In the explanations that followed, no one showed a livelier interest
than Peggy herself. She was in her element answering the questions
which were showered upon her, and took an artistic pleasure in the
success of her plot.
"You see," she explained, "I knew you would all be talking about me,
and wondering what I was like, just as I was thinking about you.
As I was Arthur's sister, I knew you would be sure to imagine me a
mischievous tom-boy, so I came to the conclusion that the best way to
shock you would be to be quite too awfully proper and well-behaved. I
never enjoyed anything so much in my life as that first tea-time, when
you all looked dumb with astonishment. I had made up my mind to go on
for a week, but mother is coming to-morrow, and I couldn't keep it up
before her, so I was obliged to explode to-night. Besides, I'm really
quite fatigued with being good----"
"And are you--are you--really not proper after all?" gasped Mellicent,
blankly; whereat Peggy clasped her hands in emphatic protest.
"Proper! Oh, my dear, I am the most awful person. I am always getting
into trouble. You know what Arthur was? Well, I tell you truly, he
is nothing to me. It's an extraordinary thing. I have excellent
intentions, but I seem bound to get into scrapes. There was a teacher
at Brighton, Miss Baker, a dear old thing. I called her 'Buns.' She
vowed and declared that I shortened her life by bringing on palpitation
of the heart. I set the dressing-table on fire by spilling matches and
crunching them beneath my heels. It was not a proper dressing-table,
you know--just a wooden thing frilled round with muslin. We had two
blazes in the last term. And a dreadful thing occurred! Would you
believe that I was actually careless enough to plump down on the top of
her best Sunday hat, and squash it as flat as a pancake."
Despite her protestations of remorse, Peggy's voice had an exultant
ring as she detailed the history of her escapades, and Esther shrewdly
suspected that she was by no means so penitent as she declared. She put
on her most severe expression, and said sternly--
"You must be dreadfully careless. It is to be hoped you will be more
careful here, for your room is far away from ours, and you might be
burned to death before anyone discovered you. Mother never allows
anyone to read in bed in this house, and she is most particular about
matches. You wouldn't like to be burned to a cinder all by yourself
some fine night, I should say."
"No, I shouldn't--or on a wet one either. It would be so lonely," said
Peggy calmly. "No; I am a reformed character about matches. I support
home industries, and go in for safeties, which 'strike only on the
box.' But the boys would rescue me." She turned with a smile, and
beamed upon the three tall lads. "Wouldn't you, boys? If you hear me
squealing any night, don't stop to think. Just catch up your ewers of
water, and rush to my bedroom. We might get up an amateur fire-brigade
to be in readiness. You three would be the brigade, and I would be the
captain and train you. It would be capital fun. At any moment I could
give the signal, and then, whatever you were doing--playing, working,
eating, on cold, frosty nights, just when you were going to bed, off
you would have to rush, and get out your fire-buckets. Sometimes you
might have to break the ice, but there's nothing like being prepared.
We might have the first rehearsal to-night----"
"It's rather funny to hear your talking of being captain over the boys,
because the day we heard that you were coming, they all said that if
they were to be bothered with a third girl in the house, you would have
to make yourself useful, and that you should be their fag. Max said so,
and so did Oswald, and then Robert said they shouldn't have you. He had
lots of little odd things he wanted done for him, and that he could
make you very useful. He said the other boys shouldn't have you; you
were his property."
"Tut, tut," said Peggy pleasantly. She looked at the three scowling,
embarrassed faces, and the bright, mocking light danced back into her
eyes. "So they were all anxious to have me, were they? How nice! I'm
very pleased to hear it. Is there any little thing I can do for your
honourable self now, Mr. Darcy, before I dress for dinner?"
Robert looked across the room at Mellicent with an expression which
made that young person tremble in her shoes.
"All right, young lady, I'll remember you," he said quietly. "I've
warned you before about repeating conversations. Now you'll see what
happens. I'll cure you of that little habit, my dear, as sure as my
name is Robert Darcy----"
"The Honourable Robert Darcy," murmured a soft and silvery voice from
the other side of the fireplace. Robert turned his head sharply, but
Peggy was gazing into the coals with an air of lamb-like innocence, and
he subsided into himself with a grunt of displeasure.
The next day Mrs. Saville came to lunch, and spent the afternoon at the
vicarage. As Maxwell had said, she was a beautiful woman, tall, fair,
and elegant, and looking a very fashionable lady when contrasted with
Mrs. Asplin in her plain, well-worn serge, but her face was sad and
anxious in expression. Esther noticed that her eyes filled with tears
more than once as she looked round the table at the husband and wife
and the three tall, well-grown children, and when the two ladies were
alone in the drawing-room she broke into helpless sobbings.
