"TOO FAITHFUL"
"PEGGY, Miss Joyce and I have to go away for a night. We are wondering
about you, but Mrs. Timson, our next neighbour up the road, has kindly
said she will let you sleep at her cottage. In fact, I think we had
better lock up the house, and you go to her altogether."
But this did not suit Peggy at all. Here was an occasion to prove her
trustworthiness!
"Oh, please 'm, I've a lot o' cleanin' to do. I would be ever so
careful. Miss Joyce has showed me how to clean my brass fireirons, in
my drawin' room, and I wants to scrub out my cupboards, and I has two
aprons to wash, and, please 'm, there ought to be some one to take care
of the 'ouse, 'cause of burglars!"
"We are not afraid of burglars down here," said Helen, with a smile.
"And there is 'Albert Edward'; he can be tied up to guard the place."
"Albert Edward," was a new importation. He was a rough-haired terrier
that had been presented by the vicar, and he was a formidable
watch-dog. Peggy and he were great friends, and they had many mutual
likes and dislikes.
"Yes 'm, Albert Edward and me will take care of everything beautiful."
In the end a compromise was made. Peggy was allowed to stay in the
house till four o'clock in the afternoon, then she was to go to Mrs.
Timson.
She stood at the gate a proud and happy girl when her mistresses
departed the next morning. She watched them out of sight, then stayed
a minute in the front garden, gazing at a clump of snowdrops, the only
flowers then in bloom.
Mrs. Creak was wrong when she lamented Peggy's non-appreciation of the
beauties of nature.
Her little soul was drinking it in very slowly, but very surely.
As she looked out of her small bedroom window every morning, she would
say to herself—
"Oh, Peggy, what is it makes you feel so happy? 'Tis the wonderful
lot of room you sees, and all the empty earth and sky, why all London
couldn't crowd out this place, 'tis so big!"
Now as she looked at the snowdrops, she addressed herself again.
"They does keep theirselves clean, Peggy. 'Tis a pity you can't be
more like 'em, they be just like white chiny. I'm glad I don't have to
dust 'em ev'ry mornin'. I should be certain sure to snap their stalks
off! I wish Mrs. Creak could see what flowers I have 'ere, and nothink
whatsoever to pay."
Then she betook herself indoors.
The garden was pleasant, but she could not scrub or dust it, and those
two arts were at present her chief joy.
The day passed too quickly for all she had to do, and at four o'clock
she locked up the front door, leaving Albert Edward in the back kitchen
with a plate of scraps by his side.
When she arrived at Mrs. Timson's she found that worthy woman sitting
down with her husband at his tea. John Timson was the carrier to the
nearest market town, six miles away. He was a meek little man with a
great faculty for receiving all local gossip and quietly passing it on.
His wife overpowered him when present. She was a head taller than he,
and a great talker, but not a cheerful one. They had no children, and
Mrs. Timson was very glad to help out their small income by going out
cleaning or washing. She washed for the Miss Churchhills, and Peggy's
much-prized cotton gowns passed through her hands.
"Come ye in and sit down, me dear," she said to Peggy. "I've been
expectin' ye this long while. How's the world treatin' ye? Better 'n it
do me, I reckon! For 'tis work, work, work, when me bones is full of
aches and pains. And if I had laws to make, I'd make 'em so as to make
the sufferin' ones sit still, and the hearty ones to work."
Her husband gave a quiet wink to Peggy.
"Meanin' me, in course, wife; but I do be at it all day long."
"You? You sit in your cart like a dook, and gossip wi' folks till one
don't know fac' from fiction. 'Tis me that be at it all day long."
"I like workin'," said Peggy simply. "But then I be stronger than you,
missus."
"That you be. I mind when I were a girl how I worked. But there! Things
is different nowadays, and I'm gradorly droppin' down towards me tomb."
"I've locked up," said Peggy inconsequently. "Do you think it will be
all safe?"
"Safe as my watch in my pocket," said the carrier.
His wife shook her head at him.
"Do ee remember that terrible murder away at Ball Farm two years gone?
