Part 11 (1/2)

”Does it hurt much?” she asked.

Lizzie smiled in a superior way.

”Bless you,” she said again, ”_hurt's_ no word for it. It's hall over--but it's time I were used to it--never mind about me, missy. I'm sure it was most obligin' of you to bring the shoe, but won't your mamma and your nurse scold you?”

”My mamma's gone away, and so has my nurse,” said Peggy. ”I'm all alone.”

All the eyes looked up with sympathy.

”Deary me, who'd a thought it?” said Brown Smiley. ”But there must be somebody to do for you, miss.”

”To what?” asked Peggy. ”Of course there's cook, and f.a.n.n.y, and my brothers, and my papa when he comes home.”

Brown Smiley looked relieved. She was only a very little girl, not more than three years older than Peggy herself, though she seemed so much more, and she had really thought that the little visitor meant to say she was quite, quite by herself.

”Oh!” she said, ”that's not being real alone.”

”But it is,” persisted Peggy. ”It is very alone, I can tell you. I've n.o.body to play with, and nothing to do 'cept to look out of the window at you playing, and at the nother window at----”

”The winder to the front,” said Lizzie, eagerly. ”It must be splendid at your front, miss. Father told me onst you could see the 'ills--ever so far right away in Brackens.h.i.+re. Some day if I could but get along a bit better I'd like fine to go round to your front, miss. I've never seed a 'ill.”

Lizzie was quite out of breath with excitement. Peggy answered eagerly,

”Oh I do wish you could come to our day nursery window. When it's fine you can see the mountings--that's old, no, big hills, you know. And--on one of them you can see a white cottage; it does so s.h.i.+ne in the sun.”

”Bless me,” said Lizzie, and both the Smileys, for Sarah had come back by now, stood listening with open mouths.

”Father's from Brackens.h.i.+re,” said Light Smiley, whose real name was Sarah. She spoke rather timidly, for she was well kept in her place by her four elder sisters. For a wonder they did not snub her.

”Yes, he be,” added Matilda, ”and he's told us it's bee-yutiful over there. He lived in a cottage, he did, when he were a little lad.”

”Mebbe 'tis father's cottage miss sees s.h.i.+ning,” ventured Sarah. But this time she was not so lucky.

”Rubbish, Sarah,” said Lizzie. ”There's more'n one cottage in Brackens.h.i.+re.”

”And there's a mamma and a baby--and a papa who goes to work, in my cottage,” said Peggy. ”So I don't think it could be----” but here she grew confused, remembering that all about the white cottage was only fancy, and that besides the Smileys' father _might_ have lived there long ago. She got rather red, feeling somehow as if it was not very kind of her not to like the idea of its being his cottage. She had seen him once or twice; he looked big and rough, and his clothes were old--she could not fancy him ever having lived in her dainty white house.

Just then came a loud voice from the upper story, demanding Sarah.

”'Tis Mother Whelan,” said Brown Smiley, starting up. ”Rebecca said as how I was to run of an errant for her. It's time I were off.”

Peggy turned to go.

”I must go home,” she said. ”P'raps I'll come again some day. If mamma was at home I'd ask her if you mightn't come to look out of the nursery window,” she added, turning to Lizzie.

”Bless you,” said the poor girl, ”I'd never get up the stairs; thank you all the same.”

And with a deep sigh of regret at having to leave such pleasant company, Peggy ran across the street home.