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/LITTLE MISS 
 
 PEGGY: 
 
 •UUtkKjtUi UU 1.^ i!.iniA-. 
 
 •NUR. 
 
 ONLY 
 
 A 
 SERV 
 
 BY 
 
 STCRY 
 
 MRS: 
 
 MoLES 
 
 WoRTI{ 
 
 ■i li ii in i HU i iiim ' X it 
 
 WITH PICTURES 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTBR . CHANE 
 
 A.L.BUKT. 
 PUBLISHER 
 
 — New York- 
 
 I 
 
: 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 E. L., 
 
 THE DEAR YOUNG FRIEND 
 
 WHO SUGGESTED ITS NAME TO THIS LITTLE STORY, 
 
 AND FROM WHOSE LATE HOME, 
 
 SO INTIMATELY ASSOCIATED WITH HER, 
 
 THIS DEDICATION IS MADE- 
 
 Bindon, August, 1887. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/littlemisspeggyomole 
 
" Would I could paint the serious brow, 
 The eyes that look the world in face, 
 Half-questioning, doubting, wondering how 
 This happens thus, or that finds place." 
 
 — My Opposite Neighbor. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE 
 
 A Breakfast-Party 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 The White Spot on the Hill 18 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 " The Children at the Back." 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 "Real" Fancies 49 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Little Red Shoes 66 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Fellow- Feelings and Slippers 83 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 A Bun to the Good 101 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Under the Big Umbrella 117 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Opposite House 135 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 " Soap-Bubbling " 150 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Up Fernley Road 167 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Shoes-Lady Again 184 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " What is the matter, little girls ?" said the lady. Frontispiece 
 He had to drum with a spoon, first in one fat hand and then 
 
 in the other 2 
 
 They were settled on the hearth-rug — baby on Peggy's lap. . 17 
 " See, Hal," she said, " over there, far, far away, neely in the 
 
 sky, does you see that bluey hill ? " 27 
 
 She was rather a terrible-looking old woman; she always 
 
 wore a short bed-gown ... and she was generally to be 
 
 seen with a pipe in her mouth 35 
 
 " Tell me what the little white house is reely like" 53 
 
 Peggy stood still, her eyes fixed on the baby shoes 70 
 
 " Here's the other shoe; I've just founded it" 94 
 
 Suddenly a window above opened, and Mother Whelan's 
 
 befrilled face was thrust out 110 
 
 An umbrella rolling itself about on the pavement 131 
 
 " To be sure," she said, in her most gracious tone. " 'Tis the 
 
 beautiful pipes I have" 142 
 
 The boys, boy-like, thought little but of who could blow the 
 
 biggest bubbles 154 
 
 Hushed Light Smiley to sleep, her arm clasped round Peggy. 182 
 
LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 A BKEAKFAST-PARTY. 
 
 " Henry was every morning fed 
 With a full mess of milk and bread." 
 
 — Maky Lamb. 
 
 "No," said Peggy to herself, with a little 
 sigh, " the naughty clouds has covered it up 
 to-day. I can't see it." 
 
 " Miss Peggy," came nurse's voice from the 
 other side of the room, "your breakfast's 
 waiting. Come to the table, my dear, and stand 
 quiet while Master Thor says the grace." 
 
 Nurse spoke kindly, but she meant what she 
 said. Peggy turned slowly from the window 
 and took her place among her brothers. She, 
 and Thorold and Terence, the cwo oldest boys, 
 sat opposite nurse, and beside nurse was baby, 
 who required a great deal of room to himself 
 at table, baby though he was. He had so many 
 things to do during a meal, you see, which 
 grown-up children think quite unnecessary. He 
 
2 LITTLE MISS PEOG Y. 
 
 had to drum with a spoon, first in one fat hand 
 and then in the other; he had to dip his crust 
 first in nurse's cup of tea and next in Hal's jug 
 of milk to see which tasted best, and there 
 would have been no fun in doing either if he 
 hadn't had to stretch a long way across ; and 
 besides all this he felt really obliged now and 
 then to put his feet upon the table for a change, 
 one at a time, of course. For even he, clever 
 as he was, could not have got both together 
 out of the bars of his chair without toppling 
 over. Nurse had for some time past been 
 speaking about beginning "to break Master 
 Baby in," but so far it had not got beyond 
 speaking, and she contented herself with seat- 
 ing him beside her and giving him a good 
 quarter of the table to himself, the only objec- 
 tion to which was that it gave things in general 
 a rather lop-sided appearance. 
 
 At the two ends sat Baldwin and Hal. 
 Hal's real name, of course, was Henry, though 
 he was never called by it. Baldwin, on the 
 contrary, had no short name, partly perhaps 
 because mamma thought " Baldie " sounded so 
 ugly, and partly because there was something 
 about Baldwin himself which made one not 
 inclined to shorten his name. It suited him so 
 
" fcjaby, who rscjuircd a £rsat d*:al df room 
 to himsdf at tatk, baby rhoucgk h* was. 
 Hi kad 50 many tiling to do clarin^amj^ 
 
 you szi, which <5rown- up chilarzn thinkauift 
 unnzciss&ry. H? dad to dram with a.5boon 
 first in om fat kand and thtn in tfu otfuf* 
 he had to dih his crust first in nuwi's Cup of 
 tra and niKT in Hali ju£ of milk to 5u which 
 tasttd but, and thtn wouIcV haw bun no fu.n 
 in doin£*;rfur if ht hadn't* had to stretch a 
 Ion<£ way across; and bssidts all this ht fdt 
 ^ally cblicgd now and thin to put hi J fist up- 
 on, rhs. tabk for <dv chan££ ( onrat aft rm, of Co uf;$! J 
 
A BREAKFAST-PARTY. 3 
 
 well, for lie was broad and comfortable and 
 slow. He was never in a hurry, and lie gave 
 you the feeling that you needn't be in a hurry 
 either. There was plenty of time for every- 
 thing, for saying the whole of his name as well 
 as for everything else. 
 
 That made a lot of brothers, didn't it ? Five, 
 counting baby, and to match them, or rather 
 not to match them — for five and one are not a 
 match at all — only one little girl ! She won- 
 dered about it a good deal, when she had 
 nothing else more interesting to wonder about. 
 It seemed so very badly managed that she 
 should have five brothers, and that the -Rve 
 brothers should only have one sister each. It 
 wasn't always so, she knew. The children at 
 the back had plenty of both brothers and 
 sisters ; she had found that out already. But 
 I must not begin just yet about the children at 
 the back ; you will hear about them in good 
 time. 
 
 There was a nice bowl of bread-and-milk at 
 each child's place, and as bread-and-milk is 
 much better hot than cold, it was generally 
 eaten up quickly. But this morning, even after 
 the grace was said, and the four brothers who 
 weren't baby had got on very well with theirs, 
 Peggy sat, spoon in hand, gazing before her 
 and not eating at all. 
 
LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " What's tlie matter, Miss Peggy ?" said- 
 nurse, when she had at last made baby under- 
 stand that he really wasn't to try to put his 
 toes into her tea-cup, which had struck him 
 suddenly as a very beautiful thing to do; 
 " you've not begun to eat. Are you waiting 
 for the sugar or the salt, or can't you fix which 
 you want this morning ?" 
 
 For there was a very nice and interesting 
 rule in that nursery that every morning each 
 child might choose whether he or she would 
 have salt or sugar in the bread- and-milk. The 
 only thing was that they had to be quick about 
 choosing, and that was not always very easy. 
 
 Peggy looked up when nurse spoke to her. 
 
 "Peggy wasn't 'toosing," she said. Then 
 she grew a little red. " I wasn't 'toosing," she 
 went on. For Peggy was five — -Q.ye sl good 
 while ago — and she wanted to leave off baby 
 ways of talking. " I was wondering." 
 
 " Well, eat your breakfast, and when you've 
 got half-way down the bowl you can tell us 
 what you were wondering about," said nurse. 
 
 Peggy's spoon, already laden, continued its 
 journey to her mouth. But when it got there, 
 and its contents were safely deposited between 
 her two red lips, she gave a little cry. 
 
A BREAKFAST-PARTY. 5 
 
 u Oil !" she said, " it doesn't taste good. 
 There's no salt or sugar." 
 
 " 'Cos you didn't put any in, you silly girl," 
 said Thor. " I saw, but I thought it'd be a 
 good lesson. People shouldn't wonder when 
 they're eating." 
 
 u Peggy wasn't eating ; she was only going 
 to eat," said Terry. " Never mind, Peg-top. 
 Thor shan't tease you. Which'll you have ? 
 Say quick," and he pulled forward the sugar- 
 basin and the salt-cellar in front of his sister. 
 
 " Sugar, pelease," said Peggy. " It's so told 
 this morning." 
 
 At this Thor burst out laughing. 
 
 " What a Peggy-speech," he said. " Sugar's 
 no warmer than salt." 
 
 "Yes," said Baldwin solemnly, from the 
 other end of the table. " 'Tis. There's sugar 
 in taffy and in jam, and they're hot, leastways 
 they're hot to be made. And there's salt in 
 ices, for mamma said they're made with salt." 
 • " What rubbish !" said Thor. " Nurse, isn't 
 it rubbish ? And when did you ever see ices, 
 I'd like to know, Baldwin ?" 
 
 " I did," Baldwin maintained. " Onst. But 
 I'll not tell you when, if you say rubbish." 
 
 "It is rubbish all the same, and I'll prove 
 
6 LITTLE MISS PEOG T. 
 
 it," said Tlior. " You know that nice smooth 
 white sugar on the top of bridescake ? — well 
 they ice that to put it on — I know they do 
 Don't they, nurse ?" 
 
 " They call it icing, to be sure," nurse re 
 plied. " But that's no proof that ices them 
 selves mayn't be made with salt, Master Thor 
 for when you come to think of it ices have 
 sugar in them." 
 
 " To be sure they have," Thor cried trium- 
 phantly. " Nurse has proved it — that sugar's no 
 warmer than salt," which was not what nurse 
 had intended to say at all. 
 
 But now Peggy, who all this time had been 
 steadily eating, looked up again. 
 
 "Peggy was wondering," she said, "what's 
 clouds. Is clouds alive ?" 
 
 Thor was all ready with his " you silly girl " 
 again, but this time Terry was before him. 
 
 "They can't be alive," he said. "They've 
 got no hands or feet, or mouths and noses, and 
 eyes and " 
 
 "They has noses," said Peggy eagerly. 
 " Peggy's seen them, and they has wings — the 
 little ones has wings, they fly so fast. And 
 p'r'aps they has got proper faces on their other 
 sides, to look at the sun with. I've seen shiny 
 bits of the other sides turned over." 
 
A BREAKFAST-PARTY. 7 
 
 " Yes," said Baldwin solemnly again, as if 
 that settled it, " so has I." 
 
 " But they're not alive, Peggy, they're really 
 not. They fly because the wind blows them," 
 said Terence. 
 
 " Oh !" said Peggy, with a deep-drawn 
 breath, " I see. Then if we all bio wed very 
 hard at the window, if we all blowed together, 
 couldn't we blow them aivay ? I do so want 
 to blow them away when they come over my 
 hills." 
 
 But when she had said this she grew very 
 red, just as if she had told something she had 
 not meant to tell, and if any one had looked at 
 her quite close they would have seen that there 
 were tears in her eyes. Fortunately, however, 
 no one had noticed her last words, for Thorold 
 and Terence too had burst out laughing at the 
 beginning of her speech. 
 
 " Fancy us all blowing out of the window 
 together," they said. And they began puffing 
 out their cheeks and pretending to blow very 
 hard, which made them look so funny that 
 Pecrory herself burst out laufdiino; too. 
 
 " I'll tell you what," said Thor, when they 
 were tired of laughing, "that reminds me of 
 soap-bubbles ; we haven't had any for such a 
 
8 LITTL E MISS PEG G F. 
 
 time. Nurse, will you remember to let us have 
 them the first wet half -holiday ? Mamma'll let 
 us if you will." 
 
 " And the pipes ?" said nurse. " There was 
 six new got the last time, and they were to 
 last, certain sure, till the next time, and 
 then " 
 
 " Oh ! I know," said Thor, " we took them to 
 school and never brought them back. Never 
 mind — we'll get some more from old Mother 
 Whelan. She always keeps lots. We'll keep 
 our halfpennies for two Saturdays — that'll do. 
 But we must be going, Terry and Baldwin. 
 I'm all ready." 
 
 And he jumped up as he spoke and pulled 
 his satchel of books from under his chair, where 
 he had put them to be all ready. Baldwin 
 slowly got down from his place, for he was not 
 only broad, but his legs were very short, and 
 came up to nurse to be helped on with his 
 little overcoat, while Terence began rushing 
 about the room in a fuss, looking for one of his 
 books, which as usual couldn't be found at the 
 last minute. 
 
 " I had it just before breakfast, I'm sure I 
 had," he went on repeating. " I haven't finished 
 learning it, and I meant to look it over. Oh ? 
 dear, what shall I do ?" 
 
A BREAKFAST-PARTY. 9 
 
 The nursery party was too accustomed to 
 Terry's misfortunes to be much upset by them. 
 Peggy sat still foi a moment or two considering. 
 Then she spoke. 
 
 " Terry," she said, " look in baby's cot." 
 
 Off flew Terence, returning in triumph, 
 grammar in hand. 
 
 " I'll learn it on the way to school. How did 
 you know it was there, Peggy ?" 
 
 " I sawed you reaching over to kiss baby 
 when you corned in to ask nurse for a new shoe- 
 lace this morning," said Peggy with great 
 pride. 
 
 " Good girl," said Terence as he slammed the 
 door and rushed downstairs to overtake his 
 two brothers. 
 
 The nursery seemed very quiet when the three 
 big boys had gone. Quiet but not idle ; there 
 was always a great deal to do first thing of a 
 morning, and Peggy had her own share of the 
 doing to see to. She took off her own breakfast 
 pinafore and put on a quite clean one — one that 
 looked quite clean anyway, just as if it had 
 never been on, even though it had really been 
 used two or three times. Peggy called it her 
 " prayers pinafore," and it always lasted a whole 
 week, as it was only worn to go down to the 
 
10 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 dining-room for five or ten minutes. Then she 
 washed her hands and stood still for nurse to 
 give a tidying touch to her soft fair hair, though 
 it really didn't need it — Peggy's hair never 
 looked messy — and then she took off Hal's over- 
 pinafore which he wore on the top of his blouse 
 at meal-times, and helped him to wash his hands, 
 by which time nurse and baby were also ready, 
 and the little procession set off on their journey. 
 If the prayers bell had not sounded yet, or did 
 not sound as they made their way down, nurse 
 would stop at mamma's door and tap, and the 
 answer was sure to be " Come in." Then nurse 
 would go on downstairs with baby, and Peggy 
 and Hal would trot in to see mamma, and wait 
 a moment or two till she was ready. She was 
 almost always nearly ready, unless she was 
 very, very tired ; and in that case she would 
 tell them to go downstairs and come up and see 
 her again after prayers, as she was going to 
 have breakfast in bed. They rather liked these 
 days, though of course they were sorry for 
 mamma to be so tired, but it was very interest- 
 ing to watch her having her breakfast, and 
 generally one or two dainty bits of toast and 
 marmalade would find their way to the two 
 little mouths. 
 
A BREAKFAST-PARTY. 11 
 
 It was only since last winter that mamma 
 had been so often tired and not able to get up 
 early. Before then she used always to come 
 up to the nursery to see the six children at 
 breakfast, and prayers were early enough for 
 the three boys to stay for them, instead of hav- 
 ing them at school. For mamma was not at 
 all a " lazy " mother, as you might think if I did 
 not explain. But last winter she had been very 
 ill indeed, so ill that papa looked dreadfully un- 
 happy, and the boys had to take off their boots 
 downstairs so as not to make any noise when 
 they passed her door, and the days seemed very 
 long to Peggy and Hal, worst to Peggy of course, 
 for Hal was still so little that almost all his 
 life belonged to the nursery. It was during 
 that time that Peggy first found out the white 
 spot on the hill, which I am going to tell you 
 about, for she used to climb up on the window- 
 sill and sit there looking out at whatever 
 there was to see for hours at a time. 
 
 This morning mamma was evidently not tired, 
 for just as the children got to the landing on 
 to which her door opened, out she came. 
 
 " Well, darlings," she said, " there you are ! 
 Have the boys got off to school all rightly, 
 nurse ?" 
 
12 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " Oh, yes, roa'am," nurse was beginning, but 
 Peggy interrupted her. 
 
 " Terry loosed his book, mamma dear, and 
 Peg — I founded it ; I knewed where it was 'cos 
 I used my eyes like you said." 
 
 " That was a very good thing," said mamma. 
 She had talked to Peggy about using her eyes 
 a good deal, for Peggy had rather a trick of 
 going to sleep with her eyes open, like many 
 children, and it becomes a very tiresome trick 
 if it isn't cured, and makes one miss a great 
 many chances of being useful to others, and of 
 enjoying pleasant things one's self. " Poor 
 Terry — I wish he wasn't so careless. Where 
 was his book this time ?" 
 
 -" In such a funny place, mamma dear," said 
 Peggy. " In baby's cot," and at the sound of 
 his name baby crowed, which made both Peggy 
 and Hal burst out laughing, so that mamma 
 had to hold their hands firmly to prevent their 
 tumbling downstairs. 
 
 After prayers were over nurse took baby and 
 Hal away, but papa said Peggy might stay 
 for a few minutes. 
 
 " I've scarcely seen you the last day or two, 
 old woman," he said ; " you were fast asleep 
 when I came home. What have you been 
 about ?" 
 
A BREAKFAST-PARTY. 13 
 
 " About," Peggy repeated, looking puzzled. 
 
 " Well — what have you been doing with 
 yourself T he said again. 
 
 " I've been doing nothing with myself," 
 Peggy replied gravely. " I've done my lessons 
 and my sewing, and I've used my eyes." 
 
 " Well, and isn't all that yourself ?" asked 
 papa, who was rather a tease. " You've done 
 your sewing with your fingers and your lessons 
 with your mind, and you've used your eyes for 
 both — mind, fingers, eyes — those are all parts 
 of yourself." 
 
 Peggy spread out her two hands on the table 
 and looked at the ten pink fingers. 
 
 " Them's my fingers," she said, " but I don't 
 know where that other thing is — that what 
 thinks. I'd like to know where it is. Papa, 
 can't you tell me ?" 
 
 There came a puzzled look into her soft gray 
 eyes — mamma knew that look ; when it stayed 
 long it was rather apt to turn into tears. 
 
 " Arthur," she said to Peggy's papa, " you're 
 too fond of teasing. Peggy dear, nobody can 
 see that part of you ; there are many things we 
 can't ever see or hear or touch, which are real 
 things all the same." 
 
 Peggy's face lightened up again. She nodded 
 
14 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 her head softly, as if to say that she understood. 
 Then she got down from her chair and went up 
 to her father to kiss him and say good-by. 
 
 " Going already, Peg !" he said. " Don't you 
 like papa teasing you V 
 
 "I don't mind," said Peggy graciously; 
 " you're only a big boy, papa. I'm going 'cos 
 nurse wants me to keep baby quiet while she 
 makes the beds." 
 
 But when she got round to the other side of 
 the table to her mother, she lingered a moment. 
 
 " Mamma," she whispered, " it's not there this 
 morning — Peggy's fairy house. It's all hided 
 up. Mamma " 
 
 "Well, darling?" 
 
 " Are you sure it'll come back again ?" 
 
 "Quite sure, dear. It's only hidden by the 
 clouds, as I've told you before. You know 
 you've often been afraid it was gone, and it's 
 always come again." 
 
 "Yes, to be sure," said Peggy, "What a 
 silly little girl I am, mamma dear." 
 
 And she laughed her own little gentle laugh. 
 I can't tell how it was that Peggy's little 
 laugh used sometimes to bring tears to her 
 mother's eyes. 
 
 When she got up to the nursery again she 
 
A BREAKFAST-PART T. 15 
 
 found she was very much wanted. Nurse was 
 in the night nursery, which opened into the 
 day one, and looked out to the back of the 
 house just as the other looked to the front. 
 And baby was sitting on the hearth-rug, with 
 Hal beside him, both seeming far from happy. 
 
 " Baby's deiful c'oss, Peggy," said poor Hal. 
 
 And baby, though he couldn't speak, pouted 
 out his lips and looked very savage at Hal, 
 which of course was very unreasonable and 
 ungrateful of him, as Hal had been doing 
 everything he could to amuse him, and had 
 only objected to baby pulling him across the 
 floor by his curls. 
 
 " Oh, baby," said Peggy, " that isn't good. 
 Poor Hal's hair — see how you've tugged it." 
 
 For baby was still grasping some golden 
 threads in his plump fists. 
 
 "Him sinks zem's fedclers," said Hal apolo- 
 getically. He was so fond of baby that he 
 couldn't bear any one to say anything against 
 him except himself. 
 
 " But baby must learn hairs isn't feathers," 
 said Peggy solemnly. "And it isn't good to 
 let him pull the feathers out of his parrot 
 either, Hal," she continued, " for some day he 
 might have a live parrot, and then it would be 
 
1 6 LITTLE MISS PEGO Y. 
 
 cooel, and the parrot would bite him — yes, it 
 would, baby.'' 
 
 This was too much for baby. He drew the 
 corner of his mouth down, then he opened it 
 wide, very wide, and was just going to roar 
 when Peggy threw her arms round him and 
 kissed him vigorously. 
 
 "He's sorry, Hal — dear baby — he's so very 
 sorry. Kiss him, Hal. Let's all kiss to- 
 gether," and the three soft faces all met in a 
 bunch, which baby found so amusing that in- 
 stead of continuing his preparations for a good 
 cry, he thought better of it, and went off into 
 a laugh. 
 
 " That's right," said Peggy. " Now if you'll 
 both be very good boys I'll tell you a story. 
 Just wait a minute till I've tooked off my 
 prayers pinafore.' ' 
 
 She jumped up to do so. While she was 
 unfastening it her eyes moved to the window ; 
 she gave a little cry and ran forward. The 
 day was clearing up, the sun was beginning 
 faintly to shine, and the clouds were breaking. 
 
 " Mamma was right," exclaimed Peggy joy- 
 fully ; " I can see it — I can see it ! I can see 
 my white house again, my dear little fairy 
 house." 
 
/Vnd In csnotnLr moment' iUty 
 yis/zrs. ssLtNiLd on tki hi*Tth-ru£- 
 
 B^by on P&ggy* ' A p- OH . ^ n< ^ 
 off it too, for it was rmxcK too 
 SmcxU tb cxccomodzvfc ttu whok 
 of hivn; H^l on IJu floor bisicli 
 hvr i his curly KiAoI U&nm£on 
 his sisters shomldir in fcliss/ul 
 and trustful content 
 
 G 
 
 
 *l 
 
 -*£> 
 
 /■ 
 
 y m 
 
 « 
 
A. BREAKFAST-PARTY. 17 
 
 She would have stayed there gazing out con- 
 tentedly half the morning if her little brothers 
 had not called her back. 
 
 u Peggy," said Hal plaintively, " do turn. 
 Baby's pulling Hal's 'air adain." 
 
 u Peggy's coming, dear," said the motherly 
 little voice. 
 
 And in another moment they were settled 
 on the hearth-rug — baby on Peggy's lap — 
 on, and off it too, for it was much too small 
 to accommodate the whole of him ; Hal on 
 the floor beside her, his curly head leaning 
 on his sister's shoulder in blissful and trustful 
 content. 
 
18 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL. 
 
 " reader! had you in your mind 
 Such stores as silent thought can bring, 
 gentle reader! you would find 
 A tale in everything. 
 What more I have to say is short, 
 And you must kindly take it: 
 It is no tale; but, should you think, 
 Perhaps a tale you'll make it." 
 
 — W. WOKDSWORTH. 
 
 " Telling stories," when the teller is only 
 five and some months old, and the. hearers one 
 and a quarter and three, is rather a curious 
 performance. But Peggy was well used to it, 
 and when in good spirits quite able to battle 
 with the difficulties of amusing Hal and baby 
 at the same time. And these difficulties were 
 not small, for, compared with baby, Hal was 
 really "grown-up." 
 
 It is all very well for people who don't know 
 much about tiny children to speak of them all 
 
THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL. 19 
 
 together, up to — six or seven, let ns say — as 
 " babies," but we who think we do know some- 
 thing about them, can assure the rest of the 
 world that this is an immense mistake. One 
 year in nursery arithmetic counts for ten or 
 even more in real " grown-up " life. There 
 was a great difference between Peggy and Hal, 
 for instance, but a still greater between Hal 
 and baby, and had there been a new baby 
 below him again, of course it would have 
 been the greatest of all. Peggy could not 
 have explained this in words, but she knew it 
 thoroughly all the same, and she had learned 
 to take it into account in her treatment of the 
 two, especially in her stories telling. In 
 reality the story itself was all for Hal, but 
 there was a sort of running accompaniment for 
 baby which he enjoyed very much, and which, 
 to tell the truth, I rather think Hal found 
 amusing too, though he pretended it was for 
 baby's sake. 
 
 This morning her glance out of the window 
 had made Peggy feel so happy that the story 
 promised to be a great success. She sat still 
 for a minute or two, her arms clasped round 
 baby's waist, gently rocking herself and him to 
 and fro, while her gray eyes stared before 
 her, as if reading stories in the carpet or on the 
 wall. 
 
20 LITTLE MISS PEGG 7. 
 
 u p e ggy ? " sa i c j Hal at last, giving lier a hug 
 — he had been waiting what he thought a very 
 long time — " Peggy, doe on — no, I mean begin, 
 p'ease." 
 
 "Yes, Hal, d'reckly," said Peggy. "It's 
 coming, Hal, yes, now I think it's corned. 
 Should we do piggies first, to please baby 
 before we begin ?" 
 
 " Piggies is so silly," said Hal disdainfully. 
 
 " Well, we'll kiss him instead — another kiss 
 all together, he does so like that ;" and when 
 the kissing was over — " now, baby dear, listen, 
 and p'r'aps you'll understand some, and if you're 
 good we'll have piggies soon." 
 
 Baby gave a kind of grunt ; perhaps he was 
 thinking of the pigs, but most likely it was just 
 his way of saying he would be very good. 
 
 " There was onst," Peggy began, " a little girl 
 who lived in a big house all by herself." 
 
 " Hadn't she no mamma, or nurse, or — or — 
 brudders ?" Hal interrupted. 
 
 " No, not none," Peggy went on. " She lived 
 quite alone, and she didn't like it. The house 
 was as big as a — as a church, 'and she hadn't 
 no bed, and no chairs or tables, and there was 
 very, very high stairs." 
 
 "Is there stairs in churches?" asked Hal. 
 
THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL. 21 
 
 Peggy looked rather puzzled. 
 
 " Yes, I think there is," she said. " There's 
 people high up in churches, so there must be 
 stairs. But I didn't say it were a church, Hal ; 
 I only said as big as a church. And the stairs 
 was for baby — you'll hear — pYaps there wasn't 
 reelly stairs. Now, baby, one day a little 
 piggy-wiggy came up the stairs — one, two, 
 three," and Peggy's hand came creeping up 
 baby's foot and leg and across his pinafore and 
 up his bare arm again, by way of illustrating 
 piggy's progress, " and when he got to the top 
 he said ' grumph,' and poked his nose into the 
 little girl's neck " — here Peggy's own nose made 
 a dive among baby's double chins, to his ex- 
 ceeding delight, setting him oif chuckling to 
 himself for some time, which left Peggy free to 
 go on with the serious part of the story for 
 Hal's benefit — " and there was a window in the 
 big house, and the little girl used to sit there 
 always looking out." 
 
 "Always?" asked Hal again. "All night 
 too ? Didn't her ever go to bed ?" 
 
 " She hadn't no bed, I told you. No, she 
 didn't sit there all night, 'cos she couldn't have, 
 see'd in the dark. Never mind about the night. 
 She sat there all day, always looking out, 'cos 
 there was something she liked to see. If I tell 
 
22 LITTLE MISS PEOO T. 
 
 you you won't tell nobody what it was, will 
 you, Hal P 
 
 Hal looked very mystified, but replied 
 obediently : 
 
 " No, won't tell nobody," he said. 
 
 " Well, then, I'll tell you what it was. It 
 was a — ■ — " But at this moment baby, having 
 had enough of his own meditations, began to 
 put in a claim to some special attention. The 
 piggy had to be summoned and made to run up 
 and down stairs two or three times before he 
 would be satisfied and allow Peggy to proceed. 
 
 " Well, Peggy ?" said Hal eagerly. 
 
 " It was a " Oh, dear, interrupted again ! 
 
 But this time the interruption was a blessing 
 in disguise. It was nurse come to fetch baby 
 for his morning sleep. 
 
 " And thank you, Miss Peggy, my dear, for 
 keeping him so nice and good. I heard you 
 come up, and I knew they'd be all right with 
 you," she said as she walked away with baby, 
 who was by no means sure that he wanted to 
 go. 
 
 "Now," said Hal, edging closer to Peggy, 
 " we'll be comf able. Go on, Peggy — what she 
 sawed." 
 
 " It was a hill — far, far away, neely as far as 
 
THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL, 23 
 
 the sky," said Peggy in a mysterious tone. 
 " When the sun comes she could see it plain — 
 the hill and what was there, but when the sun 
 goed she couldn't. There was a white spot on 
 the hill, Hal, and that white spot was a lovely 
 white cottage. She knowed it though she'd 
 never see d it." 
 
 " How did she know it ?" 
 
 " Her mam — no, that's wrong, she hadn't 
 no mamma — well, never mind, somebody 'd told 
 her." 
 
 " Were it God ?" asked Hal, in an awestruck 
 whisper. 
 
 " I don't know. No, I don't think so. I 
 think it's a little naughty to say that, Hal. 
 No, dear, don't cry," for signs of disturbance 
 were visible in Hal's round face. " You didn't 
 mean, and it isn't never naughty when we don't 
 mean, you know. We'll go on about the little 
 girl. She knowed it was a lovely cottage, and 
 she wanted very much, as much as could be, to go 
 there, for the big house wasn't pretty, and it 
 was dark, nearly black, and the cottage was all 
 white." 
 
 " Her house wasn't as nice as zit, were it ? 
 Zit house isn't b'ack," said Hal. 
 
 " No," said Peggy doubtfully. " It wasn't 
 as nice as this, but the white house was much 
 prettier than this." 
 
24 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 "How Tasked Hal. 
 
 " Oil !" said Peggy, letting her eyes and her 
 fancy rove about together, "I think it was 
 beautiful all over. It was all shiny white ; the 
 walls was white, and the carpets was white, and 
 the tables and the chairs was white — all shiny 
 and soft like — like " 
 
 " Baby's best sash," suggested Hal. 
 
 " Well, pVaps — that'll do. And there was a 
 cow and chickens and sheep, and a kitchen where 
 you could make cakes, and a garden with lots 
 of flowers and strawberries " 
 
 " All white ?" asked Hal. 
 
 " No, of course not. Strawberries couldn't 
 be white, and flowers is all colors. 'Twas the 
 droind-room that was all white." 
 
 " And the milk and the eggs. Zem is white," 
 said Hal triumphantly. 
 
 " Very well. I didn't say they wasn't. But 
 the story goes on " that the little girl didn't 
 know how to get ' there ; it was so far and so 
 high up. So she sat and cried all alone at the 
 window." 
 
 " All alone, poor little girl," said Hal, with 
 deep feeling. " Kick, Peggy, kick, I'm doeing 
 to cry ; make it come right kick. The crying's 
 just coming." 
 
THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL. 26 
 
 " Make it wait a minute. I can't make it 
 come right all so quick," said Peggy. " It's going 
 to come, so make the crying wait. One day 
 she was crying d'edful, worse than never, 'cos 
 the sun had goned, and she couldn't see the 
 white cottage no more, and just then she heard 
 something saying, ' mew, mew,' and it was a 
 kitten outside the window, and it was just 
 going to fall down and be killed." 
 
 " That's not coming right. I must cry," said 
 Hal. 
 
 " But she opened the window — there now, 
 you see — and she pulled the kitten in, so it 
 didn't fall down, and it was so pleased it kissed 
 her, and when it kissed her it turned into a 
 fairy, and it touched her neck and made wings 
 come, and then it opened the window again 
 and Hewed away with the little girl till they 
 came to the white cottage, and then the little 
 girl was quite happy for always." 
 
 " Did the fairy stay with her always ?" asked 
 Hal. 
 
 " No ; fairies never does like that. They go 
 back to fairyland. But the little girl had nice 
 milk and eggs and cakes, and she made nose- 
 gays with the flowers, and the sun was always 
 shining, so she was quite, quite happy." 
 
 " Her couldn't be happy all alone," said Hal. 
 
26 LITTLE MISS PEGG 7. 
 
 " I don't like zat story, Peggy. You haven't 
 made it nice at all. It's a nonsense story." 
 
 Hal wriggled about and seemed very cross. 
 Poor Peggy was not so much indignant as dis- 
 tressed at failing in her efforts to amuse him. 
 What was the matter ? It couldn't be that he 
 was getting sleepy — it was far too early for his 
 morning sleep. 
 
 " It isn't a nonsense story," she said, and she 
 glanced toward the window as she spoke. 
 Yes, the sun was shining brightly, the morning 
 clouds had quite melted away ; it was going to 
 be a fine day after all. And clear and white 
 gleamed out the spot on the distant hill which 
 Peggy loved to gaze at ! " Come here, Hal," 
 she said, getting on to her feet and helping Hal 
 on to his, " come with me to the window and 
 you'll see if it's a nonsense story. Only 
 you're never to tell nobody. It's Peggy's own 
 secret." 
 
 Hal forgot his crossness in a minute ; he felt 
 so proud and honored. Peggy led him to the 
 window. It was not a very pretty prospect ; 
 they looked out on to a commonplace street, 
 houses on both sides, though just opposite 
 there was a little variety in the shape of an 
 old-fashioned, smoke-dried garden. Beyond 
 
j\nd above xUi 
 fobs of all Thi houses 
 clsar Hiougk faint, 
 WtXi now tobi sun 
 flai oatlini of a ranfo; 
 of Mb, 50 sofrfygray. 
 \d\ui m fhi di$ Janet 
 Haat but for fta imc? 
 udar I ins. nivir 
 chanJi'ricf m its form 
 ont could Easily h&JL 
 rancud it was only t"ht jcld* of a auickfy bass- 
 ing r 'd<g: of clouds. P^gy , how/zv^r, kruw/ 
 biTter. 
 
 "St*., Hal/ shi said, "ovir fntri, far, far a- 
 way, m^ in rkc s>ky, dots you siz t*kaf 
 bluty Kill ? 
 
THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL. 27 
 
 that again, more houses, more streets, stretch- 
 ing away out into suburbs, and somewhere 
 beyond all that again the mysterious, beautiful, 
 enchanting region which the children spoke 
 of and believed in as "the country," not 
 really so far off after all, though to them it 
 seemed so. 
 
 And above the tops of all the houses, clear 
 though faint, was now to be seen the outline 
 of a range of hills, so softly gray -blue in the 
 distance that but for the irregular line never 
 changing in its form, one could easily have 
 fancied it was only the edge of a quickly 
 passing ridge of clouds, Peggy, however, 
 knew better. 
 
 "See, Hal," she said, "over there, far, far 
 away, neely in the sky, does you see that bluey 
 hill ?" 
 
 Of course he saw, agreeing so readily that 
 Peggy was sure he did not distinguish rightly, 
 which was soon proved to be the case by his 
 announcing that " The 'ill were sailing away." 
 
 "No, no, it isn't," Peggy cried. "You've 
 mustooked a cloud, Hal. See now," and by 
 bringing her own eyes exactly on a level with 
 a certain spot on the glass she was able to 
 place his correctly, "just over that little bubble 
 in the window you can see it. Its top goes up 
 
28 LITTLE MISS PEGO T. 
 
 above the bubble, and then down and then up 
 again, and it never moves like the clouds — 
 does you see now, Hallie dear ?" 
 
 " Zes, zes," said Hal, " but it's a weeny little 
 'ill, Peggy." 
 
 "No, dear," his sister explained. "It only 
 looks little 'cos it's so far away. You is too 
 little to understand, dear, but it's true that it's 
 a big hill, neely a mounting, Hal. Mamma 
 told me." 
 
 " Oh," said Hal, profoundly impressed and 
 quite convinced. 
 
 " Mountings is old hills, or big hills," Peggy 
 continued, herself slightly confused. " I don't 
 know if they is the papas and mammas of the 
 little ones, but I think it's something like that, 
 for oust in church I heard the clergymunt read 
 that the little hills jumped for joy, so they must 
 be the children. I'll ask mamma, and then I'll 
 tell you. I'm not quite sure if he meaned the 
 same kind, for these hills never jumps — that's 
 how mamma told me to know they wasn't 
 clouds." 
 
 " Zes," said Hal, " but go on about the secret, 
 Peggy. Hal doesn't care about the 'ills." 
 
 " But the secret's on the hills," replied Peggy. 
 " Look more, Hal — does you see a teeny, teeny 
 
THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL. 29 
 
 white spot on the bluey hill ? Higher up than 
 the bubble, but not at the top quite ?" 
 
 Hal's eyes were good and his faith was great. 
 
 " Zes, zes," he cried. " I does see it — kite 
 plain, Peggy." ^ 
 
 " Well, Hallie," Peggy continued, " that's my 
 secret." 
 
 " Is it the fairy cottage, and is the little girl 
 zere now ?" Hal asked breathlessly. 
 
 Peggy hesitated. 
 
 " It is a white cottage," she said. " Mamma 
 told me. She looked at it through a seeing 
 pipe." 
 
 " What's a seeing pipe ?" Hal interrupted. 
 
 " I can't tell you just now. Ask mamma to 
 show you hers some day. It's too difficult to 
 understand, but it makes you see things plain. 
 And mamma found out it was reelly a cottage, 
 a white cottage, all alone up on the hill — 
 isn't it sweet of it to be there all alone, 
 Hallie ? And she said I might think it was a 
 fairy cottage and keep it for my own secret, 
 only I've telled you, Hal, and you mustn't tell 
 nobody." 
 