'Twas a farm servant left in charge, and 'twas gipsies that did it. Two
men got inside, dressed like women, and they were purtending to tell
fortunes, and the poor little maid screamed for help, and they killed
her."
Peggy's eyes grew round. She was accustomed to London horrors, but she
thought the country was free of them.
"I ain't afraid of no one with Albert Edward," she said sturdily. "I'd
like to have slep' by myself over at my 'ouse to-night. Albert Edward
would kill any burglar if he could get at him, I know he would."
Once embarked on a gruesome subject, Mrs. Timson flowed on, bringing
out of her past reminiscences so many ghastly stories of murder
and thieving and such-like, that at last her more cheerful husband
interfered.
"Come, missus, stop it! This young lady won't sleep to-night. She be
drinkin' it all in like water!"
"Oh! I ain't afraid," Peggy again repeated. "I arsks God to keep me
safe, and I knows He will."
Her sleep was sound and sweet in spite of Mrs. Timson's stories, and
she would hardly wait for her breakfast, so impatient was she to get
back to Ivy Cottage.
"My missuses will be back at three o'clock, and I has my rooms to sweep
and dust, and Albert Edward will be expectin' of me."
She ran back with a light heart, found the postman had left two
letters, but no one else had disturbed the premises. She worked
away with a light heart, but at twelve o'clock heard at sharp ring
at the bell, and when she went to the door was confronted by a tall
commanding-looking lady, who asked gruffly if the Miss Churchhills were
at home.
Now the last words of Miss Churchhill to Peggy had been these—
"You are to let nobody into the house, Peggy. You cannot be too
careful. If any one calls, say we are away from home."
So, with a suspicious glance at the visitor, Peggy replied importantly—
"My missuses be away till this arternoon."
"How vexing, to be sure! But they must have had my letter. I will come
in and wait. My bag is at the station, and will follow me."
Peggy's head was so full of the stories that she had heard, that she
murmured to herself—
"Tis a burglar, Peggy, a-dressed up and tryin' to get in. Now be brave,
and do your dooty."
She slowly began to shut the door.
"No 'm, I ain't goin' to let you in; and if you don't get off with yer
pretty sharp, I'll call Albert Edward!"
"You impertinent girl! Do you know who I am?—Miss Alicia Allandale. How
dare you try to shut the door in my face! A nice reception when I come
to see my nieces! Let me in this minute!"
Miss Allandale had a stronger arm than Peggy. As she found she could
not close the door, she called loudly to Albert Edward. Alas! He was
already barking frantically in the back kitchen, with two closed doors
between him and the intruder.
"You go out this minit!" Peggy shouted valiantly. "I see yer tricks.
You ain't a-comin' I tell yer, so there. Not if I dies for it!"
The lady made no reply, but she thrust Peggy aside as if she were a fly
on the wall, and walked straight into the little drawing room. Then
Peggy flew to the kitchen, got hold of Albert Edward, and brought him
snarling and growling with rage to the door. She was about to let him
in upon the uninvited guest when a second thought struck her. The key
was outside the drawing room door. She locked the lady in, and then
drew a long breath.
"Now I'll go and fetch a pleece, if I can find one; only, Peggy, you
stoopid, he may get through the window and take all the chiny and books
with 'im! Here, Albert Edward, come here! You watch outside the window,
and if he or she—I dunno which it is—shows their 'eel's outside the
window, you go for them, my boy!"
Albert Edward was only too delighted to oblige. He took up his position
outside the window, and with low continuous growls, and much display of
teeth, proved his ability to guard his mistress's domain.
Peggy flew along the road, first to Mrs. Timson's, but that good woman
was out; then, as she was nearing the village, she met the blacksmith.
"Oh! Please, sir," she gasped, "could you catch 'old of a burglar? I
don't know where to find the pleece, and you look fairish strong. I've
been and locked 'im up; he's dressed like a woman. Oh! Come on quick,
please sir! He may be smashin' the china when he finds he can't get
out!"
The blacksmith looked puzzled, but obligingly accompanied Peggy.
