CHAPTER VISUNDAY

1. 'Way down in Georgia where de sugar am grow,All de piccaninnies want to suck de canes, you know!An' dey're hidin' round an' peepin', like de 'possum all de day,Till Uncle Sambo bring his stick an' chase 'em all away!Chorus.Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies mustn't come near!Don't want no little piccaninnies 'way down here!Ole mammy callin' you, de melon-beds among—Shoo! little piccaninnies, 'way! go 'long!2. When de kitchen-fire am blazin', an' Aunt Dinah stews an' bakes,All de piccaninnies gather just to smell her pies an' cakes;An' dey cluster round de window like de bees upon a comb,Till Auntie Dinah she get mad, an' turn an' drive 'em home!Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies, etc.3. When massa go a-drivin' in de carry-all and pair,Little piccaninnies run behind to shout Hurrah! and stare;Den de overseer he come up, and use his big, long lash,And say de road was neber meant to harbour nigger trash!Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies, etc.

Chorus.Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies mustn't come near!Don't want no little piccaninnies 'way down here!Ole mammy callin' you, de melon-beds among—Shoo! little piccaninnies, 'way! go 'long!

2. When de kitchen-fire am blazin', an' Aunt Dinah stews an' bakes,All de piccaninnies gather just to smell her pies an' cakes;An' dey cluster round de window like de bees upon a comb,Till Auntie Dinah she get mad, an' turn an' drive 'em home!Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies, etc.

3. When massa go a-drivin' in de carry-all and pair,Little piccaninnies run behind to shout Hurrah! and stare;Den de overseer he come up, and use his big, long lash,And say de road was neber meant to harbour nigger trash!Shoo, shoo! piccaninnies, etc.

'It's lovely!' cried the admiring girls. 'Did you make up the words too?'

'Of course she did,' said Peggy, who was proud of her sister's talents. 'She has made lots of others, too. Lil, do let me find "Dinah's Baby" and "Stealin' Melons 'neath de Moon"!'

'No, no,' said Lilian; 'I've shown off quite enough for one day. It's somebody else's turn now. Come along, Dorothy!'

But Dorothy declared she had played everything she knew, with the exception of scales or five-finger exercises, and none of the others could remember anything without their notes, so the piano was closed and the music put away.

'There's your little brother outside, tapping on the glass,' said Susie. 'What a cherub he looks, with his pink cheeks and little tight brown curls!'

'Sure, I'll let him in, the darlint!' said Kathleen O'Riley, running to open the French window and admit the smiling Bobby, who entered with an expression of such angelic innocence that Peggy's suspicions were instantly aroused.

'I thought you might like some chocolates,' he said winningly, handing a noble box to Mary Hirst with an air of much generosity.

'Dear little fellow! How sweet of him!' murmured the girls as they collected round with pleased anticipation.

Mary opened the box, but dropped it with a howl of dismay, for in place of the tempting sweetmeats she had expected lay a writhing mass of fat green caterpillars, newly picked from the gooseberry-bushes, a subtle revenge on Bobby's part for his expulsion from the sanctum.

'You wretch!' cried Lilian, endeavouring to catch and chastise the rejoicing offender, who was off through the window and over the wall long before the girls had finished screaming and shaking their skirts.

'He's a broth of a boy!' laughed Kathleen, who rather enjoyed the joke. 'Get out the fire-shovel, Peggy mavourneen, and we'll be after sweeping them up from the carpet. They're too soft and juicy to be treading under foot.'

'What shall we do now?' asked Susie, sinking back luxuriously into the basket-chair, when the contents of the chocolate-box had been successfully removed.

'Suppose we play at nonsense verses,' said Lilian, tearing a few pages from an exercise-book, and hunting out a supply of pencils. 'You all know the famous one about the lady of Riga:

"There was a young lady of Riga,Who smiled as she rode on the tiger;They came home from their rideWith the lady inside,And the smile on the face of the tiger."

Well, the game is this. We each write down the name of a person we all know on a slip of paper; they are folded up and shuffled, and everybody draws one, and you must write a nonsense rhyme about the person whose name you find upon your particular slip. Then we elect a president and read them out.'

'It sounds dreadfully difficult,' sighed Lucy. 'I'm not at all clever at poetry.'

'Oh, never mind,dotry;' said Peggy, dealing out the pencils. 'It's ever such fun when once you begin.'

The names were written out, the papers shuffled and drawn, and for ten minutes or more the girls sat knitting their brows and biting their pencils in all the agonies of composition. When everyone had finished the slips were folded up and placed in a basket, and Lilian, who had been chosen to read the effusions, shut her eyes and drew one out at a venture. The name was 'Mademoiselle,' and the lines ran as follows:

'There once was a French mademoiselleWho thought she knew English quite well.When she meant "I am happy,"She said "I am snappy,"Which made us all laugh, I can tell.'

