When Peggy awoke the next morning she could not for a long time make out where she was or what had happened to her. She raised her head and looked around her. The light had hardly yet begun to break, and Peggy, accustomed all her life to wake at five o’clock, could not yet get over the habit. It is true that it was now very nearly six o’clock; but even so, six o’clock towards the latter end of September meant but a very faint degree of light. The girl’s first wish was to spring out of bed, to open her tiny attic window, and call to the little “hins” and the “turkey poults” the welcome intelligence that Peggy was coming; but, alack and alas! she was far, very far away from the hens, the turkeys, the geese of her happy childhood. It occurred to her for a wild minute that she was in bed in her large, luxurious, and hateful room at Preston Manor; from there she had at least the consolation of getting on the roof and making for the farmyard. But the window just opposite to her bed was longer and more severe-looking, and the little cubicle in which her bed reposed was plainly, though neatly, furnished.

“Ah wurra!” sighed Peggy, “I’m at school at long last, and it’s the bitter day for me—the bitter, bitter day for me!”

She little guessed, poor little thing, how very bitter that day was to be. She lay for a minute or two in her comfortable bed reflecting on the changes which had taken place, wishing earnestly that her father had not died and gone to glory, but had stayed in his “rigiment—a fine figure of a soldier, bedad!”—and had gone on sending a pound monthly for her maintenance to her good foster-parents. She looked round her little cubicle. There was no use in wishing for the past; the past, bedad, was over and done! “Why, I was finished off as nate as nate, in Ould Ireland,” she soliloquised; “whyiver should I be comin’ back to a fresh school at all? Bedad, I can’t make head nor tail of it, an’ I don’t like it, not a bit.”

She lay very still while the light came in more and more broadly through the window, which was open at the top. There was a fresh, delicious breeze filling the long dormitory, and Peggy could hear the other four girls snoring. They snored in a sort of concert, each taking a distinct and different note. Peggy burst out laughing.

“Why thin, it’s bad manners they have in their slape,” she said aloud.

Then one of the snorers awoke, and listened to the words of wild Peggy. Moving very softly, she stood on her bed and glanced for a minute at Peggy over the curtain which divided the two cubicles. This girl’s name was Hannah Joyce. She was a good-humoured, plain sort of girl; her face was thickly powdered with freckles, and her hair was of a brilliant red.

Peggy, absorbed in her own thoughts, did not see her, but presently a fresh bit of laughter on the part of the Irish girl caused Hannah to giggle delightedly, and Peggy looked up and caught sight of her. “Whativer be ye a-doin’ there?” she asked.

“Looking at you,” replied Hannah.

“A cat may look at a king,” responded Peggy. “I’m goin’ to have a bit more slape.” She turned on her pillow and closed her eyes.

“No, don’t do that,” said Hannah, “I want you to laugh again. Whatever were you laughing at?”

“At all of yez, to be sure.”

“Whatever did we do to make you laugh?”

“Shnored an’ shnored an’ shnored.”

“I don’t understand your language,” said Hannah.

“Poor ignorums!” said Peggy. “’Tain’t to be expected of the like of yez. There! I’ve no more slape in me, I’m gettin’ up.” She sprang to her feet as she spoke and began to pour cold water into her basin.

“But we don’t get up at this hour,” said the admiring and astonished Hannah.

“Ye mayn’t, but I does.” Splash, splash went the water in the basin. Peggy had submerged her little face and quantities of her glowing reddy-gold hair.

“Ah wisha!” then she said, “that’s reviving.” She scrubbed at her cheeks with a coarse towel, and then proceeded to dress. Hannah watched from over the curtain, spellbound.

“Whatever will you do when you’re dressed?” she asked in a whisper.

“Go out, av course,” said Peggy in a loud, clear voice.

“But it’s against the rules.”

“Faix, I don’t care for thim.”

“Don’t you?”

Hannah had heard of Peggy’s courage with The Imp the previous evening. She felt a wild glow of ecstatic admiration for this queer, new girl. “May I come with you?” she asked.

“Plase yerself,” answered Peggy.

Hannah slid down onto her bed, put on her shoes and stockings, got into her clothes with the rapidity of a very much hurried mouse who knows that the cat will be out if she isn’t quick; and by the time Peggy had noisily attired herself, Hannah, who had hardly made a sound, stood fully equipped by the side of her cubicle. “Here I am,” she said. “Don’t put on your shoes if you don’t want to be caught. Here, I’ll hold them for you. We’ll creep downstairs, and I know a window by which we can get out. If we’re not quick the maids will be up, and then we won’t have a chance.”

“Is it me not have a chance?” said Peggy, curling her lip. “Well, come along then, you lead the way if ye like.”

