 Section 14 of The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and Other Stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and Other Stories by Rosa Mahalland. The Senior John 2. Three years passed, and I was a staid maiden, who did not care much for festas nor gay clothes. I was not of so merry a temper as I had promised to be, and people thought I was haughty, and some of the girls disliked me. This was partly owing to Nicolo, who would say, You need not speak to Netta, she has grown so proud, she thinks herself quite a princess since the Englishman kissed her hand. A little thing gets one a character when gossips are by to talk. Then I did not choose to marry, and that was the worst, for those suitors might not plead like placidolores, yet no one likes to be refused, and their friends resented my coldness. So I was a lonely kind of a creature, and lived in my own way, clinging fast to my father and only vexed when he would say, When I am dead and gone, who will take care of you and our peevish Nicolo? So things went on till the avalanche came down upon us, killing my poor father and burying him in the ruins of our house. The goats and kids were killed, and Nicolo was sorely hurt, only I as if by miracle escaped. We sat for many hours on the fallen rocks till the people from the village reached us, when they brought us down to their houses and treated us like their own. I tried to give little trouble, for I had nothing to give them in return. Nothing at all had we saved but the clothes we wore. Nicolo's arm was hurt, so that he could not carve, and a woman's work is not much when she has not got a home to work in. The housewives in the village had got daughters of their own, and nobody seemed in need of a girl to help them. The worst was that nobody would love Nicolo, for, besides being utterly helpless, the lad had a biting tongue. Placido's aged mother came out to look at me. When she saw my saddened face the tears came down her cheek. My girl, she said, I have hated you, for you sent my son away, but the Lord has sent you trouble, and I must forgive you. She brought me into her house, and I told her my bitter thoughts, and that I wanted to go down to the world where wages were given to labour. At Como, she said, are the silk factories, and there is many a way of earning when one gets down to the level world. You used to play the zither and sing a song. That was long ago, I said, and the zither is buried with my father. I fear that all my music is buried with it. At your age the music is not hushed so quickly, she said kindly, and pulled an old zither down from a shelf. It used to be sweet enough, she added, take it with my blessing. At least it may cheer your way if it puts no money in your purse, and the village shall see to your Nicolo, though it must be owned he is an imp. So I resolved to go down to the level world, to work at the silks of Como, or at anything I could find to do. The zither was to go with me, and Nicolo was to stay at the village till such time as I should have money to come back and fetch him. I took my zither on my shoulder, and a wallet in my hand, and committing myself to God I set out on my lonely way. Nicolo limped along with me half a mile, and when we found he could go no further we stopped on the lonely road for a last embrace. The poor lad had always loved me dearly, and his spirit was quite broken now, and he clung to me with cries. It was a moment of the cruelest anguish when I had to push him at last from me and to hurry away. I heard his sobs behind me for a long way as I went, and later fancied I could hear them still in the rush of the falling river and the faint wail of the pines. I had passed two pretty villages along my way, and the sun had already set when I reached a third. There was a glare behind the mountains and a warm golden haze floated in the veil. The houses came down a hill and the streets were flights of steps. Far above the roofs and out of the chestnut trees rose the burning brazen cap of the campanile and the bell was sounding lazily as if ringing itself to sleep. The pines I had left behind me in fringe of olive and purple on the dusky heights, and here there were only the heavenly laden fruit trees, chestnuts drooping over my shoulders, cherries dropping into my mouth, walnuts lining the roadside, and fig bushes thrust in my path. Vines ran over the walls and upon the crimson roofs, and clusters of ripened grapes hung in at the doors and windows. A cloud of silvery smoke had blent with the haze of the sunset, and there was a smell as of burning logs and fragrant wood. The next day I passed through still more villages and got down to the flush and bloom of the lumbard plains. The mountains here became walls of a gigantic garden. Vines wrapped their terraces and melons ripened in the meadows in the midst of the corn. Plums were as lumps of gold, and the peaches glowed in the fruit gatherer's basket, while nectarines and apricots added perfume to the colored air. Great rows of mulberry trees reminded me now of the silkworks, and the grasshoppers sang so loud that I took them for birds. I got on board a small sailing vessel that plied upon the lake, earning my fare by a little music, and went singing down to Como, weary, all soiled, and with blisters on my feet. I fell asleep in the middle of my songs, and was gently shaken awake again by the captain's merry wife. She wore a white and scarlet headdress and a large cross of gold, and crushed grapes out of a basket into her baby's laughing mouth. The gaiety here on the lake was a thing to make one stare. Boats with scarlet cushions, ladies in lace mantillas, boatmen with dazzling shirts and brilliant sashes. The lake glowed with the most exquisite bluish green, and out of it rose the palaces, with terraces climbing the heights. We passed towns like straggling castles, whose streets were ladders of stone creeping up from the water, and all these wonderful novelties were to me a fantastic dream. Julia, the captain's wife, found me allodging in the town of Como, a closet under a chimney, beside the room where she and her husband had their home. In order to reach this nest I had to climb a hundred steps, which wound in and out of the houses up to the roofs. Noises roused me by three o'clock in the morning, wheels rolling, voices shouting, tambourines ringing, besides the sound of many novel kinds of music. I brushed up my dusty clothes and went out to look at the town. The people were holding their market in the piazza of the Duomo, and tables were there set out with provisions piled on them lavishly. The shops under the Lodge were already all alive, and the deep amber curtains fluttered gaily out of the arches. Flowers teemed from the dark and crooked balconies overhead, which hung like crazy cages from the upper windows. Colors were flashing everywhere, from brilliant oleander blossoms like living flames in the air, from the gay dresses of the people, the piles of monster melons, the red marbles of the broletto, and the Duomo's deeper hues. I lifted the heavy curtain and went into the Duomo. Mass was over, and most of the people were gone, but others kept pouring in and the place was full. Somebody touched me on the shoulder and I looked up with a start. There was Placido in the dress of a boatman. Neda! He whispered excitedly, his face was flushed and there were tears in his eyes. Oh, Placido Lodges! I cried and gave him both my hands. We sat on a bench and whispered in a shady corner of the church. Each had a story to tell, and each had a ready listener. My father is dead Placido, I said, and Nicolo is hurt in the Alps. I have come down here to Cuomo to try and earn money at the silk. This is my whole story. So life is sad enough. I guessed it was so, said Placido. I knew how it must be with you when I saw you crying at the mass. As for me, I have traveled far. I have stored crops, and driven oxen, and helped with the vines in the south. For some months I have been a boatman here on the lake. And yesterday I had it in mind to return to the Alps. But now I believe I'll wait a bit. There's never good in haste. There's a captain's wife who is good to me. I said, it being now my turn again. And she says I shall earn money by singing, for the people here in the plains are as fond of music as ourselves. I sing better than I used to do, and your mother has given me her zither. Little Netta, he said, I have made a good bit of money, and I don't like to think that you must work. I can't forget the day when you declared you could not love me. But maybe if you were to try you might change your mind. It's not that I am much to care for, but the love in my heart is strong. Who knows but that, after all, I could make you happy. Placido, I said, you are a kind man, but as I refused to marry you before, when I had got a home, so I will not accept you now because I am in need of one. I would not bribe you with anything but just my love, he answered mournfully, so if it cannot be it can't, and I will not vex you. You must at least let me be your friend, however. My best friend, I said, and after that we walked hand in hand about the church, Placido showing me the pictures and explaining what they meant, and telling me the touching stories that are painted in the jeweled windows. The captain's wife befriended me and people liked my music, and I could earn more money with my zither than in the factories. The people would gather round me, asking each for his favorite song, and my story got whispered among them, and they were kinder than I could tell. She sings for a helpless brother, they said, and fees were therefore doubled as they dropped in my lap. Great people also would send for me now from their villas, and I began to save a little money. I had to sing one evening at a palace on the lake, and it was dark when I took my seat in the veranda. The lake glittered with moonlight, and all along the terraces hung dimly colored lamps. A crowd of gay figures had gathered on the marble steps that led into the water. When I sang, everyone listened. When I ceased, I was forgotten, save that somebody went to a table and fetched me wine. I