The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 30 January 1919, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE WILD BIRDS OF KILLEEVY

Rosa Mulholland. (By arrangement with Messrs. Burns and Oates, London.)

CHAPTER V.— SONG OF THE SEA. "I never seen a child so improved," said Kevin s mother. "She's downright giving up her wild ways. I'm beginning to hope she'll turn out a proper, hardworking girl yet." It was Saturday evening, and Kevin had laid the spade and other emblems of labor in the corner of tlie outhouse and come in for his evening meal, the tea and hot bannocks with which his frugal mother regaled him on the eve of the day of rest. She shifted a needle in the stocking she was knitting as she spoke, and pointed to Fan, who, mounted on a little wooden stool, was up to the elbows in flour, as she made ready the last batch of cakes for the griddle. . : <£ "She's able to do all that for me now," said the strong, hard-featured housewife, with a quizzical look in her kind, shrewd eyes. "There'll be no need of an old woman about the house after this. She is taking all into her own hands." "I made the tea, too," said Fan, looking up at Kevin for approval. "At least I can't pour in the boiling water, but I did all the rest." And she deposited her last cakes on the griddle and touched up the little bits of red turf ember that were keeping the teapot warm. Then she began tugging out a table from the wall, but this Kevin took out of her hands. "We mustn't allow you to kill yourself with hard work," he said, laughing. "But you must let m e set out the tea-things." "Well, run away and wash your hands, and we'll see." "She's that changed I wouldn't know her ever since she gave you the fright," said Kevin's mother when the child had vanished up the little ladder-like stairs to her own particular nest under the thatch. "I couldn't ha' thought a child would have taken it so much to heart. The tears comes into her eyes whenever she thinks of it. 'Mother,' she said to me the other evening, quite sudden, 'he did look so sorry. If I had been killed he would have been too sorry.' 'And shame 'twould be for you to make Kevin sorry,' I said to her. 'I will never do it again,' she said, as serious as an old woman. 'And tell me,' she says, 'What I can do to make him happy.' " "I just looked up at her, sitting there with her eyes as big as saucers, and she thinkin' and thinkin' all over, from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot. 'Well,' I said, for I couldn't help humorin' the sariousness of her, 'you must give up a bit of your wildness, and not be hoppin' and skippin' so much about dangerous places; and you mustn't go roving so far away from home, pretendin' to be a bird and singin' unairthly songs; for you haven't got any wings when your two feet fail you, and it'll be time enough to be a bird when the wings begin to grow.' " "Mother," said Kevin, "you couldn't be so cross to her !" - ■ . "Couldn't I? And she didn't take it for crossness. But she says, 'l'll try,' with her eyes lookin' straight at mine as if they were askin' something more nor T could well understand. 'But you don't knowhow my feet do keep dancing,' she says, 'and how hard it is to stop-them, and to keep from singing.' 'I don't want to keep you from singing, my dear,' I said; 'only I would rather hear you oftener at your hymns. And if you want to make Kevin happy ' 'I do,' said she. 'Well then/ I says, 'l'll show you how to work for him y to make his supper, and knit his stockings,' and I declare she set to like lightning,

