The Mask of the Enchantress

Three Wishes in an Enchanted Forest

I am trapped. I am caught in a web, and it is small comfort to me that that web is of my own weaving. When I think of the magnitude of what I have done I am overcome by a numb terror. I have behaved in a wicked manner, I know, perhaps a criminal manner; and every morning when I wake there is a heavy cloud over me, and I ask myself what fresh disasters there are in store for me this day.

How often have I wished that I had never heard of Susannah, Esmond and the rest—particularly Susannah. I wish that I had never had that glimpse of Mateland Castle, so noble, so gracious, with its massive gatehouse, its gray walls and battlements like something out of a medieval romance. Then I should never have been tempted.

In the beginning it had all seemed so easy and I had been desperate.

"Dat ole Debil be at youse elbow tempting you," my old friend Cougaba on Vulcan Island would have said.

It was true. The Devil had tempted me, and I had succumbed to temptation. That is why I am here in Mateland Castle, trapped and desperate, seeking a way out of a situation which every day is becoming more and more dangerous.

It all goes back a long way—in fact it started before I was born. It is the story of my father and mother; it is Susannah's story as well as mine. But when I first began to be aware that there was something unusual about me, I was just six years old.

I spent those early years in Crabtree Cottage on the village green of Cherrington. The church dominated the green and there was a pond in the center where every fine day the old men would take their places on the wooden seat there and talk the morning away. There was a maypole on the green, too, and on May Day the villagers chose a queen and there were wonderful celebrations which I used to watch through the slats in the wooden Venetian blinds at the parlor window if I could escape the stern eyes of Aunt Amelia.

Aunt Amelia and Uncle William were very religious, and they said that the maypole should have been removed and such pagan ceremonies done away with; but I was thankful to say that that was not the view of the rest of us.

How I used to long to be out there, bringing in the green from the woods, and taking one of the strands and dancing round the maypole with the May Day frolickers. I thought it must be the height of bliss to be chosen as the May queen. But one had to be sixteen at least to qualify for that honor, and at the time I was not yet six.

I accepted the strangeness of my life and I suppose would have gone on doing so for a while if it had not been for the nods and hints going on around me. Once I heard Aunt Amelia say: "I don't know if we did right, William. Miss Anabel begged me and I gave way."

"There's the money," Uncle William reminded her.

"But it's condoning sin, that's what it is."

Uncle William assured her that no one could say they had sinned.

"We've condoned a sinner, William," she insisted.

William replied that no blame could be attached to them. They had done what they were paid to do and it might be that they could snatch a soul from hellfire.

"The sins of the fathers are visited on the children," Aunt Amelia reminded him.

He just nodded and went out to his woodshed where he was carving a crib for the church at Christmas.

I began to realize that Uncle William was less preoccupied with being good than Aunt Amelia was. He smiled now and then —true, it was rather a twisted sort of smile as though he was ashamed of it, but it sometimes threatened to emerge; and once when he had found me looking through the blinds at the May Day celebrations he had gone out of the room and said nothing.

Of course I am writing after a lapse of years, but I think I very soon began to realize that there was speculation about me in the village of Cherrington. Uncle William and Aunt Amelia were an incongruous pair to have charge of a young child.

Matty Grey, who lived in one of the cottages on the green and used to sit at her door on summer days, was what was known as a "character" in the village. I liked to talk to Matty whenever I could. She knew it and when I approached she would make strange wheezing noises and her fat body would shake, which was her way of laughing. She would call to me and bid me sit at her feet. She called me a "pore little mite" and bade her grandson Tom be kind to little Suewellyn.

I rather liked my name. It was derived from Susan Ellen. The to, I think, was put in because of the two e's coming together. I thought it was a good name. Distinctive. There were Ellens in plenty in our village and there was a Susan called Sue. But Suewellyn was unique.

Tom obeyed his grandmother. He stopped other children teasing me because I was different. I went to the dame school, which was run by a lady who had been a governess at the manor house where she had taught the squire's daughter, but when that young lady no longer required her services she had taken a small house not far from the church and opened a school to which the village children went, including the squire's daughter's son, Anthony. He was going to have a tutor when he was a year or so older and after that he would go away to school. We were a mixed community who gathered in Miss Brent's front parlor and scratched out letters in trays of sand with wooden sticks and chanted our tables. There were twenty of us from the ages of five to eleven and of all classes; some would finish their education at the age of eleven; others would go on to further it. In addition to the squire's heir, there were the doctor's daughters and three children of a local farmer; and then there were those like Tom Grey. Among them I was the only one who was unusual.

The fact was, there was some mystery about me. I had arrived in the village one day, already born. The coming of most children was a much-discussed event before the newcomer actually put in an appearance. I was different. I lived with a couple who were the most unlikely pair to have the charge of a child. I was always well clothed and sometimes wore garments which were more costly than the status of my guardians warranted.

Then there were the visits. Once a month She came.

She was beautiful. She arrived at the cottage in the station fly, and I would be sent into the parlor to see her. I knew it was an important occasion because the parlor was only used at very special times—when the vicar called, for instance. The Venetian blinds were always drawn to keep out the sun for fear it might fade the carpet or damage the furniture. There was a holy atmosphere about it. Perhaps it was the picture of Christ on the cross or that of St. Stephen, I think it was, with a lot of arrows sticking in him and blood trickling from his wounds, side by side with a portrait of our Queen when young, looking very stern, disdainful and disapproving. The room depressed me and it was only the lure of such occasions as May Day which tempted me to peer through the slats at the frolicking on the green.

But when She was there, the room was transformed. Her clothes were wonderful. She wore blouses that always seemed to be adorned with frills and ribbons; she wore long bell-shaped skirts and little hats trimmed with feathers and bows of ribbon.

She always said: "Hello, Suewellyn!" as though she were a little shy of me. Then she would hold out her hand and I would run to her and take it. She would lift me up in her arms and study me so intently that I wondered if the parting of my hair was straight and whether I had remembered to wash behind my ears.

We would sit side by side on the sofa. I hated the sofa at most times. It was made of horsehair and tickled my legs even through my stockings; but I did not notice this when she was there. She would ask me a lot of questions, and they were all about me. What did I like to eat? Was I cold in the winter? What was I doing at school? Was everybody kind to me? When I learned to read she wanted me to show her how well I could do it. She would put her arms round me and hold me tightly, and when the fly came back to take her to the station, she would hug me and look as if she were going to cry.

It was very flattering, for although she did talk awhile to Aunt Amelia, when I would be sent out of the parlor, it did seem as though her visits were especially for me.

After she had gone it would seem different in the house. Uncle William would look as though he was trying hard to stop his features breaking into a smile; and Aunt Amelia would go about murmuring to herself: "I don't know. I don't know."

The visits were noticed in the village of course. James, who drove the fly, and the stationmaster whispered together about her. I realized later that they drew their own conclusions on the matter, which could hardly have been called obscure, and I have no doubt that I should have learned earlier but for Matty Grey's injunction to her grandson to look after me. Tom had made it clear that I was in his charge, and anyone offending me would have to answer to him. I loved Tom though he never deigned to speak much to me. For me, however, he was my protector, my knight in shining armor, my Lohengrin.

But even Tom could not stop the children putting their heads together and whispering about me, and one day Anthony Felton noticed the mole just below my mouth on the right side of my chin.

"Just look at that mark on Suewellyn's face," he cried. "It's where the Devil kissed her."

They all listened with wide eyes while he told them how the Devil came at midnight and picked out his own. Then he kissed them and where he had touched them there was left a mark.

"Silly," I said. "Lots of people have moles."

"There's a special sort," said Anthony darkly. "I know it when I see it. I saw a witch once and she had one just like that right near her mouth... . See?"

They were all looking at me with horror.

"She don't look like a witch," Jane Motley ventured, and I was sure I did not, in my prim serge dress and mid-brown hair severely scraped back from my forehead and drawn over the top of my head to be plaited into two ropes, each tied with a piece of navy-blue ribbon. A nice neat suitable style, as Aunt Amelia had often commented when I wanted to wear it loose.

"Witches change shapes," explained Anthony.

"I always knew there was something different about Suewellyn," said Gill, the blacksmith's girl.

"What's he like ... the Devil?" asked someone.

"I don't know," I answered. "I've never seen him."

"Don't you believe her," said Anthony Felton. "That's the Devil's mark on her."

"You're a silly boy," I told him, "and no one would listen to you if you weren't the squire's grandson."

"Witch," said Anthony.

Tom was not at school that day. He had had to go and help dig up potatoes for his father.

I was afraid. They were all looking at me so oddly; and I was suddenly aware of isolation, of being different from the herd.

It was a strange feeling—exultation in a way because I was different—and, in another way, fear.

Miss Brent came in then and there was no more whispering, but when lessons were over for the day I ran out of school quickly. I was afraid of those children. It was due to something I had seen in their eyes. They really believed that the Devil had visited me in the night and put his mark on me.

I ran across the green to where Matty Grey was sitting at her door; there was a pint pot beside her and her hands were folded in her lap.

She called out to me: "Where you running to then ... like you've got the Devil at your heels?"

Cold fear touched me. I looked over my shoulder.

Matty burst out laughing. "Just a way of talking. There ain't no Devil behind you. Why, you look real skerried out of your wits, that you do."

I sat down at her feet.

"Where's Tom?" I asked.

"Still digging taties. It's a good crop this year." She licked her lips. "A good tatie is hard to beat. All hot and floury in a nice brown jacket. Nothing like it, Suewellyn."

I said: "It's this mole on my face."

She peered at me without moving. "What's that?" she said. "Oh, that's a beauty spot, that is."

"It's where the Devil kissed me, they said."

"Who said?"

"At school."

"They've no right to say that. I'll tell Tom. He'll stop 'em."

