'Please tell me, Aunt Anna,' said Leonore--it had been decided that she should thus address the old lady--'please tell me, do you mean that some of these very old people who don't grow any older are a kind of _fairy_?'

She spoke almost in a whisper, but she was quite in earnest.

'Well,' said Aunt Anna, 'this country is on the borders of Fairyland, so who can say? When we were children--I and my brothers and sisters and the little barons and baronesses up at the Castle--when we all played together long ago, we used often to try to find the way there--and fairies, of course, are much cleverer than we are. I don't see why some of them may not stray into our world sometimes.'

'And pretend to be _not_ fairies,' said Leonore eagerly. 'P'raps they go back to Fairyland every night, and are here every day; fairies don't need to go to sleep ever, do they?'

But Aunt Anna had not time to reply just then, for supper was on the table, and all her attention was given to seeing that the dishes were what they should be, and in helping her little guest to Leonore's liking.

When Fraulein joined them, however, the conversation took a more general turn.

'I was speaking just now to Leonore,' Aunt Anna began, 'of my childhood--when your dear father, Elsie, and the others, and I used to play with the castle children. And that reminds me that I have a piece of news for you--things repeat themselves it is said. It will be strange if a second generation----' she said no more, and for a moment or two seemed lost in thought--the thought of the past!

Fraulein was used to her aunt's ways; the old lady was a curious mixture of practical commonsense and dreamy fancifulness. But after a little pause the niece recalled her to the present.

'A piece of news, you said, aunt? Good news, I hope?' she inquired.

'I think so,' said the aunt. 'It is about the family at the Castle.

Little Baroness Hildegarde is probably, almost certainly, coming here to spend the winter with her grandparents. She may arrive any day.'

'Oh I _am_ pleased to hear it,' said Fraulein. 'It was just what I was hoping might happen, but I dared scarcely think of it. It would be so nice for our dear Leonore to have a companion.'

Leonore p.r.i.c.ked up her ears at this.

'Yes, my dear,' Fraulein went on, in answer to the question in her eyes, 'I have not spoken of it to you before, for there seemed so little chance of its coming to pa.s.s. It is about the little Hildegarde who would be such a delightful companion for you. She is just about your age, an only child as you are, and such a dear little girl by all accounts. I have not seen her since she was six, but Aunt Anna knows her well, and the family at the Castle have been our most kind friends for so long.'

Leonore looked full of interest but rather perplexed.

'I don't quite understand,' she said. 'Do you mean that the little girl is perhaps coming to live here in this house with us?'

'Oh no, my dear. Her own home is a good way off, but her grandpapa and grandmamma live at the Castle--a large old gray house half way up the hill above the village. I will show it to you to-morrow. It is a wonderfully quaint old place. And the little Baroness comes sometimes on long visits to her grandparents, who love to have her.'

'Only they fear it is lonely for her, as she is accustomed to the life of a great capital,' said Aunt Anna. 'They were delighted to hear I was expecting a little guest, when I saw them the other day, and they told me of the probability of Hildegarde's coming.'

Fraulein almost clapped her hands at this.

'Nothing could be more fortunate,' she said. 'There will be no fear now of your finding Dorf dull, my dearest Leonore.'

Leonore smiled back in return. It was impossible not to be touched by her kind governess's anxiety for her happiness, but she herself had had no fears about being dull or lonely at Dorf. She was not much accustomed to companions of her own age, and just a little shy of them, so the news of Hildegarde's coming was not quite as welcome to her as to her friends.

'I should have been quite happy without anybody else,' she said to herself. 'I love old Aunt Anna, and I am sure she knows plenty of fairy stories whether she has ever seen any fairies herself or not.'

Still she felt, of course, a good deal of curiosity to see the grandchild of the Castle, and could not help letting her thoughts run on her. Would she be taller or smaller than herself--dark or fair, merry or quiet? Above all, would she care for the same things--would she love fairies, and be always hoping to see one some day?

There was plenty for Leonore to think about, and dream about, that first night in the quaint little house, was there not?

And dream she did. When she woke in the morning it seemed to her that she had been busy at it all night, though only one bit of her dreams remained in her memory. This bit was about Hildegarde, and, strange as it seemed, about a person she had only given a pa.s.sing moment's attention to--the old dame in the market-place at Alt.

She dreamt that she was walking along the village street, when she heard a voice calling. She was alone, and she looked back expecting to see Fraulein. But no--a queer little figure was trotting after her, and as it came nearer she heard that the name that reached her ears was not 'Leonore,' but 'Hildegarde,' and with that, some queer feeling made her slip inside the shade of a gateway she was pa.s.sing to watch what happened. And as the figure came quite close she saw that it was that of the old apple-woman--then to her surprise there came flying down the hill, for the village street lay closely below the rising ground at one side, a child all dressed in white, with fair hair blowing about her face as she ran.

