PEGGY'S FIRST DAY AT LOWER BRIMLEY
ON a certain bright March morning, Mrs. Tiddy stood beneath the
creeper-covered porch at the front door of Lower Brimley Farm, waiting
for her husband, who had been up and out-of-doors since daybreak, to
return to breakfast. Mr. Tiddy had arrived home from London on the
previous evening, having brought Peggy Pringle with him. But the little
girl, over-tired as the result of the long journey, had been sleeping
firmly when her hostess had visited her bedroom half an hour before,
and orders had been given that she was not to be awakened.
The mistress of Lower Brimley was a small-sized woman with a trim
figure and a pleasant countenance, which wore a very contented
expression at the present moment. The view over which Mrs. Tiddy's blue
eyes wandered admiringly was a most beautiful one, for Lower Brimley
was situated on the slope of a hill, not ten minutes' walk from the sea
and the small fishing village which straggled in one steep street from
the beach to the old grey church on the cliff.
The soft air was sweet with the scent of flowers on this sunny spring
morning, for the land close by was given up to the cultivation of
daffodils and narcissi of nearly every species, which flourished in the
rich moist soil and were now in full bloom, and the garden in front of
the house was a fine show, too, with violets, hyacinths, and purple
and scarlet anemones, against a background of rhododendron bushes. In
short, there was a wealth of flowers everywhere; and as Mrs. Tiddy's
contemplative gaze roamed over her own domain to the distant sea,
glimmering like silver in the bright sunshine, it was caught and held
by the golden furze on the cliffs, and she murmured admiringly:
"What a glorious sight! And to think that that dear child will never
know how beautiful it all is! How sad to be blind!"
An expression of deep regret crossed Mrs. Tiddy's face as she thought
of her little visitor; but it gave place to a bright smile as she
caught sight of her husband approaching. And she ran down the path
to the garden gate to meet him, anxious to hear that he had found
everything on the farm in good order. She was soon satisfied upon
that point, for he was in high spirits, and complimented her upon
her management during his absence. And then they went into the
house together, and sat down to breakfast in the parlour, a large
comfortably-furnished room, the windows of which commanded a view of
the village and the sea.
"And how is my fellow-traveller?" Mr. Tiddy inquired by-and-by.
"She was sleeping firmly half an hour ago and I have given orders that
she is not to be disturbed," his wife-responded. "She was so very tired
last night, and I fancy she felt home-sick—poor little soul! She has
never been away from her own people before, you see, and oh, Ebenezer,
think how helpless one must feel to be always in darkness!"
"Yes," he agreed, "but though she has been denied sight, her other
senses seem preternaturally keen. It's always the way with blind
people, I've heard. And—why, here she comes!"
Mr. Tiddy rose as the door opened, and Peggy stood hesitating upon the
threshold of the room. Going to her side, he gave her a hearty kiss,
inquired how she was this morning, and, having been assured that she
was quite well, led her to his wife.
"I thought you were still in bed and asleep, my dear child," said Mrs.
Tiddy, her voice expressing the surprise she felt.
"I woke up, and I was afraid I was late for breakfast, so I dressed as
quickly as I could and came down," Peggy explained, as she returned
Mrs. Tiddy's kiss and took the chair by her side.
"How clever of you to find your way alone!"
"Clever!" laughed Peggy. "You forget I had my supper in this room last
night, and I heard your voices as I came downstairs. What a lovely
morning, isn't it? I smelt violets and hyacinths when I opened my
bedroom window, and I heard the sea."
"The sea is very calm to-day, almost as still as a mill-pond," remarked
Mr. Tiddy somewhat dubiously. "You must have very sharp ears, if you
heard it."
"Oh, but I did," persisted Peggy. "The waves were whispering ever so
softly, but I heard them. I was never at the seaside but once before,
when we all went to Bournemouth for a week, nearly two years ago."
The little girl was looking very bright this morning, and she did full
justice to the fried bacon and chopped potatoes to which Mr. Tiddy
helped her, remarking, as he did so, that he hoped she could enjoy
country fare. And at the conclusion of the meal, he suggested that she
should put on her hat and jacket and go for a stroll with him about the
farm, whilst his wife attended to her domestic duties in the house.
Accordingly, Peggy accompanied her host out into the brilliant spring
sunshine, and asked him numerous questions about his flowers. He
explained all about their cultivation, and watched her with keenly
interested eyes as she felt the various blooms with her sensitive
fingers.
"I shall remember all you have told me," she declared. "This is a
'Princess Mary,' is it not? And this is the daffodil you said the
country people call 'butter and eggs'?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "But how can you possibly tell?"
