CHAPTER I. HEARD AT INGLESIDE

"And the Fairy sang to the poor child, and stroked its tangled hair, and smoothed its puckered cheeks.

"And it sang and sang until the little face that had been full of trouble grew bright with the cheer of heartsease.

"And still the Fairy sang and sang until, from very peacefulness, the child's eyes began to droop and softly close, just as the flowers droop and hang their pretty heads at twilight-song.

"And the Fairy sang on and on until the little creature in its arms had floated into[Pg 12] Dreamland, and then had passed far beyond Dreamland into Fairy Town. And the child skipped through green fields and grassy meadows, went dancing through beds of flowers, and flying in and out of bushes full of sweetest scents. It drank the honey-drops the bees love, and sipped syrup of flowers, the humming-bird's food. And it heard ripples of music, such as are heard only in Fairy Town, and saw lovely little objects with wings of gauze, and eyes like sparks of light.

"And the Fairy sang and sang, and the child dreamed and dreamed, until every shadow of its life had faded away. And still it dreamed and dreamed—"

"Sally! Sally!"

The little girl that had been listening under the hedge close to the stone wall, jumped at the sound of her name.

Oh, dear! must she go back to Slipside Row, and hear the scolding voice of Mistress Cory Ann Brace, after being lifted almost into the[Pg 13] clouds, and having a tiny peep into Fairy Town?

Could she come back to earth again, and cook, and scrub, and sew, and do all kinds of hard things, after hearing that wonderful scrap of glory about the dear, beautiful creatures called the Fairies?

"Sally! Sally!"

"Yes, Mistress Cory Ann, I'm coming."

Swiftly back through Shady Path and Lover's Lane ran Sally, her frowsly head full of the strange, sweet fragment of fairy song that she had heard.

"Now, where've you been?" cried Mistress Cory Ann, as Sally came panting into the Row. "Not up to Ingleside, I hope! I had to run way up the path to make you hear. Haven't I told you more'n a hundred times you'd better keep away from there? Just let the people up at the big house catch you pokin' around, and back you'll come faster'n ever you went. Do you hear, Sally Dukeen?"

Strange it would have been had not Sally[Pg 14] heard, for Mistress Cory Ann's voice was loud enough to have reached way across Lover's Lane. But Sally answered truthfully.

"Yes, I hear, Mistress Cory Ann, and I have not been on the Ingleside grounds at all."

No, she only had been roaming on the borders of the beautiful place, then hiding close to the stone wall.

A poor, hard-worked little girl it was that had raced back to Slipside Row. And no one to glance at her would have thought her pretty at all.

The people who lived in the row of houses were poor, but they all liked Sally. Yet all they knew about her was that her father had boarded with his little girl at Mistress Cory Ann Brace's house, when Mistress Brace lived in another town, and in a much finer house than any at Slipside Row. But he soon died, leaving his little girl, and some money, in Mistress Brace's care.

No one knew about the money, however, except Mistress Brace herself, but had it been[Pg 15] used as it should have been, there would have been enough to have lasted some time, paying for the child's coming needs. But Mistress Brace hid it away, meaning to do with it exactly as she pleased, while she still kept Sally, because, being a smart and willing child, she could be of great use. Then Mistress Brace moved to a place called "The Flats," where she lived three years; now she had lived three more years at Slipside Row.

The mistress was not really cruel to Sally, neither was she kind. And very constantly at work she kept her, sweeping, cooking, sewing; in fact, doing anything that a growing child of eleven years could do. And if ever Sally grew tired, and was not brisk as usual, Mistress Brace would say that it was to the Town House she must go.

Now Sally had seen old Gran'ther Smithers and Aunt Melindy Duckers, who lived at the Town House, and she often had seen the old building itself, set far back in a grassy road that was not at all unpleasant, but so dreadful[Pg 16] was the thought of ever having to go there herself, that no matter what Mistress Brace required of her, she tried her best to do it.

But one great help and comfort was coming to good little Sally. An ignorant woman was Mistress Brace, for indeed she could scarcely more than read and write, and she cared more for money and show than she did for better things, such as learning and filling the mind with useful knowledge.

People who know but little are likely to be superstitious; they are very quick to believe foolish and untrue sayings, or things that in the least alarm them, perhaps having in them something to dread.