 " And is it all like baby's best sash, and 
 are there cakes and f 'owers and cows ?" asked 
 Hal. 
 
30 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 " I don't know. I made up the story, yon 
 know, Hal, to please yon. I've made lots — 
 mamma said I might. But I've never see'd the 
 cottage, you know. I dare say it's beautiful, 
 white and gold like the story, that's why I said 
 it. It does so shine when the sun's on it- — look, 
 look, Hal !" 
 
 For as she spoke the sunshine had broken 
 out again more brilliantly ; and the bright, thin 
 sparkle which often dazzles one between the 
 showers in unsettled weather, lighted up that 
 quarter of the sky where the children were 
 gazing, and, to their fancy at least, the white 
 spot caught and reflected the rays. 
 
 " Oh, zes, I see," Hal repeated. " But, Peggy, 
 I'd like to go zere and to see it. Can't we go, 
 Peggy ? It would be so nice, nicer than making 
 up stories. And do you think — oh, do you 
 think, Peggy, that p'r'aps there's pigs zere, real 
 pigs ?" 
 
 He clasped his hands entreatingiy as he 
 spoke. Peggy must say there were pigs. Poor 
 Peggy — it was rather a come, clown after her 
 fairy visions. But she was too kind to say any- 
 thing to vex Hal. 
 
 u I thought you said pigs was silly," she ob- 
 jected gently. 
 
THE WHITE SPOT ON THE HILL. 31 
 
 " Playing pigs to make baby laugh is silly." 
 said Hal, " and pigs going to market and stayin' 
 at 'ome and roast beehn' is d'edful silly. But 
 not real pigs." 
 
 " Oil, well, then, you may think pigs if you 
 like," said Peggy. " I don't think I will, but 
 that doesn't matter. You may have them in 
 the cottage if you like, only you mustn't tell 
 Thor and Terry and Baldwin about it." 
 
 " I won't tell, on'y you might have them 
 too," said Hal discontentedly. u You're not 
 kind, Peggy." 
 
 " Don't let's talk about the cottage any more, 
 then," said Peggy, though her own eyes were 
 fixed on the far-off white spot as she spoke. 
 " I think p'r'aps, Hallie, you're rather too little 
 to care about it." 
 
 " I'm not," said Hal, " and I do care. But 
 I do like pigs, real pigs. I sawed zeni in the 
 country." 
 
 "You cant remember," said Peggy. "It's 
 two whole years since we was in the real 
 country, Hallie, and you're only three and a 
 half. I know it's two years. I heard mamma 
 say so to papa, so you wasn't two then." 
 
 " But I did see zem and I do 'amember, 'cos 
 of pictures," said Hal. 
 
32 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " Oh, yes, dear, there is pictures of pigs in 
 your scrap-book, I know," Peggy agreed. 
 " You get it now and we'll look for them." 
 
 Off trotted Hal, returning in a minute with, 
 his book, and for a quarter of an hour or so his 
 patient little sister managed to keep him happy 
 and amused. At the end of that time, however, 
 he began to be cross and discontented again. 
 Peggy did not know what to make of him this 
 morning, he was not often so difficult to please. 
 She was very glad when nurse came in to say 
 it was now his time for his morning sleep, and 
 though Hal grumbled and scolded and said he 
 was not sleepy she carried him off, and Peggy 
 was left in peace. 
 
 She was not at a loss to employ herself. 
 At half -past eleven she usually went down to 
 mamma for an hour's lessons, and it must be 
 nearly that time now. She got her books 
 together and sat looking over the one verse 
 she had to learn, her thoughts roving never- 
 theless in the direction they loved best — 
 away over the chimneys and the smoke ; away, 
 away, up, up to the fairy cottage on the distant 
 hill. 
 
THE CHILDREN AT THE BACK:' 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " THE CHILDREN AT THE BACK." 
 
 "It seems tome if I'd money enough, 
 My heart would be made of different stuff; 
 I would think about those whose lot is rough." 
 
 — Mrs. Hawtrey. 
 
 These children's home was not in a very 
 pretty place. In front, as I have told you, it 
 looked out on to a rather ugly street, and there 
 were streets and streets beyond that again — 
 streets of straight, stiff, grim-looking houses, 
 some large and some small, but all commonplace 
 and dull. And in and out between these bigger 
 streets were narrower and still uglier ones, 
 scarcely indeed to be called streets, so dark and 
 poky were they, so dark and }3oky were the 
 poor houses they contained. 
 
 The street immediately behind the chil- 
 dren's house, that on to which its back windows 
 looked out, was one of these poorer ones, though 
 not by any means one of the most miserable. 
 
34 LITTLE MISS PUGG T. 
 
 And ugly though it was, Peggy was very fond 
 of gazing out of the night nursery window on 
 to this street, especially on days when it was 
 " no use," as she called it to herself, looking out 
 at the front ; that meant, as I dare say you can 
 guess, days on which it was too dull and cloudy 
 to see the distant hills, and above all the white 
 spot, which had taken such hold on her fancy. 
 For she had found out some very interesting 
 things in that dingy street. Straight across 
 from the night nursery window was a very 
 queer miserable sort of a shop, kept by an old 
 Irishwoman whose name was Mrs. Whelan. It 
 is rather absurd to call it a shop, though it was 
 a place where things were bought and sold, for 
 the room in which these buyings and sellings 
 went on was Mrs. Whelan's kitchen, and bed- 
 room, and sitting-room, and wash-house, as well 
 as her shop ! It was on the first floor, and you 
 got up to it by a rickety staircase — more like 
 a ladder indeed than a staircase, and under- 
 neath it on the ground-floor lived a cobbler, 
 with whom Mrs. Whelan used to quarrel at 
 least once a day, though as he was a patient, 
 much-enduring man, the quarrels never went 
 further than the old Irishwoman's opening her 
 window and shouting down all manner of 
 
was 
 
 -fafkir a. ftr.- 
 Titli- looking 
 old 
 
 ^ 
 
 wom^n 
 
 sk* aJway* 
 worr a 5KotT 
 bid - down , 
 tkat is 21 \oosL 
 Kind of j&ik& 
 Tbucfkly drawn 
 «n at tki wai&t, of waskid out Cotfon, wkick 
 ruvtr looked cUan , and V£+ 5orrukov\/ mwr 
 Sstmtd to <git muck dirtier, cV bUck stuff 
 (ntti coat, and acc\p wirk U&iofrtnS frills 
 VA/k ick Ojuifi hid Y\IT f^C£ unl^S you Wiri 
 viry markzx.and ^hi wa.5 <St n i rally to ki 
 sun witk a Joifn in kir motxtk . Hsv 
 voici w<\5 ootk loud <xkJ i^rill^and 
 wkt* sk* was in <x tzwxhir you <ou.ld 
 almost kiar wkat ski .said , tkoudk tki . 
 hujf5*.ry window va/^s _shtxf\ S^k 
 
"THE CHILDREN AT THE BACK." 35 
 
 scoldings to the poor fellow, of which he took 
 no notice. 
 
 On Sundays the cobbler used to tidy him- 
 self up and go olf to church " like a gentleman," 
 the boys said. But Mrs. Whelan, alas ! never 
 tidied herself up, and never went to church, 
 and though she made a great show of putting 
 a shutter across that part of the window which 
 showed " the shop," nurse had more than once 
 shaken her head when the children were 
 dressing; for church, and told them not to look 
 over the way, she was sadly afraid the shutting 
 or shuttering up was all a pretense, and that 
 Mrs. Whelan* made a good penny by her Sunday 
 sales of tobacco and pipes to the men, or maybe 
 of sugar, candles, or matches to careless house- 
 keepers who had let their stock run out too 
 late on Saturday night. 
 
 She was rather a terrible-looking old woman ; 
 she always wore a short bed-gown, that is, a 
 loose kind of jacket roughly drawn in at the 
 waist, of washed-out cotton, which never looked 
 clean, and yet somehow never seemed to get 
 much dirtier, a black stuff petticoat, and a cap 
 with napping frills which quite hid her face 
 unless you were very near her, and she was 
 generally to be seen with a pipe in her mouth. 
 
36 LITTLE MISS PUGG Y. 
 
 Her voice was both loud and shrill, and when 
 she was in a temper yon could almost hear 
 what she said, though the nursery window was 
 shut. All the neighbors were afraid of her, 
 and in consequence treated her with great 
 respect. But like most people in this world, 
 she had some good about her, as you will 
 hear. 
 
 Good or bad, the children, Peggy especially, 
 found Mrs. Whelan very interesting. Peggy 
 had never seen her nearer than from the 
 window, and though she had a queer sort of 
 wish to visit the shop and make closer acquaint- 
 ance with the old crone, she was far too fright- 
 ened of her to think of doing so really. The 
 boys, however, had been several times inside 
 Mrs. "Whelan's dwelling, and used to tell 
 wonderful stories of the muddle of things it 
 contained, and of the old woman herself. They 
 always bought their soap-bubble pipes there, 
 a three a penny," and would gladly have bought 
 some of the taffy -balls and barley-sugar which 
 were also to be had, if this had not been 
 strictly forbidden by mamma, in spite of their 
 grumbling. 
 
 " It isn't so very dirty, mamma," they said, 
 " and you get a lot more for a penny than in a 
 proper shop." 
 
"THE CHILDREN AT THE BACK." 37 
 
 But mamma would not give in. She knew 
 what Mrs. Whelan was like, as she used some- 
 times to go over herself to talk to the poor old 
 woman, but that, of course, was a different 
 matter. 
 
 " I don't much like your going there at all," 
 she would say, u but it pleases her for us to 
 buy some trifles now and then."" 
 
 But in her heart she wished very much that 
 they were not obliged to live in this dreary and 
 ugly town, where their poor neighbors were 
 rarely the sort of people she could let her 
 children know anything of. Mamma, in her 
 childhood, had lived in that fairyland she called 
 "the country," and so had papa, and they still 
 looked forward to being there again, though for 
 the present they were obliged to make the best 
 of their home in a dingy street. 
 
 It seemed much less dull and dingy to the 
 children than to them, however. Indeed, I 
 don't think the children ever thought about it 
 at all. The boys were busy at school, and 
 found plenty of both work and play to make 
 the time pass quickly, and Peggy, who might 
 perhaps have been a little dull and lonely in 
 her rather shut-up life, had her fancies and her 
 wonders — her interesting things to look at both 
 
38 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 at the front and the back of the house, and 
 mamma to tell all about them to ! And this 
 reminds me that I have not yet told you what 
 it was she was most fond of watching from the 
 night nursery window. It was not Mrs. Whe- 
 lan or the cobbler ; it was the tenants of the 
 third or top story of the rickety old house — the 
 family she always spoke of to herself as " the 
 children at the back." 
 
 Such a lot of them there were. It was long 
 before Peggy was able to distinguish them " all 
 from each other," as she said, and it took her 
 longer still to make names by which she could 
 keep a clear list in her head. The eldest looked 
 to her quite grown-up, though in reality she 
 was about thirteen ; she was a big red-cheeked 
 girl, though she lived in a town ; her arms were 
 red too, poor thing, especially in winter, for 
 they were seldom or never covered, and she 
 seemed to be always at work, scrubbing or 
 washing, or running out to fetch two or three 
 of the little ones in from playing in the gutter. 
 Peggy called her " Eeddy," and though it was 
 the girl's red cheeks and arms which made her 
 first choose the name, in a while she came to 
 think of it as meaning " ready" also, for Peggy 
 did not know much about spelling as yet, and 
 
"THE CHILDREN AT THE BACK." 39 
 
 the thought in her mind of the look of the 
 two words was the same. For a good while 
 Peggy fancied that Reddy was the nurse or 
 servant of the family, but one day when she 
 said something of the kind to her own nurse 
 she was quickly put right. 
 
 " Their servant, my dear ! Bless you, no. 
 How could they afford to keep a servant \ 
 They've hard enough work to keep themselves, 
 striving folk though they seem. There's such 
 a many of them, you see, and mostly so little — ■ 
 save that big girl and the sister three below 
 her, there's none really to help the mother. 
 And the cripple must be a great charge." 
 
 " What's the cripple, nursey ?" Peggy asked. 
 
 " Why, Miss Peggy, haven't you noticed the 
 white-faced girl on crutches % You must have 
 seen her dragging up and clown in front of the 
 house of a fine day." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Peggy, " but I didn't know 
 that was called cripple. And she's quite little ; 
 she's as little as me, nurse !" 
 
 " She's older than she looks, poor thing," said 
 nurse — " maybe oldest of them all." 
 
 This, however, Peggy could not believe. 
 She fixed in her own mind that " Crippley " 
 came after the two boys who were evidently 
 
40 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 next to Recldy — she did not give the boys 
 names, for they did not interest her as mnch as 
 the girls. Having so many brothers of her 
 own and no sister, it seemed to her as if a sister 
 mnst be the very nicest thing in the world, and 
 of all the children at the back the two that she 
 liked most to watch were a pair of little girls 
 about three years older than herself, whom she 
 named " The Smileys," " Brown Smiley " and 
 " Light Smiley " when she thought of them 
 separately, for though they were very like 
 each other the color of their hair was different. 
 They were very jolly little girls, poorly clad and 
 poorly fed though they were, taking life easily, 
 it seemed — too easily in the opinion of their 
 eldest sister Recldy, and the sister next above 
 them — between them and Crippley, according 
 to Peggy's list. This sister was the only one 
 whose real name Peggy knew, by hearing it so 
 frequently shouted after her by the mother 
 and Reddy. For this child, "Mary-Hann," 
 was rather deaf, though it was not till long 
 afterward that Peggy found this out. 
 
 . " Mary-Hann " was a patient, stupid sort of 
 girl, a kind of second in command to Redely, 
 and she was like Reddy in appearance, except 
 that she was several sizes smaller and thinner, 
 
"THE CHILDREN AT THE BACK." 41 
 
 so that even supposing that her arms were as 
 reel as her sister's they did not strike one in 
 the same way. 
 
 Below the Smileys came another boy, who 
 was generally to be seen in their company, and 
 who, according to Peggy, rejoiced in the name 
 of " Tip." And below Tip were a few babies, 
 in reality I believe more than three, during the 
 years through which their little over-the-way 
 neighbor watched them. But even she was 
 obliged to give up hopes of classifying the 
 babies, for there always seemed to be a baby 
 about the same age, and one or two others just 
 struggling into standing or rather tumbling 
 alone, and forever being picked up by Redely 
 or her attendant sprite Mary-Hann. 
 
 Such were Peggy's " children at the back." 
 And many a dull day, when it was too rainy to 
 go for a walk and too cloudy to be " any use " 
 to gaze out of the front of the house, did these 
 poor children, little as they guessed it, help to 
 make pass more quickly and pleasantly for the 
 sisterless maiden. Many a morning when Hal 
 and baby were asleep and nurse was glad to 
 have an hour or so for a bit of ironing, or some 
 work of the kind down in the kitchen — for my 
 Peggy's papa and mamma were not rich and 
 
42 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 could not keep many servants, so that nnrse 
 though she was plain and homely in her ways, 
 was of far more use than a smarter young 
 woman to them — many a morning did the little 
 girl, left in the night nursery in charge of her 
 sleeping brothers, take up her stand at the 
 window which overlooked Mrs. Whelan's and 
 the cobbler and the Smileys with all their 
 brothers and sisters. There was always some- 
 thing new to see or to ask nurse to explain 
 afterward. For ever so long it took up Peggy's 
 thoughts, and gave much conversation in the 
 nursery to " plan " how the ten or eleven chil- 
 dren, not to speak of the papa and mamma, 
 could all find place in two rooms. It kept 
 Peggy awake at night, especially if the weather 
 happened to be at all hot or close, to think 
 how very uncomfortable poor Redely and Crip- 
 pley anel Mary-Hann and the Smileys must be, 
 all sleeping in one bed, as nurse said was too 
 probably the case. Anel it was the greatest 
 relief to her mind, and to nurse's too, I do 
 believe, to eliscover by means of some cautious 
 inquiries of the cobbler when nurse took him 
 over some of the boys' boots to mend, that the 
 family was not so short of space as they had 
 feared. 
 
"THE CHILDREN A T THE BACK." 43 
 
 " They've two other rooms, Miss Peggy, as 
 doesn't show to the front," said nurse, " two 
 attics with sloping windows in the roof to 
 their back again. And they're striving folk, 
 he says, as indeed any one may see for their- 
 selves." 
 
 " Then how shall we plan it now, I wonder," 
 said Peggy, looking across to the Smileys' 
 mansion with new respect. But nurse had 
 already left the room, and perhaps, now she 
 was satisfied their neighbors were not quite so 
 much to be pitied, wonld scarcely have had 
 patience to listen to Peggy's " wonderings " 
 about them. So the little girl went on to 
 herself : 
 
 " I should think the downstairs room is the 
 papa's and mamma's and the teeniest baby's, 
 and perhaps Crippley sleeps there, as she's ill, 
 like me when I had the hooping-cough and I 
 couldn't sleep and mamma kept jumping up to 
 me. And then the big boys and Tip has one 
 room — ' ticks,' nurse calls the rooms with win- 
 dows in the roof. I think I'd like to sleep in 
 a L tick ' room ; you must see the stars so plain 
 without getting up ; and — and — let me see, 
 Eeddy and Mary-IIann and the Smileys and the 
 old babies — no, that's too many — and I don't 
 
44 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 know how many old babies there is. We'll 
 say one — if there's another it must be a boy 
 and go in the boys' tick — and that makes Redely 
 and Mary " 
 
 " Miss Peggy, your mamma's ready for yonr 
 lessons," came the housemaid's voice at the 
 door, and Peggy hurried off. But she was 
 rather in a brown-study at her lessons that 
 morning. Mamma could not make her out at 
 all, till at last she shut up the books for a 
 minute and made Peggy tell her where her 
 thoughts were wool-gathering. 
 
 " Not so very far away, mamma dear," said 
 Peggy, laughing. She never could help laugh- 
 ing when mamma said " funny things like that." 
 " Not so very far away. I was only wondering 
 about the children at the back." 
 
 She called them always " the children at the 
 back" when she spoke of them — for even to 
 mamma she would have felt shy of telling her 
 own names for them. And then she went on 
 to repeat what nurse had heard from the 
 cobbler. Mamma agreed that it was very in- 
 teresting, and she too was pleased to think 
 " the children at the back's house," as Peggy 
 called it, was more commodious than might 
 have been expected. But still, even such 
 
"THE CHILDREN' AT THE BACK:* 45 
 
 interesting things as that must not be allowed 
 to interfere with lessons. Peggy must put it 
 all out of her head till they were done with, 
 and then mamma would talk about it with 
 her. 
 
 " Only, mamma," said Peggy, " I don't know 
 what com — commo — that long word you said, 
 means." 
 
 u I should not have used it, perhaps," said 
 mamma. " And yet I don't know. If we only 
 used the words you understand already, you 
 would never learn new ones — eh, Peggy ! Com- 
 modious just means large, and not narrow and 
 squeezed up." 
 
 Peggy nodded her head, which meant that 
 she quite understood, and then the lessons went 
 on smoothly again. 
 
 When they were over, mamma talked about 
 poor people, especially about poor children, to 
 Peggy, and explained to her more than she had 
 ever done before about what being poor really 
 means. It made Peggy feel and look rather 
 sad, and once or twice mamma was afraid she 
 was going to cry, which, of course, she did not 
 wish her to do. But Peggy choked down the 
 crying feeling, because she knew it would make 
 her mother sorry and would not do the poor 
 people any good. 
 
46 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " Mamma," slie said, " it neely makes me cry, 
 but I won't. But when I'm big can't I do 
 something for the children at the back V 
 
 "They won't be children then, Peggy dear. 
 You may able to do something for them with- 
 out waiting for that. I'll think, about it. I 
 don't fancy they are so very poor. As I have 
 been telling you, there are many far poorer. 
 But I dare say they have very few pleasures 
 in their lives. We might try to think of a little 
 sunshine for them now and then." 
 
 " The Smile " began Peggy, but she 
 
 stopped suddenly, growing red — "the littler 
 ones do play a good deal in the gutter, mamma 
 dear," she said, anxious to state things quite 
 fairly ; " but I don't think that's very nice play, 
 and the sun very seldom shines there. And 
 Red — the big ones, mamma dear, and the one 
 that goes on — I can't remember the name of 
 those sticks." 
 
 " Crutches," said mamma. 
 
 " Yes, crutches — her never has no plays at all, 
 I don't think. She'd have more sunshine at 
 the 'nother side of our house, mamma dear." 
 
 Mamma smiled. Peggy did not understand 
 that mamma did not mean " sunshine " exactly 
 as she took it ; she forgot, too, that of actual 
 
"THE CHILDREN AT THE BACK." 47 
 
 sunshine more fell on the back street than she 
 thought of. For it was only on dull or rainy 
 days that she looked out much on the children 
 at the back. On fine days her eyes were busy 
 in another direction. 
 
 " I'll think about it," said mamma. So 
 Peggy for the present was satisfied. 
 
 This talk about the Smileys and the rest of 
 them had been a day or two before the morning 
 on which we first saw Peggy — the morning 
 that Thor tried so to make fun of her about 
 choosing sugar in her bread-and-nrilk, because 
 it was cold. Mamma had not said any more 
 about the children at the back, and this partic 
 ular morning Peggy herself was not thinking 
 very much about them. Her head was running 
 a good deal on the white cottage and all her 
 fancies about it, and she was feeling rather dis- 
 appointed that she had not succeeded better 
 in amusing Hal by her stories. 
 
 " It must be, I suppose," she said to herself, 
 " that he's rather too little for that kind of 
 fancy stories. I wonder if Baldwin would like 
 them ; it would be nice to have somebody to 
 make fancies with me." 
 
 But somehow Baldwin and the fairy cottage 
 did not seem to match. And Thor and Terry 
 
48 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 were both much too big — Thor would laugh at 
 her, and Terry would think it waste of time ; 
 he had so many other things to amuse himself 
 about. No, Peggy could not think of any one 
 who would " understand," she decided with a 
 sigh ! 
 
'REAL" FANCIES. 49 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "real" fancies. 
 
 "Mine be a cot beside the hill." 
 
 — Samuel Rogers. 
 
 Just then came the usual summons to her 
 lessons. Mamma was waiting for her little girl 
 in the corner of the drawing-room, where she 
 always sat when she was teaching Peggy. It 
 was a very nice corner, near the fire, for though 
 it was not winter it was rather chilly, and 
 mamma often felt cold. Thor used to tell her 
 that she should take a good run or have a game 
 of cricket to warm her; it would be much 
 better than sitting near the fire. Peggy thought 
 it was rather unkind of Thor to say so, but 
 mamma only laughed at him, so perhaps it was 
 just his boy way of speaking. 
 
 Peggy said her lessons quite well, but she 
 looked rather grave ; no smiles lighted up her 
 face, and when lessons were over she sat still 
 without speaking, and seemed as if she scarcely 
 
50 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 knew what she wanted to do do with her- 
 self. 
 
 " Is there anything the matter, dear ?" mam- 
 ma ashed. 
 
 " I'm rather tired, I think, mamma," Peggy 
 replied. 
 
 " Tired !" mamma repeated, in some surprise. 
 It wasn't often that Peggy talked of being 
 tired. " What is that with ? You've not been 
 worrying yourself about the children who live 
 over Mrs. Wkelan's, I hope ? You mustn't do 
 that, you know, dear ; it would do you harm 
 and them no good." 
 
 For mamma knew that Peggy sometimes did 
 " worry " about things — " Once she takes a 
 thing in her head she'll work herself up so, for 
 all she seems so quiet," nurse would say. 
 
 " No, mamma dear," Peggy replied ; " I'm 
 not tired because of that. I like thinking 
 about the children at the back. I wish " 
 
 " What r said mamma. 
 
 " I wish I'd sisters like them. I'm rather 
 lonely, mamma. I do think God might have 
 gaved one sister to Peggy, and not such a great 
 lot to the children at the back." 
 
 " But you have your brothers, my dear little 
 girl. You might have been an only child." 
 
"REAL" FANCIES. 51 
 
 " The big ones is always neely at school, and 
 Hal's too little to understand. It's Hal that's 
 tired nie, mamma dear. He was so d'edfully 
 cross afore nurse put him to bed." 
 
 " Cross, was he V said mamma. u I'm afraid 
 he must be getting those last teeth. He may 
 be cross for some time ; if so, it would not do 
 to leave him." She seemed to be speaking to 
 herself, but when she caught side of Peggy's 
 puzzled face she stopped. " Tell me about 
 Hal, dear," she went on. " What was it that 
 tired you so ?" 
 
 " I was trying to amuse him and tell him 
 stories about my white cottage up on the hill, 
 and he was so cross. He couldn't understand, 
 and he said they was ' nonsense ' stories." 
 
 " He is too little, perhaps, to care for fancies," 
 said her mother consolingly. " You must wait 
 till he is a little older, Peggy dear." 
 
 " But when he's older he'll be a boy, mam- 
 ma," said Peggy ; " he'll be like Thor and Terry, 
 who don't care for things like that, or Baldwin, 
 who thinks stories stupid. Oh, mamma, I wish 
 I had a sister. That's what I want," she added, 
 with conviction. 
 
 Mamma smiled. 
 
 " Poor Peggy," she said " I'm afraid it can't 
 
52 LITTLE MISS PEOG Y. 
 
 be helped. You can never have a sister near 
 your own age, and I'm afraid a baby sister, even 
 if you had one, would be no pood." 
 
 "Oh, no, we've had enough babies," said 
 Peggy decidedly. " But, mamma, mightn't 
 there be some little girl who'd play with me 
 like a sister ? If there is a fairy living in that 
 cottage, mamma, how I do wish she would find 
 a little girl for me !" 
 
 Mamma looked a very little bit troubled. 
 
 u Peggy dear," she said, " you mustn't let 
 your fancies run away with you too far. I told 
 you they would do you no harm if you kept 
 plain in your head that they were fancies, but 
 you mustn't forget that. You know there 
 couldn't really be a fairy living in that little 
 white cottage." 
 
 " No," Peggy agreed, " I know that, mamma, 
 because fairies really live in fairyland." 
 
 She looked up gravely into her mother's 
 face as she said so. Mamma could not help 
 laughing. 
 
 "Fairies, really," she said, "live in Peggy's 
 funny little head, and in many other funny little 
 heads, I have no doubt. But nowhere " 
 
 " Mamma, mamma," Peggy interrupted, put- 
 ting her fingers in her ears as she spoke, " I 
 
n^ma cuar, 5 hi Wan, wi 
 you. till mj whaf fkt liftlfc 
 Vvhife hou5* is* ru\y /ik, ttan? 
 If you will, I'll promts* not" 
 to rfiink fhxrss f&irio ffuri 
 
 — only 
 
 Only wkaf, d^r ? :> 
 If you donf* mind, said 
 P&££y. V£fy anxious not to 
 ^kurt hir motlnirs fulin^s, 
 lei ratht r not h«\vx. pigs. J 
 i| don'f think I kki f^igs 
 
"REAL " FANCIES. 53 
 
 won't listen. You mustn't, mustn't say that. I 
 must have my fairies, mamma. I've no sisters." 
 
 " Well, keep them in fairyland, then, or at 
 least only let them out for visits now and then. 
 But don't mix them up with real things too 
 much, or you will get quite a confusion, and 
 never be sure if you're awake or dreaming." 
 
 Peggy seemed to consider this over very 
 seriously. After a minute or two she lifted her 
 face again, and looked straight into her 
 mother's with her earnest gray eyes. 
 
 " Mamma dear," she began, " will you tell me 
 what the little white house is reely like, then ? 
 If you will, I'll promise not to think there's 
 fairies there — only " 
 
 " Only what, dear ?" 
 
 " If you don't mind," said Peggy, very anx- 
 ious not to hurt her mother's feelings, " I'd 
 rather not have pigs. I don't think I like 
 pigs very much." 
 
 " Well, we needn't have pigs, then. But re- 
 member I can only i fancy ' it. I've never seen 
 that particular cottage, you see, Peggy. But I 
 have seen other cottages in Brackenshire, and 
 so I can fancy what it most likely is. You see, 
 there are different kinds of fancying — there's 
 fancying that is all fancy, like fairy stories, and 
 
54 LITTLE MISS PEQGY. 
 
 there's fancying that might be true and real, 
 and that very likely is true and real. Do you 
 understand V 
 
 " Yes," said Peggy, drawing a deep breath. 
 "Well, mamma, go on real-fancying, please. 
 What's that place you've been at — Brat — what 
 
 is it r 
 
 " Brackenshire," mamma re23lied. "That's 
 the name of that part of the country that we 
 see far off, from the windows upstairs." 
 
 " And is all the cottages white there, and is 
 they very pretty ?" asked Peggy with deep in- 
 terest. " Oh, mamma, do tell me, quick." 
 
 "I don't know if they're all white, but I 
 think they are mostly. And there are some 
 pretty and some ugly. Of course it depends a 
 good deal upon the people that live in them. If 
 they're nice, clean, busy people, who like their 
 house to be neat and pretty, and work hard to 
 keep it so, of course it's much more likely to 
 be so than if they were careless and lazy." 
 
 " Oh," said Peggy, clasping her hands. " I 
 do so hope my cottage has nice people living 
 in it. I think it has, don't you, mamma ? It 
 looks so white." 
 
 " My dear Peggy," said mamma, smiling, 
 " we can't tell, when it's so far away. But we 
 may hope so." 
 
"REAL" FANCIES. 55 
 
 " Yes," said Peggy, " we'll hope so, and we'll 
 think so." But then a rather puzzled look 
 came over her face again, though she smiled 
 too. " Mamma," she went on, " there's such a 
 funny thing come into my head, only I don't 
 know quite how to say it. I think that the far- 
 away helps to make it pretty — why is far-away 
 so pretty, mamma ?" 
 
 Mamma smiled again. 
 
 " I'm afraid I can't tell you why. Wouldn't 
 it spoil some things if we knew the why of 
 them, little Peggy ?" 
 
 Peggy did not answer. This was another 
 new thought for her, and rather a difficult one. 
 She put it away in her mind, in one of the 
 rather far-back cupboards there, and locked it 
 up, to think about it afterward. 
 
 " Mamma," she said coaxingly, " I want you 
 to tell me a real fancy about the cottage. It 
 will be so nice when I look at it to think it's 
 most likely reely like that." 
 
 " Well, then, let us see," mamma began. 
 
 u Wait just one minute, mamma dear, till I've 
 shut my eyes. First I must get the bluey hills 
 and the white spot into them, and then I'll shut 
 them and see what you tell. Yes — that's all 
 right now." 
 
56 LITTLE MISS PEGQ Y. 
 
 So mamma went on. 
 
 " I fancy a cottage on the side of a hill. The 
 cottage is white, of course, and the hill is green. 
 Not very green — a kind of brown-green, for 
 the grass is short and close, nibbled by the 
 sheep and cows that find their living on the 
 hill most of the year. The cottage is very 
 white, for last summer it had a nice wash all 
 over, and that lasts clean a good while in the 
 country. There is a little low wall round it 
 shutting it in from the hillside, and this wall 
 is not very white, though it once was so, for it 
 is covered with creeping plants, so that you 
 can scarcely see what its own color is. At the 
 front of the house there is a little garden, quite 
 a tiny one — there are potatoes and gooseberry 
 bushes and cabbages at one side, but in front 
 of them are some nice old-fashioned flowers, 
 and at the other side there are strawberry 
 plants, and behind them some rose-bushes. In 
 summer I am sure there will be some pretty 
 roses." 
 
 " Oh, how nice," said Peggy ; " go on, go on, 
 please." 
 
 " There is a funny little wooden shed behind 
 the house, leaning agaiust the wall, which has 
 a door big enough for a child to go in by, or a 
 
"BEAL " FANCIES. 57 
 
 big person if they stooped down very much, 
 and besides this it has a very little door in the 
 wall, leading on to the hillside. Can you guess 
 what the shed is for, Peggy, and what the tiny 
 door is for V 
 
 Peggy thought and thought, but her country 
 knowledge was but scanty. 
 
 "I can't think," she said. "It couldn't 
 be for pigs, 'cos there isn't any in the cot- 
 tage. Nor it couldn't be for cows, 'cos cows is 
 so big." 
 
 " What should you say to cocks and hens, 
 Peggy ? There are to be fresh eggs there, aren't 
 there ? And chickens sometimes. I rather 
 think they take eggs and chickens to market, 
 don't they ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I'ra sure they do. How stupid I 
 am ! Of course the little wooden house is for 
 cocks and hens. You're making it lovelily, 
 mamma. What is it like inside, and who lives 
 in it ? I do so want to know." 
 
 " Inside ?" said mamma. " I'm almost afraid 
 you might be disappointed, Peggy, if you've 
 never been in a real cottage. There are so 
 many that look very pretty outside and are not 
 at all pretty inside. But at least we may think 
 it is neat and clean. There are only two rooms, 
 
58 LITTLE MISS PEGG 7. 
 
 Peggy — a kitchen which you go straight into, 
 and another room which opens out of it. The 
 kitchen is very bright and pleasant ; there is a 
 table before the window with some flower-pots 
 on it, in which both winter and summer there 
 are plants growing. There is a large cupboard 
 of dark old wood standing against the wall, 
 and a sort of sofa that is called a settle, with 
 cushions covered with red cotton, standing near 
 the fireplace. There are shelves, too, on which 
 stand some dishes and two or three shining pots 
 and pans ; the ugly black ones are kept in a 
 little back kitchen where most of the cooking 
 is done, so that the front kitchen should be 
 kept as nice as possible." 
 
 u That makes another room, mamma dear. 
 You said there was only two." 
 
 " Oh, but it's so very tiny you couldn't call 
 it a room. The second room is a bedroom, but 
 the best pieces of furniture are kept there. 
 There is a nice chest of drawers and a rocking- 
 chair, and there is a very funny wooden cradle, 
 standing right down on the floor, not at all like 
 baby's cot. And in this cradle is a nice, fat, 
 bright-eyed little baby." 
 
 " A baby," said Peggy doubtfully. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure. There's always a baby in 
 
"BEAL" FANCIES. 59 
 
 a cottage, unless you'd rather have a very old 
 couple whose babies are grown-up men and 
 women, out in the world." 
 
 " ]S T o," said Peggy, " I don't want that. A 
 very old woman in a cottage would be razzer 
 like a witch, or else it could make me think of 
 Keel Hiding Hood's grandmother, and that is so 
 sad. No, I don't mind the baby if it has a nice 
 mamma — but only one baby, pelease, mamma 
 dear. I don't want lots, like the children at 
 the back ; they're always tumbling about and 
 sc'eaniins; so." 
 
 " Oh, no, we won't have it like that. We'll 
 only have one baby — a very contented, nice 
 baby, and its mamma is very nice too. She's 
 got quite a pretty rosy face, and she stands at 
 the door every morning to see her husband go 
 off to his work, and every evening to watch for 
 him coming back again, and she holds the baby 
 up in her arms and it laughs and crows." 
 
 "Yes," said Peggy, "that'll do. And the 
 eggs and the chickens, mamma ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, she takes great care of the cocks 
 and hens, and never forgets to go outside the 
 garden to feed them on the hill, and in the 
 evening they all come home of themselves 
 through the little door in the wall. There's a 
 
60 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 very nice cat in the cottage too ; it sits purring 
 on the front steps on fine clays, as if it thought 
 the cottage and garden and everything else be- 
 longed to it. And " 
 
 But suddenly the clock struck. Up started 
 nianinia. 
 
 " Peggy, darling, I had no idea it was so late. 
 And I have to go out the moment after 
 luncheon, and I have still two letters to write. 
 I am a greater baby than any of you ! Run off, 
 dear, and tell nurse I want to speak to her 
 before I go out." 
 
 " And to-morrow," said Peggy, " to-morrow, 
 will you tell me some more about the white 
 cottage, mamnia ? It is so nice — I don't think 
 you're a baby at all, mamnia. A baby couldn't 
 make it up so lovelily." 
 
 And Peggy set off upstairs in great content. 
 The white spot would gave her more pleasure 
 than ever, now that she knew what sort of real 
 fancies to have about it. 
 
 " And to-morrow," she said to herself, " to- 
 morrow mamma will tell me more, lots more. 
 If I say my lessons very goodly, p'r'aps mamma 
 will tell me some more every day. And p'r'aps 
 Hallie would like those kinds better than about 
 fairies, and wouldn't call them nonsense 
 stories." 
 
"REAL" FANCIES 61 
 
 Poor little Peggy — "to-morrow" brought 
 news which put her pretty fancies about the 
 white cottage out of her head for awhile. 
 
 She gave her mother's message to nurse, and 
 after dinner nurse went downstairs. When 
 she came up again she looked rather grave, and 
 Peggy thought perhaps she was unhappy about 
 Hal, who was still cross and had bright red 
 spots on his cheeks. 
 
 " Does you think poor Hallie is ill, nurse ?" 
 asked Peggy in a low voice, for Hal not to 
 hear. 
 
 " No, my dear, it's only his teeth. But they'll 
 make him fractious for awhile, I'm afraid, and 
 he's not a very strong child, not near so strong 
 as baby and the big boys." 
 
 " Poor Hallie," said- Peggy, with great sym- 
 pathy. " I'll be very good to him even if 
 he is very cross, nurse." 
 
 Nurse did not answer for a minute, and she 
 still looked very grave. 
 
 " Why do you look so sad, nurse, if it isn't 
 about Hal ?" asked Peggy impatiently. 
 
 "Did I look sad, Miss Peggy? I didn't 
 know it. I was thinking about some things 
 your mamma was speaking of to me." 
 
 " Oh !" said Peggy, " was it about our new 
 
62 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 frocks ? Mamma and you is always very busy 
 when we need new frocks, I know." 
 
 " Yes, dear," said nurse, but that was all. 
 
 Then Peggy and Hal and nurse and baby 
 went out for a walk. They did not go very 
 far, for it was what nurse called a queer- 
 tempered day. Between the gleams of blue 
 sky and sunshine there came sharp little storms 
 and showers. It was April weather, though 
 April had not yet begun. 
 