"Oh, how happy you are! How I envy you! Husband, children, all beside
you. Oh, never, never let one of your girls marry a man who lives
abroad. My heart is torn in two; I have no rest. I am always longing
for the one who is not there. I must go back--the Major needs me; but
my Peggy, my own little girl! It is like death to leave her behind."
Mrs. Asplin put her arms round the tall figure, and rocked her gently
to and fro.
"I know! I know!" she said brokenly. "I _ache_ for you, dear; but I
understand! I have parted with a child of my own--not for a few years,
but for ever, till we meet again in God's heaven. I'll help you every
way I can. I'll watch her night and day; I'll coddle her when she's
ill; I'll try to make her a good woman. I'll _love_ her, dear, and she
shall be my own special charge. I'll be a second mother to her."
"You dear, good woman! God bless your kind heart!" said Mrs. Saville
brokenly. "I can't help breaking down, but, indeed, I have much to be
thankful for. I can't tell you what a relief it is to feel that she
is in this house. The principals of that school at Brighton were all
that is good and excellent, but they did not understand my Peggy." The
tears were still in her eyes, but she broke into a flickering smile
at the last word. "My children have such spirits! I am afraid they
really do give more trouble than other boys and girls, but they are
not really naughty. They are truthful and generous, and so wonderfully
warm-hearted. I never needed to punish Peg when she was a little girl;
it was enough to show that she had grieved me. She never did the same
thing again after that; but--oh, dear me!--the ingenuity of that child
in finding fresh fields for mischief! Dear Mrs. Asplin, I am afraid
she will try your patience. You must be sure to keep a list of all the
breakages and accidents, and charge them to our account. Peggy is an
expensive little person. You know what Arthur was."
"Bless him--yes! I had hardly a tumbler left in the house," said Mrs.
Asplin, with gusto. "But I don't break my heart about a few breakages.
I have had too much to do with schoolboys for that. And now give me all
the directions you can about this precious little maid while we have
the room to ourselves."
For the next hour the two ladies sat in conclave about Miss Peggy's
mental, moral, and physical welfare. Mrs. Asplin had a book in her
hand in which from time to time she jotted down notes of a curious and
inconsequent character. "Pay attention to private reading. Gas-fire
in her bedroom for chilly weather. See dentist in Christmas holidays.
Query: gold plate over eye-tooth? Boots to order, Beavan & Co., Oxford
Street. Cod-liver oil in winter. Careless about changing shoes. Damp
brings on throat. Aconite and bella-donna." So on, and so on. There
seemed no end to the warnings and instructions of this anxious mother,
but when all was settled as far as possible, the ladies adjourned into
the schoolroom to join the young people at their tea, so that Mrs.
Saville might be able to picture her daughter's surroundings when
separated from her by those weary thousands of miles.
"What a bright, cheery room," she said smilingly, as she took her seat
at the table, and her eyes wandered round as if striving to print the
scene in her memory. How many times, as she lay panting beneath the
swing of the punkah she would recall that cool English room, with its
vista of garden through the windows, the long table in the centre,
the little figure with the pale face and long plaited hair, seated
midway between the top and bottom. Oh! the moments of longing--of wild,
unbearable longing, when she would feel that she must break loose from
her prison-house and fly away, that not the length of the earth itself
could keep her back, that she would be willing to give up life itself
just to hold Peggy in her arms for five minutes, to kiss the dear sweet
lips, to meet the glance of the loving eyes----
But this would never do! Had she not vowed to be bright and cheerful?
The young folks were looking at her with troubled glances. She roused
herself and said briskly--
"I see you make this a playroom as well as a study. Somebody has
been wood-carving over there, and you have one of those dwarf
billiard-tables. I want to give a present to this room--something that
will be a pleasure and occupation to you all; but I can't make up my
mind what would be best. Can you give me a few suggestions? Is there
anything that you need, or that you have fancied you might like?"
"It's very kind of you," said Esther, warmly; and echoes of "Very
kind!" came from every side of the table, while boys and girls stared
at each other in puzzled consideration. Maxwell longed to suggest a
joiner's bench, but refrained out of consideration for the girls'
feelings. Mellicent's eager face, however, was too eloquent to escape
attention.
Mrs. Saville smiled at her in an encouraging manner.
"Well, dear, what is it? Don't be afraid. I mean something really nice
and handsome; not just a little thing. Tell me what you thought?"
"A--a new violin!" cried Mellicent eagerly. "Mine is so old and
squeaky, and my teacher said I needed a new one badly. A new violin
would be nicest of all."
Mrs. Saville looked round the table, caught an expressive grimace going
the round of three boyish faces, and raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
"Yes? Whatever you like best, of course. It is all the same to me. But
would the violin be a pleasure to all! What about the boys?"
"They would hear me play! The pieces would sound nicer. They would like
to hear them."