and she has learned more in one week than most children would do in a year." < - 3 ; At this ; point down came the little girl again in her Saturday evening attire, a clean print wrapper reaching half-way down over her crimson petticoat, grey stockings, and well-blacked shoes. Her thick hair was brushed smoothly into a darkling mass upon her shoulders, leaving a short curly undergrowth to cluster about her temples; her brunette cheeks were glowing after a scrubbing, and. the grey eyes which were the charm of her young face shone with the consciousness that she was a good girl at last. She brought in her arms a coarse white cloth, which she spread°on the table, and on which she arranged the cups and plates, • buttered her bannocks with fresh sweet (but well-smoked) butter, and finally filled the teacups, with a little assistance from Kevin. "She'll do yet," murmured the mother, sitting up in state and allowing herself to be helped like a visitor. "Maury needn't ha' been so uneasy about her, nor Connor neither." When tea was over Fan brought her stool to the good housewife's knee and produced the beginning of a stocking, over which she bent her brows, glancing up now and again to see the effect of her good "conduct upon Kevin, who sat watching her with all the interest her heart could desire. At last she sighed "Oh, Kevin ! I wish your foot wasn't so bio-. I'll never get down to the heel." ° "Put it away and sing us the Ave Maria," said the mother; and the child gladly obeyed, folding her hands and fixing her eyes dreamily on a large bright star' that was shining through the doorway. The sweet, clear refrain rose and fell as the twilight deepened' and the soft Gaelic words seemed to grow holier every time they were uttered, intoned in notes of such power and fulness as made the listeners gaze in astonishment at the little creature who gave them forth. Kevin walked to the door before it was done and drew the back of his brown hand across his eyes. "Fan," said he, after a silence of some minutes, "there will be a holiday next week, and I will take you to the island." Fan's eyes suddenly burned with delight, and, flinging her knitting into the corner, she threw up her arms and danced across the floor. "Well, well, well," said the mother; "but she's as wild as a hare yet." "I'll knit six rows every day until then," sang Fan, "and when I get to the island I may do what I like. I'll earn my wildness, and then nobody must scold me!" An hour later, when Fanchea was fast asleep, with her small hands crossed on her breast, as Maury had taught her to place them, and when the mother had taken her knitting into the next cottage for a chat with a neighbor, Kevin followed a winding path uphill and knocked at Father Ulick's door. The old priest looked surprised to see him. "No one ill at home, Kevin, I hope?" he said. "No," said the youth; "no, thank God." And then, after a struggle to shake off his shyness, he made his business known. "I've come to ask you to help me, sir. You know I was always stupid at my books at school, and now I keep wishing that I had learned more than I did. I can't go to school, for the people would laugh. I have got such a name upon me. You know it yourself, sir." > "Ay, Kevin, they say you are dull." "Yes, sir, I read very badly. Long ago I did not care. The little bits I got to read were all about nothing, and I liked better to be looking at the stars and the sea. But lately I've been longing to read fast and well. There are things I want to know about that I can only find in books." The old man took off his spectacles and shifted'the turf sods on his primitive hearth; and then he looked up at the youth's kindling face, all flushed and excited with the effort he had made to give forth so much of his confidence. ' .

"You are a good fellow, Kevin," he , said, "to come and talk to me like this. But why are you so anxious to know the things that are in books ?''.' V "I do not know, sir. I think I should be happier." Father Ulick looked at him .again and mused. Strange that this lad, who was looked on as the dullest on the mountain, should have suddenly been seized with a thirst for knowledge. Was it a freak that would pass away ? Had the desire been roused in him by wounded pride ? or was this the tardy awakening of some natural gift? The priest was puzzled and interested. "Let us see, Kevin," he said. "There is the night school, of course." "I could not, sir; indeed, I could not bear it." "Well, we must think of what we can do. Suppose you come to read to me here of an evening." Kevin's face blazed with pleasure. "Oh, sir, you are so good. There is nothing I would like so well." "Come to-morrow night, then. But before you go, my boy, let me talk to you a little. How is it that you speak so much better English, have a better accent, and are altogether more refined than most of the young men about the place, even than those who consider themselves better scholars?" Kevin blushed up to the roots of his hair at the compliment, which took him completely by surprise. "I do not know, sir; unless it may be talking to Fan, sir," he said simply. "Talking to little Fan!" "She's different from all the rest, sir; her voice is so like an angel's, and her words are so soft and fine. I don't know how to describe it, but nobody could be very rough, sir, who is always with her." Father Ulick smiled an indulgent smile as he thought of little Fanchea. "Ah!" he said; "I forgot about that wonderful friendship. She is, indeed, an uncommon little creature. And so she already repays you for your protection of her?" "Sir," it is I " "Ah, well, cherish that holy and beautiful affection. The love of a child is a message from God." Then Kevin went away, and as he walked down the hill again he thought of how he had been nearly led into trying to tell Father Ulick of all his thoughts about Fanchea. And it was better he had not attempted it. Probably the good old man would have told him they were wild, exaggerated, and even superstitious. Such as they might be, they were to him as his life, and it was better he should share them with no one. Looking back over his shoulder he saw Father Ulick still standing in his doorway, his white hair gleaming in the starlight. The old man was looking after the youth with some wonder and much interest in his heart. - "What a frank, handsome face the lad has," he .thought, "and what a thrill in "his voice when he speaks of that little creature. They are a very unusual pair, and I cannot but think that Providence has some purpose in their friendship. If the Lord should spare me I will be curious to see what comes of it." The holiday found Kevin and Fan on their way to the island. Fan danced over the hills, and sang her wild songs, and chased the sea-birds till she was tired; and then she was very glad to light a fire and roast the potatoes which they had brought in the boat for their refreshment. No feast was ever sweeter than this "dinner of herbs," which the happy creatures shared between them. "Kevin, you must tell me a story," said Fan. "Then you must sing first, and I will listen; and I will tell you whatever story your song tells me." "I am going to sing the song of the -sea," said Fan, joyously, when they had perched themselves on a rock from which they could behold the sun beginning to set royally towards ,the rim of the wide, lone Atlantic, and the long line of mountains on the coast catching the fire of heaven upon their faces. She began a winding, fitful, picturesque song without words, in which her clear, ringing voice

