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PEGGY
_Books by Laura E. Richards._
"Mrs. Richards has made for herself a little niche apart in the literary
world, from her delicate treatment of New England village
life."--_Boston Post._
THE CAPTAIN JANUARY SERIES.
=CAPTAIN JANUARY.= 16mo, cloth, 50 cents.
A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose success has been very
remarkable. One reads it, is thoroughly charmed by it, tells others, and
so its fame has been heralded by its readers, until to-day it is selling
by the thousands, constantly enlarging the circle of its delighted
admirers.
=SAME.= _Illustrated Holiday Edition._ With thirty half-tone pictures
from drawings by Frank T. Merrill. 4to, cloth, $1.25.
=MELODY.= The Story of a Child. 16mo, 50 cents.
"Had there never been a 'Captain January,' 'Melody' would easily take
first place."--_Boston Times._
=SAME.= _Illustrated Holiday Edition._ With thirty half-tone pictures
from drawings by Frank T. Merrill. 4to, cloth, $1.25.
=MARIE.= 16mo, 50 cents.
"Seldom has Mrs. Richards drawn a more irresistible picture, or framed
one with more artistic literary adjustment."--_Boston Herald._
"A perfect literary gem."--_Boston Transcript._
=NARCISSA=, and a companion story, =IN VERONA=. 16mo, cloth, 50 cents.
"Each is a simple, touching, sweet little story of rustic New England
life, full of vivid pictures of interesting character, and refreshing
for its unaffected genuineness and human feeling."--_Congregationalist._
=JIM OF HELLAS; or, IN DURANCE VILE=, and a companion story, =BETHESDA
POOL=. 16mo, 50 cents.
=SOME SAY=, and a companion story, =NEIGHBOURS IN CYRUS=. 16mo, 50
cents.
=ROSIN THE BEAU.= 16mo, 50 cents. A sequel to "Melody."
=ISLA HERON.= A charming prose idyl of quaint New England life. Small
quarto, cloth, 75 cents.
=NAUTILUS.= A very interesting story, with illustrations; uniquely
bound, small quarto, cloth, 75 cents.
=FIVE MINUTE STORIES.= A charming collection of short stories and clever
poems for children. Small quarto, cloth, $1.25.
=THREE MARGARETS.= One of the most clever stories for girls that the
author has written. 16mo, cloth, handsome cover design, $1.25.
=MARGARET MONTFORT.= The second volume in the series of which "Three
Margarets" was so successful as the initial volume. 16mo, cloth,
handsome cover design, $1.25.
=PEGGY.= The third volume in the series of which the preceding ones have
been so successful. 16mo, cloth, handsome cover design, $1.25.
=LOVE AND ROCKS.= A charming story of one of the pleasant islands that
dot the rugged Maine coast. With etching frontispiece by Mercier. Tall
16mo, unique cover design on linen, gilt top, $1.00.
_Dana Estes & Company, Publishers, Boston._
[Illustration]
PEGGY
BY LAURA E. RICHARDS
AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "MELODY," "QUEEN HILDEGARDE," ETC.
Illustrated by ETHELDRED B. BARRY
[Illustration]
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1899_
BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY
Colonial Press:
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A NEW WORLD 11
II. THE BOX FROM FERNLEY 31
III. IN THE "GYM." 51
IV. ENTER THE SCAPEGOAT 72
V. TO THE RESCUE 89
VI. THE OWL'S NEST 102
VII. WEDDING BELLS 121
VIII. BY MOONLIGHT 141
IX. FACULTY MEETING AND BEDLAM 160
X. TEACHER AND PUPIL 182
XI. DECORATION--AND OTHER THINGS 194
XII. AN ADVENTURE 210
XIII. PEGGY VICTRIX 224
XIV. ON SPY HILL 240
XV. WHAT WAS THE MATTER WITH LOBELIA PARKINS? 253
XVI. THE TERROR BY NIGHT 268
XVII. WAITING 279
XVIII. THE END AND THE BEGINNING 297
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"'PEACE BE TO THIS DWELLING'" (p. 79) _Frontispiece_
"'BERTHA, LOOK AT THIS, WILL YOU?'" 36
"UP THEY WENT, HAND OVER HAND." 69
THE GRAND TELL IN THE OWL'S NEST 120
"'HERE! TAKE MY HAND AND SCRAMBLE OUT'" 207
"WITH ONE OF HER SUDDEN MOVEMENTS SHE HAD THROWN OFF
HER ASSAILANTS" 237
"'OH, GRACE, SHE HAS FAINTED!'" 272
"'WE FOUR AGAINST THE WORLD!'" 308
PEGGY.
