Sorry it took so long to update. I have the worst luck in the world. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Chapter 4: Milk and Fairies

Five minutes passed. Emily looked at Spot. Spot looked at Emily. Emily stretched and yawned. Spot tapped his fingers on the table. So it went on for another five minutes. Eventually, Emily got bored.

"Patrick, I'm bored," she said.

"Whaddaya want me to do about it?" Spot asked irritably.

"Tell me a story."

A story? Spot thought. What the hell does she think I am? The King of Brooklyn don't tell stories.

"Please?" Emily begged.

But his second-in-command does.

"Come on, kid," Spot said, grabbing Emily's arm. "We're gonna go visit somebody."

Whistler had woken up late that morning. It was his biggest flaw, the inability to function well at an early hour, and without Spot to make sure he was up, he'd slept in, arriving at the circulation office just as the last paper was sold to a fourteen-year-old newsie named Skipper. Whistler considered soaking him, both to get rid of his bad mood and to get some free papers, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Spot didn't like his newsies fighting among themselves.

"Well, looks like I got the rest a' the day off," Whistler muttered. "Might as well go over to 'Hattan, see how Spot's doin'."

The walk over to Manhattan was decidedly boring. Whistler lived up to his name, livening it up by whistling a Scottish ballad entitled "Four Stone Walls".

"If it kills, Iwill surround myself with four stone walls. A little pride up on the shelf, and four stone walls around me," he sang. He tried searching his mind for the next verse, but came up with nothing.

"Eh, whatever," he muttered. Whistler began listing the songs that he knew, trying to find someting to whistle. He came up with another Scottish ballad, this one in Gaelic.

Half way through the second verse, he heard someone calling his name. There, a few yards away was Spot, with his little sister tagging along, clutching his hand.

"Whatcha doin' here,Spot?" Whistler shouted.

"Dammit, you should know," Spot said with a scowl. "Thanks to you, I'm stuck baby-sitting for this kid, and I ain't got the slightest idea what to do with her."

"Did you try telling her a story? Kids like stories."

Emily let go of Spot's hand and trotted over to Whistler. "Will you tell me a story?" she asked.

"Sure," said Whistler. "But let's find someplace to sit down."

"You can come to our house!" Emily said.

Spot looked awkward. "Is that alright with you, Whistler?"

"Sure, why not?" Whistler replied. "I've often wondered what kind of place you came from."

Spot raised an eyebrow. "That's a little disturbing."

"So's your affinity for bathing."

"Story! Story!" cried Emily. She grabbed Whistler's hand and started dragging him in the direction of the four story brownstone.

Five minutes later, the three young people were sitting at the kitchen table, nursing glasses of milk. Whistler took a large gulp, set down his glass, and frowned. Then he started to speak.

"Jamie Freel lived with his mother," he began. "She was a widow, and Jamie was her only family and support. They were poor, but thanks to Jamie they always had enough to eat. One night, on Samhain, Jamie put on his cap and said to his mother 'Weel, I'm off to the old ruinedcastle to seek me fortune.' His mother cried and begged him not to go, because the old castle was where the fairies had their parties every year on Samhain.

"But Jamie said he'd go anyway, and his mother didn't stop him.

"So he crossed the pratie patch, and went through the woods, and soon enough he was at the old ruined castle. He could see light through the windows and there was music playing, strange wild music the sort that only the fairies know how to play. He went inside, and all the fairy folk welcomed him, sayin' 'Jamie Freel! Jamie Freel! We're off to Dublin to steal a young lady! Will you come with us?' Jamie said he would, and off they went, flyin' through the sky like birds with their magic.

"Then they were flyin' over Dublin Town, and they stopped in by the window of a big fine house. Jamie could see the lady they meant to steal, asleep in her bed, and he fell in love with her. Anyway, the fairies opened the window, and carried the young lady out, and put a stick of wood inher place that they enchanted to look just like her.Then off they went back to Donegal, laughin' and cheerin' at the trick they'd played. Aftera while, Jamie said 'Say, you all had your turns, let me carry her for a while.' The fairies said 'Sure, an' why not', but the second that Jamie had the young lady in his arms, he sprinted back through the woods, and across the pratie patch, and back home to his mother. But in the distance, he heard a fairy yell 'Much good she'll do ye, Jamie Freel! I curse her to be deaf and dumb!'"

"But why?" asked Emily.

"Because he'd lied to them," Whistler explained, and went on. "So Jamie brought the young lady home to his mother, and the old widow cried, because she couldn't bear the thought of the nice young lady living in poverty with them. But the lady never complained or seemed unhappy. She lived with them for a whole year, and Jamie worked for them both. Then, the next year on Samhain, Jamie put on his cap said to his mother 'Weel, I'm off to the old ruined castle again, to see what I'll see.' And his mother said 'No, Jamie, don't go, they'll kill you for trickin' them,' But Jamie went anyway.

"The castle was full of light an' music an' dancing fairies, just like the year before. But Jamie didn't go inside right away. He waited by the door, an' over heard two fairies talkin'. 'That Jamie Freel put a trick on us last year, and got that young lady from us,' one said. 'But there she sits at his hearth, deaf an' dumb, when a drop of this liquor in my glass would give her back her hearin' an' her speech.' Well, when Jamie heard that, he jumped up, grabbed the glass and ran back through the woods, across the pratie patch, an' home to his little house where his mother an' the young lady waited. He gave her the glass, an' she drank the one drop that had survived the mad dash across the pratie field, an' thanked Jamie for savin' her from the fairies, and could he please take her back to Dublin to her family?

"Well, Jamie couldn't say no, because he'd fallen in love with her, so him an' his mother packed up and went to Dublin on the next train. They went up to the house, an' knocked on the door. The lady of the house answered--"

"But ladies don't answer their own doors," Emily interrupted.

"In this story they do," Whistler told her. "The lady of the house answered, and the young lady said 'Mammie, don't you remember me?' The lady said 'Sure, an' don't you look like my Gracie who's been dead near on a whole year.' The young lady says 'But I am Gracie, see this mole?' An' sure enough, the young lady was Gracie because of the mole on her neck. Her father came to the door, an' thanked Jamie for bringin' his daughter back, and was there anythin' he wanted? Jamie said 'Weel, over the year that Gracie's been livin' with us, I fallen in love with her,' An' Gracie's father said, 'Then you'll be married, an' you'll be my heir.' An' they all lived happily ever after."

Here Whistler took another sip of milk and looked around. Spot appeared to havefallen asleep, but Emily was staring up at him expectantly.

"Is that the end?" she asked. Whistler nodded. Emily looked sad. "I liked it, but it didn't have a princess in it. I want a story with a princess in it."

"Well, next time I come to visit, I'll tell you a story with a princess in it," Whistler promised. "But I think you should wake up your brother."