In consequence, Hannah, who had never done a daring thing before in the whole course of her short life, but who did happen to be acquainted with one special window which The Imp employed when she was up to mischief, conducted Peggy through the silent house and into the quadrangle; without saying a word the children crossed over into a big meadow to their left, and there they walked slowly, Hannah shaking and trembling with mingled feelings of ecstasy and terror, and Peggy looking languidly and indifferently about her.

“It’s an ugly place this,” Peggy remarked after a time.

“Ugly!” cried Hannah, “why, it’s thought most beautiful!”

“Be it now? Ah well, ye’ve niver seen Ould Ireland.”

“No, I haven’t. Is it wonderfully beautiful?”

“Beauty ain’t in it,” said Peggy, “it’s that amazin’ an’ consolin’ that it melts the very heart in ye. Think of Torc wearing his nightcap!”

“Turk!” responded Hannah, “who on earth is he? I don’t think he can be very pretty with a nightcap on.”

“Ah, lave me alone,” said Peggy, “ye make me double up wid the laughter. Is it a man ye think I’m spakin’ of? Why, it’s a beauteous mountain with his head in the clouds, that’s why we call it his nightcap, an’ most days he has it on, for most days it rains, God bless it!”

“But that can’t be at all nice—rain can’t.”

“Howld yer tongue, Hannah, don’t be abusin’ me counthry to me face, or I’ll treat ye as I treated that black thing last night.”

“Oh Peggy Desmond, I admired you when you flew at her; we all did—me, and Annie Jones, and Priscilla Price, and Rufa Conway—we all did, I think, in our hearts, except those horrid Dodds.”

“Did ye truly now?”

“Indeed, indeed we did.”

“Well, that’s consolin’. I’ll do for that black thing if she ill-manners me.”

“Oh Peggy, you don’t know what she is! We’re all afraid of her—we are really.”

“Sit down here an’ tell me all about her,” said Peggy.

Hannah, nothing loath, obeyed, and soon to Peggy’s listening ears was revealed a vast amount of the treacherous ways and the cruel doings of The Imp. But before Hannah began her story she looked full into the dark-blue eyes of the Irish girl and asked: “Have you ever been at school before?”

“Yes, sure I have, an’ I’m up to Third Standard.”

“I only asked you for this reason,” continued Hannah.

“What raison? Out with it, an’ be quick.”

“It is this. You won’t tell anybody what I am saying to you now in confidence?”

“Here’s me tongue,” said Peggy, putting out the pretty little red member, “ye can cut it off if ye find me tale-bearin’.”

“That’s all right, Peggy, and now listen. I mean to like you and I know lots of the other girls in the Lower School who will like you too, and they’ll be, oh so thankful that you have come, for we are all terribly afraid of The Imp; indeed, some of us call her worse than The Imp, we call her The Brat, for you see she has got a sort of real power over us, she makes us do just exactly what she likes. At all times and in every place we have to do precisely what The Imp wants us to do, and we’re real cowards to allow it.”

“So ye be, there’s no doubt on that point,” said Peggy.

“But you are not afraid of any one, are you, Peggy?”

“Yerra, niver a wan!” was Peggy’s response.

“And you won’t mind her if she laughs at you because you don’t speak English like us?”

“Yerra, she won’t try that on again, or she’ll get more than she gives, that’s all! I’m ashamed of the way ye all spake the beautiful tongue; ye don’t know how to spake so as to put colour into it, it’s exactly like a gray day, a rainy an’ misty day, a soft day, as we call it in Ould Ireland, the way ye spake; but when I spake, bedad, out comes the sun, and the flowers bloom, and the sky is heavenly blue. Oh, give me Ould Ireland an’ the way we talk the tongue in my land of the mountain and the lake!”

Hannah stared at her little companion. “How beautiful you are!” she said.

“Don’t ye be flatterin’ me up now, for I’m not goin’ to belave it, an’ that’s a fact. Tell me about that Imp—the black thing, I call her.”

So Hannah, nothing loath, complied. She gave a vivid, and on the whole a fairly truthful, history of The Imp—of her conduct with regard to the Dodds, who were enormously rich and toadied The Imp to any extent; of little Elisabeth Douglas, who had been taken in hand by The Imp, and was being fast spoilt by her.

“It is the very last straw, the child taking to you,” said Hannah, “but I am right glad of it, for the poor little thing was learning nothing but mischief from that dreadful girl.”

Peggy sat and thought. “Seems as though my work was cut out for me,” she said. “Well, now thin, Hannah, I don’t pertend for one minute that I’ve tuk to ye; I’ll have to prove ye well first; but as to bein’ afraid, there’s niver a scrap o’ fear in me heart an’ niver were. But I’ve got to please a young lady called Mary Welsh, an’ because o’ her I’ve got to learn yer cold, colourless English, an’ because of her I’ve got to do me lessons as well as I can; but she niver told me about any Imp. I’ll soon settle her.”