looked up to thank this somebody and saw the senior John. Little Netta! He exclaimed, amazed. Can it be possible that this is you? Yes, senior, I said. Tell me how it has happened, he asked. What can have fetched you down out of the snows to Como? My father is killed by the avalanche, I said, and I am earning money for Nicolo who is hurt in the Alps. It is now time for me to go, senior, good-bye. Stay, I am going with you, he said, and he followed me out on the hill, carrying my zither. Sit down and rest, he said, when we had gone a little way. But I still have to get to Como, I said, and I want to rest in my bed. That is true, said the senior, smiling. Let us then take a boat at once. I looked up the water and assured myself that Placido was nowhere waiting for me. I stepped into the senor's boat and went floating with him down the moonlit lake. How beautiful you have grown, Netta! said the senior as we went. Did I not tell you that you would be a woman when we should meet again? I gravely shook my head. I remembered that he had not come back even to see if I were alive. You have also grown prim and cold, he added presently. Indeed, you are so changed that I wonder how I knew you. It is only that one cannot always be a child, I said sadly, and he lifted me out of the boat and brought me to the foot of the staircase which led up to my nest in the roof. When I peered down from the top, I saw him looking up. I looked then into the glass at the face which the senior John had called so beautiful. Did he never told me that I was beautiful? I reflected. End of section 14. Section 15 of the Haunted Organist of Hurley-Burley and Other Stories. This is a LibriVax recording. All LibriVax recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVax.org. The Haunted Organist of Hurley-Burley and Other Stories by Rosa Mulholland. The Senior John 3. After that I saw the senior every day. I had long walks on the hills with him and many a pleasant hour on the moonlight lake. He used to meet me at the Duomo so that I could not think of my prayers. And Julia began to tease me, calling me a noble English dame. You'll not forget me and baby, she said. You'll send us a present from England. And I had already considered it in secret about what I should send her. I thought I should be extremely happy were it not for Placido Lorenz, but his face was always before me and his eyes had got grave and sad. His sadness troubled me so much that I tried to keep out of his way. And he soon saw that I avoided him and was careful not to annoy me. Once when I went out on the lake with the senior John, it happened that Placido's boat was the boat he had hired. Not till I was fairly seated did I see the boatman. Placido picked up his oars and he took his seat so that he could not see me. I never spoke a word nor moved his head. His oars dipped in the lake and scattered the shiny water to right and left. But except for this sign of life, he may not have been a man of stone. He did not even glance at me as I passed him out of the boat. But his downcast face haunted me all that night. The next day I was tripping along by the boats on the verge of the lake. My zither perched on my shoulder and flowers blooming in my breast. Rare bright flowers sent me that afternoon by the senior John. It was far in the afternoon when there is a glitter about the place, such a burning of color and flashing of water, such a glow and dazzle overheard and underfoot that sometimes one can hardly see one's way. The boats look all the same with their crimson cushions and with the dash as of ink and the water under the side that is against the sun. The boatman's white shirts make them also one like another, though none were so tall as Placido, nor so quiet, nor yet so strong. This time I did not see him, however, till he put himself right in the way. Netta, I want to speak to you. Make haste then, I said gaily. Placido took my hand and made me sit on the side of his boat. Before this I had rather believed in his strength than known it. He looked at me, straight in the face with a long wistful gaze. You are going to meet the senior, he said. Yes. Netta, has he asked you to be his wife? I said, not yet, Placido, and I began to get angry. Netta, do you think you love him? I hung my head and blushed, which might mean anything. Dear, he said, you need not be angry, but you must listen to me. Gentleman seldom marry peasant girls, though it may charm them to walk and sail with one like you. You have yourself to look to. Don't think me selfish, for I have no wish on earth. If it be not to see you happy. If I could have made you happy, I would have done it. But as that is not to be by heaven, I'll see that no one shall make you wretched. I'm not so easily made wretched, I said, hotly. Placido looked at me tenderly for a moment and then turned away his face. Wicked tongues can break the purest heart, he said softly. I looked at him in great amazement, and then I blushed. My face blushed, my ears, my throat, and my naked arms, and then the blood seemed to freeze within me, and my pulses got cold and still. I did not speak for a moment, but gazed on the ground and thought, Placido, you may look at me now. I said presently, for I'm only going to thank you. Then I turned and left him and went my way. I did not flaunt so gaily, no trip so lightly as usual. The pain in Placido's face had given me a shock. The senior was already waiting for me up in the hills. It being now a matter of course that I should meet him there in the evenings when we would watch the sun set readily behind the vineyards. While he talked to me all about England and of his home, where my pretty portrait now hung on the wall. I had believed that he always thought of me as a future mistress of this honored home, never thinking at all of the gulf between us. Now I sat by him silently looking down on the shining lake. Neda, he said, what ails you? I've been thinking of how I can tell you that I must not come here again, I said. Must not come here again, he echoed. Who has the right to prevent you? Only my own well, I answered. Then that must bend to mine, he said, smiling for I cannot live without you. A lump rose up in my throat, but I choked it down. Senior, I said sadly, I'm an ignorant girl from the mountains. Will you, you know the world. You might have been kinder. He glanced quickly at my face. His brow suddenly reddened and he turned his head away from me. So had Placido looked when he feared to pain me. Only Placido had nothing to blush for. The blush had been left for me. There is no need to be fexed, I said, and I did not mean to hurt you. I'm going back to the town now. I shall always be proud of your friendship, Senior John. I waited a minute patiently, but he did not move his head. I did not see any reason why I should wait or speak to him again. So I turned away and began walking towards the town. I heard his steps coming behind me. Neda, he called. Well, I said, Neda, will you be my wife? I felt a great shock of triumph. He had really said the words and I could tell Placido and yet somehow all the gladness had gone out of my heart. In an hour, my life was changed, yet I did not know it. I said, yes, slowly. For I thought I loved him and I remembered that he was a noble senior and that in this he was very good. Placido had said truly that lords do not marry peasants and the senior had made a sacrifice in order to win my hand. I knew that I ought to be proud of it and yet somehow I felt ashamed. I could not forget his face when he had turned it away from me nor the struggle which I had then witnessed nor the wound that had been given to my pride. Surely I might be content. I thought yet I wept that whole night through. I thought I had been a great deal happier when alone on the alpine paths. The senior brought me gifts, a chain for my neck and trinkets for my ears and a ring for my fingers as a pledge of trust. Never was a more generous lover than the senior, John. The evening after I received them, I decked myself in the jewels and ran out into the twilight to bring my news to Placido. This friend had always had been away at Colick since early dawn and I watched for his coming back from my little window up in the roof. His boat pulled into the harbor just after sunset. Oh, Netta, is it you? He cried and sprang eagerly to the beach. I shook my head at him laughingly and the dying flare of the sun blazed on my jewels. Placido, I have come to tell you about it. I am to be married this day week. Placido bent his head. I thank God for your welfare, he said. I bit my lips cruelly and the tears sprang to my eyes. I had thought that he might have been just a little grieved. It was wonderful, I said, how friends can be glad to lose one. Placido looked at me in wonder. His face was deadly pale and he appeared to be very tired or to have lately suffered. Somehow I could not be satisfied though I had come out here to triumph over him. He had thought I could be treated lightly and I had shown him his fears were vain. He had thanked God for my happiness and that was all. He began now to speak cheerfully, seeing that clouds had gathered on my face. So you're going to be a noble lady, he said, in some splendid place beyond the seas. Maybe in the course of the years you will come back to Como. I did not believe a word of it. It seemed all a lying tale. It was like the stories told out of the curling smoke when the logs are burning in the Alps. I stood upon a heap of sails with my foot on the edge of the boat. My jewels flashing as the boat swayed and my eyes on the west where the light was fading. Yes, yes, I was to be a noble lady and to live in a foreign country with the senior John and there would be a very vast difference in the days that were still to come between me up in my high place and Placido plying his boat on the lake. And the light faded away and the water lapped darkly at the side of the boat. My jewels ceased to flash and there was a long, long silence which Placido broke and Nikola, he asked abruptly as if following out some train of thought. I gave a sudden violent start and stared at him blankly in the midst of my excitement