They had spent a most interesting hour at the Royal Mews, and, rare good fortune, the best was yet to come. They means Mr. Harris and Marie-Celeste and Albert, and the Royal Mews—since to the average little American the words doubtless are wholly unintelligible—means the royal stables. Mr. Harris and Marie-Celeste had called by appointment in the phaeton lor Albert, and then leaving the ponies in the care of a groom at the entrance to the stable courtyard, in company with another groom they had visited the royal horses. The place as a whole was rather disappointing to our little party. Harold, who had been all through the stables of the Duke of Westminster at Eton Hall, had described something much finer than this—imposing buildings surrounding a courtyard paved with bevel-edged squares of stone, with not so much as a whisp of hay or straw to be seen anywhere, and in the centre a noble statue of a high-spirited horse, rearing and pulling hard at the bridle, held in the hand of a stalwart groom, who seems fully equal to the occasion. Here there was nothing of the sort, and yet these were the Queen’s stables. Ah, well! these were old and the Duke’s were new, and perhaps the royal family were trying to avoid extravagance, and that was of course very commendable. But what seemed lacking in elegance of appointment was made up in the number of horses; and happening to enter one of the courtyards just as three of the court carriages were about to be driven out of it, the children were intensely interested. Marie-Celeste opened her eyes wide for wonder at the novel sight of a coach and four, but with no reins anywhere about the harness, and not so much as the suggestion of a scat for the coachman. The mystery of how they were to be driven was solved in a moment, however, when a faultlessly equipped groom threw himself astride of one of the leaders, and the stablemen, standing at the bridles of the four-in-hand, at one and the same moment let go their hold, and sprang quickly out of the way. It was very inspiring and exciting to see the three coaches, that were to convey some royal guests to the depot, leave the courtyard one after the other, the horses in each case prancing in wildest fashion and perfectly free, apparently, with the exception of the one mounted leader, to do any outlandish thing that they chose.
“I don’t see that there’s anything at all to keep them from running away,” pondered Marie-Celeste gravely, “or how they ever manage them at all.”
“But dey do,” said well-informed Albert; “I’ve seen dem often. Dat cuttin’ up is jus’ for fun at de start. Dey’re trained to behave jus’ of dere own selves without any driver, and when dey get out on de road dey always do behave;” and then in the moment’s pause that followed, Marie-Celeste, remembering certain recent performances of her own, wondered if her father wished that a certain little girl, of whom he had some knowledge, more closely resembled these royal ponies, who, once trained to behave, according to Albert, never dreamed of taking the bit in their teeth or of kicking over the traces.
But the best that was yet to come was something of a highly exclusive and highly privileged order—something in which even Mr. Harris could have no part. From the moment that Albert had climbed into the phaeton at his own door he had held a small square envelope firmly in one hand. Mr. Harris had advised him to put it in his pocket or to consign it to him for safer keeping but to no avail. Albert considered the grip of his own right hand the safest place by far for the valuable little square of cardboard, and which was nothing else than the open sesame to the Queen’s own garden, called the East Terrace, and to which the general public only occasionally were admitted. Exception, in this instance, had been made for Marie-Celeste and Albert. It had all been managed in some way by Albert’s father, Canon Allyn, apropos of Albert’s having repeated a remark of Marie-Celeste’s, “that she should be happy as a queen herself if just once she could be allowed to walk in that garden.” Whether the powers that rule the entrance to the same came to the conclusion that to a little girl of twelve and a little boy of four the term of general public could not honestly be applied, or whether all rules of procedure and precedence were magnanimously waived in their favor, certain it is that the little card in question bore the incredible inscription: “Admit Master Albert Allyn and his little friend, Miss Marie-Celeste Harris, to the East Terrace between the hours of twelve and three on Thursday. By order of —————”
And this was Thursday, and by Mr. Harris’s watch, long ago carefully adjusted to English time, it was precisely five minutes to twelve. The skies were blue above them and a delightful little breeze was blowing out of the west; so that everything was just as it should be when two pairs of eager little feet were to be allowed to tread the paths of the Queen’s own garden. And such a garden as it proved! with its fountains and statues and vases, and the orangery on one side, and on the other three sides a beautiful sloping lawn, ascending from the level of the garden to the gray stonewall at the outer edge of the terrace; and to think that here they were actually walking about in this beautiful garden, instead of merely peering through the fretwork of the iron gate, as some other little children with envious eyes were doing that very moment. Marie-Celeste was so impressed with the greatness of the privilege accorded them, that for the first five minutes or so she kept Albert’s hand tight in her own, and spoke never a word save a whispered “yes” or “no” to Albert’s questions. But to Albert, who had been born beneath the castle walls, it must be confessed royalty was less awe-inspiring, and to walk about hand in hand in that stately fashion and talk in suppressed whispers was not his idea of the way to enjoy the Queen’s garden.