"Why is it there then, Matty?"

"Oh, sometimes you's born with it. People is born with all sorts of things. Now my aunt's cousin was born with what looked like a bunch of strawberries on her face ... all along of her mother having a fancy for strawberries before she was born."

"What did my mother fancy for me to be born with a spot like that on my face?"

I was thinking: And where is my mother? That was another strange thing about me. I had no mother. I had no father. There were orphans in the village but they knew who their parents had been. The difference was that I did not.

"Well, there's no knowing, is there, ducky?" said Matty comfortably. "We all of us get these things now and again. I knew a girl once born with six fingers. Now that wasn't easy to hide. What's a mole nobody's noticed before? I'll tell you something. I think it's sort of pretty there. There's some people that makes a lot of that sort of thing. They darken 'em to call attention to them. You don't want to worry about that."

Matty was one of the most comforting people I ever knew in my life. She was so content with her lot, which was nothing much but living in that dark little cottage—"one up, one down, a bit at the back where I can do the washing and cooking, and a privy at the bottom of the garden," was the way she described it. It was next door to that of her son, Tom's father. "Near but not too close," she used to say, "which is as it should be." And if the days were dry enough for her to sit outside and see what was going on, she asked no more.

Aunt Amelia might deplore the fact that she sat at her door bringing down the tone of the green, but Matty lived her life as she wanted to and had reached a contentment which few people achieve.

When I went to school the next day Anthony Felton came up to me and whispered in my ear: "You're a bastard."

I stared at him. I had heard that word used in abuse and I was ready to let him know my opinion of him. But Tom came up at that moment and Anthony slunk off at once.

"Tom," I whispered, "he called me a bastard."

"Never mind," said Tom and added mysteriously: "It wasn't the kind of bastard you think." Which was very confusing at the time.

Two or three days before my sixth birthday Aunt Amelia took me into the parlor to talk to me. It was a very solemn occasion and I waited with trepidation for what she was going to tell me.

It was the first day of September and a shaft of sunlight had managed to get through one of the slats in the blinds which had not been properly closed. I can see it now all so clearly—the horsehair sofa; the horsehair chairs to match, which, mercifully, were rarely sat on, with the antimacassars placed primly on their backs; the whatnot in the corner with its ornaments which were dusted twice a week; the holy pictures on the wall with that of the young Queen looking very disagreeable, her arms folded and the ribbon of the Garter over her very sloping shoulders. There was no gayety in that room at all and that was why the shaft of sunshine looked so out of place. I was sure Aunt Amelia would notice it and shut it out before long.

But she did not. She was obviously very preoccupied and rather concerned.

"Miss Anabel is coming on the third," she said. The third of September was my birthday.

I clasped my hands and waited. Miss Anabel had always come on my birthday.

"She is thinking of a little treat for you."

My heart began to beat fast. I waited breathlessly.

"If you are good," went on Aunt Amelia. It was the usual proviso, so I did not take much notice of that. She continued: "You will wear your Sunday clothes although it will be a Thursday."

The wearing of Sunday clothes on a Thursday seemed full of portent.

Her lips were firmly pressed together. I could see that she did not approve of the meeting.

"She is going to take you out for the day."

I was astounded. I could scarcely contain myself. I wanted to bounce up and down on the horsehair chair.

"We must make sure that everything is all right," said Aunt Amelia. "I would not want Miss Anabel to think that we did not bring you up like a lady."

I burst out that everything would be all right. I would forget nothing I had been taught. I would not speak with my mouth full. I should have my handkerchief ready in case it were needed. I would not hum. I would always remember to wait until I was spoken to before speaking.

"Very well," said Aunt Amelia; and later I heard her say to Uncle William: "What is she thinking of? I don't like it. It's un­settling for the child."

The great day came. My sixth birthday. I was dressed in my black button boots and my dark blue jacket with a mercerized cotton dress beneath it. I had dark blue gloves and a straw hat with elastic under the chin.

The fly came from the station with Miss Anabel in it and when it went back I was in it as well.

Miss Anabel was different that day. The thought occurred to me that she was a little afraid of Aunt Amelia. She kept laughing and she gripped my hands and said two or three times: "This is nice, Suewellyn."

We boarded the train under the curious eyes of the station-master and were soon puffing away. I did not remember ever having been on a train before and I did not know what excited me most, the sound of the wheels which seemed to be singing a merry song or the fields and woods which were rushing by; but what gave me most pleasure was the presence of Miss Anabel pressed close beside me. Every now and then she would give my hand a squeeze.

There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask Miss Anabel but I remembered my promise to Aunt Amelia to behave in the manner of a well-brought-up child.

"You are quiet, Suewellyn," said Miss Anabel, so I explained about not speaking until I was spoken to.

She laughed; she had a gurgling sort of laughter which made me want to laugh every time I heard it.

"Oh, forget that," she said. "I want you to talk to me whenever you feel like it. I want you to tell me just anything that comes into your mind."

Oddly enough, with the ban lifted, I was tongue-tied. I said: "You ask me and I'll tell you."

She put her arm round me and held me close. "I want you to tell me that you are happy," she said. "You do like Uncle William and Aunt Amelia, don't you?"

"They are very good," I said. "I think Aunt Amelia is more good than Uncle William."

"Is he unkind to you?" she asked quickly.

"Oh no. Kinder in a way. But Aunt Amelia is so very good that it's hard for her to be kind. She never laughs. ..." I stopped because Miss Anabel laughed a good deal and it seemed as though I were saying she was not kind.

She just hugged me and said: "Oh, Suewellyn ... you're such a little girl really."

"I'm not," I said. "I'm bigger than Clara Feen and Jane Motley. And they are older than I am."

She just held me against her so that I couldn't see her face, and I thought she didn't want me to.

The train stopped and she jumped up. "We're getting out here," she said.

She took my hand and we left the train. We almost ran along the platform. Outside was a dogcart with a woman sitting in it.

"Oh, Janet," cried Miss Anabel, "I knew you'd come."

" Tain't right," said the woman, looking at me. She had a pale face and brown hair drawn down the sides of her face and fastened in a bun at the back. She had on a brown bonnet with ribbon tied under the chin and reminded me of Uncle William suddenly because I could see she was trying to stop herself smiling.

"So this is the child, miss," she said.

"This is Suewellyn," answered Miss Anabel.

Janet clicked her tongue. "I don't know why I ..." she began.

"Janet, you're having a wonderful time. Is the hamper there?"

"Just as you said, miss."

"Come on, Suewellyn," said Miss Anabel. "Get up into the trap. We're going for a ride."

Janet sat in front holding the reins. Miss Anabel and I were behind. Miss Anabel held my hand tightly. She was laughing again.

The dogcart started off and we were soon riding through leafy lanes. I wanted this to go on and on forever. It was like stepping into an enchanted world. The trees were just beginning to turn color and there was a faint mist in the air which made the sunshine hazy, and this seemed to give a certain mystery to the landscape.

"Are you warm enough, Suewellyn?" asked Miss Anabel.

I nodded happily. I did not want to speak. I was afraid of breaking the spell, afraid that I would wake up in my bed and find that I had been dreaming it all. I tried to catch each moment and hold it, saying to myself, Now. It is always now, of course, but I wanted this moment of now to stay with me forever.

I was almost unbearably excited, almost unbearably happy.

When the trap stopped suddenly, I gave a gasp of disappointment. But there was more to come.

"This is the spot," said Janet. "And, Miss Anabel, I reckon it's a whole lot too close for comfort."

"Oh, get away with you, Janet. It's perfectly safe. What time is it?"

Janet consulted the watch pinned to her black bombazine blouse.

"Half past eleven," she said.

Miss Anabel nodded. "Take the hamper," she said. "Get everything ready. Suewellyn and I are going for a little walk. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Suewellyn?"

I nodded. I should have liked anything I shared with Miss Anabel.

"Now you watch out, miss," said Janet. "If you was to be seen ..."

"We're not going to be seen. Of course we're not. We're not going all that near."

"I should hope not."

Miss Anabel took my hand and we walked away.

"She seems rather cross," I said.

"She's cautious."

"What's that?"

"She doesn't like risks."

I didn't know what Miss Anabel was talking about but I was too happy to care.

"Let's go into the woods," she said. "I want to show you something. Come on. Let's run."

So we ran over the grass, dodging between the trees. "See if you can catch me," said Miss Anabel.

I almost did; then she would laugh and slip away from me. I was breathless and even happier than I had been in the train and the dogcart. The trees had thinned and we were on the edge of the woods.

"Suewellyn," she said softly. "Look."

And there it was, just about a quarter of a mile away from us, set on a slight incline with a ditch all round it. I could see it clearly. It was like a castle out of a fairy tale.

"What do you think of it?" she said.

"Is it ... real?" I asked.

"Oh yes ... it's real."

I have always had a good visual memory and could look at something and remember it in detail after a glance or two and thus was able to carry the image of Mateland Castle in my mind through the years to come. I describe it now as I know it to be. When, at the age of six, I first saw it there was something magical on that day which was to stand out in my mind for some years to come, almost like a dream.

The castle was magnificent and mysterious. It was enclosed by tall curtain walls and at the four angles there were massive drum towers; on each flank was a square tower and there was the traditional machicolated gatehouse. Long narrow slits of windows were set in the ashlar walls. The postern tower parapet defending the portal below was a formidable reminder that once boiling oil had been poured from it on anyone who dared attempt to break down the defenses. Behind the battlements were wall walks from which the defenders of the castle would have sent their arrows raining down. I learned all this and much more later; I came to know every corbel, every machicolation, every twist of the spiral staircases. But from that moment it fascinated me completely. It was almost as though it took possession of me. I liked to think later that it willed me to act as I did.

At this time I could only stand beside Miss Anabel staring, speechless.