The girls tittered, for Mademoiselle's mistakes in English were a by-word all over the school.

'I wonder who wrote that!' said Susie, with an innocent air.

'Don't give yourself away, my dear,' answered Evelyn. 'We can all guess now.'

The next paper was headed 'Mary Hirst.'

'There was a wild schoolgirl named Hirst,Who of all the bad pupils was worst,Till she started to cramFor the Cambridge exam.,And, to everyone's surprise, came out first.'

'I hope that's a true prophecy,' laughed Mary, who was studying hard for the Senior Local.

'This writing is not very clear,' said Lilian, unfolding another slip and reading: 'Peggy.'

'There was a young lady named Peg,Who was terribly strong in the leg:With the boys in a raceShe could set her own pace;But pray do not name it, I beg.'

'That's your own, Lilian,' said the astute Kathleen, 'for you said the writing was hard to make out, and yet you read it straight off, quite glibly.'

'You may guess as you like, but I shan't tell,' replied the president sternly.

The fourth paper was described 'Herr Frühl.'

'There was an old German named Frühl,Who a respirator wore as a rule.When the weather was bad,Oh, his temper was sad,Till we wished he were muzzled in school.'

This proved a favourite, for poor Herr Frühl, the German master, was famous for his bronchitis and hisbad temper, and the general opinion ascribed the authorship to Dorothy, though she would not acknowledge her laurels.

'The next,' said Lilian, 'is on Kathleen.'

'There once lived a maid named Kathleen,Who never a boat-race had seen;When they brought her a bowOf bright red, she said "No,My national colour is green!"'

The lines referred to a joke which was never forgotten against Kathleen. When she first came to Warford High School, fresh from her native Erin, she had been taken with the rest of her class to witness a grand boat-race between the Grammar School and a rival college from Oswestry. Many of the girls had brothers in the contest, and the Warford favours were freely distributed on the bank. A little boy had come up to Kathleen and politely begged her to accept the scarlet bow of the Grammar School, and sport it as a token of goodwill towards the heroes of the town.

'Is it a red riband, then, ye'll be after askin' me to wear?' inquired the indignant young Irishwoman. 'It's the shade of the tyrant, bad cess to it! and don't suit me complexion neither. Sure it's nothing but green favours ye'll see on Kathleen O'Riley.'

'Miss James' was the subject of the sixth poem.

'A teacher there was called Miss James,The most domineering of dames:When she passed by their places,All the girls made bad faces;But she never found out, all the same!'

'Same doesn't quite rhyme with James,' remarked Evelyn.

'Well, I told you I was no good at poetry,' beganpoor Lucy, then stopped in much embarrassment at having betrayed herself.

'I think it's very nice,' said Lilian hurriedly; 'I like it one of the best. Don't you want to hear this one about "Dorothy Gower"?

'A maiden named Dorothy GowerCould never eat anything sour;To plain biscuits or breadA "No, thank you," she said,But candy or cakes she'd devour.'

'It's a slander!' cried Dorothy. 'A vile slander! And if I discover the authorship, I'll bring an action for libel. Go on, Lilian dear, and give us the last.'

The final effort was on the theme of 'Joe.'

'There was a young fellow named Joe:Who gave him that name I don't know,But I do know that heGave a puppy to me,And that's why I take to him so!'

'That's Peggy's!' cried the girls in chorus. 'It couldn't belong to anyone else. Well done, Peggy! You will have to show that to Joe; he'll be quite flattered.'

They sat laughing over the rhymes and chattering as only schoolgirls know how until Aunt Helen came in to announce that a light repast of cake and lemonade awaited them in the dining-room, and to gently hint that, if Warford were to be reached before darkness had fallen, it was getting time for the six bicycles to be set in motion. So there was a grand collecting of hats and gloves, and pumping of tyres, and many 'good-byes' and 'thank you's,' and the merry party at last started off on their homeward way, ringing their bells as a parting salute, and declaring they would not soon forget their afternoon at the Abbey.

'A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich;A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong;Thou shalt be served thyself by every senseOf service which thou renderest.'

Itwas Sunday afternoon, and the children sat in the Rose Parlour, with the windows wide open to let in all the sweet summer scents from the garden.

Patient Lilian was struggling to teach Bobby a Scripture lesson, for his form-master had decreed that the names of the books of the Old Testament must be repeated without a slip immediately after prayers on the ensuing Monday morning. Poor Bobby had neither a retentive memory nor a great disposition to learn. He fidgeted, and kicked the leg of the table, and said it was 'a jolly shame for old Peters to give a fellow Sunday prep.' He hopelessly confused Ezra and Esther, floundered at Ecclesiastes, and the minor prophets filled him with despair.

'Oh, Bobby,dotry again,' entreated Lilian. 'Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk.'

'It's no use, Lil,' said the despondent Bobby. 'I may as well make up my mind to take a caning and spare myself the trouble.'

