"You will be having Highlandmen for your forefathers?" she said, in an unexpectedly rich, powerful voice, full of the delightful Highland accent.
"Yes," said Emily.
"And you will be Presbyterian?"
"Yes."
"They will be the only decent things to be," remarked Mrs. McIntyre in a tone of satisfaction. "And will you please be telling me what your name is? Emily Starr! That will be a fery pretty name. I will be telling you mine - it iss Mistress Margaret McIntyre. I am no common person - I am the woman who spanked the King."
Again Emily, now thoroughly awake, thrilled with the story-teller's instinct. But Ilse, awakening at the moment, gave a low exclamation of surprise. Mistress McIntyre lifted her head with a quite regal gesture.
"You will not be afraid of me, my dear. I will not be hurting you although I will be the woman who spanked the King. That iss what the people say of me - oh, yess - as I walk into the church. 'She iss the woman who spanked the King.'"
"I supposed," said Emily hesitatingly, "that we'd better be getting up."
"You will not be rising until I haf told you my tale," said Mistress McIntyre firmly. "I will be knowing as soon as I saw you that you will be the one to hear it. You will not be having fery much colour and I will not be saying that you are fery pretty - oh, no. But you will be having the little hands and the little ears - they will be the ears of the fairies, I am thinking. The girl with you there, she iss a fery nice girl and will make a fery fine wife for a handsome man - she is defer, oh, yess - but you haf the way and it is to you I will be telling my story."
"Let her tell it," whispered Ilse. "I'm dying of curiosity to hear about the King being spanked."
Emily, who realised that there was no "letting" in the case, only a matter of lying still and listening to whatever it seemed good to Mistress McIntyre to say, nodded.
"You will not be having the twa talks? I will be meaning the Gaelic."
Spellbound, Emily shook her black head.
"That iss a pity, for my story will not be sounding so well in the English - oh, no. You will be saying to yourself the old woman iss having a dream, but you will be wrong, for it iss the true story I will be telling you - oh, yess. I spanked the King. Of course he would not be the King then - he would be only a little prince and no more than nine years old - just the same age as my little Alec. But it iss at the beginning I must be or you will not be understanding the matter at all at all. It wass all a long, long time ago, before ever we left the Old Country. My husband would be Alistair McIntyre and he would be a shepherd near the Balmoral Castle. Alistair was a fery handsome man and we were fery happy. It wass not that we did not quarrel once in a while - oh, no, that would be fery monotonous. But when we made up it is more loving than ever we would be. And I would be fery good-looking myself I will be getting fatter and fatter all the time now but I wass fery slim and peautiful then - oh, yess, it iss the truth I will be telling you though I will be seeing that you are laughing in your sleeves at me. When you will be eighty you will be knowing more about it.
"You will be remembering maybe that Queen Victoria and Prince Albert would be coming up to Balmoral efery summer and bringing their children with them, and they would not be bringing any more servants than they could help, for they would not be wanting fuss and pother, but just a quiet, nice time like common folks. On Sundays they would be walking down sometimes to the church in the glen to be hearing Mr. Donald MacPherson preach. Mr. Donald MacPherson wass fery gifted in prayer and he would not be liking it when people would come in when he wass praying. He would be apt to be stopping and saying, 'O Lord, we will be waiting until Sandy Big Jim hass taken his seat' - oh, yess. I would be hearing the Queen laugh the next day - at Sandy Big Jim, you will be knowing, not at the minister.
"When they will be needing some more help at the Castle, they just sent for me and Janet Jardine. Janet's husband wass a gillie on the estate. She would be always saying to me, 'Good-morning, Mistress McIntyre' when we would be meeting and I would be saying, 'Good-morning, Janet, just to be showing the superiority of the McIntyres over the Jardines. But she wass a fery good creature in her place and we would be getting on fery well together when she would not be forgetting it.