'Here I am,' she said, 'what is it?'

And now glancing at the dame, Leonore saw that she was quite changed--at first indeed she thought she was no longer there, till some unuttered voice seemed to tell her that the figure now before her was still the same person. She had grown tall and wavy-looking--her wrinkled face was smooth and fair--only the bright dark eyes remained, and as she held out her hand as if to welcome the pretty child, Leonore saw that in it lay three nuts small and dry and brown--just like the three still stored in her own jacket pocket.

'Take these,' said a sweet low voice, 'they will match hers. You will know what to do with them, and by their means you will bring her to me.

We must make her happy--she has travelled far, and she has longed to cross the borderland.

And Hildegarde, for the same inner voice seemed to tell Leonore that Hildegarde it was, took the nuts and nodded, as if to say 'I understand,' and with that, to her great disappointment, Leonore awoke!

Awoke, however, to what goes far to take away disappointment of such a kind. For the sun was shining brightly, her simple but cosy little room seemed painted in white and pale gold, and a soft green by the window told her that the creepers had not yet faded into their winter bareness.

'I wonder what o'clock it is,' thought the little girl, as she gazed about her in great content. 'How glad I am that it is such a fine day! I do want to go all about the village, and especially to see the Castle. I _wonder_ if Hildegarde is like the little girl in my dream. I do hope she is. And how funny that I should have dreamt about the nut-woman turning into a fairy--it does seem as if Hildegarde must care for fairies just as I do--and as if she knew a good deal about them, too. By the bye I do hope my nuts are safe. I never remembered to take them out of my jacket pocket!'

She was on the point of jumping up to see if they were still there when the door opened softly and Fraulein peeped in. She was already dressed, and her face was beaming; it seemed to reflect the sunshine coming in at the window.

'Oh, Fraulein, dear,' said Leonore, 'how lazy I am! You are dressed, and I only woke up a few minutes ago.'

'All the better, my child,' was Fraulein's kind reply. 'It means, I hope, that you have slept well and soundly. My native air brings back old habits to me, you see. I was always accustomed to getting up very early here. And see, what a lovely day it is! As soon as we have had breakfast I must take you out to see the village and----'

'The Castle,' interrupted Leonore. 'Can't we go to the Castle? I do so want to know if Hildegarde has come. I have been--' 'dreaming about her,' she was going to say, but something, she knew not what, made her hesitate and change the words into 'thinking of her--' 'so much.'

Which was of course quite true.

And something of the same feeling prevented her looking for the nuts till Fraulein left the room.

'It is not likely that the little Baroness has already arrived,' her governess replied. 'We shall be sure to hear as soon as she comes. But we can see something of the Castle _outside_ at any rate. For the next few days I think it must be all holiday-time,' she went on, smiling.

'Aunt Anna begs for it, and we have been working pretty steadily these last months.'

Leonore had no objection to this proposal, though she was fond of lessons, never having been over-dosed with them, and she jumped out of bed and bathed and dressed in the best of spirits. The nuts were quite safe in her jacket pocket. She wrapped them in a piece of paper for better security and put them back again.

'I should not like to lose them,' she thought. 'My dream has given me a feeling that there is something out of the common about them, and I should like to take them with me wherever I go. Just _supposing_ I ever met any fairy sort of person, perhaps the nuts might turn out to be of use in some queer way.'

After breakfast, and when Fraulein had helped Leonore to arrange her books and work and other little things in the room that was to serve as her schoolroom during the winter, they set off on their first ramble through and round the village.

It was a pretty village--lying as it did at the foot of the hills, which were beautifully wooded, it could scarcely have been ugly. But besides these natural advantages, it was bright and clean; many of the houses, too, were pretty in themselves, with deep roofs and carved balconies, and in some cases many coloured designs painted on the outside walls.

Leonore was delighted; it was so different from any place she had ever seen before.

'Oh, Fraulein,' she exclaimed, 'it's like a toy-town. It doesn't look as if real people had built it.'

'But it looks as if very real people had built _that_, does it not?'

said Fraulein, stopping short and drawing Leonore a little backward.

'_That_' was the grim old Castle, of which they now had the first view, standing lonely and gray up on the heights overlooking the village, like a stern guardian keeping watch on the doings of playful children at his feet.

The little girl gazed at it with all her eyes.

'It's a real Castle,' she exclaimed; 'I _am_ so pleased. It looks as if it had dungeons and--and--forti-- What is the word, Fraulein?'

'Fortifications,' said her governess. 'You mean that it is fortified.