'Lilian dear, are you busy?' said Aunt Helen,putting her head round the door. 'I thought you might have taken this jar of beef-tea to old Ephraim. I hear he is not so well again, and he was not in church this morning.'

'Oh, Auntie, let me take it!' cried Peggy, glad of any excuse to interrupt the study of her Collect and Catechism.

'Be careful not to spill it, then, and be sure to bring back the basket. And while you are there, I have no doubt he would be pleased if you read to him for a little. He is getting so blind now, poor old man! and it is dull for him, living all alone,' said Aunt Helen, who liked to teach the children to help their neighbours.

Old Ephraim was a quaint and original character. He had come to Gorswen from the North country, and had been shepherd for forty years at the Abbey. He was past work now, and lived in one of the village almshouses, subsisting partly on the parish dole and partly on private charity; for though Mr. Vaughan might practise rigid economy in his own private expenses, he had never a grudging hand towards the poor.

The little low whitewashed cottage was a humble enough place, but it looked cheerful this Sunday afternoon, with the sunlight streaming in through the tiny window, and a few early white roses shedding their sweet perfume in the small garden in front.

Peggy found the old man seated in his elbow-chair by the fireside, his head enveloped in a huge flat oat-cake, tied on with a red cotton pocket-handkerchief, so that he resembled some new species of mushroom.

'Why, Ephraim!' she cried, stopping short in amazement; 'whatever is the matter? And what have you got on your head?'

'Headache, Miss Peggy,' replied Ephraim, shaking his gray locks solemnly. 'There ain't nothink like a hot oat-cake for a bad head; it do cure it wonderful, to be sure.'

'Well, it seems a queer thing to put on, anyhow,' remarked Peggy, wondering privately whether the old man would consume his remedy afterwards for tea. 'How is the rheumatism?'

'Better, Miss Peggy—gradely better since I've kept a potato in my pocket. Ah, it's a fine thing for the rheumatics, is a potato. But,' with a sly wink, 'it must be stolen, or it beant no use at all!'

'Did youstealit, then, Ephraim?' cried Peggy with thrilling interest.

'That's as may be,' replied the old man, willing to change the subject now it was growing personal. 'Is your pa keepin' well these days?'

'The Catechism says it's wrong to steal,' observed the righteous Peggy, keeping sternly to the point, and anxious to improve the occasion. 'Haven't you got a Bible, Ephraim?'

'Ay, ay,' returned the culprit evasively, 'there be one somewheres.'

'Don't you know where it is?' said Peggy severely.

'Oh ay! Hannah Jones was in a' Saturday, sidin' th' top o' th' cupboard, and I see'd her wi' it in her hand. Oh, I reads the Bible, I does. It's all about wars—them Israelites foightin' wi' the other heathen.'

'It's about something else, too,' replied Peggy: 'miracles and parables and epistles, and—oh! lots of things. Wouldn't you like me to read some to you?'

'Nay now, Miss Peggy,' said Ephraim, much alarmed lest she should expect him to stir his rheumatic old bones in a search on the cupboard-top. 'I reckonsometimes 'tis better to think on things nor to read 'em. I've time to do a deal o' thinkin', settin' here.'

'Perhaps I might read you something else, then?' volunteered Peggy, determined to be a ministering angel, despite the evident unwillingness of her protégé.

'Yea,' said the old man, considerably relieved; 'there be a drawer full o' books i' the dresser. Take your choice, miss—take your choice.'

Peggy turned out the drawer by the simple process of emptying it on the table, and disclosed a very miscellaneous collection of literature—socialist pamphlets, agnostic newspapers, and radical tracts were mixed up with teetotal treatises, missionary leaflets, and the parish magazine. Sheets of ballads, which Ephraim had bought as a boy, lay side by side with a tattered copy or two of Zadkiel's prophetic almanac, some advertisements of patent medicines, a recipe for sheep-dip, and a Wesleyan hymn-book. Peggy gazed eagerly at an ancient chap-book, which set forth the stories of Dick Turpin and Jack Sheppard, interspersed with rude woodcuts of the gallows and whipping-post; but she heroically put it aside, as being unsuitable for the day.

Finally, she settled upon a little worn volume bound in calf, with the title, 'A Sigh of Sorrow for the Sinners of Zion, breathed by an Earthly Vessel known among Men by the Name of Samuel Fish.'

'I'm sure Aunt Helen would think this all right to read to him,' she said to herself, as she drew a chair to the other side of the fire.

It was not very easy reading, for the print had faded till it was almost the colour of the yellow leaves, and the 's's' were all long, so that Peggy found herself continually reading 'fins' instead of 'sins'; but she did her best, conscientiously, and the old man noddedin his chair, sitting up briskly, however, when he felt her reproachful eyes upon him.

Peggy stopped, quite hot and weary, at the end of the first chapter.