One day, who should come along but a kind old colored woman, who sometimes passed the corner house of Slipside Row, and noticed how much work the little girl who lived there always had to do. On this particular day, the next one after Sally had listened to the Fairy story, as Mammy Leezer saw her scrubbing the steps,[Pg 17] she said to Mistress Brace, who was standing at a little distance:

"And when do lil Missy go outen to play?"

"Children have no need to waste time in playing," snapped Mistress Brace, and she glanced around, hoping Sally could not hear. "Don't you go a-talking! Sally's out o' doors nearly all the time; what more can she want, I should like to know?"

The old black woman shook her head several times, and looked sly and knowing, as she said in her sweet old voice:

"Jus' you keep lil Missy at work all de time and see what happen! Chillerns should have a good long play hour eb'ry day. Chillerns should hab their suppers right early, an' de chile dat have to work affer de supper's down her frote, doan't you go a-asting me what happen to de pusson dat makes her do de work! Doan't you go a-asting me dat!"

Mammy rolled her eyes, tossed up her dusky hands, and away she trundled as if things too dreadful to be spoken were in her mind. And[Pg 18] Mistress Cory Ann for once forgot to scold, because of a creepy feeling that seemed travelling up her spine. She did not say a word then, neither was there danger that she might forget what Mammy Leezer had said.

Mammy lived in her cabin at "the quarters," at Ingleside, but was getting old and lame, and but little work was required of her. A famous cook and nurse she had been in her day, but now she had "de rheumatiz" in her "jints," and a touch of "de asthmy" often at night.

So beyond doing fancy cooking, when there was company at the mansion, or now and then tending some one who was ill, Mammy sat serenely smoking her pipe at the cabin door, while knitting socks "for de men folkses." And she declared herself "a berry comforable ole pusson," in spite of her aches and pains.

Oh, wonder of wonders! That night, to Sally's astonishment and great delight, did Mistress Cory Ann tell the child that "for reasons" she would herself wash the supper dishes, and she added:

[Pg 19]"After this, whenever you have worked well through the day, I reckon I don't care what you do with yourself after supper, only that you need not stray far away; I might be wanting you."

Supper at Mistress Cory Ann's was not much of an affair, but as she boarded two or three hired men, plenty of dishes there always were to be washed, and nearly bedtime it would be before Sally could get cleared up.

But, now, oh, joy! as soon as that meal was over, Sally was to be free, free! Up she rushed to her cubby of a room in the attic, caught up a piece of looking-glass she had found one lucky day up by the great house, and peering at her own queer little image in the bit of mirror, she piped, in tones of great glee:

"Did you hear that, Sally Dukeen? Did'st hear that, little Mistress Sally!"

[Pg 20]CHAPTER II. THE GREAT HOUSE

Of all things lovely and full of fascination in Sally's little narrow world, everything in and about Ingleside stood far and away the highest in her eyes.

It was her delight, her admiration, her dream by day and her dream by night. Ingleside! With its wide-spreading mansion, its far-reaching plantation that was, after all, but a short run for an agile child from Slipside Row.

Had Sally known the meaning of such a word as "romance," which is a sweet and wonderful story, or happening, or dream, she would have known that the chief bewitchment of her life sprang from the dear romance that to her fancy was all about fair Ingleside.

Because, from the time that she had been[Pg 21] brought to Slipside Row, when a bright little child of eight years, with a keen imagination and great love for all that was tasteful and beautiful, it had become the greatest charm she had ever known to race, whenever she could, through Lover's Lane and Shady Path, to some part of Ingleside.

Now, when it is told that the great house, the immense garden, the fields, stables, cabins, store-sheds, and far-reaching plantation of Ingleside formed the mansion and estate of one Colonial "place," you will understand that it was the home of a Southern planter.

For Maid Sally lived more than a hundred years ago, and in truth nearly half as long again. And Slipside Row was in the smiling South, on the border of Williamsburg, a town of the colony of Virginia. And the seat of government for all the colonies of America was at Williamsburg in those days. But there were few large towns anywhere in the country then.

It was common at that time for a man to own so large a place that it had a name of[Pg 22] its own, and was a settlement of itself. Sir Percival Grandison, the master of Ingleside, had come from England, and as he wanted his place to remind him of the old country, he called it Ingleside. For in the sweet Scotch tongue, "ingleside" means "fireside," or ingle may mean fireplace, or chimney-corner; so you see it gave a home feeling to the place, calling it "Ingleside."