I heard her laugh and she whispered: "Do you like it?"

Like it? It seemed a mild word to express my feeling about the castle. It was the most wonderful thing I had ever seen. There was a picture of Windsor Castle in Miss Brent's parlor and that was beautiful. But this was different. This was real. I could see the September sunshine picking out sharp bits of flint in the walls and making them sparkle.

She was waiting for me to answer.

"It's ... beautiful. It's real."

"Oh, it's real all right," answered Miss Anabel. "It's been standing there for seven hundred years."

"Seven hundred years!" I echoed.

"A long time, eh? And think, you've only been on this earth for six. I'm glad you like it."

"Does anyone live in it?"

"Oh yes, people live in it."

"Knights ..." I whispered. "Perhaps the Queen."

"Not the Queen, and they don't have knights in armor these days ... even in seven-hundred-year-old castles."

Suddenly four people appeared—a girl with three boys. They were riding across the stretch of grass before the castle moat. The girl was on a pony and I noticed her particularly, for she seemed to be about my age. The boys were older.

Miss Anabel caught her breath sharply. She laid her hand on my arm and drew me back into the bushes.

"It's all right," she whispered, as though to herself. They're going in."

"Do they live there?" I asked.

"Not all of them. Susannah and Esmond do. Malcolm and Garth are visitors."

"Susannah," I said. "That's a bit like my name."

"Oh yes, it is."

I watched the riders pass over the bridge which crossed the moat. They went under the gatehouse and into the castle.

Their appearance had affected Miss Anabel deeply. She took my hand suddenly, and I remembered Aunt Amelia's injunctions not to speak unless I was spoken to.

Miss Anabel started to run through the trees. I tried to catch her and we were laughing again.

We came to a clearing in the woods and there Janet had undone the hamper, spread a cloth on the grass and was putting out knives and forks and plates.

"We'll wait awhile," said Miss Anabel.

Janet nodded, her lips tight as though she were holding back something she wanted to say which was not very pleasant.

Miss Anabel noticed, for she said: "It's none of your business, Janet."

"Oh no," said Janet, looking like a hen with ruffled feathers, "I know that well enough. I just do as I'm told."

Miss Anabel gave her a little push. Then she said: "Listen."

We all listened. I could hear the unmistakable sound of horses' hoofs.

"It is," said Miss Anabel.

"You be careful, miss," warned Janet. "It might not be."

A man on horseback came into sight. Anabel gave a cry of joy and ran towards him.

He jumped off his horse and tied it to a tree. Miss Anabel, who herself was a tall lady, looked suddenly very small beside him.

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her for some seconds. Then he said: "Where is she?"

Miss Anabel held out her hand and I ran to her.

"This is Suewellyn," she said.

I curtsied as I had been taught to do to people like the squire and the vicar. He picked me up and held me in his arms, scrutinizing me.

"Why," he said, "she is a little thing."

"She's only six, remember," said Miss Anabel. "What did you expect? An Amazon? And she's tall for her age. Aren't you, Suewellyn?"

I said that I was taller than Clara Feen and Jane Motley, who were older than I.

"Well," he said, "that's a mercy. I'm glad you surpassed those two."

"But you don't know them," I said.

And they both laughed.

He put me down and patted my head. My hair was loose today. Miss Anabel did not like it in plaits.

"We're going to eat now," said Miss Anabel. "Janet has it all waiting for us." She whispered to the man: "Most disapproving, I assure you."

"I don't need to be assured on that point," he said.

"She thinks it was another of my mad schemes."

"Well, isn't it?"

"Oh, you know you wanted it as much as I did."

He still had his hand on my head. He ruffled my hair and said: "I believe I did."

At first I was rather sorry that he and Janet were there. I should have liked Miss Anabel to myself. But after a while I began to change my mind. It was only Janet I wished to be without. She sat a little apart from us and her expression reminded me of Aunt Amelia, which in its turn recalled the unpleasant truth that this magical day would come to an end and I should be back in the house on the green with only memories of it. But in the meantime it was Now and Now was glorious.

We sat down to eat and I was between Miss Anabel and the man. Once or twice she called him by his name, which was Joel. I was not told what I was to call him, which was a little awkward. There was something about him which made it impossible not to be aware of him all the time. Janet was in awe of him, I sensed. She did not speak to him as she did to Miss Anabel. When she did address him, she called him Sir.

He had dark brown eyes and hair of a lighter shade of brown. There was a cleft in his chin and he had very strong white teeth. He had white, strong-looking hands. I noticed them particularly, and there was a signet ring on his little finger. He seemed to be watching me and Miss Anabel; and Miss Anabel was watching us both. Janet, sitting a little distance away, had brought out her knitting, and her needles were clicking away, registering disapproval as clearly as her pursed lips did.

Miss Anabel asked me questions about Crabtree Cottage and Aunt Amelia and Uncle William. Many of them she had asked before and I realized that she was asking them again so that he could hear the answers. He listened attentively and every now and then nodded.

The food was delicious, or perhaps I was so enchanted that I found everything different from everyday life. There was chicken, crusty bread and some sort of pickle which I had never tasted before.

"Why," said Miss Anabel, "Suewellyn has the wishbone." She picked up the bone on my plate and held it up. "Come on, Suewellyn, pull with me. If you get the bigger half you can have a wish."

"Three wishes," said the man.

"It's only one, Joel, you know," replied Miss Anabel.

"Today it's three," he retorted. "It's a special birthday. Had you forgotten that?"

"Of course it's a special day."

"So special wishes. Now for the contest."

"You know what you have to do, Suewellyn," said Miss Anabel. She picked up the bone. "You twist your little finger round that side, and I twist mine round this side, and we pull. The one who gets the bigger bit gets the wish."

"Wish three times," said Joel.

"There's one condition," said Miss Anabel. "You must not tell your wishes. Ready?"

We curled our little fingers about the bone. There was a crack. The bone had broken and I cried out in delight, for the larger part was in my hand.

"It's Suewellyn's," cried Miss Anabel.

"Shut your eyes and make your wishes," said Joel.

So I sat back holding the bone in my hand and asked myself what I wanted most of all. I wanted this day to last forever, but it would be silly to wish for that because nothing, not even chicken bones, could make that come true. I was thinking hard. What I had always wanted was a father and mother; and before I had realized it I had wished for that—but not just any father and mother. I wanted a father like Joel and a mother like Miss Anabel. There was my second wish gone. I did not want to have to live in Crabtree Cottage. I wanted to live with my own father and mother.

The three wishes were made.

I opened my eyes. They were both watching me intently.

"Have you made your wishes?" asked Miss Anabel.

I nodded and pressed my lips together. It was very important that they should come true.

We then ate tarts with cherry jam in them, and they were delicious, and as I bit into the sweet tart I thought there could not be greater happiness than this.

Joel asked me if I rode.

I told him I did not.

"She ought to," he said, looking at Miss Anabel.

"I could speak to your Aunt Amelia," said Miss Anabel.

Joel stood up and held out a hand to me. "Come and see how you like it," he said.

I went with him to his horse; he lifted me up and put me on it.

He walked the horse through the trees. I thought it was the most thrilling moment of my life. Then suddenly he leaped up behind me and we started going quickly. We came through the trees in the woods and out to a field. The horse cantered and galloped and I thought for one moment: Perhaps he is the Devil and he has come to take me away.

But oddly enough I did not care. I wanted him to take me away. I wanted to stay with him and Miss Anabel for the rest of my life. I did not care if he was the Devil. If Aunt Amelia and Uncle William were saints I preferred the Devil. I had a feeling that Miss Anabel would not be far away from where he was, and if I were with one I would be with the other.

But that exciting ride came to an end and the horse was going slowly again through the trees to the clearing where Janet was packing up the remains of the picnic and putting the hamper into the dogcart.

Joel dismounted and lifted me down.

I was indescribably sad because I knew that my visit to the enchanted forest with its distant castle was over. It was like a beautiful dream from which I was trying hard not to wake up. But I knew I should.

He lifted me in his arms and kissed me. I put my arms about his neck. I said: "It was a lovely ride."

"I have never enjoyed a ride more," he said.

Miss Anabel was looking at us as though she did not know whether or laugh or cry but, being Miss Anabel, she laughed.

He mounted his horse and followed us to the dogcart. Miss Anabel and I got in. He went off in one direction and we went off in another to the station.

We alighted there.

"Don't forget to meet my train, Janet," Miss Anabel said.

It was a sad reminder that the day was almost over, that I would soon be back in Crabtree Cottage and this day's events would move into the past. We sat side by side in the train, holding hands tightly as though we would never let go. How the train rushed on! How I wanted to hold it back! The wheels were laughing at me, saying: "Soon be back! Soon be back!" over and over again.

When we were nearly there Miss Anabel put her arm round me and said: "What did you wish, Suewellyn?"

"Oh, I mustn't tell," I cried. "If I did they would never come true and I couldn't bear that."

"Were they such important wishes then?"

I nodded.

She was silent for a while and then she said: "It's not quite true that you mustn't tell anyone. You can tell one person. That's if you want to ... and if you whisper, it won't make any difference about the wishes coming true."

I was glad. It is very comforting to be able to share things and there was no one I wanted to share with more than Miss Anabel.

So I said: "I wished for a father and mother first. Then I wanted you and Joel to be them; and after that I wanted us all to be together."

She did not speak for a long time and I wondered whether she was rather sorry I had told her.

We had come to the station. The fly was waiting for us, and in a very short time we were at Crabtree Cottage. It looked more dismal than ever now that I had been in the magic forest and seen the enchanted castle.

Miss Anabel kissed me and said: "I must hurry to catch my train." She still looked as though she were going to cry although she was smiling. I listened to the clop-clop of horses' hoofs which were carrying her away.

