now I must tell you that the Queen was not quite one of the sea race – so at least it was believed. Her grandmother – or her great-grandmother, maybe – was a maiden of the land, who had fallen into the sea as a little baby, and had been brought back to life and cared for by the mer-folk; and when she grew up, a great lord among them loved her for her beauty and made her his bride. She had no memory of her native land, of course; but still there were strange things about her and her children, and their children again, which told whence they had come.

“And now that the young Queen was so ill, one of these old feelings had awakened.”

“I shall die,” she said. “I shall surely die unless I can smell the scent of a rose – a deep-red rose, such as the land maidens love. It has come to me in my dreams. Though I have never seen one, I know what it must be like, and I feel that life would return – life and strength that are fast fading away – if I could breathe its exquisite fragrance and bury my face among its soft petals.”

They were amazed to hear her speak thus. The great court physicians at first said she was wandering in her mind, and no attention should be paid to her. But she kept on ever the same entreaty; and the King, who loved her devotedly, at last could bear it no longer.

“It all comes of her ancestor having been so foolish as to wed a human bride,” said one of the doctors, feeling in a very bad temper, as they all were.

The sea-doctors are not very wise, I fear, because they have so very little experience. It happens so rarely that any of the mer-folk fall ill. And so, as they had nothing to propose, the most sensible thing to do was to get angry. But the King was not to be so put off.

“Whatever it comes from,” he said, “I am determined that the Queen’s wish shall be complied with if it is in any way possible. What is this thing she is longing for? – what is a rose?”

The doctors did not know; but seeing that the King was so much in earnest they agreed that they would try to find out. And after a great deal of consultation together, and looking up in their learned books, they did find out something. The Queen, meanwhile, soothed by her husband’s promise that all was being done to carry out her entreaty, grew a shade better; at least for some days she did not get any worse, which was always something. And on the fourth day the wise men asked for an audience of the King in order to tell him what they had discovered.

The King awaited them eagerly.

“Well,” he said, “have you found out what the Queen means by a rose? And if so, how is one to be procured?”

Yes; they were able to describe pretty well what a rose was; for of course, down below, they are not without gardens and flowers, though of very different kinds from ours. But a great difficulty remained. Even if any one was daring enough to swim up to the surface and venture on land in search of the flower, and even if it was procured, how could it be brought, alive and fragrant, to the Queen?

“Why not?” asked the King. For he had never been up to the surface of the sea. It is one of the sea-people’s laws that their royal folk must stay down below, so he knew nothing of the land or the things that grow there.

The learned men explained to him that, without air, and exposed to the salt water of the ocean, a flower of the earth must quickly fade and die; and as the King listened, his face grew sadder and sadder. But after a few moments’ silence, one of the doctors spoke again. They were never in a hurry, you see, and they felt that it added dignity to their words to dole them out sparingly.

“It has occurred to us,” he said, “that it might be well to consult the wise woman of the sea – the ancient mermaid who lives in the Anemone Cave. Not that as a rule, the advice of a member of her sex is of much use, but the ancient mermaid has lived long and – ”

“Of course! of course!” exclaimed the King, impatiently; “she is the very person. Why did I not think of her before? Why – the story goes that she nursed the Queen’s human ancestress when, as a baby, she came among us.”

“I wish she had stayed away,” muttered the wisest of the wise men, though he spoke too low for the King to hear.

Then the King ordered his chariot and his swiftest steeds – they were dolphins – to be got ready at once, and off he set.

It was rather a long swim to the Anemone Cave. I wish I could give you any idea of the wonderful things the King passed by on his way – the groves of coral and forests of great branching seaweeds of all shapes and colour, the strangely formed creatures whom he scarcely glanced at. For of course it was not wonderful to him, and to-day his mind was so full of his trouble that he would have found it difficult to notice or admire anything.

The wise woman of the sea was at home. The King’s heart beat faster than usual as he was ushered into her presence, not from cowardice, but because he was feeling so very anxious about his dearly-loved wife. And King though he was, he made as low an obeisance before the ancient mermaid as if he had been one of the humblest of his own subjects.