'Do you like it, Ephraim?' she inquired anxiously.

'Ay, Miss Peggy, it be foine, it be, surely,' said the old man.

'What does it all mean?' said the child. 'It is so hard to read, I can scarcely understand it.'

'Why, as to that, miss,' answered Ephraim, 'it seems to me as long as it's pious words, there beant no call to understand 'em, let alone I'm that deaf to-day, it seems naught but a buzzin' like when you read.'

Peggy closed the book hurriedly.

'I think I had better be going now,' she announced. 'I hope your headache will be well soon. Can't I put the kettle on for you?'

'Ay, miss, if you be so bountiful. My rheumatics be cruel bad when I stir me.'

Peggy filled the kettle from the pump in the back garden, and hung it on its hook over the fire. She found the old man's cup and saucer, and set out his tea on the little round table by his side, and finally took her departure, feeling she had at least attended to his temporal wants, and might leave the rest to older and wiser heads than hers.

'I'll call and see Mrs. Davis; there'll be plenty of time before tea,' she said to herself, as she came back up the village street, swinging her empty basket.

Mrs. Davis was a dear old Welshwoman, and a particular friend of Peggy's. She was one of Nature's gentlewomen, for her kind heart prompted those little gracious, courteous acts which in a higher class we call good breeding. She made quite a picture in her shortlinsey-woolsey petticoat, with the check apron, her plaid shawl crossed over her cotton bodice, and the frilled white cap framing the kind old face, with its apple cheeks and soft white hair. She was sitting among her bees this Sunday afternoon, beating with an iron spoon upon an old tin kettle.

'They be swarming, indeed, Miss Peggy,' she said. 'And here I've had to sit the whole of the day, beating this old tin—and Sunday, too! But we can't expect the poor creatures to understand that, can we?'

'I suppose not,' said Peggy, settling herself on a low wooden seat, at a safe distance from the agitated hives, and letting her glance wander round the little garden, where the tall yellow lilies reared their stately heads over a mass of sweet cottage flowers, pinks and forget-me-nots, poppies and double daisies, sweet-williams—loved of the bees—pansies, lupins, and snap-dragons; over the cottage, where the white roses climbed up the thatch to the very chimneys, and where through the open doorway could be seen the neat kitchen, with its red-brick floor, the settle placed by the fireside, the tall grandfather's clock ticking away in the corner, and the oak dresser, with its rows of blue willow-pattern plates; and back again at last to where Mrs. Davis sat with her grandchild by her knee, a small round-eyed boy, whose thumb was stuck perpetually, like a stopper, in his mouth, and who stood watching the bees with stolid indifference.

'Won't he get stung?' asked Peggy, who thought he looked far too near to the swarming hives for safety.

'No, dearie. I think they know me and Willie now, though they'd attack a stranger as soon as not.'

'I was dreadfully stung once,' confided Peggy. 'I lifted off the little box on the top of one of the Rectory hives, just to see how the bees were getting on, andthey all came rushing out and settled on me. Mr. Howell seized me, and put my head under the pump, and Father was ever so cross, for he said I shouldn't have meddled with them.'

'The bees don't like to be interfered with,' said Mrs. Davis. 'You should never touch them in the daytime. Always take the honey at night.'

'Joe says you must tell them if there's a death in the house, and tie a piece of crape on the hive, or they'll all fly away.'

'Well, I don't quite hold with all folks say about them, but they are strange creatures, with queer ways of their own. They seem quiet just now, so I think I might leave them for a few minutes. I have a pot of honey I should like to send to your aunt, miss, if you would kindly take it to her. I'll go inside and fetch it. No, Willie, my pretty, you can't come. Granny's going up the ladder into the loft.'

'I'll take care of him. Come with me, Willie dear—come and see the pretty flowers.'

And Peggy seized the stolid infant by his disengaged hand.

Willie did not look enthusiastic about the attractions of the flowers, but he allowed himself to be led away, staring at his new guardian with round eyes of solemn distrust, and solacing himself with his thumb.

'We'll build a little house,' said Peggy, anxious to prevent the suspicious twitching of her charge's mouth from developing into a roar, and taking up some bricks and loose stones which lay under the wall. 'See, we'll make a kitchen and parlour, and put down leaves for a carpet. Here's a little round stone for a table, and the pansy-flowers will do for dollies. They've such funny little faces. We'll make them skirts out of laurel leaves, and put them to bed in the corner.'

Peggy's well-meant efforts at entertainment were suddenly interrupted by a loud sniff from the other side of the wall, and, looking up, she saw the round, reproachful face of Polly Smith, a girl of about her own age, who sometimes came up to the Abbey to help Nancy at busy times.

'Why, it's you, miss, I do declare!' exclaimed Polly. 'And making play-houses in Mrs. Davis's garden on Sunday, too! Iamsurprised!I'vebeen to Sunday-school!'