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Finally he resolved to take matters into his own hands by suddenly slipping away from Marie-Celeste’s grasp; and then drawing off a little, and folding both hands behind his back, as though neither of them were to be longer at anybody’s disposal, he said aggressively: “And—and now what are you afraid of, Marie-Celeste? Do you sink somebody’s goin’ to soot you from de top of one of de towers if you speak out loud?”
“Why no, of course not,” with a little nervous laugh; “really, I didn’t know I was just whispering; but it seems such a wonderful place to me, as much for what has happened here as for what is here now.”
Albert looked at Marie-Celeste a little whimsically, and then said dryly: “Well, I don’ know much about what’s happened here, and I s’ouldn’t sink jus’ an American little girl would know so very much eider.”
“Perhaps not,” said Marie-Celeste, half angry at Albert’s insinuation; “but ‘s’ouldn’t sink’ or no, I could tell you a good deal if I chose to about one little queen who lived here—”
“Oh, yes, I remember. You did promise to tell me ‘bout her some day. Right here, where she used to live, would be a good place, Marie-Celeste.”
“Yes, it would,” but in a tone as though nothing was farther from her thought than the telling of it. She would show this presuming little Albert that “jus’ American little girls” were not to be so easily conciliated.
Albert looked crestfallen, but hoped still to win by strategy.
“She was a little French girl, wasn’t she?” he asked, quite casually.
“Yes, she was.”
“Do you s’pose she used to play in this garden?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders.
“Her name was Isabel, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, her name was Isabel.”
“And she was only nine when she was a queen.”
“Only nine.”
Albert gave Marie-Celeste a look which said as plainly as words: “That jus’ American little girls could be awful mean,” and evidently deciding it would be best to leave that kind of a girl to herself, turned on his heel and walked straight off toward the castle with a consequential air, and as though bent on reporting such unseemly conduct to Her Majesty in person.
Marie-Celeste looked after him a moment with a most amused smile, and then growing to feel more at home amid royal surroundings, turned to investigate the little miniature elephants that flank the steps leading down from the eastern terrace. Then she wandered on, making a partial circuit of the garden, stopping here and there to gaze at some statue that struck her fancy or to touch with reverend hand the rich carving of the vases, and finally bringing up at the fountain in the centre.
Meantime, what had not that audacious Albert ventured! The rapid and indignant pace at which he had sought to put as much space as possible between the offending Marie-Celeste and himself had brought him in a trice to the foot of the double flight of steps that ascend from the garden to the terrace. And what more natural, when you find yourself at the foot of a flight of steps, than to walk up them, no matter if the place does chance to be Windsor Castle; and then if at the top you find an open door confronting you, what more natural than to walk in, particularly if there happens to be no one to say you nay, and you have half a mind, besides, to seek an audience of the Queen, and report the ungracious conduct of an ungracious little American, who has been unworthily permitted to tread the paths of the royal garden. A few moments later he was bounding down the stone stairway, flying toward Marie-Celeste with the breathless announcement: “She wants us to come in.”
“Who?” screamed Marie-Celeste, half stiff with fright; “not the Queen?”
“No,” called Albert, who was not to be delayed by explanations, and was already half-way back to the steps again; “the Queen’s mother.”
“The Queen’s mother!” thought Marie-Celeste; “she must be very old.” But this was time for action rather than thought.
“Please wait for me, Albert;” for Albert had scaled the stairs, and in another second would be out of sight; and for a wonder, Albert waited—touched, perhaps, by the entreaty in her voice, and perceptibly enjoying the turn of affairs that left him master of the situation.
“Did the Queen’s mother come out and ask you to come in?” whispered Marie-Celeste, detaining Albert by main force, while she straightened his necktie and gave his hopelessl............