Fairies -- Juvenile fiction; Fantasy literature; Short stories, English; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction
She laughed a rather shrill laugh. ‘You’re a courtier already. Do you
know anything of dances, wench--or Queen, must I say?’
‘I’ve had some lessons, but I can’t really dance a bit,’ said Una.
‘You should learn, then.’ The lady moved forward as though she would
teach her at once. ‘It gives a woman alone among men or her enemies
time to think how she shall win or--lose. A woman can only work in man’s
play-time. Heigho!’ She sat down on the bank.
Old Middenboro, the lawn-mower pony, stumped across the paddock and hung
his sorrowful head over the fence.
‘A pleasant Kingdom,’ said the lady, looking round. ‘Well enclosed. And
how does your Majesty govern it? Who is your Minister?’
Una did not quite understand. ‘We don’t play that,’ she said.
‘Play?’ The lady threw up her hands and laughed.
‘We have it for our own, together,’ Dan explained.
‘And d’you never quarrel, young Burleigh?’
‘Sometimes, but then we don’t tell.’
The lady nodded. ‘I’ve no brats of my own, but I understand keeping a
secret between Queens and their Ministers. Ay de mi!
But with no disrespect to present majesty, methinks your realm’
small, and therefore likely to be coveted by man and beast. For Is
example’--she pointed to Middenboro--‘yonder old horse, with the face of
a Spanish friar--does he never break in?’
‘He can’t. Old Hobden stops all our gaps for us,’ said Una, ‘and we let
Hobden catch rabbits in the Shaw.’
The lady laughed like a man. ‘I see! Hobden catches conies--rabbits--for
himself, and guards your defences for you. Does he make a profit out of
his coney-catching?’
‘We never ask,’ said Una. ‘Hobden’s a particular friend of ours.’
‘Hoity-toity!’ the lady began angrily. Then she laughed. ‘But I forget.
It is your Kingdom. I knew a maid once that had a larger one than this
to defend, and so long as her men kept the fences stopped, she asked ‘em
no questions either.’
‘Was she trying to grow flowers?’ said Una.
‘No, trees--perdurable trees. Her flowers all withered.’ The lady leaned
her head on her hand.
‘They do if you don’t look after them. We’ve got a few. Would you like
to see? I’ll fetch you some.’ Una ran off to the rank grass in the shade
behind the wigwam, and came back with a handful of red flowers. ‘Aren’t
they pretty?’ she said. ‘They’re Virginia stock.’
‘Virginia?’ said the lady, and lifted them to the fringe of her mask.
‘Yes. They come from Virginia. Did your maid ever plant any?’
‘Not herself--but her men adventured all over the earth to pluck or to
plant flowers for her crown. They judged her worthy of them.’
‘And was she?’ said Dan cheerfully.
‘Quien sabe? [who knows?] But at least, while her men toiled abroad she
toiled in England, that they might find a safe home to come back to.’
‘And what was she called?’
‘Gloriana--Belphoebe--Elizabeth of England.’ Her voice changed at each
word.
‘You mean Queen Bess?’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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