Peggy felt rather caught, but she carried it off as well as she could.

'I was only amusing Willie,' she said. 'He was going to cry because Granny Davis went indoors and left him.'

'Ay, she's been sittin' swarmin' her bees all day. I see her when I was goin' to chapel, and I see her again when I come back, and when I goes to Sunday-school she were still there. My dada says he don't hold with folks as can't keep the Sabbath holy.'

And Polly turned up her small nose in a distinctly aggravating manner.

'How did you get on at Sunday-school?' asked Peggy, who did not like insinuations against the moral worth of her dear Mrs. Davis.

'Splendid, miss. I always does. Teacher gave me a prize for sayin' hymns—such a nice book. Wouldn't you like to look at it?'

'Are you sure it's a Sunday book?' inquired Peggy, who could not forbear her revenge.

'Oh yes, for I looked at the end chapter, and she dies beautiful, and they plant snowdrops on her grave; and her big brother, what's so unkind to her, gets drowned through goin' boatin' on Sunday,' replied Polly, regarding Peggy as if she thought her courses might lead her to a similar watery fate.

'Here's Granny!' cried Willie, abandoning his thumb to seek the protection of the friendly linsey-woolsey petticoat.

'Ay, so it be.Mygranny sits in the parlour on Sunday afternoons, with her blinds drawn down, and reads her Bible. She's a godly old woman, she is!'

And Polly took her departure with a conscious sniff, as if deploring the depravity of her neighbours.

Peggy was very much upset.

'Is it really wrong to look after the bees and amuse babies on Sunday?' she asked Father afterwards.

'No, dear, certainly not. The Pharisees came to our Lord with just such a question, and you know He answered them that it was right to do well on the Sabbath. God did not mean it to be a day of misery, but a specially joyful and happy day, in which we were to think a good deal about Him. Sometimes we can show our love for Him quite as well by helping others as by reading our Bibles or going to church, though we should not neglect that either. As for shutting ourselves up on Sundays, and thinking it is wrong to look at the beautiful things around us, that is mere ignorance, for Nature is like a wonderful book, written by God's hand, and the birds and the bees and the flowers are all pages out of it for those who have eyes to read them rightly.'

Peggy thought of this as she sat among the ruins watching the sunset that night. The sky, flaming in bands of crimson, violet and orange, looked like the very gate of heaven, a golden city which you had only to cross the hills to reach—surely another page in that book of which Father had spoken.

'It's like one of the pictures in the Interpreter's house in the "Pilgrim's Progress,"' she said to herself; 'or Christian and Hopeful on the Delectable Mountains,when they looked through the glass, and thought they saw "something like the gate, and also some of the glory of the place."'

She stayed a long, long time among the crumbling old walls, watching the gold fade gradually out of the sky. It was very still and peaceful in there, and she liked to sit and think how the Abbey must have looked in those strange, bygone days when the little steps had led to a dormitory, and the broken pillars had held up the roof of a church, whose tinkling bell had rung out at sunset, calling to prayer those old monks who slept so quietly in their forgotten graves.

An owl began to hoot in the woods beyond the river, a great stag-beetle came droning by, and the bats flew over her head with their shrill little cry, flitting here and there like night swallows.

Peggy got up and brushed the dew from her dress, and walked slowly back to the house in the gathering twilight. In the Rose Parlour Aunt Helen sat turning out her little writing-desk, and wiping suspicious drops from her eyes.

'Don't keep old letters, child,' she said, as Peggy crept up to her with silent sympathy. 'It opens so many wounds to re-read the tender words of those who are estranged or gone away from us, and all the hopes and expectations that have come to nothing.'

'Don't read them, Auntie. Let's tear them up and burn them, if they make you cry.'

'No, no; I can't bear to part with them, after all! We'll lock them up in the desk again. But, Peggy, take my advice, and if you quarrel with anyone, go and fight it out at once, and get it over, and don't let misunderstandings make the breach so wide that nothing can ever mend it again.'

'Methinks, good friend, to-day I scarce do know thee,The fashion of thy manner hath so changed.'

'Oh, Aunt Helen!' cried Peggy, bursting into the dining-room one afternoon, where her aunt was busy adding up accounts, 'can't we all go to Maud Middleton's party?'

'And who is Maud Middleton, I should like to know?' inquired Aunt Helen, pausing in the midst of her butcher's bill. 'I have not heard you mention her before. Is she one of your schoolfellows?'

'Oh no, she's thedearestgirl! They have a French governess, but they go to the dancing-class on Fridays, and Maud and I always dance together, and I simplyloveher!' said Peggy, who was apt to take up friendships with enthusiasm.

'But, my dear child, you have not yet told me who she is. I cannot have you making friends with any shopkeeper's daughter from Warford.'

