After they had finished and packed up the lunch things, Miss Campbell, following a time-honored custom, pillowed her head on one of the motor car cushions and took a nap.
Maria also was inclined to be silent. Leaning against one of the old grave stones she closed her eyes and relaxed into a half-sleeping, half-waking state that only those who lead very busy lives can really enjoy. And Maria was a very busy woman indeed for ten months out of the twelve.
The four young girls slipped away to explore the ancient ruins.
“I should think the ghosts of the departed who are buried here would like to come back, if only to see the scenery again,” remarked Mary.
“I should not be afraid of such a gentle ghost as that, who returned to look at a view,” said Billie. “But I shouldn’t care to see a skeleton in a monk’s dress sitting in one of these cells. Isn’t that what the housemaid told us her grandfather had seen?”
“Yes, and the skeleton monk beckoned to him with a bony finger to follow, and he believed it was to show him a place where treasure was buried, and fell into a ditch and broke his leg and the monk crumbled into nothing,” finished Mary.
“Like most ghost stories,” added skeptical Billie.
“I think I could believe in ghosts and fairies, too, if I lived here,” continued Mary. “There is a fairy glen around here somewhere, and if you find the place where the magic circle is,—it isn’t everybody who can see a magic circle; it takes a special kind of eye,—and then lie down flat and peep through a little hole in a leaf from an oak tree,—if you look long enough, you can see tiny processions of ancient peoples.”
The girls laughed softly. It was a joy to draw Mary out on her favorite subjects.
“And then,” she went on, “there is the Queen of the Salmon. She is a fairy and not a fish, and all the salmon are her subjects.”
“Are there any bad fairies?” asked Nancy.
“Oh, yes, and unless people are careful they will steal young babies from the cradles and leave changeling elves in their places.”
“Dear me,” exclaimed Billie. “How does one know whether one is one’s self or a changeling elf? Am I a changeling elf, do you think?”
There was a gay rollicking laugh from somewhere after this remark of Billie’s; just one uncontrollable guffaw and then perfect silence.