 " Which way are we going ?" Peggy asked 
 as they set off, she and Hal hand in hand, just 
 in front of nurse and the perambulator. She 
 hoped nurse would say " up Fernley Road," 
 because Fernley Road led straight on toward 
 the hills — so at least it seemed to Peggy. 
 Their street ran into Fernley Road at one end, 
 so that Fernley Road was what is called at 
 right angles with it, and Peggy felt sure that 
 if you walked far enough along the road you 
 could not but come to " the beginning of the 
 hills." 
 
 But to-day Peggy was to be disappointed. 
 
 " We can't go far, Miss Peggy, and we must 
 go to Field's about Master Hal's new boots. It 
 looks as if it might rain, so perhaps we'd better 
 go straight there. You know the way, Miss 
 
"REAL " FANCIES. 63 
 
 Peggy ? right on to the end of this street and 
 then turn to the left." 
 
 Peggy gave a little sigh, but trotted on 
 quietly. Hal began grumbling. 
 
 " What is I to have new boots for ?" he said. 
 " I doesn't want new boots." 
 
 " Oh, Hal," said Peggy, " I think it's very 
 nice indeed to have new boots. They shine so, 
 and sometimes they do make such a lovely 
 squeaking." 
 
 But Hal wasn't in a humor to be pleased 
 with anything, so Peggy tried to change the 
 subject. 
 
 " Nurse says we are to turn to the left at the 
 end of this street," she said. " Does you know 
 which is the left, Hal ? I do, 'cos of my pocket 
 in my frock. First I feel for my pocket, and 
 when it's there I say ' all right,' and then I 
 know that's the right, and when it isn't there I 
 can't say ' all right,' and so I know the side it 
 isn't at is the left." 
 
 Hal listened with some interest, but a slight 
 tinge of contempt for feminine garments. 
 
 " Boys has pockets at each sides, so all boys' 
 sides is right," he said. 
 
 But Peggy was by this time in the midst of 
 her researches for her pocket, so she did not 
 argue the point. 
 
64 LITTLE MUSS PEGGY. 
 
 " Here it is !" slie exclaimed ; " all right, so 
 the notlier side is left. This way, Hallie," and 
 very proud to show nurse that she had under- 
 stood her directions, she led her little brother 
 down the street into which they had now 
 turned. 
 
 There were shops in this street, which made 
 it more amusing than the one in which the 
 children lived, even though they had seen them 
 so often that they knew pretty well all that 
 was worth looking at in the windows — that is 
 to say, in the picture-shops and the toy-shops, 
 and perhaps in the confectioner's. All others 
 were passed by as a matter of course. Field's, 
 the shoemaker's, was not quite so stupid as 
 some, because under a glass shade, in the midst 
 of all the real boots and shoes, were half a dozen 
 pairs of dolls' ones, which Peggy thought quite 
 lovely, though apparently no one else was of 
 her opinion, as the tiny things stayed there day 
 after day without a single pair being sold. 
 Peggy herself could remember them for what 
 seemed to her a very long time, and Baldwin, 
 who owned to having admired them when he 
 was " little," assured her they had been there 
 since she was quite a baby ; he could remember 
 having " run on " to look at them in the days 
 
"BEAL " FANCIES. 65 
 
 when lie and Terry had trotted in front and 
 nurse had perambulated Peggy behind. 
 
 The little boots and shoes came into Peggy's 
 mind just now, partly perhaps because Hal 
 was hanging back so, and she was afraid he 
 would be cross if she asked him to walk 
 quicker. 
 
 " Let's run on and look at the tiny shoes in 
 Field's window," she said. "We can wait 
 there till nurse comes up to us. She'll see 
 us." 
 
 This roused Hal to bestir himself, and they 
 were soon at the shoemaker's. 
 
 " Isn't they sweet ?" said Peggy. " If I had 
 a gold pound of my very own, Hal, I'd buy 
 some of them." 
 
 " Would you ?" said Hal doubtfully. " No, 
 if I had a gold pound I'd " 
 
 But just then nurse came up to them and 
 they were all marched into the shop. 
 
66 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 THE LITTLE RED SHOES. 
 
 " Pif-paf Pottrie, what trade are you? Are yon a 
 
 tailor?" 
 " Better still!" " A shoemaker?" 
 
 — Beothees Grimm. 
 
 There was another reason why the children 
 liked Field's shop. At the back of it was a 
 sort of little room railed off by a low wooden 
 partition with curtains at the top, into which 
 customers were shown to try on and be fitted 
 with new boots or shoes. This little room 
 within a room had always greatly taken Peggy's 
 fancy ; she had often talked it over with her 
 brothers, and wished they could copy it in 
 their nursery. Inside it had comfortable 
 cushioned seats all round, making it look like 
 one of the large, square, cushioned pews still 
 to be found in some old churches, pews which 
 all children who have ever sat in them dearly 
 love. 
 
THE LITTLE RED SHOES. 67 
 
 There was always some excitement in peep- 
 ing into this little room to see if any one was 
 already there ; if that were the case the chil- 
 dren knew they should have to be " tried on " 
 in the outer shop. To-day, however, there was 
 no doubt about the matter — Miss Field, who 
 acted as her father's shop- woman, marshaled 
 them all straight into the curtained recess with- 
 out delay ; there was no one there — and when 
 Peggy and Hal had with some difficulty twisted 
 themselves on to the seats with as much for- 
 mality as if they were settling themselves in 
 church, and nurse had explained what they 
 had come for, the girl began operations by 
 taking off one of Hal's boots to serve as a pat- 
 tern for his size. 
 
 " The same make as these, I suppose ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " No, miss, a little thicker, I think. They're 
 to be good strong ones for country wear," said 
 nurse. 
 
 Peggy looked up with surprise. 
 
 " For the country, nursie," she said. " He'll 
 have weared them out before it's time for us 
 to go to the country. It won't be summer for 
 a long while, and last year we didn't go even 
 when summer corned." 
 
68 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 Nurse looked a little vexed. Miss Field, 
 though smiling and good-natured, was not a 
 special favorite of nurse's ; she was too fond of 
 talking, and she stood there now looking very 
 much amused at Peggy's remonstrance. 
 
 " If you didn't go to the country last year, 
 Miss Margaret," said nurse, " mure reason that 
 you'll go this. But little girls can't know 
 everything." 
 
 Peggy opened her eyes and her mouth. She 
 was just going to ask nurse what was the mat- 
 ter, which would not have made things better, 
 I am afraid, when baby changed the subject by 
 bursting out crying. Poor baby — he did not 
 like the little curtained-off room at all ; it was 
 rather dark, and he felt frightened, and as was 
 of course the most sensible thing to do under 
 the circumstances, as he could not speak, he 
 cried. 
 
 " Dear, dear," said nurse, after vainly trying 
 to soothe him, " he doesn't like being in here, 
 the poor lamb. He's frightened. I'll never 
 get him quiet here. Miss Peggy, love," for- 
 getting in her hurry the presence of Miss 
 Field, for before strangers Peggy was always 
 " Miss Margaret," with nurse, " I'll have to 
 put him back in his perambulator at the door, 
 
THE LITTLE RED SHOES. 69 
 
 and if you'll stand beside Mm he'll be quite 
 content." 
 
 And nurse got up as she spoke. Peggy slid 
 herself clown slowly and reluctantly from her 
 seat ; she would have liked to stay and watch 
 Hal being fitted with boots, and she would 
 have liked still more to ask nurse what she 
 meant by speaking of the country so long be- 
 fore the time, but it was Peggy's habit to do 
 what she was told without delay, and she knew 
 she could ask nurse what she wanted after- 
 ward. So with one regretful look back at the 
 snug corner where Hal was sitting comfort- 
 ably staring at his stockinged toes, she trotted 
 across the shop to the door where baby, quite 
 restored to good humor, was being settled in 
 his carriage. 
 
 " There now, he'll be quite happy. Nurse 
 will come soon, dear. Just let him stay here 
 in the doorway ; he can see all the boots and 
 shoes in the window — that will amuse him." 
 
 " Yes," said Peggy, adding in her own mind 
 that she would have a good look at the dear, 
 tiny dolls' ones and fix which she would like to 
 buy if she had the money. 
 
 Baby did not interrupt her ; he was quite 
 content now he was out in the light and the 
 
70 LITTLE MISS PEOG Y. 
 
 open air, and amused himself after his own 
 fashion by crowing and chuckling to the pass- 
 ers-by. So Peggy stood still, her eyes fixed 
 on the baby shoes. They were of all colors, 
 black and red and bronze and blue — it was 
 difficult to say which were the prettiest. 
 Peggy had almost decided upon a red pair, 
 and was wondering how much money it would 
 take to buy them, when some one touched 
 her on the shoulder. She looked up ; a 
 lady was standing behind her, smiling in 
 amusement. 
 
 " What are you gazing at so, my dear ? Is 
 this your baby in the perambulator ? You 
 had better wheel him a little bit further back, 
 or may I do so for you \ — he has worked him- 
 self too far into the doorway." 
 
 Peggy looked up questioningly in the lady's 
 face. Like many children, she did not like 
 being spoken to by strangers in an un- 
 ceremonious way ; she felt as if it were rather 
 a freedom. 
 
 But the face that met hers was too kind and 
 bright and pleasant to resist, and though Peggy 
 still looked grave, it was only that she felt 
 rather shy. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " he's our baby. I was look- 
 
fjc\by did "not 
 infer rupf Uir ; 
 nt. was cjuik con; 
 tint now V\i was 
 out in tk I icS kP 
 a viol tUi obm air, 
 and amiASsd nim 
 
 sdf cNfttT lais own Jaskion by crowing and 
 chuckling to iUi pas5^r5-by. So P<^<fy 
 Stood sYA\ 9 Utr tyis {ixzd on Thl baby 5ho£S. 
 lkty wlV£ of all colour, black z^nd f^d and 
 taron7.£ and bleu — if w c \s difficulf* to say 
 \A/Kick w2n5 tUt hrittfLst 
 
THE LITTLE BED SHOES. 71 
 
 ing at those sweet little shoes. I didn't see 
 baby had pushed hisself away. Thank you," 
 as the lady gently moved the perambulator a 
 little further to one side. 
 
 " You and baby are not alone ? Are you 
 waiting for some one ?" she asked. 
 
 " Nurse is having Hal tried on for new 
 boots," Peggy replied, " and baby didn't like 
 the shop 'cos it were rather dark." 
 
 " And so his kind little sister is taking care 
 of him. I see," said the lady. " And what are 
 the sweet little shoes you like so much to look 
 at ? Are they some that would fit baby ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," said Peggy, " they'd be too little for 
 him. Baby is rather fat. Oh, no, it's those 
 under the glass basin turned upside down," and 
 she pointed to the dolls' shoes. " Aren't they 
 lovely ? I've seen them ever since I was quite 
 little — I suppose they'd cost a great lot," and 
 Peggy sighed. 
 
 " Which do you think the prettiest ?" asked 
 the lady. 
 
 " The red ones," Peggy replied. 
 
 " Well, I almost think I agree with you," 
 said the lady. " Good -by, my ; dear don't let 
 baby run himself out into the street." And 
 with a kind smile she went on into the shop. 
 
72 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 She passed back again in a few minutes. 
 
 " Still there T' she said, nodding to Peggy, 
 and then she made her way down the street 
 and was soon out of sight. Peggy's attention, 
 since the lady had warned her, had been 
 entirely given to baby, otherwise she might 
 perhaps have noticed a very wonderful thing 
 that had happened in the shop-window. The 
 pair of red dolls' shoes was no longer there ! 
 They had been quietly Avithdrawn from the 
 case in which they, with their companions, had 
 spent a peaceful, but it must be allowed a 
 rather dull life for some years. 
 
 In another minute nurse and Hal made their 
 appearance, and Hal had a parcel, which he 
 was clutching tightly in both hands. 
 
 " My new boots is so shiny,", he said, " I do 
 so hope they'll squeak. Does you think they 
 will, nursie ? But isn't poor Peggy to have 
 new boots, too ? Poor Peggy !" 
 
 Peggy looked down at her feet. 
 
 " Mine isn't wored out yet," she said ; " it 
 would take all poor mamma's money to buy 
 new boots for us all." 
 
 "Never fear," said nurse, who heard rather a 
 martyr tone in Peggy's voice, " you'll not be 
 forgotten, Miss Peggy. But, Master Hal, hadn't 
 
THE LITTLE RED SHOES. 73 
 
 you better put your boots in the perambulator ? 
 You'll be tired of carrying them, for we're not 
 going straight home." 
 
 Hal looked as if he were sroino: to grumble 
 at this, but before he had time to say anything, 
 Miss Field came hurrying out of the shop. 
 
 " Oh, you're still here," she said ; " that's all 
 right. The lady who's just left told father to 
 give this little parcel to missie here," and she 
 held out something to Peggy, who was so aston- 
 ished that for a moment or two she only stared 
 at the girl without offering to take the tiny 
 packet. 
 
 " For me V she said at last. 
 
 " Yes, missie, to be sure — for you, as I 
 say." 
 
 Peggy took the parcel, and began slowly to 
 undo it. Something red peeped out — Peggy's 
 eyes glistened — then her cheeks grew nearly 
 as scarlet as the contents of the packet, and she 
 seemed to gasp for breath as she held out for 
 Hal and nurse to see the little red shoes which 
 five minutes before she had been admiring under 
 the glass shade. 
 
 " Nursie, Hal," she exclaimed, " see, oh, see ! 
 The sweet little shoes — for me — for my very 
 
74 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 Nurse was only too ready to be pleased, but 
 with the prudence of a " grown-up " person she 
 hesitated a moment. 
 
 " Are you sure there's no mistake, miss ?" she 
 said anxiously. " Do you know the lady's 
 name ? Is she a friend of missis', I wonder ?" 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 " Can't say, I'm sure," she replied. " She's 
 a stranger to us. She only just bought a 
 pair of cork soles and these here. There's 
 no mistake, that I'm sure of. She must have 
 seen the young lady was admiring of them." 
 
 "Yes," said Peggy, " she asked ire which was 
 the prettiest, and I said the red ones." 
 
 " You see !" said Miss Field to nurse. " Well, 
 missie, I hope as they'll fit Miss Dolly, and 
 then you'll give us your custom when they're 
 worn out, won't you ?" 
 
 And with a good-natured laugh she turned 
 back into the shop. 
 
 " It's all right, nursie, isn't it ? Do say it is. 
 I may keep them ; they is mine, isn't they ?" 
 said Peggy, in very unusual excitement. 
 
 Nurse still looked undecided. 
 
 " I don't quite know what to say, my dear," 
 she replied. " We must ask your mamma. I 
 shouldn't think she'd object, seeing as it was so 
 
THE LITTLE RED SHOES. 75 
 
 kindly meant. And we can't give back the 
 shoes now they're bought and paid for. It 
 wouldn't be fair to the lady to give them back 
 to Field just to be sold again. It wasn't him 
 she wanted to give a present to." 
 
 " No," said Peggy, trotting along beside the 
 perambulator and clasping her little parcel as 
 Hal was clasping his bigger one, " it was me 
 she wanted to please. She's a very kind lady, 
 isn't she, nursie ? I'm sure they cost a great 
 lot of money — p'r'aps a pound. Oh ! I do so 
 hope mamma will say I may keep them for my 
 very own. Can't we go home now this minute 
 to ask her ?" 
 
 " We shouldn't find her in if we did," said 
 nurse, " and we've had nothing of a walk so far. 
 But don't you worry, Miss Peggy. I'm sure 
 your mamma will not mind." 
 
 Peggy's anxious, eager little face calmed down 
 at this ; a corner of the paper in which her 
 treasures were wrapped up was torn. She saw 
 the scarlet leather peeping out, and a gleam of 
 delight danced out of her eyes ; she bent her 
 head down and kissed the speck of bright color 
 ecstatically, murmuring to herself as she did so, 
 " Oh, how happy I am !" 
 
 Nurse overheard the words. 
 
76 LITTLE MISS PEOG 7. 
 
 "Missis will never have the heart to take 
 thera from her, poor dear," she thought. " She'll 
 be only too pleased for Miss Peggy to have 
 something to cheer her up when she has to be 
 told about our going." 
 
 And Peggy, in blissful ignorance of any 
 threatening cloud to spoil her pleasure, 
 marched on, scarcely feeling the ground be- 
 neath her feet ; as happy as if the tiny red 
 shoes had been a pair of fairy ones to fit her 
 own little feet. 
 
 Mamma was not at home when they got in, 
 even though they made a pretty long round, 
 coming back by Fernley Road, which, how- 
 ever, Peggy did not care about as much as 
 when they set off by it. For coming back, of 
 course she could not see the hills without 
 turning round, nor could she have the feeling 
 that every step was taking her nearer to 
 them. The weather was clearing when they 
 came in ; from the nursery window the sky 
 toward the west had a faint flush upon it, 
 which looked as if the sunset were going to be 
 a rosy one. 
 
 " Red at night," Peggy said to herself as she 
 glanced out ; li nursie, that means a fine day, 
 doesn't it ?" 
 
THE LITTLE BED SHOES. 77 
 
 " So they say," nurse replied. 
 
 " Then it'll be a fine day to-morrow, and I'll 
 see the cottage, and I'll put the little shoes on 
 the window-sill, so that they shall see it too 
 — the dear little sweets," chattered the child to 
 herself. 
 
 Hal meanwhile was seated on the floor, en- 
 gaged in a more practical way, namely, trying 
 to try on his new boots. But " new boots," as 
 he said himself, " is stiff." Hal pulled and 
 tugged till he grew very red in the face, but 
 all in vain. 
 
 " Oh, Peggy !" he said, " do help me. I does 
 so want to hear them squeak, and to 'upprise 
 the boys when they come in." 
 
 Down went kind Peggy on the floor, and 
 thanks to her the boots were got on, though 
 the buttoning of them was beyond her skill. 
 Hal was quite happy, though. 
 
 " They do squeak, don't they, Peggy ?" he 
 said ; " and nurse'll let me wear them a little 
 for them to get used to my feet afore we go to 
 the country." 
 
 " You mean for your feet to get used to 
 them, Hallie," said Peggy. " But there's lots 
 of time for that. Why, they'll be half wored 
 out before we go to the country if you begin 
 them now." 
 
78 LITTLE MISS PEOO 7. 
 
 " 'Tisn't nonsense," said Hal sturdily. " Nurse 
 said so to that girl in the shop." 
 
 Peggy felt very puzzled. 
 
 " But, Hal," she was beginning, when a 
 voice interrupted her. It was nurse. She had 
 been downstairs, having heard the front-door 
 bell ring. 
 
 " Miss Peggy, your mamma wants you. She's 
 come in. You'll find her in her own room." 
 
 " Nursie," she said, " Hal's been saying " 
 
 " You mustn't keep your mamma waiting," 
 said nurse. " I've told her about the little 
 shoes." 
 
 " I'll take them to show her — won't she be 
 pleased ?" said Peggy, seizing her little parceJ 
 which she had put down while helping Hal. 
 
 And off she set. 
 
 She stopped at her mother's door ; it was 
 only half -shut, so she did not need to knock. 
 
 " Mamma dear, it's me — Peggy," she said. 
 
 " Come in, darling," mamma's voice re- 
 plied. 
 
 u I've brought you the sweet little red shoes 
 to see," said Peggy, carefully unfolding the 
 paper which held her treasures, and holding 
 them out for mamma's admiration. 
 
 " They are very pretty indeed — really lovely 
 
THE LITTLE RED SHOES. 79 
 
 little shoes," she said, handling them with care, 
 but so as to see them thoroughly. "It was 
 very kind of that lady. I wonder who she 
 was ? Of course in a general way I wouldn't 
 like yon to take presents from strangers, but 
 she must have done it in such a very nice way. 
 Was she an old lady, Peggy V 
 
 " Oh, yes !" said Peggy, " quite old. She 
 was neely as big as you, mamma dear. I dare 
 say she's neely as old as you are." 
 
 Mamma began to laugh. 
 
 "You little goose," she said. But Peggy 
 didn't see anything to laugh at in what she had 
 said, and her face remained quite sober. 
 
 " I don't understand you, mamma dear," she 
 said. 
 
 " Well, listen then ; didn't Hal buy a pair of 
 new boots for himself to-day ?" mamma began. 
 
 " No, mamma dear. Nurse buyecl them for 
 he," Peggy replied. 
 
 " Or rather I bought them, for it was my 
 money nurse paid for them with, if you are so 
 very precise, Miss Peggy. But never mind 
 about that. All I want you to understand is 
 the difference between ' biff ' and ' old.' Hal's 
 boots are much bigger than these tiny things, 
 but they are not on that account older." 
 
SO LITTLE MISS PEGGT. 
 
 Peggy began to laugh. 
 
 " No, maixmia dear. P'r'aps Hallie's boots is 
 younger than my sweet little red shoes, for 
 they has been a great long while in the shop- 
 window, and Baldwin and Terry sawed them 
 when they was little." 
 
 " Not i younger,' Peggy dear ; c newer ' you 
 mean. Boots aren't alive. You only speak of 
 live things as l young.' " 
 
 Peggy sighed. 
 
 " It is rather difficult to understand, mamma 
 dear." 
 
 " It will all come by degrees," said mamma. 
 " When I was a little girl I know I thought for 
 a long time that the moon was the mamma of 
 the stars because she looked so much bigger." 
 
 " I think that's very nice, mamma, though, 
 of course, I understand it's only a fancy fancy. 
 I haven't seen the moon for a long time, mam- 
 ma. May I ask nurse to wake me up the next 
 time the moon comes ?" 
 
 " You needn't wait till dark to seethe moon," 
 said mamma. " She can often be seen by day- 
 light, though, of course, she doesn't look so 
 pretty then as in the dark sky, which shows 
 her off better. But, of course, the sky here is 
 so often dull with the smoke of the town that 
 
THE LITTLE RED SHOES. 81 
 
 we can't see her as clearly in the daytime as 
 where the air is purer." 
 
 " Like in the country, mamma," said Peggy. 
 " It's always clear in the country, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Not quite always," said mamma, smiling. 
 " But, Peggy dear, speaking of the country " 
 
 " Oh, yes !" Peggy interrupted, " I want to 
 tell you, mamma, what a silly thing Hallie 
 would say about going to the country;" and 
 she told her mother all that Hal had said about 
 his boots, and indeed what nurse had said too ; 
 " and nursie was just a weeny, teeny bit cross 
 to me, mamma dear," said Peggy plaintively. 
 " She wouldn't say she'd mistooked about 
 it." 
 
 Mamma looked rather grave, and instead of 
 saying at once that of course nurse had only 
 meant that Hal's boots should last till the 
 summer, she took Peggy on her knee and kissed 
 her — kissed her in rather a "funny" way, 
 thought Peggy, so that she looked up and 
 said : 
 
 " Mamma dear, why do you kiss me like 
 that ?" 
 
 Instead of answering, mamma kissed her 
 again, which almost made Peggy laugh. 
 
 But mamma was not laughing. 
 
8% LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " My own little Peggy," she said, " I have 
 something to tell you which I am afraid will 
 make you unhappy. It is making me very un- 
 happy, I know." 
 
 " Poor dear little mamma," said Peggy, and 
 as she spoke she put up her little hand and 
 stroked her mother's face. " Don't be unhappy 
 if it isn't anything very bad. Tell Peggy about 
 it, mamma dear " 
 
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPEliS. 83 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 FELLOW- FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS. 
 
 " If Fd as much money as I could tell 
 I never would cry ' old clothes to sell V " 
 
 — London Cries. 
 
 Mamma hesitated a moment. Then she 
 began. 
 
 " You know, Peggy, my pet," she said, " for a 
 good while now I haven't been as strong and 
 well as I used to be " 
 
 " Stop, mamma, stop," said Peggy, with a 
 sort of cry, and as she spoke she threw up her 
 hands and pressed them hard against her ears. 
 " I know what you're going to say, but I can't 
 bear it, no, I can't. Oh, mamma, you're not to 
 say you're going to die." 
 
 For all answer mamma caught Peggy into 
 her arms and kissed her again and again. For 
 a minute or two it seemed as if she could not 
 speak, but at last she got her voice. And 
 then, rather to Peggy's surprise, she saw that 
 
84 LITTLE MISS PEGGT. 
 
 although there were tears in mamma's eyes, and 
 even one or two trickling down her face, she 
 was smiling too. 
 
 " My darling Peggy," she said, " did I 
 frighten you ? I am so, so sorry. Oh, no, 
 darling, it is nothing like that. Please God I 
 shall live to see my Peggy as old as I am now, 
 and older, I hope. No, no, dear, it is nothing 
 so very sad I was going to tell you. It is only 
 that the doctor says the best way for me to get 
 quite well and strong again is to go away for 
 a while to have change of air as it is called, in 
 some nice country place." 
 
 " In the country," said Peggy, her eyes 
 brightening with pleasure. " Oh, how nice ! 
 will it perhaps be that country where my 
 cottage is ? Oh, dear mamma, how lovely ! 
 And when are we to go ? May we begin 
 packing to-day ? And how could you think it 
 
 would make me unhappy " she went on, 
 
 suddenly remembering what her mother had 
 said at first. 
 
 Mamma's face did not brighten up at all. 
 
 « Peggy dear, it is very hard for me to tell 
 you," she said. " Of course, if we had all been 
 going together it would have been only happy. 
 But that's just the thing. I can't take you 
 
FELL W- FEELINGS AND SLLPPERS. 85 
 
 with me, my sweet. Baby must go, because 
 nurse must, and Hallie too. But the friend I 
 am going to stay with can't have more of us 
 than the two little ones, and nurse, and me — it 
 is very, very good of her to take so many." 
 
 " Couldn't I sleep with you, mamma dear V 
 said Peggy in a queer little voice, the tone of 
 which went to mamma's heart. 
 
 " My pet, Hallie must sleep with me, as it is. 
 My friend's house isn't very big. And there's 
 another reason why I can't take you — I'm not 
 sure if you could understand -" 
 
 " Tell it me, please, mamma." 
 
 " The lady I am going to had a little girl just 
 like you — I mean just the same age, and rather 
 like you altogether, I think. And the poor 
 little girl died two years ago, Peggy. Since 
 then it is a pain to her mother to see other 
 little girls. When you are bigger and not so 
 like what her little girl was, I dare say she 
 won't mind." 
 
 Peggy had been listening, her whole soul in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I understand," she said. " I wouldn't like 
 to go if it would make that lady cry — if it hadn't 
 been for that — oh, mamma, I could have 
 squeezed myself up so very tight in the bed ! 
 
86 LITTLE MISS PEOO T. 
 
 You and Hallie wouldn't have knowed I were 
 there. But I wouldn't like to made her cry. I 
 am so sorry about that little girl. Mamma, 
 how is it that dying is so nice, about going to 
 heaven, you know, and still it is so sorry ?" 
 
 " There is the parting," said mamma. 
 
 " Yes — that must be it. And, mamma, I hope 
 it isn't naughty, but if you were to die I'd be 
 very sorry not to see you again just the same — 
 even if you were to be a very pretty angel, with 
 shiny clothes and all that, I'd want you to be 
 my own old mamma." 
 
 " I would be your own old mamma, dear. I 
 am sure you would feel I was the same." 
 
 " I'm so glad," said Peggy. " Still it is sad 
 to die," and she sighed. " Mamma dear, you 
 won't be very long away, will you ? It'll only 
 be a little short parting, won't it ?" 
 
 " Only a few weeks, dear. And I hope you 
 won't be unhappy even though you must be a 
 little lonely." 
 
 "If only I had a sister," said Peggy. 
 
 But mamma went on to tell her all she had 
 planned. Miss Earnshaw, a dressmaker who 
 used sometimes to come and sew, was to be with 
 Peggy as much as she could. She was a gentle, 
 nice girl, and Peggy liked her. 
 
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS, 87 
 
 " She lias several things to make for me just 
 now," said mamma, " and as she lives near, she 
 will try to come every day, so that she will be 
 with you at dinner and tea. And Fanny will 
 help you to dress and undress, and either she 
 or Miss Earnshaw will take you a walk every 
 day that it is fine enough. And then in the 
 evenings, of course, the boys will be at home, 
 and papa will see you every morning before he 
 goes." 
 
 u And I dare say he'll come up to see me in 
 bed at night too," said Peggy. Then she was 
 silent for a minute or two ; the truth was, I 
 think, that she was trying hard to swallow 
 down a lump in her throat that would come, 
 and to blink away two or three tiresome tears 
 that kept creeping up to her eyes. 
 
 Two days later and they were gone. Mam- 
 ma, nurse, Hal, and baby, with papa to see 
 them off, and two boxes outside the cab, and of 
 course a whole lot of smaller packages inside. 
 Peggy stood at the front door, nodding and 
 kissing her hand and making a smile, as broad 
 a one as she possibly could, to show that she 
 was not crying. 
 
 When they were gone, really gone, and 
 Fanny had shut the door, she turned kindly to 
 
88 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 " Now, Miss Peggy, love, what will you do ? 
 Miss Earnshaw won't be here till to-morrow. 
 I'll try to be ready so as to take you out this 
 afternoon if it's fine, for it's not a half-holiday. 
 It'd be very dull for you all day alone — to- 
 morrow the young gentlemen will be at home, 
 as it's Saturday." 
 
 A bright idea struck Peggy. 
 
 " Fanny," she said, " did mamma or nurse say 
 anything about soap-bubbles T 
 
 Fanny shook her head. 
 
 " No, miss. But I'm sure there'd be no ob- 
 jection to your playing at them if you liked. I 
 can easy get a little basin and some soap and 
 water for you. But have you a pipe ?" 
 
 Peggy shook her head. 
 
 " It isn't for me, Fanny, thank you," she 
 said. " It's for my brothers most. I'd like 
 to make a surprise for them, while mamma's 
 away." 
 
 " Yes, that would be very nice," said Fanny, 
 who had been charged at all costs to make 
 Peggy happy. " We'll talk about it. But I'd 
 better get on with my work, so as to get out 
 a bit this afternoon." 
 
 " Very well. I'll go up to the nursery," said 
 the little girl. 
 
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS. 89 
 
 The nursery seemed very strange. Peggy 
 had never seen it look quite so empty. Not 
 only were nurse and the little ones gone, but it 
 seemed as if everything belonging to them had 
 gone too, for nurse had sat up late the night 
 before and got up very early the same morning 
 to put everything into perfect order before 
 leaving; The tidiness was quite unnatural. 
 Peggy sat down in a corner and gave a deep 
 sigh. Just then she did not even care to turn 
 to the window, where the sunshine was pouring 
 in brightly, sparkling on the two little scarlet 
 shoes, standing side by side on the sill, where 
 Peggy placed them every fine morning, that 
 they might enjoy the sight of the white cottage 
 on the hill ! 
 
 " I almost wish it was raining," she half- 
 whispered to herself, till she remembered how 
 very disagreeable a wet day would have been 
 for mamma and the others to travel on. "I 
 hope it will be a sunny day when they come 
 back," she added as a sort of make-up for her 
 forgetfulness. 
 
 And then she got up and wandered into the 
 other room. Here one of Hal's old shoes, 
 which had fallen out of a bundle of things to 
 be given away which nurse had taken down- 
 
90 LITTLE MISS PEGO Y. 
 
 stairs just before going, was lying on the floor. 
 Peggy stooped and picked it np. How well 
 she knew the look of Hal's shoes ; there was 
 the round bump of his big toe, and the hole at 
 the corner where a bit of his red sock nsed to 
 peep out ! It gave her a strange dreamy feel- 
 ing as she looked at it. It seemed as if it could 
 not be true that Hallie was far away — " far, 
 far away " by this time, thought Peggy, for she 
 always felt as if the moment people were in the 
 railway they were whizzed off hundreds of 
 miles in an instant. She stroked the poor old 
 shoe lovingly and kissed it. I don't think just 
 then she would have parted with it for any- 
 thing ; it would have cost her less to give away 
 the lovely little scarlet ones. 
 
 The thought of the old clothes turned her 
 mind to the children at the back. 
 
 " I wonder if nurse gave them any of Hal's 
 and baby's old things," she said to herself. 
 
 And she went to the window with a vague 
 idea of looking to see. She had not watched 
 the Smileys or their relations much for some 
 days ; she had been busy helping mamma and 
 nurse in various little ways, and her mind had 
 been very full of the going away. She almost 
 felt as if she had neglected her opposite neigh- 
 
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS. 91 
 
 bors, though, of course, they knew nothing 
 about it, and she was quite pleased to see them 
 all there as usual, or even more than usual. For 
 it was so fine a day that Reddy and her mother 
 were evidently having a grand turn-out — a sort 
 of spring cleaning, I suppose. 
 
 Small pieces of carpet, and one or two mats, 
 much the worse for wear, were hanging out at 
 the open windows. Reddy's head, tied up in 
 a cloth to keep the dust out of her hair, was to 
 be seen every minute or two as she thumped 
 about with a long broom, and Mary-Hann 
 presently appeared with a pail of soapy water 
 which she emptied at a grid in the gutter. 
 Mary-Hann looked rather depressed, but Red- 
 dy's spirits were fully equal to the occasion. 
 Had the window been open, Peggy felt sure 
 she would have been able to hear her shout- 
 ing to her sister to " look sharp," or to " mind 
 what she was about," even more vigorously 
 than usual. 
 
 The rest of the family, excepting, of course, 
 the boys, were assembled on the pavement in 
 front of Mr. Crick the cobbler's shop. He too 
 had opened his window to enjoy the fine day, 
 and in the background he could be dimly seen 
 working, as dingy and leathery as ever. Mrs. 
 
92 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 Whelan's frilled cap and pipe looked out for a 
 moment and then disappeared again. Appar- 
 ently just then there was nobody or nothing 
 she could scold. 
 
 For the poor children on the pavement were 
 behaving very quietly. The Smileys had stayed 
 at home from school to mind the babies, with 
 a view to smoothing the way for the spring 
 cleaning, no doubt, and were sitting, each with 
 a child on her lap, in two little old chairs they 
 had carried down. Crippley was rocking her- 
 self gently in her chair beside them, and the 
 last baby but two, as Peggy then thought, was 
 on his knees on the ground, amusing himself 
 with two or three oyster shells and a few 
 marbles. All these particulars Peggy, from her 
 high-up nursery window, could not, of course, 
 see clearly, but she saw enough to make her 
 sigh deeply as she thought that, after all, the 
 Smileys were much to be envied. 
 
 " I dare say they're telling theirselves 
 stories," she said to herself. "They look so 
 comfable." 
 
 Just then the big baby happened to come 
 more in sight, and she saw that one of the 
 things he was playing with was a little shoe — 
 an odd one apparently. He had filled it with 
 
 
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS. 93 
 
 marbles, and was pulling it across the stones. 
 Up jumped Peggy from her seat on the win- 
 dow-sill. 
 
 " Oh I" she exclaimed, though there was no 
 one to hear, " it must be the nother shoe of this. 
 What a pity ! They'd do for Tip, and pVaps 
 they've thought there wasn't a nother. How I 
 would like to take it them. I'll call Fanny and 
 see if she'll run across with it." 
 
 Downstairs she went, calling Fanny from 
 time to time as she journeyed. But no Fanny 
 replied ; she was down in the kitchen, and to 
 the kitchen Peggy knew mamma would not like 
 her to go. She stood at last in the passage 
 wondering what to do, when, glancing round, 
 she noticed that the back door opening into the 
 yard was temptingly open. Peggy peeped out 
 — there was no one there, but, still more tempt- 
 ing, the door leading into the small back street 
 — the door just opposite the Smiley mansion — 
 stood open, wide open, too, and even from 
 where she was the little girl could catch sight 
 of the group on the other side of the narrow 
 street. 
 
 She trotted across the yard, and stood for a 
 minute, the shoe in her hand, gazing at the six 
 children. The sound of their voices reached 
 her. 
 
94 LITTLE MISS PEGG 7. 
 
 " Haifred is quite took up with his shoe," 
 said Brown Smiley. " I told mother she moight 
 as well give it he — a hodd shoe's no good to 
 nobody." 
 
 " 'Tis a pity there wasn't the two of 'em," 
 said Crippley, in a thin, rather sqneaky voice. 
 " They'd a done bee-yutiful for " 
 
 " For Tip — yes, that's what I were thinking," 
 cried an eager little voice. " Here's the other 
 shoe ; I've just founded it." 
 
 And little Peggy, with her neat hair and 
 clean pinafore, stood in the middle of the chil- 
 dren holding out Hal's slipper, and smiling at 
 them, like an old friend. 
 
 For a moment or two they were all too 
 astonished to speak ; they could scarcely have 
 stared more had they caught sight of a pair of 
 wings on her shoulders, by means of which she 
 had flown down from the sky. 
 
 Then Light Smiley nudged Crippley, and 
 murmured something which Peggy could not 
 clearly hear, about "th' young lady hoppo- 
 site." 
 
 "Thank you, miss," then said Crippley, not 
 quite knowing what to say. " Here, Haifred, 
 you'll have to find summat else to make a 
 carridge of ; give us the shoe — there's a good 
 boy." 
 
lor 17f> -V£S t tfic\t s what / W£r* th»*nkm£\" 
 cmd an *c\££t* litfjs. voice. Hm5 tUi othtr 
 shos. ; I'v* just -foiAncUol -if." 
 
 y4nd littlj P^£^y, wim hir nic\f haiV and 
 clic\n binz\foT£ , stood in thi middf*. of fn£ 
 ckildnn holding out Hc\( s slifjbfcf, and 
 smilincT &t t"K*m 
 likz; an old 
 •friiJid 
 
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS. 95 
 
 Halfred stopped playing, and still on his 
 knees on the pavement stared up suspiciously 
 at his sister. Brown Smiley, by way of taking 
 part in what was going on, swooped down over 
 him and caught up the shoe before he saw what 
 she was doing, cleverly managing to hold her 
 baby on her knee all the same. 
 
 "'Ere it be," she said. " Sarah, put Florence 
 on Lizzie's lap for a minute, and run you up- 
 stairs with them two shoes to mother They'll 
 do splendid for Tommy, they will. And thank 
 the young lady." 
 
 Sarah, otherwise Light Smiley, got up 
 obediently, deposited her baby on Crippley's 
 lap, and held out her hand to Peggy for the 
 other shoe, bobbing as she did so, with a 
 " Thank you, miss." 
 
 Peggy left off smiling and looked rather 
 puzzled. 
 