'Oh, they're not at all like that!' declared Peggy. 'Maud's just lovely, with long yellow curls right down to her waist, and Muriel's almost grown up, though she's only as old as Lilian. She wears combs in her hair, and has the sweetest blue dress, trimmed with pearl trimmings!'

'That is no patent of good breeding, I am afraid,' said Aunt Helen, smiling. 'Lilian, can't you tell me something more about this latest idol of Peggy's?'

'They really seem very nice girls, Auntie,' said Lilian. 'I think you would like them. They have taken Redlands—that pretty house just beyond the toll-bridge on the other side of Warford. Major Middleton has been appointed Adjutant to the volunteers. They lived in India for a long time, and then in London before they came here. Muriel plays the violin, and they know ever so many musical people, and go to the concerts every week at the Assembly Rooms. It is Maud's birthday on the thirteenth, and they have invited us all three. Mrs. Middleton was at the dancing-class to-day, and spoke to us herself. She said she "hoped so much that our Aunt would allow us to accept." We should like to go immensely,' added Lilian with a wistful sigh, as she remembered Muriel's accounts of the grand piano, and the Stradivarius violin which was her latest acquisition.

'Go and ask Father, then,' said Aunt Helen. 'And if he says "Yes," I suppose it will be all right.'

'Oh, thank you!' cried Peggy, who knew that Father would not be likely to resist the combined coaxings of the trio. 'We must write to Maud to-night. She'll be as pleased as we are!'

And she executed a little war-dance of delight out in the hall. Such a thing as a party was a great event in the children's calendar. They had few invitations, for there was little visiting now at the Abbey; the anomaly of a country gentleman who ploughed his own fields was felt to be too much for the neighbouring squires, and one by one the 'county' had ceased to call. Truly adversity is a great winnower of friendships. It is but the staunchest who will stick to usthrough our troubles, while those who love us for what we have, instead of what we are, fall away like chaff at the first breath of ill-fortune.

Poor Lilian's anticipations, however, were doomed to sad disappointment, for when the much-talked-of day arrived, it brought her such a bad headache that she readily agreed with Aunt Helen's decree that she was better at home. She took it very patiently, poor child! and came downstairs to see the others start off in the little pony-trap, Bobby resplendent in a clean white sailor suit, and Peggy in a pale-blue sprigged muslin dress, which Aunt Helen had toiled hard to finish in time. To be sure, it was only made out of the last summer's frock which Lilian had outgrown, but it looked as good as new, and the colour suited her.

'How nice you look!' said Lilian, gazing with admiration at the gray eyes and pretty brown curls under the little white hat, and thinking that Peggy grew more and more like the Romney portrait which hung on the drawing-room wall.

'Mind you behave yourselves!' said Aunt Helen. 'And don't forget to thank Mrs. Middleton when you say good-bye.'

'Bless 'em!' said Nancy. 'There won't be any other folk's children there that can beat 'em, to my mind!'

Father was waving a good-bye from the stackyard. Joe held the gate open with a grin of broadest appreciation, and even old David peeped out of the stable door to witness the departure. So they started off in great style, and in the very highest of spirits. It was a perfect day for a party—warm enough to make it pleasant to be out of doors, yet not too hot for comfort, and a blue sky without a hint of rain clouds. Pixiewas fresh, and kept up a fine pace, scarcely slacking for the hills, so they soon got over the ground. They were within a mile of Warford, and were going along at a quick trot, when, without any warning, a carriage and pair came suddenly dashing up behind from a side road, and passed them, giving such scant room that if Peggy had not been a clever little driver, and turned Pixie smartly into the hedge, an accident could scarcely have been avoided. Two little girls, the only occupants of the carriage, turned round to stare, but neither the grand cockaded coachman nor the tall footman on the box even looked back to see how the children had fared.

'How rude!' cried Peggy in great indignation. 'I should like to call them back, and teach them good manners. They nearly grazed our wheel. I don't think they were more than half an inch off!'

'I wish they had,' declared Bobby, 'and then they would have spoilt their own varnish. It would just have served them right!'

'I wonder who they are?' said Peggy. 'I never remember seeing that carriage before; but they seem to think the road belongs to them, anyhow. If David had been with us I don't believe they would have done it; but most people are so nice when they see children driving alone. Never mind, we're nearly in Warford now.'

It was exactly three o'clock when the children drove up the drive at Redlands. A number of guests were already assembled on the lawn, both grown-ups and children, a very smart company indeed, holding up such gay parasols that they looked like a flock of bright butterflies.

Maud came forward as Peggy drew up with a little prim company manner.

'How d'you do, Peggy? How d'you do, Bobby?' she said. 'Lilian not come? Oh,sosorry! You've not brought your groom? George, just run into the house, will you, and ring for Withers to take this trap to the stables. Now, won't you come and speak to mother?'

Mrs. Middleton was standing chatting with a number of elegantly-dressed ladies, and for a moment she gazed at the children with blank unrecognition.