I had forgotten Nikola. In arranging for my own welfare I had let my poor, helpless brothers slip out of my thoughts. The senior will take care of him, I muttered. I will take him with me to England. Your senior is a generous man, returned Placido. And then I bade him good night and went up to my nest to think. I sat on my bed in the dark tossing my twinkling jewels about my lap. The senior had gone to a ball at one of the palaces on the lake. He was dancing even at this moment with the ladies who were quite his equals. Yet whom he had not found so lovable as simple me. Now for the sake of my love, would he be good to Nikola? It seemed to me as I sat there in the depths of my sore remorse that there was no one half so dear to me as that lone helpless creature whom people disliked and called the imp. I had promised to come back from my brother and I vowed I would keep my word. Next day it was earlier than I need have been at the familiar scene on the hill. Senior, I said, as soon as he was seated beside me. You must not call me senior, Neda. I always forget. You remember my brother Nikola? The senior's face clouded. I do remember him well, he said. He was waiting till I returned for him up in the Alps. He must wait a long time then, Neda, if you are coming with me. Senior, I said, can we not bring Nikola with us? He laughed a low laugh. He did not mean to be unkind, I think. It was only that he felt amused. No, Neda, indeed we could not take him. He has no one at all but me, I said, speaking low, holding my breath. He must learn to do without you then. Once for all, my pretty one, you must leave your friends behind you, though you can still provide for your brother, getting someone to take good care of him up in the mountains. No one loves Nikola, I muttered reflectively. Therefore you need not think me cruel, said the senior, therefore I cannot leave him, I whispered. The senior began to look angry. Neda, he said, you talk like a spoiled child. You must try to forget Italy, and that is the plain truth. It will be quite hard enough upon me. Here he stopped. Yes, I said, looking at him, tell me what will be hard. Nothing, he said, smiling again. Nothing that will not be set right when you have been a year in England. And have quite forgotten Italy, and have almost forgotten Italy. And now, since that is settled, my Neda, tell me what you will have for a wedding gift. Senior, I said, you have already given me too much. You have indeed been very good to me that I cannot forget. Tush, Neda, what does that matter with you? He said, I will give you anything you like. I sat silent again, looking out over the water, and the distance some elegant ladies were embarking from their marble staircase. Away at the bottom of the lake towered the azure walls of the Alps. In a way, farther still, folded up somewhere in their royal purples sat my sad, crippled brother, my poor, peevish lad, whom nobody saved myself would ever love. Yonder with the dandy ladies was the place for senior John. Mine was in the Alps, with Nicolo. Senior, I said at last, I'm an ignorant girl. I have been lately thinking more than you would believe. I acknowledged that it was generous of you to ask me to be your wife, and that my love would not be worth to you all the trouble it must cost. Likes should mate with like, and you and I are unlike. Yet I should hardly have dared to speak, had it not been for Nicola. The senior looked at me in amazement. You mean that you want to be free again, Neda? Yes, I said, if you please. You mean to give up everything for Nicola? Tomorrow I shall be on the Alps, going back for him, I said. Neda, you shall not jilt me. No, senior John, that would indeed be too saucy. You shall jilt me if you like it better. This is very fine, he said, but I shall alter your way of thinking. In the meantime, say goodbye, senior, for I shall not see you tomorrow. Goodbye, Neda, for the present. Goodbye, senior John, and may God be with you. He had caught both my hands if he would not let me go, but I twisted them from him suddenly and went running down the hill and out of his sight. I packed up my jewels and sent them back to their owner who had been generous enough to give them, as though I had been fit to be his wife. My good Julia carried them after mourning over them for an hour, and early on the following day I went out to look for Placido. I've come to say goodbye, Placido. I'm off to the Alps. The Alps, cried Placido, wonderingly. For Nicola, I said brightly, we are not going to England, though. The senior was going alone. Placido sprang from his boat with a radiant face. Oh, Neda, is it true? But you shall not travel alone. Of course I shall travel alone. I did it before with a sadder heart. I'm going to see my mother, said Placido. I hope you will not object. Why should I object, I said. Your mother will be glad to see you, as glad as your Nicola to see you. I'll take care to tell her you are coming, I said. You think then that you are likely to outlock me? What do you mean to say that you are coming with me now? I mean to be your fellow traveler, he said, unless you tell me truly that you would rather go alone. I could not say that I would rather go alone. So we made our journey together back to the Alps. As we went along, Placido told me much of his former journeys and what grief he had suffered and what dreary things he had said to himself. And I knew well that his misery had been because I could not love him. As for me, I confessed my carelessness with regard to Nicola and my feelings towards the English senior, which had been all made up of pride. And Placido tried to excuse me a little and promised not to think ill of me. It was much happier traveling with him and wandering quite alone. And by the time we got near his village, I was grieved that the journey was passed. We sat upon two large pine stumps then and looked at each other gravely. Another wind of the road would bring us within sight of friends. I had felt a strange joy in being alone in the world with Placido. And I knew by Placido's face that he liked taking care of me. Netta said, Placido, simply, will you be my wife at last? I wonder you asked me again, I said, but it would cost me far too dear to refuse you now. So it happened that we were married in his village church with his mother and my Nicola, besides many friends around us. And now we are again at Como. Nicola, who has got stronger, has carving figures under our trees while grandmother teaches her child to touch the zither. And Placido is not a boatman now. We live in our own vineyard where the senior John has been to see us bringing his charming English bride. End of section 15. Section 16 of The Haunted Organist of Hurley-Burley and Other Stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Maria Fatima da Silva. The Haunted Organist of Hurley-Burley and Other Stories by Rosa Mulholland. The Fit of Aelsis Shoe. On a certain mellow August afternoon, an old woman was traveling along the Seagirt Road between Port Rush and Dunluse. She wore a long gray cloak and a scarlet neckerchief thrown over her white cap. Her face was unusually shallow and wrinkled with small shrewd, furtive eyes. She carried a stick and halted now and then from fatigue. She looked often from right to left and from left to right over the sea, heaving helplessly under its load of blazing brooding glory and inland over the stretches of green and golden where cattle browsed and corn ripened. She seemed like one, not assured of her way and looking for landmarks. Presently, she stopped beside some boys who were playing marbles under her hedge to ask whereabouts might stand the house of one, James McQuillan. Is it Jamie's you want? said the eldest lad. There, it's up the hill yonder with its shoulder again there haystack. But if you are going there, I'll tell you that Elsie's out at the fair. Mother saw her pass our door at sunrise this morning. From the way he gave his information, the urchin evidently thought that Elsie being from home, it was worth no one's while to climb the hill to Jamie's. No way staggered in her purpose by the news, however, the old woman proceeded on her travels and took her way towards the haystack. She plotted up a green-hedged lonan and emerged from it on the causeway of round stones bedded in clay. Here stood Jamie's, a white cottage smothered in fuchsia trees. There was a sweet scent of musk and cedar wood hanging about and a wild rose was nailed against the gable. A purple pigeon was cooing on the russet thatch and the lazy cloud of smoke was reluctantly mingling its blue vapor with the yellow evening air. Overtopping the chimney, there rose a golden cock of new-made hay. The old woman snuffed the fragrant breath of the place, poked at the fuchsia bushes with her stick and peered all about her with her shrewd bright eyes. At last she approached the open door and looked across the threshold. There was a small room with a clay floor, a fire-winking on the hearth almost blinded out by the sun, a spinning wheel in the corner, an elderly woman netting beside the window and a check-curtained bed standing in the corner in which a sickly man sat up with a newspaper spread on his knees. God save all here, said the visitor, pushing in her head at the door. And is this Jamie McWillens? As sure as my name's Jamie, said the weakly man, taking off his spectacles. Take a seat, man. You'd be a traveler maybe, coming home from the fair. The old woman had dropped into a chair, panting with fatigue. It's no shame for he, she gasped, that he don't know me, seeing that he never set eyes on me before, but I'm one of the McCambridges from beyond Loch Nay and I've walked every foot of the road to see and yours. Why, you don't mean to say that, cried Jamie, his pale face lighting up. You don't mean to say you're Sean, McCambridges' sister Penny, own cousin to my father's second wife that was to have stood for our Elsie at her christening. Only she took a pain in her heel and couldn't stir from home. Faith, and I might have known you by the fine hook or via nose, always and ever the sign of the rail, old blood. Stroth, that same blood's thicker nor