Part 2 — CHAPTER IV.

eanwhile, Mrs. Shelley had washed and dressed her own three boys, and had introduced the little stranger to the two elder, Charlie, the baby, being already on intimate terms with his foster sister, for whose sake he had to submit to much less attention than had hitherto fallen to his share, for which reason he was unusually cross this morning. Willie, the second boy, the living image of his father, was barely three years old, and too young to pay much attention to the baby, or to understand that it had arrived in an unusual way; but Jack, the eldest boy, quite took it in, and stood lost in admiration of the wonderful baby with its beautiful clothes, so unlike Charlie's, and the lovely coral and bells, as his mother showed them all to him. Jack was five years old, a tall, strong child for his age, and very like his mother in face; he had her quick temper, too, though Mrs. Shelley had hers pretty well under control, while little Jack often got into trouble by giving way to his. Nothing ever escaped Jack's notice; he was always all ears and eyes, and he took in every detail of the strange baby's belongings as intelligently as his mother could have done, and, to her joy, for she was by no means sure what kind of a welcome Jack, who resented the arrival of little Charlie, saying, "Mother didn't want anyone else to love her when she had him," would give to the strange baby, he was enchanted with it, and was as anxious as Mrs. Shelley herself to keep it.

"It is the fairies' baby; they brought it, didn't they, mother? We will always, always keep it, won't we?"

"I don't quite know yet, Jack; father says perhaps we shall have to send it away," said Mrs. Shelley.

"It shan't go away. How dare father say so? He is a wicked man to want to send it away," cried the boy, with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks.

"Jack, I am ashamed of you; you must not speak of your father in that way; if he says it is to go away it must go, whether we like it or no."

Jack hung his head and hid his face on his mother's shoulder, while she, remembering how indignant she had been with the shepherd for hinting at sending it away the night before, stooped and kissed her boy's curly head, and Jack raised his head again and renewed his attentions to the baby.

"What a pretty little thing it is; see how it holds my finger. I think it will love me, mother, though it is not my real sister. Oh! do make father keep it, will you?"

For the first time since Mrs. Shelley had had the baby, she now hesitated about keeping it; the boy had unconsciously struck a wrong chord, and his mother, with a prophetic instinct, coupled with a quick imagination, for a moment saw that it was possible this little stranger who, as Jack had already grasped, was not his real sister, might, in future years, destroy the harmony and peace of the home circle. But it was only a momentary hesitation; the thought flashed across her mind and vanished again, almost as quickly as it had come. Could she have known how true that prophetic instinct was, would she not have gone counter to all her own inclinations, and disregarded all Jack's wishes and prayers, rather than have run the risk of introducing strife into her peaceful household? As it was, the motherly pity she felt for the baby was stronger at the moment than the foreboding light which had flashed across the distant future, and she answered hurriedly—

"I must go and see Mr. Leslie first, dear, and hear what he says; do you think you could take care of Charlie while I am gone with the baby? I shall take Willie with me, or he will be getting into mischief."

Jack, proud to be of use to his mother, professed his ability to look after Charlie, privately regretting it was not the beautiful strange fairies' baby which was to be left under his charge.

"Jack, I can't be back before the clock has struck twelve; it is now half-past ten, so it will strike twice before I come back, do you understand; and both the hands will have to be on the twelve at the top, do you see? So now, if it seems a long time, do not be frightened, I shall be back soon after twelve. If baby cries, rock the cradle, but don't try to take him out; if he sleeps you may wash the potatoes for dinner. Now, good-bye," and Mrs. Shelley, with the infant in her arms and Willie running by her side, set off to the Rectory, while Jack stood at the door watching her out of sight.

The first half-hour passed quickly enough. The baby slept, and Jack washed the potatoes, and was delighted when the clock struck eleven. But the next hour was interminably long, and little Jack got very tired of rocking Charlie, who was awake now, and would scream every time his brother stopped rocking. Every few minutes Jack ran to the door to see if his mother was coming, and then ran back and rocked violently at the cradle. At last he thought he heard footsteps, and, running to look, saw, not his mother, but Dame Hursey, making her way towards the house.