CHAPTER I.
A NEW WORLD.
"Miss Montfort!" said the Principal.
Peggy looked about her.
"I wonder if it's another cousin!" she said to herself. "It can't be, or
Margaret would have known. Dear Margaret! now if she were only here, she
could answer, and everybody would--"
"Miss Montfort!" said the Principal again, rather sharply.
"Isn't that your name?" whispered the girl who sat beside Peggy. "You'll
have to answer, you know!"
Peggy started violently, and, looking up, met the Principal's eyes bent
upon her. She struggled to her feet, feeling herself one blush from
head to foot.
"I--I beg your pardon!" she faltered. "I didn't suppose--did you mean
me?"
"You are Miss Montfort, are you not?"
"Oh, no! my cousins are both--that is,--I am just Peggy!"
There was a general titter, which the Principal checked with her pencil.
"Young ladies!" she said in a warning tone. "Miss Montfort, you will
have room No. 18, in the second corridor. You will be alone for the
present."
"Oh, goody!" cried Peggy. "I mean--I'm ever so much obliged, thank you!
Can I go now?"
"You _may_ go now!" said the Principal, with a slight emphasis on the
auxiliary.
Peggy stumbled over the foot of the girl next her, stepped on her own
dress, tripped and came to her knees; picked herself up, with a sound of
rending cloth, and finally got out of the room. This time the titter was
not so easily checked. Peggy heard it rippling behind her as she fled.
Even Miss Russell smiled as she rapped on the desk, and said one word
to herself: "Untrained!"
But the girl who had sat beside Peggy rubbed her foot, which hurt a good
deal, and said three words: "Poor little thing!"
No. 18 in the second corridor was a good-sized room, with two windows,
one of them crossed on the outside by a fire-escape. Its present aspect
was bare and unhomelike. The furniture consisted of an iron bedstead, a
bureau and wash-stand, two chairs and a small table, all neat, but
severely plain. The small square of carpet on the floor was a cold gray
mixture with brown flowers on it. As Peggy Montfort looked about her,
her heart sank. Was she to live here, to spend her days and nights here,
for a whole endless year? She thought of her room at home, the great
sunny room that she shared with her sister Jean. That had four windows,
which were generally flung wide open; it was bare, because she and Jean
liked to have plenty of space for gymnastics and wrestling; but that was
a homelike, accustomed bareness, and they loved it. The great old
four-post bed, with the round balls on which they loved to stand and
perform circus tricks; the hammock slung across one end; the birds'
nests and hawks' wings that adorned the walls in lieu of pictures; the
antlers on which they hung their hats,--all these, or the thought of
them, smote Peggy's stout heart, and sent it lower and lower down.
A maid knocked at the door: here was Miss Montfort's trunk, and would
she unpack it, please, as the man would be coming again to take the
empty trunks to the attic.
Peggy fell to work with ardour; here, at least, was something to do, in
this strange, lonesome place. Arriving in the afternoon, a day or two
after the beginning of school, her lessons were not to begin till the
next morning.
Every dress, as she lifted it out, seemed a bit of home. Here was the
triangular tear in her blue gingham, that Jean mended for her. One could
hardly see it now! Dear Jean! she was neat-handed, and she had a little
look of Margaret, the same soft hair and clear, quiet eyes. Here was her
beloved bicycle skirt! Ah, there was something heavy in the pocket.
Peggy explored, and drew forth an apple; that brought the tears, which
were not very far off in the first place, and there was a good deal of
salt in the apple as she ate it. She was so determined to make the best
of everything, however, that she fought back the homesickness that was
rising like a flood within her, and even managed to whistle a tune as
she hung up her dresses and laid her stockings and handkerchiefs in the
drawers. Then the shoe-bag must be hung against the closet door, the bag
that Margaret had made and worked with her initials. Dearest Margaret!
and here was the pincushion that Flora gave her, and the writing-case
from Brother Hugh-- Oh! she would write to him every week of her life,
indeed she would! and so on and so on.