 " For Tommy," she repeated. " Who is 
 Tommy? I thought they'd do for Tip. 
 I " 
 
 It was now the sisters' turn to stare, but they 
 had not much time to do so, for Halfred, who 
 had taken all this time to arrive at the knowl- 
 edge that his new plaything had been taken 
 from him, suddenly burst into a loud howl — so 
 
96 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 loud, so deliberate and determined that Peggy 
 stopped short, and all the group seemed for a 
 moment struck dumb. 
 
 Brown Smiley was the first to speak. 
 
 " Come, now, Halfred," she said, " where's 
 your manners ? You'd never stop Tommy hav- 
 ing a nice pair o' shoes." 
 
 But Halfred continued to weep — he gazed 
 up at Peggy, the tears streaming ciown his 
 smutty face, his mouth wide open, howling 
 hopelessly. 
 
 "Poor little boy," said Peggy, looking ready 
 to cry herself. " I wish I'd a nother old shoe 
 for him." 
 
 " Bless you, miss, he's always a-crying — 
 there's no need to worry," said Crippley, whose 
 real name w T as Lizzie. " Take him in with you, 
 Sarah, and tell mother he's a naughty boy, 
 that's what he is, y and Light Smiley picked him 
 up and ran off with him in such a hurry that 
 Peggy stood still repeating " poor little boy," 
 before she knew what had become of him. 
 
 Quiet was restored, however. Peggy, hav- 
 ing done what she came for, should have gone 
 home, but the attractions of society were too 
 much for her. She lingered — Crippley pushed 
 Sarah's empty chair toward her. 
 
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS. 97 
 
 " Take a seat, miss," she said. " You'll excuse 
 me not gettin' up. Onst I'm a-sittin' down, 
 it's not so heasy." 
 
 Peggy looked at her with great interest. 
 
 " Does it hurt much ?" she asked. 
 
 Lizzie smiled in a superior way. 
 
 " Bless you," she said again, " hurt's no word 
 for it. It's hall over — but it's time I were 
 used to it — never mind about me, missy. I'm 
 sure it was most obligin' of you to bring the 
 shoe, but won't your mamma and your nurse 
 scold you V 
 
 " My mamma's gone away, and so has my 
 nurse," said Peggy. " I'm all alone." 
 
 All the eyes looked up with sympathy. 
 
 " Deary me, who'd a thought it ?" said Brown 
 Smiley. " But there must be somebody to do 
 for you, miss." 
 
 " To what ?" asked Peggy. " Of course 
 there's cook, and Fanny, and my brothers, and 
 my papa when he comes home." 
 
 Brown Smiley looked relieved. She was 
 only a very little girl, not more than three 
 years older than Peggy herself, though she 
 seemed so much more, and she had really 
 thought that the little visitor meant to say she 
 was quite, quite by herself. 
 
 
98 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 " Oh !" she said, " that's not being real 
 alone." 
 
 " But it is," persisted Peggy. " It is very 
 alone, I can tell you. I've nobody to play 
 with, and nothing to do 'cept to look out of 
 the window at you playing, and at the nother 
 window at " 
 
 '•The winder to the front," said Lizzie 
 eagerly. " It must be splendid at your front, 
 miss. Father told me oust you could see the 
 'ills — ever so far right away in Brackenshire. 
 Some day if I could but get along a bit better 
 I'd like fine to go round to your front, miss. 
 I've never seed a 'ill." 
 
 Lizzie was quite out of breath with excite- 
 ment. Peggy answered eagerly : 
 
 " Oh, I do wish you could come to our day 
 nurseiy window. When it's fine you can see 
 the mountings — that's old, no, big hills, you 
 know. And — on one of them you can see a 
 white cottage ; it does so shine in the sun." 
 
 " Bless me," said Lizzie, and both the 
 Smileys, for Sarah had come back by now, stood 
 listening with open mouths. 
 
 " Father's from Brackenshire," said Light 
 Smiley, whose real name was Sarah. She spoke 
 rather timidly, for she was well kept in her 
 
 
FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS 99 
 
 place by her four elder sisters. For a wonder 
 they did not snub her. 
 
 " Yes, he be," added Matilda, " and he's told 
 us it's bee-yutiful over there. He lived in a 
 cottage, he did, when he were a little lad." 
 
 " Mebbe 'tis father's cottage miss sees shin- 
 ing," ventured Sarah. But this time she was 
 not so lucky. 
 
 " Rubbish, Sarah," said Lizzie. " There's 
 more'n one cottage in Brackenshire." 
 
 " And there's a mamma and a baby — and a 
 papa who goes to work, in my cottage," said 
 
 Peggy. " So I don't think it could be " 
 
 But here she grew confused, remembering that 
 all about the white cottage was only fancy, and 
 that besides the Smileys' father might have 
 lived there long ago. She got rather red, feel- 
 ing somehow as if it was not very kind of her 
 not to like the idea of its being his cottage. 
 She had seen him once or twice ; he looked big 
 and rough, and his clothes were old — she could 
 not fancy him ever having lived in her dainty 
 white house. 
 
 Just then came a loud voice from the upper 
 story, demanding Sarah. 
 
 "Tis Mother Whelan," said Brown Smiley, 
 starting up. " Kebecca said as how I was to 
 
100 LITTLE MISS PEQG F. 
 
 run of an errant for her. It's time I were 
 off." 
 
 Peggy turned to go. 
 
 " I must go home," she said. " PVaps I'll 
 come again some day. If mamma was at home 
 I'd ask her if you mightn't come to look out of 
 the nursery window," she added, turning to 
 Lizzie. 
 
 " Bless you," said the poor girl, " I'd never 
 get up the stairs ; thank you all the same." 
 
 And with a deep sigh of regret at having to 
 leave such pleasant company, Peggy ran across 
 the street home. 
 
A BUN 10 1HE GOOD, 101 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A BUN TO THE GOOD. 
 
 "The little gift from out our store." 
 
 The yard door was still open ; so was the 
 house door. Peggy met no one as she ran 
 in. 
 
 " Fanny's upstairs, p'r'aps," she said to her- 
 self. But no, she saw nothing of Fanny either 
 on the way up or in the nursery. She did not 
 feel dull or lonely now, however. She went to 
 the back window and stood there for a minute 
 looking at Crippley and Light Smiley, who 
 were still there with the two babies. How 
 funny it seemed that just a moment or two ago 
 she had been down there actually talking to 
 them ! She could scarcely believe they were 
 the very same children whom for so long she 
 had known by sight, 
 
 " I am so glad I found the shoe," thought 
 Peggy. " I wish, oh, 1 do wish I could have a 
 
103 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 tea-party, and avite them all to tea. I dare 
 say the father could carry Crippley upstairs — 
 he's a very big man." 
 
 The thought of the father carried her thoughts 
 to Brackenskire and the cottage on the hill, and 
 she went into the day nursery to look if the 
 white spot was still to be seen. Yes, it was 
 very bright and clear in the sunshine. Peggy 
 gazed at it while a smile broke over her grave 
 little face. 
 
 " How I do wish I could go there," she 
 thought. "I wonder if the Smileys' father 
 amembers about when he was a little boy, 
 quite well. If he wasn't such a nugly man we 
 might ask him to tell us stories about it." 
 
 Then she caught sight of the little scarlet 
 shoes patiently standing on the window-still. 
 
 " Dear little shoes," she said, " Peggy was 
 neely forgetting you," and she took them up 
 and kissed them. " Next time I go to see the 
 Smileys," she thought, " I'll take the red shoes 
 with me to show them. They will be pleased." 
 Then she got out her work and sat down to 
 do it, placing her chair where she could see the 
 hills from, the little shoes in her lap, feeling 
 quite happy and contented. It seemed but a 
 little while till Fanny came up to lay the cloth 
 
A BUN TO THE GOOD. 103 
 
 for Peggy's dinner. She had been working 
 extra hard that morning, so as to be ready for 
 the afternoon, and perhaps her head was a little 
 confused. And so when Peggy began telling 
 her her adventures she did not listen attentively, 
 and answered " yes " and " no " without really 
 knowing what she was saying. 
 
 " And so when I couldn't find you, Fanny, I 
 just runned over with the nother shoe myself. 
 And the poor little boy what was playing with 
 the — the not the nother one, you know, did so 
 cry, but I think he soon left off. And some day 
 I'm going to ask mamma to let me avite them 
 all to tea, for them to see the hills, and " — but 
 here Peggy stopped — ' the hills, you know, 
 out of the window." 
 
 " Yes, dear ; very nice," said Fanny. " You've 
 been a good little girl to amuse yourself so 
 quietly all the morning and to give no trouble. 
 I do wonder if the washerwoman knows to come 
 for the nursery things, or if I must send," she 
 went on, speaking, though aloud, to herself. 
 
 So Peggy felt perfectly happy about all she 
 had done, not indeed that she had had the 
 slightest misgiving. 
 
 The afternoon passed very pleasantly. It 
 was quite a treat to Peggy to go a walk in a 
 
104 LITTLE MISS PEGO T. 
 
 grown-up sort of way with Fanny, trotting by 
 her side and talking comfortably, instead of 
 having to take Hal's hand and lugging him 
 along to keep well in front of the perambulator. 
 They went up the Ferndale Road — a good way, 
 further than Peggy had ever been- so far 
 indeed that she could scarcely understand how 
 it was the hills did not seem much nearer 
 than from the nursery window, but when she 
 asked Fanny, Fanny said it was often so with 
 hills — " nothing is more undependable." 
 Peggy did not quite understand her, but 
 put it away in her head to think about after- 
 ward. 
 
 And when they came home it was nearly 
 tea-time. Peggy felt quite comfortably tired 
 when she had taken off her things and began 
 to help Fanny to get tea ready for the boys, 
 and when they arrived, all three very hungry 
 and rather low-spirited at the thought of mamma 
 and nurse being away, it was very nice for them 
 to find the nursery quite as tidy as usual — in- 
 deed, perhaps, rather tidier — and Peggy, with a 
 bright face, waiting with great pride to pour 
 out tea for them. 
 
 " I think you're a very good housekeeper, 
 Peg," said Terence, who was always the first to 
 say something pleasant. 
 
A BUN TO THE GOOD. 105 
 
 " Not so bad," agreed Tliorold patroniz- 
 ingly. 
 
 Baldwin sat still, looking before him solemn- 
 ly, and considering his Avords, as was his way 
 before he said anything. 
 
 "I think," he began at last, "I think that 
 when I'm a bis; man I'll live in a cottage all 
 alone with Peggy, and not no one else." 
 
 Peggy turned to him with sparkling eyes. 
 
 " A white cottage, Baldwin dear ; do say a 
 white cottage," she entreated, 
 
 " I don't mind — a white cottage, but quite a 
 tiny one," he replied. 
 
 " Hum !" said Thor, " that's very good- 
 natured, I must say. There'll be no room for 
 visitors, do you hear, Terry ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; p'r'aps there will sometimes," said 
 
 Pe ggy- 
 
 " You'll let your poor old Terry come, won't 
 you, Peg-top ?" said Terence coaxingly. 
 
 " Dear Terry," said Peggy. 
 
 " Haven't you been very dull all day alone, 
 by the bye ?" Terence went on. 
 
 " Not very," Peggy replied. " Fanny took 
 
 me a nice walk, and this morning " But 
 
 she stopped short before telling more. She 
 was afraid that Thorold would laugh at her if 
 
106 LITTLE MISS PEOG Y. 
 
 she said how much she liked the children at 
 the back, and then she had another reason. 
 She wanted to " surprise " her brothers with a 
 present of pipes for soap-bubbles, and very 
 likely if she began talking about the back 
 street at all it would made them think of Mrs. 
 Wh elan's, and then they might think of the 
 pipes for themselves, which Peggy did not wish 
 at all. She felt quite big and managing since 
 she had paid a visit to the Smileys, and had a 
 plan for going to buy the pipes " all by my own 
 self." 
 
 " To-morrow," said Thorold, " there's to be a 
 party at our school. We're all three to go." 
 
 Peggy's face fell. 
 
 " It's Saturday," she said. " I thought you'd 
 have stayed with me." 
 
 Terence and Baldwin looked sorry. 
 
 " I'll stay at home," said Terry. 
 
 " No," said Thor, " I really don't think you 
 can. They're counting on you for some of the 
 games. Peg won't mind much for once, will 
 you ? I'm sorry too." 
 
 But before Peggy had time to reply, Baldwin 
 broke in. 
 
 " I'll stay at home with Peg-top," he said, in 
 his slow, distinct way. " It won't matter for 
 me not going. I'm one of the little ones." 
 
A BUN TO THE GOOD. 10? 
 
 " And we'll go a nice walk, won't we. Bald- 
 win V said Peggy, quite nappy again. " And 
 I dare say we may have something nice for tea. 
 I'll ask papa," she added to herself. " I'm sure 
 he'll give me some pennies when he hears how 
 good Baldwin is." 
 
 Miss Earnshaw came the next morning, and 
 in the interest of beino; measured for her new 
 spring frock, and watching it being cut out, 
 and considering what she herself could make 
 with the scraps which the young dressmaker 
 gave her, the time passed very pleasantly for 
 
 Peggy- 
 Miss Earnshaw admired the red shoes very 
 
 much, and was interested to hear the story of 
 the unknown lady who had given them to Peg- 
 gy, and told a story of a similar adventure of 
 her own when she was a little girl. And after 
 dinner she, for Fanny was very busy, took 
 Peggy and Baldwin out for a walk, and on 
 their way home they went to the confectioner's 
 and bought six halfpenny buns with the three 
 pennies papa had given Peggy that morning. 
 At least the children thought there were only 
 six, but greatly to their surprise, when they 
 undid the parcel on the nursery table, out 
 rolled seven ! 
 
108 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " Oh, clear !" said Peggy, " she's gave us one 
 too many. Must Ave go back to the shop with 
 it, do you think, Miss Earnshaw ? It's such a 
 long way." 
 
 " 111 go," said Baldwin, beginning to fasten 
 his boots again. 
 
 But Miss Earnshaw assured them it was all 
 right. 
 
 " You always get thirteen of any penny buns 
 or cakes for a shilling," she said ; " and some 
 shops will give you seven halfpenny ones for 
 threepence. That's how it is. Did you never 
 hear speak of a baker's dozen ?" 
 
 Still Peggy did not feel satisfied. 
 
 " It isn't comfable," she said, giving herself a 
 little wriggle — a trick of hers when she was 
 put out. " Six would have been much nicer — 
 just two for each," for Miss Earnshaw was to 
 have tea with her and Baldwin. 
 
 The young dressmaker smiled. 
 
 " You are funny, Miss Peggy," she said. 
 " Well, run off now and get ready for tea. 
 We'll have Fanny bringing it up in a minute." 
 
 Peggy, the seventh bun still much on her 
 mind, went slowly into the night nursery. Be- 
 fore beginning to take off her hat she strolled 
 to the window and looked out. She had seen 
 
A BUN TO THE GOOD. 109 
 
 none of the children to-day. Now, Brown 
 Smiley was standing just in front of the house, 
 a basket on her arm, staring up and down the 
 street. She had been " of an errant " for Mrs. 
 Whelan, but Mrs. Whelan's door was locked ; 
 she was either asleep or counting her money, 
 and the little girl knew that if she went 
 on knocking the old woman would get into a 
 rage, so she was " waiting a bit." She liked 
 better to do her waiting in the street, for she 
 had been busy indoors all the morning, and it 
 was a change to stand there looking about 
 her. 
 
 Peggy gazed at her for a moment or two. 
 Then an idea struck her. She ran back into 
 the nursery and seized a bun — the odd bun. 
 
 " They're all mine, you know," she called 
 out to Baldwin ; " but we'll have two each 
 still." 
 
 Baldwin looked up in surprise. " What are 
 you going to do with it V he began to say, but 
 Peggy was out of sight. 
 
 She was soon downstairs, and easily opened 
 the back door. But the yard door was fastened ; 
 she found some difficulty in turning the big 
 key. She managed it at last, however, and 
 saw to her delight that Brown Smiley was still 
 there. 
 
110 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 " Brown," began Peggy, but suddenly recol- 
 lecting that the Smileys had real names, she 
 stopped short, and ran across the street. " I 
 can't aniember your name," she exclaimed 
 breathlessly, " but I've brought you this," and 
 she held out the bun. 
 
 Brown Smiley's faced smiled all over. 
 
 " Lor' miss," she exclaimed. " You are kind, 
 to be sure. Mayn't I give it to Lizzie ? She's 
 been very bad to-day, and she's eat next to 
 naught. This 'ere'll be tasty-like." 
 
 " Lizzie," repeated Peggy, " which is Lizzie ? 
 Oh, yes, I know, it's Crippley." 
 
 Brown Smiley looked rather hurt. 
 
 " It's not her fault, miss," she said. " I'd not 
 like her to hear herself called like that." 
 
 Peggy's face showed extreme surprise. 
 
 " How do you mean ?" she said. " I've made 
 names for you all. I didn't know your real 
 ones." 
 
 Brown Smiley looked at her and saw in a 
 moment that there was nothing to be vexed 
 about. 
 
 " To be sure, miss. Beg your pardon. Well, 
 she that's lame's Lizzie, and me, I'm Matilda 
 Jane." 
 
 " Oh, yes," interrupted Peggy. " Well, you 
 
'-■ ■v/; * ,.. -hhtim m tt^ rt m rnr fftrrnxm 
 
 r ! «*■ « •• 
 
 i 
 
 1 canT kvw.LwvG^ your- 
 
 br^fkUsdy, '* but* lv£ 
 Urouj^kr you Fkls/ancl 
 ski kddl out rtvi, bun. 
 
 Brown Smilsys t<^ cl - 
 smllicl all ov^r. 
 * I_»or' miss/'sht ixcf&irrud. 
 
 You csr£ kind, to bt Sufi. 
 Flayn-'h l gi'vs. if* to Liwi't? 
 ghe s bs.O\ v*ry bad to-ck^ 
 and skis eatmxttb nought". 
 Tks ara'll bt ta^ly- liks . " 
 
 gt «tt tH w 
 
 .Out iuolcknly <N window 
 abov£ obmLol , and Mott^r 
 WkilanS bifnlltd f*c£ was 
 thrust* out\ 
 
 " Wba.t ar* yx c\bout tfitrj 
 Thin, and yy\l (in buxrvruf 
 ifrzlf Away, and mi fta, 
 Viady 7 w<xifin£ -for rk* 
 l>T**d? W/ka,ts ifu 
 
 Vou.ia£ lady cka+hrm' 
 to t"k*. It la* o* you for ? 
 Co boms. , Ynissy, cldcrb'rt' 
 <go ko mi " 
 
A BUN TO THE GOOD. m 
 
 may give her the bun if yon like. It's very 
 kind of you, for I meant it for you. I'd 
 like " — she went on — " I'd like to give you 
 more, but you see papa gaved me the pennies 
 for us, and p'r'aps he'd be vexed." 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure, that'd never do," 
 replied Matilda quickly. " But oh, miss, we've 
 been asking father about Brackenshire and the 
 cottages. 'Tis Brackenshire 'ills, sure enough, 
 that's seen from your front." 
 
 " I knew that," said Peggy, in a superior 
 way. 
 
 But Brown Smiley was too eager to feel her- 
 self snubbed. 
 
 " And oh, but he says it is bee-yutiful there 
 — over on the 'ills. The air's that fresh, and 
 there's flowers and big-leaved things as they 
 call ferns and brackens." 
 
 " And white cottages ?" asked Peggy anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " There's cottages — I didn't think for to ask 
 if they was all white. My ! If we could but 
 go there some fine day. 'Father says it's not so 
 far; many's the time he's walked over there 
 and back again the next morning when he first 
 coined to work here, you see, miss, and his 'ome 
 was still over there like." 
 
112 LITTLE MISS PEQG Y. 
 
 " Yes, in the white cottage," said Peggy. 
 She had made up her mind that it was unkind 
 not to " let it be " that the Smileys' father had 
 lived in that very cottage, for he did seem 
 to be a nice man in spite of his bigness and his 
 dingy workman's clothes. If he wasn't nice 
 and kind she didn't think the children would 
 talk of him as they did. 
 
 But she spoke absently ; Matilda Jane's words 
 had put thoughts in her head which seemed to 
 make her almost giddy. Brown Smiley stared 
 at her for a minute. 
 
 " How she do cling to them cottages being 
 white," she thought to herself, " but there — if 
 it pleases her ! She's but a little one." "White 
 if you please, miss," she replied, "though I 
 can't say as I had it from father." 
 
 But suddenly a window above opened, and 
 Mother Whelan's befrilled face was thrust 
 out. 
 
 " What are you about there then, and me fire 
 burning itself away, and me tea ready, waiting 
 for the bread % What's the young lady chat- 
 terin' to the likes o' you for ? Go home, niissy, 
 darlin', go home." 
 
 The two children jumped as if they had been 
 shot. 
 
A BUN TO THE GOOD. 113 
 
 " Will she beat you ?" whispered Peggy, look- 
 ing very frightened. But Brown Smiley shook 
 her little round head and laughed. 
 
 " She won't have a chance, and she dursn't 
 not to say beat us — father'd be down on her — 
 but she doesn't think naught of a good shakin'. 
 But I'll push the basket in and run off if she's 
 in a real wax." 
 
 u Good-by, then. You must tell me lots 
 more about the hills. Ask your father all you 
 can," and so saying, Peggy flew home again. 
 
 " Where* ve yon been. What did you do with 
 the bun ?" asked Baldwin, as soon as she came 
 into the nursery. 
 
 " I runned down with it, and gavecl it to a 
 little girl I saw in the street," said Peggy. 
 
 " Very kind and nice, I'm sure," said Miss 
 Earnshaw. " Was it a beggar, Miss Peggy ? 
 You're sure your mamma and nurse wouldn't 
 mind ?" she added rather anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Peggy. " It's not a beggar. 
 It's a proper little poor girl what nurse gives 
 our nold clothes to." 
 
 " Oh," said Baldwin, " one of the children 
 over the cobbler's, I suppose. But, Peggy," he 
 was going on to say he didn't think his sister 
 had ever been allowed to run down to the back 
 
114 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 street to speak to them, only lie was so slow 
 and so long of making up his mind that, as 
 Fanny just then came in with the tea, which 
 made a little bustle, nobody attended to him, 
 and Miss Earnshaw remained quite satisfied 
 that all was right. 
 
 The buns tasted very good — all the better to 
 Peggy from the feeling that poor lame Lizzie 
 was perhaps eating hers at that same moment, 
 and finding it " tasty." 
 
 " Does lame people ever get quite better ?" 
 she asked the young dressmaker. 
 
 " That depends," Miss Earnshaw replied. 
 " If it's through a fall or something that way, 
 outside of them so to say, there's many as gets 
 better. But if it's in them, in the constitu- 
 tion, there's many as stays lame all their lives 
 through." 
 
 Peggy wriggled a little. She didn't like to 
 think about it much. It sounded so myste- 
 rious. 
 
 " What part's that," she asked, " that big 
 word r 
 
 " Constitootion," said Baldwin, as if he was 
 trying to spell " Constantinople." 
 
 Miss Earnshaw laughed. She lived alone 
 with her mother, and was not much used to 
 
A BUN TO THE GOOD, 115 
 
 children. But she was so pleasant-tempered 
 and gentle that she easily got into their ways. 
 
 " I shouldn't use such long words," she said. 
 "Our constitution just means ourselves — the 
 way we're made. A strong, healthy person is 
 said to have a good constitution, and a weakly 
 person has a poor one." 
 
 Baldwin and Pegffy both sat silent for a 
 minute, thinking over what she said. 
 
 " I don't see how that's to do with crippling," 
 said Peggy at last. " Does you mean," she 
 went on, " that p'r'aps lame people's legs is made 
 wrong — by mistake, you know ? In course Grod 
 wouldn't do it of purpose, would he V 
 
 Baldwin looked rather startled. 
 
 " Peggy," he said, " I don't think you should 
 speak that way." 
 
 Peggy turned her gray eyes full upon him. 
 
 " I don't mean to say anything naughty," she 
 said. " Is it naughty, Miss Earnshaw ?" 
 
 The young dressmaker had herself been 
 rather taken aback by Peggy's queer speech, 
 and for a moment or two scarcely knew what 
 to say. But then her face cleared again. 
 
 " God can't make mistakes, Miss Peggy," she 
 said, "and he is always kind. All the same 
 there's many things that seem like one or the 
 
116 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 other, I know. It must be that there's reasons 
 for them that we can't see — like when a doctor 
 hurts anybody, it seems unkind, but it's really 
 to do them good." 
 
 " Like when our doctor cutted poor baby's 
 tooths to make them come through," said Peggy 
 eagerly. "They was all bleeding, bleeding 
 ever so, Miss Earnshaw. Baby didn't under- 
 stand, and he was very angry. He always 
 sc'eams at the doctor now. I almost think he'd 
 like to kill him." 
 
 Baldwin opened his mouth wide at these 
 bloodthirsty sentiments of baby's. He was 
 too shocked to speak. 
 
 " But it is only 'cos he doesn't understand," 
 Peggy went on placidly. " I don't sc'eam at 
 the doctor. I speak to him quite goodly, 'cos, 
 you see, I understand." 
 
 Baldwin closed his mouth again. He looked 
 at Peggy with admiring respect. 
 
 " Yes," agreed Miss Earnshaw, greatly re- 
 lieved at the turn their talk had taken, " that's 
 just it, Miss Peggy. You couldn't have put it 
 better." 
 
 u Peggy," said Baldwin, " when you're big 
 you should be a clergymunt." 
 
UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA. H7 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA. 
 
 "As I was going up Pippin Hill, 
 Pippin Hill was dirty, 
 There I met a pretty miss, 
 And she dropped me a curtsey. " 
 
 — Old Nursery Rhyme. 
 
 Nothing particular happened during the next 
 few days. Peggy's little life went on regularly 
 and peacefully. Miss Earnshaw came every 
 morning, and either she or Fanny took Peggy 
 a walk every afternoon, except twice when it 
 rained, to the little girl's great disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 The second of these wet days happened to 
 be Friday. Peggy stood at the front nursery 
 window that morning looking out rather sadly. 
 There were no hills — no white spot to be seen, 
 of course. 
 
 " I wonder what the Smileys do when it 
 rains all day," she said to herself. " I think 
 
1 1 8 LITTLE MISS PEOG Y. 
 
 I'll go to the back window and look if I can 
 see any of them." 
 
 She had scarcely caught sight of her neigh- 
 bors for some days. Only now and then she 
 had seen the little ones tumbling about on the 
 pavement, and once or twice the elder girls had 
 brought their chairs down and sat there sewing. 
 Lizzie had never come out. Peggy feared she 
 must be still ill, and perhaps that made the 
 others extra busy. It was not likely any of 
 them would come out to-day, as it was raining 
 so; but sometimes she was able to see their 
 faces at the window. And on a rainy day some 
 of the little ones at least would perhaps be 
 looking out. 
 
 She turned to go to the other nursery, when 
 Miss Earnshaw spoke to her. 
 
 " I wouldn't be so vexed at its being wet to- 
 day, Miss Peggy, if I was you," she said. " It'll 
 be much worse if it's wet to-morrow, for it's 
 your brothers' half-holiday." 
 
 " Is to-morrow Saturday ?" asked Peggy. 
 
 " To be sure it is. And I'm afraid I can't 
 possibly stay here in the afternoon. I've got 
 to go to see a lady some way off about some 
 work. I wish she hadn't fixed for Saturday. 
 If it's fine it won't matter so much. Fanny 
 
UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA. 119 
 
 and I were saying yon could all go a nice walk 
 — the yonng gentlemen and yon — with her. 
 But if it's wet I don't know however she'll 
 manage yon all in the house." 
 
 Suddenly Peggy's eyes began to sparkle. 
 
 " Miss Earnshaw," she said, " I've thought of 
 something. If yon'll ask Fanny, I'm sure she'll 
 say we can ; we've not had them for such a 
 long time, and I've got my four pennies and a 
 halfpenny — that'll get six, you know, in case 
 any's brokened." 
 
 Miss Earnshaw looked at her and then began 
 to laugh. 
 
 " Miss Peggy dear, you must tell me first 
 what you mean," she said. " Your thoughts 
 come so fast that they run ahead of your 
 words. What is it you mean to get six of — 
 not buns ?" 
 
 " Buns !" repeated Peggy. " You can't blow 
 bubbles with buns. No, of course I meant 
 pipes. Nice white pipes to blow soap-bubbles." 
 
 "Oh, to be sure," said Miss Earnshaw. 
 " That's a very good idea, Miss Peggy, in case 
 to-morrow afternoon's wet, and I shouldn't 
 wonder if it was." 
 
 " And you'll ask Fanny ?" 
 
 " Of course ; you can ask her yourself for 
 
120 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 that matter. I'm sure she's the last to grudge 
 you anything that'cl please you and the young 
 gentlemen. And even if soap-bubbles are 
 rather messy sometimes, it's easy to wipe up. 
 It's not like anything dirty." 
 
 " Soap must be clean, mustn't it V said 
 Peggy, laughing. " But don't tell the boys, 
 pelease, dear Miss Earnshaw. I do so want to 
 apprise them. I can get the pipes to-morrow 
 morning. I know where to get them," and 
 quite happy, Peggy trotted off to take out her 
 money-box and look to be quite sure that the 
 three pennies and three halfpennies were there 
 in safety, where for some weeks they had been 
 waiting. 
 
 " Bless her heart," said the young dressmaker. 
 " She is the sweetest little innocent darling 
 that ever lived." 
 
 After looking over her pennies Peggy turned 
 to the window. No, none of the Smileys was 
 to be seen. 
 
 " Never mind," said Peggy to herself. " I'll 
 p'r'aps see them to-morrow when I go for the 
 pipes. I almost hope it'll be a wet day. It 
 will be so nice to blow soap-bubbles. Only," 
 and she sighed a little, " it does seem such a 
 very long time since I sawed the white cot- 
 tage." 
 
UNDER THE BIO UMBRELLA. 121 
 
 To-morrow was rainy, very rainy, with no 
 look of " going to clear up " about it. The boys 
 grumbled a good deal at breakfast at the dole- 
 ful prospect of a dull half-holiday in the 
 house. 
 
 " And papa's going away to-day till Monday," 
 said Thorold ; " so there'll be no going down to 
 the dining-room to sit beside him while he's at 
 dinner for a change. 1 ' 
 
 " Poor papa," said Peggy, " he'll get very wet 
 going such a long way." 
 
 " Nonsense, you little goose," said Thor 
 crossly. " People don't get wet in cabs and 
 railway carriages." 
 
 " I forgot," said Peggy meekly. 
 
 " You shouldn't call her a goose, Thor," said 
 Terence " It's very disagreeable to travel on 
 a very rainy day. I've often heard people say 
 so." 
 
 " I wish I was going to travel, rainy or not, 
 I know that," grumbled Thorold. " Here we 
 shall be mewed up in this stupid nursery all 
 the afternoon with nothing to do." 
 
 " There's lots of things to do," said Baldwin. 
 " I think I'll write a letter to mamma for one 
 tiling. And I want to tidy my treasure-box 
 and—" . 
 
122 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 " You're a stupid/' said Thorold. " You're 
 too fat and slow to have any spirit in you." 
 
 " Now, Thorold, I say that's not fair," said 
 Terry. " Would it show spirit to grumble ? 
 You'd be down upon him if he did. There's 
 no pleasing you." 
 
 " I know something that would please him," 
 said Peggy, who was trembling between eager- 
 ness to tell and determination not to tell her 
 " surprise." 
 
 " What ?" said Thor, rather grumpily still. 
 
 " I'm not going to tell you till you come 
 home. And it'll only be if it's a rainy after- 
 noon," said Peggy. 
 
 Terence and Baldwin pricked up their 
 ears. 
 
 " Oh, do tell us, Peg-top," they said. 
 
 But the little girl shook her head. 
 
 " No, no," she replied. " I've promised my- 
 self — quite promised not." 
 
 " There's a reason for you," said Thor. But 
 his tone was more good-natured now. He felt 
 ashamed of being so cross when the little ones 
 were so kind and bright. 
 
 " I'll really, truly tell you when you come 
 back from school," said Peggy, and with this 
 assurance the boys had to content themselves. 
 
UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA. 123 
 
 Miss Earnshaw arrived as usual, or rather 
 not as usual, for she was dripping, poor thing, 
 and had to leave her waterproof downstairs in 
 the kitchen. 
 
 " What weather, Miss Peggy," she said as 
 she came in, " I thought it would be a wet 
 day, but not such a pour. It is unfortunate 
 that I have to go so far to-day, isn't it ? And 
 I'm sorry to leave you children alone too." 
 
 " Never mind," said Peggy cheerily ; " we'll 
 be quite happy with the soap bubbles. I've got 
 my money quite ready. Mayn't I go and get 
 the pipes now ?" 
 
 " Out, my dear ? In such weather !" ex- 
 claimed Miss Earnshaw. 
 
 " Oh, but it's quite near," said Peggy. " Just 
 hop out of the door and you're there. The 
 boys always buy their pipes there, and mamma 
 goes there herself sometimes to see the old 
 woman." 
 
 "Well, wait a bit, anyway. It can't go on 
 raining as fast as this all the morning surely. 
 It's real cats and dogs." 
 
 Peggy looked up in surprise. 
 
 " Cats and dogs, Miss Earnshaw ?" she re- 
 peated. 
 
 " Oh, bless you, my dear, it's only a way of 
 
124 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 speaking," said the dressmaker a little im- 
 patiently, for slie was not very muck accustomed 
 to children. " It just means raining very 
 hard." 
 
 Peggy went to the window to look out for 
 herself. Yes, indeed it was raining very hard. 
 The little girl could not help sighing a little as 
 she gazed at the thick even gray of the clouds, 
 hiding like a curtain every trace of the distant 
 hills she was so fond of. 
 
 " I won't put out the little red shoes to-day," 
 she said to herself, " there's nothing for them 
 to see." 
 
 Then other thoughts crept into her mind. 
 
 " I wonder if it's raining at the white cottage 
 too," she said to herself. And aloud she asked 
 a question. 
 
 " Miss Earnshaw, pelease, does it ever rain 
 in the country ?" she said. 
 
 " Kain in the country ! I should rather 
 think it did. Worse than in town, you might 
 say — that's to say, where there's less shelter, 
 you'll get wetter and dirtier in the country, 
 only of course it's not the same kind of really 
 black sooty rain. But as for mud in country 
 lanes ! I shall see something of it this after- 
 noon, I expect." 
 
UNDER THE BIO UMBRELLA. 125 
 
 " Ob, I'm so sorry," said Peggy. " I thought 
 it never rained in the country. I thought it 
 was always quite pretty and lovely," and she 
 sighed deeply. a I wonder what people who 
 live in little cottages in the country do all day 
 when it rains," she said. 
 
 " Why, my dear, much the same as other folk, 
 I should say. They have their rooms to clean, 
 and their dinner to cook, and their children to 
 look after. Still I dare say it'd be a bit 
 drearier in the country of a right-down wet 
 day like this, even than in town. I've never 
 lived there myself, except for a week at a time 
 at most, but mother was all her young days in 
 the country." 
 
 "Everybody's fathers and mothers lived 
 there," said Peggy rather petulantly. " Why 
 don't peoples let their children live there 
 now ?" 
 
 Miss Earnshaw laughed a little. Peggy did 
 not like her to laugh in that way, and she gave 
 herself a little wriggle, though poor Miss 
 Earnshaw certainly did not mean to vex 
 her. 
 
 " There are plenty of children in the country 
 too, Miss Peggy," she said. " Mother's youngest 
 sister has twelve." 
 
126 LITTLE MISS PUGG Y. 
 
 " Twelve/' repeated Peggy, " liow nice ! at 
 least if there's lots of sisters among them, and 
 no very little babies. Do they live over in 
 that country ?" she went on, pointing in the 
 direction of the invisible hills, " that country, 
 called Brack — You know the name." 
 
 " Brackenshire," said Miss Earnshaw : " no, 
 my mother comes from much further off. A 
 very pretty place it must be by what she says. 
 Not but what Brackenshire's a pretty country 
 toOo I've been there several times with the 
 Sunday-school for a treat." 
 
 " And did you see the hills and the white 
 cottages ?" asked Peggy breathlessly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, the hills are beautiful, and there's 
 lots of cottages of all kinds. They look pretty 
 among the trees, even though they're only poor 
 little places, most of them." 
 
 " The white ones is the prettiest," said Peggy, 
 as if she knew all about it. 
 
 "Yes, I dare say," said Miss Earnshaw, 
 without paying much attention ; she had got to 
 rather a difficult part of the sleeve she was 
 making. 
 
 " Did you ever walk all the way there when 
 you was a little girl V Peggy went on. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course," Miss Earnshaw replied, 
 
UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA. 12? 
 
 without the least idea of what she was 
 answering. 
 
 " Really !" said Peggy ; " how nice !" Then 
 seeing that -the dressmaker was absorbed in 
 her work, "Miss Earnshaw," she said, "I'm 
 going for the pipes now. It isn't raining 
 quite so fast, and I'll not be long." 
 
 "Very well, my dear," Miss Earnshaw re- 
 plied, and Peggy went oif to fetch her pennies 
 from the drawer in the other nnrsery where she 
 kept them. She had a new idea in her head, 
 an idea which Miss Earnshaw's careless words 
 had helped to put there, little as she knew 
 it. 
 
 " If I see the Smiley s," thought Peggy, " I'll 
 tell them what she said." 
 
 She glanced out of the window. Dear me, 
 how lucky ! There stood Brown Smiley look- 
 ing out at the door, as if she were hesitating 
 before making a plunge into the dripping wet 
 street. It did seem at the back as if it were 
 raining faster than in the front. Peggy opened 
 the cupboard and took out her little cloak 
 which was hanging there. 
 
 " I won't put on my hat," she thought, " 'cos 
 nurse says the rain spoils the feavers. I'll get 
 a numbrella downstairs, and then I can't get 
 
128 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 wet, and here's my pennies all right in my 
 pocket. I do hope Brown Smiley will wait till 
 I get down." 
 