There were two parcels in my room which Miss Anabel had left for me. One contained a dress of blue silk with ribbons on it. It was the prettiest dress I had ever seen and it was Miss Anabel's birthday gift to me. There was a book about horses in the other parcel and I knew this was from Joel.

Oh, what a wonderful birthday! But the sad thing about wonderful occasions was that they made the days which followed seem more drab.

Aunt Amelia's comment to Uncle William on the outing was: "Unsettling!"

Perhaps she was right.

For the next few weeks I lived in a dream. I kept peeping at the blue dress, which was hung in my cupboard. I had not worn it. It was most unsuitable, said Aunt Amelia; and I had come to the conclusion that she was right. It was too beautiful to be worn. It was just to be looked at. At school Miss Brent said: "What's come over you, Suewellyn? You're very inattentive these days."

Anthony Felton said that I went to covens at night and took off all my clothes and danced round and round and kissed Farmer Mills's goat.

"Don't be silly," I told him; and I think the others agreed that he was romancing. Aunt Amelia would never have allowed me to go out at night and take off my clothes, which was indecent, and to kiss a goat would be unhealthy.

I read as much as I could of the book about horses. It was a little advanced for me; but I was always hoping that one day Miss Anabel would come again and I would be taken to the enchanted forest. I should want to know something about horses by the time I met Joel again. Then I thought how foolish I was not to have wished for something which would have been easy to grant—like perhaps another day in the forest, instead of a father and mother. Fathers and mothers had to be married. They were not in the least like Miss Anabel and Joel.

I grew interested in horses. Anthony Felton had a pony and I begged him to allow me to ride on it. At first he laughed me to scorn, and then I think it occurred to him that if I tried to ride I should surely fall off and that would be great fun. So I was taken to the paddock adjoining the manor house and I mounted Anthony's pony and rode round the field. It was a miracle that I was not thrown off. I kept thinking of Joel and imagined he was watching me. I wanted so much to shine in his eyes.

Anthony was very disappointed and wouldn't let me ride his pony after that.

It was November when Miss Anabel came again. She was paler and thinner. She told me she had been ill; she had had pleurisy and that was why she had not come before.

"It was only that which kept me away," she told me.

"Are we going to the forest again?" I asked.

She shook her head, rather sadly, I thought.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asked eagerly.

I clasped my hands together and nodded. There were not enough words to convey how much I had enjoyed it.

She was silent, looking a little sad, and I said: "It was a wonderful castle. It didn't look like a real one. I think it is one of those which are not there sometimes. Though there was that girl with the boys and they went into it. And there was the horse. I rode on that horse... . We galloped on it. It was exciting."

"You liked it all so much, Suewellyn?"

"Yes, I liked it better than anything I have ever done."

Later I heard her talking to Aunt Amelia.

"No," Aunt Amelia said, "I do not, Miss Anabel. Where would we keep it? We could not be in a position to afford such a thing. There would be more talk than there already is, and there is enough now, I can tell you."

"It would be so good for her."

"It would cause talk. I don't think Mr. Planter would agree to it. There are limits, Miss Anabel. And in a place like this ... There are your visits for one thing. In these cases there are not usually visits."

"Oh, I know, I know, Amelia. But you'll be paid well... ."

"It's not a question of money. It's a question of appearances. In a place like this ..."

"All right then. Leave it for a bit. Only I'd like her to ride and she would love it."

It was all very mysterious. I knew that Miss Anabel wanted to give me a pony for Christmas and Aunt Amelia would not allow it.

I was so angry. I should have wished for a pony. That would have been sensible. I had just been silly and wished for what was not possible.

Miss Anabel went away, but I knew she would come again soon, although I heard Aunt Amelia telling her not to come too often. It looked bad.

I asked Anthony Felton to let me have another ride on his pony, but he refused. "Why should I?" he asked.

"Because I nearly had one," I answered.

"What do you mean? How could you nearly have one?"

"I nearly had one," I insisted.

I imagined riding out past the Felton paddock on a pony which was far handsomer than Anthony Felton's and I was so angry and frustrated that I hated Anthony and Aunt Amelia. I couldn't tell Aunt Amelia this but I could tell Anthony and I did.

"You're a witch and a bastard," he said, "and it's a terrible thing to be both."

Matty Grey no longer sat outside her cottage. It was too cold.

"That wind cutting right across the green blows itself into my bones," she said. "It's bad for me screws." Her screws were her rheumatism, and in the winter they were so bad that she could not stray from the fire. "The old screws is getting me today," she used to say. "No joke, they ain't. Still, Tom'll make me a nice fire, and what's nicer than a good wood fire? And when there's a kettle singing on the hob ... well, you couldn't get nearer the angels in heaven, I say."

I made a habit of going into Matty's cottage when I came home from school. It could not be for long because Aunt Amelia must not know of these visits. She would not have approved. We were "better class" than Matty. It was rather complicated, for although we were not on the level of the doctor and the parson, who themselves were not quite up to the rank of squire, we were some way above Matty.

Matty would get me to cut a slice of bread from the big cottage loaf. "The bottom half, ducks." And I would put it on a long toasting fork which Tom's uncle had made at the forge, and hold it before the fire until it was a golden brown.

"A good strong cup of tea and a nice thick slice of good brown toast; your own fireside and the wind whistling outside and you shut away from it all. ... I don't reckon there could be better than that."

I didn't agree with Matty. There could be an enchanted forest, a cloth spread on the grass; there could be chicken wishbones and two beautiful people who were different from anyone I knew. There could be an enchanted castle seen through the trees and a horse on which to gallop.

"What you thinking about, young Suewellyn?" asked Matty.

"It depends," I said, "on you. Perhaps some people wouldn't want toast and strong tea. They might like picnics in forests."

"Now that's what I mean to say. It's what you fancy, eh? Well, this is my fancy. Now you tell me yours."

And before I realized it I was telling her. She listened. "And you saw that forest, did you? And you saw this castle? And you was took there, was you? I know, it was by the lady who comes."

"Matty," I said excitedly, "did you know that if you break a wishbone and get the bigger half you can have three wishes?"

"Oh yes, that's an old trick, that is. When we was little now and then we'd have a bird ... a regular treat that was. There'd be the plucking and the stuffing ... and when it was done a regular fight between us little 'uns for the wishbone."

"Did you ever wish? Did your wishes come true?"

She was silent for a while and then she said: "Yes. I reckon I had a good life. Yes, I reckon my wishes come true."

"Do you think mine will?"

"Yes, I reckon so. One of these days it'll all come right for you. She's a mighty pretty lady what comes to see you."

"She's beautiful," I said. "And he ..."

"Who's he, dearie?"

I thought: I'm talking to much. I mustn't ... even to Matty. I had a fear that if I talked I would discover that it had not really happened and that I had only dreamed it.

"Oh, nothing," I said.

"You're burning the toast. Never mind. Scrape that black off in the sink."

I scraped the burned part from the broad and buttered it. I made and poured out the tea. Then I sat for a while watching the pictures in the fire. I saw the wood there glowing red and blue and yellow. And there was the castle.

Then suddenly the ashes fell into the grate and the picture collapsed. I knew it was time I went. Aunt Amelia would be missing me and asking questions.

Christmas was almost upon us. The children went into the woods to gather holly and ivy to decorate the schoolroom. Miss Brent set up a postbox in the hall of her house and we would slip in our cards to our friends. The day before Christmas Eve when school broke up Miss Brent would act as postman, open the paper-covered postbox, take out the cards and, sitting at her desk, call out our names, when we would go up and collect those which were addressed to us.

We were all very excited about it. We made our own cards in the classroom and there was much whispering and giggling as we painted on scraps of paper and with great secrecy folded them and wrote on the names of those for whom the offering was intended and slipped them into the box.

On the afternoon there would be a concert. Miss Brent would play the piano and we would all sing together and those among us who had good voices would sing solos; and others would recite.

It was a great day for us all and we looked forward to it for weeks before Christmas.

More exciting to me was Miss Anabel's visit. She came the day before the school party. She had brought parcels for me which had written on them "To be opened on Christmas Day." But I was always more excited by Miss Anabel herself than what she brought.

"In the spring," she said, "we'll have another picnic."

I was delighted. "In the same place," I cried. "Will there be chicken bones?"

"Yes," she promised. "Then you can have more wishes."

"I might not get the bigger piece of bone."

"I should think you would," she said with a smile.

"Miss Anabel, will he ... will Joel be there?"

"I think he might be," she said. "You liked him, did you, Suewellyn?" she asked.

I hesitated. Like was not exactly a word one could apply to gods.

She was alarmed. "He didn't ... frighten you?"

Again I was silent and she went on: "Do you want to see him again?"

"Oh yes," I cried fervently, and she seemed satisfied.

I was sad when the fly came to take her to the station; but not so sad as usual because, although the spring was a long way ahead, it would come in time and then I had the glorious prospect of the forest before me.

Uncle William had finished the Christmas crib he had made in his woodshed and it was now in the church with a model of the Christ child lying in it. Three of the boys from school were going to be the three wise men. The vicar's son was one, because I supposed it was natural that the vicar should want him to be; Anthony Felton was another because he was the squire's grandson and his family gave liberally to the church and allowed all the garden parties and sales of work to be held on their lawns or, when it was wet, in the great hall; and Tom was the other because he had a beautiful voice. To hear that angelic voice proceeding from that rather untidy boy was like a miracle. I was glad for Tom. It was an honor. Matty was delighted about it. "His father had a voice. So did my granddaddy," she told me. "It runs in families."