When the trunk was empty, the room looked less forlorn, though still
pretty bare, for in Peggy's home little thought was given to anything
not of practical use. The door was open, and happening to look up she
caught a glimpse of the opposite room, on the other side of the narrow
corridor. Here, too, the door stood open, and Peggy gazed open-eyed. A
greater contrast could hardly be imagined. Here every available inch of
wall-space was covered, with photographs, with Japanese fans and
umbrellas, with posters and ribbons and flags. The room itself was
choked, it seemed to Peggy, with chairs and tables, low tables covered
with books, with cups and saucers, with knickknacks of every possible
description. The whole effect was bewildering, but so gay and cheerful
that Peggy sighed as she glanced back at her own bare white walls, at
the bureau with its sober brush and comb, and the polished table where
the writing-case lay in solitary state. She could not imagine living in
a room like that other: she should stifle, and throw half the things out
of the window; but it would be nice to have just a few more things! If
she had only thought! Jean would have been glad to share the nests with
her, and she could have had the rattlesnake skin, for had she not killed
him herself? and then there were the fossils!
As Peggy meditated, steps came along the corridor, and halted at her
door. A face peeped in. "May I come in?" asked the girl who had sat
beside her in the class-room.
"Oh, do! I wish you would!" cried Peggy, eagerly. "I am so glad to see
you! Sit down! I wanted to tell you--you were awfully kind to let me
know she meant me. You see, I never was called Miss Montfort in my life
before."
The girl sat down, and looked kindly at Peggy. She was a
singular-looking girl, short and dark, with a curious effect of
squareness in her thickset figure. Her face was plain, but one forgot
that when one met the bright, intelligent gaze of her dark eyes.
"I ought to introduce myself!" she said. "My name is Bertha Haughton.
I'm a neighbour of yours. No!" she added, laughing, as Peggy glanced
involuntarily across the way. "That is Vanity Fair. I don't live there;
I live in the Owls' Nest, some way down the corridor."
"Are all the rooms named?" asked Peggy, wondering.
"Most of them, on this corridor, at least. There's Vanity Fair and Rag
Fair and the Smithsonian Institute on the other side--oh! and the China
Shop and the Corner Grocery, too. And on this side is ours, the Owls'
Nest, and Bedlam, and the Soap Factory, and the Nursery, and this room
of yours."
"Oh, how interesting!" cried Peggy. "Do tell me what the names mean! Why
Owls' Nest?"
"Oh, well, we got the name of studying hard, that's all. We don't study
harder than ever so many others, but in our freshman year we--my chum
and I--passed an examination that a good many failed in, and so we got
the name of owls. That's really all! And the China Shop--well! Ada Bull
had it last year, and she had a mania for china-painting; and that with
the name, together, you see! Then there is the Soap Factory,--that is
quite a story! you really want to hear it? well!
"You know we are not allowed to buy candy, or to have it sent to us.
This girl's mother--I won't tell her name, she's in college now--was a
very silly person, and she sent her a great box of chocolate, five or
six pounds (though she knew the rules, mind you!), all done up like
soap."
"Like soap!" repeated Peggy.
"Yes! the box was marked soap, and the chocolate was in little cakes,
just like the little sample cakes of soap they send round, don't you
know? and each cake wrapped up in paper, with '_Savon de Chocolat_'
stamped on it. It came from Paris, I believe.
"Well, of course the girl ought to have told Miss Russell at once, but
she didn't. She kept the box under her bed, and told all the girls she
knew; and of course they kept coming into her room all day long, and her
pocket was always full, and, however it happened, at last Miss Russell
suspected something. One day she came suddenly upon Margie in the hall,
and saw that she was eating something, and asked her what it was. We're
not allowed to eat going about the house, of course. Margie had just
bitten off half a cake, and she had the other half in her hand, with the
printed side up, '_Savon de Chocolat!_' and she said 'Soap!'
"'Soap!' said Miss Russell.
"'Yes!' said Margie. 'Soap, Miss Russell.'
"The Principal looked at her a minute, and then I suppose she smelt the
chocolate. She told her to wait, and then she went into her own room and
came out with a little cake of tar soap--sample cake--that looked for
all the world like chocolate soap.
"'Pray try this!' she said, as grave as a judge. 'I am sure you will
find it excellent. I must insist upon your trying it, since you have a
taste for soap.'
"Poor Margie! she had a good deal of pluck, and when she saw there was
no help for it, she took a bite of the soap. But it was too horrid; she
couldn't swallow it. She choked, and ran to her own room; the Principal
followed her, and then the whole story came out. Margie never told us
just what Miss Russell said. The chocolate was sent to the Orphans' Home
next day, and she was a pretty serious girl for some time after. So now
you know why that room is called the Soap Factory."