'Margaret Vaughan, Mother,' prompted Maud.

'Of course—of course!' said Mrs. Middleton. 'I hope you have brought your sisters, my dear. We were charmed with them at the dancing-class. And your brother? Oh yes; the sweet little boy who looks exactly like a Christmas-card!'

Inwardly hugely indignant at such a description of his manly charms, Bobby came forward politely to shake hands, and was marched off afterwards by good-natured George Middleton to make up a cricket eleven.

'Perhaps you will find somebody here you know, dear,' said Mrs. Middleton to Peggy, as Maud turned away to welcome new guests. 'There are several of your little friends from the dancing-class here this afternoon.'

Peggy walked slowly towards the group of children upon the lawn. There were a few girls whom she knew, but they only nodded, and did not come forward to speak to her. A sudden wave of shyness came over her, and she stood apart, feeling somehow very much out of it, and longing for the support of Lilian's presence.

There were two little girls in charming lace frocks and white Tuscan hats, with ostrich plumes, standing close by, whom Peggy recognised at once as the occupants of the carriage which had nearly upset them on the road. The recognition seemed to be mutual, for the elder child nudged the younger, and Peggy could see that they were looking her up and down, and evidently taking in all the details of her costume. The Vaughans had not been brought up to think much about clothes, but Peggy felt suddenly, with a little pang, that the muslin frock, which they had all thought so pretty when she started off, looked hopelessly homemade and unfashionable compared with the elaborate toilets of most of the other guests.

Somehow Maud, too, seemed quite a different person this afternoon to what she had done before. She had put on a languid, affected manner, and sailed about, shaking back her long curls, and trying to be very grown-up and stylish, and she did not take any more notice of Peggy, nor come up to introduce her to other people, and make her feel happy and at home. There were a great many elder people present, but they all stood laughing and talking together, and nobody seemed to think of amusing the children, except Mademoiselle, the French governess, who was endeavouring to make the young people talk to each other, instead of standing about shyly on the grass.

'Would you like a game of croquet, Margaret?' said Muriel, noticing at last that Peggy stood unfriended and alone. 'Some of the others are going to play. Do you know Phyllis and Marjorie Norton?' indicating the owners of the lace frocks. 'Perhaps you will excuse my coming; I have so many people to see to. Mademoiselle will act as umpire.'

Marjorie gave Peggy a limp hand, but Phyllis only stared. Mademoiselle was dealing out the mallets and arranging the sides with much energy, estimating the players with a keen eye to their possible capacities.

Peggy knew it was unreasonable of her to feel so bitterly disappointed. It was all so different, somehow, to what she had expected. Accustomed to little quiet schoolgirl parties, she had not thought there would be such a large and fashionable assembly of guests, and had hoped that she would have her dear Maud to herself for a short time, at any rate, and be shown the doves, and the white pony, and the Indian cabinet, and the other treasures which her friend had so often described to her during the dancing-class. She tried to banish the rather chilled feeling.

'Of course, I can't expect Maud to attend only to me,' she thought. 'There are such heaps of people here to-day. I wish they would let me play with the boys. I should have liked it far better.'

But the croquet had already begun, so Peggy threw her whole energy into the game. She excelled in all outdoor sports, having a keen eye and a true stroke, and was soon absorbed in making her hoops and helping on her partners, two quiet little girls considerably younger than herself, who seemed never to have played before, to judge by their absolute lack of skill. Peggy was standing waiting for her turn, while the others clustered round a rather difficult stroke of Marjorie Norton's, when she saw Phyllis, whose ball had been left distinctly wired, hurriedly push it with her foot into a better position. Peggy had been accustomed from her babyhood to 'play fair,' so she opened her eyes wide to see such deliberate cheating. Phyllis, who had thought herself unobserved, happened at that moment to look up, and met Peggy's glance, which was certainly not a flattering one. She flushed scarlet, and kicked the ball back to its former place.

'I only moved it by accident,' she said haughtily. 'You have no need to glare at me like that!'

Peggy dropped her eyes and strolled away. It was a little incident, and she had not spoken a word, yet she had an unpleasant feeling that the mere fact of having noticed the act had made her an enemy.

'Ver' good!' Mademoiselle was saying. 'A splendide stroke! You shall take two hoops, and send ze black ball avay. Tiens! You have missed! It is zen ze turn of Mees Marguerite.'

Peggy's next piece of play was so brilliant that it decided the game, and, to the great delight of her little partners, they all pegged out, amid the cold applause of their opponents and the ecstatic admiration of Mademoiselle.

All the guests were now summoned to tea, which was set out on little tables under the trees, and showed a tempting display of cakes and strawberries and cream, while attentive servants bustled about with cups and plates. Much against her inclinations, Peggy found herself sitting side by side with Phyllis Norton. Bobby was a long way off, among a jolly set of boys, whose shouts of laughter Peggy listened to with wistful ears, and her small partners had been borne away by an elder sister. Phyllis sat for some time stealing glances at Peggy from under her lashes.