There was a large garden before the house, so wide and deep that quite a walk it was up the path of pebbles from the gate to the house. Here were great flower-beds, bordered around with thick green box, or with fragrant little pinks, or, perhaps, with tufts of white sweet alyssum. And here were all kinds, also, of rich, old-fashioned blooms: roses of damask, moss roses, the flush multiflora, and china rose; blush roses, wee Scotch roses, and the sweet white garden rose; great peonies, pink and red, sweet-william, marigolds, phlox, both pink and white, bachelor's-buttons, columbine, oleanders, large white magnolia blossoms, cockscomb, prim and[Pg 23] fine, poppies, asters, portulacas, prince's-feather, snowballs, dahlias, and lilies of many kinds.

Dear, dear! how could one ever begin to tell of the loveliness and perfume of just one old-time garden, mignonette, fuchsias, heliotrope, and geraniums sending out their strong, delightful tints and fragrance with the rest?

Farther along, striped grass, mints, herbs and balsams made the air heavy with spicy odors when the dew was on the grass.

The mansion was built on the generous, old-time plan. There were high porches at the front, with white, fluted pillars, an enormous front door, with a fan-window over the top, and side-lights of high, narrow panes of glass. On the stoep, or stoop, were benches at the side, painted white, where one might sit out in the cool of the day.

Inside, immense fireplaces told of good cheer on chilly nights, when a bright wood fire made the big knobs on the burnished andirons, or "fire-dogs," seem as if alive with glancing light. Great sofas, wide, high-backed and deep, covered[Pg 24] with tapestry or brocades, lace hangings, wide chairs, ottomans, antimacassars, or tidies, footstools, high-backed chairs, with seats wrought in worsted work, pier-glasses, reaching almost from floor to ceiling, pictures, a piano, something quite new then, a carpet, another new luxury, also a spinet, a kind of piano of wiry sound, a violin, and lute, all were in the ample drawing-room.

In the hall were portraits, some very old, and swords, ancient bows and arrows, and a few old battle scenes adorned the walls. The newels, or posts, at the foot of the banisters, bore great carved figures of sea-serpents and griffins, strange animals, part lion, part eagle.

The dining-room had always fresh white sand upon the floor, had also heavy carved furniture, and against the walls were pictures of hunting scenes, and many a pictured feast or revel.

Up-stairs were great square rooms with painted floor and home-made mats in abundance. Bedsteads, with high posts and "testers," or canopies overhead. Furniture, covered with[Pg 25] chintz, looked fresh and fine, while bedspreads, valances, or side-flounces for the beds, tester, curtains, dressing-table, and mirror, all were made, bordered, or trimmed, with brightly flowered chintz.

The spare room, or "parlor-chamber," was delightfully cool and pure looking, decked out in white dimity, stiff with starch, and full of an air of grandeur.

The cook-room of the house was at the rear of the mansion, apart from it, and the different dishes were carried through a covered passage. Afar down the grounds were the stables, back of them the quarters of the black servants, and still beyond, the wide plantation or tobacco fields.

At one side of the garden, midst lawn and shrubbery, was a stone wall bounding one part of the grounds, and close to this wall was a little summer-house, or arbor, where the young people liked to stray of an evening, and enjoy the cool, sweet breezes of the fair Southland.

Just outside this high, bordering wall, was a[Pg 26] thick hedge nearly as high as the wall itself, and with but the merest space between. And here it was, between wall and hedge, that Sally, poor, half-neglected little Maid Sally, was wild to cut over from Slipside Row and hide herself.

Because, ah! because she had found out that young Lionel Grandison, son of Sir Percival and Lady Gabrielle Grandison, was in the habit of roving over to the arbor after supper with his books, and supposing himself alone, would often read aloud.

But now, his cousin, the Lady Rosamond Earlscourt, was spending the summer at Ingleside, and Lionel, sixteen, tall, straight, and manly in his boyish beauty, was reading aloud evenings to his fair cousin Rosamond and his sister, Lucretia Grandison, a Fairy story.

He had read later than usual the night before, and, ah! it was almost as if a Fairy had lifted her lightsome wand and granted some great boon when Mistress Cory Ann said to Sally that after supper she could go where she liked, and work would be over for the day.