 She made all the haste she could, and found, 
 as she expected, an umbrella in the stand 
 downstairs. It was not very easy to open, but 
 she succeeded at last ; then came, however, 
 another difficulty : she could not get herself 
 and the umbrella through the back door to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Dear me ," thought Pe^srr, " I wonder how 
 people does with their numbrellas. They must 
 open them in the house, else they'd get wet 
 standing outside while they're doing it. I never 
 looked to see how nurse does, but then we 
 almost never go out when it's rainy. I appose 
 it's one of the hard things big peoples has to 
 learn. Oh, dear ! won't it come through ?" 
 
 No, she couldn't manage it, at least not with 
 herself under it. At last a brilliant idea 
 struck Peggy ; anything was better than clos- 
 ing the tiresome thing now she had got it 
 open — she would send it first and follow 
 after herself. So the umbrella was passed 
 through, and went slipping down the two or 
 three steps that led into the yard, where it lay 
 gaping up reproachfully at Peggy, who felt in- 
 
UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA. 129 
 
 clinecl to call out " Never mind, poor thing, 
 I'm coming d'reckly." 
 
 And as " d'reckly " as possible she did come, 
 carefully closing the door behind her, for fear 
 the rain should get into the house, which, 
 together with the picking up of the umbrella, 
 far too big and heavy a one for a tiny girl, took 
 so long that I am afraid a good many drops had 
 time to fall on the fair uncovered head before 
 it got under shelter ao-ain. 
 
 But little cared Peggy. She felt as proud as 
 a peacock, the umbrella representing the tail, 
 you understand, when she found herself outside 
 the yard door, which behaved very amiably, 
 fairly under weigh for her voyage across the 
 street. She could see nothing before her ; for- 
 tunately, however, no carriages or carts ever 
 came down the narrow back way. 
 
 Half-way over Peggy stopped short-- she 
 had forgotten to look if Brown Smiley was still 
 standing there. It was not easy to get a peep 
 from under the umbrella, without tilting it 
 and herself backward on to the muddy road, 
 but with great care Peggy managed it. Ah, 
 dear, what a disappointment ! There was no 
 little girl in front of the cobbler's window, 
 but glancing to one side, Peggy caught sight 
 
130 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 of the small figure with a shawl of "mother's" 
 quaintly drawn over the head, trotting away 
 down the street. With a cry Peggy dashed 
 after her. 
 
 " Oh, Brown Smiley," she called out, " do 
 come back. I'm too frightened to go to buy 
 the pipes alone," for what with her struggles 
 and her excitement, the little damsel's nerves 
 were rather upset. " Oh, Brown Smiley— no 
 — no, that's not her name, oh, what is your 
 name, Brown Smiley ?" and on along the rough 
 pavement behind the little messenger she rushed, 
 if indeed poor Peggy's toddling, flopping from 
 one side to another progress, could possibly be 
 called " rushing." 
 
 It came to an end quickly — the paving-stones 
 were rough and uneven, the small feet had only 
 u my noldest house-shoes " to protect them, and 
 the " numbrella " was sadly in the way ; there 
 came suddenly a sharp cry, so piercing and 
 distressful that even Matilda Jane, accustomed 
 as she was to childish sounds of woe of every 
 kind and pitch, was startled enough to turn 
 round and look behind her. 
 
 " Can it be Half red come a-runnin' after me ?" 
 she said to herself. But the sight that met her 
 eyes puzzled her so that at the risk of Mother 
 
X_> ut &y\ uw\kTzlla> -rolling \hil( ^koufon tint 
 h&vLmmt, an um brills from which j^rociids 
 most" bihous wa«ls,<Ma urnbrillcx -from ixn = 
 dUmsath which, wVxtn you <g£t dosz to it\ vou 
 SU touo ''^^ "k^ 
 sticking out,^nci 
 bv oU<£ras two ru&T 
 black \i&, cS^ol fhih 
 e\ YT\ucldli of short* 
 skirtV , wkich bv righft 
 should UdrApih^tni 
 
 U6S> buh h&V* SoVV\£; 
 
 how go^cxll tumid ub 
 sidi dowv* lik^abinJi 
 fs^tnLrs r u {flid uf>tfi£ 
 wr n£w<w — Such ivn 
 ixwibrjl^c^ ptrUp 
 1 should say a." toru 
 brills <n 5u.ch cotum: 
 st^vuxs, may ctrtainly 
 hi C^IUd 2v stro\n<Sl 
 5i^Kf, rr\dy it not 2 
 
UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA. 131 
 
 Whelan's scolding for being so long, she could 
 not resist running back to examine for herself 
 the strange object. This was nothing more 
 nor less than an umbrella, and an umbrella in 
 itself is not an uncommon sight. But an um- 
 brella rolling itself about on the pavement, an 
 umbrella from which proceeds most piteous 
 wails, an umbrella from underneath which, 
 when you get close to it, you see two little feet 
 sticking out and by degrees two neat black 
 legs, and then a muddle of short skirts, which 
 by rights should be draping the legs, but have 
 somehow got all turned upside down like a 
 bird's feathers ruined up the wrong way — such 
 an umbrella, or perhaps I should say an um- 
 brella in such circumstances, certainly may be 
 called a strange sight, may it not ? 
 
 Matilda Jane Simpkins, for that was Brown 
 Smiley's whole long name, thought so anyway, 
 for she stood stock-still, staring, and the only 
 thing she could collect herself enough to say 
 was, " Lor' !" 
 
 But her state of stupefaction only lasted half 
 a moment. She was a practical and business- 
 like little person ; before there was time for 
 another cry for help, she had disentangled the 
 umbrella and its owner, and set the latter on 
 
132 LITTLE MISS PEGG 7. 
 
 her feet again, sobbing piteously, and dread- 
 fully dirty and muddy, but otherwise not much 
 the worse. 
 
 Then Matilda Jane gave vent to another ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 " Bless me, missy, it's you !" she cried. " What- 
 ever are you a-doing of to be out in the rain all 
 alone, with no 'at and a humbrella four sizes 
 too big for the likes of you, and them paper- 
 soled things on yer feet ? and, oh, my ! ain't yer 
 frock muddy ? What'll your folk say to you ? 
 Or is they all away and left you and the cat to 
 keep 'ouse ?" 
 
 " I was running after you, Brown Smiley," 
 sobbed Peggy. She could not quite make out 
 if Matilda Jane was making fun of her or not, 
 and, indeed, to do Matilda justice, she had no 
 such intention. " I was running after you," 
 Peggy repeated, " and you wouldn't stop, and 
 I couldn't run fast 'cos of the numbrella, and so 
 I felled down." 
 
 " Never mind, missy dear, you'll be none 
 the worse, you'll see. Only, will they give it 
 you when you go home for dirtying of your 
 frock ?" 
 
 " Give it me ?" repeated Peggy. 
 
UNDER THE BIG UMBRELLA. 133 
 
 " Yes, give it you ; will you get it — will you 
 catch it ?" said Matilda impatiently. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean/' Peggy re- 
 plied. 
 
 Matilda wasted no more words on her. She 
 took her by the arm, umbrella and all, and 
 trotted her down the street again till they had 
 reached the Smiley mansion. Then she drew 
 Peggy inside the doorway of the passage, 
 whence a stair led up to Mrs. Whelan's, and to 
 the Simpkins' own rooms above that again, and 
 having shut up the umbrella with such perfect 
 ease that Peggy gazed at her in admiration, she 
 tried to explain her meaning. 
 
 " Look 'ere now, miss," she said, " which'll 
 you do — go straight over the way 'ome just as 
 you are, or come in along of huz and get yerself 
 cleaned up a bit ?" 
 
 a Oh, I'll go in with you, pelease," sobbed 
 Peggy. " P'r'aps Miss Earnshaw wouldn't 
 scold me. She let me come, and I didn't fell 
 down on purpose. But I know she wouldn't let 
 me come out again — I'm sure she wouldn't, and 
 I do so want to get the pipes my own self. 
 You'll take me to Mrs. Whelan's, won't you, 
 dear Brown Smiley ?" 
 
 " I'll catch it when she sees I haven't done 
 
134 LITTLE MISS PEOG T. 
 
 her errant," said Matilda. " But never mind ; 
 she'll not be so bad with you there, maybe. 
 Come up with me, missy, and I'll get Rebecca 
 to wipe you a bit," and she began the ascent 
 of the narrow staircase, followed by Peggy. 
 
THE OPPOSITE HOUSE. 135 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE OPPOSITE HOUSE. 
 
 There was an old woman that lived in a shoe 
 
 She had so many children she didn't know what to do." 
 
 — Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 In spite of her misfortunes, Peggy could not 
 help feeling very pleased at finding herself at 
 last inside the house she had watched so often 
 from the outside. It was certainly not a pretty 
 house — a big person would probably have 
 thought it a very poor and uninteresting one • 
 but it was not dirty. The old wooden steps 
 were scrubbed down once a week regularly, so 
 there was nothing to strike the little girl as 
 disagreeable, and it seemed delightfully queer 
 and mysterious as she climbed the steep, un- 
 even staircase, which grew darker and darker 
 as they went on, so that but for Brown Smiley's 
 voice in front, Peggy would not have had the 
 least idea where she was going. 
 
136 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " There's Mother Whelan's door," Matilda 
 said in a half- whisper, as if afraid of the old 
 woman's pouncing out upon them, and Peggy 
 wondered how she knew it, for to her every- 
 thing was perfectly dark ; " but we'll go up- 
 stairs first to Rebecca," and on they climbed. 
 
 Suddenly, what seemed for a moment a blaze 
 of brilliant light from the contrast with the 
 darkness where they were broke upon them, 
 Peggy quite started. But it was only the 
 opening of a door. 
 
 " Is that you, Matilda Jane ? My, but you 
 have been sharp. I should think old Whelan 
 'ud be pleased for oust." 
 
 The speaker was Reddy ; she stood in the 
 doorway, her bare red arms shining, as they 
 always did, from being so often up to the elbows 
 in soap-and- water. 
 
 " Oh, Rebecca, don't say nothin', but I've not 
 been of my errant yet. Now, don't ye begin at 
 me — 'tweren't of my fault. I was a-'urryin' 
 along when I saw miss 'ere a-rollin' in the wet 
 with her humberellar, and I' ad to pick her up. 
 She's that muddy we were afeard they'd give 
 it her over the way — her mar's away. So I told 
 her as you'd tidy her up a bit. Come along, 
 missy. Rebecca's got a good 'eart, has Rebecca ; 
 she'll clean you nicely, you'll see." 
 
THE OPPOSITE HO USE. 137 
 
 For at the sound of Rebecca's sharp voice 
 poor Peggy had slunk back into the friendly 
 gloom of the staircase. But she came creeping 
 forward now, so that Reddy saw her. 
 
 " Lor' !" said the big girl, " little miss from 
 the hopposite winder, to be sure." 
 
 This quite restored Peggy's courage. 
 
 "Have you seen me at the window ?" she. 
 said. " How funny ! I've looked at you 
 lotses and lotses of times, but I never thought 
 of you looking at me." 
 
 To which both sisters replied with their 
 favorite exclamation, " Lor' !" 
 
 Just then came a voice from inside. 
 
 " Shut the door there, Rebecca, can't you ? 
 If there's one thing I can't abide, and you 
 might know it, it's a hopen door, and the 
 draught right on baby's head." 
 
 Rebecca took Peggy by the hand and drew 
 her into the room, and while she was relating 
 the story of little missy's misfortunes to her 
 mother, little missy looked round with the 
 greatest interest. 
 
 It was a small room, but oh, how full of 
 children ! Dinner was being got ready " against 
 father and the boys coming home," Matilda said, 
 but where father and the boys could possibly 
 
138 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 find space to stand, much less to sit, Peggy lay 
 awake wondering for a long time that night. 
 She counted over all those already present, and 
 found they were all there except Lizzie, the 
 lame girl. And besides the two babies and 
 Alfred, whom she knew by sight, she was 
 amazed to see a fourth, a very tiny doll of a 
 thing — the tiniest thing she had ever seen, but 
 which they all were as proud of as if there had 
 never been a baby among them before. At this 
 moment it was reposing in the arms of Mary- 
 Hann ; Light Smiley, whose real name was 
 Sarah, you remember, was taking charge of the 
 two big babies in one corner, while Eeddy and 
 her mother were busy at the fire, and " Half red " 
 was amusing himself quietly with some marbles, 
 apparently his natural occupation. 
 
 What a lot of them ! Peggy began to feel 
 less sure that she would like to have as many 
 sisters as the Smileys. Still they all looked 
 happy, and their mother, whom Peggy had 
 never seen before, had really a very kind 
 face. 
 
 " I'll see to the pot, Rebecca," she said ; 
 "just you wipe missy's frock a bit. 'Twill be 
 none the worse, you'll see. And so your dear 
 mar's away, missy. I 'ope the change'll do her 
 good." 
 
THE OPPOSITE HOUSE. 139 
 
 " Yes, thank you," said Peggy. " She's gone 
 to the country. Did you ever live in the 
 country ? And was it in a white cottage ?" 
 
 Mrs. Simpkins smiled. 
 
 " No, missy, I'm town-bred. 'Tis father as 
 knows all about the country ; he's a Bracken- 
 shire man." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Peggy, u I forgot. It's Miss 
 Earnskaw's mother I was thinking of." 
 
 " But father," said Matilda, "he can tell lots 
 of tales about the country, 5 ' 
 
 " I wish he was at home," said Peggy. " But 
 I must go, now my frock's cleaned. Some, day 
 p'r'aps I'll come again. Thank you, Recld}^," 
 at which Rebecca, who had been vigorously 
 rubbing Peggy's skirt, stared and looked as if 
 she were going to say " Lor' !" " I'm going to 
 buy soap-bubble pipes at Mrs. Whelan's," Peggy 
 went on, for she was losing her shyness now ; 
 " that's what I coined out in the rain for. 
 We're going to play at soap-bubbles this after- 
 noon, 'cos it's too wet to go out a walk." 
 
 All the Smileys listened with great in- 
 rerest. 
 
 "Mayn't Brown — I mean Matilda Jane — 
 come with me, pelease V said Peggy. " I'm 
 razer frightened to go to buy them alone ; some- 
 times that old woman does look so cross." 
 
140 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " She looks what she is, then," said Reddy, 
 " 'cept for one thing ; she's awful good to Lizzie. 
 She's a-sittin' down there this very minute as 
 is, is Lizzie, to be out o' the way like when 
 mother and me's cleaning, you see, miss." 
 
 Brown Smiley's face had grown grave. 
 
 " I dursn't let Mother Whelan see as I've not 
 gone," she said, " but if missy doesn't like to go 
 alone — not as she'd be sharp to the likes of you, 
 but still " 
 
 " I'll go," said little Sarah, Light Smiley, 
 that is to say. " Jest you see to the childer, mil 
 ye, Mary-Hann ?" she shouted to the deaf sister. 
 " I won't be harf a minute." 
 
 " And you, Matilda Jane, off with you," said 
 Rebecca, which advice Brown Smiley instantly 
 followed. 
 
 Sarah took Peggy's hand to escort her down 
 the dark staircase again. Light Smiley was, of 
 all the family perhaps, Peggy's favorite. She 
 was two years or so older than her little 
 opposite neighbor, but she scarcely looked it, 
 for both she and Brown Smiley were small and 
 slight, and when you came to speak to them 
 both, Sarah seemed a good deal younger than 
 Matilda ; she was so much less managing and 
 decided in manner, but on the present occasion 
 
THE OPPOSITE HOUSE. 141 
 
 Peggy would have preferred the elder Smiley, 
 for to tell the truth her heart was beginning to 
 beat much faster than usual at the thought of 
 facing Mrs. Whelan in her den. 
 
 " Isn't you frightened, Light Smiley ?" asked 
 the little girl when the two stopped, and Peggy 
 knew by this that they must be at the old 
 woman's door. 
 
 " Oh, no," Sarah replied. " Tisn't as if we'd 
 been up to any mischief, you see. And 
 Lizzie's there. She's mostly quiet when Liz- 
 zie's there." 
 
 So saying she pushed the door open. It had 
 a bell inside, which forthwith began to tinkle 
 loudly, and made Peggy start. This bell was 
 the pride of Mrs. Whelan's heart ; it made 
 such a distinction, she thought, between her 
 and the rest of the tenants of the house, and 
 the more noisily it rang the better pleased she 
 was. Sarah knew this, and gave the door a 
 good shove, at the same time pulling Peggy 
 into the room. 
 
 " What's it yer afther now, and what's be- 
 come of Matilda Jane ?" called out the old 
 woman, not, at the first moment, catching sight 
 of Peggy. 
 
 " It's little missy from over the way," Sarah 
 
142 LITTLE MISS PBGG 7. 
 
 hastened to explain ; " she's come to buy some 
 pipes of you, Mother Whelan." 
 
 Mrs. Whelan looked at Peggy where she 
 stood behind Sarah, gravely staring about 
 her. 
 
 " To be sure," she said in her most gracious 
 tone. " "lis the beautiful pipes I have. And 
 'tis proud I am to say the purty young lady," 
 and on she went with a long flattering speech 
 about Peggy's likeness to her " swate mother," 
 and inquiries after the lady's health, all the 
 time she was reaching down from a high shelf 
 an old broken cardboard box, containing her 
 stock of clay pipes. 
 
 Peggy did not answer. In the first place, 
 thanks to the old woman's Irish accent and 
 queer way of speaking, she did not understand 
 a quarter of what she said. Then her eyes 
 were busy gazing all about, and her nose was 
 even less pleasantly occupied, for there was a 
 very strong smell in the room. It was a sort 
 of mixed smell of everything — not like the 
 curious " everything " smell that one knows so 
 well in a village shop in the country, which 
 for my part I think rather nice — a smell of tea, 
 and coffee, and bacon, and nuts, and soap, and 
 matting, and brown holland, and spices, and 
 
torxz . Tis Tl^ bjauff: 
 ful joip£5 1 !n<W£ . /\nd 
 
 tis f>roud 1 &m. to say 
 tta [ourty voung lady" 
 and on 5n£ wLnfwifh 
 ZX Ion J flcstr^rinc^ spuch 
 2vt)Oui T*i£oys likiniss 
 to kr iwat£ rnotkir' J oAno i inauiriis aft^r 
 tin l^dys kaW%,a/| rlai tinu ski was 
 Aching down from <* kigk shzlf <\n old 
 broktn Cc\rd board box, corttaining hzr 
 stock of dcsy pipzS. * 
 
THE OPPOSITE HOUSE . 143 
 
 dried herbs, all mixed together, but with a 
 clean feeling about it — no, the smell in Mrs. 
 Whelan's was much stuffier and snuffier. For 
 joined to the odor of all the things I have 
 named was that of herrings and tobacco 
 smoke, and, I rather fear, of whisky. And 
 besides all this, I am very much afraid that 
 not only a spring cleaning, but a summer or 
 autumn or winter cleaning, were unknown 
 events in the old woman's room. No wonder 
 that Peggy, fresh from the soft-soap-and-water 
 smell of the Siinpkins' upstairs, sniffed un- 
 easily and wished Mrs. Whelan would be quick 
 with the pipes ; her head felt so queer and 
 confused. 
 
 But looking round she caught sight of a very 
 interesting object ; this was Lizzie, rocking 
 herself gently on her chair in a corner, and 
 seeming quite at home. Peggy ran — no, she 
 couldn't run, the room was so crowded, for a 
 counter stood across one end, and in the other 
 a big square old bedstead, and between the 
 two were a table and one or two chairs and an 
 old tumble-down chest of drawers — made her 
 way over to Lizzie. 
 
 " How do you do, Crip — Lizzie, I mean ? I 
 hope your pains aren't very bad to-day ?" 
 
144 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 " Not so very, thank you, miss," said the poor 
 girl. " It's nice and quiet in here, and the quiet 
 does me a deal of good." 
 
 Peggy sighed. 
 
 " I don't like being very quiet," she said. " I 
 wish you could come over to the nursery ; now 
 that Hal and baby and nurse are away it's 
 dreffully quiet." 
 
 " But you wouldn't care to change places 
 with me, would you, missy ?" said Lizzie. " I'm 
 thinking you'd have noise enough if you were 
 upstairs sometimes. My — it do go through 
 one's head, to be sure." 
 
 Peggy looked very sympathizing. 
 
 " Aren't you frightened of her ?" she whis- 
 pered, nodding gently toward Mrs. Whelan. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said Lizzie, also lowering 
 her voice ; " she's right down good to me, is the 
 old body. She do scold now and then and no 
 mistake, but bless you, she'd never lay a finger 
 on me, and it's no wonder she's in a taking with 
 the children when they kicks up a hextra row, 
 so to say." 
 
 Peggy's mouth had opened gradually 
 during this speech, and now it remained 
 so. She could not understand half Lizzie's 
 words, but she had no time to ask for an 
 
THE OPPOSITE HO USE. 145 
 
 explanation, for just then Light Smiley called 
 to her to come and look at the pipes which 
 were by this time waiting for her on the 
 counter. 
 
 They were the cleanest things in the room — 
 the only clean things it seemed to Peggy as she 
 lifted them up one by one to choose six very 
 nice ones. And then she paid her pennies and 
 ran back to shake hands with Lizzie and say 
 good-by to her — she wondered if she should 
 shake hands with Mrs. Whelan too, but fortu- 
 nately the old woman did not seem to expect it, 
 and Peggy felt very thankful, for her brown 
 wrinkled hands looked sadly dirty to the little 
 girl, dirtier perhaps than they really were. 
 
 " I like your house much better than hers," 
 said Peggy, when she and Light Smiley were 
 down at the bottom of the stairs a«;ain ; " it 
 smells much nicer." 
 
 " Mother and Rebecca's all for scrubbing, 
 that's certing," replied Sarah, with a smile of 
 pleasure — of course all little girls like to hear 
 their homes praised — " but she's not bad to 
 Lizzie, is old Whelan," as if that settled the 
 whole question, and Peggy felt she must not 
 say any more about the dirty room. 
 
 Light Smiley felt it her duty to see "missy " 
 
146 LITTLE MISS PEOO 7. 
 
 safe across the street. Peggy's hands were 
 laden with the precious pipes, and Sarah car- 
 ried the big umbrella over the two of them. 
 They chattered as they picked their way 
 through the mud and stood for a minute or two 
 at the yard door of Peggy's house. Light 
 Smiley peeped in. 
 
 " Lor'," she said, expressing her feelings in 
 the same way as her sisters, " yours must be a 
 fine house, missy. All that there back yard for 
 yerselves." 
 
 u You should see the droincl-room, and mam- 
 ma's room ; there's a marble top to the washing- 
 stand," said Peggy, with pride. 
 
 " Lor'," said Sarah again. 
 
 " Some day," Peggy went on, excited by 
 Sarah's admiration, " some day when my mam- 
 ma comes home, I'm going to ask her to let me 
 have a tea-party of you all — in the nursery, you 
 know. The nursery's nice too, at least I dare 
 say you'd like it." 
 
 "Is that the winder where you sees us 
 from ?" asked Sarah. " Matilda Jane says as 
 how we could see you too quite plain at 
 it if you put your face quite close to the 
 glass." 
 
 " I can't," said Peggy. " There's the toilet- 
 
THE OPPOSITE HOUSE. 147 
 
 table close to the window — at least, it's really 
 a chest of drawers, you know, but there's a 
 looking-glass on the top and a white cover, so 
 it's like a toilet-table for nurse, though it's too 
 high up for me. I have to stand on a chair if 
 I want to see myself popperly." 
 
 " Dear !" said Sarah sympathizingly. 
 
 " And I can only see you by scrooging into 
 the corner, and the curting's there. No, you 
 couldn't ever see me well up at the window. 
 But that's not the nursery where we'd have tea. 
 That's only the night nursery. The other one's 
 to the front ; that's the window where you can 
 see the hills far away." 
 
 " In the country, where father used to live. 
 Oh, yes, I know. I heerd Matilda Jane a-asking 
 'im about it," said Sarah. 
 
 " Oh, and did he tell you any more ? Do ask 
 him if it's really not far to get there," said 
 Peggy eagerly. 
 
 Sarah nodded. 
 
 " I won't forget," she said ; " and then, missy, 
 when you axes us to the tea-party, I'll be able 
 to tell you all about it." 
 
 She did not mean to be cunning, poor little 
 girl, but she was rather afraid Peggy might 
 forget about the tea-part)', and she thought 
 
148 LITTLE MISS PEGQ Y. 
 
 it was not a bad plan to say something which 
 might help to make her remember it. 
 
 u Yes," Peggy replied, " that would be lovely. 
 Do make him tell all you can, Light Smiley. 
 Oh, I do wish mamma would come home now, 
 and I'd ask her about the tea-party immediate- 
 ly. I'm sure she'd let me, for she likes us to be 
 kind to poor people." 
 
 Sarah drew herself up a little at this. 
 
 " We're not — not to say poor folk," she said, 
 with some dignity. " There's a many of us, and 
 it's hard enough work, but still " 
 
 " Oh, don't be vexed," said Peggy. " I know 
 you're not like — like beggars, you know. And 
 I think we're rather poor too. Mamma often 
 says papa has to work hard." 
 
 Sarah grew quite friendly again. 
 
 " I take it folks isn't often rich when they've 
 a lot of children," she began, but the sound of 
 a window opening across the street made her 
 start. " Bless me," she said, " I must run. 
 There's Rebecca a-going to scold me for stand- 
 ing talking. Good-by, miss, I'll not forget to 
 ask father." 
 
 And Sarah darted away, carrying with her 
 the umbrella, quite forgetting that it was 
 Peggy's. Peggy forgot it too, and it was not 
 
THE OPPOSITE HOUSE. 149 
 
 raining so fast now, so there was less to remind 
 her. She shut the door and ran across the 
 yard. The house door still stood open, and she 
 made her way up to the nursery without meet- 
 ing any one. 
 
150 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 "soap-bubbling." 
 
 "And every color see I there." 
 
 — The Rainbow, Chaeles Lamb. 
 
 There was no one upstairs. Miss Earnshaw 
 had gone down to the kitchen to iron the seams 
 of her work, without giving special thought to 
 Peggy. If any one had asked her where the 
 child was she would have probably answered 
 that she was counting over her money in the 
 night nursery. So she was rather surprised 
 when coming upstairs again in a few minutes 
 she was met by Peggy flying to meet her with 
 the pipes in her hand. 
 
 " I've got them, Miss Earnshaw ; aren't they 
 beauties ?" she cried. " And I don't think my 
 frock's reely spoiled. It only just looks a little 
 funny where the mud was." 
 
 " Bless me !" exclaimed the young dress- 
 maker, " wherever have you been, Miss Peggy ? 
 No, your f rock'll brush all right ; but you don't 
 
" SOAP-B UBBLING. " 151 
 
 mean to say you've been out in the rain ? You 
 should have asked nie, my dear." 
 
 She spoke rather reproachfully ; she was a 
 little vexed with herself for not having looked 
 after the child better, but Peggy was one of 
 those quiet u old-fashioned " children who never 
 seem to need looking after. 
 
 " I did ask you," said Peggy, opening wide 
 her eyes, " and you said, ' Very well, my 
 dear.' " 
 
 Miss Earnshaw couldn't help smiling. 
 
 " I must have been thinking more of your 
 new frock than of yourself," she said. "How- 
 ever, I hope it's done you no harm. Your 
 stockings aren't wet ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," said Peggy ; " my slippers were 
 a weeny bit wet, so I've changed them. My 
 frock wouldn't have been dirtied, only I 
 felled in the wet, Miss Earnshaw, but Brown 
 — one of the little girls, you know, that lives 
 in the house where the shop is — picked me 
 up, and there's no harm done, is there ? And 
 I've got the pipes, and won't my brothers be 
 peleased," she chirruped on in her soft, cheery 
 way. 
 
 Miss Earnshaw could not blame her, though 
 she determined to be more on the lookout for 
 
152 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 the future. And soon after came twelve o'clock, 
 and then the young dressmaker was obliged 
 to go, bidding Peggy " Good-by till Monday 
 morning." 
 
 The boys came home wet and hungry, and 
 grumbling a good deal at the rainy half -holiday. 
 Peggy had hidden the six pipes in her little 
 bed, but after dinner she made the three boys 
 shut their eyes while she fetched them out and 
 laid them in a row on the table. Then, " You 
 may look now," she said ; " it's my apprise," 
 and she stood at one side to enjoy the sight of 
 their pleasure. 
 
 " Hurrah !" cried Terry, " pipes for soap-bub- 
 bles ! Isn't it jolly ? Isn't Peggy a brick ?" 
 
 " Dear Peggy," said Baldwin, holding up his 
 plump face for a kiss. 
 
 "Poor old Peg-top," said Thor patroniz- 
 ingly. " They seem very good pipes ; and 
 as there's six of them, you and I can break 
 one apiece if we like, Terry, without its mat- 
 tering." 
 
 Peggy looked rather anxious at this. 
 
 "Don't try to break them, Thor, pelease," 
 she said ; " for if you beginned breaking it 
 might go on, and then it would be all spoiled 
 like the last time, for there's no fun in soap- 
 bubbling by turns." 
 
" 80AP-B UBBLING." 153 
 
 "No, that's quite true," said Terry. "You 
 remember the last time how stupid it was. But 
 of course we won't break any, 'specially as 
 they're yours, Peggy. We'll try and keep them 
 good for another time." 
 
 "Did you spend all your pennies for them?" 
 asked Baldwin sympathizingly. 
 
 " Not quite all," said Peggy. " I choosed 
 them myself," she went on importantly. " There 
 was a lot in a box." 
 
 u Why, where did you get them ? You didn't 
 go yourself to old Whelan's, surely?" asked 
 Thor sharply. 
 
 " Yes, I runnecl across the road," said Peggy. 
 " You always get them there, Thor." 
 
 " But it's quite different. I can tell you 
 mamma won't be very pleased when she comes 
 home to hear you've been so disobedient." 
 
 Poor Peggy's face, so bright and happy, 
 clouded over, and she seemed on the point of 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 " I weren't disobedient," she began. " Miss 
 Earnshaw said, ' Very well, dear,' and so I 
 thought " 
 
 " Of course," interrupted Terry ; " Peggy's 
 never disobedient, Thor. We'll ask mamma 
 when she comes home ; but she won't be vexed 
 
154 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 with you, darling. You won't need to go again 
 before then." 
 
 " ]STo," said Peggy, comforted, " I don't want 
 to go again, Terry dear. It doesn't smell very 
 nice in the shop. But the children's house is 
 very clean, Terry. I'm sure mamma would let 
 us go there." 
 
 " Those Simpkinses over old Whelan's," said 
 Terry. " Oh, yes, I know mother goes there 
 herself sometimes, though as for that she goes 
 to old Whelan's too. But we're wasting time ; 
 let's ask Fanny for a tin basin and lots of 
 soap." 
 
 They were soon all four very happy at the 
 pretty play. The prettiness of it was what 
 Peggy enjoyed the most ; the boys, boy-like, 
 thought little but of who could blow the 
 biggest bubbles, which, as everybody knows, 
 are seldom as rich in color as smaller ones. 
 
 " I like the rainbowiest ones the best," said 
 Peggy. " I don't care for those 'normous ones 
 Thor makes. Do you, Baldwin ?" 
 
 Baldwin stopped to consider, 
 
 " I suppose very big things aren't never so 
 pretty as littler things," he said at last, when a 
 sort of grunt from Terry interrupted him. 
 Terry could not speak; his cheeks were all 
 
inty wxre soon all four \/iry n<\bpy 
 
 of if was what P*g<£y most* £n: 
 joyed t[\l most; tUi bo/i", boy- 
 
 lila, tnougkf* lit+U bur of who 
 
 could blow tir\i Oi£&st t>u(oJoIi5 
 which, AS ivirybody knows 
 20T5 sslolorn &s rich in 
 colour C \S srncxlkr 
 
 om5, 
 
" SOAP-B UBBLTNG." 155 
 
 puffed out round the pipe, and he dared not to 
 stop blowing. He could only grunt and nod 
 his head sharply to catch their attention to the 
 wonderful triumph in soap-bubbles floating be- 
 fore his nose. There was a big one, as big as 
 any of Thorold's, and up on the top of it a 
 lovely every-colored wee one, the most brilliant 
 the children had ever seen — a real rainbow 
 ball. 
 
 They all clapped their hands, or at least 
 Peofoy and Baldwin did so. Thorold shouted, 
 " Hurrah for Terry's new invention. It's like 
 a monkey riding on an elephant." But Peggy 
 did not think that was a pretty idea. 
 
 " It's more like one of the very little stars 
 sitting on the sun's knee," was her comparison, 
 which Baldwin corrected to the moon — the sun 
 was too yellow, he said, to be like a no-color 
 bubble. 
 
 Then they all set to work to try to make 
 double bubbles, and Thor actually managed to 
 make three, one on the top of the other. And 
 Terry made a very big one run ever so far along 
 the carpet without breaking, bobbing and 
 dancing along as he blew it ever so gently. 
 
 And as a finish-up they all four put their 
 pipes into the basin and blew together, making 
 
156 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 what they called " bubble-pudding," till the 
 pudding seemed to get angry and gurgled and 
 wobbled itself up so high that it ended by 
 toppling over, and coming to an untimely end 
 as a little spot of soapy water on the table. 
 
 " Pride must have a fall, you see," said 
 Thor. 
 
 " It's like the story of the frog that tried to 
 be as big as an ox," said Terence, at which they 
 all laughed as a very good joke. 
 
 Altogether Peggy's pipes turned out a great 
 success, and the rainy afternoon passed very 
 happily. 
 
 The Sunday that came after that Saturday 
 was showery, sunny, and rainy by turns, like a 
 child who having had a great fit of crying and 
 sobbing can't get over it all at once, and keeps 
 breaking into little bursts of tears again, long 
 after the sorrow is all over. But by Monday 
 morning the world — Peggy's world, that is to 
 say — seemed to have quite recovered its spirits. 
 The sun came out smiling with pleasure, and 
 even the town birds, who know so little about 
 trees and grass and flowersand all those delight- 
 ful things, hopped about and chirruped as 
 nicely as could be. The boys set off to school 
 in good spirits, and while Fanny was taking 
 
" SOAP-B UBBLWG. " I57 
 
 down the breakfast-things Peggy got out the 
 little red shoes, and set them on the window- 
 sill, where they had not been for several 
 days. 
 
 " There, dear little red shoes," she said 
 softly, " yon may look out again at the pretty 
 sun and the sky, and the fairy cottage up on 
 the mounting. You can see it quite plain to- 
 day, dear little shoes. The clouds is all gone 
 away, and it's shinin' out all white and 
 beautiful, and I dare say the mamma's standin' 
 at the door with the baby — or pVaps," Peggy 
 was never very partial to the baby, " it's asleep 
 in its cradle. Yes, I think that's it. And the 
 hens and cocks and chickens is all pecking 
 about, and the cows mooin'. Oh, how I do wish 
 Ave could go and see them all, don't you, dear 
 little shoes ?" 
 
 She stood gazing up at the tiny white speck, 
 to other eyes almost invisible, as if by much 
 gazing it would grow nearer and clearer to her ; 
 there was a smile on her little face ; sweet visions 
 floated before Peggy's mind of a day, "some 
 day," when mamma should take her out "to 
 the country," to see for herself the lovely 
 and delightful sights that same dear mamma 
 had described. 
 
158 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 Suddenly Fanny's voice brought her back to 
 present things. Fanny ivas looking rather 
 troubled. 
 
 " Miss Peggy, love," she said, " cook and I 
 can't think what's making Miss Earnshaw so 
 late this morning. She's always so sharp to 
 her time. I don't like leaving you alone, but 
 I don't know what else to do. Monday's the 
 orkardest day, for we're always so busy down- 
 stairs, and your papa was just saying this 
 morning that I was to tell Miss Earnshaw to 
 take you a nice long walk toward the country, 
 seeing as it's so fine a day. It will be right 
 down tiresome, it will, if she don't come." 
 
 " Never mind, Fanny," said Peggy. " I don't 
 mind much being alone, and I dare say Miss 
 Earnshaw will come. I should like to go. a nice 
 walk to-day," she could not help adding, with 
 a longing glance out at the sunny sky. 
 
 " To be sure you would," said Fanny, " and 
 it stands to reason as you won't be well if you 
 don't get no fresh air. I hope to goodness the 
 girl will come, but I doubt it — her mother's ill 
 maybe, and she's no one to send. Well, dear, 
 you'll try and amuse yourself, and I'll get on 
 downstairs as fast as I can." 
 
 Peggy went back to the window and stood 
 
" SOAP-BUBBLING." 159 
 
 there for a minute or two, feeling rather sad. 
 It did seem hard that things should go so very 
 •' contrarily " sometimes. 
 
 " Just when it's such a fine day," she thought, 
 " Miss Earnshaw doesn't come. And on Satur- 
 day when we couldn't have goned a walk she 
 did come. Only on Saturday it did rain very 
 badly in the afternoon and she didn't stay, so 
 that wasn't a pity." 
 
 Then her thoughts went wandering off to 
 what the dressmaker had told her of having to 
 go a long way out into the country on Saturday 
 afternoon, and how wet and muddy the lanes 
 would be. Peggy sighed ; she couldn't believe 
 country lanes could ever be anything but 
 delightful. 
 
 " Oh, how very pretty they must be to-day," 
 she said to herself, " with all the little flowers 
 coming peeping out, and the birds singing, and 
 the cocks and hens, and the cows, and — 
 
 and " She was becoming a little confused. 
 
 Indeed she wasn't quite sure what a " lane " 
 really meant — she knew it was some kind of a 
 way to walk along, but she had heard the 
 word " path " too — were "lane" and " path " 
 quite the same ? she wondered. And while 
 she was wondering and gazing out of the 
 
160 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 window, she was startled all of a sudden 
 by a soft, faint tap at the door. So soft and 
 faint that if it had been at the window instead 
 of at the door it might have been taken for the 
 flap of a sparrow's wing as it flew past. Peggy 
 stood quite still and listened ; she heard noth- 
 ing more, and was beginning to think it must 
 have been her fancy, when again it came, and 
 this time rather more loudly. " Tap, tap." 
 Yes, " certingly," thought Peggy, " there's 
 somebody there." 
 
 She felt a little, a very little frightened. 
 