Tom had stuck an enormous sprig of holly over The Sailor's Return in Matty's room, which gave it a jaunty air. I had often studied The Sailor's Return because it was the sort of picture I should not have expected Matty to have. There was something gloomy about it. It was a print and there was no color for one thing. The sailor stood at the door of the cottage with a bundle on his shoulder. His wife was staring blankly before her as though she were facing some major disaster instead of the return of a loved one. Matty had talked about the picture with tears in her eyes. It was strange that one who could laugh about the trials of real life should shed tears over the imaginary ones of someone in a picture.

I had badgered her to tell me the story. "Well," she said, "it's like this. You see the cot there. There's a little baby in it. Now that baby didn't ought to have been born because the sailor had been away for three years and she's had this little baby while he was away. He don't like that ... and she don't either."

"Why doesn't he? You'd think he'd be glad to come home and find a little baby."

"Well, it means that it's not his and he don't like that."

"Why?"

"Well, he's what you might call jealous. There was a pair of them pictures. My mammy split them up when she died. She said, 'The Return is for you, Matty, and The Departure is for Emma. Emma's my sister. She married and went up north."

"Taking The Departure with her?"

"She did. Didn't think much of it either. But I'd have liked to have the pair. Though The Departure was very sad. He killed her, you see, and the police was there to take him away to be hanged. That's what The Departure meant. Oh, I'd have loved to have The Departure."

"Matty," I asked, "what happened to the little baby in the cot?"

"Someone took care of it," she said.

"Poor baby! It had no mother or father after that."

Matty said quickly: "Tom was in here telling me about that there postbox you've got at school. I hope you've done a nice one for Tom. He's a good boy, our Tom is."

"I've done a lovely one," I said, "of a horse."

"Tom'll like that. He's a rare one for horses. We're thinking of putting him to learn with Blacksmith Jolly. Blacksmiths have a lot to do with horses."

Sessions with Matty always came to an end too soon. They were always overshadowed by the knowledge that Aunt Amelia would be expecting me home.

Crabtree Cottage was cheerless after Matty's. The linoleum on the floor was polished to danger point and there was no holly propped up over the pictures of Christ and St. Stephen. It would have certainly looked out of place there and to have stuck a piece over the disagreeable Queen would have been nothing short of lese majesty.

"Dirty stuff," had been Aunt Amelia's comment. "Drops all over the place and the berries get trodden in."

The day of the party came. We did our singing, and the more talented of us—I was not among them—recited and did their solos. The postbox was opened. Tom had sent me a beautiful drawing of a horse and on the paper was written: "A merry Christmas. Yours truly, Tom Grey." Everyone in the school had sent everyone else a card, so it was a big delivery. The one I had from Anthony Felton was meant to wound rather than carry good wishes. It was the drawing of a witch on a broomstick. She had streaming dark hair and a black mole on her chin. "Wishing you a spellbinding Christmas," he had written on it. It was very badly drawn and I was delighted to note that the witch on it was more like Miss Brent than like me. I had had my revenge by sending him the picture of an enormously fat boy (Anthony was notoriously greedy and more than inclined to plumpness) holding a Christmas pudding. "Don't get too fat to ride this Christmas," I had written on it; and he would know that the card carried with it the hope that he would.

A few snowflakes fell on Christmas Eve and everyone was hoping it would settle. Instead it melted as soon as it touched the ground and was soon turning to rain.

I went to the midnight service with Aunt Amelia and Uncle William, which should have been an adventure because we were out so late; but nothing could really be an adventure when I walked between my two stern guardians and sat stiffly with them in the pew.

I was half asleep during the service and glad to be back in bed. Then it was Christmas morning, exciting in spite of the fact that there was no Christmas stocking for me. I knew that other children had them and thought it would be the height of fun to see one's stocking bulging with good things and plunging one's hand in to pull out the delights. "It's childish," said Aunt Amelia, "and bad for the stockings. You're too old now for such things, Suewellyn."

Still I had Anabel's presents. Clothes again—two dresses, one very beautiful. I had only worn the blue one she had given me once, and that was when she came. Now there was another silk one and a woolen one and a lovely sealskin muff. There were three books as well. I was delighted with these gifts and my great regret was that Anabel was not there to give them to me in person.

From Aunt Amelia there was a pinafore and from Uncle William a pair of stockings. I could not really feel very excited about them.

We went to church in the morning; then we came home and had dinner. It was a chicken which brought reminders, but there was no mention of wishbones. Christmas pudding followed. In the afternoon I read my books. It was a very long day. I longed to run across to the Greys' cottage. Matty had gone next door for the day and there were sounds of merriment spilling out on the green. Aunt Amelia heard it and tut-tutted, saying that Christmas was a solemn festival. It was Christ's birthday. People were meant to be solemn and not act like heathens.

"I think it ought to be happy," I pointed out, "because Christ was born."

Aunt Amelia said: "I hope you're not getting strange ideas, Suewellyn."

I heard her comment to Uncle William that there were all sorts at that school and it was a pity people like the Greys were allowed to send their children and mix with better folk.

I almost cried out that the Greys were the best folks I knew, but I was aware that it was no use trying to explain that to Aunt Amelia.

There was Boxing Day to follow ... another holiday and even quieter than Christmas Day. It was raining and the southwest wind gusted over the green.

A long day. I could only revel in my presents and wonder when I should wear the silk dress.

In the New Year Anabel came. Aunt Amelia had lighted a fire in the parlor—a rare event—and she had drawn up the Venetian blinds, for she could no longer complain of the sun's doing harm to her furniture.

The room still looked dismal in the light of the wintry sun. None of the pictures took any cheer from the light. St. Stephen looked more tortured, the Queen more disagreeable and Christ hadn't changed at all.

Miss Anabel arrived at the usual time, which was just after dinner. She looked lovely in a coat trimmed with fur and a sealskin muff, like the big sister of mine.

I hugged her and thanked her for the gifts.

"One day," she said, "you're going to have a pony. I am going to insist."

We talked as we always did. I showed her my books and we discussed school. I never told her about the teasing I received from Anthony Felton and his cronies because I knew that would worry her.

So the day passed with Anabel and in due course the fly came to take her back to the station. It seemed like just another of Anabel's visits, but this was not quite the case.

It was Matty who told me about the man at the King William Inn.

Tom was working there after school, carrying luggage into rooms and making himself generally useful. "It's a second string to his bow," said Matty. "In case it don't work out with the blacksmith."

Tom had told her about the man at the inn and Matty told me.

"A regular shindy-do there was up at the King William," she said. "He was a very high and mighty gentleman. Staying there in the best room. He arrived in a temper, he did. It was all along of there being no fly to take him to the King William when he got off the train. Well, how could there be? The fly was in use, wasn't it?" Matty nudged me. "You had a visitor yesterday, didn't you? Well, Mr. High and Mighty had to wait, and there's one thing that kind of gentleman don't like much ... and that's being kept waiting."

"It doesn't really take long for the fly to come to Crabtree Cottage and go back to the station."

"Ah, but rich important gentlemen don't like waiting one little minute while others is served. I had it from Jim Fenner." (He was our stationmaster, porter and man of all work at the station.) "There he was standing on the platform ranting and raging while the fly went off carrying your young lady in it. He kept saying, 'Where is it going? How far?" And old Jim he says, all upset like, because he could see this was a real gentleman, Jim says, 'Well, sir, it won't be that long. 'Tas only gone to Crabtree Cottage on the green with the young lady.' 'Crabtree Cottage,' he roars, 'and where might that be?'' Tis only on the green, sir. There by the church. Not much more than a stone's throw. The young lady could walk it in ten minutes. But she always takes the fly like and books it to bring her back to catch her train.' Well, that seemed to satisfy him and he said he'd wait. He asked Jim a lot of questions. He turned out to be a talkative sort of gentleman when he wasn't angry. He got all civil like and gave Jim five shillings. It's not every day Jim sees the likes of that. He says he hopes that gentleman stays a long time."

I couldn't stay talking to Matty, of course, so I left her and ran back to the cottage. It was getting dark early now and we left school in twilight. Miss Brent had said we should leave at three o'clock in winter because that would give the children who lived farther away time to get home before darkness fell. In the summer we finished at four. We started at eight in the morning instead of nine as in the summer and it was quite dark at eight.

Aunt Amelia was putting some leaves together. She said: "I'm going to take these to the church, Suewellyn. They're for the altar. It's a pity there are no flowers at this time of the year. Vicar was saying it looked bare after the autumn flowers were finished, so I said I would find some leaves and we would use them. He seemed to think it was a good idea. You can come with me."

I put my school bag in my room and dutifully went downstairs. We crossed the green to the church.

There was a hushed silence there. The stained glass windows looked different without the sun or even the gaslight to shine on them. I should have been a little scared to be there alone, afraid that the figure of Christ on the cross might come down and tell me how wicked I was. I thought that the pictures in the stained glass windows might come alive. There was a good deal of torturing in them and there was my old acquaintance St. Stephen up there, who seemed to have such a bad time on earth. Our footsteps rang out eerily on the stone flags.

"We shall have to hurry, Suewellyn," said Aunt Amelia. "It will be quite dark very soon."

We mounted the three stone steps to the altar.

"There!" said Aunt Amelia. "They'll make some sort of show. I think I had better put them in water. Here, Suewellyn, take this jar and fill it at the pump."

I took it and ran out of the church. The graveyard was just outside. The gravestones looked like old men and women kneeling down, their faces hidden in gray hoods.

The pump was a few yards from the church. To reach it I had to make my way past some of the oldest gravestones. I had read the inscriptions on them many times when we came out of church. People had been laid under them a long, long time ago. Some of the dates on them went back to the seventeenth century. I ran past them to the pump and vigorously began pumping the water and filling the pot.

As I did so I heard a sudden footstep. I looked over my shoulder. It had grown darker since Aunt Amelia and I entered the church. I felt a shiver run down my spine. I had the feeling that someone ... something was watching me.