'I believe we passed you this afternoon, coming here,' she remarked at last. 'Weren't you driving that queer little pony-cart?'

'Yes; your coachman nearly ran over us. I don't think he's a very good driver,' replied Peggy.

'Oh, Wilkins always takes the middle of the road, and makes everyone else get out of the way,' said Phyllis calmly. 'Do you live at this side of Warford? I don't remember seeing you before.'

'We live at Gorswen Abbey,' answered Peggy.

'Oh, I know; that old farmhouse by the river.We've often passed it on our way to Wyngates. Why, you're quite in the country! Do you go to school, or have you a governess?'

'I go to Warford High School. We drive in every day.'

'To theHighSchool!' said Phyllis, with uplifted eyebrows. 'Well, I suppose it's all right for farmer's daughters. Marjorie and I go to a London boarding school.'

Peggy was furious. If she could only have thought of a suitable retort, she would have said something stinging; but usually our smartest remarks occur to us when the occasion has long passed by, and perhaps it is all the better, for we are saved from bitter words, which, once spoken, are not easily forgotten by the hearers, however keenly we may regret them ourselves. As it was, she could only walk away with what dignity she could summon; for tea was over, the boys were rushing back to cricket, and the girls collecting in little groups to arrange tennis sets.

'Come and look round the garden, Peggy,' said Maud, at last taking some notice of her friend. 'We've scarcely seen anything of you all the afternoon!'

Peggy forebore to remark that it was not her fault, and, cheering up a little, she joined the select circle whom Maud was conducting through the greenhouses and conservatories. The Middletons had a fine collection of orchids and rare plants, which were much admired by the young visitors, though simple Peggy could not help thinking they were not half so pretty as the roses and lilies in the old garden at home, and certainly the grand Scotch gardener was not nearly so nice as David or Joe, for he seemed quite to resent their presence and followed them about grimly, forfear they should disturb anything, or pluck any of the fruit or flowers.

'We're going to London next week,' drawled Maud, in her most grown-up manner. 'We've taken a house in Mayfair. Mother always likes to go up for a while during the season. We've so many friends, don't you know. I expect we shall have a lovely time. We drive in the Park every day, and father has promised to take us to "Lohengrin." Have you seen it, Linda?'

Linda had not seen it, but she had been to other operas, and was only too pleased to air her knowledge, so the conversation turned upon plays and actors, and Peggy, who had never been inside a theatre in her life, could only stand and listen. She felt so shy and stupid, and so apart from the other girls, that she began to wish heartily that she had never come, and long for the hour when it would be time to go home, and even to wonder how she could ever have thought she liked Maud so much—'though she was quite different to this at the dancing-lessons,' she reflected.

A welcome diversion came outside, however, in the shape of a beautiful white Persian kitten, who submitted to pettings with gracious condescension, arching her back and purring loudly.

'I'll fetch Carlo,' said Maud, who was genuinely fond of her pets, and liked to show them to an appreciative audience.

And she returned in a moment, leading a fine St. Bernard by the collar.

But Carlo's mistress had not calculated upon his love of sport, for no sooner did the naughty dog see the white kitten than he simply went for it, and puss only saved her life by springing up a yew-tree close by. The poor little creature was so terrified that she leaped from bough to bough, till suddenly losing herfoothold, she fell with a crash, and hung suspended by her neck in the fork of a branch.

'Oh, look at her! She'll be hanged! Whatever shall I do?' shrieked Maud, wringing her hands helplessly in an agony of alarm.

'Call the gardener, or somebody,' suggested Linda.

But an animal in trouble was a sight which flung Peggy's shyness to the winds, and she sprang like a knight-errant to the rescue. She was up the yew-tree in two leaps and a bound, and by crawling along an overhanging bough, clinging to a branch, and making a long arm, she managed to seize puss by the scruff of her neck, and release her from her dangerous position.

'Oh, thank you!' said Maud, as Peggy came down from the tree, with grazed hands and rumpled frock. 'You're really too good! Withers might have fetched her with a ladder. Look how you've torn your dress!'

'Never mind my dress. She'd have been dead if I'd waited another moment,' remarked Peggy dryly, feeling rather snubbed; for several of the girls were smiling, as if they thought she had been a little too enthusiastic.

'Well done!' cried a voice from the background, and a tall, brown-bearded man, who had been a silent spectator of the whole scene, came forward to join the group.

'Mr. Neville!' exclaimed Maud. 'Where did you spring from?'

'Only arrived ten minutes ago, just in time to witness a most gallant act. Please introduce me to the heroine, who, I think, is a true friend in need. What, Miss Peggy Vaughan? Any relation to the Vaughans of Gorswen Abbey? Then, my dear, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, for I knew your father long ago, and your grandfather too.'

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