 Should she go to the door and peep out, or 
 should she call " Come in ?" she asked herself. 
 And one or two of the " ogre " stories that 
 Thorold and Terry were so fond of in their 
 " Grimm's Tales" would keep coming into her 
 head — stories of little princesses shut up alone, 
 or of giants prowling about to find a nice 
 tender child for supper. Peggy shivered. But 
 after all what was the use of standing there 
 fancying things ? It was broad, sunny daylight 
 — not at all the time for ogres or such-like to 
 be abroad. Peggy began to laugh at her own 
 silliness. 
 
 " Very likely," she thought, " it's Miss Earn- 
 shaw playing me a trick to apprise me, 'cos she's 
 so late this morning." 
 
" SOAP-B UBBLTNQ. " 161 
 
 This idea quite took away her fear. 
 
 " It's you, Miss Earnshaw, I'm quite sure it's 
 you," she called out ; " come in quick, you 
 fimny Miss Earnshaw. Come in." 
 
 But though the door slowly opened, no Miss 
 Earnshaw appeared. Peggy began to think 
 this was carrying fun too far. 
 
 " Why don't you come in quick ?" she said, 
 her voice beginning to tremble a little. 
 
 The door opened a little further. 
 
 " Missy," said a low voice, a childish, hesitat- 
 ing voice, quite different from Miss Earnshaw's 
 quick bright way of speaking. " Missy, please, 
 it's me, Sarah, please, miss." 
 
 And the door opened more widely, and in 
 came, slowly and timidly still, a small figure 
 well known to Peggy. It was none other than 
 Light Smiley. 
 
 Peggy could hardly speak. She was so very 
 much astonished. 
 
 " Light Smiley — Sarah, I mean," she ex- 
 claimed, " how did you come ? Did you see 
 Fanny ? Did she tell you to come upstairs ?" 
 
 Sarah shook her head. 
 
 " I don't know who Fanny is, missy. I just 
 coined in of myself. The doors was both open, 
 and I didn't meet nobody. I didn't like for to 
 
162 LITTLE MISS PEOO 7. 
 
 ring or knock. I thought mebbe your folk'd 
 scold if I did — a gel like me. Mother knows 
 I've corned ; she said as how I'd better bring it 
 myself." 
 
 And she held up what Peggy had not 
 noticed that she was carrying — the big um- 
 brella that had caused so much trouble two 
 days before. 
 
 " The nurubrella," cried Peggy. " Oh, thank 
 you, Sarah, for bringing it back. I never 
 thought of it ! How stupid it was of me !" 
 
 " Mother told me for to bring it to the door 
 and give it in," Sarah went on. " I didn't mean 
 to come upstairs, but the door was open, you 
 see, miss, and I knowed your nussery was at 
 the top and — I 'ope it's not a liberty." 
 
 " No, no," said Peggy, her hospitable feelings 
 awakening to see that her little visitor was still 
 standing timidly in the doorway, " I'm very 
 glad you've corned. You don't know how glad 
 I am. It's so lonely all by myself — Miss 
 Earnshaw hasn't come this morning:. Come in 
 Light Smiley, do come in. Oh, how nice ! I 
 can show you the mountings and the little 
 white cottage shining in the sun." 
 
 She drew Sarah forward. But before the 
 child looked out of the window, her eyes were 
 caught by the tiny red slippers on the sill. 
 
" SOAPS UBBLfflG." 163 
 
 "Lor'," she said breathlessly, " what splendid 
 shoes ! Are they for — for your dolly, missy ? 
 They're too small for a baby, bain't they ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Peggy, "they're too small 
 for our baby, a great deal. But then he's very 
 fat." 
 
 " They'd , be too small for ours too, though 
 she's not a hextra fine child for her ao;e. She 
 were a very poor specimint for a good bit, 
 mother says, but she's pickin' up now she's got 
 some teeth through. My — but them shoes is 
 neat, to be sure ! They must be for a dolly." 
 
 " I've, no doll they'd do for," said Peggy, " but 
 I like them just for theirselves. I always put 
 them to stand there on a fine day ; they like to 
 look out of the window." 
 
 Sarah stared at Pes^y as if she thought she 
 was rather out of her mind ! — indeed the chil- 
 dren at the back had hinted to each other that 
 missy, for all she was a real little lady, was very 
 funny-like sometimes. But Peggy was quite 
 unconscious of it. 
 
 " Lor'," said Sarah at last, " how can shoes 
 see ? They've no eyes, missy." 
 
 " But you can fancy they have. Don't you 
 ever play in your mind at fancying V asked 
 Peggy. " I think it's the nicest part of being 
 
164 LITTLE MISS PEOQ Y. 
 
 alive, and mamma says it's no harm if we keep 
 remembering it's not real. But never mind 
 about that — do look at the hills, Sarah, and oh, 
 can you see the white speck shining in the sun ? 
 That's the cottage — I call it my cottage, but 
 p'r'aps," rather unwillingly, "it's the one youi 
 papa lived in when he was little." 
 
 " D'ye really think so ?" said Sarah eagerly. 
 "It's Brackenshire over there, to be sure, and 
 father's 'oine was up an 'ill — deary me, to 
 think as it might be the very place. See it ? 
 to be sure I do, as plain as plain. It do seem 
 a good bit off, but father he says it's no more'n 
 a tidy walk. He's almost promised he'll take 
 some on us there some fine day when he's an 
 'oliday. I axed 'im all I could think of, 
 missy — all about the cocks and 'ens and cows 
 and pigses." 
 
 "Not pigs," interrupted Peggy. "I don't 
 like pigs, and I won't have them in my cottage." 
 
 " I wasn't a-talking of your cottage," said 
 Sarah humbly. " 'Twas what father told us 
 of all the things he seed in the country when 
 he were a boy there. There's lots of pigses in 
 Brackenshire." 
 
 " Never mind. We won't have any," persist- 
 ed Peggy. " But oh, Light Smiley, do look how 
 
"SOAP-BUBBLING." 165 
 
 splendid the sky is — all so blue and all so 
 shiny. I never sawed snch a lovely day. I 
 would like to go a walk." 
 
 " And wliy shouldn't you ?" asked Sarah. 
 
 " There's no one to take me," sighed Peggy. 
 " It's Monday, and Fanny's very busy on Mon- 
 days, and I told you that tiresome Miss Earn- 
 shaw's not corned." 
 
 Sarah considered a little. 
 
 " Tell you what, missy," she said, " why 
 shouldn't we — you and me — go a walk ? I'm 
 sure motker'd let me. I've got my 'at all 'andy, 
 and I did say to mother if so as missy seed me 
 I might stop a bit, and she were quite agree- 
 able. I'm a deal older nor you, and I can take 
 care of you nicely. Mother's training me for 
 the nussery." 
 
 Peggy started up in delight. She had been 
 half-sitting on the window-sill, beside the shoes. 
 
 " Oh, Light Smile}^" she said, " how lovely ! 
 Of course you could take care of me. We'd 
 go up Fernley Road, straight up — that's the 
 way to Brackenshire, you know, and p'r'aps we 
 mi^ht go far enough to see the white cottage 
 plainer. If it's not a very long way to get 
 there, we'd be sure to see it much plainer if we 
 walked a mile or two. A mile isn't very far. 
 Oh, do let's go — quick ! quick !" 
 
166 LITTLE MISS PEGG 7. 
 
 But Sarah stopped her. 
 
 " You'd best tell your folks first, missy," she 
 said. " They'll let you go aud be glad of it, I 
 should say, if they're so busy, aud seem' as they 
 let you come over to our 'ouse, aud your mar 
 knowin' us aud all." 
 
 " It was Miss Earnshaw that let me go," said 
 Peggy, " aud theu she said she didn't know I'd 
 goued. And Thor said — oh, no, he only said I 
 shouldn't have goned to the shop. But I'll ask 
 Fanny — I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll put on 
 my boots and my hat and jacket — you shall help 
 me Sarah, and then we'll go down and I'll call 
 to Fanny from the top of the kitchen stairs 
 and ask her if I may go out with you, Sarah, 
 dear. I'm sure she'll say I may." 
 
 So the two little maidens went into the night 
 nursery, where Light Smiley was greatly in- 
 terested in looking at her own dwelling-place 
 from other people's windows, and quite in her 
 element too, seeing that she was being trained 
 for the nursery, in getting out Peggy's walking 
 things, buttoning her boots, and all the rest 
 of it. 
 
UP FERNLEY ROAD. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 UP FERNLEY ROAD. 
 
 " But the way is long and toilsome, 
 And the road is drear and hard; 
 Little heads and hearts are aching, 
 Little feet with thorns are scarred." 
 
 — The Children's Journey. 
 
 Light Smiley kept looking round the room 
 with great satisfaction. 
 
 " It is nice in 'ere and no mistake,' 1 she said 
 at last. " Your 'ats and coats and frocks all in 
 a row, as neat as neat, and these little white 
 beds a si^ht to be seen. I should love for 
 Rebecca and Matilda Jane to see it." 
 
 " They will," said Peggy, " when I avite you 
 all to a tea-party, you know." 
 
 Sarah drew a deep breath. A tea-party in 
 these beautiful nurseries seemed almost too good 
 ever to come true. 
 
 " Is there a many nusseries as nice as this 
 'un, do you think, missy ? I do 'ope as I'll get 
 
168 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 into a nice one when I'm big enough. One 'ud 
 take a pride in keeping it clean and tidy." 
 
 " I don't think this is at all a grand one," 
 Peggy replied. " Mamma's was mnch grander 
 when she was little, I know. But, of course, 
 she's very pertickler, and so's nurse, about it 
 being very tidy." 
 
 And then, Peggy being ready, the quaint 
 pair of friends took each other's hands and set 
 off to the top of the kitchen stairs. 
 
 " Should we take the humberellar ?" said 
 Sarah, suddenly stopping at the foot of the first 
 little flight of stairs. " I don't think it looks 
 any ways like rain, still one never knows, and 
 I can carry it easy " 
 
 In her heart she hoped Peggy would say yes. 
 For to Sarah's eyes the clumsy umbrella was a 
 very " genteel " one indeed, and she felt as if it 
 would add distinction to their appearance. 
 
 Peggy, not looking at it from this point of 
 view, hesitated. 
 
 " P'r'aps it would do to keep the sun off us," 
 she said. " My parasol's wored out, so I can't 
 take it. Mamma's going to get me a new 
 
 one." 
 
 Sarah ran back and fetched the umbrella. 
 When they got to the door at the top of the 
 
UP FERNLEY ROAD. 169 
 
 kitchen stairs, Peggy opened it and called 
 down softly, " Fanny, are you there ? Can you 
 hear me j" for she was not allowed to go down 
 to the kitchen by herself. 
 
 But no one answered. Fanny was busy 
 washing in the back kitchen with both doors 
 shut to keep in the steam, and the cook had 
 gone out to the butcher's. 
 
 " Fanny," called Peggy again. 
 
 Then a voice came at last in return. 
 
 " Is it anything I can tell the cook when she 
 comes in, please, miss ?" and a boy came forward 
 out of the kitchen and stood at the foot of the 
 steep stone stairs. " I'm the baker's boy, and 
 I met cook and she told me to wait ; she'd be 
 back with change to pay the book in a minute. 
 There's no one here." 
 
 Peggy turned to Sarah in distress. 
 
 " Fanny must be out too," she said. 
 
 " Well, it'll be all right if the boy 'ull tell 
 her, won't it, missy ? 'Tisn't the cook," she 
 went on, speaking to the boy herself, " 'tis 
 t'other one. Jest you tell her when she comes 
 in that miss lias gone out a little walk with 
 me — Sarah Simpkins — she'll know. I'll take 
 good care of missy." 
 
 " All right," said the boy, with no doubt 
 
1 70 LITTLE MISS PEG G 7. 
 
 that so it was, and thinking, if he thought at 
 all, that Sarah Siinpkins must be a little nurse- 
 girl, or something of the kind about the house, 
 though certainly a small specimen to be in 
 service ! He whistled as he turned away, and 
 something in the cheerful so and of his whistle 
 helped to satisfy Peggy that all was right ! 
 
 " He's a nice boy," she said to Sarah. " He 
 won't forget, will he ?" 
 
 "Not he," Sarah replied. "He'll tell 'em 
 fast enough. And as like as not we'll meet 'em 
 along the street as we go. Is Webb's your 
 butcher, missy ? 'tis just at the corner of Fern- 
 ley Koad." 
 
 Peggy shook her head. 
 
 " I don't know," she said, feeling rather 
 ashamed of her ignorance ; " but Pd like to 
 meet Fanny, so, pelease, let us go that way." 
 
 And off the two set, by the front door this 
 time, quite easy in their minds, though, as far 
 as they knew, the baker's boy was the only 
 guardian of the house. 
 
 They trotted down the street in the sunshine ; 
 it was very bright and fine — the air, even there 
 in the smoky town, felt this morning deliciously 
 fresh and spring-like. 
 
 " How nice it is," said Peggy, drawing a 
 
UP FEJRNLEY ROAD. 171 
 
 deep breath ; " it's just like summer. I'd like 
 to go a quite long walk, wouldn't you, 
 Sarah ?" 
 
 Liglit Smiley looked about her approvingly. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I does enjoy a real fine 
 day. And in the country it must be right- 
 down fust-rate." 
 
 " Oh, the country !" said Peggy ; " oh, dear, 
 how I do wish we could go as far as the coun- 
 
 try !" 
 
 " Well," said Sarah, " if we walk fast we 
 might come within sight of it. There's nice 
 trees and gardings up Fernley Road, and that's 
 a sort of country, isn't it, missy ?" 
 
 They were at the corner of the road by this 
 time, but there was no sign of Fanny or cook. 
 Webb's shop stood a little way down the 
 other side, but as far as they could see it was 
 empty. 
 
 "P'r'aps your folk don't deal there," said 
 Sarah, to which Peggy had nothing to say, and 
 they stood looking about them in an uncertain 
 kind of way. 
 
 " We may as well go on a bit," said Sarah at 
 last ; " that there boy's sure to tell." 
 
 Peggy had no objection, and they set off 
 along Fernley Eoad at a pretty brisk pace. 
 
172 LITTLE MISS PEOG T. 
 
 They had not very far to go before, as Sarah 
 said, the road grew less town-like ; the houses 
 had little gardens round them, some of which 
 were prettily kept, and after awhile they came 
 to a field or two, not yet built upon, though 
 great placards stuck up on posts told that they 
 were waiting to be sold for that purpose. They 
 were very towny sort of fields certainly, still 
 the bright spring sunshine made the best of 
 them as of everything else this morning, and 
 the two children looked at them with pleasure. 
 
 " There's nicer fields still, a bit further on," 
 said Sarah. "I've been along this 'ere road 
 several times. It goes on and on right into the 
 country. 1 ' 
 
 " I know," said Peggy, " it goes on into the 
 countiy of the mountings. But, Sarah," she 
 said, stopping short, and looking rather dis- 
 tressed, "I don't think we see them any plainer 
 than from the nursery window, and the white 
 cottage doesn't look even as plain. Are you 
 sure we're going the right way ?" 
 
 " We couldn't go wrong," answered Sarah, 
 "there's no other way. But we've come no 
 distance yet, missy, and you see there's ups and 
 downs in the road that comes between us and 
 the 'ills somehow. I suppose at the window 
 
UP FERNLET ROAD. 173 
 
 we cqitM see straight forward-like, and then we 
 was 'igker up." 
 
 " Yes, that must be it," said Peggy ; " but I 
 would like to go far enough to see a little 
 plainer, Sarah, wouldn't you ? I've got the red 
 shoes in my pocket, you know, and when we 
 come to a place where we can see very nice 
 and clear I'll take them out and let them see 
 too." 
 
 " Lor', w said Sarah, " you are funny, missy." 
 
 But she smiled so good-naturedly that Peggy 
 did not mind. 
 
 After a bit they came to a place where an- 
 other road crossed the one they were on. This 
 other road was planted with trees along one 
 side, and the shade they cast looked cool and 
 tempting. 
 
 " I wish we could go along that way," said 
 Peggy, " but it would be the wrong way. It 
 doesn't go on to the mountings." 
 
 Sarah did not answer for a minute. She was 
 trying to spell out some letters that were 
 painted up on the corner of a wall, which in- 
 closed the garden of a house standing in the 
 road they were looking down. 
 
 " < B, R, A,' " she began, " ' B, R, A, C, K : ' 
 it's it, just look, missy. Bain't that Bracken- 
 
174 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 shire as large as life ? ' Brackensliire Eoad. 7 
 It must be this way," and she looked quite 
 delighted. 
 
 " But how can it be ?" objected Peggy. 
 " This road doesn't go to the hills, Sarah. 
 They're straight in front." 
 
 " But maybe it slopes round again after a 
 bit," said Sarah. " Lots of roads does that way, 
 and runs the same way really, though you 
 wouldn't think so at the start. It stands to 
 reason, when it's got the name painted up, it 
 must lead Brackensliire way ;" and then sud- 
 denly, as a man with a basket on his arm ap- 
 peared coming out of one of the houses, she 
 darted up to him. 
 
 " Please, mister, does this road lead to Brack- 
 ensliire ?" she asked. 
 
 The man did not look very good-natured. 
 
 " Lead to where ?" he said gruffly. 
 
 " To Brackensliire — it's painted up on the 
 wall, but we want to be sure." 
 
 " If it's painted up on the wall, what's the 
 sense of askin' me ?" he said. "' If you go far 
 enough no doubt you'll get there. There's 
 more'n one road to Brackenshire." 
 
 Sarah was quite satisfied. 
 
 " You see," she said to Peggy, running back 
 
UP FERNLEY ROAD. 175 
 
 to her, " it's all right. If we go along this 'ere 
 road a bit, I 'specs it'll turn again and then 
 we'll see the 'ills straight in front." 
 
 Peggy had no objection. Fernley Road was 
 bare and glaring just about there, and the trees 
 were very tempting. 
 
 " It's really getting like the country," said 
 Peggy as they passed several pretty gardens, 
 larger and much prettier than the small ones 
 in Fernley Road. 
 
 " Yes," Light Smiley agreed, " but though 
 gardings is nice, I don't hold with gardings 
 anything like as much as fields. Fields is 
 splendid where you can race about and jump 
 and do just as you like, and no fears of breakin' 
 flowers or nothink." 
 
 u Do you think we shall come to fields like 
 that soon V said Peggy. " If there was a very 
 nice one we might go into it pYaps and rest a 
 little, and look at the mountings. I wish we 
 could begin to see the mountings again, Sarah ; 
 it seems quite strange without them, and I'm 
 getting rather tired of looking at gardens when 
 Ave can't go inside them, aren't you ?" 
 
 Sarah was feeling very contented and 
 happy. She was, though a little body for her 
 age, much stronger than Peggy, as well as two 
 
176 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 years older, and she looked at her companion 
 with surprise when she began already to talk 
 of " resting." 
 
 " Lor', missy, you bain't tired already," she 
 was beginning, when she suddenly caught sight 
 of something which made her interrupt herself. 
 This was another road crossing the one they 
 were on at right anodes, and running therefore 
 in the same direction as Fernley Road again. 
 " 'Ere's our way," she cried, " now didn't I tell 
 you so ? And this way goes slopin' up a bit, 
 you see. When we get to the top we'll see the 
 'ills straight afore us, and 'ave a beeyutiful 
 view." 
 
 Peggy's rather nagging steps grew brisker at 
 this, and the two ran gayly along the new road 
 for a little way. But running uphill is tiring, 
 and it seemed to take them a long time to get 
 to the top of the slope, and when they did so, 
 it was only to be disappointed. Neither moun- 
 tains nor hills nor white cottage were to be 
 seen, only before them a rather narrow sort of 
 lane, sloping downward now and seeming to 
 lead into some rather rough waste ground, 
 where it ended. Peggy's face grew rather 
 doleful, but Sarah was quite equal to the occa- 
 sion. A little down the hill she spied a stile, 
 
UP FERNLEY ROAD. 177 
 
 over which she persuaded Peggy to climb. 
 They found themselves in a potato field, but a 
 potato field with a path down the middle ; it 
 was a laro;e field and at the other end of the 
 path was a gate, opening on to a cart track 
 scarcely worthy the name of a lane. The 
 children followed it, however, till another stile 
 tempted them again, this time into a little 
 wood, where they got rather torn and scratched 
 by brambles and nettles as they could not 
 easily find a path, and Sarah fancied by forcing 
 their way through the bushes they would be 
 sure to come out on to the road again. 
 
 It was not, however, till they had wandered 
 backward among; the trees and brambles for 
 some time that they got on to a real path, and 
 they had to walk a good way along this till 
 they at last came on another gate, this time 
 sure enough opening into the high-road. 
 
 Sarah's spirits recovered at once. 
 
 " 'Ere we are," she said cheerfully, " all 
 right. 'Ere's Fernley Road again. Nothink to 
 do but to turn round and go 'ome if you're 
 tired, missy. I'm not tired, but if you'd rayther 
 go no further " 
 
 Peggy did not answer for a moment ; she 
 was staring about her on all sides. The pros- 
 
178 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 pect was not a very inviting one ; the road was 
 bare and ugly, dreadfully dusty, and there was 
 no shade anywhere, and at a little distance some 
 great tall chimneys were to be seen, the chim- 
 neys of some iron works, from which smoke 
 poured forth. There were a good many little 
 houses near the tall chimneys ; they were the 
 houses of the people who worked there, but 
 they were not sweet little cottages such as 
 Peggy dreamed of. Indeed they looked more 
 like a very small ugly town than like rows of 
 cottages on a country road. 
 
 " This isn't a pretty road at all," said Peggy 
 at last, rather crossly I am afraid ; " it is very 
 nugly, and you shouldn't have brought me here, 
 Sarah. I can't see the mountings ; they is 
 quite goned away, more goned away than when 
 it rains, for then they're only behind the clouds. 
 This isn't Fernley Road, Light Smiley. I do 
 believe you've losted us, and Peggy's so tired, 
 and very, very un'appy." 
 
 It was Peggy's way when she grew low- 
 spirited to speak more babyishly than usual ; 
 at such times it was too much trouble to think 
 about being a big girl. Poor Sarah looked 
 dreadfully distressed. 
 
 " Oh, missy dear, don't cry," she said " If 
 
UP FERNLEY ROAD. 179 
 
 it bain't Fernley Road, it's a road anyway, and 
 there's no call to be frightened. "We can ax 
 our way, but I'd rayther not ax it at the 
 cottages, for they might think I was a tramp 
 that 'd stoled you away." 
 
 " And what would they do then ?" asked 
 Peggy, leaving off crying for a minute. 
 
 " They'd 'ave me up inebbe, and put us in the 
 lock-up." 
 
 " What's that ?" 
 
 " The place where the p'lice leaves folk as 
 they isn't sure about." 
 
 " Prison, do you mean ?" said Peggy, growing 
 very pale. 
 
 " Well, not ezackly, but somethin' like." 
 
 Peggy caught hold of Sarah in sudden 
 terror. 
 
 " Oh, come along, Light Smiley, quick, quick. 
 Let's get back into the fields and hide or any- 
 thing. Oh, come quick, for fear they should 
 catch us." And she tugged at Sarah, trying to 
 drag her along the road. 
 
 " Stop, missy, don't take on so ; there's no 
 need. "We'll just go along quietly and no 
 one'll notice us, only you stop crying, and then 
 no one'll think any 'arm. We'll not go back 
 the way we came, it's so drefful thorny, but we'll 
 
180 LITTLE MISS PEOG Y. 
 
 look out for another road or a path. I 'spects 
 you're right enough — this 'ere bain't Fernley 
 Road." 
 
 Peggy swallowed down her sobs. 
 
 " I don't think you look quite big enough to 
 have stolened me, Sarah," she said at last. 
 " But I would like to get back into the fields 
 quick. If only we could see the mountings 
 again, I wouldn't be quite so frightened." 
 
 They had not gone far before they came upon 
 a gateway and a path leading through a field 
 where there seemed no difficulties. Crossing it 
 they found themselves at the edge of the thorny 
 wood, which they skirted for some way. Peg- 
 gy's energy, born of fear, began to fail. 
 
 " Sarah," she said at last, bursting into fresh 
 tears, " Peggy can't go no further, and I'm so 
 hungry too. I'm sure it's long past dinner-time. 
 You must sit down and rest ; p'r'aps if I rested 
 a little, I wouldn't feel so very un'appy." 
 
 Sarah looked at her almost in despair. She 
 herself was worried and vexed, very afraid too 
 of the scolding which certainly awaited her at 
 home, but she was not tired nor dispirited, 
 though very sorry for Peggy, and quite aware 
 that it was she and not " missy " who was to 
 blame for this unlucky expedition. 
 
UP FERNLEY ROAD. 181 
 
 " I'd like to get on," she said ; " we're sure to 
 get back into a road as'll take us 'onie before 
 long. Couldn't I carry you, missy ?" 
 
 " No," said Peggy, " you're far too little. 
 And I can't walk any more without resting. 
 You're very unkind, Light Smiley, and I wish 
 I'd never seen you." 
 
 Poor Sarah bore this bitter reproach in 
 silence. 
 
 She looked about for a comfortable seat in 
 the hedge, and settled herself so that Peggy 
 could rest against her. The sunshine, though 
 it had seemed hot and glaring on the bare, dusty 
 road, was not really very powerful, for it was 
 only late April, though avery summer-like day. 
 Peggy left off crying and said no more, but 
 leaned contentedly enough against Sarah. 
 
 " I'm comf able now," she said, closing her 
 eyes. " Thank you, Light Smiley. I'll soon 
 be rested, and then we'll go on." 
 
 But in a moment or two, by the way she 
 breathed, Sarah saw that she had fallen 
 asleep. 
 
 " Bless us," thought the little guardian to 
 herself, " she may sleep for hours. Whatever 
 'ull I do ? She's that tired — and when she 
 wakes she'll be that 'ungry, there'll be no get- 
 
182 LITTLE MISS PEOG T. 
 
 ting her along. She'll be quite faint-like. If 
 I dared leave her, I'd run on till I found the 
 road and got somebody to 'elp carry her. But 
 I dursn't. If she woked up and me gone, she'd 
 be runnin' who knows where, and mebbe never 
 be found again. Poor missy — it'll be lock-up 
 and no mistake, wusser I dare say for me, and 
 quite right too. Mother'll never say I'm fit for 
 a nussery after makin' sich a fool of myself." 
 
 And in spite of her courage, the tears began 
 to trickle down Sarah's face. Peggy looked so 
 white and tiny, lying there almost in her arms, 
 that it made her heart ache to see her. So she 
 shut her own eyes and tried to think what to 
 do. And the thinking grew gradually confused 
 and mixed up with all sorts of other thinkings. 
 Sarah fancied she heard her mother calling her 
 and she tried to answer, but somehow the words 
 would not come. 
 
 And at last, though she was really so anxious 
 and distressed, the quiet and the mild air, and 
 the idleness perhaps, to which none of the 
 Simpkins family were much accustomed, all 
 joined together and by degrees hushed poor 
 Light Smiley to sleep, her arms clasped round 
 Peggy as if to protect her from any possible 
 danger. 
 
/ ind af last. thoucSn <>hi was really so anxious 
 and cJ«str £ sSic) f tKi cjuiif Ancl tfu mi/d air t ^nd 
 tkf idkmss piTnaps, to whicf) nom of tn* Simp: 
 kin5 -family \A^ir£ muck jvccustormd, all joimd 
 togsHur and by dijrtts . Kushid poor Lid/it 
 <^milry *b 5liip, n<r arms claspid | / 
 
 Tound ftg£y ^ if fo prottcf \(,L/ 
 
 ktr {rorr\ *r\y possibk 
 
UP FERNLEY ROAD. 183 
 
 It would have been a touching picture, had 
 there been any one there to see. Unluckily, 
 not merely for the sake of the picture, but for 
 that of the children themselves, there was no 
 one. 
 
184 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE SHOES-LADY AGAIN. 
 
 ' ' Fll love you through the happy years, 
 Till Fm a nice old lady." 
 
 — Poems Written for a Child. 
 
 When they woke, both of theni at the same 
 moment it seemed, though probably one had 
 roused the other without knowing it, the sun 
 had gone, the sky looked dull, it felt chilly and 
 strange. Peggy had thought it must be past 
 dinner-time before they had sat down to rest ; 
 it seemed now as if it must be past tea-time 
 too! 
 
 Sarah started up, Peggy feebly clinging to 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear," said Sarah, " I shouldn't 
 have gone to sleep, and it's got that cold !" 
 She was shivering herself, but Peggy seemed 
 much the worse of the two. She was white 
 and pinched looking, and as if she were half- 
 stupened. 
 
THE SHOES-LAD Y AG AW. 185 
 
 " I'm so cold," she said, " and so hungry. I 
 thought I was in bed at home. I do so want 
 to go home. I'm sure it's very late, Light 
 Smiley ; do take me home." 
 
 u I'm sure, missy, it's what I want to do," 
 said poor Sarah. " I'm af eared it's a-going to 
 rain, and whatever 'ull we do then ? You 
 wouldn't wait 'ere a minute, would you, while 
 I run to see if there's a road near ?" 
 
 " No, no," said Peggy, " I won't stay alone. 
 I'm very, very frightened, Light Smiley, and I 
 think I'm going to die." 
 
 " Oh, Lor', missy, don't you say that," said 
 Sarah, in terror. " If you can't walk I'll carry 
 you." 
 
 " I'll try to walk," said Peggy, picking 
 up some spirit when she saw Sarah's white 
 face. 
 
 And then the two set oif again, dazed and 
 miserable, very different from the bright little 
 pair that had started up Fernley Eoad that 
 morning. 
 
 Tilings, however, having got to the worst, 
 began to mend, or at least were beginning to 
 mend for them, though Peggy and Sarah did 
 not just yet know it. Not far from the edge of 
 the field where they were, a little bridle-path 
 
186 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 led into a lane, and a few yards down this lane 
 brought them out upon Fernley Road again at 
 last. 
 
 " I see the mountings," cried Peggy ; " oh, 
 Light Smiley, Peggy sees the mountings. 
 P'r'aps we won't die, oh, p'r'aps we'll get home 
 safe again." 
 
 But though she had been trying to be brave, 
 now that she began to hope again, it was too 
 much for her poor little nerves — Peggy burst 
 into loud sobbing. 
 
 " Oh, dear missy, try not to cry," said Sarah. 
 " There — there — where's your hankercker ?" and 
 she dived into Peggy's pocket in search of it. 
 And as she pulled it out, out tumbled at the 
 same time the two little scarlet shoes, falling 
 on the ground. 
 
 " Oh, Light Smiley, my red shoes. They'll 
 be all spoilt and dirtied," said Peggy, as well as 
 she could, for Sarah was dabbing the handker- 
 chief all over her face. 
 
 Sarah stooped to pick them up ; both chil- 
 dren were too much engaged to notice the sound 
 of wheels coining quickly along the quiet road. 
 But the sight of a speck of dirt on one of the 
 shoes set Peggy off crying again, and she cried 
 for once pretty loudly. The wheels came 
 
THE SHOES-LAD T AGAIN". 187 
 
 nearer, and then stopped, and this made Sarah 
 look round. A pony-cariage driven by a lady 
 had drawn up just beside them. The groom, 
 sitting behind, jumped down, though looking 
 as if he did not know what he was to do. 
 
 " What is the matter, little girls V said the 
 lady. 
 
 "It's, please 'in — we've lost our road — it's 
 all along o' me, mum — but I didn't mean no 
 
 'arm, only missy's that wore out 'm, and " 
 
 but before Sarah could get further, she was 
 stopped by a sort of cry from both the lady 
 and Peggy at once. 
 
 " Oh, oh," called out Peggy, " it's the shoes- 
 lady — oh, pel ease, pelease take me home," 
 and she seemed ready to dart into the lady's 
 arms. 
 
 " I do believe," she said, " I do believe it's 
 the little girl I saw at the bootmaker's, and — 
 yes, of course it is — there are the shoes them- 
 selves ! My dear child, whatever are you doing 
 to be so far from home — at least I suppose you 
 live in the town \ — and what have you got the 
 dolly's shoes with you for ?" 
 
 " I brought them for them to see the moun- 
 tings and the white cottage," sobbed Peggy ; 
 "but I'm so cold and hungry, pelease take me 
 home, oh, pelease do." 
 
188 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 The lady seemed rather troubled. Even if 
 she had not remembered Peggy, she would 
 have seen in a moment that she was a little 
 lady, though Peggy looked miserable enough 
 with her torn clothes and scratched and tear- 
 stained face. 
 
 " Poor child," she said, " tell me your name 
 and where you live." 
 
 "I'm Peggy, but I don't amember my 
 nother name, 'cos I'm tired and it's very long," 
 she said. 
 
 The lady looked at Sarah. Sarah shook her 
 head. 
 
 " No, mum, I don't know it neither, but I 
 knows the name of the street. "lis Bernard 
 Street, 'm — off Fernley Road, and their back 
 winders looks over to us. We're Simpkinses, 
 'm, and missy's mar knows as we're 'speckable, 
 and mother she never thought when she told 
 me to take back the humberellar as I'd lead 
 missy sich a dance. I'll never do for the 
 nussery, no, never. I'm not steady enough," 
 and here Light Smiley gave signs of crying 
 herself. 
 
 It was not easy for the lady to make out the 
 story, but by degrees, with patience she did so. 
 But while talking she had lifted Peggy into 
 
THE 8H0ES-LAD Y AG AW. 1 89 
 
 the carriage beside her, and wrapped her up in 
 a shawl that lay on the seat, Peggy nestling in, 
 (juite contentedly. 
 
 " Now," said the lady, " you get in too, Sarah 
 Siinpkins, and I'll drive you both home. I 
 was on my way home out into the country, but 
 I can't leave you here on the road. This is 
 Fernley Iioad, but it's quite four miles from 
 the town." 
 
 In scrambled Sarah, divided between fear of 
 her own and Peggy's relations' scoldings when 
 they got home, and the delight and honor of 
 driving in a carriage ! The groom would have 
 liked to look grumpy, I am quite sure, but he 
 dared not. Peggy, for her part, crept closer and 
 closer to the lady, and ended by falling asleep 
 again, so that it was a good thing Light Smiley 
 was sitting on the other side, to keep her from 
 falling out. 
 
 The four miles seemed very short to Sarah, 
 and as they got into the outskirts of the town 
 her face grew longer and longer. 
 
 " I'm more'n half a mind to run away, I 
 'ave," she said to herself, quite unaware she 
 was speaking aloud. " It'll be more'n I can 
 stand, mother and Rebecca and all on 'em down 
 on me, for I didn't mean no 'arm. I'd best run 
 away." 
 
190 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 The lady turned to her ; hitherto she had not 
 taken much notice of Sarah, but now she felt 
 sorry for the little girl. 
 
 " What are you saying, my dear ?" she said 
 gently, though all the same her voice made 
 Sarah jump. " Are you afraid of going home ? 
 You have not done anything naughty, ex- 
 actly, as far as I understand. It was only 
 thoughtless. I will go with you to your home 
 if you like, and explain to your mother how it 
 was." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, mum," said Sarah eagerly, 
 her spirits rising again at once ; " you see, mum, 
 I do so want to be in the nussery onst I'm big 
 enough, and I was so afeared mother' d never 
 think of it again. I only wanted to please little 
 missy, for she seemed so lonely like, her mar 
 and all bein' away and no one for to take her a 
 walk. She's a sweet little missy, she is, but 
 she's only a baby, so to say ; she do have such 
 funny fancies. 'Twas all to see the cottage on 
 the 'ills she wanted to come up Fernley Road 
 so badly." 
 
 " The cottage — what cottage ?" asked the 
 lady. 
 
 Sarah tried to explain, and gradually the 
 lady got to understand what little Peggy had 
 
THE SHOES-LAD T AG A IN. 191 
 
 meant about bringing the red shoes " to see the 
 mountings and the cottage." 
 
 u She's always a-talking of the country, and 
 father lived there when he was a boy, and 
 missy had got it in her 'ead that he lived in a 
 white cottage, like the one she fancies about," 
 Sarah went on. 
 
 " I would like to take her out into the real 
 country, poor little pet," said the lady, looking 
 tenderly at the sweet tiny face of the sleeping 
 child. She loved all children, but little girls of 
 Peggy's age were especially dear to her, for 
 many years before she had had a younger sister 
 who had died, and the thought of her had come 
 into her mind the first time she had seen Peggy 
 at the door of the shoe shop. " If I can see any 
 of her friends I will ask them to let her spend 
 a day with me," she went on, speaking more to 
 herself than to Sarah. 
 
 As they turned into Bernard Street a cab 
 dashed past them coming very fast from the 
 opposite direction. It drew up in front of the 
 house which Sarah was just tliat moment point- 
 ing out to the lady as Peggy's home, and a 
 gentleman, followed by a young woman, sprang 
 out. The door was opened almost as soon as 
 they rang, and then the three, the other servant 
 
192 LI TTLE MISS PEG G Y. 
 
 who had answered the bell, the young woman, 
 and the gentleman, all stood together on the 
 steps talking so anxiously and eagerly that for 
 a moment or two they did not notice the pony- 
 carriage, and though the groom knew the whole 
 story by this time and had jumped down at 
 once, he was far too proper to do anything till 
 he had his lady's orders. 
 
 " Ask the gentleman to speak to me," said 
 the lady, " and you jump out, little Sarah. I 
 think he must be Peggy's father." 
 
 He had turned round by this time and came 
 hurrying forward. The moment the lady saw 
 him she knew she had guessed right. He was 
 so like Peggy — fair and gray-eyed, and with the 
 same gentle expression, and very young-looking 
 to be the father not only of Peggy, but of big 
 little boys like Thor and Terry. His face 
 looked pale and anxious, but the moment he 
 caught sight of the little sleeping figure lean- 
 ing against the lady it all lighted up and a red 
 flush came into his cheeks. 
 
 " Oh — thank God," he exclaimed, "my little 
 Peggy ! You have found her ! How good of 
 you ! But — she is not hurt ? — she is all right ?" 
 
 " Yes — yes — only cold and hungry and tired," 
 said the lady eagerly, for Peggy did look rather 
 
THE SHOES-LADY AGAIN. 193 
 
 miserable still. " Will you lift her out ?" and 
 as he did so, she got out herself, and turned to 
 Sarah. " May I bring this other child in for a 
 moment ?" she said, " and then I can explain it 
 all." 
 