"You be a smart little maid to have tackled a thief," he said. "Tell us
how it was."
Peggy began her story, but as she neared Ivy Cottage her heart misgave
her when she saw Albert Edward in the road, worrying at some object
which he held between his teeth.
"He's got away!" she exclaimed. "We be too late!"
But when she bent over Albert Edward and found he held a lady's shoe in
his mouth, she looked up at the blacksmith with a doubtful face.
"You don't think, sir, that he 've a-killed and eaten 'er?"
They found the drawing room empty, but the window open.
The blacksmith made light of it. "Your visitor found his welcome too
hot for my girl. Look about and see if there be anything missing. It
don't look as if he have taken anything."
Peggy made a minute inspection of the room.
"No, everythink be right. You don't think really that Albert Edward—"
The blacksmith lifted up his head, and gave a hearty laugh.
"I don't think he swallowed 'im, my girl; no, I don't indeed. Keep the
shoo, and we'll put the pleece on his track. Are you 'feared of bein'
left?"
"Not a bit!" said sturdy Peggy. "'E won't show his nose agen with me
and Albert Edward here."
By the time the Miss Churchhills arrived, Peggy had come to the
conclusion that she had been at last what she had long wished to be—a
real heroine.
"And, Peggy, if you'd only kep' 'im and given 'im up to the pleece
proper, I 'spect your name would have come out in the newspapers; and
then what would you have felt like!"
She poured forth her story rather incoherently, but with great pride.
To her consternation, Helen turned upon her.
"What name did you say, Peggy? Why it was our Aunt Alicia. Did a letter
come? Oh what have you done?"
Joyce began to laugh, and Peggy to cry.
"Please 'm, she looked too tall; and her voice was so gruff."
"Of course it was," said Joyce. "She's an eccentric old lady, Peggy,
who is fond of taking us by surprise. Well, what does she say, Helen?
Don't look so grave."
Helen held out the letter, which was as follows:—
"DEAR NIECES,—As I find myself within thirty miles of your new abode,
I shall give myself the pleasure of coming to stop a night with you.
I haven't given you a present for some time, but will wait till I see
what you need most in your cottage. Expect me by the 11.30 train.
"Your affectionate aunt,
"ALICIA ALLANDALE."
Joyce read this aloud.
Peggy's face was a study as she listened, and as she understood the
enormity of her offence. Holding out a stout but much-bitten black shoe
in her hand, she said tragically—
"And, please 'm, this is all that is left of 'er!"
Helen, as well as Joyce, saw the humour of the situation, and laughed
aloud.
But they were seriously annoyed; and poor Peggy, dashed from her
pedestal as heroine to a very stupid and ignorant little servant-maid,
spent the rest of the day in tearful lamentation.
The next morning Helen received the following letter:
"DEAR NIECE,—I was subjected to such insolence and humiliation from
your ignorant servant yesterday, who absolutely refused me entrance,
and refused to listen to my explanation, that I have resolved never to
place myself in a like position again. I don't know where you got her,
or what training you are giving her. I conclude she is the lowest type
of humanity, and the nearest proximity to a savage that I have ever
come in contact with. She not only locked me in a room, but fetched a
low, vicious mongrel, and deliberately set him at me. My dress is in
rags, and ankles severely bitten. I am in the doctor's hands. It will
be long before I propose myself as your visitor again.
"Your affectionate aunt,
"ALICIA ALLANDALE."
"Peggy is too faithful," murmured Helen.
"She has more heart than head," said Joyce. "Well, cheer up, Helen. We
have lost a substantial cheque, which we can ill afford at present. You
must write and explain; but she will never forgive or forget it."
And Miss Alicia never did.
As for Peggy, her spirits fell considerably. She was learning life's
lessons, and discovered that her sense and judgment were not always to
be relied on.
"You've had a fall, Peggy," she said to herself, "and you won't get up
so high nex' time. Oh my! I only hope a real burglar won't come along.
For I'm certain sure that I'll ask him in so porlite, and be so kind to
'im that he'll clear the whole 'ouse as easy as can be!"