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,--or 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 you 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, and 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 mocking light danced back into her eyes. "So
they were all anxious to have me, were they? How nice! I'm gratified
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 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 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 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 grieve myself 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 there 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 and
Company, Oxford Street. Cod-liver oil in winter. Careless about
changing shoes. Damp brings on throat. Aconite and belladonna." 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 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 sweet lips,
to meet the glance of the loving eyes--
But this would never do! Had she not vowed to be 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,
and 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 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 such 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! That is 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 the girl's
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.
CHAPTER SIX.
A NEW FRIENDSHIP.
A week after this, Mrs Saville came to pay her farewell visit before
sailing for India. Mother and daughter went out for a walk in the
morning, and retired to the drawing-room together for the afternoon.
There was much that they wanted to say to each other, yet for the most
part they were silent, Peggy sitting with her head on her mother's
shoulder, and Mrs Saville's arms clasped tightly round her. Every now
and then she stroked the smooth brown head, and sometimes Peggy raised
her lips and kissed the cheek which leant against her own, but the
sentences came at long intervals.
"If I were ill, mother--a long illness--would you come?"
"On wings, darling! As fast as boat and train could bring me."
"And if you were ill?"
"I should send for you, if it were within the bounds of possibility--I
promise that! You must write often, Peggy--long, long letters. Tell me
all you do, and feel, and think. You will be almost a woman when we
meet again. Don't grow up a stranger to me, darling."
"Every week, mother! I'll write something each day, and then it will be
like a diary. I'll tell you every bit of my life..."
"Be a good girl, Peggy. Do all you can for Mrs Asplin, who is so kind
to you. She will give you what money you need, and if at any time you
should want more than your ordinary allowance, for presents or any
special purpose, just tell her about it, and she will understand. You
can have anything in reason; I want you to be happy. Don't fret,
dearie. I shall be with father, and the time will pass. In three years
I shall be back again, and then, Peg, then, how happy we shall be! Only
three years."
Peggy shivered, and was silent. Three years seem an endless space when
one is young. She shut her eyes, and pondered drearily upon all that
would happen before the time of separation was passed. She would be
seventeen, nearly eighteen--a young lady who wore dresses down at her
ankles, and did up her hair. This was the last time, the very, very
last time when she would be a child in her mother's arms. The new
relationship might be nearer, sweeter, but it could never be the same,
and the very sound of the words "the last time" sends a pang to the
heart.
Half an hour later the carriage drove up to the door. Mr and Mrs
Asplin came into the room to say a few words of farewell, and then left
Peggy to see her mother off. There were no words spoken on the way, and
so quietly did they move that Robert had no suspicion that anyone was
near, as he took off his shoes in the cloak-room opening off the hall.
He tossed his cap on to a nail, picked up his book, and was just about
to sally forth, when the sound of a woman's voice sent a chill through
his veins. The tone of the voice was low, almost a whisper, yet he had
never in his life heard anything so thrilling as its intense and
yearning tenderness. "Oh, my Peggy!" it said. "My little Peggy!" And
then, as in reply, came a low moaning sound, a feeble bleat like that of
a little lamb torn from its mother's side. Robert charged back into the
cloak-room, and kicked savagely at the boots and shoes which were
scattered about the floor, his lips pressed together, and his brows
meeting in a straight black line across his forehead. Another minute,
and the carriage rolled away. He peeped out of the door in time to see
a little figure fly out into the rain, and walking slowly towards the
schoolroom came face to face with Mrs Asplin.
"Gone?" she inquired sadly. "Well, I'm thankful it is over. Poor
little dear, where is she? Flown up to her room, I suppose. We'll
leave her alone until tea-time. It will be the truest kindness."