 Sarah followed gladly, but a sudden thought 
 struck her. " Please 'in," she said bravely, 
 though the tears came to her eyes as she spoke, 
 " pVaps I'd best run 'onie ; inother'll be fright- 
 ened about me." 
 
 " But I promised you should not be scolded," 
 said the lady ; " stay," and she turned to Fanny, 
 u she lives close to, she says." 
 
 " At the back — over the cobbler's," said 
 Sarah readily. 
 
 " Can you let her mother know she's all right, 
 then ? And say I am coming to speak to her 
 in a moment," said the lady, and Fanny went 
 off. She had been so terrified about Peggy, 
 and so afraid that she would be blamed for 
 carelessness, that she dared not wait, though 
 she was dying with curiosity to know the whole 
 story and what one of the Simpkins children 
 could have had to do with it. 
 
 Peggy awoke by the time her father had got 
 her into the dining-room, where cook had made 
 a good fire and laid out Peggy's dinner and tea 
 
194 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 in one to be all ready, for the poor woman had 
 been hoping every instant for the last few 
 hours that the little girl would be brought 
 home again. It had been difficult to find Peg- 
 gy's father, as he was not at his office, and 
 Fanny had been there two or three times to 
 fetch him. 
 
 " Oh, dear papa," were Peggy's first words, 
 "I'm so glad to be home. I'll never go up 
 Fernley Road again ; but I did so want to see 
 the cottage and the mountings plainer. And it 
 wasn't Light Smiley' s fault. She was very 
 good to me, and I was very cross." 
 
 This did not much clear up matters. Indeed 
 Peggy's father was afraid for a minute or two 
 that his little girl was going to have a fever, 
 and that her mind was wandering. But all 
 such fears were soon set at rest, and when the 
 lady went off with Sarah, she left Peggy set- 
 ting to work very happily at her dinner or tea, 
 she was not sure which to call it. 
 
 "And you will let her come to spend the 
 day with me to-morrow ?" said the lady as she 
 shook hands with Peggy's father. " I shall be 
 driving this way, and I can call for her. I 
 should not be happy not to know that she was 
 none the worse for her adventures to-day." 
 
THE SHOES- LA D 7 AGAIN. 1 95 
 
 Then the lacly took Sarah by the hand and 
 went round with her to the home in the back 
 street, telling the groom to wait for her at the 
 corner. 
 
 It was well she went herself, for otherwise I 
 am afraid poor Light Smiley would not have 
 escaped the scolding she dreaded. Her mother 
 and sisters had been very unhappy and fright- 
 ened about her, and when people — especially 
 poor mothers like Mrs. Simpkins, with " so 
 many children that they don't know what to 
 do " — are anxious and frightened, I have often 
 noticed that it makes them very cross. 
 
 As it was, however, the lady managed to 
 smooth it all down, and before she left she got 
 not only Sarah's mother, but Rebecca and Mary- 
 Hann and all of them to promise to say no 
 more about it. 
 
 " 'Tisn't only for myself I was feelin' so put 
 about, you see, ma'am," said Mrs. Simpkins, 
 " but when I sent over the way and found the 
 little missy was not to be found it flashed upon 
 me like a lightenin' streak — it did that, ma'am 
 — that the two was oft' together. And if any 
 'ami had come to the little lady through one of 
 mine, so to say, it would 'ave gone nigh to break 
 my 'art. For their mar is a sweet lady — a real 
 feelin' lady is their mar." 
 
196 LITTLE MISS PEOO 7. 
 
 " And a kind friend to you, I dare say," said 
 the stranger. 
 
 " Couldn't be a kinder as far as friendly words 
 and old clotheses goes," said Mrs. Simpkins. 
 " But she's a large little fam'ly of her own, and 
 not so very strong in 'ealth, and plenty to do 
 with their money. And so to speak strangers 
 in the place, though she 'ave said she'd do her 
 best to get a place in a nice fam'ly for one of 
 my girls." 
 
 The lady glanced at the group of sisters. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I should think you could 
 spare one or two. How would you like to be 
 in a kitchen ?" she added, turning to Rebecca. 
 
 The girl blushed so that her face matched 
 her arms, and she looked more " reddy " than 
 ever. But she shook her head. 
 
 " I'm afraid " she began. 
 
 "~No, ma'am, thank you kindly, but I 
 couldn't spare Rebecca," the mother interrupted. 
 " If it were for Mary-Hann, now — Matilda 
 Jane's coming on and could take her place. 
 Only, for I couldn't deceive you, ma'am, she's 
 rather deaf." 
 
 " I shouldn't mind that," said the lady, who 
 was pleased by Mary Ann's bright eyes and 
 ple-asant face. " I think deaf people some- 
 
THE SHOES-LADY AGAIN. 19? 
 
 times work better than quick-hearing ones ; be- 
 sides, it may perhaps be cured. I will speak 
 about her to my housekeeper and let you know. 
 And you, Sarah, you are to be in the nursery 
 some day." 
 
 Sarah grinned with delight, 
 
 " Not just yet," said Mrs. Simpkins ; " she 
 'ave a deal to learn, 'ave Sarah. Schooling and 
 stiddiness to begin with. She don't mean no 
 'arm, I'll allow." 
 
 " No ; I'm sure she wants to be a very good 
 girl," said the lady. " She was very kind and 
 gentle to little Miss Peggy. So I won't forget 
 you either, Sarah, when the time comes." 
 
 And then the lady said good-by to them all. 
 and Mrs. Simpkins' heart felt lighter than for 
 long, for she was sure that through this new 
 friend she might get the start in life she had 
 been hoping for for her many daughters. 
 
 Peggy slept off her fatigue, and by the next 
 morning she was quite bright again and able 
 to listen to and understand papa's explanation 
 of how, though without meaning to be dis- 
 obedient, she had done wrong the day before in 
 setting off with Sarah Simpkins as she had 
 done. Two or three tears rolled slowly down 
 her cheeks as she heard what he said. 
 
1 98 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 " I meant to be so good while mamma was 
 away," she whispered. " But I'll never do it 
 again, papa. I'll stay quiet in the nursery all 
 alone, even if Miss Earnshaw doesn't come 
 back at all." 
 
 For a message had come from the dressmaker 
 that her mother was very ill, as Fanny had 
 feared, and that she was afraid she would not 
 be able to leave her for several days. 
 
 " It Avon't be so bad as that, dear," said her 
 father. " Mamma will be back in five days 
 now, and I don't think you are likely to be left 
 alone in the nursery — certainly not to-day ;" and 
 then he told her about the lady having asked 
 her to spend the day out in the country with 
 her, and that Peggy must be ready by twelve 
 o'clock, not to keep her new friend waiting. 
 
 Peggy's eyes gleamed with delight. 
 
 " Out into the country V she said. " Oh, how 
 lovely ! And oh, papa, do you think p'r'aps she 
 lives in a white cottage ?" 
 
 Papa shook his head. 
 
 " I'm afraid it's not a cottage at all where she 
 lives," he said. " But I'm sure it is a very 
 pretty house and let us hope it is a white one." 
 
 " No," said Peggy, " you don't understand, 
 papa — not as well as mamma does. I don't 
 care what color it is if it's only an 'ouse." 
 
THE SHOES- LAD Y A GAIN. 199 
 
 And she couldn't understand why papa 
 laughed so that he really couldn't correct her. 
 " I'm afraid, Peggy," he said, " you've been 
 taking lessons from little Miss Simpkins. It's 
 time mamma came home again to look after 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, I wish mamma was come home again," 
 said Peggy. "We can't do without her, can we, 
 papa V 
 
 But when the dear little pony-carriage came 
 up to the door, and Peggy got in and drove off 
 with her kind friend, she was so happy that 
 she had not even time to wish for mamma. 
 
 And what a delightful day she had ! The 
 lady's house was very pretty, and the gardens 
 and woods in which it stood even prettier in 
 Peggy's opinion. And though it was not a cot- 
 tage, there were all the country things to see 
 which Peggy was so fond of — cocks and hens, 
 and cows, and in one field lots of sheep and 
 sweet little lambkins. There were pigs, too, 
 which Peggy would not look at, but ran away 
 to the other end of the yard as soon as she 
 heard them " grumphing," which amused the 
 lady very much. And in the afternoon she 
 went a walk with her friend through the vil- 
 lage, where there were several pretty cottages, 
 
200 LITTLE MISS PEGG F. 
 
 but none that quite fitted Peggy's fancy. 
 When they came in again Peggy stood at the 
 drawing-room window, which looked out to- 
 ward Brackenshire, without speaking. 
 
 " You like that view, don't you, dear?" said 
 the lady. " You can see the hills ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Peggy, " I can see the mount- 
 ings, but not the white cottage. It's got turned 
 wrong somehow, from here. I can only see 
 it from the nursery window at home," and she 
 gave a very little sigh. 
 
 " Some day," said the lady, " some day in 
 the summer when the afternoons are very long, 
 I will drive you right out a long way among 
 the hills, and perhaps we'll find the cottage 
 then. For I hope your mamma will often let 
 you come to see me, my little Peggy." 
 
 " Yes," said Peggy, "that would be lovely. 
 I wonder if we'd find the white cottage." 
 
 No, they never did ! The sweet long summer 
 days came, and many a bright and happy one 
 Peggy spent with her kind friend, but they 
 never found the white cottage on the hill. 
 Peggy knew it so well in her mind, she felt she 
 could not mistake it, but though she saw many 
 white cottages which any one else might have 
 thought was it, she knew better. And each 
 time, though she sighed a little, she hoped again. 
 
TEE SHOES-LAD Y AGAIN. 201 
 
 But before another summer came around 
 Peggy and her father and mother, and Thor, 
 and Terry, and Hal, and Baldwin, and baby 
 had all gone away — far away to the south, 
 many hours' journey from the dingy town and 
 the Fernley Road, and the queer old house in 
 the back street where lived the cobbler and old 
 Mother AVhelan and Brown Smiley and Light 
 Smiley and all the rest of them. Far away too 
 from the hills and the strange white speck in 
 the distance which Peggy called her cottage. 
 
 So it never was more than a dream to her 
 after all, and perhaps — perhaps it was best so ? 
 For nothing has ever spoiled the sweetness and 
 the mystery of the childish fancy — she can see 
 it with her mind's eye still — the soft white 
 speck on the far-away blue hills — she can see 
 it and think of it and make fancies about it 
 even now — now that she has climbed a long, 
 long way up the mountain of life, and will 
 soon be creeping slowly down the other side, 
 where the sun still shines, however, and there 
 are even more beautiful things to hope for than 
 the sweetest dreams of childhood. 
 
202 LITTLE MISS PEQQ Y. 
 
 EKYPHINA'S CHILD. 
 
 In old times, when there were good kings as 
 well as bad, mild-tempered and gentle women 
 as well as sour and peevish ones, there lived a 
 good King of Vannes, who had a daughter called 
 Eryphina. She was as sweet as new milk fresh 
 from the cow ; no one had ever seen her angry, 
 and the worst people became better when they 
 were near her. The king loved nothing in the 
 world so much as his daughter Eryphina. 
 
 Unfortunately the princess was as beautiful 
 as she was good, and the fame of her beauty 
 had spread to all parts of the world. When 
 she was only sixteen, Commore, Count of 
 Cornouailles, sent an embasssy to the King of 
 Vannes, to demand of him his daughter in 
 marriage. 
 
 " Give me thy daughter," said Commore ; 
 " and though I am lord of the country where 
 the black wheat grows, she shall never want 
 for white bread and meat ; she shall be both 
 rich and happy." 
 
ERTPH1NA 'S CHILD. 203 
 
 The King of Valines had doubts as to the 
 happiness, whatever the riches might be. He 
 knew that the count was a powerful prince, 
 whose coffers were full of gold, and his land 
 well stocked with cattle ; but he knew also 
 that he was cruel to his subjects, that he was 
 twenty years older than the little Eryphina, 
 and that he had already had four wives, who 
 all died without children, and without its be- 
 ino; known what had killed them. Besides, 
 the prospect of such a marriage terrified Ery- 
 phina beyond measure. She wept so much 
 that her father determined to keep her at 
 home. So he said to the envoys of the count : 
 
 " I thank your master for the honor which 
 he has done us by wishing for our alliance ; 
 but my daughter is still too young to think of 
 marriage ; she desires to remain with me." 
 
 The ambassadors withdrew in the greatest 
 alarm, for they knew that this refusal would 
 enrage their master exceedingly. And indeed 
 they had no sooner delivered their message 
 and explained why they appeared before him 
 without the princess, than the terrible sword 
 of Commore sprang from the scabbard and the 
 three envoys lay dead at his feet. Then he 
 sent back tliis message to the king of the white 
 country : 
 
204 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 " Prepare tliy arms and thy soldiers for bat- 
 tle, for I will make war against thee in all my 
 might, unless thou give me thy daughter in 
 marriage." 
 
 The King of Vannes was a brave man, and 
 these defiant words of Commore's did not in- 
 crease his desire to give him his dear daughter 
 — his Eryphina, who had never heard a harsh 
 word since she was born. He called his sub- 
 jects to arms, and in all parts of the country 
 of Vannes the people made themselves ready 
 for battle. They came forward willingly, un- 
 like the people of Cornouailles, who never 
 went to war except from fear of their lord. 
 They all knew Erpphina, and every man was 
 ready to give his life for her, while the women 
 stayed at home and wept. 
 
 The soldiers of Commore had set out on 
 their march, when a holy monk, named Yeltas, 
 who had often preached both in the country 
 of Vannes and the kingdom of Commore, came 
 to seek Eryphina in her father's palace. 
 
 " What is this !" he said to her. " Shall a 
 baptized Christian woman allow the men of 
 two countries to kill each other for her sake — 
 to die, perhaps, in mortal sin, and to go straight 
 to everlasting punishment ? Even if it be true 
 
ERYPHINA '8 CHILD. 205 
 
 that Commore is wicked and cruel, of what im- 
 portance is the happiness of one woman for a 
 few years on earth, compared to the eternal 
 welfare of so many Christian souls ?" 
 
 Poor Eryphina trembled as she heard these 
 stern words. Her fear of Commore was so 
 great that she grew pale at the very sound of 
 his name. But the holy man, without heeding 
 her, continued : 
 
 " Here is a ring as white as milk. If you 
 marry the Count of Cornouailles, and if the 
 time should ever come when your life is in 
 danger, it will immediately become as black as 
 iron ; then send it to the king your father, and 
 he will come and deliver you. It is your fate 
 to marry Commore. My daughter, fight no 
 longer against the will of God." 
 
 Eryphina dared not utter a word. She 
 looked at the rin^ shinino; on her finder — the 
 fatal ring that was to warn her of unknown 
 dangers at which she trembled beforehand, and 
 then she knelt down before the holy monk, 
 who accepted her mute submission and gave 
 her his blessing : 
 
 " May the great God of heaven and his only 
 son Jesus Christ bless you in life, and after 
 death receive you into paradise," said Veltas, 
 
206 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 as lie hastened away to stop the march of the 
 soldiers of Commore. 
 
 The king at first tried to shake Eryphina's 
 resolution ; but the poor child had made a vow 
 to Our Lady to offer herself up as a martyr in 
 order to prevent the massacre of so many help- 
 less souls ; and the King of Vannes, who knew 
 that he was less powerful than his enemy, was 
 obliged to submit. His daughter must be sac- 
 rificed that his people might be saved. It is 
 sometimes a hard thing to be a princess. 
 
 Commore was in high goocl-humor when he 
 arrived at the court of the King of Vannes. 
 Satisfaction in having obtained the object of 
 his desire, Eryphina's great beauty and sweet- 
 ness, the riches displayed during the marriage 
 festivities, all combined to soften the ferocity 
 of his temper. Although he had seen thirty- 
 five summers, he was still handsome and young- 
 looking ; he was very tall, and so strong that 
 he could lift an ox by his horns ; and his eyes 
 were bright and fine, but full of fire. The king, 
 who had conceived a very bad opinion of his 
 future son-in-law, was agreeably surprised to 
 find him so gay and handsome, and began to 
 hope for the best. 
 
 After the marriage festival, which lasted 
 
ERYPHINA'S (JHILD. 207 
 
 three days, during which a hundred oxen and 
 three hundred sheep were killed and distrib- 
 uted among the people, Commore took his 
 young wife home. St. Veltas blessed her as 
 she departed : " Paradise is yours," he said ; 
 "but you must first endure the sufferings of 
 earth." 
 
 Eryphina trembled and raised her eyes to 
 heaven. She had made her sacrifice, and re- 
 grets would come too late. 
 
 For some months all went well. The young 
 countess often asked herself how Commore 
 could have been called cruel. He was always 
 kind to her ; and as he was very clever, he 
 found a hundred ways of amusing his youug 
 wife, so that she hardly regretted the country 
 she had left. Every day some new pleasure 
 awaited her, every day rich presents assured 
 her of her husband's love. She quite lost the 
 habit of looking at her ring, as she had done 
 continually at first. 
 
 " What danger could threaten me while 
 Commore is near me ?" she said, forgetting that 
 it was Commore himself of whom she had been 
 formerly afraid. The people of the black 
 country no longer knew their lord. 
 
 " He must be either ill or bewitched," said his 
 
208 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 •nearest attendants, " for he has ceased to care 
 for blood." When any one was so unfortunate 
 enough to displease him and his eyes began to 
 flash, a word from the countess would soften 
 his wrath and procure for the culprit a mild- 
 er punishment. In all the churches and mon- 
 asteries of the black country the people offered 
 up prayers to God for the long life of Ery- 
 phina. 
 
 Commore had given a large domain to St. 
 Veltas on which to build a monastery, and the 
 saint often came to visit the countess. When 
 she spoke to him timidly of her happiness — 
 for she was ashamed of the fears she had for- 
 merly expressed — he shook his head. " We 
 are born to suffer," he said, with a grave look ; 
 and when he had passed beyond the threshold 
 of the castle, he repeated to himself in Latin 
 these words of the prophet : " Can the Ethio- 
 pian -change his skin, or the leopard his spots V 
 He had no faith in the new-born mildness of 
 Commore. 
 
 After some time the management of his af- 
 fairs called the lord of the black country to a 
 distance ; his wife wept, and begged that she 
 might go with him. "No," said Commore, 
 " amuse thyself in my absence ; thou wilt be 
 
EU YPHWA 'S CHILI). 209 
 
 absolute mistress of everything here, and I will 
 soon return to thee. 1 ' 
 
 " I shall never leave the castle in thy ab- 
 sence," said the countess ; " how could I amuse 
 myself when thou art far away ?" 
 
 On his return, the count found his wife look- 
 ing pale from long confinement to the house ; 
 but she blushed with pleasure and confusion 
 as she met her husband and showed him the 
 work she held in her hand — a small cap of silk 
 tissue, trimmed with silver lace. 
 
 " This," she said, looking down, " this will 
 be for my little baby." 
 
 Commore's eyes flashed angrily ; then, shud- 
 dering, he left his wife without a word, without 
 an embrace. 
 
 Now, for the first time, Eryphina saw in her 
 lord's face the terrible look wmich made him 
 so much feared. She threw herself trembling 
 at the foot of her crucifix, and her eyes sought 
 involuntarily for the silver ring, half -hidden 
 among the many costly rings with which her 
 husband had loaded her fingers. She hardly 
 knew it again ; it had become quite black ! 
 
 Eryphina, who was naturally timid, stood 
 petrified with terror at this unknown danger 
 with which she was threatened. At the ban- 
 
210 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 quet which she had prepared for him, her hus- 
 band sat silent and gloomy, and she was as 
 pale as a white rose. When night came, she 
 could not sleep under her tapestry curtains. 
 At midnight, as she lay awake, the hangings 
 which covered the walls of the room shook as 
 if blown by the night wind, and one by one 
 four pale shadows appeared gliding noiselessly 
 to the foot of the bed where she lay. 
 
 Half -dead with terror, she looked at them, 
 but could not speak. The first, pale, with 
 livid lips and long fair hair, said, in a low 
 voice : 
 
 " I am Dalmet, Commore's first wife." 
 
 The second, who had marks of discoloration 
 on her throat, said, in a dull, muffled voice : 
 
 " I am Finlas, the second wife of Commore." 
 
 A bloody wound yawned on the bosom of 
 the third. 
 
 " I am Haik," she said, " the third wife of 
 Commore." 
 
 The fourth, whose face bore marks of blows, 
 said : 
 
 " It is I, Mola, the count's last wife before 
 thee." 
 
 Then all four spoke together. 
 
 " It is thy turn now," they said. " It was 
 
ER YPHINA 'S CHILD. 211 
 
 foretold him that his first child would kill 
 him. We have all paid with our lives for this 
 prophecy." 
 
 Eryphina raised herself up in bed ; maternal 
 instinct gave her courage. It was not herself 
 alone she had to save, but the child that God 
 might send her. Could she save it ? She 
 murmured between her trembling lips : 
 
 " I must fly, but how can I fly ?" 
 
 " Take this poison which killed me," said the 
 pale shade with the livid lips. 
 
 *' Take this rope which strangled me," said 
 she of the discolored throat. 
 
 " Take this dagger which stabbed me to the 
 heart," said the form with the gaping wound. 
 
 " Take this stick which broke my skull," said 
 the fourth wife of Commore. 
 
 Eryphina rose, but she could not utter a 
 word to her ghastly predecessors, who disap- 
 peared silently as they came. No sooner were 
 they gone than the unhappy countess hastened 
 to the window and let herself down from the 
 tower by means of the rope which Finlas had 
 given her. With the poison which had killed 
 Dalmet she silenced the great dog that wan- 
 dered about the court-yard. And when she 
 started on her journey, in the dark night, to 
 
212 LITTLE MISS PEQG Y. 
 
 find her way back to her own country, she was 
 armed with the dagger which had stabbed 
 Haik, and the stick with which Mola had been 
 killed. 
 
 As she proceeded painfully on her way, 
 stumbling over the stones on the road, catch- 
 ing hold of the bushes in the forest, and often 
 striking herself against the trunks of trees, she 
 heard overhead a rustling of wings, and by the 
 first faint streaks of daylight she recognized 
 her favorite falcon that she had brought with 
 her from the kingdom of Vannes. 
 
 " Falcon, my good falcon," she said to it, 
 " thou canst go faster than I to the place where 
 my heart would be ; carry this ring to my fa- 
 ther, who will see that I am in danger, and will 
 hasten to help me." And cutting off with the 
 dagger a lock of her hair, she fastened the ring 
 round the neck of the falcon, which flew away 
 as fast as if it understood the extremity of its 
 mistress. 
 
 Meantime Commore had risen early, and 
 had gone to seek for his wife. She was no- 
 where to be found ; and when he saw the rope 
 tied to the window and his dog lying dead 
 in the yard, his eyes flashed fire. Eryphina's 
 women, and the sentinels at the gates, trembled 
 
EBYPHINA '8 CHILD. 213 
 
 as tliey looked at him. He called for Iris 
 horses and rushed after the fugitive, stopping, 
 however, from time to time to search for traces 
 of the small feet. He dashed across the forest, 
 and very soon came to a thicket from whence 
 proceeded the cry of a child. He sprang from 
 his horse with a bound, pushed aside the 
 branches with his strong arm, and discovered 
 Eryphina, pale and terrified, hiding in her 
 arms a new-born infant, whose feeble cries she 
 was in vain endeavoring to stifle. Commore's 
 sword flashed for one moment in the air, and 
 the next instant his wife's head rolled into the 
 brush-wood, dyeing the green leaves with her 
 blood. Then shuddering and never looking 
 behind him, he remounted and returned to the 
 castle. He had forgotten the child. It lay 
 safely concealed in the dead woman's arms. 
 
 It was a feast day when the falcon arrived at 
 the white country. The subjects of the King 
 of Vannes crowded all the squares and market- 
 places, for St. Veltas had come to bless a new 
 church. The king sat in the banquet-hall, with 
 the monk by his side, and all his great men 
 around him. They feasted and made merry, 
 yet always as became Christians in the presence 
 of a holy priest. The falcon flew in at the 
 
214 4 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 window, and stationed itself on the table in 
 front of the king. 
 
 " What is this ?" said the king. " Here is the 
 falcon that my daughter Eryphina took with 
 her when she left me. Ah ! holy father, you 
 did well to prevent a war between our two 
 countries : no one has suifered on her account, 
 and Eryphina is happy." 
 
 " Do not be too sure of that," said the monk 
 as he examined the falcon. The faithful bird 
 had brought back its mistress 7 ring ; it was 
 quite black — Eryphina was in mortal danger ! 
 
 The king rose hurriedly. Not waiting for 
 his attendants, but ordering them to follow 
 him, he mounted his horse and galloped off, 
 St. Veltas 'following by his side on his accus- 
 tomed mule. This creature, without seeming 
 to hurry itself, neither lost breath nor looked 
 fatigued ; yet, fast as the good war-horse went, 
 the priest's gentle mule kept pace beside it. 
 The saint and the old soldier went their way 
 together in search of their beloved Eryphina. 
 
 The king galloped through the forest without 
 looking either to the right or to the left : St. 
 Veltas said his prayers, and asked unceasingly 
 for help from Ged. Suddenly both the horse 
 and the mule stopped before a thicket, from 
 
ERYPHINA *8 CHILD. 215 
 
 which a plaintive cry escaped — a strange hoarse 
 voice, which repeated without ceasing the same 
 words : 
 
 " Consecrated ground for me, and for my 
 child the waters of baptism !" With these 
 mournful accents mingled the feeble cry of an 
 infant. 
 
 The king trembled beneath his cuirass, but 
 St. Veltas made his way into the thicket. 
 There, at his feet, lay the body of Eryphina, 
 the severed head uttering the words that they 
 had heard, the infant still clasped in the dead 
 mother's arms. 
 
 The king, who had followed the monk into 
 the thicket, was so overwhelmed with grief and 
 rage that he could not utter a word, but the 
 priest's voice sounded in the silence. 
 
 " Rise up, dead as thou art," he cried, " and 
 come to the castle of the count, thy husband, 
 that thon mayest convict and punish him for 
 his crime." 
 
 As he spoke Eryphina rose ; the pale head 
 returned to its place. She took her child in 
 her arms, and went along with the monk and 
 the king. 
 
 The castle of Commore was closed, and well 
 guarded with soldiers ; the count himself was 
 
216 LITTLE MISS PEOG T. 
 
 on the ramparts, disguised, as if he feared dis- 
 covery, in the dress and arms of a simple 
 squire, with the visor of his helmet lowered. 
 As the travelers approached the gates, St. Vel- 
 tas called to the sentinels in a loud voice : 
 
 " I demand to see the count." But no one 
 answered, for so their master had given orders. 
 The soldiers continued their rounds, and the 
 pretended squire soon found himself face to 
 face with his enemies. Deep ditches and 
 high walls sheltered him from the arm of the 
 avenger, and he felt himself safe from discov- 
 ery behind his visor, but he could not take his 
 terrified eyes away from the sight which met 
 them — the dead Eryphina walking, with her 
 living son in her arms. Suddenly the child 
 slipped down from her breast. To the amaze- 
 ment of all, the feeble infant, two hours old, 
 stood upright on its feet, and pointing an ac- 
 cusing ringer at its father : 
 
 " Behold him !" it said distinctly, in a soft 
 strange voice ; then, stretching out its small 
 hand, picked up from the ground a handful of 
 sand and threw it against the ramparts. In an 
 instant the walls gave way, the gates flew open, 
 the chains were broken, and the towers, shaken 
 to their very foundations, fell to the ground, 
 
ERTPEINA '8 CHILD. 217 
 
 burying every one that was within in their 
 ruins. 
 
 " Alas ! the innocent have perished for the 
 guilty," exclaimed the good King of Vannes. 
 
 But St. Veltas knelt down before the pile 
 of rains, and, making the sign of the cross, 
 said : 
 
 " God has executed justice on the murderer, 
 and taken the innocent to his eternal arms. 
 Look there !" 
 
 He pointed to Eryphina, who lay stretched 
 on the ground — a corpse, only a corpse, once 
 more. But there was a smile upon the quiet 
 mouth, and the hands, as if there had been life 
 in them still, held fast her babe. 
 
 " God is above all ; we do not understand 
 his ways," said the good priest. " Let us bury 
 the dead and baptize the living." And lifting 
 up the child, now again helpless as a new-born 
 babe, he placed it in its grandfather's arms. 
 
218 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 JEANDKIN THE GOBLIN. 
 
 Theke were great rejoicings at the farm 
 of St. Araand. Full cans of cider went round 
 the table, and many a cut was made in the 
 hard cake. The meal was nearly ended, but 
 the appetites of the guests, like their mirth, 
 seemed without end. The farmer's son had 
 brought home to his father's house the new 
 wife whom he had found in the Pays* de 
 France, whither he had several times gone to 
 sell the oxen. From their first meeting, he 
 had fallen so deeply in love with her that he 
 never rested night or day till he obtained her 
 hand. Her name was Perrine. She was tall 
 and slender, and her blue eyes seemed so sweet 
 to her young husband that he was constantly 
 coming back to look at them. His old mother 
 also looked at them, but with involuntary pain 
 and apprehension. The farmer's wife had not 
 
 * The Norman peasants so designate the environs of 
 Paris, the ancient Isle of France. 
 
JEANDRIN THE GOBLIN. 219 
 
 been further from home than her own village. 
 She had never even accompanied her husband 
 as far as Vire, where he went once a year for 
 the great fair. But she had nevertheless ac- 
 quired experience of life and character, and 
 her daughter-in-law's face and expression had 
 chilled her from the first moment when the 
 girl had appeared smiling on the threshold of 
 the farm. No one observed the effort with 
 which the old woman kissed the new-comer 
 when her husband helped her down from the 
 cart. Nor did any one see the anger which 
 for a minute rendered the face of the bride 
 cold and hard as steel when the mother ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Welcome are the young arms that come to 
 share in the household work ! Welcome the 
 skillful hands that will spin the flax for our 
 linen !" 
 
 The young damsel of the Pays de France 
 had no intention of becoming the servant of her 
 husband's parents. 
 
 Laughter and songs were resounding be- 
 neath the smoke-dried rafters of the farm, 
 when the door was pushed softly open, and a 
 brown dog appeared on the threshold. He 
 had a rough coat and red eyes, and was not 
 
220 LITTLE MI88 PEGGY. 
 
 at all a handsome dog, though he had a look 
 of great intelligence and gentleness. He ad- 
 vanced toward the group of singers with the 
 confidence of a child of the house. The mis- 
 tress stretched out her hand to caress him. 
 Her son, who was leaning over his wife and 
 whispering soft words in her ear, suddenly 
 turned round. " Ah ! here is Jeandrin," he 
 exclaimed ; " how do you do, Jeandrin ?" and 
 he drew the head of the animal toward his 
 young wife, who retreated with affected terror. 
 " I do not like dogs," said she ; " and, above 
 all, strange dogs frighten me." 
 
 " But Jeandrin is not strange, he is my dog," 
 insisted her husband. " He came to the farm 
 long ago, of his own accord, from nobody 
 knows where, and we have been friends ever 
 since. ' Love me, love my dog ;' is it not so, 
 Jeandrin ?" | 
 
 The young farmer bent over his favorite and 
 caressed him, for he had been a little vexed by 
 his wife's behavior. But Jeandrin's eyes looked 
 angry, and for the firj3t time in his life he had 
 a vicious expression! 'Pierre Heurtesant left 
 off coaxing his wife, and loosened the dog's 
 collar and called to him, " Come, Jeandrin, and 
 have some dinner !" and with one sweep of his 
 
JEANDRIN THE GOBLIN. 221 
 
 tongue the dog swallowed the contents of the 
 dish of meat that was still on the table. The 
 bride smiled scornfully. 
 
 " Is it the custom here for dogs to eat with 
 Christians ?" asked she. 
 
 "Jeandrin is almost a Christian," said her 
 husband, smiling ; " since he came to us six years 
 ago, on a snowy December night, we have not 
 lost an ox, and the cows give milk winter as 
 well as summer. No one has been ill, and 
 prosperity has accompanied me, even to the 
 Pays de France, where I met you." 
 
 Perrine began to laugh. She had been mar- 
 ried for a month, and loved her husband as 
 much as she could love any one. 
 
 No one present appeared surprised at the 
 liberty taken by Jeandrin, or ventured to dis- 
 turb him, now that he was satisfied and lying 
 stretched at his full length before the fire. 
 
 The young wife wanted to warm her little 
 hands, having washed them after serving the 
 guests, and particularly the poor ones, in ac- 
 cordance with the pious custom at feasts in 
 Brittany, and even Normandy. Her husband, 
 who followed her every where, passed his hands 
 gently over Jeandrin's back, who, half-awak- 
 ened, made a little room beside the fire for 
 
222 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 Perrine ; but when she seemed to encroach on 
 his domain, the dog growled. The old woman 
 came to the chimney corner. 
 
 " Jeandrin is tired," said she, " and he must 
 be allowed to sleep." 
 
 Perrine colored deeply. She made no an- 
 swer, but from that day she entertaiDed a strong 
 aversion to the animal that had already drawn 
 upon her the disapprobation of both her mother- 
 in-law and of her husband. 
 
 " By and by I will find out how to get rid 
 of that detestable creature," thought she, be- 
 fore she went to sleep. But the wind whis- 
 tling between the open beams and the rats 
 that ran about the floor of her room troubled 
 her so much that she forgot Jeandrin for a 
 time. She had always lived in towns, and 
 the mysterious night noises of the country 
 filled her with terror. In the morning, she 
 woke wearied with the disturbed night she 
 had passed, and came down embarrassed at 
 rinding herself the last at the family meal. 
 The barking of a dog was heard in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " Jeandrin has brought the cows from the 
 upper meadows, and is taking them to the lower 
 field," said the farmer's wife to her husband, 
 
JEANDRIN THE GOBLIN. 223 
 
 as if she had been speaking of a faithful and 
 intelligent servant. 
 
 The dog again made his appearance panting, 
 with his tongue hanging out, and, as he had 
 done the day before, he looked on the table 
 for his meal. The farmer handed him his 
 plate. 
 
 Perrine drew back her chair and put up 
 both her hands, as if to protect herself from the 
 dog. Her father-in-law laughed as he said, in 
 the tone of authority of a man accustomed to 
 be obeyed, " You must get used to Jeandrin." 
 
 The young wife, who was an only daughter 
 and accustomed to be petted, gave no answer 
 but an expressive pout ; and when, with her 
 sleeves tucked up, she helped to wash the 
 breakfast-things, she scornfully pushed away 
 the plate that Jeanclrin had used. 
 
 "lam not going to wash the dog's plate," 
 muttered she between her teeth 
 
 The mother saw it all, but neither spoke nor 
 laughed, as her husband had done. She au- 
 gured no good for her son's happiness, from the 
 tone and manner of the bride. 
 
 The wedding festivities were over, and every- 
 body had to return to work. Perrine was 
 intelligent and clever. Whenever she put her. 
 
224 LITTLE MISS PEGQ Y. 
 
 hand to household affairs they prospered. 
 Her husband was often absent. He had re- 
 turned to the Pays de France in charge of a 
 troop of oxen, and his wife remained at the 
 farm. When he came home after his long 
 journey he found his mother ill and out of 
 spirits ; but Perrine was laughing and singing. 
 She went to and fro in the house, ordering the 
 servants in a hard, dry voice, and with much 
 more imperiousness of tone than they had been 
 accustomed to from the old mistress. They 
 obeyed, however, and the farmer was delighted 
 with his daughter-in-law and her good manage- 
 ment. 
 
 " You have brought us a fairy from that dis- 
 tant region," said he to his son. " She does as 
 she likes, and no one dares to oppose her ; even 
 old Placide himself, who always growls, is 
 pleased when she speaks to him." 
 
 " And Jeandrin ?" asked the young man, 
 smiling, and happy to hear the praises of his 
 wife. The old man's brow grew clouded. 
 
 " Jeandrin is not good," answered he, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Has he been at his tricks V asked Pierre. 
 " Has he tied the cows by the tail ?" 
 
 u If it was only that !" And the old man 
 
JEANDRIN THE GOBLIN. 225 
 
 smiled, in spite of himself, at the recollection of 
 the astonishment of his daughter-in-law when 
 she had gone early in the morning to the cow- 
 house to milk the cows, and had found the 
 best milch-cows lowing piteously, and tied by 
 their tails to their racks. " He had milked 
 them all in the night," continued the old man, 
 "-and thrown the milk in the gutter. He had 
 mixed water with the cheese-curdle stun ,* and 
 your mother for once lost patience when she 
 found all her fowls shut up far away from their 
 chickens." 
 
 Pierre shook his head gravely* 
 
 " He must have been very wicked," said he ; 
 and, without adding more, he determined to 
 find out the cause of Jeandrin's misconduct. 
 Such heaps of offenses to be laid upon one poor 
 dog ! 
 
 Perrine had appeared greatly delighted by 
 the return of her husband. But when she saw 
 him occupied about the health of his mother, 
 and ready to caress the detested dog, and at- 
 tentively watching his movements, a spirit of 
 restlessness took possession of her. She went 
 to and fro without any object, and persisted in 
 
 * The country name for the liquor used to curdle the 
 milk. 
 
226 LITTLE MISS PEGG 7. 
 
 following her father-in-law everywhere — even 
 when Pierre wanted her to stay in the house or 
 go with him to the fields. 
 
 The mistress shook her head sadly, but she 
 was ill and had no spirit for a contest. Her 
 husband now saw everything with Perrine's 
 eyes, and the poor mother perceived with a 
 great pang that when this damsel of the Pays 
 de France set her foot on the threshold, she 
 had destroyed the peace as well as the good- 
 fortune of the house. She would sometimes 
 take Pierre's head between her hands, as she 
 used to do when he was little, and kiss him in 
 silence. The young man was also sorrowful. 
 All the remedies of the old wives of the parish 
 did not succeed in restoring his mother to 
 health ; and, without being exactly aware of 
 it, he felt that his dreams of happiness were 
 vanishing away. 
 