I turned back to the pump. One had to work hard to get the water and it wasn't easy working the pump with one hand and holding the jar with the other.

My hands were shaking. Don't be silly, I said to myself. Why shouldn't someone else come to the churchyard? Perhaps it was the vicar's wife returning home to the vicarage or one of the devoted church workers who also had the idea of adorning the altar.

I had filled the jar too full. I tipped a little water out. Then I heard the sound again. I gasped with horror. A figure was standing there among the gravestones. I was sure it was a ghost who had risen from the tomb.

I gave a startled cry and ran as fast as I could to the church porch. The water in the jar slopped over and splashed down the front of my coat. But I had reached the sanctuary of the church.

There I paused for a moment to look over my shoulder. I could see no one.

Aunt Amelia was waiting impatiently at the altar.

"Come along, come along," she said.

I handed the jar to her. My hands were wet and cold and I was shivering.

"There's not enough here," she scolded. "Why, you careless girl, you've spilled it."

I stood firmly. "It's dark out there," I said stubbornly. Nothing would have induced me to go back to the pump.

"I suppose it will have to do," she said grudgingly. "Suewellyn, I don't know why you can't do things properly."

She arranged the leaves and we left the church. I kept very close to her as we crossed the graveyard and came out to the green.

"Not what I should have liked for the altar," said Aunt Amelia. "But they'll have to do."

I could not sleep that night. I kept dozing and thinking I was at the pump in the graveyard. I imagined the ghost starting up from the ground and coming out to frighten people. It had certainly frightened me. I had always thought of ghosts as misty white transparent beings. When I came to think of it, as far as the gloom and my fear would allow me, this one had been fully dressed. It was a man, a very tall man in a shiny black hat. I hadn't had time to notice very much else about him except the steadiness of his gaze. And that had been directed straight at me.

At last I slept and so deeply that I awoke late next morning.

Aunt Amelia surveyed me with a grim expression when I went down to breakfast. She had not given me a call. She never did. I was supposed to wake at the right time myself and get to school at the appointed hour. It was something to do with Discipline, for which Aunt Amelia had as great a reverence as she had for Respectability.

I was, consequently, late for school and Miss Brent, who believed the teaching of the necessity of Punctuality was as important as the three Rs, said that if I could not come on time I should stay behind for half an hour and write out the Creed before I left school.

It would mean, of course, that I shouldn't have time to call on Matty.

The day passed and at three o'clock I was seated at my desk writing out "I believe in God the Father ..." and when I came to "conceived" saying the little rhyme to myself, "I before E except after C," and I had finished it in twenty minutes. I then took it to Miss Brent's sitting room upstairs, knocked on the door and handed it to her. She glanced through it, nodded and said: "You'd better be quick. You'll be home before dark. And, Suewellyn, do try to be on time. It's bad manners not to be."

I said: "Yes, Miss Brent," very meekly and ran off.

If I took the short cut across the churchyard, which would save a few minutes, I might just have time to look in on Matty and tell her about the ghost I had seen in the churchyard on the previous day. If I were late home I could tell Aunt Amelia I had been kept in to write "I believe." She would nod grimly and show her approval of Miss Brent's action.

To go across the churchyard after the previous day's experience seemed a little strange. But it was typical of me—and perhaps this goes a little way to explain what happened later—that the fact of my fear gave the churchyard special fascination for me. It was not quite dark. It had been a brighter day than yesterday and the sun was a great red ball on the horizon. I was afraid; I was tingling with a mixture of apprehension and excitement, but somehow I felt myself drawn almost involuntarily to the churchyard.

As soon as I entered it I called myself stupid for coming. Fear took a firm grip of me and I had a great desire to turn and run. But I wouldn't. I would skirt the ancient part and make my way among the whiter stones whose inscriptions had not yet been obliterated by time and weather.

I was being followed. I knew it. I could hear the footsteps behind me. I started to run. Whoever was behind me was hurrying too.

How foolish of me to have come here. I was playing some game of bravado with myself. I had had my warning yesterday. How scared I had been then and Aunt Amelia had not been far away. I would only have had to get to her. And yet I had come back ... alone.

I could see the gray walls of the church. Whoever was following me was faster than I. It... he ... was right at my heels.

I looked at the church door. I remembered hearing something about churches being a sanctuary because they were holy places. Evil spirits could not exist there.

I hesitated at the door of the church ... whether to go in or run?

A hand reached out and touched me.

I gave a little gasp.

"What's the matter, little girl?" said a musical and very friendly voice. "There's nothing to be afraid of, you know."

I swung round and faced him.

He was a very tall man and I noticed the black hat which he had worn yesterday. He was smiling. His eyes were dark brown and his face was not a bit as I imagined a ghost's would be. It was a living man who confronted me. He took off his hat and bowed.

"I only wanted to talk to you," he went on.

"You were in the graveyard yesterday," I accused.

"Yes," he said. "I like graveyards. I like reading the inscriptions on the tombs, do you?"

I did, but I said nothing. I was trembling with fear.

"That pump was a bit stiff, wasn't it?" he went on. "I was coming to help you with it. You needed one to hold the jar while the other pumped. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," I said.

"Show me the church, will you? I'm interested in old churches."

"I have to get home," I told him. "I'm late."

"Yes, later than the others. Why?"

"I was kept in ... to write the Creed."

"'I believe in God the Father.' Do you believe, little girl?"

"Of course I believe. Everybody believes."

"Do they? Then you know God will watch over you and protect you from all dangers and perils of the night ... even strangers in graveyards. Come along ... just for a moment. Show me the church. I believe they are rather proud of their stained glass windows here."

"The vicar is," I replied. "They have been written about. He has a lot of cuttings. You can see them if you like. He would show them to you."

He was still holding my arm and drawing me towards the church door. He glanced cursorily at the notices in the porch about the various meetings.

I felt better inside the church. That air of sanctity restored my courage. I felt nothing terrible could happen here with the golden cross, and the stained glass windows portraying the life of Jesus in lovely reds, blues and gold.

"It's a beautiful church," he said.

"Yes, but I must go. The vicar will show you round."

"In a moment. And I had better see it in daylight."

"It will soon be dark," I said, "and I ..."

"Yes, you must be home by dark. What is your name?"

"Suewellyn," I told him.

"That's a pretty and unusual name. What else?"

"Suewellyn Campion."

He nodded as though my name pleased him.

"And you live at Crabtree Cottage?"

"How did you know?"

"I saw you go in there."

"So you watched me before."

"I just happened to be near."

"I must go or my Aunt Amelia will be angry."

"You live with your Aunt Amelia, do you?"

"Yes."

"Where are your father and mother?"

"I must go. The vicar will tell you about the church."

"Yes, in a moment. Who was the lady who visited you two days ago?"

"I know who you are," I said. "You're the one who was angry about the fly."

"Yes, that's right. They told me she had only gone to Crabtree Cottage. She's a most attractive lady. What is her name?"

"Miss Anabel."

"Oh, I see, and does she call to see you often?"

"Yes, she does."

Suddenly he took hold of my chin and looked into my face. I believed then that he was the Devil and that he was looking for the mole on my chin.

I said: "I know what you're looking for. Let me go. I must go home now. If you want to see the church ask the vicar."

"Suewellyn," he said. "What's wrong? What am I looking for? Tell me?"

"It's nothing to do with the Devil. It's something you're born with. It's like having a strawberry on your face when your mother fancied strawberries."

"What?" he asked.

"It's nothing, I tell you. Lots of people have them. It's only a mole."

"It's very nice," he said. "Very nice indeed. Now, Suewellyn, you've been very kind to me and I am going to see you home."

I almost ran out of the church. He was beside me. We walked swiftly through the graveyard to the edge of the green.

"Now, there's Crabtree Cottage," he said. "You run along. I'll watch from here until you are safely in. Good night, Suewellyn, and thanks for being so kind to me."

I ran.

As I was going to my room, Aunt Amelia came out of hers.

"You're late," she said.

"I was kept in."

She nodded with a smile of satisfaction.

"I had to write out the Creed," I told her.

"That'll teach you to lie abed," she commented.

I went to my room. I could not tell her about the stranger. It was all so odd. Why had he followed me? Why had he wanted me to show him the church? For when he was in it he seemed hardly interested in it. It was rather mystifying. At least I had not given way to my fear. I had braved the graveyard and discovered that the ghost was only a man after all.

I wondered if I should ever see him again.

I did not.

When I looked in on Matty the next day she told me that the gentleman had left the King William. Tom had carried his bag down for him to the fly; and he had gone off on the train traveling first class.

"He was a real proper gentleman," said Matty, "traveling first class and having all the best at the King William. John Jeffers don't have many like him there, and he gave Tom a shilling for carrying his bags up and another for bringing them down. A regular gentleman."

I pondered whether to tell Matty about my encounter in the graveyard with that regular real proper gentleman.

I hesitated. I wasn't quite sure about it myself. Perhaps I'll tell her one day, but not yet ... no, not yet.

At the end of the week I had ceased to feel that vague apprehension which had come to me since I first saw the man in the graveyard. After all he had seemed kind in the church. He had one of the handsomest faces I had ever seen. He reminded me a little of Joel. His voice had been similar and he had smiled in the same way. He had been a visitor to the church and had thought that I, who lived in the village, could tell him something about it. That was all.

I knew he had not gone to the vicar the next day because it was the next morning he left.

It had been a cold day. Miss Brent had lighted a fire in the schoolroom—even so, our fingers were cramped with cold and that was not good for our handwriting. We were all glad when three o'clock came and we could run home. I looked in on Matty, who was seated before a roaring fire. The kettle, which was covered with black soot, was on the hob and it would not be long before she was making her tea.

She welcomed me as she always did with her wheezy laugh which shook her plump body.

