CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH THE HEROINE HEARS SOME STARTLING NEWS

It was towards the end of September that Philomène returned home. Her godmother was coming up to town also, and they travelled together, so that on that journey there was ginger-beer to drink, and not cold tea. She had not been at home more than an hour or so before she found an opportunity of taking her latchkey and running out into the garden, though the day was wet and windy. Sweet William was at home, and received her cordially.

“I came as soon as ever I could,” she cried, holding out both hands to him, “I only waited till Nurse began unpacking for me next door, because I was afraid she would say I ought not to be out in the rain. And now I must tell you all about the Cushats, and Speedwell and Spirea, and the merman, and they both said it was the chance of a life-time, having him all to myself as I did.” So Philomène told him all her adventures, and Sweet William listened very attentively.

“Is the Cushats haunted?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh, no,” replied Philomène indignantly, “certainly not. Lilian Augusta’s sister-in-law once saw a ghost,” she continued, “and Lilian Augusta said she was as proud as a cat with two tails ever after; but I shouldn’t be proud, only desperately frightened, if I thought a ghost was anywhere near me.”

“That is a pity,” said Sweet William blandly, “considering that there is a little spirit waiting to make friends with you in your very own room.”

Philomène started up from her toadstool, and went quite white. “In my room?” she exclaimed, and her breath caught, “in my bedroom here at home?”

“Sit down, child,” said Sweet William, “and don’t be theatrical, for pity’s sake. There’s nothing at all to make a commotion about; it’s only a White Létiche.”

“And what is that, please?” asked Philomène, sitting down again and trying to steady her voice, though she was still rather pale.

“A White Létiche,” said Sweet William, “is the spirit of a child who was never christened, and visits, unseen, the rooms of children.”

“Is my Létiche a baby, then?” asked Philomène.

“Oh, no,” said Sweet William, “she was about twelve when she died, and a very sweet little girl she was too. She won’t even appear to you unless you want her to, and then only on the 31st of October.”

“Only on All Souls’ Eve if I want her to,” thought Philomène, “oh, well then, it isn’t nearly as bad as it sounded at first.”

“I was meaning to tell you something more about the people in your house,” Sweet William continued, “the same house which, if I may remind you, you at one time considered so extremely uninteresting, but you seemed so much upset when I told you it had a White Létiche, that perhaps you will leave me altogether when I tell you that there is a white witch living in it too.”

“I certainly shouldn’t be rude and ungrateful enough to leave you,” returned Philomène stoutly, “and I will try not to get frightened again, but I am afraid I don’t know what a white witch is either. Godmother told me lots about fairies, but I think she did not want me to know a great deal about witches, perhaps because she thought it might make me nervous when I went to bed.”

“And judging from the exhibition you made of yourself just now,” retorted Sweet William, “your godmother seems to have proved herself a woman of sense. Well, you must know that there are black witches and white witches, and that black witches often turn into black cats, and white witches into——”

“Queen Mab!” interrupted Philomène excitedly.

“Into white cats,” resumed Sweet William, “such as Queen Mab. Here again there is nothing to be alarmed about, for white witches are a kindly race, and help people by white magic instead of injuring them by black art. I thought that as winter was coming on, I had better tell you that you will have another comrade in the house besides Master Mustardseed, for in the cold weather you are not likely to see much of me. But you still look so disturbed, that I think I must distract your thoughts a little by telling you a story, not about spirits or witches, but about a poor little foundling whom the Good People befriended. I hope this may quiet you down a bit before you have to go indoors.”

“I should like to hear about the foundling very much, thank you,” said Philomène, and set herself to listen.