 Meanwhile he had in vain watched his wife ; 
 he could discover no trace of animosity toward 
 Jeandrin. The dog continued sullen when in 
 the house (out-of-doors he always recovered 
 his gayety), yet he had his usual place by 
 the fireside. Perrine no longer shrugged her 
 shoulders when the head of the animal appeared 
 on the table and he possessed himself with- 
 
JEANDRIN THE GOBLIN. 227 
 
 out ceremony of the best piece on the dish. 
 And it was apparently Jeandrin who was 
 always in the wrong, for he growled and showed 
 his teeth whenever the young wife passed near 
 him. 
 
 " The dog dislikes you very much," said 
 Pierre ; " what have you done to him V 
 
 Perrine smiled disdainfully, and only an- 
 swered, " He is jealous. He thinks you like 
 me better than him." 
 
 But this plausible explanation was not enough 
 for the young man, who, like his mother and 
 all the people about the farm, was convinced 
 that a good spirit lived within the ill-favored 
 form of the faithful, clever old dog. 
 
 The mistress grew weaker and weaker every 
 day. If Pierre had consulted his wife on the 
 cause of her illness and melancholy she would 
 perhaps have attributed them also to jealousy. 
 Alas ! there was no need to tell the son that 
 the young wife whom he had brought from so 
 far was not kind to the old mother. He saw 
 it plain enough. But Norman people are silent 
 and reserved ; and he did not reproach his wife, 
 but redoubled his attentions to his mother, 
 trying to be both daughter and son to her in 
 one. 
 
228 LITTLE MISS PUGG Y. 
 
 The farmer could not, or would not, see that 
 his wife was dying. It was the time of the 
 great fair, and he had to sell and buy oxen. 
 He saddled his pony, and set out with two 
 men to drive them to the market. Jeandrin 
 was generally his companion on his distant ex- 
 peditions ; but this time when, at the last min- 
 ute, the dog was called, he answered neither to 
 whistle nor voice, and the}' were obliged to set 
 out without him. The men remarked to each 
 other, " We are going to have some mischance, 
 and that is why Jeandrin will not come," 
 
 The farmer had been gone twelve days, and 
 his wife had now taken completely to her bed. 
 For the first time since the birth of her son — 
 the last of her children, and the only one that 
 remained to her — she ceased to be the first to 
 rise, the most active to work, the readiest to 
 bear the burdens of the day. Pierre was be- 
 side her. He had summoned the priest, and 
 the dying woman had received the communion. 
 She had fallen back exhausted on her pillows, 
 whispering to her son the solemn words of her 
 last adieu. " Be kind to your father," said she. 
 " He will grieve deeply when he returns and 
 does not find me here. Also, be good to Jean- 
 drin ; he is not happy at present." And then 
 
JEANDRIN THE GOBLIN. 229 
 
 lowering her voice again, as if she feared even 
 now to wound her son : " Look after your wife, 
 and may God help you." 
 
 Pierre understood, but did not reply. He 
 felt in his heart a cold fear that Perrine would 
 not console him for the loss of his mother, as 
 Kebecca consoled Isaac in the plains of Canaan 
 for the loss of Sarah. 
 
 Perrine was now mistress and queen in the 
 kitchen, the dairy, the cow-house, the poultry- 
 yard. Her mother-in-law had never opposed 
 her, never countermanded one of her orders ; 
 but the sweet, sad face of the old mistress, her 
 silent activity, and her established authority 
 had been displeasing to the young wife. The 
 servants obeyed Perrine without a reply, but 
 it was always to their old mistress that they 
 had gone for orders. Now she was no longer 
 among them, and the dawn of a new day had 
 besmn. 
 
 Pierre was absorbed in his grief ; twice he 
 had gone down to the kitchen for some cor- 
 dial needed for the invalid. He had never 
 asked Perrine to come into the sick-room, and 
 she had not offered her services, but employed 
 herself in inaugurating her reign in the 
 house. 
 
230 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 It was an autumn evening, and the serving 
 men were coming in one after the other, forced 
 by the young mistress to rub their feet on the 
 mat at the door before crossing the threshold, 
 and grumbling among themselves at the whims 
 of this town girl, so different from their coun- 
 try ways. Jeandrin slipped in with them, and 
 they drew back to let him pass. The dog had 
 been running all day, and his rough coat was 
 covered with mud. His large paws left their 
 traces on the newly washed floor of the kitchen ; 
 but Jeandrin, no way disturbed by that, made 
 straight for the fireside. The soup was cooking 
 slowly in the large kettle over a clear fire, and 
 Pierre's supper was waiting for him under a 
 plate on the hearth. 
 
 Perrine was a good housekeeper, and attended 
 to her husband's needs. Jeandrin pushed over 
 the plate with his paw, and the delicate morsel 
 reserved for the master was swallowed by the 
 dog before the young woman had time to in- 
 terfere. It was too much. Perrine seized the 
 tongs that had fallen by chance on the hearth, 
 and pressed Jeandrin's nose between the two 
 red-hot irons. " I will punish you, you wicked 
 dog !" cried she. 
 
 Jeandrin freed himself in a moment. The 
 
JEANDR1N THE OOBLIN. 231 
 
 creature seemed suddenly to become larger ; 
 he raised his head as if he had not felt the 
 burn, and walked backward toward the door, 
 his look fixed on the enemy. The men, pet- 
 rified by superstitious fear, remained in their 
 places without moving. Jeandrin pushed open 
 the half -closed door, and his gleaming eyes 
 shot a last look of anger at Perrine. As he 
 crossed the threshold, he uttered a long howl. 
 Then the heavy door closed on him, and at the 
 same moment Pierre rushed into the room, ex- 
 claiming, " My mother is dead I" 
 
 When the laborers went out at daybreak 
 the next morning, they were surprised to see 
 the mark of a horse's hoof deeply impressed 
 on the door-stone. " We have always declared 
 that Jeandrin was not a dog like other dogs," 
 said they as they went to their work. " He 
 must have been a goblin — a good goblin — who 
 came to the farm for the love of the dear old 
 mistress who is gone. We shall never see 
 either of them more." 
 
 They never did. Neither then nor at any 
 other time was the quaint figure of kind Jean- 
 drin seen lying at the hearth or trotting about 
 the farm. His body was never found, and, by 
 the shape of the horse's hoof left on the road, 
 
232 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 they conjectured that the goblin, as goblins 
 do, had suddenly changed his shape before he 
 went away, to bring to some other household 
 the prosperity which was no longer in this 
 one. For all the good luck of the farm de- 
 parted with Jeandrin. When the farmer re- 
 turned, he had not sold his oxen. For the 
 first time in his life his pony had stumbled, 
 fallen, and broken its knees. And when he 
 entered and heard his wife was dead, he too 
 fell down broken-hearted. Gentleness and 
 harmony ceased with the old mother's life. 
 Pierre's journeys from home became more and 
 more frequent. He fled from Perrine's hard, 
 unloving rule. By way of consolation, the 
 farmer drank all the brandy he could get from 
 his cider. Every time he crossed the door- 
 stone he trembled at sight of the mysterious 
 hoof-prints, which no efforts succeeded in 
 removing from the road. 
 
 "Jeandrin and good-fortune came with the 
 old wife and goodness," said he, " and now both 
 have gone away together. I'll go too — the 
 sooner the better." So one day he laid him 
 down and died. 
 
THE WONDERFUL TURKEY. 233 
 
 THE WONDERFUL TURKEY. 
 
 It was almost the end of the Carnival. All 
 the good housewives in Caumont had laid in a 
 good store of flour and eggs for pancakes, and 
 the children were going about the streets sing- 
 ing the accustomed rhyme : 
 
 " Shrove-Tnesday, Shrove-Tuesday, 
 Come home, come home; 
 We are going to make pancakes, 
 And yon shall have some." 
 
 "It was on this day that Mother Sandret 
 used to sell so dear the eggs that she had kept 
 all winter," said a woman who was standing at 
 the door of her cottage. " It was an unknown 
 man who bought — a fairy," she said. " I wish 
 he would come to me — I wish something would 
 happen to us to-night." 
 
 " Hush !" said a little girl, pulling her by 
 the skirt, with her pretty face full of terror. 
 " Hush, mother, or the fairies will hear. Didn't 
 
234 LITTLE MISS PEG Q Y. 
 
 Mother Sandret one night see a man all in 
 white, who took her eggs and threw them into 
 the dust-basket, and yet in the morning not a 
 single one was broken ?" 
 
 " I have heard yonr grandmother say so," 
 answered Rosalie Lys, lowering her voice. 
 " But it is getting dark ; perhaps we had better 
 not talk of these things. Your father will 
 soon be coming home from work ; the poor man 
 will be very tired, and sad, too — for he knows 
 that he will find nothing ready at home for 
 Shrove-Tuesclay. Oh, I wish he might meet a 
 fairy, after all." 
 
 " Ah, mother, there will be pancakes !" cried 
 the little girl. " The hens have laid on pur- 
 pose." 
 
 " And they have done well," muttered the 
 mother, "for there is nothing either in the 
 salting-tub or the cupboard." 
 
 " Never mind ; the hens have laid," repeated 
 the child. It was late ; the tired-out workmen 
 were returning from their labors ; the day had 
 ended : the children had gone to bed early, in 
 order to hasten the coming of this Shrove- 
 Tuesclay, for which they had waited so long. 
 Marin Lys stood chatting with his fellow work- 
 man, Pierre Doucet, who had been digging 
 with him all day in the trench, 
 
THE WONDERFUL TURKEY. 235 
 
 " Are you going to work to-morrow !" asked 
 Marin. 
 
 " No, no," said Pierre ; " Shrove-Tuesday 
 comes only once a year, and I mean to enjoy 
 myself a little at the Broom-Bough.* My 
 wife and the children may do as well as they 
 can at home." 
 
 " I must finish the trench all alone, then," 
 sighed Marin. " My wife and children cannot 
 do without bread, and we have got on so badly 
 this last year that we are never a day ahead." 
 
 " Women can make pancakes with water," 
 sneered Pierre, and then the two men parted. 
 
 Marin walked on without looking round 
 him. His feet, accustomed to the road, followed 
 its windings without his needing to trouble 
 himself to avoid the cart-ruts, or pools of water, 
 or loose stones ; a little new moon cast on his 
 steps a faint light ; but the tired workman 
 looked forward impatiently to the moment 
 when he should first catch sip-lit of the feeble 
 glimmer of the candle burning in his cottage. 
 
 On emerging from a path that was bordered 
 by great oaks and thick under- wood, he sud- 
 
 * A common public-house sign in some parts of Nor- 
 mandy. 
 
236 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 denly stopped at a little open glade formed by 
 the meeting of four roads. Wonderful sight ! 
 A bright light dazzled his eyes. He saw upon 
 the ground a great white cloth. At each of its 
 four corners a torch was burning ; in the mid- 
 dle, sitting like a tailor, with his legs crossed, 
 was a man, clothed in a curious dress, counting 
 gold from a heap that lay before him. An 
 enormous heap it was. The man plunged and 
 replunged his hands into it, causing a metallic 
 ring that echoed in the peasant's unaccustomed 
 ears like strange music. 
 
 Marin did not dare to stir. It was in vain 
 that he tried to move his feet ; in order to get 
 home, he must cross the glade, but the sight 
 of the gold fascinated him. The mysterious 
 stranger had never raised his eyes, but pres- 
 ently, as he made a pile of the sparkling golden 
 pieces, he muttered these words in a hollow 
 whisper : " Take some, but leave some." 
 
 Marin had not dreamed at first of getting 
 possession of any of the treasure for himself ; 
 but now the thought of his wife and children, 
 and of the joy that he should cause by bring- 
 ing home ever so small a portion of this pile 
 of gold, was too much for him. He stretched 
 out his hand and took one piece — only one ; 
 
THE WONDERFUL TURKEY. 237 
 
 but it was more money than he had ever pos- 
 sessed in his life. Then, ill at ease, not know- 
 ins; whether he had done right or wrong, he 
 bounded over the white cloth, and took to his 
 heels without ever looking behind him. 
 
 He ran in the direction of his own cottage, 
 but after a little his step began to get slower ; 
 he grew more and more uneasy, and at last he 
 stopped altogether. " It is devil's money," he 
 said, looking at the piece of gold in his hand, 
 and expecting to see it changed into a dry leaf. 
 But no ; the gold still sparkled before his eyes, 
 and it bore the king's stamp. " At any rate, I 
 have not earned this money, and I don't know 
 where it has come from," the honest peasant 
 went on. " Perhaps it may bring trouble on 
 my wife and children !" Poor Marin sighed 
 bitterly. He thought of the misfortunes that 
 overwhelmed him — his wife ill, his cow dead, 
 his children sickly ; he made the sign of the 
 cross. " All that is God's will," he said ; " but 
 this money burns my fingers." And all at 
 once, turning round as if he was afraid of his 
 resolution giving way, he rapidly retraced his 
 steps, and soon came once more to the little 
 glade. The stranger was still there, counting 
 his treasure. Marin came forward without 
 
238 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 hesitation, and placed his piece of gold beside 
 the rest. The man lifted np his eyes no more 
 than he had done before, but only said in the 
 same sepulchral voice, " Thou hast done wisely. 
 Wealth ill-acquired profits nobody." And then 
 Marin never stood still again till he reached 
 the threshold of his own house. 
 
 Pierre, meanwhile, had been going his way ; 
 he had not hurried himself, although he was 
 tired. His wife was a scold, his children al- 
 ways dirty and frightened ; for his selfishness 
 and his frequent visits to the public-house had 
 borne their natural fruits. Pierre and Sera- 
 phine were as poor as Marin and Rosalie, but 
 they did not, like Marin and Rosalie, love one 
 another, nor trust, as they did, in the God 
 who helps the poor and unfortunate. 
 
 The moon was hidden by clouds, and the 
 muddy road was so impassable that Pierre 
 thought he would climb over the fence that 
 separated it from the fields. Everything was 
 quite quiet ; the few houses scattered amid 
 the meadows were far off. As Pierre put his 
 foot on one of the wooden bars of the fence, he 
 heard in the hedge close to him the convulsive 
 movements of some living creature. 
 
 " Who is there ?" he cried in a low voice, 
 rather husky with fear. 
 
THE WONDERFUL TURKEY. 239 
 
 There came no answer, except a sound as of 
 the wings of a wounded animal beating against 
 some obstacle ; and then Pierre, stretching out 
 his hand, caught hold of the feathers of a large 
 bird which had got imprisoned amid the 
 branches of a hazel tree. 
 
 " Oh, it's a turkey !" cried he. " How has it 
 got here, so far from home ? It is my good 
 luck that sends it in my way for Shrove-Tues- 
 day." And, without a moment's hesitation, 
 he seized the bird, and stuffed it into the bag 
 which he carried on his shoulder. " Suppose 
 I take it to Mother Celestine !" he said to him- 
 self as he walked on. " She would make it 
 into a feast for me all by myself." But the 
 thought that the landlady at the public-house 
 might perhaps recognize the turkey, which no 
 doubt belonged to some of the neighbors, made 
 him rather afraid of indulging in this selfish 
 plan. " My wife and the children will have to 
 content themselves with the skin and bones," 
 he said presently to himself as he went on to- 
 ward the poor dilapidated cottage that shel- 
 tered Seraphine and his little ones. 
 
 As the workman came into his hut, the 
 screams of the children, who were disputing 
 with one another, ceased suddenly, for they 
 
240 LITTLE MISS PEQG T. 
 
 were afraid of their father's anger. The young- 
 er ones crouched in the chimney-corner; the 
 elder threw themselves down upon the heap 
 of dried leaves which served for their bed, and 
 pretended to be asleep. Seraphine, with her 
 dress all in rags, her eyes red, and her face 
 still bruised from a blow that her husband had 
 given her the day before, flung a handful of 
 brushwood upon the fire, and as the flame 
 sprang up from it through the smoke, she saw 
 the full bag which Pierre had let down upon 
 the ground. 
 
 The woman laid her hand upon it with an 
 eager look. " You have brought us some 
 bread ?" she said joyfully. 
 
 " Better than that," cried Pierre, laughing. 
 " I have found a turkey, which you must cook 
 for my Shrove-Tuesday's dinner." 
 
 " Stolen !" all at once cried a clear voice. 
 
 The husband and wife stared at one another. 
 Pierre thought he had not heard aright ; Ser- 
 aphine had turned white. 
 
 " Where did you find the turkey ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " In a hedge," said Pierre, " where there was 
 neither man nor house." 
 
 " And where you will return and take me 
 
THE WONDERFUL TURKEY. 241 
 
 back again," interrupted the voice, shrill and 
 bird-like, but quite distinct. 
 
 Seraphine fell upon her knees beside the bag : 
 it was the turkey that had spoken ! Pierre 
 remained motionless, confounded and terrified, 
 with the perspiration standing in drops upon 
 his forehead. 
 
 '■ Take me upon your shoulder," said the 
 voice again. 
 
 Tired as he was, the terrified workman 
 obeyed. Without stopping to sit down, or eat 
 a morsel of bread or drink a glass of cider, he 
 threw the bag upon his shoulder, and went 
 along the road that he had already traversed 
 an hour before. 
 
 The bag was light at first, but at each step 
 he took Pierre felt the burden grow heavier. 
 " I can go on no longer," he said presently to 
 himself ; " I am too tired." And then he broke 
 into an exclamation of anger. " Cursed tur- 
 key !" cried he. 
 
 The sack grew heavier and heavier upon 
 his shoulders. At the bejrinnino; of his walk 
 the weight of it had scarcely been ten pounds, 
 but before lie had carried it for half an hour 
 it seemed to be a hundred-weight, and with 
 every step it grew heavier and heavier. When 
 
242 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 at length he stood still to take breath, the voice, 
 which froze the blood in his veins, instantly 
 exclaimed, " Go on !■" and Pierre went on his 
 way again, withont daring even to murmur, 
 for each complaint and each oath he nttered 
 increased the burden that was weighing him 
 down. 
 
 Pierre's steps insensibly grew slower; it was 
 with difficulty, and only by the greatest effort, 
 that he continued to go forward at all. The 
 unhappy man thought no more now of the 
 Broom-Bough, of Shrove-Tuesday, or of the 
 gay companions with whom he had hoped to 
 spend the night while his wife and children 
 starved at home ; he only thought of his fa- 
 tigue, of his terror, of the bad luck (this was 
 the name he gave to his theft) that had put 
 the turkey in his way. He felt his knees tot- 
 tering ; he panted for breath ; he was bathed 
 in perspiration ; his trembling hands leaned 
 for support against the trees as he passed. At 
 last he fell, overwhelmed by his burden ; he 
 had fainted on the road, and in the dark night 
 he lay dying of fatigue and fear. 
 
 It was cold ; the icy wind whistled through 
 the bare branches, and the unhappy man would 
 have expired without help if Marin had not 
 
THE WONDERFUL TURRET. U% 
 
 chanced to pass that way. Finding his com- 
 rade lying on the ground, he lifted him upon 
 his shoulders, and carried him as far as the 
 first cottage, charity giving to one brave peas- 
 ant that strength which the other had lost 
 through remorse and fear. When the wretched 
 man came to his senses, he opened his eyes 
 wildly. 
 
 " The turkey !" murmured he. 
 
 Nobody understood what he meant, and he 
 confessed nothing. Perhaps he tried himself 
 to believe that it had all been a dream, as 
 wonderful dreams do happen sometimes on the 
 eve of Shrove-Tuesday. But when he went 
 home he stormed at his family, and insisted 
 that they too should hold their tongues. 
 
 Pierre never became either a good husband 
 or a good father. His family turned out ill, 
 and soon left him. But the peasant had 
 learned at least one wholesome lesson : however 
 great might be his distress, however much he 
 might be tempted by the Broom-Bough, he 
 never again laid a finger on the property of 
 other people. If he ever longed to do so, he 
 always heard the formidable words ringing in 
 his ears—" Turkey !" " Stolen !" " Go on! go 
 on!" 
 
244 LITTLE MISS PEQG T. 
 
 THE NIGHT WASHERWOMEN. 
 
 " I tell you, Eire, young girls ought not to 
 go to feasts," said a woman whose voice and 
 features were sharpened by severe pain. She 
 lay in her bed, Avitli its large-flowered Indian 
 curtains drawn round her, suffering from an 
 illness that seemed likely to carry her to her 
 grave. Her daughter, who was sewing near 
 the window, was large, fair, and young, with 
 open blue eyes and white teeth. She answered 
 quite naturally to the name of Hire (Laughter), 
 by which she was known everywhere, instead 
 of by her baptismal name of Zephirine. She 
 was almost always laughing; but just now a 
 dark cloud overshadowed her brow. She was 
 out of humor, and the shrug of her shoulders 
 betrayed her extreme dissatisfaction with some- 
 thing or other. 
 
 " The feast of La St. Loup at Crevecoeur is 
 the best for ten miles round. I do not see why 
 I should not go like other people. If young 
 
THE NIGHT WASHER-WOMEN. 245 
 
 girls do not go to feasts, there will soon be no 
 feasts at all." 
 
 The mother was rather deaf, and could not 
 hear her daughter's words, but she had no dif- 
 ficulty in interpreting her gestures. 
 
 " You cannot go to the St. Loup," said she, 
 " because I am ill, and a girl does not go to a 
 feast without her mother." 
 
 This reflection rather shook Eire's confidence ; 
 she hesitated, but soon answered : 
 
 " If my godfather will take me, may I not 
 go?" 
 
 The invalid sighed ; she was tired, and 
 wanted to go to sleep. She had brought up her 
 daughter badly, and knew very well that if 
 Hire was disappointed she would bang the 
 doors, rattle the crockery, let her scissors fall, 
 and not permit her poor mother a minute's 
 rest. 
 
 " If your godfather would take charge of 
 such a madcap," sighed she. 
 
 "He would like nothing better ;" and Hire 
 started off her chair with such eagerness that 
 she upset it, and kissed her mother in high 
 good-humor, by way of gratitude. " He always 
 says that the feasts are not so pretty as they 
 were when he was young, but he never misses 
 
246 LITTLE MISS PEG G 7. 
 
 one, notwithstanding. I will go to the farm at 
 supper-time this evening, and ask him to take 
 me on his pony," said the happy girl. And, 
 laughing and talking, she jumped about the 
 room, making the windows vibrate with every 
 step, knocking her feet on the rough tile floor- 
 ing, and never perceiving that her mother 
 turned pale and put her hand on her heart with 
 an expression of pain. And then Eire, glad to 
 have gained her victory, and delighted with the 
 prospect of the promised pleasure, went away 
 to the garden singing merrily. 
 
 The invalid had lost all thought of the pres- 
 ent time ; half-insensible from pain, she was 
 unconsciously recalling the days when her hus- 
 band was living, and she was happy, strong, 
 and good-looking, and when her sons were 
 not with the army, and her Eire was quite a 
 little girl, from whom nobody had required 
 more than to be healthy and merry. The poor 
 mother sighed bitterly. She did not blame 
 her daughter ; on the contrary, if any one made 
 the least allusion to Eire's excessive love 
 of pleasure, she would eagerly defend her. 
 "Youth must pass away," she would say. 
 But she felt sad and lonely when her child 
 left her all day long, to go away and amuse 
 
THE NIGHT WASHER- WOMEN. 247 
 
 herself. According to the custom of Norman- 
 dy mothers, she had devoted herself entirely 
 to her children ; but she had not made them 
 comprehend that self-denial ought to awaken 
 self-denial, and that parents as well as children 
 equally owe obedience to a Divine Master. 
 Rire went to church on Sunday, but she used 
 to think all the time of the feast that would 
 follow the mass, of her bonnet-ribbons or her 
 shoe-buckles, and never heard the priest's 
 voice. All the young folks would gather 
 round Rire ; but the parents would shake their 
 heads and say, " She is a very pretty girl, but 
 she will not make a good woman ; she is too 
 giddy." Many mothers sighed as they spoke 
 thus ; for some of their daughters were not 
 more steady, and very few as handsome as 
 Rire. 
 
 It was the morning of the St. Loup feast, and 
 the narrow roads that led to the town of 
 Crevecceur, generally so quiet and lonely, were 
 crowded with peasants dressed in their best, 
 with their red umbrellas in their hands, care- 
 fully picking their steps through the cart-ruts 
 and the pools of water. Notwithstanding the 
 long drought, mud reigned supreme in each 
 deep and shady path, which often became the 
 
248 LITTLE MISS PEOO Y. 
 
 bed of a little stream. The women pressed 
 against the big hedges to avoid being splashed 
 by the passing horses, carrying, perhaps, a rich 
 grazier and his wife, or a cattle dealer and his 
 daughter, whose large cap, trimmed with lace 
 and ribbons, rose above the broad-brimmed hat 
 and embroidered blouse of her companion. 
 Everybody was going to the feast, and nobody 
 was happier than Eire. She had milked the 
 cow, fed the fowls, prepared her mother's 
 soup : everything that she thought her duty to 
 do she had done. But no more. Helping her 
 mother for love did not enter her mind. 
 
 At every plunge of the animal they rode, she 
 threw her arms .round the stout waist of her 
 godfather, laughing at her own alarm and chat- 
 tering incessantly. The old farmer paid no 
 more attention to her merry talk than to the 
 songs of the birds in the hedges. But Eire 
 chattered on just as much as ever. 
 
 " Were you not frightened last night, god- 
 father, when Tranquille came to say that the 
 fairy bulls had come into the upper field ?" 
 
 This time the old man turned round his face, 
 softened by a smile. 
 
 " Tranquille paid for the fright he gave me," 
 said he calmly. " He made acquaintance with 
 the handle of my whip." 
 
THE NIGHT WASHER- WOMEN. 249 
 
 " But, godfather," insisted Eire, " if he really 
 saw the bulls ?" 
 
 The farmer laughed aloud as he said, 
 " There is not a single ear broken in all the 
 field. Mine is the finest wheat in the whole 
 country — more than eighty bushels an acre, I 
 will answer for it." 
 
 "Tranquille does not drink," eagerly ex- 
 claimed Eire ; " his eyes could not deceive 
 him." 
 
 The farmer looked at the young girl. 
 
 " You really believe Tranquille ?" said he. 
 
 Eire colored, but did not lower her eyes. 
 
 " He has told me more than ten times over 
 that he saw the bulls," replied she, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Where have you seen him, to give him the 
 opportunity of telling you this fact so many 
 times ?" asked her godfather. 
 
 " Just now, after mass," answered Eire, a lit- 
 tle confused. 
 
 " So he stopped under the yew tree in the 
 churchyard to repeat his nonsense to you, in- 
 stead of going to church?" inquired the 
 farmer. 
 
 Eire gave a nod of assent. 
 
 .Her godfather looked thoughtfully as he 
 
250 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 said slowly, " I do not regret having struck 
 him — no. It mil teach him to think before he 
 speaks. But I do not say he has not seen 
 the bulls. They are fairy bulls. My late 
 father also saw them once in the same place. 
 Only, if Tranquille had had as much sense as 
 he, he would have thrown his stick after the 
 last beast, and all the band would have been 
 off as fast as possible, without so much as a 
 ear of corn bending its head. That was my 
 late father's way ; no noise, no fuss did he 
 make." 
 
 While the old man meditated thus upon the 
 merits of his father, who had been in his grave 
 more than thirty years, Eire repeated, in a low 
 tone, " If Tranquille saw the bulls, they must 
 have been there for a certainty." 
 
 They were approaching Crevecceur, and 
 every minute the crowd grew thicker. The 
 young men sang louder; the girls, nearly all 
 accompanied by their mothers, talked more 
 merrily ; the sound of violins was already 
 heard. The cries of the boys playing, the 
 sound of the balls hitting against one another, 
 and the rattle of the porcelain lotteries grew 
 more and more distinct. 
 
 Eire smiled in delighted anticipation of the 
 pleasure that awaited her. 
 
THE NIGHT WASHER-W OMEN. 251 
 
 " You will not go home till night, will you, 
 godfather ?" said the girl coaxingly. 
 
 The old farmer smiled. 
 
 " That will depend on the quality of the 
 brandy that the good Ernault will have to give 
 us," muttered he. 
 
 Eire jumped for joy on the pony's back. 
 
 " The amiable Ernault's brandy is always 
 good," said she, " and it pays no duty." 
 
 Her godfather smiled. He had sold many 
 barrels of brandy to the publican, without the 
 exciseman touching a penny. At night, when 
 it was quite dark, occasionally more than one 
 horse might have been seen making its way 
 along the deep road, and under the bundles of 
 hay attached to both sides of the saddle might 
 have been found those cans of brandy and of 
 cider which were as dear and as fatal to the 
 Normans of a hundred years ago as to their 
 descendants of the present day. 
 
 The evening had come. Eire had danced 
 all day, and had drawn in the lotteries con- 
 ducted by the best young men in the town. 
 She had eaten cake and green plums, and 
 dipped her lips in a little glass of brandy. 
 But her enjoyment had not been unmixed ; 
 for the daughters of the cattle dealer wore 
 
252 LITTLE MISS PEGG Y. 
 
 finer lace in their bonnets than hers. Pulche- 
 rie Lebourg, the niece of the great grazier of 
 St. Marie, exhibited over her purple silk bodice 
 a gold chain and cross, which glittered in Eire's 
 dazzled eyes long after the yonng orphan was 
 on her way to the distant farm where she kept 
 honse for her nncle. 
 
 Eire was tired, and not gay as she usually 
 was ; and the smart repartee died on her lips. 
 She began to think of her mother whom she 
 had left so long alone, and a passionate desire 
 to go home suddenly seized her. Eire always 
 yielded to her first impulse, whether good or 
 bad. This time a good impulse impelled her 
 toward her mother ; the young girl was eager 
 to go. She called Tranquille, who was hover- 
 ing about her, though kept from coining near 
 by the presence of people richer and better 
 dressed than himself. 
 
 " Will you go and see where my godfather 
 is drinking, and if he is ready to have his pony 
 saddled V she said to him. 
 
 When Tranquille returned, Rire had not 
 gone back to dance ; she was sitting on a stone, 
 leaning her head on her hand. 
 
 a The master says that the good man's 
 brandy is excellent, and that you may amuse 
 
THE NIGHT WASHER- WOMEN. 253 
 
 yourself as long as you like. He is just now 
 asleep, and will not waken very soon," said 
 Tranquille. 
 
 The young serving-man did not say that he 
 had tried to persuade the farmer to take Eire 
 home, and that he had been rewarded by a 
 volley of oaths. 
 
 Eire did not reply ; she had bent her head 
 down, and her tears flowed between her fin- 
 gers. 
 
 It was dark at that time, and Tranquille did 
 not perceive that she was crying, till a little 
 sob betrayed her grief. 
 
 "What is the matter?" cried he eagerly. 
 " Are you hurt ? Has any one done you any 
 harm ?" 
 
 Eire shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Leave me alone, Tranquille," said she 
 crossly. "As if one did not cry sometimes 
 without knowing why. Tell my godfather I 
 am going home on foot by the cross-road di- 
 rectly." 
 
 Tranquille started. 
 
 " Alone — at night !" said he. " That must 
 not be ; I will go with you if you will allow 
 me." 
 
 " That everybody may talk about it to- 
 
254 LITTLE MISS PEOG 7. 
 
 morrow !" scornfully retorted the girl. " Are 
 you afraid that I may meet the fairy bulls in 
 the upper field ?" 
 
 Tranquille felt himself color. 
 
 " As I hope to go to heaven, there were more 
 than a hundred in the corn running about like 
 so many demons," said he, twisting round his 
 hand the leather thong of his stick. " If I had 
 had this I could have chased them away, and 
 
 the master " Tranquille again colored ; he 
 
 had not forgiven the old farmer for the beating 
 he had given him. 
 
 When he looked up again Eire was no longer 
 sitting on the stone. She had disappeared, and 
 was walking in the dark, with her skirts tucked 
 up and her umbrella in her hand, along the 
 well-known road. 
 
 " If my godfather is angry," thought she, " so 
 much the worse for him ; why did he not take 
 me home on his pony ?" 
 
 Hire advanced fearlessly ; she only half -be- 
 lieved the alarming stories she had been accus- 
 tomed to hear ever since her childhood, and 
 was not disturbed by fear of either goblin or 
 fairy, or even of mysterious bulls. She did 
 not listen to the night wind whistling in the 
 branches of the trees, and paid no attention to 
 
THE NIGHT WASHER-WOMEN. 255 
 
 the cries of the owls or the nibbling of the 
 rabbits squatting in the hedges or scampering 
 across the path. Once, however, she uttered a 
 little scream when the moon, emerging from a 
 cloud, showed her a black-and-yellow lizard 
 gliding softly under the leaves of a trailing 
 brier. The girl turned pale, but she quickly 
 recovered herself when she remembered that 
 the death foretold by a meeting with a lizard 
 was only inevitable when the encounter took 
 place between noon and midnight ; and Hire 
 had lingered so long at the feast that the old 
 clock had struck twelve before she had started 
 on her road home. 
 
 She was drawing near the upper field, the 
 boundary of her godfather's land. The long 
 golden lines of the corn began to wave before 
 her eyes, and she smiled at the idea of a troop 
 of bulls turning into this rich crop. Suddenly 
 she came in sight of the cluster of willows 
 which stood out against the dark background 
 of an old yew hedge, which was cut and trained 
 carefully every year by the farmer's own 
 hands, in memory of his grandfather, who was 
 said to have planted it more than a hundred 
 years before. 
 
 " Here I am at the fort," said Hire to herself ; 
 
256 LITTLE MISS PEOG T. 
 
 u and once in the avenue, it will be only a little 
 quarter of an hour before I am at home. Let us 
 hope Mademoiselle de Plunfort" (a celebrated 
 ghost of the neighborhood) " will not walk to- 
 night." 
 
 Just as she was thinking thus, and quicken- 
 ing her steps to enter the long avenue of lin- 
 den trees — the last remnant of those days in 
 which the farm close by had been a seigniorial 
 manor — she distinctly heard the hard and reg- 
 ular sound of a washer- woman's beetle. 
 
 Hire turned pale, and for an instant her 
 limbs trembled under her ; then she advanced 
 boldly, her eyes involuntarily fixed on the 
 fort. 
 
 White figures appeared bending in the water, 
 beetle now answered to beetle, and a woman of 
 a large size moved up and down on the edge of 
 the moat as if directing her servants. 
 
 Eire walked with a convulsive step, and 
 pressed her hands one against the other. " It 
 is Mademoiselle de Plunfort and the night 
 washer-women !" murmured she. 
 
 The beetles of the washers had stopped; 
 they had raised themselves up now, and were 
 gliding noiselessly toward the young girl. 
 The tallest woman, Mademoiselle de Plunfort, 
 
THE NIGHT WASHER- WOMEN. 257 
 
 who had sacrificed everything to her love of 
 pleasure — the peace of her mother and the 
 love of her betrothed — and therefore was con- 
 demned to be a wandering ghost, washing for- 
 ever the linen that she had neglected in life 
 — appeared gliding along in spectral fashion, 
 and looking just according to the stories cur- 
 rent about her for so many years. She seized 
 Eire's icy hand and drew her into her funereal 
 dance, while the other washer- women formed a 
 ring round them both. Hire, petrified by fear, 
 could not take a single step, but the phantom 
 seemed to bear her along without any effort 
 on her own part. She knew not where she 
 was going — perhaps down, down into the bot- 
 tomless pit — when all at once a friendly voice 
 rang through the darkness. 
 
 " Hire ! Rire !" cried Tranquille. Then rais- 
 ing his stick in the direction of the shadows, 
 he called aloud, in a strangely firm tone : 
 
 " In the name of the Holy Trinity let my 
 betrothed pass I" 
 
 The phantoms drew back, grew fainter, and 
 then vanished in the darkness. Tranquille 
 still advanced, repeating the same words. 
 Rire felt her hand loosed from the ghostly 
 grasp. Through all her terror and through 
 
258 LITTLE MISS PEGGY. 
 
 the joy of her deliverance, she had been con- 
 scious of a new happiness at Tranquille's bold 
 words, " Let my betrothed pass." He had never 
 yet asked her to marry him ; but he loved her, 
 she knew ; she loved him also. 
 
 An hour later Eire went home to her mother, 
 who wept with fear and joy at the wonderful 
 story she told. The two young people had 
 taken a long time to come up the lime avenue ; 
 but during that walk they had settled the fate 
 of their lives. Eire knelt at the foot of her 
 mother's bed and allowed Tranquille to explain 
 everything. As he ended, he bent toward her 
 and said, in a low tone : 
 
 " If I had not followed you, Mademoiselle de 
 Plunfort and her washer-women would have 
 made you dance while they were wringing their 
 linen — dance until you were dead." 
 
 Eire cast a happy and malicious look on her 
 affianced. 
 
 ' I did not see any linen," she said, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " But you were not sorry to see me," insisted 
 Tranquille. 
 
 Eire threw herself into her mother's arms. 
 
 When, two months after, Tranquille took 
 his bride to the village church, her godfather 
 
THE NIGHT WASHER- WOMEN. 259 
 
 stopped her as they were coming from the 
 mass. 
 
 " I have sent a fine cow to your house ; I owe 
 you something for the fright you had that night 
 of St. Loup's feast." 
 
 Eire laughed. 
 
 " How very fortunate it was that the good 
 man's brandy was so excellent. But for that I 
 should perhaps not have known, even yet, that 
 I loved Tranquille." 
 
 " And how did you know that he loved you i" 
 asked the old farmer. 
 
 Rire looked at her husband and smiled. 
 
 " One always doubts of some things," an- 
 swered she. 
 
 But the lovers kept to themselves the story 
 of the night washer-women. 
 
 The foolish young girl had become a sensible 
 woman. She was as happy now to work as 
 she had formerly been to go to feasts. 
 
 Her mother did not recover her health, but 
 she was no longer sad and lonely. She was 
 rarely left alone now, except at the end of the 
 day, when Tranquille returned from his work. 
 Then he almost always found his wife waiting 
 for him by the lime avenue. 
 
 " Are you looking if the night washer-women 
 
260 LITTLE MISS PEGG T. 
 
 have left any of their linen behind ?" he would 
 ask her, with tender maliciousness. 
 
 " No," Eire would reply, with her old laugh. 
 " I have looked for nothing since I found 
 you." 
 
 THE EOT). 
 
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