"This is a day and a half," she said. "Wind coming straight in from the east. Even a dog wouldn't go out on a day like this ... unless he had to."

I nestled at her feet and wished I could stay there all the evening. It would not be nearly so cozy in Crabtree Cottage. I knew there was a layer of dust on the mantelshelf and crumbs under Matty's chair; but there was a coziness in these things which I missed at home. I thought of my icily cold bedroom, going up there to undress and walking carefully over the dangerously polished linoleum, and leaping into bed to shiver. Beside Matty's fireplace was a stone hot water bottle which she took to bed with her.

Tom came in and said: "Hello, Granma." He nodded towards me. He was always shy of me.

"Ain't you wanted at King William?" asked Matty.

"Got hour off to myself before we get busy. Not that there'll be much ... night like this."

"Oh, you don't get them fine gentlemen every day."

"Wish we did," said Tom.

I found myself telling them about the encounter in the graveyard. I had not meant to, but somehow it made me seem important to tell. Tom had carried his bags and had his shilling. I wanted them to know that I, too, had made his acquaintance.

"His sort is always interested in churches and suchlike," said Tom.

Matty nodded. "There was a man come down here once ... after the tombs he was. There he would sit ... down by Sir John Ecclestone's graven image, and rub it off on a bit of paper. Oh yes, you get that sort."

"When I was kept in late I went home through the graveyard. He was there ... waiting."

"Waiting?" echoed Tom. "What for?"

"I don't know. He wanted me to go into the church with him and I told him the vicar would tell him all he wanted to know."

"Oh, Vicar would like that. Once he gets started on the arches and the windows you can't stop him."

"It was funny," I said. "It was really as though he wanted to see me ... not the church."

Matty looked sharply at Tom.

"Tom," she said sternly, "I told you to keep your eye on Suewellyn."

"I do, Granma. She was kept in that day, wasn't you, Suewellyn, and I had to go to work at the inn."

I nodded.

"You don't want to go looking into no churches with strange men, ducks," said Matty. "Not churches nor nothing."

"I didn't really want to, Matty. He somehow made me."

"And how long was you in the church?" asked Matty intently.

"About five minutes."

"And he just talked to you, did he? He didn't ... er ..."

I was puzzled. Matty was trying to tell me something and I wasn't sure what.

"Never mind," she went on. "You just remember, and His High and Mighty Nibs is gone away, I believe. So there won't be no more visiting churches for him."

There was silence in the cottage. Then the center of the fire collapsed and sent out a shower of sparks onto the hearth.

Tom took the poker and knelt down, poking the fire. His face was very red.

Matty was unusually silent.

I could stay no longer but I made up my mind that when I was alone with Matty I was going to ask her why she was so disturbed about this man.

But that opportunity never came.

It had been a mild and misty day. It was almost dark just after three o'clock when I came home from school. As I came to the green I saw the station fly outside Crabtree Cottage and I wondered what it could mean. Miss Anabel always let us know when she was coming.

So I did not call in on Matty as I had intended but ran as fast as I could into the cottage.

Aunt Amelia and Uncle William came out of the parlor as I entered. They looked bewildered.

"You're home," said Aunt Amelia unnecessarily; she gulped and there was a brief silence. Then she said: "Something has happened."

"Miss Anabel ..." I began.

"She's upstairs in your room. You'd better go up. She'll tell you."

I ran up the stairs. There was chaos in my room. My clothes were on the bed and Miss Anabel had begun putting them into a bag.

"Suewellyn!" she cried as I entered. "I'm so glad you're early."

She ran to me and hugged me. Then she said: "You're coming away with me. I can't explain now... . You'll understand later. Oh, Suewellyn, you do want to come!"

"With you, Miss Anabel, of course!"

"I was afraid ... after all, you've been here so long ... I thought... never mind... . I've got your clothes. Is there anything else?"

"There are my books."

"All right then ... get them... ."

"Is it for a holiday?"

"No," she said, "it's for always. You're going to live with me now and ... and ... But I'll tell you about it later. At the moment I want us to catch the train."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm not sure. But a long way. Suewellyn, just help me."

I found the few books I possessed and those with my clothes went into the traveling bag which Miss Anabel had brought with her.

I was quite bewildered. Secretly I had always hoped for something like this. Now it had come I felt too stunned to accept it.

She shut the bag and took my hand.

We paused for a second or so to look round the room. The sparsely furnished room which had been mine for as long as I could remember. Highly polished linoleum, texts on the walls-all improving and all slightly menacing. The one which I had been most conscious of was: "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive!"

I was to remember that in the years to come.

There was the small iron bedstead covered by the patchwork quilt made by Aunt Amelia—each patch surrounded by delicate feather stitching, a sign of commendable industry. "You should start collecting for a patchwork quilt," Aunt Amelia had said. Not now, Aunt Amelia! I am going away from patchwork quilts, cold bedrooms and colder charity forever. I am going away with Miss Anabel.

"Saying good-by to it?" asked Miss Anabel.

I nodded.

"A little sorry?" she asked anxiously.

"No," I said vehemently.

She laughed the laugh I remembered so well, although it was a little different now, more high-pitched, slightly hysterical.

"Come on," she said, "the fly's waiting."

Aunt Amelia and Uncle William were still in the hall.

"I must say, Miss Anabel ..." began Aunt Amelia.

"I know ... I know ... ," replied Anabel. "But it has to be. You will be paid... ."

Uncle William was looking on helplessly.

"What I am wondering is this," went on Aunt Amelia, "what are people going to say?'

"They've been saying things for years," retorted Miss Anabel lightly. "Let them go on."

"It's all very well for them as is not here," said Aunt Amelia.

"Never mind. Never mind. Come on, Suewellyn, or we'll miss our train."

I looked up at Aunt Amelia. "Good-by, Suewellyn," she said, and her lips twitched. She bent down and touched the side of my face with hers, which was as near as she could get to a caress. "Be a good girl ... no matter where you find yourself. Remember to read your Bible and trust in the Lord."

"Yes, Aunt Amelia," I said. "I will."

Then it was Uncle William's turn. He gave me a real kiss.

"Be a good girl," he said, and pressed my hand.

Then Miss Anabel was hurrying me out to the fly.

Of course I am looking back over the years and it is not always easy to remember what happened when one is not quite seven years old. I think the picture gets colored a little; there is much that is forgotten; but I am sure that a wild excitement possessed me and I felt no regret at leaving Crabtree Cottage except for Matty, when I came to think of it, and Tom of course. I should have liked to sit once more by Matty's fire and tell her how I had found Miss Anabel in the cottage packing my things with the fly waiting to take us to the station.

I do remember the train going on and on through the darkness and now and then the lights of a town appearing and how the wheels changed their tune. Going away. Going away. Going away with Anabel.

Miss Anabel held my hand tightly and said: "Are you happy, Suewellyn?"

"Oh yes," I told her.

"And you don't really mind leaving Aunt Amelia and Uncle William?"

"No," I answered. "I loved Matty, and Tom a bit, and Uncle William I liked."

"Of course they looked after you very well. I was very grateful to them."

I was silent. It was so difficult for me to understand.

"Are we going to the woods?" I asked. "Are we going to see the castle?"

"No. We're going a long way."

"To London?" I asked. Miss Brent had often talked about London and it was marked with a big black spot on the map so that I could find it straight away.

"No, no," she said. "Far, far away. On a ship. We're going to sail away from England."

On a ship! I was so excited that I started to bounce up and down on the seat involuntarily. She laughed and hugged me and I thought then that Aunt Amelia would have told me to sit still.

We got out of the train and waited on a platform for another train. Miss Anabel brought bars of chocolate from her bag.

"This will stay the pangs," she said and laughed; although I did not know what she meant I laughed with her and dug my teeth into the delicious chocolate. Aunt Amelia had not allowed chocolate in Crabtree Cottage. Anthony Felton had sometimes brought it to school and took great pleasure in eating it before the rest of us and letting us know how good it was.

It was night when we left the train. Anabel had traveling bags of her own and with mine there seemed to be a good deal of luggage. There was a fly which took us to a hotel where we had a big and luxurious bedroom with a double bed.

"We must be up early in the morning," said Miss Anabel. "Can you get up early in the morning?"

I nodded blissfully. Some food was brought up to our room-hot soup and cold ham, which was delicious; and that night Miss Anabel and I slept in the big bed together.

"Isn't this fun, Suewellyn?" she said. "I always wanted it to be like this."

I didn't want to go to sleep. I was so happy but so tired that I soon did. I awoke to find myself alone in the bed. I remembered where I was and gave a cry of alarm because I thought Miss Anabel had left me.

Then I saw her. She was standing by the window.

"What's the matter, Suewellyn?" she asked.

"I thought you'd gone. I thought you'd left me."

"No," she said, "I'm never going to leave you again. Come here."

I went to the window. I saw a strange sight before me. There were a lot of buildings and what looked like a big ship lying in the middle of them.

"It's the docks," she told me. "Do you see that ship? It will sail this afternoon and we are going to be on it."

The adventure was getting more and more exciting every minute. Not that anything could be more wonderful than being with Miss Anabel.

We had breakfast in our room and then the porter took our bags down and we went in a fly to the docks. All our luggage was taken and we went up a gangway. Clutching my hand tightly in hers, Miss Anabel took me up a flight of stairs to a long passage. We came to a door on which she knocked.

"Who's there?" said a voice.

"We're here," cried Miss Anabel.

The door opened and Joel was standing there.

He just caught Miss Anabel in his arms and held her tightly. Then he picked me up and held me. My heart was beating very fast. I could only think of the wishing bone in the forest.

"I was afraid you wouldn't be able to ..." he began.

"Of course I would be able to," said Miss Anabel. "And I wasn't coming without Suewellyn."