water. Mary McCree, it's Penny McCambridges from Loch Nay's side. Mary the wife now lifted her voice in welcome. Good luck to you cousin, Penny, she said. The sight of one of your folks is the cure for sore eyes. Come over and give us the shake of your an, for not a stir can I stir this year, past with the pains, no more nor Jamie there, that's down on his back since May. Ock, it's the poor doulas pair, with be only for our Elsie, that's hands and feet towards both and keeps things together out and in. A great handshaking followed this speech and then the visitor began to inquire for Elsie, her god daughter that was to have been only for the unfortunate pain in the heel. Wait a bit, wait a bit, said the father. She'll be in from the fair by and by and then if you don't give her the degree for the handsomest girl and the best manager that ever stepped about her house, I'll give you leave to go back to Loch Nay and spend the rest of the air days searching for her equals. Wished, Jamie said the mother, self praises no praise, no more is praise of your own flesh and blood. All the same, I wished Elsie was in to make cousin Penny the cup of tea after her travels. She was to bring a grain of the best green from Mr. McShane's in Port Rush, as well as all the news from Castle Craigie and of the doings of old lady Betty McQuillan, more power to her. Is that the old lady that's come home from India? Asked she who was called Penny McCambridge. I said the wife of Jamie eagerly. If passed through Port Rush, and you maybe have the four way of Elsie with the news, what are they saying in the town? Well, Elsie said Penny, being a stranger and spaking to few, I heard but little, but they do say that her husband was the last of the McQuillans of Castle Craigie and that as she has never a child of her own, all the McQuillans in the country are claiming, kin with her and fighting among them about which will be her heir. And is that all you know, Penny Diaz said Mary? Why, I have more nor that myself. Sure, she's written round and round to every McQuillan of them all, bidding them to a grand house warming on Wednesday, come eight days, when she'll settle it all. Unname who's to come after her. And though she's in London now, she'll be at Castle Craigie for then to resave them and sit resaving as that'll be, such fixing and furbishing as there is at the old castle. They say there never was the likes of it since the day Sir Archie McQuillan brought home his fairy bride. And then it wasn't painters and bricklayers but the good people themselves that laid hands on the rooms. She must be a queer sort of a body, said Penny. But I hope, Jamie, that you as honest a man and as good a McQuillan as ever, a one among them, I hope you haven't been shy of sending in your claim. Orc Penny, if you'd only put that much spunk into him, cried Mary with energy. It's what I'm saying to him morning, noon and night. And it's no more to him than the cricket's chirping. Stop your grumbling, Mary, said the husband. There's richer norers and there's poorer but we're not so main yet as to go craving for what we're not likely to get. It's not to McQuillan's like us that Lady Betty has sent her invite. And more shame for her, cried Mary, waxing Roth. Listen to me, cousin Penny. When Lady Betty's husband, Sir Dennis McQuillan, that's dead and gone, was nothing but plain Dennis and the youngest of seven sons, he went off and married one ordinary faced, low born lass called Betty O'Flanigan and brought her all the way from County Wexford to Castle Craig here. Thinking he had nothing to do in the world but ring the gatebell and walk in with his wife. It was Christmas time and hard weather and siege, feasting and visiting going on at the castle when all at once the news of the marriage come down like a clap on the family. It took six men to hold old Sir Patrick. He was in that mad rage and you may guess it was little welcome poor Betty got when Dennis brought her to the door. The two of them had just to turn back the way they come and it began into snow. When Jamie there, that was then the lad of 15, he was standing out by his mother's door and he spied them coming down the road. Betty had on a fine gown but she looked very lonesome, poor body and Jamie knowing what had happened, he up and he says Mrs. McQuillan says he, it's coming on a storm and it'll be hard on you going further the night, says he. And if you'll be so good as to step inside, says he, it's my mother will be glad to see you. Poor Betty was glad to hear the word and in she went and stayed there she did for two weeks till her husband got their passage taken out to Ingear. And when she was going away and bidding goodbye she says to Jamie, she says, Jamie my boy, if ever Betty McQuillan comes home from Ingear, a rich woman she'll find out you and yours. If you're above the earth and mind you, she'll pay you back your good turn. Many is the time I heard the story from Jamie's mother, rest her soul. Mary went on and it's the fine fortune Dennis and Betty made in Ingear. Two years back when the last of the brothers died without child we heard that Sir Dennis was coming back to end his days in Castle Craigie. But that news wasn't stale till we heard of his death poor man and now Betty's coming back alone, a rich woman and a fine lady. And I'll just ask you cousin Penny, if it wouldn't fit her better to be looking after Jamie there that offered her the shelter of the roof when she was in need of it. Then to be hunting up a pack of high flyers, the very set the sneered and sneaked over her disgrace in the drawing room at the castle, the day she was turned from the gates. Cousin Penny had given attentive ear to the wife and now she turned to the husband. What do you say to that now Jamie? She asked with a knowing twinkle of her shrewd bright eyes. I say this, cried Jamie, crackling and folding out his paper with energy. I say that the man or boy, it's all one, that does a good turn expecting to be paid for it, deserves no more thanks than a man that sells a cow and drives a good bargain. And I say that Mary ought to be ashamed to sit there talking of such a thing that happened 40 years ago. And if Elsie was here, she wouldn't, but good luck to her. There she is herself, gone past the window. All the three pairs of eyes would now turn to the doorway whose sunny space was obscured for a moment by as pretty a figure as any lover of fresh and pleasant sights could wish to see. This was a ripe faced, dark haired country girl with her coarse straw bonnet tipped over her forehead to save her eyes from the sun and her neat print gown tucked tidily up over her white petticoat. Come in Elsie, cried Jamie. Come in and see your cousin, Penny McCambridge from Loch Naye side. That was to have been your good mother and has come every foot of the road from that to this to see what sort of lust you've turned out. Make haste, I'll make us the cup of tea, said her mother. I hope you didn't forget to bring us a grain of the best green from Mr. McChains, good girl. And how did your eggs and butter sell? I'll lay you a shell in you haven't the sign of either one or the other to set before the stranger this day. Maybe I haven't though, said Elsie, laughing. It's by the fine good luck I put by two nice little pots under a dish before I went off this morning. And as for eggs, if Mahaffey hasn't laid one for this time of day, I'll put her in the pot for a lazy big hen. And cousin Penny will stay and help to ate her. A nice little meal was set and Elsie flung herself on a bench to rest. And now you will have breath to tell us the news, Elsie, said Mary, the mother, sipping her tea complacently. What's doing and saying in Port Rush about Lady Betty? Oh, Troth mother, said Elsie, tossing her head. Troth, I'm sick, sore and tired, hearing of the square old house she's pulled down on her back poor body. Sitch gregging and comparing you never heard since the day you were born. The friends of one McWillan and the friends of another at it hard and fast for which I'll have the best chance of corning in for the old lady's favor. And Sitch preparations, Mrs. Quinn, the housekeeper took me all through the castle to see the new grandeur. And Sitch curtains and pictures and marble images and Sitch looking glasses. Faith, when I went to the drawing room door, I thought I'd gone crazy for half a dozen other Elsie's started up in the corners and all over the walls and come to meet me with their baskets on their arms. And then there's the ballroom where the dancing's to be all hung round with green things and the floor as sleepy and as shiny as the duck pond was last Christmas in the long frost. And I went in to miss O'Trimmins, the dressmaker to see if her toothache was better. And I do declare she could hardly reach me, her little finger across the heap of silks and muslins that she had piled about her there in her room. And while I was there, a carriage dashed up to the door and out stepped the five Miss McWillans from Bali scuffling. And in they all came to have their dresses dried on. And Miss O'Trimmins kept me to hold the pins while she was fitting them. For all her girls were that busy, they could hardly stop to thread their needles and Sitch pinching and screwing. When they went away, I said to Miss O'Trimmins, I'm thankful says I that none of these gowns is for me. And she laughed and says she, I wouldn't put it past you, Elsie, to be right glad to go to the same ball if you got the chance. I'm not sure of that says I, but as for chance, my name's McWillan as well as it's theirs that were here this minute looking at me as if I was the dirt under their feet and put it to pride or not says I, but I do think if I was done up grand, I could manage to cut as good a figure in a ballroom as ever a one of them red nose things that are going to dress themselves up in all this fine grass colored satin. It was very impudent and ill done of me to make such a speech said Elsie, blushing at her confession, which had sent cousin Penny into fits of laughter. But my blood was up somehow with the looks of them old things from barley scuffling and I couldn't hold my tongue. Go on, go