Peggy Part 2

"Honour brightest!"

"Hurrah, then! And now for the box!"

CHAPTER II.

THE BOX FROM FERNLEY.

The box was no ordinary rough affair, knocked together for simple purposes of transportation. It was neatly and carefully made, the edges fitting closely together, the lid furnished with hinges.

"We must take care how we open this!" said Bertha. "It would be a shame to spoil such a fine box."

Peggy was used to tools of every description, and she drew out the screws deftly, then lifted the lid. Both girls bent eagerly forward.

Nothing was visible but white paper, neatly fitted to the top of the box. Yes! on the paper lay a card, on which was written, "For Peggy's housekeeping. From Uncle John and Margaret, with best love."

The handwriting was Margaret's, and Peggy seized and kissed it before going further. "It is Margaret!" she said. "Dear, darling Margaret, the best friend I have in the world. Oh, how dear and kind and lovely of them both! What _do_ you suppose they have sent me?"

"Suppose we see!" said Bertha Haughton. Yet both girls lingered a moment, tasting the joy of suspense.

It was not a joy to be long indulged, however. Together they lifted the paper, and lo! more paper, but this time enveloping various mysterious packages neatly tied with pink tape.

"Margaret's tape!" cried Peggy. "Uncle John gave her a great big spool of it, because she said she had never seen enough in her life. Oh, what a fat bundle! You shall open it, Bertha, because you have been so good to me."

"Open your bundle!" cried Bertha. "Indeed I will not! I never heard of such a thing. Be quick, though, for I do want to see."

The big square parcel revealed an afghan, knitted in long stripes of red and blue, the colours rich and warm, and harmonising pleasantly.

"Oh, what a beauty!" cried Bertha, while Peggy gazed in silent delight.

"My dear, it warms the whole room! and the length of it, and the breadth! why, it will go on double. I never saw such a splendid one."

Indeed, the great afghan had been Margaret's "pick-up work" ever since she first heard that Peggy was going to school, and loving thoughts were knitted into every stripe.

"What next?" said Bertha. "My dear, sofa-pillows!"

So they were, four of them, each prettier than the other.

"But what shall I do with them?" said Peggy, with a comical glance around the room. "There's no sign of a sofa. Never mind! they are perfect beauties. Oh, and what can this be? Oh, Bertha, see, it is a bookcase!"

The six pieces of polished wood were quickly fitted together, and there was indeed a bookcase, not very large, but still ample to contain all the books Peggy would be likely to need.

"Where are your books?" asked Bertha, innocently; and Peggy hung her head.

"My Bible is in my drawer," she said. "I--I didn't bring any other books. I'm a dreadful dunce," she added, timidly. "I might as well tell you now, for you'd find it out anyhow, the very first time you talked about books. I don't--care--about them, much."

"Oh!" and Bertha looked a little blank, being a bookworm herself. "But there must be some books you are fond of, Peggy?"

Peggy shook her head despondently. "I don't believe there are," she said. "Oh, of course I like 'Treasure Island,' and 'Robin Hood,' and that kind of thing. But history, and the Waverley Novels--why, Margaret would like to read the Waverley Novels all day; and they put me to sleep in five minutes."

She looked anxiously at her new friend, to see the effect of this dreadful confession; but Bertha only laughed. "Well, I love the Waverleys very much myself," she said; "but I know everybody doesn't care for them. But when you want to read, Peggy, what do you do?"

"But I don't want to read," said Peggy, humbly. "It--it seems such a waste of time; except Coues, of course, and he wouldn't go in my trunk, and Pa is going to send him by express."

"What do you mean?" asked Bertha, puzzled in her turn. "Cows!"

"Yes, the book, you know! Oh, I couldn't live without that."

"Do you mean a herd-book? Of course, you said you lived on a farm. You mean that you study pedigrees and that kind of thing?"

Now it was Peggy's turn to laugh, as she explained that she meant Prof.

J. Elliott Coues's admirable book on birds.

"Pa has Samuels," she added, "but I couldn't bring that, because it is out of print, and too valuable. Besides, he isn't so thorough as Coues, don't you know, especially in anatomy and that part. Is there a good cla.s.s in anatomy here? Of course I shall want to join that."

"Oh, dear!" cried Bertha, in comical dismay, "I don't know! Peggy Montfort, you are not a dunce at all; you are just shamming. The idea of any one _wanting_ to study anatomy!"

"The idea of wanting to study anything else," cried Peggy, "except physics and geometry. It's this horrible literature and stuff that I cannot bear. But we can't stop and talk, with the box only half unpacked. Oh, pictures! Now I do like pictures, when they are the right kind. Bertha, look at this, will you?"

With difficulty she lifted out a large picture which filled the box from end to end. Both girls uttered a cry of delight. It was the "Automedon"

of Henri Regnault. The great horses rearing and plunging, the heroic figure of the charioteer, seemed to take Peggy's breath. "It--it's the kind of thing you dream about, isn't it?" she said. "They are alive; I believe they'll break through the gla.s.s in another minute. Oh, there can't be anything else as splendid as this!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'BERTHA, LOOK AT THIS, WILL YOU?'"]

But when she drew out next a fine photograph of "The Night Watch," she hardly knew what to say. The gleaming eyes of the lions, prowling among the ruined columns, fascinated her almost as much as the wild horses had done. She had less to say to the beautiful photograph of the Sistine Madonna, which came next; yet she looked at it with eyes of wistful affection. It was Margaret's favourite picture, and she loved it on that account as well as its own. Yet her taste was for "critters," as she freely acknowledged; and she glowed again as Bertha held up an engraving of "Sheridan's Ride," with the great captain riding straight out of the picture at her.

"That's the kind of thing she wants!" Mr. Montfort had said, when he and his niece Margaret were having their delightful "Peggy-lark," as he called it. "The Sistine by all means, Meg; but no more old masters for our Peggy. She won't understand them, and she won't like them. What was it she said about your pet St. Anthony?"

"She said he looked as if he had gone out for clams and fallen into the mud!" said Margaret, rather ruefully. "I suppose you are right, Uncle John; but, oh, do look at this lovely Murillo angel! How could she help loving this?"

"The anatomy of it would distress her," said Mr. Montfort, dryly. "You know Peggy is strong on anatomy. Better take the 'Automedon.'"

"Which you said was out of drawing!" cried Margaret, with a flash of mischief. "Oh, if you are going to put false ideas into her head, Uncle John--" on which she was very properly told to choose her pictures, and not be saucy.

The last picture in the box had not been chosen in any picture-shop; and at sight of it Peggy sat down on the bed and began to cry.

"Oh, dear!" she said. "What shall I do? Oh, Margaret, Margaret, what shall I do?"

Kind-hearted Bertha was distressed. "Don't cry, dear!" she said. "I know! I know just how it feels. Is it your father and sister?"

"No! oh, no!" said Peggy, wiping her eyes. "Of course it's different with Pa and the girls, because I shall be going home every vacation, you know. But I never was so happy in all my life as I was there; and seeing it--it is Fernley, and Uncle John and Margaret."

The large photograph showed a stately house shadowed by lofty trees.

Standing on the stone verandah were two figures, one, that of a tall man in a black velvet coat, with bright dark eyes; the other a slender girl with a sweet, thoughtful face. Both seemed to be looking straight at Peggy, and she felt Uncle John's kind look and Margaret's tender smile like warmth at her heart.

"I--I'm only crying because--I'm--glad!" she said. And Bertha seemed to understand that, too.