"Ahem!" coughed Maxwell loudly; and at that there was a universal
shriek of merriment. Peggy's clear "Ho! ho!" rang out above the rest,
and her mother looked at her with sparkling eyes. Yes, yes, yes;
the child was happy! She had settled down already into the cheery,
wholesome home-life of the vicarage, and was in her element among these
merry boys and girls! She hugged the thought to her heart, finding in
it her truest comfort. The laughter lasted several minutes, and broke
out intermittently from time to time as that eloquent cough recurred to
memory, but after all it was Mellicent who was the one to give the best
suggestion.
"Well, then, a--a what-do-you-call-it!" she cried. "A thing-um-me-bob!
One of those three-legged things for taking photographs! The boys look
so silly sometimes, rolling about together in the garden, and we have
often and often said, 'Don't you wish we could take their photographs!
They _would_ look frights!' We could have ever so much fun with a
what-do-you-call-it."
"Ah, that's something like!" "Good business." "Oh, wouldn't it be
sweet!" came the quick exclamations, and Mrs. Saville looked most
pleased and excited of all.
"A camera!" she cried. "What a charming idea. Then you would be able to
take photographs of Peggy and the whole household, and send them out
for me to see. How delightful! Why, that's a happy thought, Mellicent.
I am so grateful to you for thinking of it, dear. I'll buy a really
good, large one, and all the necessary materials, and send them down
at once. Do any of you know how to set to work?"
"I do, Mrs. Saville," Oswald said. "I had a small camera of my own,
but it got smashed some years ago. I can show them how to begin, and
we will take lots of photographs of Peggy for you, in groups and by
herself. They mayn't be very good at first, but you will be interested
to see her in different positions. We will take her walking, and
bicycling, and sitting in the garden, and every way we can think of----"
"And whenever she has a new dress, or hat, so that you may know what
they are like," added Mellicent anxiously. "Are her hats going to be
the same as ours, or is she to choose them for herself?"
"She may choose them for herself, subject, of course, to your mother's
refraining influence. If she were to develop a fondness for scarlet
feathers, for instance, I think Mrs. Asplin should interfere; but Peggy
has good taste. I don't think she will go far wrong," said her mother,
looking at her fondly; and the little white face quivered before it
broke into its sunny, answering smile.
Three times that evening, after Mrs. Saville had left, did her
companions surprise the glitter of tears in Peggy's eyes; but there was
a dignified reserve about her manner which forbade outspoken sympathy.
Even when she was discovered to be quietly crying behind her book,
when Maxwell flipped it mischievously out of her hands--even then did
Peggy preserve her wonderful self-possession. The tears were trickling
down her cheeks, and her poor little nose was red and swollen, but she
looked up at Maxwell without a quiver, and it was he who stood gaping
before her, aghast and miserable.
"Oh, I say! I'm fearfully sorry!"
"So am I," said Peggy severely. "It was rude, and not at all funny. And
it injures the book. I have always been taught to reverence books, and
treat them as dear and valued companions. Pick it up, please. Thank
you. Don't do it again." She hitched herself round in her chair and
settled down once more to her reading, while Maxwell slunk back to his
seat. When Peggy was offended she invariably fell back upon Mariquita's
grandiose manner, and the sting of her sharp little tongue left her
victims dumb and smarting.
(_To be continued._)
VARIETIES.
WHAT "GEORGE ELIOT" WAS LIKE.
A graphic portrait in words of the famous novelist "George Eliot" has
been given by Mrs. Katherine S. Macquoid. "George Eliot," she says,
"was very plain, much plainer than any of the portraits make her out to
be. Her mouth was repulsive, and seen in some lights the nose seemed
to protrude unnaturally over the mouth; it did not in reality, but one
sometimes received that impression.
"Her eyes were of that greenish hue seen in the hazel nut; you might
say almost that they were hazel eyes shot with green. They were not at
all prominent, but had such a wonderful look in them as they gazed at
you, or rather scanned you in a curious, sidelong manner, peculiar to
her. The only person whom I can think of with eyes like George Eliot
was Home the medium."
GET OUT OF IT.
Nothing is so narrowing, contracting, hardening, as always to be moving
in the same groove, with no thought beyond what we immediately see and
hear close around us.
THE GREAT CREATOR.--"I feel profoundly convinced," says Lord Kelvin,
"that the argument of design has been greatly too much lost sight
of in recent biological speculations. Overpoweringly strong proofs
of intelligent and benevolent design lie around us, and if ever
perplexities, whether metaphysical or scientific, turn us away from
them for a time, they come back upon us with irresistible force,
showing to us through nature the influence of a free will, and teaching
that all living things depend on one everlasting Creator and Ruler."
QUEENS AS NEEDLEWOMEN.
BY EMMA BREWER.