The Heather-Moon

								


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                            The Heather-Moon



                      By C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON
Authors of "The Guests of Hercules," "The Princess Virginia." "The Motor
Maid." etc.
A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York
Copyright, 1912, by C. N. & A. M. Williamson
All rights reserved, including that of translation into Foreign
Languages, including the Scandinavian.

BOOK I
THE PRELUDE: AND THE PEOPLE

I

For the first time in her life, Barrie saw the door that led to the
garret stairs standing ajar. It was always, always locked, as is
correct, though irritating, for a door that leads to Fairyland.
In Barrie's Outer Life that her grandmother knew, and Miss Hepburn knew,
and Mrs. Muir the housekeeper knew, there was--Heaven be praised!--no
romance at all; for romance is an evil thing, still worse, a frivolous
thing, which may be avoided for a well-brought-up girl though
whopping-cough may not; and already this same evil had wrought vast
damage among the MacDonalds of Dhrum. In the Inner Life of Barrie,
however, there was nothing worth thinking about except romance; and the
door of the garret stairs was one of the principal roads to the
forbidden land.
She stopped in front of it. At first she could not believe her eyes. Her
heart had given a glorious bound, which, only to have felt once in its
full ecstasy, was worth the bother of being born into a family where
there were no mothers or fathers, but only--ah, what an awesome
only!--grim old Grandma MacDonald and Grandma MacDonald's grim old house
where Carlisle ends and moorlands begin.
It is difficult to be sure of things when your heart is beating nineteen
to the dozen, and the special thing, or mirage of a thing,
seems--judging from all else that has happened in Outer Life--much too
good to be true. Yet there it was, that streak of dull, mote-misted
gold, painting what actually appeared to be a crack between the dark
frame of the door and the dark old door itself--just such gold as Barrie
had seen at least once a day ever since she could remember (except when
mumps and measles kept her in bed) by applying an eye to the keyhole.
"Fairy gold" she had named it.
The only person who ever went into the garret was Mrs. Muir, and though
she had the air of making no secret of such expeditions, it had always
struck Barrie as deliciously, thrillingly strange that invariably she
turned the key of the stairway door upon herself the instant she was on
the other side, and religiously performed the same ceremony on letting
herself out. "Ceremony" really was the word, because the key was large,
ancient, and important-looking, and squeaked sepulchrally while it
turned. Barrie knew all this, because in spring and autumn, when Mrs.
Muir paid her visits to fairylands forlorn beyond the oak door, Barrie