on Elsie dear said Penny wiping her eyes. Oh then said Elsie, she began talking the same kind of stuff that they were bothering me with the day through asking me why my father hadn't sent word to Lady Betty like the rest of the McWillans telling me we were the only ones of the name that hadn't spoken. It's just the one word in all their mouths. Mrs. McGinty that buys my eggs, she was at it. An old, done car that takes my butter from me. I thought I'd never get him talked down and Nancy McDonald that was selling sweeties in the fair and Cathy O'Neill that was going about with me all day and Mrs. McShane that I bought the tea from. Orc, I couldn't remember the one half of them. And what did you say to them Elsie dear? Asked Mary the mother insinuatingly. Why said Elsie? I told them first that all the rest of the McWillans about were ladies and gentlemen and would be creditable to Lady Betty when she made her choice. But that my father was a poor man that had nothing to do with the comings and goings of gentry. But when that wouldn't do, I up and told them that he had too much feeling for a lonely old woman coming home without a friend in her old age to think of beginning to worry her about what would be to divide after her death for ever she set foot in the country. It's a new welcome for all their fine talking said I. And if they hadn't put her and pestered her to it she would never be for doing the queer thing she's going to do on Wednesday week night. And what do you think she's going to do father? Said Elsie turning to Jamie. But she's to have a big cake made and a ring in it. And every McWillan at the feast gets a piece of the cake and whoever finds the ring as sure as he's there he's the one to share Lady Betty's fortune and come after her in Castle Craigie. Here Mary the mother began to groan and rock herself and complain of the obstinacy of people who would not stretch out their hands for a piece of that lucky cake when it might be theirs for the asking. Jamie was getting very red in the face and crumpling his paper very fiercely when Penny who had been laughing again once more wiped her eyes and taking her stick from the corner prepared to depart. It's getting far in the day. She said. And I have a good bit further to go a four night to see my old friend Maggie McClellan that lives in the windy gap. Good luck is hers. She hasn't been blown out of the house and all of all this. But I'll be back this way. She added. Don't you think you've seen the last of Penny McCamebridge cousin Jamie for faith you'll know more of me shortly. If the Lord spares me my breath for a wean more weeks. And Penny McCamebridge shook hands with her kinsfolk and trotted away down the lonen as she had come. End of section 16, section 17 of the haunted organist of Hurley Burley and other stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, not to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Maria Fatima the Silver. The haunted organist of Hurley Burley and other stories by Rosa Mow Holland. The fit of Aalcy's shoe, chapter two. It was only a few evenings after this that Aalcy was sitting on the end of the kitchen table reading the newspaper to her father. Na, na, said Aalcy, stumbling at a word. Vi, vi, ga, ga. Orc, my blessing to the word. I can't make head or tail of it. You'll read it better yourself, father. And it's time I was going feeding my hens anyhow. Aalcy, said Jamie, rubbing his spectacles. I'm feared you're turning out a bad dark after all the trouble Mr. Devnish has taken with you. You are getting a big woman, Aalcy. And there's not a thing you are bad at but the clock in. Go off to school now this very evening and give my respect to Huey Devnish and tell him to teach you how to spell navigation before you come back. Aalcy colored and her thick black lashes rested on her roasted cheeks while she tucked up her gown and needed the wet meal for the hens with her gypsy hands. But as she left the house, she looked back with a wicked little toss of her head. Then you and Huey Devnish may put it out of your heads that you'll ever make a dark Oalcy, she said. For if you were to boil down all the learning books that ever cracked a schoolmaster's skull and feed her on nothing but that for the next 10 years, he wouldn't have her one bit the learned in the hindered end. So saying she stepped out into the sun and was busy feeding her hens under the shelter of the golden haycock when she saw a servant in a showy library coming riding up the Lonan. Can you tell me where Miss Macquillan lives about here, my good girl, he asked, with a supercilious glance at Aalcy's wooden dish? No, said Aalcy, looking at him with her head thrown back. That's Jamie Macquillan's house pointing to the gable. And I'm his daughter, Aalcy, but there's no Miss Macquillan here, none nearer by this road nor barley scuffling. I beg your pardon, Miss, said the man with an altered manner, but I believe this must be for you. And then he rode off, leaving her standing staring at a dainty pink note, which she held by one corner between two mealy fingers. Miss Aalcy Macquillan said the ink on the back of the narrow satin envelope. That's me, said Aalcy with a gasp. The rest of them's all Elizabeth's and Isabella's and Aramente's. And as true as I'm a living girl, it's the Castle Craigie Library's Yon Fine Fellow's dresser, so grand in. And here's the Castle Craigie crest on this pretty little seal. It was a note of invitation to Lady Betty's ball. And in spite of her bad clocking, Aalcy was able to read it, spelling it out word after word, turning it back and forward and upside down and feeling sure all the time that somebody had played a trick on her by writing to Lady Betty in her name. She sat on a stone and made her reflections with the sun all the while burning her cheeks and making them more and more unfit to appear in the ballroom. And she thinks I'm some fine young lady in a low neck and sat in shoes, waiting already to step into her ballroom and make her a curtsy. Good luck to her. What she say if she heard Elsie's brogues hammering away on Yon Fine Sleepy floor of hers? And Elsie, as she spoke, extended one little rough shot foot and looked at it critically. Then thank you, Lady Betty, but I'm not going to make myself a laughing stock for the country yet. Who came riding up the lonan a bit ago? Elsie, said the mother, when she went in with a note safely hidden in her pocket. Riding up the lonan, is it, said Elsie. Aye, aye, said Mary. I thought I heard a horse's foot on the road, but it be to be near father Snorrin. Miss Snorrin, cried Jamie, starting and rubbing his eyes. You're dreaming yourself, Mary. Elsie, you witch, I am not going to school yet. Well, I'll go now, father, said Elsie. Maybe she thought Huey will tell me what to do with that letter before I come back. A fetched house with a row of small lattice windows blinking down at the sea in the strong sunset with a grotesque thorn looking over the more distant cable and an army of fierce holy hawks mustering about the little entry door. This was the school, and Mr. Huey Devnish was at this moment standing at his desk, writing headlines in the copy books of his pupils. A young man with a grave, busy face and one hand concealed in the breast of his coat. That hand was deformed, and so Huey Devnish had been brought up to teach school instead of to follow the plow. That such breathing had not been wasted, his face announced. Even the country people around held him in unusual respect, though he did not give them half as many long words, nor talk Latin to them, like his predecessor, Larry Omullen, who had died of hard study, poor boy, at the age of 85. Huey glanced through the window before him, got suddenly red in the face and cried, attention! In a voice which made all the lads and lasses look up from their copy books. The next moment a gypsy faced girl walked in, hung up her bonnet and sat down on the form. What's your word, Elsie McQuillan? Ask the school master, taking her book with a severe and business like air. Invitation, sir. Navigation. I mean, said Elsie, demeritably studying her folded hands. The master looked at her sharply and afterwards frown severely when on going the rounds of the desks he found, Lady Betty McQuillan, Castle Craigie and other foolish and meaningless words scrawled profanely over the page, which was to have been sacred to navigation alone. Elsie was kept in for bad conduct and locked up alone in the school after the other pupils had gone home. And there, when the school master came to release her, she was found plucking the roses that hung in at the window and sticking them in the holes for the ink bottles along the desks. A crumpled note lay open before her. We should hardly have said the school master came in for though it was Huey Devonish, he appeared in a new character. This punished girl was his wildest and least creditable pupil. And yet when he walked up to her in her disgrace, he was trembling and blushing like his own youngest scholar, coming up for a whipping. His eye caught the crumpled note and he picked it up and read it. I guessed how it was, he said, but you're surely not thinking of going. Now Elsie had intended to ask his advice, but the mischief that was in her would come out. Why should I not go as well as another? She asked pettishly. Arun, you know I would not like it, he said. And that's the reason Faith said Elsie tossing her head and beginning to pick a rose to pieces. Elsie said the young man vehemently, it was only the other day you told me here that you could like me better than all the world, better than Ned Mucklehurn for all his fine land and his presence of butter and cream, better than Mahafi the miller that gave you the fine speckled hen, better than McQuillan of the reek. Bad manners to him struck in Elsie angrily, flinging a shower of rose leafs from her hand over the desks. You promised to be my wife, Elsie. It all come a-keeping me in for bad conduct, said Elsie, swinging one foot with provoking and concern. No matter what it came of, said Huey, you promised me and you promised me as well that you wouldn't go thrusting yourself among