"Yes," said Robert vaguely. He was afraid that the good lady would not
be so willing to leave Peggy undisturbed if she knew her real
whereabouts, and was determined to say nothing to undeceive her. He
felt sure that the girl had hidden herself in the summer-house at the
bottom of the garden, and a nice, damp, mouldy retreat it would be this
afternoon, with the rain driving in through the open window, and the
creepers dripping on the walls. Just the place in which to sit and
break your heart, and catch rheumatic fever with the greatest possible
ease. And yet Robert said no word of warning to Mrs Asplin. He had an
inward conviction that if anyone were to go to the rescue, that person
should be himself, and that he, more than anyone else, would be able to
comfort Peggy in her affliction. He sauntered up and down the hall
until the coast was clear, then dashed once more into the cloak-room,
took an Inverness coat from a nail, a pair of goloshes from the floor,
and sped rapidly down the garden-path. In less than two minutes he had
reached the summer-house, and was peeping cautiously in at the door.
Yes; he was right. There sat Peggy, with her arms stretched out before
her on the rickety table, her shoulders heaving with long, gasping sobs.
Her fingers clenched and unclenched themselves spasmodically, and the
smooth little head rolled to and fro in an abandonment of grief. Robert
stood looking on in silent misery. He had a boy's natural hatred of
tears, and his first impulse was to turn tail, go back to the house, and
send someone to take his place; but even as he hesitated he shivered in
the chilly damp, and remembered the principal reason of his coming. He
stepped forward and dropped the cloak over the bent shoulders, whereupon
Peggy started up and turned a scared white face upon him.
"Who, who--Oh! it is you! What do you want?"
"Nothing. I saw you come out, and thought you would be cold. I brought
you out my coat."
"I don't want it; I am quite warm. I came here to be alone."
"I know; I'm not going to bother. Mrs Asplin thinks you are in your
room, and I didn't tell her that I'd seen you go out. But it's damp.
If you catch cold, your mother will be sorry."
Peggy looked at him thoughtfully, and there was a glimmer of gratitude
in her poor tear-stained eyes.
"Yes; I p-p-romised to be careful. You are very kind, but I can't think
of anything to-night. I am too miserably wretched."
"I know; I've been through it. I was sent away to a boarding-school
when I was a little kid of eight, and I howled myself to sleep every
night for weeks. It is worse for you, because you are older, but you
will be happy enough in this place when you get settled. Mrs Asplin is
a brick, and we have no end of fun. It is ever so much better than
being at school; and, I say, you mustn't mind what Mellicent said the
other night. She's a little muff, always saying the wrong thing. We
were only chaffing when we said you were to be our fag. We never really
meant to bully you."
"You c-couldn't if you t-tried," stammered Peggy brokenly, but with a
flash of her old spirit which delighted her hearer.
"No; of course not. You can stand up for yourself; I know that very
well. But look here: I'll make a compact, if you will. Let us be
friends. I'll stick to you and help you when you need it, and you stick
to me. The other girls have their brother to look after them, but if
you want anything done, if anyone is cheeky to you, and you want him
kicked, for instance, just come to me, and I'll do it for you. It's all
nonsense about being a fag, but there are lots of things you could do
for me if you would, and I'd be awfully grateful. We might be partners,
and help one another--"
Robert stopped in some embarrassment, and Peggy stared fixedly at him,
her pale face peeping out from the folds of the Inverness coat. She had
stopped crying, though the tears still trembled on her eyelashes, and
her chin quivered in uncertain fashion. Her eyes dwelt on the broad
forehead, the overhanging brows, the square, massive chin, and
brightened with a flash of approval.
"You are a nice boy," she said slowly. "I like you! You don't really
need my help, but you thought it would cheer me to feel that I was
wanted. Yes; I'll be your partner, and I'll be of real use to you yet.
You'll find that out, Robert Darcy, before you have done with me."
"All right, so much the better. I hope you will; but you know you can't
expect to have your own way all the time. I'm the senior partner, and
you will have to do what I tell you. Now I say it's damp in this hole,
and you ought to come back to the house at once. It's enough to kill
you to sit in this draught."
"I'd rather like to be killed. I'm tired of life. I shouldn't mind
dying a bit."
