Peggy in Her Blue Frock Part 5

"He writes poetry."

"Poetry? I write it too," said Peggy; "only mine is just nursery rhymes to amuse Alice, about bees and hens and things."

"Tom is writing a poem about you."

"About me?" Peggy was deeply interested. "Can you say any of it?"

Christopher became very red and looked confused. "I can't remember it,"

he said.

"You must remember some of it."

She persisted until she wrung from him the confession that he could remember one line, and she teased and teased him to repeat it until he said, "All right, if you must hear it, I suppose you must: 'Peggy, Peggy, long and leggy.' It gets nicer as it goes on, but that's all I can remember."

Peggy looked down at her long legs thoughtfully. The poem was a distinct shock. She had never had one written to her before.

"If he's like most boys I guess he's longer and leggier than I am," she said.

"You are right there, he is."

"I'm glad I have long legs," said Peggy. "They are so useful when you are climbing trees."

Christopher looked at her with new interest. "Do you like to climb trees?" he asked.

"I just love to," said Peggy.

They were coming to the stone wall that enclosed the Thornton place.

Peggy climbed up and began to walk across it. At one end was a pine tree, with convenient branches that she had often longed to climb. It looked very tall and symmetrical with its spreading green branches against the heavenly blue of the sky.

She could never quite remember whether it was she or Christopher who first suggested climbing the tree. But they hid their baskets on the other side of the wall, and presently she and Christopher were climbing quickly from branch to branch. Peggy had never had a more blissful time.

She had often envied Lady Jane her power to scramble up trees with no mother at hand to tell her to come down, or to warn her against spoiling her frock. But now she envied n.o.body. It was too wonderful to be sitting in the topmost branches of that pine tree. But the thought of Lady Jane's furry garment made her look down at her less substantial frock, and, to her dismay, she saw a long streak on it. She put her hand down and it felt sticky.

"Oh, dear," she said, "I've got some of the pitch from the pine all over my dress! Oh, dear, what will mother say? She told me to be sure not to stop on the way, and not to talk to any strange children."

"I'm not a strange child," said Christopher. "She wouldn't mind your talking to me."

"Yes, but I have stopped on the way. I'll have to hurry," she said.

"But, oh, dear, I'm afraid my dress is spoiled! Oh, what will mother say? I've only worn it one other time, and she's only got one more of these blue frocks finished."

"Only one more! How many are you going to have?"

"Four," said Peggy. She glanced up at him, and he looked as if he, too, would be hard on his clothes and would have some sympathy for her, so she added: "You see, it doesn't tear easily. The man in the shop said it was as strong as nails. I am always spoiling my things."

He looked down at the long smear with genuine concern. "If I hadn't come along it wouldn't have happened," he said. "I'll take you round to Aunt Betsy's. She's got stuff that takes out all kinds of spots. She's got them out for me."

"Is your Aunt Betsy the same as Clara's Aunt Betsy?" Peggy asked.

"My Aunt Betsy is father's aunt," he said. "That's the reason we came here to live. She told us your house was going to be sold and there wasn't any good doctor here any more."

They turned down a side street. "That's the house she lives in," he said, pointing to a small white cottage with green blinds.

"Oh, yes, I know her," said Peggy. "She's Miss Betsy Porter."

Aunt Betsy was in her pleasant kitchen taking something with a delicious, spicy smell out of the oven. She came to the door and asked the children to come in. She was tall and thin, with gray hair and dark eyes. Peggy thought of her as an old lady, but much more interesting than old ladies usually were. There always seemed to be something very nice in the way of food at her house, no matter at what time one arrived.

"Now you children must each have a piece of my gingerbread," she said.

"I've just taken it out of the oven."

Miss Betsy Porter was deeply interested in the stain on Peggy's frock.

"That's a very enticing tree to climb," she said, when the children had told her the whole story. "I climbed it once when I was a little girl."

Peggy looked with wonder into the kindly face of Aunt Betsy, with its many lines. It seemed so impossible to think that she had ever been a little girl climbing trees.

"I've got some stuff here that will take that out," said Aunt Betsy, going to a cupboard in the other room. "It would be a great pity for you to spoil that pretty dress."

There was a jet-black cat curled up on the red bricks of the kitchen hearth. After the spots had been taken out, Peggy went over to make friends with the cat. It did not seem polite to eat and run when Miss Betsy had been so kind about taking the stain out of her dress, so Peggy stayed to make a call, after the gingerbread had been eaten. And she and Christopher told her all about Lady Jane Grey, and how she lived first at one house and then at the other. Finally, the striking of a clock made Peggy realize that the morning was slipping away.

"I guess I'll have to be going now," said Peggy, "for mother told me to hurry and not to stop on the way. Oh, dear, what did I do with my basket?"

"You didn't have any basket when you came in here," said Miss Betsy.

"We left our baskets behind the stone wall," said Christopher. "I forgot all about them. I'll run back and get them."

"I'll run, too," said Peggy. "I guess I can run as fast as you can."

"It's too hot a morning to run, children," Miss Betsy called after them.

But they were already some distance away. Christopher in his brown suit was a little ahead, but he was closely followed by Peggy in her blue frock, with her flying yellow hair, and her long, slim legs.

The children gathered up their baskets and Peggy started to go to the grocery store when her attention was caught by the melodious singing of Mrs. Butler's canary-bird. "He's crazy about being alive, just as I am,"

thought Peggy. "I wish I could sing like that."

"I must just go and say good-morning to Mrs. Butler. See, she's got the window open and the cage hanging there. Don't you wish you could sing like a canary-bird?"

"No, I don't. What strange things you do think up!"

"Well, I'd like to sing like one," said Peggy, "because it sounds so joyous, and there's never anything I can do to show how joyous I feel."

Mrs. Butler came to the open window, to speak to the children. She didn't look at all joyous, for she had been having rheumatism, but this warm day made her feel better.

"Won't you come in?" she asked. "I've just baked some gingerbread. You must be hungry. Come in and let me give you some."

Peggy was about to say that they had already had some gingerbread, but she had only had one piece, and it seemed to make her hungry for more.

She knew she ought not to stop again, but the temptation was too great.

So they went into Mrs. Butler's cool parlor. This time it was crisp, thin gingerbread. One could eat several pieces and it seemed nothing at all. And all the time, the canary-bird in the sunshine was singing his glad song, "Spring is coming, spring is really coming," he seemed to say, "and there will be daffodils out, and tulips and Mayflowers. And the days will grow longer and longer, and more and more sunshiny." A clock on the mantelpiece struck the half-hour. That was not a joyous sound.

"I guess I ought to be going," said Peggy. "Mother told me to hurry and not to stop on the way."