"I wass fery good friends with the Queen - oh, yess. She wass not a proud woman whatefer. She would be sitting in my house at times and drinking a cup of tea and she would be talking to me of her children. She wass not fery handsome, oh, no, but she would be having a fery pretty hand. Prince Albert wass fery fine looking, so people would be saying, but to my mind Alistair wass far the handsomer man. They would be fery fine people, whatefer, and the little princess and princesses would be playing about with my children efery day. The Queen would be knowing they were in good company and she would be easier in her mind about them than I wass - for Prince Bertie was the daring lad if efer there wass one - oh, yess, and the tricky one - and I would be worrying all the time for fear he and Alec would be getting into a scrape. They would be playing every day together - and quarrelling, too. And it would not always be Alec's fault either. But it wass Alec that would be getting the scolding, poor lad. Somebody would haf to be scolded and you will be knowing that I could not be scolding the prince, my dear.
"There wass one great worry I will be having - the burn behind the house in the trees. It wass fery deep and swift in places and if a child should be falling in he would be drowned. I would be telling Prince Bertie and Alec time after time that they must nefer be going near the banks of the burn. They would be doing it once or twice for all that and I would be punishing Alec for it, though he would be telling me that he did not want to go and Prince Bertie would be saying, 'Oh, come on, there will not be any danger, do not be a coward,' and Alec, he would be going because he would be thinking he had to do what Prince Bertie wanted, and not liking fery well either to be called a coward, and him a McIntyre. I would be worrying so much over it that I would not be sleeping at nights. And then, my dear, one day Prince Bertie would be falling right into the deep pool and Alec would be trying to pull him out and falling in after him. And they would haf been drowned together if I had not been hearing the skirls of them when I would be coming home from the Castle after taking some buttermilk up for the Queen. Oh, yess, it is quick I will be taking in what had happened and running to the burn and it will not be long before I wass fishing them out, fery frightened and dripping. I will be knowing something had to be done and I wass tired of blaming poor Alec, and besides it will be truth, my dear, that I wass fery, fery mad and I wass not thinking of princes and kings, but just of two fery bad little boys. Oh, it iss the quick temper I will be always having - oh, yess. I will be picking up Prince Bertie and turning him over my knee: and I will be giving him a sound spanking on the place the Good Lord will be making for spanks in princes as well as in common children. I will be spanking him first because he wass a prince. Then I spanked Alec and they made music together, for it wass fery angry I was and I will be doing what my hands will be finding to do with all my might, as the Good Book says.
"Then when Prince Bertie had gone home - fery mad - I will be cooling off and feeling a bit frightened. For I will not be knowing just how the Queen will be taking it, and I will not be liking the thought of Janet Jardine triumphing over me. But it iss a sensible woman Queen Victoria wass and she will be telling me next day that I did right: and Prince Albert will be smiling and joking to me about the laying on of hands. And Prince Bertie would not be disobeying me again about going to the burn - oh, no - and he could not be sitting down fery easy for some time. As for Alistair, I had been thinking he would be fery cross with me, but it will always be hard telling what a man will think of anything - oh, yess - for he would be laughing over it, too, and telling me that a day would come when I could be boasting that I had spanked the King. It wass all a long time ago now, but nefer will I be forgetting it. She would be dying two years ago and Prince Bertie would be the king at last. When Alistair and I came to Canada the Queen will be givin
g me a silk petticoat. It wass a fery fine petticoat of the Victoria tartan. I haf nefer worn it, but I will be wearing it once - in my coffin, oh, yess. I will be keeping it in the chest in my room and they will be knowing what it iss for. I will be wishing Janet Jardine could have known that I wass to be buried in a petticoat of the Victoria tartan, but she hass been dead for a long while. She wass a fery good sort of creature, although she wass not a McIntyre."
Mistress McIntyre folded her hands and held her peace. Having told her story she was content. Emily had listened avidly. Now she said:
"Mrs. McIntyre, will you let me write that story down, and publish it?"
Mistress McIntyre leaned forward. Her white, shrivelled face warmed a little, her deep-set eyes shone.
"Will you be meaning that it will be printed in a paper?"
"Yes."
Mistress McIntyre rearranged her shawl over her breast with hands that trembled a little.
