AUNT CAROLINE'S DISAPPOINTMENT
THE first few days after Peggy's return home were very wet and cold,
although it was late spring. But one morning, she arose conscious of a
change in the atmosphere and that the sun was shining into her bedroom
window, whilst the sparrows were twittering noisily outside as though
they had matters of great importance to discuss with each other.
"I think we are going to have a taste of spring weather at last,"
observed Mr. Pringle at the breakfast table that morning. "There's the
promise of a beautiful May day, and I hope," he continued, addressing
his wife, "that you will manage to get out for a while in the
sunshine—you and Peggy."
"I want to do so," Mrs. Pringle replied. "I have some shopping to do
first of all, and afterwards we may, perhaps, extend our walk."
Accordingly Peggy and her mother spent most of the morning
out-of-doors. They were both in excellent spirits, and though, of
course, they had to take their walk in the streets, they thoroughly
enjoyed it. Mrs. Pringle looked into the shops and told her little
daughter what the windows contained; and they bought a bunch of
wallflowers from a costermonger's barrow, for a penny, which smelt
almost as sweet as those at Lower Brimley, Peggy declared, and she
wondered if they had come from Cornwall—that corner of the world which,
to the blind child, would always be remembered as a paradise of flowers.
Then, on their way home, they encountered Mr. Maloney, whom Peggy had
not met since her return. He turned and walked with them as far as
their own door, listening with a rather preoccupied air, Mrs. Pringle
thought, to the little girl's chatter, and watching her animated
countenance with an expression of grave scrutiny in his kindly eyes.
"I want a private conversation with you and your husband, Mrs.
Pringle," he remarked. "If I call this evening, shall I find you both
disengaged?"
"Yes," she assented, adding anxiously, "there is nothing wrong, is
there? You have no bad news to tell us?"
"Oh, no!" he responded, with a reassuring smile. "Please do not imagine
that for a moment. I will call this evening, then, about seven."
Peggy wondered what Mr. Maloney could have to say to her parents in
private. And Mr. Pringle expressed astonishment when his wife informed
him at dinner-time of the reason the Vicar had assigned for his
proposed call. Whilst Billy, though he made no remark, was filled with
intense curiosity, and by the evening had become quite excited, and
found great difficulty in concentrating his mind to prepare his lessons
for the following day.
Mr. Pringle had given orders that the Vicar was to be shown into the
music-room, as the small apartment was called which was apportioned
to the use of the master of the house. And as soon as Mrs. Pringle,
who had been sewing in the sitting-room, heard Sarah admit Mr. Maloney
punctually at the hour he had appointed, she laid aside her work, and
the next moment, the children were alone.
Billy continued to pore over his lesson books, whilst Peggy sat
opposite to him at the table, her busy fingers engaged in knitting a
sock, one of a pair she was making for her father. Sarah had taught the
little girl the accomplishment of knitting during the long evenings
of the previous winter, and the pupil did her teacher great credit.
There had been silence in the room, except for the click of Peggy's
knitting-needles, for some minutes, when the little girl suddenly
dropped her work, and springing to her feet, stood listening intently.
"What is it?" asked Billy, glancing at her quickly, and noting that she
had grown very pale. "What do you hear?"
"Nothing, now," she answered tremulously. "But I thought—I thought—I
suppose it was my fancy!"
"What did you think you heard?" he questioned curiously. "Why, you have
turned quite white! What startled you, Peggy?"
"I thought I heard mother crying, but I suppose I was wrong. I don't
hear anything now."
Billy went to the door, opened it, and listened; but nothing could be
heard except a murmur of voices from the music-room. He shut the door
and returned to the table.
"Why should mother cry?" he demanded, uneasily.
"Didn't you tell me Mr. Maloney said nothing was wrong?"
"Yes," Peggy responded, "and he wouldn't have deceived us, I know."
"Then mother wouldn't cry for nothing!"
"I expect it was my mistake, Billy."
More than half an hour passed—an hour—and at last the children heard
the music-room door open and footsteps in the passage. Then the front
door opened and shut, and a moment afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. Pringle
entered the sitting-room without their visitor.
One glance at his mother told Billy that his sister's sharp ears
had not deceived her, for there were traces of recent tears on Mrs.
Pringle's face. She crossed the room and took a chair by her little
daughter's side, and her voice bespoke strong emotion as she said:
"Peggy, dear, we have decided to tell you what brought Mr. Maloney here
to-night. Yesterday, he had a visit from Aunt Caroline, who wishes
to—to—"
"Oh, I know!" cried Peggy joyfully, as her mother hesitated. "She
wishes to be friendly with you, mother! Isn't it that?"