"Humph!" said Robert shortly. "Jolly cheerful news that would be for
your poor mother when she arrived at the end of her journey! Don't be
so selfish. Now then, up you get! Come along to the house."
"I wo--" Peggy began, then suddenly softened, and glanced apologetically
into his face. "Yes, I will, because you ask me. Smuggle me up to my
room, Robert, and don't, don't, if you love me, let Mellicent come near
me! I couldn't stand her chatter to-night!"
"She will have to fight her way over my dead body," said Robert firmly;
and Peggy's sweet little laugh quavered out on the air.
"Nice boy!" she repeated heartily. "Nice boy; I do like you!"
CHAPTER SEVEN.
AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHERS.
Peggy looked very sad and wan after her mother's departure, but her
companions soon discovered that anything like outspoken sympathy was
unwelcome. The redder her eyes, the more erect and dignified was her
demeanour; if her lips trembled when she spoke, the more grandiose and
formidable became her conversation, for Peggy's love of long words and
high-sounding expressions was fully recognised by this time, and caused
much amusement in the family.
A few days after Mrs Saville sailed, a welcome diversion arrived in the
shape of the promised camera. The Parcels Delivery van drove up to the
door, and two large cases were delivered, one of which was found to
contain the camera itself, the tripod and a portable dark room, while
the other held such a collection of plates, printing-frames, and
chemicals as delighted the eyes of the beholders. It was the gift of
one who possessed not only a deep purse, but a most true and thoughtful
kindness, for, when young people are concerned, two-thirds of the
enjoyment of any present is derived from the possibility of being able
to put it to immediate use. As it was a holiday afternoon, it was
unanimously agreed to take two groups and develop them straightway.
"Professional photographers are so dilatory," said Peggy severely; "and
indeed I have noticed that amateurs are even worse. I have twice been
photographed by friends, and they have solemnly promised to send me a
copy within a few days. I have waited, consumed by curiosity, and, my
dears, it has been months before it has arrived! Now we will make a
rule to finish off our groups at once, and not keep people waiting until
all the interest has died away. There's no excuse for such dilatory
behaviour!"
"There is some work to do, remember, Peggy. You can't get a photograph
by simply taking off and putting on the cap; you must have a certain
amount of time and fine weather. I haven't had much experience, but I
remember thinking that photographs were jolly cheap, considering all the
trouble they cost, and wondering how the fellows could do them at the
price. There's the developing, and washing, and printing, and toning,--
half a dozen processes before you are finished."
Peggy smiled in a patient, forbearing manner.
"They don't get any less, do they, by putting them off? Procrastination
will never lighten labour. Come, put the camera up for us, like a good
boy, and we'll show you how to do it." She waved her hand towards the
brown canvas bag, and the six young people immediately seized different
portions of the tripod and camera, and set to work to put them together.
The girls tugged and pulled at the sliding legs, which were too new and
stiff to work with ease; Maxwell turned the screws which moved the
bellows, and tried in vain to understand their working; Robert peered
through the lenses, and Oswald alternately raved, chided, and jeered at
their efforts. With so many cooks at work, it took an unconscionable
time to get ready, and even when the camera was perched securely on its
spidery legs, it still remained to choose the site of the picture, and
to pose the victims. After much wandering about the garden, it was
finally decided that the schoolroom window would be an appropriate
background for a first effort; but a heated argument followed before the
second question could be decided.
"I vote that we stand in couples, arm-on-arm,--like this!" said
Mellicent, sidling up to her beloved brother, and gazing into his face
in a sentimental manner, which had the effect of making him stride away
as fast as he could walk, muttering indignant protests beneath his
breath.
Then Esther came forward with her suggestion.
"I'll hold a book as if I were reading aloud, and you can all sit round
in easy, natural positions, and look as if you were listening. I think
that would make a charming picture."
"Idiotic, I call it! `Scene from the Goodchild family; mamma reading
aloud to the little ones.' Couldn't possibly look easy and natural
under the circumstances; should feel too miserable. Try again, my dear.
You must think of something better than that."