when the maybrights returned home from their disastrous picnic at troublous times castle, maggie and george brought up the rear. in consequence of their being some little way behind the others, maggie did not at once know of the fact of flower’s disappearance with the baby. she was naturally a slow girl; ideas came to her at rare intervals; she even received startling and terrible news with a certain outward stolidity and calm. still, maggie was not an altogether purposeless and thoughtless maiden; thoughts occasionally drifted her way; ideas, when once born in her heart, were slow to die. when affection took root there it became a very sturdy plant. if there was any one in the world whom maggie adored, it was her dear young mistress, miss polly maybright. often at night maggie awoke, and thought, with feelings of almost worship, of this bright, impulsive young lady. how delightful that week had been when she and polly had cooked, and housekeeped, and made cakes and puddings together! would any one but polly have forgiven her for taking that pound to save her mother’s furniture? would any one in all the world, except that dear, warm-hearted, impulsive polly, have promised to do without a winter jacket in order to return that money to the housekeeping fund? maggie felt that, stupid as she knew herself to be, slow as she undoubtedly was, she could really do great things for polly. in polly’s cause her brain could awake, the inertia which more or less characterized her could depart. for polly she could undoubtedly become a brave and active young person.

she was delighted with herself when she assisted miss maybright to descend from her bed-room window, and to escape with her on to the moor, but her delight and sense of triumph had not been proof against the solitude of the sad moor, against the hunger which was only to be satisfied with berries and spring water, and, above all, against the terrible apparition of the wife of micah jones. what maggie went, through in the hermit’s hut, what terrors she experienced, were only known to maggie’s own heart. when, however, mrs. ricketts got back her daughter from that terrible evening’s experience, she emphatically declared that “mag were worse nor useless; that she seemed daft-like, and a’most silly, and that never, never to her dying day, would she allow mag to set foot on them awful lonely commons again.”

mrs. ricketts, however, was not a particularly obstinate character, and when polly’s bright face peeped round her door, and polly eagerly, and almost curtly, demanded that maggie should that very moment accompany her on a delightful picnic to troublous times castle, and maggie herself,[pg 114] with sparkling eyes and burning cheeks, was all agog to go, and was now inclined to pooh-pooh the terrors she had endured in the hermit’s hut, there was nothing for mrs. ricketts to do but to forget her vow and send off the two young people with her blessing.

“eh, but she’s a dear young lady,” she said, under her breath, apostrophizing miss maybright. “and mag do set wonderful store by her, and no mistake. it ain’t every young lady as ’ud think of my maggie when she’s going out pleasuring; but bless miss polly! she seems fairly took up with my poor gel.”

no face could look more radiant than maggie’s when she started for the picnic, but, on the other hand, no young person could look more thoroughly sulky and downcast than she did on her return. mrs. ricketts was just dishing up some potatoes for supper when maggie flung open the door of the tiny cottage, walked across the room, and flung herself on a little settle by the fire.

“you’re hungry, mag,” said mrs. ricketts, without looking up.

“no, i bean’t,” replied maggie, shortly.

“eh, i suppose you got your fill of good things out with the young ladies and gentlemen. it ain’t your poor mother’s way to have a bit of luck like that, and you never thought, i suppose, of putting a slice or two of plum cake, or maybe the half of a chicken, in your pocket, as a bit of a relish for your mother’s supper. no, no, that ain’t your way, mag; you’re all for self, and that i will say.”

“no, i ain’t mother. you has no call to talk so. how could i hide away chicken and plum cake, under miss polly’s nose, so to speak. i was setting nigh to miss polly, mother, jest about the very middle of the feast. i had a place of honor close up to miss polly, mother.”

“eh, to be sure!” exclaimed mrs. ricketts.

she stopped dishing up the potatoes, wiped her brow, and turned to look at her daughter, with a slow expression of admiration in her gaze.

“eh,” she continued, “you has a way about you, mag, with all your contrariness. miss polly maybright thinks a sight on you, mag; seems to me as if maybe she’d adopt you, and turn you into a real lady. my word, i have read of such things in story-books.”

“you had better go on dishing up your supper, mother and not be talking nonsense like that. miss polly is a very good young lady, but she hasn’t no thought of folly of that sort. eh, dear me,” continued maggie, yawning prodigiously “i’m a bit tired, and no mistake.”

“that’s always the way,” responded mrs. ricketts. “tired and not a word to say after your pleasuring; no talking about what happened, and what miss helen wore, and if miss firefly has got on her winter worsted stockings yet, and not a mention of them foreigners as we’re all dying to hear[pg 115] of, and not a word of what victuals you ate, nor nothing. you’re a selfish girl, maggie ricketts, and that i will say, though i am your mother.”