She was very strange to behold. Mermaids, as your stories tell you, are often very beautiful, and possibly this aged lady may have been so in her day, but now she was so very old that she looked like the mummy of a mermaid; her hair was like a thin frosting of hoar on a winter morning; her eyes were so deep down in her head that you could scarcely see them; the scales on her tail had lost all their glitter. Still there was something dignified about her, and she received the King as if quite prepared for his visit. She was not the least surprised. Very wise people, whether on land or in the sea, never are, and she listened to the King’s story as if she knew all about it.

“Yes,” she replied, in a thin croaking voice like a frog’s, “you have done well to come to me. When the human baby, the great-grandmother of the Queen, was confided to my charge, I studied her fate and that of her descendants. The sea-serpent was an admirer of mine in those days, and he was very obliging. He noted the position of the stars when he went up above, and reported them to me. Between us we found out some of the future. I read that a descendant of the stranger should be seized with mortal illness while still young, and that her life should only be saved by the breath of an earth-flower that they call the rose, but that great difficulties would attend the procuring it for her, and that some conditions attach to the matter which I was unable to understand fully. All I know is this, the flower must be sought for by a beautiful and youthful mermaid, but the first efforts will not succeed. Now you know all I have to tell you. Farewell, you have no time to lose.”

And not another word would the wise mermaid say.

The King had to take leave. His dolphins conducted him home again still more quickly than they had brought him, for the words rang in his ears, “You have no time to lose.” Yet he knew not what to do. The conditions he had already been told were difficult enough, for it was not a very easy task to swim to the surface, as, calm though the ocean always is down below in the sea-folks’ country, there is no telling how stormy and furious it may be up above. And for a young and beautiful mermaid to undertake such an adventure would call for great courage. It was quite against the usual customs of the sea-people.

For the old stories and legends we hear about troops of lovely creatures seen floating on the water, combing their hair and singing strange melodies, were only true in the very-long-ago days. Now that mankind has spread and increased so that there are but few solitary places in the world, few shores where only the sea-gull and the wild mew dwell, the daughters of the ocean stay in their own domain, whence it comes that in these modern times many people do not believe in their existence at all.

The King went straight to the Queen’s bower, where she lay surrounded by her ladies. She was sleeping, and though so pale and thin, her face was very sweet and lovely, her golden hair sparkling on the soft cushions of sea moss on which she lay. Even as she was, she was more beautiful than any of the mermaids about her.

Yet some of them were very beautiful. The King’s glance fell especially on two who were noted as the most charming among the Queen’s attendants. Their names were Ila and Orona. A sudden idea struck the King.

“I will cause it to be announced that a great reward shall be given to any young and beautiful mermaid who will undertake the quest of the red rose on which depends the Queen’s recovery,” he thought, and the idea raised his hopes. And as he stooped over the sleeping Queen, she smiled and whispered something as if she were dreaming.

“The gift of love,” were the only words he could distinguish. But he took the smile as a good omen.

The next morning there was great excitement amongst the fair young mermaids. For it was announced that whoever of them should succeed in bringing, blooming and fragrant, a red rose to the suffering Queen, should be rewarded by the gift of a pearl necklace, which was considered one of the most precious of the crown jewels, and that furthermore the fortunate mermaid should take the highest rank of all the sea-ladies next to the Queen herself.

Ila and Orona were both beautiful and courageous, and before the day was many hours older they had offered themselves for the task. The King was delighted, and as Ila was the elder of the two it was decided that she must be the first to try. She received many compliments on her daring, and the King thanked her most warmly. She accepted all that was said to her, but to Orona, who was her chosen confidante, she owned that she would never have dreamt of making the attempt but for her intense wish to possess the necklace, which she had often admired on the young Queen’s fair skin.

“I would do anything to win it,” she said. “There is nothing in the world I admire so much as pearls, but if I gain it, Orona, I promise to lend it to you sometimes.”

“Many thanks,” Orona replied, “but I do not care for jewels as you do. If I have the chance of seeking the rose – that is to say if you fail – my motive will not be to gain the necklace, but to win the position of the highest rank next to the Queen. That I should care far more for.”

Both mermaids, however, kept their ambitions secret from every one else, and calmly accepted the praises showered upon them.

And the very next day Ila started on her upward journey.