Now, Jack did not care about Dame Hursey's visits even when his mother was at home. He was half afraid of the witch-like old woman, and to have a visit from her while he was alone was the last thing he desired, so he came in quickly and banged the door, hoping she would think they were all out and go away, if only he could keep Charlie quiet. But Dame Hursey had seen and heard the door shut, and so, after knocking two or three times without any result, she quietly lifted the latch and walked in, while Jack, who was kneeling by the cradle, looked up, half defiantly, half frightened.

"Mother is out; there is no one at home but me," said Jack, sharply.

"Oh, is she? Well, I'll sit and rest a bit till she comes in. Who have you got there in that cradle?"

"Charlie, my new brother," said Jack.

"And where is the fairies' baby? Ah! you see, I know all about it. I know everything; there is no keeping secrets from me. That is the shawl it was brought in, isn't it, now?" said Dame Hursey, rising and examining minutely the Indian shawl in which the baron had wrapped his daughter, and which was lying on a chair.

Jack, more convinced than ever that Dame Hursey was a witch, thought perhaps she might be able to tell him where the fairies had brought the baby from if he were civil to her, so he answered all her questions and described minutely all the baby's belongings.

"Ah! well, it is the Pharisees you have to thank for bringing her here. Mind you all take care of her, and one of these fine days she'll turn into a beautiful princess and make you all very rich; but if you talk much about her the fairies will be angry and take her away. You tell your mother I said so; I can't wait any longer."

And Dame Hursey, who had been prying about the kitchen to see if she could find any other belongings of this mysterious baby, took her departure, much to Jack's joy.

Shortly after she left Mrs. Shelley came home, and Jack was so full of Dame Hursey's visit and her account of the fairies' child that he forgot to ask the result of his mother's interview with the rector, while Mrs. Shelley, on the other hand, was not at all pleased to find Dame Hursey had been prying about her cottage in her absence, and congratulated herself on not having left any of the baby's little garments about, for she might never have found them again if she had.

The next day the rector called and had a long talk with the shepherd and his wife about the baby, though he could throw but little light upon it, except, of course, to utterly discredit the ridiculous notion that the fairies had brought it. That it belonged to rich people was clear from its clothes; and to foreigners, from the coronet, which was certainly not English. More the rector could not say, except that its parents evidently wanted to get rid of it, and had connived at placing it on the shepherd's doorstep.

As to keeping it, that was a point entirely for the shepherd and his wife to decide. If they chose to send it to the workhouse, no one could blame them for doing so. He doubted exceedingly anyone ever claiming it, but he advised Mrs. Shelley to lock up all its clothes and things in case of their being needed for identification at any future period. He also counselled them, if they thought of keeping the child, to weigh the matter well before they decided, as it would be cruel kindness to take it in for a time and then tire of it and send it to the union.

But John Shelley was not a man to do this, as his wife well knew. If he decided to keep the child he would do his duty by it, and go to the workhouse himself before he suffered that to do so. All that day John was very thoughtful, but when he came in to supper that night he told Mrs. Shelley he had made up his mind, and they would keep the baby and bring it up as their own daughter. Here, however, Mrs. Shelley raised an objection.

"We will keep it, by all means, John, but we can't bring a delicate little thing like this up as we shall our own strong boys, who must work for their living. This child may be claimed any day by its parents, so we must try and have it educated like a lady when it gets old enough."

John was inclined to dispute the wisdom of this; but as its education was a thing of the far future, he very wisely thought it was useless to discuss it, and resolved to let matters shape themselves, feeling sure the baby would take its own place as it grew older. One matter puzzled the good shepherd sorely. He was most particular in having his own children baptised when they were a month old, and they could not tell whether this baby had been baptised or no, though the rector thought its parents were most likely Roman Catholics, in which case it would be sure to have been christened, as it was two or three months old.

The next question was, what was it to be called? For, if baptised, they had no means of discovering its name. But here Jack came to the rescue.

"Let's call her Fairy, mother. Dame Hursey says she is a fairy, and it is a pretty name."

"So it is, my son; and though she is no fairy, but a real child like you, we will call her Fairy. It is a very good name for her, and when she is old enough we will tell her why," said the shepherd.

And so Fairy was the little stranger called as long as she lived in the shepherd's family.

(To be continued.)