"It iss strange how our wishes will be coming true at times. It iss a pity that the foolish people who will be saying there iss no God could not be hearing of this. You will be writing it out and you will be putting it into proud words -"
"No, no," said Emily quickly. "I will not do that. I may have to make a few changes and write a framework, but most of it I shall write exactly as you told it. I could not better it by a syllable."
Mistress McIntyre looked doubtful for a moment - then gratified.
"It iss only a poor, ignorant body I am, and I will not be choosing my words fery well, but maybe you will be knowing best. You haf listened to me fery nicely and it is sorry I am to have kept you so long with my old tales. I will be going now and letting you get up."
"Have they found the lost child?" asked Ilse eagerly.
Mistress McIntyre shook her head, composedly.
"Oh, no. It is not finding him in a hurry they will be. I will be hearing Clara skirling in the night. She iss the daughter of my son Angus. He will be marrying a Wilson and the Wilsons will always be making a stramash over eferything. The poor thing will be worrying that she was not good enough to the little lad, but it would always be spoiling him she wass, and him that full of mischief. I will not be of much Ilse to her - I haf not the second sight. You will be having a bit of that yourself, I am thinking, oh, yess."
"No - no," said Emily, hurriedly. She could not help recalling a certain incident of her childhood at New Moon, of which she somehow never liked to think.
Old Mistress McIntyre nodded sagely and smoothed her white apron.
"It will not be right for you to be denying it, my dear, for it iss a great gift and my Cousin Helen four times removed will be having it, oh, yess. But they will not be finding little Allan, oh, no. Clara will be loving him too much. It iss not a fery good thing to be loving any one too much. God will be a jealous God, oh, yess; it is Margaret McIntyre who knows it. I will be having six sons once, all fery fine men and the youngest would be Neil. He wass six-feet-two in hiss stockings and there would be none of the others like him at all. There would be such fun in him - he would always be laughing, oh, yess, and the wiling tongue of him would be coaxing the birds off the bushes. He will be going to the Klondyke and he will be getting frozen to death out there one night, oh, yess. He will be dying while I wass praying for him. I haf not been praying since. Clara will be feeling like that now - she will be saying God does not hear. It iss a fery strange thing to be a woman, my dears, and to be loving so much for nothing. Little Allan wass a fery pretty baby. He will be having a fat little brown face and fery big blue eyes, and it is a pity he will not be turning up, though they will not be finding my Neil in time, oh, no. I will be leaving Clara alone and not vexing her with comforting. I wass always the great hand to leave people alone - without it would be when I spanked the King. It iss Julia Hollinger who will be darkening council by words without knowledge. It iss the foolish woman she iss. She would be leaving her husband because he will not be giving up a dog he liked. I am thinking he wass wise in sticking to the dog. But I will always be getting on well with Julia because I will have learned to suffer fools gladly. She will enjoy giving advice so much and it will not be hurting me whatefer because I will never be taking it. I will be saying good-bye to you now, my dears, and it iss fery glad I am to haf seen you and I will be wishing that trouble may nefer sit on your hearthstones. And I will not be forgetting either that you listened to me very polite, oh, yess. I will not be of much importance to anybody now - but once I spanked the King."
"THE THING THAT COULDN'T"
When the door had closed behind Mistress McIntyre, the girls got up and dressed rather laggingly. Emily thought of the day before her with some distaste. The fine flavour of adventure and romance with which they had started out had vanished, and canvassing a country road for subscriptions had suddenly become irksome. Physically, they were both tireder than they thought.
"It seems like an age since we left Shrewsbury," grumbled Ilse as she pulled on her stockings.
Emily had an even stronger feeling of a long passage of time. Her wakeful, enraptured night under the moon had seemed in itself like a year of some strange soul-growth. And this past night had been wakeful also, in a very different way, and she had roused from her brief sleep at its close with an odd, rather unpleasant sensation of some confused and troubled journey - a sensation which old Mistress McIntyre's story had banished for a time, but which now returned as she brushed her hair.
