Peggy Part 3

But the wonderful box was not yet empty; it really seemed like the famous bag of the Fairy Blackstick. Out came a gay Oriental cloth, which made another thing of the chilly little polished table; item, a bureau-cover embroidered with gold-coloured chrysanthemums; item, a wonderful work-basket, fitted with everything that a needlewoman's heart could desire; item, a spirit-lamp and a hot-water bottle, and a neat little tool-chest. Peggy sighed over the work-basket, and resolved to do her very best, but at sight of the tool-chest her eyes sparkled, and she seized upon it with delight, and caressed each shining implement as if it were a living and beloved creature.

"Did you ever see such a little duck of a saw?" she cried. "Oh, I must go to work and make something this very day. Only, these two dears have sent me everything that I could ever possibly need. What is that, Bertha? There can't be anything more!"

There could, though, and was. The bottom of the box was fitted with a cushion or mattress of chintz, chrysanthemums again, on a pale green ground; and the last parcel of all contained several yards of the same material.

"What do you suppose-- Oh, I see!" cried Peggy. "The box,--we wondered why it was such a good box, don't you know? It is to be a kind of sofa, or window-seat, or something; and this is the cushion, and the rest is for a flounce and curtains. Oh, dear, did you ever hear of anything so perfectly lovely? Dear Uncle John, dear Margaret!" and she wept again, and, in default of Margaret, hugged the biggest sofa-pillow, a wonderful affair of soft yellow silk, with ruffles and puffles.

"Come," said Bertha, "this will never do, Peggy! We must get these all arranged before tea, mustn't we? The gong will sound in a few minutes."

Peggy dried her tears, and the two girls went to work with right good will. In ten minutes the dreary room was as cheerful and homelike a place as heart could desire. The pictures were hung (I forgot to mention that the fairy box contained picture-hooks and wire, hidden away in a corner), the cushions fitted, the chintz tacked in a neat flounce around the box, which straightway became a divan, and looked positively Oriental with the pillows heaped with careful carelessness on it.

Peggy stood and surveyed the whole effect with shining eyes. "When the curtains are up--" she said, and looked inquiringly at Bertha.

"When the curtains are up," said Bertha, "it will be one of the pleasantest rooms in the whole school."

And then the gong sounded, and they went down to tea.

A throng of girls was pouring into the great dining-room. Few of them noticed the newcomer, being taken up with their own concerns, laughing and chatting, hurrying to their places; yet Peggy felt as if all eyes were upon her. She clung close to Bertha Haughton's arm; but now that friendly arm was drawn away.

"I must leave you here, Peggy," said Bertha.

"Oh, don't leave me! Oh, can't I sit by you?" asked poor Peggy, in an agonised whisper.

"No, dear, I have to go over there, quite to the other side of the room.

See, Miss Russell is beckoning to you. You are to sit at her table, with the other freshmen. Cheer up, Peggy, it'll be all right after the first minute."

Bertha nodded kindly, and took her way across the hall, while Peggy stumbled along, tripping over several dresses (she always stumbled when she was embarra.s.sed), to the table where the Princ.i.p.al sat. There were six tables, twelve girls to each table, with a teacher at the head. Miss Russell greeted Peggy pleasantly, and it occurred to our friend for the first time that the Princ.i.p.al was not a Gorgon, but a human being, with a grave face, it is true, but with kind and friendly eyes.

"I trust you have been resting after your journey, Miss Montfort! Yes?

That is good. Coming so late yesterday you did not meet your cla.s.smates, who had already gone to their rooms. Miss Parkins, Miss Barclay, Miss Manton,--this is Miss Peggy Montfort. I hope you will introduce her to the other young ladies after tea."

The three girls nearest Peggy bowed, all more or less shyly; it was comforting to feel that there were others who felt as strange as she did. In fact, Miss Parkins, who sat on her left, was so manifestly and miserably frightened that Peggy felt herself a lion by comparison, and, by way of improving acquaintance, asked her boldly for the salt.

Miss Parkins gasped, shivered, clutched the pepper-pot, and dropped it into her own plate. The other freshmen giggled nervously, but Peggy glowed with compa.s.sion and sympathy.

"Never mind!" she whispered. "That's just the kind of thing I am doing all the time. There is the salt; why, I can reach it myself, and n.o.body ever wants pepper, anyhow. There, that's all right!"

The girl lifted a pair of eyes so red with crying, so humble and grateful and altogether piteous, that Peggy's own eyes almost overflowed. She put her hand under the table, found a little limp, cold paw, and gave it a hearty squeeze. "Cheer up!" she said. "It'll be better pretty soon, I--I guess. I am--homesick--too!"

Then, finding a sob rising in her throat, she hastily filled her mouth with b.u.t.tered toast, choked, and caught herself with a wild sound, half cough, half snort, that brought the eyes of the whole table upon her.

The strange thing was, Peggy did not seem to care this time. They were only freshmen like herself. Any one of them might have choked just as well as she, and she was bigger than any of them. If those other girls had seen, now! not Bertha, but the other two! She glanced over to the opposite table, where the two V's sat facing her; but they were chattering away, with no thought of freshmen or their doings. Viola Vincent looked very pretty in a pale blue blouse and white pique skirt; she was evidently in high spirits, and was patting her hair and her waist with perfect satisfaction.