mimicked all the different sounds of the sea, from the long, slow rise and fall of the waves that broke now at their feet stained red as wine by the sunset, to the hurrying and confusion of the billows in a storm. As she sang the color rose in Kevin's cheek and his eyes kindled ; and the child herself was carried away by the weird power of her own music, rising and waving her little brown arms in the tempest, and sinking down and rocking her body backward and forward dreamily as the waves subsided into peace again. When she had finished Kevin, who had covered his face with his hat, removed it, and gazed at her with adoration in his eyes. Then he took her two slender, sunburnt hands into his own large one and kissed them reverently. "You liked it " said the child eagerly. "Oh, then, quick with your story!" But before Kevin could reply a figure appeared which took, them both by surprise. A large dark, sin-gular-looking woman was standing before thema real gipsy of the more respectable class. Her brilliant black eyes and eastern-tinted complexion were enhanced by the varied and glowing colors of her dress, which was so clean and well arranged as to be vividly picturesque rather than gaudy. Elderly and portly as she appeared, »yet there was something brisk and elastic about the whole expression of her figure, and her face was strangely handsome in its setting of scarlet and amber and white. In most country places gipsies are not an uncommon sight, but in remote Killeevy they were unknown. Strangers of any kind were seldom seen, and the apparition of this foreign-looking creature on their lonely island struck our two simple friends with a surprise which left them breathless. Both sprang to their feet, and Fan slid her little hand into Kevin's. "My pretty dear," said the woman, with a sort of Contralto laugh, which was not unmusical, "you are not going to be frightened of the gipsy. I have been listening to your singing. When I came over to see this nice little island I did not expect to find a bird among the rocks with so sweet a pipe." "You startled us," said Kevin smiling: "for we do not see many strangers. No one comes to this island but ourselves." "I saw your boat," said the gipsy, nodding her handsome head, "and I thought I should startle somebody, for we never have been in this country before. But we are friendly people, and nobody need fear us. When you return in your boat you must come and see the gipsies, my little dear." "I do not know your house." said Fan shyly, gazing with fascinated eyes upon the stranger. "My house!" laughed the gipsy. "No one ever knew it, my pretty. Gipsies have no houses; but they live under the hedges and in the pleasant green fields. Look yonder, where some white things are shining in the sun, on the slope of the hill, just under the mountains ! Those are our tents, where we are resting from a journey." Kevin and Fanchea looked towards home, following the gipsy's finger with their eyes, and saw tents gleaming on the hillside, which had not been there in the morning. "We have music in there," said the stranger, "and dancing and singing, and all sorts of games. People come to see our show and pay us money, but flrhen you come, my little singer, you need not bring anything but your own pretty face." Music, and singing, and games ! Fanchea became interested and forgot her shyness. "Oh, thank you ! she said gladly. "I will be sure to go to see you." \. "We are greatly obliged to you," said Kevin, more slowly. "Oh, I did not promise to refuse your money, young man," said the gipsy laughing, "Be sure to fill your pocket when you come to our tent." Kevin blushed. "I did not mean "he began, proudly, but the stranger nodded her head at him and moved away. They saw her descend the rocks, where she was met by a man. They entered the boat and put off from the island.

