"Well, at all events, I have now met
with a good one; and may I ask what name she goes by?"
"My name is Trevethick, Sir," said the damsel, simply. "I am no angel,
but I am going to the place you seek; it is this way, Sir."
It was evident that his banter had not pleased her. The same tone that
is found agreeable in the town does not always prove welcome in the
country. She motioned with her hand to the southward, and began to walk
so fast that Richard could not easily keep pace with her.
"But are there really fairies about here?" inquired he, seriously. "I am
quite a stranger to these parts, and should be glad to learn all I can."
"Nay, Sir, I can not say; I have myself never seen one, though I know
some who have, or say they have. There are tales of worse than Pixies
told about that moor you have come across. You might have met the Demon
Horse that tempts the tired traveler to mount him, and then carries him
nobody knows whither; but, for certain, he is never seen again."
"Then the spirits about here are all bad, are they? I suppose to make up
for the goodness and the beauty of the mortals, eh?"
"Nay, they are not all bad, Sir," continued the young girl, gravely;
"the Spriggans, who guard the buried treasures of the giants, have often
helped a poor man out of their store; or, at least, 'tis said so.
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