"Perf'ly _fine_!" came to Peggy's ears, in her clear piping voice. "My _dear_, it will be simply _dandy_!"

Peggy glanced at the Princ.i.p.al, she hardly knew why, except that Margaret disliked slang; and she saw her brows contract with a momentary look of vexation. "It does sound rather horrid!" she thought. "I wonder if I shall have to give up saying 'awfully!' That would be perfectly awful. Besides, it sounds awfully affected to talk like a book all the time."

Thus meditating, Peggy let her napkin slip down to the floor. Her neighbour saw it, and both stooped at the same time to pick it up. Their heads came together with a violent crack. "Ow!" cried Peggy, and rubbed her flaxen poll vigorously. Miss Parkins was too frightened to know whether she was hurt or not. "Never mind!" said Peggy. "It was my fault just as much as yours. Did you get an awful crack? Oh! I mean, did you hurt yourself?"

The poor girl murmured something, but it was more like a sob than a speech; and Peggy could only press the limp hand again, and resolve that when she knew the girl a little better she would try to put some spirit into her. Her own spirit was rising. She felt that ten pairs of eyes were watching her furtively; that her companions were taking notes, and that every spoonful she ate was counted and criticised; but still her courage was good, and she was even able to notice that the biscuits were light and the peach preserves delicious.

I said ten pairs of eyes, for the eleventh had never been lifted above the level of the table-cloth, save for that one grateful glance over the spilt pepper. Certainly Miss Parkins was a queer-looking little person.

Very small and slight, with a certain wizened look that did not belong to so young a face; a long, thin nose, and two small reddish-brown eyes that looked as if they had always been given to crying. The child--she did not look more than a child--had no beauty of any kind; yet a certain gentleness of look redeemed the poor little face from absolute ugliness.

She was queerly dressed, too. Her gown was of good, even rich material, but in questionable taste, and cut in a fashion that might have suited her grandmother. Peggy's own ideas of dress were primitive, and she was not very observant, but she did feel that blue poplin stamped with large red roses was not a suitable dress for a schoolgirl, even if she were not small and plain and wizened, and even if it were not cut in a bygone fashion.

Peggy saw, or fancied she saw, glances of amused contempt thrown at her poor little neighbour.

"All the more reason," she thought, "why I should make friends with her."

"Do you--did you come yesterday, or the day before?" she asked, as cheerfully as she could.

"Oh! yes, I think so!" was the reply, in a gasping whisper. This was not very encouraging, but Peggy proceeded.

"Did you have far to come? I came all the way from Ohio."

"Oh! no, I don't think so!"

"It took me all day to get here. It's horrid travelling alone, don't you think so?"

"Oh! I--don't know! I never travelled."

On the whole, the girl seemed so distressed that Peggy felt it would be a cruel kindness to pursue the conversation. "I needn't talk to the others," she said to herself. "They came before I did; they can talk to me if they want to."

But now supper was over, and the girls rose with a whirr, like a flock of pigeons, and fluttered out of the dining-room. Peggy looked longingly after Bertha Haughton; indeed, Bertha seemed to be lingering, looking for her; but at that moment two or three girls swooped down upon the junior, and began a hubbub of questions. Peggy felt all her shyness rushing back in a flood. Turning to flee, she almost fell over little Miss Parkins, who was hastening on her way, too. "Come!" said Peggy. "We are both strange cats; suppose we stay together! What happens now, do you know? This is my first evening here. It's awfully queer, isn't it?"

"Oh!" gasped Miss Parkins. "They--she--read something last night. Don't you think I might go to my room? I want to go to my room! Don't you think I might?"

"Of course you may!" said Peggy, on fire with sympathy. "It's a pity if you've got to hear reading when you don't want to. Cut along, young 'un!"

Her brother's familiar phrase rose naturally to her lips; it was unfortunate that at that moment one of the teachers happened to pa.s.s by.

She was a long, sallow woman, with greenish eyes set too near together, and the gaze she fixed upon Peggy was appalling in its severity.

"Young ladies are required to attend the reading!" she said. "Your expression is an improper one, Miss Montfort!" and pinching her lips together she pa.s.sed on.

"My goodness gracious me!" whispered Peggy. "Who is that?"

"Oh! hush! oh, don't!" whispered Lobelia Parkins, miserably. "She's going to read to-night, because the Princ.i.p.al has a cold; I heard them saying so. That is Miss Pugsley!"

CHAPTER III.

IN THE "GYM."

Peggy's pillow was quite damp when she went to sleep that night. To be sure she had been cheered by a friendly call from Bertha Haughton, but even that could not keep the homesickness from triumphing, when she was left alone, and the sounds in the corridor died away, and the light was out. Home seemed so far, so endlessly far away; she felt so utterly alone in the world! Education seemed a foolish and meaningless thing beside the love and comfort of home. What would she not give to be able to put out her hand and feel her sister Jean beside her, warm and loving, her own flesh and blood!

So the pillow was damp, as I have said; but Peggy was young and healthy, and she fell asleep after awhile, and when she woke again the sun was up and the pillow was dry. Now she did put out her hand for Jean, forgetting where she was; and finding nothing but a cold wall, lay looking around her, coming back to the present. The room looked very strange at first. "Maybe I'm not awake!" said Peggy, wisely; then she pinched herself, and with the pinch the whole thing came back.