Rosemary A Christmas story by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Christmas stories
Published: 2011-03-29T16:00:00+00:00

FAIRY FATHERS MUST VANISH

osemary sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the full meaning of her companion's answer to her last question. He had forgotten that Angel was Angel! Though she was warmly wrapped in a soft rug of silvery fur, a chill crept into her heart. Could it be that Nurse's words about father had been true, after all; and if they were, was she doing harm, rather than good, in bringing him home?

Presently Hugh waked out of his own thoughts, and noticed the little girl's silence.

"You're not afraid?" he asked, blissfully unconscious of offence. "I'm not driving too fast to please you?"

"Oh no," said Rosemary.

"You're not cold?"

"No, thank you."

"Nor tired?"

"No, not tired."

"But something is the matter?"

"I'm worrying," confessed the child.

"What about, little one?"

"I'm not sure if I ought to have spoken to you, or have come with you, after all."

To save his life, Hugh could not have helped laughing, though it was evidently a matter of serious importance. "What, do you think we ought to have a chaperon?" he asked. "Paul's in the tonneau, you know; and he's a most discreet chap."

"I don't know what a chaperon is," said Rosemary. "But will you promise not to be angry if I ask you something, and will you promise to answer, honour bright?"

"Yes, to both your questions."

"Were you really unkind to Angel, before you were lost?"

This was a hard nut to crack, if his past were not to be ruthlessly severed from Angel's by a word. He thought for a moment, and then said, "Honour bright, I can't remember anything unkind I ever did to her."

"Oh, I'm so glad. I was afraid, when you said you'd forgotten—but maybe her name wasn't Angel, then?"

"That was it, I'm sure," replied Hugh, soothingly. "Maybe you named her Angel, yourself?"

"I don't know," said Rosemary. "She seems to have been it, always, ever since I can remember. And she does look just like one, you know, she's so beautiful."

"I expect you remember a lot more about angels than I do, because it isn't so long since you came from where they live. But here we are in the woods at Cap Martin. Have you ever been here before?"

"Angel and I had a picnic here once, all by ourselves; and there were lots of sheep under the olive trees, and a funny old shepherd who made music to them. Oh, I do love picnics, don't you? Angel said, if she were rich, she'd take me on the loveliest kind of a picnic for Christmas; but, you see, it would cost too much money to do it, for we've hardly got any, especially since the Comtesse doesn't pay us back."

"What kind of picnic would it have been?" asked Hugh, driving along the beautiful shore road, where the wind-blown pines lean forward like transformed wood nymphs, caught in a spell just as they spread out their arms to spring into the sea.

"Angel has told me lots of history-stories about the strange rock-villages in the mountains. There's one called Éze, on top of a hill shaped almost like a horn; she showed me a picture of it.

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