"That's a splendid story!" cried Peggy. "Why, I think this is great. Did
this room have a name, too? I'm sure it must have! Do tell me what it
is!"
A queer look crossed the dark girl's face.
"It has been called Broadway!" she said. "I hope it may be changed now."
She hesitated, and was about to speak again, when two girls came along
arm in arm.
"Look!" said Bertha Haughton. "There are your opposite neighbours,
Vanity and Vexation of Spirit. I'll call them over and introduce them."
"Oh, please don't!" cried Peggy, under her breath, catching her
companion's arm. But it was too late.
"V. V.," called Bertha, in her clear, hearty voice, "come and be
introduced to Miss Montfort."
The girls turned and came forward, one eagerly, the other rather
unwillingly.
"Miss Viola Vincent, Miss Vivia Varnham," said Bertha Haughton, "this is
Miss--Peggy, did you say?--Miss Peggy Montfort."
Miss Varnham simply bowed, but Viola Vincent advanced with outstretched
hand.
"How do you _do_?" she cried; and she lifted Peggy's hand to the level
of her chin, and shook it gently from side to side. "Awfully glad to see
you! It's been too perfectly horrid to have this room empty; hasn't it,
V?"
"A great bore!" assented Miss Varnham, who looked thoroughly bored
herself.
Both girls had entered the room, and were standing, looking about them.
Peggy stood, too, feeling unspeakably shy and awkward, and not knowing
what to say. Bertha Haughton gave her a quick, friendly glance, and made
a slight motion with her head toward a chair. Peggy started, and
coloured violently.
"I beg your pardon!" she stammered. "Won't you sit down? here are two
chairs; and you and I can sit on the bed!" she turned to Miss Haughton
with an air of relief; she seemed already an old friend.
Peggy's timid glances at the newcomers showed her that they belonged to
a species unknown to her. Living on a great prairie farm, she had known
no girls save her sisters and the two cousins with whom she had spent a
happy summer at Fernley House, the home of her uncle, Mr. John Montfort,
a year before.
But neither sisters nor cousins, nor Bertha Haughton herself, bore any
resemblance to the two young women who now seated themselves on her two
straight-backed chairs. Both were dressed in the extreme of the fashion,
which was not a specially graceful one. Both wore their hair elaborately
dressed, with a profusion of gold and silver pins, a passing fancy
easily carried to extravagance. Both were pretty, and there was even a
kind of likeness between them, though it vanished when one looked
closely. Viola Vincent had limpid blue eyes, and long lashes which she
had a way of dropping, as she had been told that they looked well on her
cheek, which was clear and delicately tinted. She smiled a good deal,
and in doing so showed a pretty dimple in one cheek. In spite of a
certain affectation, Peggy thought her charming.
Vivia Varnham was less attractive, in spite of her bright hazel eyes
and pretty fluffy hair; there was a supercilious lift to her eyebrows,
an unamiable droop to the corners of her mouth. Peggy did not make this
analysis; she only thought, "I shall not like her, I know I sha'n't!"
The girls chattered away without much regard to her, and she only half
understood their talk.
"My dear! _Have_ you heard?" This was from Viola to Bertha Haughton. She
patted herself all over while she talked, now her hair, now her collar,
now her blouse, little approving pats.
"You never hear anything, you owls! When _is_ the Snowy coming back? She
has been away forty years! I simply can't exist without her. Why, my
dear, we are to have the straw-ride after all. Miss Russell says we may.
Isn't it perf'ly fine?"
"Are you sure?" said Bertha Haughton, doubtfully. "You know last time
she said we couldn't go again, because Grace acted so, pulling out the
linch-pin and dropping us all into the road."
"My dear, I know! that's just it! The Goat went to her this morning and
said she would stay at home and do double lessons if the rest of us
could only go. Noble of the Goat, I call it; only it won't be half so
much fun without her, and Billy gone, too. Oh, you can't possibly
imagine how we miss Billy. How forlorn this room looks without all her
pretty things!" She glanced about the room. "Perf'ly awful, isn't it?"
she said.
Poor Peggy flushed scarlet. Bertha Haughton flashed her a glance of
indignant sympathy.
"Billy had the room simply ridiculous!" she said, hastily. "Almost as
bad as your toyshop, Vanity. I can't abide a frippy room!"