these people that would only laugh at you for your pains. I don't know why you should think I'd be laughed at, said Elsie. Barren, you're ashamed of me. The schoolmaster's face blazed up and with all his heart in his eyes, he gazed at her where she sat with her ripe face, half turned from the sun, coming through the lattice and her dark head framed in the roses. Ashamed of you, Marvoreen, he said tenderly, no, but there might be some there that I wouldn't like you to come across a new alone and unprotected, Macquillan of the Reek. I slapped his face once, cried Elsie, firing up again, and it's not likely he'll come asking me to do it again. And there'll be others there, he went on, that would fall in love with you maybe and snatch you up from Huey before he has enough earned to marry you out of hand. And what if they did, said Elsie, with wicked coolness. What if they did, repeated Devnish slowly, looking at her with a pained appealing look, as if expecting her to retract the cruel words. I tell you what it is, Elsie. He broke out passionately, joined his left hand from its concealment. I believe it's this that's working at the bottom of all your coldness. You're tired already of a deformed lover. Go to Lady Betty's ball then and find a husband for yourself that you will not be ashamed of. Go, just as Elsie was getting pale and the tears were coming into her eyes, a little door opened and a good, humid-looking country woman came into the school room. Come into your supper, Huey, she said. Orc, is it Elsie Macquillan in Penance the night again? Girl alive, is it a love letter you're showing the master? No indeed, Mrs. Devnish, said Elsie, erecting her head. It's a note of invitation from Lady Betty Macquillan, asking me to do her the honour of dancing at her ball, at Castle Craigie, on Wednesday, come eight days. Oh, then, then, but you're the lucky girl, cried the weirdo, Devnish, clapping her hands over the note, while Huey stalked away silently to a window by himself. I declare it's as grand and as beautiful as if it was written to the queen, as Thor. And has your mother any sense left at all with the dint of the joy? She didn't see it yet, Stammered Elsie, seeing now the scrape in which she had got herself through yielding to her reckless whim of tormenting her lover. I got it just as I left home and she didn't see it yet. And you're standing up there as if nothing had happened to you, you ungrateful Colleen, said the weirdo, Devnish, pocketing the note. Wait a minute then, till I get the cloak and it's myself, I'll go home with you and help to tell the news. End of section 17, section 18 of The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and Other Stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Maria Fatima the Silver. The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and Other Stories by Rosa Mulholland. The Fit of Elsie's Shoe, chapter three. It was speedily settled between Mary McQuillan and the weirdo, Devnish. The tells he should go to the ball. I have a fine piece of yellow chainy silk, said the weirdo, Devnish, that sailor Johnny sent me from beyond, he says. It would make her a skirt, barren it wasn't too long and a hem of something else lined on behind. And I've a ducky bit of cherry tabinette, said Mary the mother. That brother Pat the weaver sent me from Dublin to make a bonnet of. It'll cut into a beautiful jockey for her. Barren, we don't make the sleeves too wide. So on the eventful night, Elsie was dressed out in yellow silk skirt and cherry colored bodice with a fine pair of stockings of Mary's own knitting with magnificent clocks up the sides. Her little bog trotting brogues were polished till you could see yourself in the toes and a pair of elegant black silk mittens covered her hands up to her little brown knuckles stretching up past her wrists to make amends for the scantiness of her sleeves. Then she had a grand pair of clanking earrings as long as your little finger which the weirdo Devnish had worn as a bride and the two mothers taking each aside of the victim's head plaited her thick black hair into endless numbers of fanciful braids which they rolled around the crown of her head and into which they planted a tortoise shell comb curved like the back of an armchair which Jamie's mother had worn at his christening and which towered over Elsie's head like manoeuvres helmet put on the wrong way. Ned Mockelhorn of the windy gap was to take her to Castle Craigie in his new spring cart and two hours before dark, Elsie was standing at the door looking longingly for a glimpse of Huey coming over the hill to see how handsome she looked in her strange finery. But Huey did not appear and vowing vengeance on him for his sulks, Elsie submitted to be packed up in the cart. But it's no use taking the room now, she said. I be to go through with it. And with desperate bravery, she said good night to Ned Mockelhorn who at her command set her down at a little distance from the entrance gates out and in of which the carriages were rolling at such a rate as made poor Elsie's heart thump against her side till it was like to burst through Pat the Weaver's cabinet. She crept in through a little side gate and up the avenue keeping as much as possible in shelter of the trees but it was not quite dark yet. And the coachman coming and going stared at her taking her maybe for some masquerading gypsy or strolling actress whom Lady Betty had engaged to amuse the company. She arrived at the hall door just in time to see a flock of young ladies in white robes float gracefully over the threshold and the absurdity of her own costume came before her in its terrible reality. Covered with confusion, she looked about to see if she could escape among the trees and hide there till morning. But one of the grand servants had espied her and under his eyes, Elsie scorned to be to retreat. What is your business here young woman? Ask this awful person as she stepped into the glare of the hall lights. I am one of Lady Betty's guests said Elsie lifting her head but a horrible tittering greeted this announcement from a crowd of other servants who were all eyeing her curiously from head to foot. Elsie was ready to sink into the earth with shame and mortification when happily the arrival of a fresh carriage full of guests diverted the general attention from herself and she heard someone saying this way miss glad to escape anywhere. She followed a servant whose face she could not see but whose voice was wonderfully familiar. Passing through an inner hall her hand was grasped by this person and she was swiftly drawn into a pantry and the door shut. Oh, Huey, Huey! cried Elsie bursting into tears and clinging to his arm. Then where did you drop from anyways? Wished Avumin said Huey we haven't a minute stay for young Chapsul be running in and out here all night but do you think Huey could rest easy at home and you and protected in this place? One of the fellows was knocked up with all the wine that's going and they were glad to give me his place and his clothes. You won't feel so lonesome. Oh, Huey, I wish I'd stayed at home as you bid me and your hand, Huey. Ock, never mind it, a store. I'll only carry small trays and the one handled do beautiful. Come now, Arun. So, resuming his character of servant, Huey squired his trembling lady-love-up Lady Betty's gilded staircase. The ball was held in an old-fashioned hall whose roof was crossed with dark rafters from which gloomy old banners were swinging. The door was partly open and Nelsie peeped in. Oh, Huey, Huey, she whispered. Take me back to the pantry. I'll lie close in a cupboard and never stir a stir till morning. It couldn't be done, darling, whispered Huey. He must put a bold face on it and take your chance. He opened the door wide and Nelsie felt herself swallowed up in a blaze of light and color with a hum in her ears as over a thousand bees all buzzing round her head at once. When she recovered from her first stunt sensation and regained consciousness of her own identity, she found herself seated side-by-side with the five Miss McWilliams from Bali scuffling, all dressed in their grass-colored satin, all with their noses redder than ever, all eyeing her ascance from her comb to her brogues and tittering just as the servants had done in the hall. A band was playing and a crowd of people were dancing, but it seemed to Nelsie whenever she looked up that nobody had got anything to do but to stare at her. When she saw the elegant slippers of the dancers, she was afraid to stir lest the hammering of her feet should be heard all over the room. And when McWilliam of the Reek came up to her and making a low bow begged the honor of dancing with her, Elsie's ears began to sing with confusion and her teeth to chatter with fright. But as she did not know how to refuse, she got up and accompanied him to where there was an empty space on the floor. The band was playing a lively tune as a quadril and Elsie, thinking anything better than standing still, felt dancing her familiar jig with energy. She had once slapped this gentleman's lace for his impertinence and she believed that he had now led her out to avenge himself by her confusion. So Elsie danced her jig and finding that the clot of her brogues was drowned by the music. She gained courage and danced it with spirit round and round her astonished partner till the lookers on cried, "'Brother!" And the laugh was turned against McWilliam of the Reek, who was after all very glad when she made him her curtsy and allowed him to take her back again to the barley scuffling maidens who had not been dancing at all and who held up their five fans before their five faces in disgust at Elsie's performance. A magic word, supper, acted like a charm on all. The crowd thinned and disappeared and nobody noticed Elsie. Every gentleman had his own partner to attend to and no one came near the little peasant girl. Elsie was very glad for she would rather endure hunger than be laughed at and she was just beginning to not asleep in her seat when in came Huey. "'I'm going to fetch you something to eat,' darling,' he said and hurried away again. And Elsie was just