Part 9 (1/2)

”No, mamma dear. P'raps Hallie's boots is younger than my sweet little red shoes, for they has been a great long while in the shop window, and Baldwin and Terry sawed them when they was little.”

”Not 'younger,' Peggy dear; 'newer,' you mean. Boots aren't alive. You only speak of live things as 'young.'”

Peggy sighed.

”It is rather difficult to understand, mamma dear.”

”It will all come by degrees,” said mamma. ”When I was a little girl I know I thought for a long time that the moon was the mamma of the stars, because she looked so much bigger.”

”I think that's very nice, mamma, though, of course, I understand it's only a _fancy_ fancy. I haven't seen the moon for a long time, mamma.

May I ask nurse to wake me up the next time the moon comes?”

”You needn't wait till dark to see the moon,” said mamma. ”She can often be seen by daylight, though, of course, she doesn't look so pretty then, as in the dark sky which shows her off better. But, of course, the sky here is so often dull with the smoke of the town that we can't see her as clearly in the daytime as where the air is purer.”

”Like in the country, mamma,” said Peggy. ”It's _always_ clear in the country, isn't it?”

”Not quite always,” said mamma, smiling. ”But, Peggy dear, speaking of the country----”

”Oh yes!” Peggy interrupted, ”I want to tell you, mamma, what a silly thing Hallie _would_ say about going to the country;” and she told her mother all that Hal had said about his boots, and indeed what nurse had said too; ”and nursie was just a weeay, teeny bit cross to me, mamma dear,” said Peggy, plaintively. ”She wouldn't say she'd mistooked about it.”

Mamma looked rather grave, and instead of saying at once that of course nurse had only meant that Hal's boots should last till the summer, she took Peggy on her knee and kissed her--kissed her in rather a ”funny”

way, thought Peggy, so that she looked up and said--

”Mamma dear, why do you kiss me like that?”

Instead of answering, mamma kissed her again, which almost made Peggy laugh.

But mamma was not laughing.

”My own little Peggy,” she said, ”I have something to tell you which I am afraid will make you unhappy. It is making _me_ very unhappy, I know.”

”Poor dear little mamma,” said Peggy, and as she spoke she put up her little hand and stroked her mother's face. ”Don't be unhappy if it isn't anything _very_ bad. Tell Peggy about it, mamma dear.”

CHAPTER VI

FELLOW-FEELINGS AND SLIPPERS

”If I'd as much money as I could tell I never would cry 'old clothes to sell'!”

_London Cries._

MAMMA hesitated a moment. Then she began.

”You know, Peggy, my pet,” she said, ”for a good while now I haven't been as strong and well as I used to be----”

”Stop, mamma, stop,” said Peggy, with a sort of cry, and as she spoke she threw up her hands and pressed them hard against her ears; ”I know what you're going to say, but I can't bear it, no, I can't. Oh mamma, you're not to say you're going to die.”

For all answer mamma caught Peggy into her arms and kissed her again and again. For a minute or two it seemed as if she could not speak, but at last she got her voice. And then, rather to Peggy's surprise, she saw that although there were tears in mamma's eyes, and even one or two trickling down her face, she was smiling too.