“i’m sleepy,” responded maggie, who seemed by no means put out by this tirade on the part of her mother. “i’ll go up to bed if you don’t mind, mother. no, i said afore as i wasn’t hungry.”

she left the room, crept up the step-ladder to the loft, where the family slept, and opening the tiny dormer window, put her elbows on the sill and gazed out on the gathering gloom which was settling on the moor.

the news of the calamity which had befallen polly had reached maggie’s ears. maggie thought only of polly in this trouble; it was polly’s baby who was lost, it was polly whose heart would be broken. she did not consider the others in the matter. it was polly, the polly whom she so devotedly loved, who filled her whole horizon. when the news was told her she scarcely said a word; a heavy, “eh!—you don’t say!” dropped from her lips. even george, who was her informer, wondered if she had really taken in the extent of the catastrophe; then she had turned on her heel and walked down to her mother’s cottage.

she was not all thoughtless and all indifferent, however. while she looked so stoical and heavy she was patiently working out an idea, and was nerving herself for an act of heroism.

now as she leant her elbows on the sill by the open window, cold fear came and stood by her side. she was awfully frightened, but her resolve did not falter. she meant to slip away in the dusk and walk across peg-top moor to the hermit’s hut. an instinct, which she did not try either to explain away or prove, led her to feel sure that she should find polly’s baby in the hermit’s hut. she would herself, unaided and alone, bring little pearl back to her sister.

it would have been quite possible for maggie to have imparted her ideas to george, to her mother, or to some of the neighbors. there was not a person in the village who would not go to the rescue of the doctor’s child. maggie might have accompanied a multitude, had she so willed it, to the hermit’s hut. but then the honor and glory would not have been hers; a little reflection of it might shine upon her, but she would not bask, as she now hoped to do, in its full rays.

she determined to go across the lonely moor which she so dreaded alone, for she alone must bring back pearl to polly.

shortly before the moon arose, and long after sunset, maggie crept down the attic stairs, unlatched the house door, and stepped out into the quiet village street. her fear was that some neighbors would see her, and either insist on accompanying her on her errand, or bring her home. the village, however, was very quiet that night, and at nine[pg 116] o’clock, when maggie started on her search, there were very few people out.

she came quickly to the top of the small street, crossed a field, squeezed through a gap in the hedge, and found herself on the borders of peg-top moor. the moon was bright by this time, and there was no fear of maggie not seeing. she stepped over the ground briskly, a solitary little figure with a long shadow ever stalking before her, and a beating, defiant heart in her breast. she had quite determined that whatever agony she went through, her fears should not conquer her; she would fight them down with a strong hand, she would go forward on her road, come what might.

maggie was an ignorant little cottager, and there were many folk-lore tales abroad with regard to the moor which might have frightened a stouter heart than hers. she believed fully in the ghost who was to be seen when the moon was at the full, pacing slowly up and down, through that plantation of trees at her right; she had unswerving faith in the bogey who uttered terrific cries, and terrified the people who were brave enough to walk at night through deadman’s glen. but she believed more fully still in polly, in polly’s love and despair, and in the sacredness of the errand which she was now undertaking to deliver her from her trouble.

from mrs. ricketts’ cottage to the hermit’s hut there lay a stretch of moorland covering some miles in extent, and maggie knew that the lonely journey she was taking could not come to a speedy end.

she knew, however, that she had got on the right track and that by putting one foot up and one foot down, as the children do who want to reach london town, she also at last would come to her destination.

the moon shone brightly, and the little maid, her shadow always going before her, stepped along bravely.

now and then that same shadow seemed to assume gigantic and unearthly proportions, but at other times it wore a friendly aspect, and somewhat comforted the young traveler.

“it’s more or less part of me,” quoth maggie, “and i must say as i’m glad i have it, it’s better nor nought; but oh ain’t the moon fearsome, and don’t my heart a-flutter, and a pit-a-pat! i’m quite sure now, yes, i’m quite gospel sure that ef i was to meet the wife of micah jones, i’d fall flat down dead at her feet. oh, how fearsome is this moor! well, ef i gets hold of miss pearl i’ll never set foot an it again. no, not even for a picnic, and the grandest seat at the feast, and the best of the victuals.”

the moon shone on, and presently the interminable walk came to a conclusion. maggie reached the hermit’s hut, listened with painful intentness for the baying of some angry dogs, pressed her nose against the one pane of glass in the one tiny window, saw nothing, heard nothing, finally lifted the latch, and went in.