Part 6 (1/2)

”Mother told me she was in a hurry for the b.u.t.ter and eggs,” said Christopher. ”I'll have to go right home.”

Christopher left Peggy when they came to her old house, which was now his, and she felt a little pang of regret when she saw how pleasant it looked with its new coat of paint, behind the two horse-chestnut trees, which would soon be coming into blossom. At one of the upper windows she saw a boy who she was sure must be the poet, and she hurried by, very conscious of her long legs.

The grocery store was a place full of interest--there were such delightful things to be seen. There was a box full of oranges and another full of grapefruit, and a lady was buying some raisins. Peggy was sure her mother would like some raisins if she had only happened to remember about them, and it would be such a good chance to get some oranges and grapefruit. But she remembered that her mother had not liked it at all when she had brought back some oranges once that she had not been told to order, so she turned regretfully from the oranges and grapefruit to the lemons that were in another box.

”I'd like six lemons, please,” she said to the clerk, ”and two pounds of sugar and a box of b.u.t.ter Thins.”

”Is that all?” he asked.

”Yes,” said Peggy. She never once thought of the yeast-cake, for so many exciting things had happened since she left home.

When she reached the house her mother said, ”What have you been doing, Peggy? You are an hour and a half late. There is no use now in starting my bread before night.”

It was then that Peggy remembered the yeast-cake. She turned red and looked very unhappy.

”Mother, I forgot all about the yeast-cake,” she confessed miserably. ”I remembered everything else.”

”You remembered all the things you wanted yourself, but the one thing you were sent for, the only important thing, you forgot. I wonder what I can do to make you less careless. What is this smell? Why, it comes from your frock! Peggy, what mischief have you been in now?”

Peggy and her mother were intimate friends, and they shared each other's confidence, but Peggy had not intended to tell her about the frock until the next day. However, there was no escape now.

”Christopher and I climbed the pine tree, the one by the Thornton place, and I got pitch all over me, and I thought you'd be so discouraged that he took me to his Aunt Betsy's house and she got the spots out.”

”I told you not to stop to talk to any children.”

”You said 'strange children.' He wasn't 'strange.'”

When Mrs. Owen had heard the whole history of the morning, she said: ”Now Peggy, I think you ought to be punished in some way. While you were out Mrs. Horton telephoned to say that she and Miss Rand and Clara had come up to spend part of the Easter vacation. She wants you and Alice to come over and play with Clara this afternoon. I think Alice had better go without you.”

”Oh, mother,” Alice protested, ”that would be punis.h.i.+ng Clara and me too.”

”I think it would be too awful a punishment,” said Peggy.

”Yes, I suppose it would,” said Mrs. Owen thoughtfully. She was a very just mother, and Peggy always felt her punishments were deserved.

”I can't let it go and do nothing about it,” said Mrs. Owen. ”I tell you what I'll do. I'll go over to Mrs. Horton's with Alice and leave you to keep house, Peggy, until I come back. Old Michael may come with some seed catalogues. If he does you can keep him until I get back. As soon as I do, you can run right down for the yeast-cake, and this time I am sure you will not stop on the way. Then you can go to Clara's for what is left of the afternoon.”

CHAPTER V

AT CLARA'S HOUSE

Peggy was walking up the long avenue that led to Clara's house. She had had a wonderful afternoon. ”Only I haven't been punished at all,”

thought Peggy. This was because old Michael had arrived with his seed catalogues soon after her mother left, and, as he was one of her best friends, Peggy was very happy.

”Mother will be back soon,” said Peggy. ”Let's play that I am mother, and we'll look at all the pictures of flowers and vegetables and mark the ones I want, just as she does.”

Old Michael was quite ready to play the game, only he said it might be confusing to her mother if they marked the catalogues; so Peggy got a sheet of her own best note-paper, with some children in colored frocks at the top of it.

”It's a pity to waste that good paper,” said he.

”It's my own paper, Mr. Farrell,” said Peggy, in a grown-up voice. ”You forget that I am Mrs. Owen and can do as I please.”