beginning to not asleep once more when McWilliam of the Reek came in saying the Lady Betty had sent him to conduct her Elsie to the supper room. Lady Betty was sitting at the head of the most distant table with a knife in her hand and a huge cake before her. The most substantial eatables seem to have been already discussed. For every guest had a slice of this cake on a plate before him or her. They were nibbling it and mincing it up with knives. All were silent and all looked anxious and dissatisfied. Elsie thought the silence and the dissatisfaction were all on account of her audacious entrance. "'This way,' said Lady Betty McWilliam in a voice that made Elsie start and the august hostess cleared a place at her side for our blushing heroine. The wax lights blazed on Lady Betty's golden turban and Elsie did not dare to look at her face. She sat down and Lady Betty with her own hand helped her to a small cut of the wonderful cake. Elsie was very hungry and the cake was very good. She devoured a few morsels eagerly then she ceased eating. "'Why don't you eat, child?' said Lady Betty in a voice that again made Elsie start and this time she ventured to look up. She looked up instead as if the clouds had opened above her head. There was a little withered yellow face with twinkling black eyes looking down on her, a face that she had seen before. It was Penny McCambridge from Loch Nayside who was to have been her godmother only for the unfortunate pain in her heel who was sitting there dressed up in purple velvet and a cloth of gold turban. Oh mother, what would be the end of this? Penny McCambridge be fooling all the gentry folks of the country round pretending to be the lady of Castle Craigie? Or stay, whether was Penny McCambridge acting Lady Betty McQuillan or had Lady Betty McQuillan been acting Penny McCambridge? "'Why don't you eat, child?' repeated Lady Betty as Elsie sat turning her piece of cake about on her plate. "'I'm hungry enough,' said Elsie, "'but I cannot eat this, my lady. "'Baryn, you want me to choke myself?' And Elsie held up her bit of cake in which was wedged the ring that declared her the heiress of Castle Craigie. "'Well, I need not tell how after supper "'some of the guests who were spiteful ordered "'their carriages and whirled away in disgust. "'How others who were not spiteful "'stayed and danced the morning in. "'How some who were good-natured congratulated Elsie "'on her good luck. "'How others who were quite the reverse "'yet formed on the bewildered heroine of the evening. "'How Elsie was kept close by the wonderful Lady Betty "'all the rest of the time. "'How she watched in vain for another glimpse of Huey. "'How in the end she was conducted "'was splendid bed chamber where she was frightened "'out of her senses at the grandeur of the furniture "'and could not get a wink of sleep "'for the softness of the stately bed. "'The news was not long in traveling over the country. "'And next day when the carriage dashed up "'to the foot of the loner, Jamie and his wife thought "'they were prepared to receive their fortunate daughter "'with dignity. "'But when Elsie walked into them "'in a white police and sandaled slippers, "'her bony dark eyes looking out at them "'from under a shade of a pink satin hat and feathers, "'this delusion of theirs was dispelled. "'Mary's exultation knew no bounds. "'And Jamie said, "'Can this fine lady be my daughter? "'Nervously and with tears in his eyes. "'And Elsie sat on a chair in the middle of the floor "'she had swept so often and cried "'and pulled off her fine hat "'and threw it to the furthest corner of the kitchen, "'vowing she would never leave her father and mother "'to go and live with Lady Betty. "'And Lady Betty, who was present, was not a bit angry, "'although the beautiful hat was spoiled, "'but began telling how she would educate Elsie "'and take her to see the distant world "'and how she would dress her like a princess "'and marry her to some grand gentleman "'who should bear the name of McWillan or adopt it. "'But Elsie only crying worse at this than before. "'She threw a purse of gold into Mary's lap "'and began describing all the good things "'she would do for Jamie and his wife "'if Elsie would only come with her, "'how she would build them a pretty house, "'how they should have servants to attend them "'and horses and cows and money at command. "'And Elsie, listening to this, cried more violently "'than ever with her swollen eyes staring through the door "'out to the hill that led across to Huey's. "'Then when Lady Betty had done, Mary the mother began. "'Elsie took her eyes from the open door "'and looked at the father. "'But Jamie, afraid to maw his child's brilliant prospects, "'only hung his head and said never word at all. "'Then Elsie's heart seemed to break with one loud sob. "'I'll go, Faith!' cried she. "'And may God forgive you all.' "'And rushed out of the cottage "'and down the Lonan bare-headed and weeping. "'Midway she stopped on the road "'and pulling off one of her pretty shoes. "'She flung it from her with all her might "'till it struck the trunk of a far tree "'growing on the hill that led to Huey's. "'That's the slipper to you for good luck, Huey Devnish,' she said. "'And if ever I forget you to marry a fine gentleman, "'may the Lord turn my grand gowns into rags again "'and the bit that I ate into sand in my mouth.' "'So Elsie said goodbye to home. "'The next day, Lady Betty and Miss McQuillan "'departed from Castle Craigie for the continent.' "'End of Chapter 3 of the Fit of Elsie's Shoe, "'Section 19 of the Haunted Organist "'of Hurley Burley and Other Stories.' "'This is a LibriVox recording, "'or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. "'For more information or to volunteer, "'please visit LibriVox.org, "'recording by Maria Fatima the Silver. "'The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley "'and Other Stories by Rosa Moll Holland.' "'The Fit of Elsie's Shoe, Chapter 4.' "'Four years passed away, "'and Jamie and Mary had grown accustomed "'to their improved circumstances. "'Lady Betty had improved as good as her word "'in bestowing on them all those benefits "'which she had enumerated "'when coaxing Elsie away with her.' "'Whether they were quite satisfied "'with the freak that Fortune had played with them, "'they themselves knew best. "'When the neighbour went in to see them, "'Mary had always some grand talk "'about my daughter, Miss McQuillan. "'But the widow, Devnish, often shook her head, "'saying that they were dull enough "'when nobody was by, "'and feared Elsie had forgotten them. "'Ned Mocoherd and Mahaffey, the miller, "'had each consoled himself with the wife long ago. "'Huey Devnish still taught his school, "'and his mother still called him in "'to his supper of evenings, "'but he was not the same Huey, the widow vowed, "'never since the night of Lady Betty's ball "'when he had taken the strange whim "'of going serving at the castle. "'That someone had put a charm on him that night "'from the effects of which he had never recovered "'was the widow Devnish's firm belief. "'He was as grave as a judge,' she said, "'from morning till night, "'all wrapped up in the improvement of his school, "'never would go to a dance or a fair like the young men, "'and say what she might to him "'would admit no thought of taking a wife, "'though his means would allow of it now, "'since he had got some tuitions "'among the gentry folks of the neighborhood. "'The widow Devnish was very proud of her son, "'but she was sorely afraid there was something on him, "'for strangest of all, once when she came "'into his schoolroom at dusk, "'and noticed, she saw him looking at a little kid's shoe, "'with long, silken sandals hanging from it. "'She'll forget,' he was saying, "'as he turned it about "'and wound the sandals around it. "'Of course, of course she'll forget. "'All this time, while things had been going on so "'with these vulgar and insignificant folks at home, "'neither Elsie Knob, Lady Betty, "'had been seen at Castle Craigie. "'Lady Betty surrounded her protégé "'with French, Italian, drawing, and music masters. "'But with these had Elsie concerned herself but little. "'Huey Devnish could never teach me, "'she would say, coolly, "'when they were ready to wring their hands with vexation. "'And I don't think it's likely "'here any cleverer than him.' "'However, there were some things "'that Elsie did learn in time. "'Being observant and imitative, "'she acquired a habit of speaking tolerable French. "'And when talking English, she modified, "'though she did not, by any means, give up, her brogue. "'She very soon learned to flirt a fan, "'to carry her handsome gowns with ease, "'and to develop certain original graces of manor, "'which were considered by many to be very charming "'in the pretty heiress to Lady Betty's Indian thousands. "'All together, the patroness found herself obliged "'to be content, though the young lady could read "'neither French nor Italian, "'nor yet could she play on the spinet or guitar. "'Alsie's education being thus finished, "'Lady Betty set her heart on an ambitious marriage "'for her favorite. "'She introduced her to society in Paris "'and saw her making conquests, "'right and left at the most fashionable watering places "'on the continent. "'Elsie's sparkling eyes were enchantingly foiled "'by her diamonds, "'and proposals in plenty were laid at her feet. "'But Elsie, though enjoying right merrily the homage, "'so freely paid her, only laughed at the offers of marriage, "'as though it were quite impossible to regard them "'as anything but so many very capital jokes. "'Lady Betty did not join in this view of the matter, "'but she had patience with her heiress "'for a considerable time, "'as Elsie always mollified her displeasure "'by saying on her refusal of each good match. "'I will marry a better man still, Lady Betty.' "'After four years, Lady Betty, who was a willful old lady "'and whose patience was exhausted, quarreled with her about it, "'and before she recovered her temper, she took ill and died. "'And Elsie found herself one day sad and solitary in Paris, "'without the protection