Viola Vincent opened her blue eyes wide. "What ruffled you up, Fluffy?"
she said. "I didn't say anything about the Nest." Then, happening to
glance at Peggy, she realised what she had said, and blushed a little
herself.
"I'm sure I didn't mean anything!" she cried, with a little giggle. "Of
course when Miss Montfort gets all her things out and arranged, it will
be quite charming, I'm sure it will."
"I haven't any more things!" said honest Peggy. She managed to keep her
voice steady, but the tears would come into her eyes, and she raged at
herself.
"Oh, you'll accumulate them!" said good-natured Viola, who liked to have
people comfortable, if it did not take too much trouble. "Won't she, V.?
We had hardly anything when we came, had we, V.? Barns, my dear, were
nothing to us, were they, V.?"
"Oh, of course not!" assented Miss Varnham; but her smile was so like a
sneer, and her glance about the room so cold and contemptuous, that
Peggy felt dislike hardening at her heart.
"What is all that noise in the entry?" exclaimed Bertha Haughton,
anxious to change the conversation. "It sounds as if an elephant were
coming to call."
Viola Vincent fluttered to the door, patting her waist affectionately as
she went.
"My _dear_!" she cried, in high-pitched staccato tones. "It's a box, an
express box. Oh, it's a perfect monster, a mammoth! Vi, this must be
your dresses. Hurrah! we'll have a grand trying on."
Vivia Varnham looked out. A burly expressman was staggering forward with
an enormous box, almost as big as a packing-case.
"Take it in there!" she said, imperiously, motioning across the
corridor. "Put it down carefully, mind! Miss Varnham, is it?"
"No, miss," said the man, respectfully. "Miss Montfort!"
"Me!" cried Peggy, starting to her feet. "Oh, there must be some
mistake. I wasn't--there's nothing coming for me."
"It must be for you!" said Bertha Haughton. "There is no other Miss
Montfort in the school. Look at the address, and you may know the
handwriting!"
Peggy looked. In a clear, bold hand was written:
Miss Peggy Montfort,
At Miss Russell's School,
Pentland.
Glass, with care. All charges paid.
"Oh!" she cried, clasping her hands. "It _is_ for me! It's from Uncle
John! Oh, what do you suppose--what can it be?"
"Bring it in here, please," said Bertha Haughton, quietly, to the man,
who still stood balancing the box. "There! set it against the wall;
thank you! Now," as the man departed, "we need a screw-driver. Have you
one, Viola?"
"My _dear_! I had one, but the Goat broke it, using it for a step, you
know, to get up to the next story. I use a can-opener now, but that will
only do for small boxes. I don't have--well, State Houses, coming every
day," she added, with a good-natured laugh, glancing at the great box.
Bertha Haughton ran to fetch a screw-driver from her room, and the other
two girls moved toward the door. Vivia Varnham looked black. She had
made sure the box was for her, and felt aggrieved at the stupid freshman
who appropriated it. Viola Vincent, on the other hand, was delighted.
"I'm awfully glad!" she said. "It's simply dandy, having a box come. Ta,
ta! I hope it will be something perf'ly splendid, dresses and hats and
all kinds of giddiness. I love giddiness! When you want to be giddy, you
must come to us; the Owls are too worthy. There's Fluffy back again with
the screw-driver. Ta again! Awfully glad!"
Peggy was half inclined to ask Viola to stay, but still it was rather a
relief when the opposite door closed. Whatever the box contained, she
could not have enjoyed it with those sharp, cold eyes of Viola Varnham
looking on.
"Here is the screw-driver!" cried Bertha, out of breath with her flight
along the corridor. "It's very strong, you need not be afraid of
pressing on it. Can I do anything more to help you? If not, I must go. I
hope it is something very nice indeed!"
"Go! you!" cried Peggy. "Oh, must you? Can't you stay and help me see
what it is? It isn't any fun opening boxes alone," she added, piteously.
The girl does not live who would not rather unpack a box than eat her
dinner. "If you are sure you want me," said Bertha. "I didn't want to
be in the way, that was all."
"In the way! Oh, Miss Haughton! Why, you are the only friend I have here
in this lonesome place."
"If I am going to be your friend, I am not going to be Miss Haughton
another minute. Do you really want me to stay, Peggy?"
"I do, Bertha, indeed I do."
"Honour bright?"
"Honour brightest!"
"Hurrah, then! And now for the box!"