"I feel as if I had been wandering - somewhere - for hours," she said. "And I dreamed I found little Allan - but I don't know where. It was horrible to wake up feeling that I had known just immediately before I woke and had forgotten."
"I slept like a log," said Ilse, yawning. "I didn't even dream. Emily, I want to get away from this house and this place as soon as I can. I feel as if I were in a nightmare - as if something horrible were pressing me down and I couldn't escape from it. It would be different if I could do anything - help in any way. But since I can't, I just want to escape from it. I forgot it for a few minutes while the old lady was telling her story - heartless old thing! She wasn't worrying one bit about poor little lost Allan."
"I think she stopped worrying long ago," said Emily dreamily. "That's what people mean when they say she isn't right. People who don't worry a little never are right - like Cousin Jimmy. But that was a great story. I'm going to write it for my first essay - and later on I'll see about having it printed. I'm sure it would make a splendid sketch for some magazine, if I can only catch the savour and vivacity she put into it. I think I'll jot down some of her expressions right away in my Jimmy-book before I forget them."
"Oh, drat your Jimmy-book!" said Ilse. "Let's get down - and eat breakfast if we have to - and get away."
But Emily, revelling again in her story-teller's paradise, had temporarily forgotten everything else.
"Where is my Jimmy-book?" she said impatiently. "It isn't in my bag - I know it was here last night. Surely I didn't leave it on that gate-post!"
"Isn't that it over on the table?" asked Ilse.
Emily gazed blankly at it.
"It can't be - it is - how did it get there? I know I didn't take it out of the bag last night."
"You must have," said Ilse indifferently.
Emily walked over to the table with a puzzled expression. The Jimmy-book was lying open on it, with her pencil beside it. Something on the page caught her eye suddenly. She bent over it.
"Why don't you hurry and finish your hair?" demanded Ilse a few minutes later. "I'm ready now - for pity's sake, tear yourself from that blessed Jimmy-book for long enough to get dressed!"
Emily turned around, holding the Jimmy-book in her hands. She was very pale and her eyes were dark with fear and mystery.
"Ilse, look at this," she said in a trembling voice.
Ilse went over and looked at the page of the Jimmy-book which Emily held out to her. On it was a pencil sketch, exceedingly well done, of the little house on the river shore to which Emily had been so attracted
on the preceding day. A black cross was marked on a small window over the front door and opposite it, on the margin of the Jimmy-book, beside another cross, was written:
"Allan Bradshaw is here."
"What does it mean?" gasped Ilse. "Who did it?"
"I - don't know," stammered Emily. "The writing - is mine."
Ilse looked at Emily and drew back a little.
"You must have drawn it in your sleep," she said dazedly.
"I can't draw," said Emily.
"Who else could have done it? Mistress McIntyre couldn't - you know she couldn't. Emily, I never heard of such a strange thing. Do you think - do you think - he can be there?"
"How could he? The house must be locked up - there's no one working at it now. Besides, they must have searched all around there - he would be looking out of the window - it wasn't shuttered, you remember - calling - they would have seen - heard - him. I suppose I must have drawn that picture in my sleep - though I can't understand how I did it - because my mind was so filled with the thought of little Allan. It's so strange - it frightens me."
"You'll have to show it to the Bradshaws," said Ilse.
"I suppose so - and yet I hate to. It may fill them with a cruel false hope again - and there can't be anything in it. But I daren't risk not showing it. You show it - I can't, somehow. The thing has upset me - I feel frightened - childish - I could sit down and cry. If he should have been there - since Tuesday - he would be dead of starvation."
"Well, they'd know - I'll show it, of course. If it should turn out - Emily, you're an uncanny creature."
"Don't talk of it - I can't bear it," said Emily, shuddering.
There was no one in the kitchen when they entered it, but presently a young man came in - evidently the Dr. McIntyre of whom Mrs. Hollinger had spoken. He had a pleasant, clever face, with keen eyes behind his glasses, but he looked tired and sad.
"Good-morning," he said. "I hope you had a good rest and were not disturbed in any way. We are all sadly upset here, of course."
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