of her kind indulgent friend. "'Tears would not mend the matter now, "'nor would they alter the will which Lady Betty had left behind her. "'The conditions of which were fair enough,' said Elsie's suitors, "'when the contents of the important document became known. "'One year had the impatient old lady given her chosen heiress "'in the space of which time to become a wife. "'And if at the end of that year she was still found to be a spinster, "'not a penny had she, but might go back to the cottage "'at the top of the Lohnen and take with her her father and mother "'to work for them as before, to milk her cows and feed her hens "'and persuade herself, if she liked, that her wit and her diamonds "'and her beauty and her lovers had all had their existence "'in a tantalizing dream, which had visited her between "'roosting time in the evening and cock-crow of a churning morning. "'But should she marry before the year was out, "'bestowing on her husband the name of Macquillan, "'then would the shade of Lady Betty be appeased. "'And the Indian thousands and the Irish rentals, "'together with the old ancestral halls of Castle Craigie, "'with all belonged to Elsie and the fortunate possessor "'of her wealthy little hand. "'Very fair conditions,' said the suitors, "'and proposals poured in on Elsie. "'But lo and behold, the flinty-hearted damsel "'proved as obstinate as ever, "'and in the midst of wonderment and disappointment, "'having attained the age of 21, "'and being altogether her own mistress, "'she wrote to her retainers at Castle Craigie "'to announce her arrival there upon a certain summer day. "'Great was the glory of Mary Macquillan "'when she received a letter from her daughter, "'desiring that her father and mother "'should at once take up their abode at the castle, "'being there to receive her on her arrival. "'Great indeed was her triumph "'when Miss Otrimmans sat making her a gown "'of brown velvet and the lace cap with lapets, "'in which to meet her child, "'and when Jamie's blue coat "'with a bright gold burdens came home. "'Elsie brought her whole horde of foreigners with her, "'brilliant ladies of rank, "'who called her pet and darling in broken English, "'and needy Marquises, "'and Counts with slender means, "'who were nevertheless very magnificent persons "'and still hoped to win the Irish charmer. "'Balls, plays and sports of all kinds "'went on at the castle, "'and those of the gentry folks "'who, from curiosity or a better feeling, "'came to visit Elsie, "'found her in the midst of a roomful of glittering company, "'dressed in a blue satin sack and pearl earrings, "'with her hair dipping into her eyes "'in very bewitching little curls, "'and seated between Mary in the brown velvet and lapets "'and Jamie in the new coat with the buttons. "'They went away saying she was wonderful indeed, "'considering delightfully odd and pretty, "'and they wondered which of those flaunting foreigners "'she was going to marry in the end. "'Mean time the year was flying away, "'and old neighbors of her mothers "'began to shake their heads over the fire of nights, "'and to say that if Elsie did not take care, "'she might be a penniless lass yet.' "'Things were in this position "'when, one fine morning, Ms. McQuillen, "'driving out with some of her grand-friends, "'thought proper to stop at the door "'of Huey Devnish's schoolhouse. "'The schoolmaster turned red, "'and then pale as he saw Elsie's feathers "'coming nodding in to him through the doorway, "'followed by a brilliant party of grandees, "'and two footmen dragging a huge parcel of presents "'for his girls and boys. "'Elsie Cooley set her ladies and gentlemen "'and packing the parcel and distributing its contents, "'whilst she questioned the schoolmaster upon many subjects, "'with the air of her little duchies, "'whose humor it was to make inquiries, "'and who never certainly had seen that place, "'much less conversed with that person before. "'Huey enjoyed her whim with proud patience, "'till just before she left him on opening his desk "'to restore a book to its place, "'she demanded to see a certain little dark thing "'which was peeping out from under some papers. "'Then, with evident annoyance, "'he produced a little black kid's shoe, "'so the story runs.' "'Why, it's only a slipper,' said Elsie, "'turning it about and looking at it, "'just as the widow Devnish had detected Huey in doing. "'What an odd thing to keep a shoe in the desk, "'but it looked like the cover of a book. "'Good morning.' "'As the party drove off, it is said "'that one of the gentlemen remarked "'that the schoolmaster was a fine-looking "'intelligent fellow, fit for a better station "'than that which he filled. "'And it is further said that next day, "'Elsie made a present to this gentleman "'of a snuff box worth a hundred guineas. "'When Elsie went to her room on her return home "'on this August afternoon, "'she walked over to a handsome gold casket "'which stood upon her table, "'unlocked it, and took out a little kid's slipper "'which looked as if she must have stolen it "'out of Huey's desk. "'In the soul of it was pinned a slip of paper, "'on which were scrawled in a crude hand the words. "'If I ever forget you, Huey, Devnish, "'to marry a fine gentleman, "'may the Lord turn my grand gowns into rugs again "'and the bit that I ate into sand in my mouth. "'And the Lord's going to do it very fast,' said Elsie, "'falling back into her old way of talking "'as she looked at this specimen "'of her old way of writing. "'If I do not look to it very soon "'and be keeping my word, "'and God knows, Huey, Devnish,' she added, "'as she locked her box again with a sharp snap. "'You're more of a gentleman any day "'the sun rises on you than ever before. "'Elsie will be a lady.' "'And I am given to understand that shortly after this, "'the lady of the castle sent a message to her guests "'to say that she was indisposed. "'Elsie had picked up a few pretty words from the heat "'and must beg them to excuse her absence "'from amongst them for the rest of the day. "'It was on this very evening "'that Huey Devnish was walking up and down "'his schoolroom floor, musing, I am told, "'on the impossibility of his enduring in the future "'to have Elsie coming into his school at any hour, "'she pleased, to play the mischief with his feelings. "'And the lady patroness amongst his boys and girls.' "'He had just come to the point of resolving "'to give up his labors here "'and to go off to seek his fortune in America "'when click went the latch of the door. "'And of course, things see, it must be a dream. "'In walked Elsie, not the lady bountiful of the morning "'in satin gown and nodding feathers, "'but the veritable old Elsie. "'Here, four years ago, in the same old garb, "'caught in dress, brogues, strobe on it, tipped over her nose, "'and all, where on earth did she get them? "'In which she had tripped in to him "'on that other august evening, "'of which this was the anniversary, "'when she had shown him her invitation "'to Lady Beatty's ball.' "'Now, the glooming was just putting out the glare "'of the sunset behind the lattice windows. "'And when Huey had pinched himself "'and found that he was not dreaming at all, "'he next became very sure that he had gone out "'of his senses with trouble, "'and that he was looking at an object conjured up "'before his eyes by his own diseased imagination. "'However, the apparition looked very substantial "'as it approached, and sitting down "'on the end of one of the forms, "'it displayed a paper which it unfolded in its hands, "'hands that were white instead of brown, "'making the only difference between this and the old Elsie. "'I've got a letter here, Mr. Devonish,' said Elsie's old voice, "'speaking with Elsie's old brogue, "'and in the slime's chieftain stone "'that Huey remembered well. "'And if he please, I want you to answer it for me. "'I'm a bad, dark myself, you know.' "'Not knowing what to say to her, "'he took the letter out of her hand and glanced over it. "'It was a proposal of marriage from Elsie's old tormentor, "'McQuillen of the Reek.' "'The schoolmaster was trembling, you may believe, "'with many confused ideas and sensations "'when he folded the letter and returned it. "'But he inked his pen monthly "'and produced a sheet of paper, "'then sat waiting with much patience "'for his visitor's dictation. "'But Elsie sat quiet with her eyes upon the floor, "'and so there was a cruel pause. "'Well,' says Huey, last, with a bewitched feeling, "'as if he were addressing only his pupil of old days. "'What am I to say in the answer?' "'Faith, I don't know,' says Elsie. "'But what reply do you mean to give?' asked Huey, "'Striving, we are assured, to command himself. "'Am I to say yes or no in the letter?' "'I tell ye, I don't know,' Huey, Devonish, "'said Elsie crossly. "'I gave a promise to another, "'and he never has freed me from it yet. "'I believe he'll know best "'what to put in the letter yourself.' "'Elsie,' cried Huey, rising to his feet. "'Did you come here for nothing but to drive me mad? "'Or, Avernine, is it possible you would marry me yet?' "'Faith, it is,' Huey said Elsie. "'And after the letter was written, "'they went in and had tea with the widow, Devonish. "'The next morning, Miss McQuillin appeared amongst her guests "'as if nothing had happened. "'But before night, a whisper flew from year to year "'that the heiress was engaged. "'While the lady herself did not contradict the report. "'Every man looked darkly at his neighbour, and, "'Who is he?' was the question on every lip. "'A last, it is not I,' said one noble drone, "'and flew off to seek her knee elsewhere. "'And it is not I,' said the others, one by one, "'and followed his example. "'And by and by, Elsie was left "'peacefully in possession of her castle, "'whereupon there was a quiet wedding, "'at which Mary, Jamie and the widow Devonish "'were the only guests. "'A nine-day's wonder expires on the tenth. "'And after a few years, Huey Devonish McQuillin, Esquire, "'was looked upon as no despicable person by many "'who thought their duty to sneer on his wedding day. "'End of the fit of Elsie's shoe.'