This trifling incident was an event of importance to our inexperienced pair. Neither could forget the stranger, but sat silently watching the retreating boat. "Kevin," said Fanchea, "what are gipsies?" "People that wander about," said Kevin. "Shawn Rua told me of them." * "You will bring me to see them, Kevin?" "Yes, but you must hold tight by my hand. They are not always good people, I fancy." "Oh, she spoke so kindly, I am sure she must be good." "Are you wishing to come home, Fanchea?" "Home, without your story?" "Ah, well," said Kevin, "I thought you had forgotten the story." And his slight jealousy of the gipsy melted away. "Indeed, I have almost forgotten it myself*." "But you must try to remember it." Kevin covered his eyes for a few minutes and listened to the long roll of the waves breaking on the beach. Fan sat patiently watching the shifting of the crimson clouds until he spoke. "Once upon a time there was " "A brave prince and a lovely princess," said Fan. "That makes such a nice beginning." "Very well. And the brave prince loved the beautiful princess so well that he became- braver every day, and all men were afraid of him in the wars." "Does loving people do that?" asked Fan. "Yes," said Kevin, "it can do everything wonderful. It brings out all the good that is in people." "Go on." "It was his love that made the world beautiful to him ; his heart grew larger every day, and great thoughts poured into his mind. The prince used to think sometimes that the princess had his soul in her hands." "How could that be? God gives every one a soul of his own." "I don't know how it could be," said Kevin wistfully, "but I know the prince felt that it was only by living near his beloved princess and doing everything good to please her he could hope to win in the end the soul she had in keeping for him. When he had won his soul he thought he would do some noble work in tho world." "Well," said Fan, "do make haste. I hope she kept it for him well." "She did," said Kevin "but something happened." "What?" "The brave prince had an enemy." "Oh," said Fan, drawing a long breath. "An enemy who had been overthrown by him in the battle. And this enemy was longing to destroy him. And he thought and thought for a long, long time. At first he intended to kill him." "Oh, what did he do?" "lie thought the most terrible thing he could do would be to carry off the princess ; and lie put her in a ship, and sailed with her away into far distant seas. They arrived at a lighthouse one calm, moonlight nighta tall, lonely lighthouse on a rock in the middle of the ocean. He killed the lighthouse man and put out the light and imprisoned the princess in the lonely tower in the darkness. Then he sailed away and left her." "Oh-h-h-h!" sighed Fan. "When the prince found she was gone he became so unhappy that he could scarcely bear his life. However, he thought he must surely be able to find her somewhere in the world; and he set out to search for her all the wide world over. He went from land to land, and from city to city, inquiring if any one had seen his beloved princess ; but no one could tell him anything about her. And years passed on and still he could not find her. His heart was always breaking, and his hair grew grey, and still he kept searching and searching. But he never became wicked and fierce, as his enemy thought he would become. Tf be bad left off seai'ching he would "have grown wicked and fierce,

but he kept on seeking* and hoping, and became greater and better as the years rolled away." "And what was the poor princess doing all that long time in the dark?" asked Fanchea, anxiously. "She was also very unhappy, but she tried to keep hoping that her prince would come for her. She* was dreadfully lonely, and only for the little white sails she sometimes saw in the distance, and for the moon and stars at night, I think she would have gone mad from loneliness. On stormy nights, when the waves dashed against the lighthouse windows, it was terrible, and vessels were often wrecked upon the cruel rock, for the poor princess had no light to put in the light-chamber, and she had to sit in the dark listening to the cries of the people who were drowning." "What did she have to eat all that long time?" asked Fanchea. "Let me see!" said Kevin, rather startled and puzzled. "I never thought of that. Well, I believe there was a good store of provisions left by the poor lighthouse man who was murdered ; and then the princess had a very small appetite, you see, and she did not eat very much at a time." "No, poor thing!" said Fanchea, who was accustomed to be healthily hungry. "And so the years kept rolling on, till at last. one night there was a violent hurricane at sea, and the prince's ship was on its way from one country to another seeking as usual for the princess. The vessel was wrecked, dashed to pieces against the rock, and, the body of the prince was washed into the princess's arms as she leaned from the lighthouse window. A 6udden flash of lightning showed her that it was her prince." "Yes," said Fan, eagerly, "and what did she do then?" "She tried to restore him," said Kevin, "but she could not do it, for he was dead. She was herself so wasted that it only required this shock to kill her, and she lay down beside him and died. Their souls floated away above the storm together, and they are now living a splendid life far beyond the ocean and the stars and the moon." Fanchea heaved a deep sigh. "Are you sure that was the end of it?" she said. "I like that, you know, about their souls afterwards; but in the meantime, Kevin, I'd like to have a different kind of ending. lam sure that he was not dead, but that the princess and he got away on a raft and came home to their kingdom. And the enemy was also in the vessel that was wrecked, and was also washed into the lighthouse; only the raft went away without him, and he was left in. the lighthouse instead of the princess." Kevin laughed. "Have it as you like," he said ; "but you oughtn't to have sung of how they died in the storm." "I didn't," said Fan, reproachfully and halffrightened. "You put things into my songs that I never thought of." Kevin took her little brown hand and spread it out on his own broad palm. "You are my princess, Fan", he said, "and you pour everything that is beautiful and good into my mind. I often feel that you have my soul in your little hands." "Do you?" asked Fan, looking straight into his eyes with her clear gaze. "But I don't feel a bit like a princess. Do you feel like a prince?" "No," said the youth, laughing, "but I would like to do something great in the world all the same," he added dreamily. "So you do, and so you will," said Fanchea, stoutly. "T wonder what it will be. But, Kevin, you won't let any one shut me up in the lighthouse where you never will find me till you are dead?". "God forbid!" said Kevin, heartily. And at this moment the last burning rim of the sun having quenched itself in the ocean, the two friends agreed that it was time to return to their boat, whence they could see the faint smoke from the cabins on the mountain warning all wanderers that supper-time was near,

(To be continued.) ;