"I can feel the difference, Mr. Tiddy, and I can smell. It seems to me
all these daffodils have different scents."
"To me, they are alike," he admitted, "but I suppose they are not.
Really, Peggy, you are a very clever little girl."
When they returned to the house they went by the back way, where,
in the yard, they were met by a big, black-and-white smooth-haired
sheep-dog, who sniffed at Peggy suspiciously at first. But when she
ventured to extend her hand to him, he licked it with his great pink
tongue, whilst a very soft expression crept into his amber eyes.
"He likes you, my dear," Mr. Tiddy said. "And he does not take to every
one, let me tell you. He evidently intends to regard you as a friend."
"What is his name?" Peggy inquired, as she passed her hand over the
dog's sleek head.
"Wolf. We gave him the name when he was a puppy, because he was such a
lean, fierce-looking creature. He is a splendid house-dog; but he is
not very sociable, as a rule. He seems to have taken a fancy to you,
however."
"He knows I like him," Peggy said, as she caressed her new
acquaintance, who continued to wag his tail amicably. "What a tall dog
he is! Wolf—dear old Wolf!"
The animal gave a delighted cry, and Mr. Tiddy nodded his head
approvingly.
"I'm glad he's taken to you," he said. "For you couldn't get a better
protector than Wolf."
Peggy never forgot that first day at Lower Brimley. The afternoon she
passed quietly in the house with Mrs. Tiddy, who wrote a long letter to
her old school fellow in which were many messages from Peggy.
"Tell her how much I miss them all," said the little girl. "But please
say, too, that I am sure I shall be very happy here, because every one
is so kind to me, and it is a lovely, lovely place! And, please don't
forget to send my dear love!" And for a few minutes, her blue eyes were
full of tears.
"Peggy," said Mrs. Tiddy by-and-by, "I have heard all the details in
connection with your accident from my husband, and I do not wonder it
was a shock to your nerves. Is your shoulder quite well now, dear?"
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Tiddy. It got well very quickly. Every one said it was
a wonder I was not killed; but I think myself God took especial care
of me, because He knew I wasn't quite like other people—not being able
to see, you know. Mr. Maloney—that's the Vicar of St. John's—thinks so
too. Wasn't it strange that it should have been mother's aunt who was
in the carriage?"
"Very. Your mother never sees her Aunt Caroline, does she?"
"Never. Do you know her, Mrs. Tiddy?"
"No, though, of course, I have heard a good bit about her from your
mother."
"Billy and I never heard of her at all till my accident. I don't think
she can be nice; and Billy said she looked very proud. I heard her
speak, but I was too frightened then to take much notice of her voice.
I always tell what people are like by their voices."
"Do you, my dear?"
"Yes," Peggy nodded. "I knew Mr. Tiddy was good and kind, the moment I
heard him speak: I felt I could trust him. Do you know, I quite enjoyed
the journey yesterday, after we had properly started. Of course, I
didn't like saying good-bye to mother and father. I had never been in a
corridor-train before, and we had dinner at a big table just as though
we were in a proper room, and there was a kitchen on the train, and
cooks. Oh, how Billy would have liked to have been there! What a lot I
shall have to tell him when I go home! Oh, Mrs. Tiddy, it was kind of
you to think of inviting me to stay with you!"
"I am sure your visit will be a great pleasure to me, my dear," Mrs.
Tiddy replied cordially. "And I shall be well content, if I can send
you home with roses in your cheeks. To-morrow I will take you into the
village and down to the beach; but I must not let you do too much on
your first day. There, I have finished my letter, and can now have an
idle hour before tea."
She put aside her writing materials as she spoke, and went to the
window, where Peggy was seated, listening to the sparrows twittering
beneath the eaves of the roof and the sound of children's voices wafted
upwards from the village below.
"You and Mr. Tiddy are so very kind to take so much trouble to explain
everything to me," the little girl said, with a grateful ring in her
sweet, clear voice, "that I am already beginning to know this place
quite well—the house and the grounds, too."
"Shall I tell you what I see from this window?" asked Mrs. Tiddy.
"Oh, please!" Peggy answered delightedly. Then as her kind hostess
did so, she listened with attention, her face aglow with interest and
pleasure. "How well you make me understand!" she cried, as Mrs. Tiddy
ceased speaking. She leaned her head out of the open window and sniffed
the fresh salt breeze appreciatively, and listened to the murmur of the
sea. It seemed a very beautiful world to Peggy in spite of her lack of
sight.