[Pg 27]That would give her time in which to do a bit of prinking, even such as pulling out her tangled locks and putting her poor little dress as straight as she could, then to run over to Ingleside at about the time that supper would be over there, and Lionel would begin his delightful reading.

No wonder Sally squeezed her own spare little sides with delight, as she realized that now unless it rained she could fly night after night to her enchanted grounds, and hear the clear voice of young Lionel Grandison reading the beautiful Fairy tale.

Yes, it was of a truth like a piece of Fairy luck that had come into the child's lonely life.

[Pg 28]CHAPTER III. THE END OF FAIRY TOWN

Sally had not heard the first part of the Fairy story, but what she had heard was remembered, every word.

And enough it was for her to know that some poor little child had been charmed to rest in a Fairy's arms, and had wandered, in sweet dreams, off to Fairy Town.

She went next day about her work scarcely thinking of what her hands were doing, and so full were her thoughts of the lovely flowers and meadows of Fairy Town that she had paid no attention when Mammy Leezer stood talking with Mistress Brace.

Even Mammy Leezer usually looked to her like a favored person, and a little of the glamor, or charm, that was about everybody and everything belonging to Ingleside, was about[Pg 29] Mammy Leezer, too. Several times the old woman had spoken to her, and Sally liked well the "sugary" sound of her voice, as she called it in her own mind.

But to-day so full was her mind of the Fairy book that she scrubbed away at the steps never caring what was being said just beyond her, so she did not know that it was what Mammy Leezer had said that made Mistress Cory Ann give her the whole long twilight and even-song to herself.

It made no difference. Enough for her that, supper ended, off she could fly, and in her own particular cubby between hedge and wall could hear more of the beloved story.

A very fortunate thing for Sally had happened a short time before this, although it might be that no one remembered it. Two or three great stones had loosened at the top of the wall near the arbor, and after repairing, the workmen had left a couple of large stones, one on top of the other, between the hedge and the wall.

[Pg 30]This formed a grand seat for Sally, as after perching on the upper stone her head was only a little below the wall, and distinctly she could hear what was said in the arbor. But she must needs push her way through the hedge at quite a little distance beyond the seat, where the stiff branches were thinner, as at that particular spot they were of a thickness to sadly tear her clothes and dreadfully scratch her skin should she try to get through.

But the little girl knew exactly where to worm her thin little body past the hedge, take a twist or two, and there she was, all the more completely hidden that the screen was so thick near her seat. It never occurred to her that perhaps she ought not to listen. Too untaught a child was Sally to know that, and, oh! the delight and comfort of it all!

It has been said that Sally was imaginative, and a great thing it was for her, too. Because, don't you see, no matter how hard she might be working, she could fancy, or imagine herself, floating off to Dreamland in a Fairy's arms, even[Pg 31] like the child in the story. Or, in her poor little attic room, she could imagine herself dressing up before a great, grand mirror, and getting ready for a party at Ingleside.

Now, it has also been said that Sally was not pretty to look at, but here is the truth of the matter: Sally had dull red hair, and a great deal of it. It was the kind of red that turned to ruddy gold when the sun shone on it. Her features were fine, straight, and what are called "well cut." Her eyes were a dark reddish brown, growing darker when she was troubled or excited, hazel eyes, getting darker with every year of her life. Then, strangely enough, both eyebrows and eyelashes were almost black, and the lashes long and curling.

But what child, pray, ever looked pretty, no matter how fine her features, who was only half clean, wore poor, ill-fitting, unbecoming clothes, and whose matted hair might indeed have been a disordered wig merely thrown on to her head?

Sally's teeth had "come in" very evenly, and had she not been brown as a little Indian[Pg 32] from being out bareheaded in nearly all weathers, her skin would have been white and rosy red.

So, see you can, that although the child looked plain, and even homely, she yet had "points," as we say, of great beauty. And then, although Sally did not look like a brilliant child, she yet was "bright as a dollar." That must mean a new silver dollar, which you know is very bright and sparkles in the light. Just as maid Sally would have brightened and sparkled had she been in the light of a good home, with kind parents to teach her as a child needs to be taught.

Oh, but not a word has yet been said about her heart, her dear, childish heart. Very well; it was a kind, warm, want-to-do-right kind of heart. And this it was that made the people of Slipside Row like poor little Sally; it was the good heart beating under her shabby little gown.