"No, of course not," he said.

"We're safe now," she said, a little anxiously, I thought.

"Not for another three hours ... when we sail... ."

She nodded. "We'll stay here till then."

He looked down at me. "What do you think of this, Suewellyn? A bit of a surprise eh?"

I nodded. I looked round the room, which I learned was called a cabin. There were two beds in it one above the other. Miss Anabel opened a door and I saw another very small room leading from it.

"This is where you'll sleep, Suewellyn."

"Are we going to sleep on the ship then?"

"Oh yes, we're going to sleep here for a long time."

I was just too bewildered to speak. Then Miss Anabel took my hand and we sat together on the lower bed. I was between the two of them.

"There's something I want to tell you," said Miss Anabel. "I'm your mother."

Waves of happiness swept over me. I had a mother and that mother was Miss Anabel. It was the most wonderful thing that could happen. It was better even than going on a ship.

"There's something else," said Miss Anabel; and she waited.

Then Joel said: "And I am your father."

There was a deep silence in the cabin. Then Miss Anabel said: "What are you thinking, Suewellyn?"

"I was thinking that chicken bones are magic. All my three wishes ... they've come true."

Children take so much for granted. It was not long before I felt I had always been on a ship. I was soon accustomed to the rolling and lurching, the pitching and tossing, which had no effect on me though it made some other people ill.

As soon as the ship had been a day at sea and England was far behind us I noticed the change in my parents. They had lost a certain nervousness. They were happier. I vaguely sensed that they were running away from something. But I forgot about that after a while.

We were on the ship for what seemed like forever. Summer had come quite suddenly and quickly when it shouldn't have been summer at all—moreover it was a very hot summer. We sailed on calm blue seas and I would be on deck with Joel or Miss Anabel ... or perhaps both ... watching porpoises, whales, dolphins and flying fish—such things which I had never seen outside picture books.

I had anew name. I was no longer Suewellyn Campion. I was Suewellyn Mateland. I could call myself Suewellyn Campion Mateland, suggested Anabel. Then I wouldn't lose the name I had had for seven years altogether.

Anabel was Mrs. Mateland. She said she thought I shouldn't call her Miss Anabel any more. We discussed what I should call her. Mother sounded formal. Mamma too severe. How we laughed about it. She said at last: "Just call me Anabel. Drop the Miss." That seemed best and I called Joel Father Jo.

I was so happy to have a father and mother. Anabel I loved slavishly. I worshiped her. Joel? Well, I was very much in awe of him. He was so tall and important-looking. I think everyone was a little afraid of him ... even Anabel.

That he was the finest, strongest man in the world I had no doubt. He was like a god. But Anabel was no goddess. She was the most lovely human being I had ever known and nothing could compare with my love for her.

I discovered that Joel was a doctor, for when one of the passengers fell sick he cured her.

"He has saved a lot of people's lives," Anabel told me. "So one ..."

I waited for her to go on but she did not, and I was too busy thinking how wonderfully it had all turned out for me to ask. I had gained not ordinary parents but these two. It was indeed a miracle after having none.

The journey continued. It was always hot and I had to think hard to remember the east wind blowing across the green and how in winter I had to break the thin layer of ice to get the water to wash from the ewer in my bedroom.

That was all far away and becoming more and more hazy in my mind as my new life imposed itself on the old.

In time we came to Sydney, a town of beauty and excitement. As we passed through the Heads, I watched with my parents on either side of me and my father told me how many years ago prisoners had been brought here to get them out of England. This coast was rather like the one we had in England ... or Wales rather, and it had therefore been named New South Wales.

"The finest harbor in the world," said my father. "That's what they called it then and it still is."

It was too much for a child of my age to absorb. A new family; a new country; a new life. But because I was so young, I just lived from day to day and each morning when I awoke it was with a sense of excitement and happiness.

I learned a little about Sydney. We were there for three months. We found a house near the harbor, which we rented for a short period, and there we lived very quietly. A vague uneasiness had crept into the household which had not been there when we were on the ship. Anabel was more frequently affected by it than my father. It was almost as though she were afraid of too much happiness.

I felt a twinge of fear too.

I said to her once: "Anabel, if you are too happy can something take it all away from you?"

She was very perceptive. She understood at once that some of her anxiety had come through to me.

"Nothing is going to take us away from each other," she said at last.

My father went away for what seemed like a long time. Each day we would watch for the return of the ship which would bring him. Anabel grew sad, I knew, though she tried not to let me see it. We went on living as we had when the three of us were together; but I could see she was different. She was always looking across the sea.

Then one day he came back.

He was very pleased. He held her tightly in his arms and then he picked me up, still holding her with one arm.

He said: "We're going away. I've found the place. You'll like it. We can settle there ... miles out in the ocean. You'll feel safe there, Anabel."

"Safe," she repeated. "Yes ... that's what I want ... to feel safe. Where is it?"

"Where is a map?"

We pored over the map. Australia was like a circle of dough which had been kneaded slightly out of shape. New Zealand was two dogs fighting each other. And there right out in the blue ocean were several little black dots.

My father was pointing to one of these.

"Ideal," he was saying. "Isolated ... except for a group of the same islands. This is the largest. Little goes on there. The people are inclined to be friendly ... easygoing ... just what you would expect. There has been some cultivation of the coconut, but little now. There are palms all over the place. I called it Palmtree Island but it is already named Vulcan. They are in need of a doctor there. There is none on the island ... no school ... nothing. ... It is the place where one can lose oneself ... a place to develop ... a place to offer something to. Oh, Anabel, I like it. You will too."

"And Suewellyn?"

"I've thought of Suewellyn. You can teach her for a few years and then she can go to school in Sydney. We're not all that far. A ship calls once now and then to collect the copra. It's the place, Anabel. I knew it as soon as I saw it."

"What shall we need?" she asked.

"Lots and lots of things. We have a month or so. The ship calls every two months. I want us to be on the next one that goes. In the meantime we are going to be busy."

We were busy. We bought all kinds of things—furniture, clothes, stores of all sorts.

"My father must be a very rich man," I said. "Aunt Amelia said she always looked twice before she spent a farthing." Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves was one of her favorite sayings. Waste not, want not was another. Every crust of bread had to be made into a bread and butter pudding, and I was often in trouble for feeding the birds in winter.

My father talked a great deal about the island. Palms grew in abundance, but there were other trees as well as breadfruit, bananas, oranges and lemons.

There was a house there which had been built for the man who had made a thriving industry out of the cultivation of coconuts. My father had taken over the house at a bargain price.

All our baggage was put on board the ship and we set sail. I don't remember what time of year it was. One forgot because there were no seasons as I had known them. It was always summer.

What I shall never forget is my first glimpse of Vulcan Island. I immediately noticed the enormous peak which seemed to rise up out of the sea and was visible long before we reached the island.

"It has a strange name, that island," said my father. "It is called something which when translated means the Grumbling Giant."

We were standing on deck, the three of us hand in hand, watching for the first glimpse of our new home. And there it was —a great peak rising out of the sea.

"Why does it grumble?" I asked eagerly.

"It's always grumbled. Sometimes when it gets really angry it sends out a few stones and boulders. They are boiling hot."

"Is it really a giant?" I asked. "I have never seen one."

"Well, you are going to make the acquaintance of the Grumbling Giant, but it's not a real giant," answered my father. "I'm afraid it is only a mountain. It dominates the island. The native name is Grumbling Giant Island but some travelers came by long ago and called it Vulcan. So on the maps it has become that."

We remained there looking and in due course the land seemed to form itself about the great mountain and there were yellow sands and waving palms everywhere.

"It's like a paradise," said Anabel.

"We are going to make it that," answered my father.

We could not go right in to the island and had to anchor quite a mile out. There was a tremendous bustle of activity on the shore. Brown-skinned people paddled out in light slim craft which I afterwards learned were called canoes. They were shouting and gesticulating and mostly laughing.

Our possessions were loaded into some of the ship's lifeboats and they and the canoes brought them ashore.

When the goods had all gone, we were taken.

Then the little boats were drawn up and the big ship set sail, leaving us in our new home on Vulcan Island.

There was so much to do, so much to see. I could not entirely believe it was all happening. It seemed like something out of an adventure story.

Anabel was aware of my bewilderment.

She said: "One day you will understand."

"Tell me now," I begged.

She shook her head. "You would not understand now. I want to leave it until you are older. I am going to start writing it down now so that you can read it when you are older and understand. Oh, Suewellyn, I do want you to understand. I don't want you ever to blame us. We love you. You are our very own child and, because of the way it happened, it only makes us love you more."

She could see that I was very puzzled. She kissed me and, holding me close to her, went on: "I'm going to tell you all about it. Why you're here ... why we're all here ... how it came about. There was nothing else we could do. You must not blame your father ... nor me. We are not like Amelia and William." She gave a little laugh. "They live ... safely. That's the word I was looking for. We don't. It's not in our nature to. I have a feeling that you might be as we are." Then she laughed again. "Well, that's the way we're made. And yet ... Suewellyn, we're going to settle here ... we're going to like it. We're going to remember all the time if we feel homesick ... that we're together and this is the only way we can stay together."

I put my arms round her neck. I was overwhelmed by my love for her.

"We're never, never going to leave each other, are we?" I asked fearfully.

"Never," she said vehemently. "Only death can part us. But who wants to talk about death? Here is life. Don't you feel it, Suewellyn? It's teeming with life here. You only have to lift a stone and there it is... ." She grimaced. "Mind you, I could do without the ants and termites and suchlike... . But there's life here ... and it's our life ... the three of us together. Be patient, my dearest child. Be happy. Let's live for each day as it comes along. Can you do that?"

I nodded vigorously, and we walked together through the palm trees to where the warm tropical water rippled onto the sandy beach.