"No, dear," Mrs. Pringle replied sadly. "She has no desire to have
anything to do with any of us but you. She would like to adopt you,
Peggy—to have you to live with her—"
"Oh mother!" broke in the little girl. "No! No!"
"That is what she wishes. She offers to bring you up and provide for
you, and to make you a rich woman some day. But your father and I have
declined her offer, Peggy darling. We will keep our little daughter and
trust to Providence to take care of her future."
"You have been crying," said Peggy distressfully, "and I can hear the
tears in your voice now. Oh, don't cry, mother! What can Aunt Caroline
be thinking of, to imagine you and father would let her adopt me! As
though I could leave you all to go and live with her!"
"I knew she was a nasty old woman!" cried Billy, in tones of the
greatest indignation. "And now I know she is cruel too! It is cruel of
her to wish to take Peggy away from us! And the idea of her going to
Mr. Maloney and—"
"Hush, Billy!" admonished Mr. Pringle. "She went to Mr. Maloney because
she knew he was our friend," he proceeded. "You must not misjudge her;
certainly she did not mean to be cruel. I have no doubt she imagines
she is acting kindly; but she does not understand us or realise that
Peggy would not be happy separated from the members of her own family.
We have talked over Miss Leighton's offer with Mr. Maloney, and we have
declined it. I think we are right, and Mr. Maloney thinks so too; but
he could not well refuse to put Miss Leighton's offer before us, as
she had made a point of his doing so. To-morrow he will give her our
reply, and I fear she will be very angry as well as disappointed; but
we cannot part with our little Sunbeam," he concluded tenderly.
"Did she want me to live with her altogether?" Peggy asked wonderingly,
taking her mother's hand and holding it in a firm clasp.
"Yes, dear. She said you might come home sometimes—that she would not
object to your coming to see us now and again, but—oh, Peggy, Peggy!"
And poor Mrs. Pringle caught the little girl in her arms and kissed her
passionately. "I hope we haven't been selfish," she continued, "but God
gave you to us, and I cannot think it would be right to give you up
for the sake of worldly advantages. No, I cannot think that! You have
always had a happy home, have you not, Peggy?"
"Oh, so happy!" the little girl answered earnestly. "Why do you cry,
mother—when I am not going to leave you?"
"I am very foolish, I dare say," said Mrs. Pringle. "But it hurts me to
think Aunt Caroline could imagine I would give up my own child."
"Poor woman, she over-estimates the worth of her money," Mr. Pringle
remarked, with a pitying note in his voice. "She does not understand
that there are things even in this world not to be purchased with gold."
"Why should she want to adopt me?" questioned Peggy wonderingly,
turning her flushed face towards her father. "It is not even as though
I wasn't blind! Why doesn't she adopt some little girl who has no
mother or father or brother to love her? Why should she want me?"
"Because, somehow, you have touched a soft spot in her heart, little
Sunbeam," Mr. Pringle answered. "I can think of no other reason. Poor
Miss Leighton! I am afraid she will be very disappointed when she hears
we cannot favour her plan."
"Poor Aunt Caroline!" sighed Peggy. "Why can't she be friendly with us
all, and come and see us and be nice like she was when she came to tea
at Lower Brimley?" And she shook her head sorrowfully as she thought of
the old lady, so rich in money, so poor in other ways.
Billy, looking at his sister, wondered at the regretful expression of
her face. He could not tell, and he certainly would have been amazed,
had he known that her tender heart was ready to pour a portion of the
wealth of its affection upon her whom he regarded, not unnaturally,
as one of the proudest and most disagreeable of people, and he felt
triumphant as he reflected that Miss Leighton would be disappointed at
finding herself balked in her selfish plan.
When, on the following day, Miss Leighton heard from Mr. Maloney that
Mr. and Mrs. Pringle had considered her offer and courteously declined
it, she made no comment on their decision whatever. But she was even
more disappointed than Billy had anticipated she would be, and there
was more of sorrow than of anger in her heart. Briefly she informed
Barnes that Peggy's parents had refused to allow her to adopt the child.
"You were right, Barnes," she admitted with a sigh. "You thought my
niece would refuse my offer, did you not?"
"Yes, ma'am," Barnes answered briefly. She said no more, for in her
heart she was confident that Peggy would be better and happier at home.