“Peggy,” said Hannah at that moment, “we’d best be going home; it would never do for The Imp to find us during your very first morning out of doors without leave.”

Peggy hesitated for a minute. The delightful fresh morning air soothed her, the companionship of Hannah was the reverse of disagreeable, the knowledge that she certainly would have to get the upper hand of The Imp, and would have to win little Elisabeth over to her side put a fresh interest into her life. On the whole, therefore, she was satisfied to return to the house with Hannah as guide. The girls managed to get back again to the dormitory and to lie down in their beds, well covered up, just as though they had not been out at all, before the housemaid came round with cans of hot water, which she put into every room. She looked slightly amazed when she saw Peggy’s basin quite full of soapy water; but, beyond emptying the basin, took no further notice of it.

Meanwhile, upstairs a very different scene was being enacted. The Imp had drawn her satellites round her, and their determination was to get Peggy Desmond entirely under the control of this latter young person before the day was out. The fourth girl in the upper dormitory was called Sophia Marshall, and she was completely and absolutely under the power both of the Dodds and The Imp. She was a mild, good-humoured-looking girl, who always did precisely what she was told, tried to learn her lessons well and to keep out of scrapes, but was on the whole very much afraid of her room-fellows. Annie Dodd had a short conversation with Sophia that morning. Sophia, who, in her heart admired Peggy beyond description for fighting The Imp, was forced to pretend to be altogether on the other side. A very slight sketch was given to Sophia of what the day’s proceedings were to be, and then the girls went downstairs. They all met soon afterwards in the chapel which belonged to the school. There Mrs. Fleming read a short prayer and a few verses of the Bible and the girls went into the refectory for breakfast. Peggy, to her secret disgust, was put beside The Imp at breakfast time. How this was managed nobody quite knew, but it seemed to come naturally. At the other side of Peggy, to her great delight, sat little Elisabeth Douglas.

“Oh I am glad to be near you,” said little Elisabeth.

Peggy bent down at once and kissed the sweet little baby face. “And I’m glad to be near you, darling,” she said. Her soft, cooing voice, the delicious, fascinating brogue, which was soft as her native island, smote upon the fanciful ears of little Elisabeth. She clung to Peggy as though she could not let her go. The Imp looked across Peggy, her black eyes fixing themselves on little Elisabeth’s face. The child crouched a little behind Peggy, as though to avoid the said eyes; but The Imp insisted on continuing her gaze, and after a minute or two Elisabeth, to her surprise, found herself smiling.

“Now, that’s right,” said The Imp. She turned and looked at Peggy. “Do you know?” she said.

“What am I to know widout ye tellin’ me?” said Peggy.

“Do you know that I could hardly sleep the whole of last night?”

“Whyiver was that?” said Peggy. “What ’u’d keep ye awake?”

“I was thinking of you.”

“Perhaps it’s yer shoulders were achin’ a bit; I know I caught them rather rough.”

“Oh it wasn’t that; besides, they didn’t ache, you aren’t strong enough to make them really ache. No, I was thinking how horribly rude I was to you. I want to beg your pardon. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Ah wisha! ’tain’t worth beggin’ pardon about.”

“But what do you mean?”

“I mane what I say—’tain’t worth it. Let’s get on with our breakfast now.”

“But won’t you be friends with me, Peggy? You see, we belong to the same school, we both belong to the Lower School, and there are so few of us in the Lower School that it would be horrible not to be friends. Besides, I mean to do you a great kindness.”

Peggy’s sapphire eyes fixed themselves on the black eyes of The Imp. “I’m wondering,” she said.

“What are you wondering about?”

“Oh niver ye mind.”

“Yes, but I would like to know.”

“Well, I’m wondering if you can do me a kindness.”

“I will tell you what I am going to do. Do you know who was my dearest friend in this school?”

“Ah, how can I tell? I neither can tell, an’ to be truthful wid ye, neither do I care. Ye can have any friends ye like as far as I am concerned.”

“But aren’t you fond of Elisabeth Douglas?”

The little hand of Elisabeth tugged Peggy’s hand at that moment.

“Why, to be sure I am.”

“Well, and so am I; but I’m going to give her up—up to you. Isn’t that good of me?”

“Oh, oh, I say, Kitty, are you? May I love Peggy best? You won’t be cross to me afterwards if I love Peggy best?” said little Elisabeth.

“No, Elisabeth, I wish you to love Peggy best. There, Peggy, isn’t it kind of me?”

“Well, it sthrikes me like this, that ye can’t help yerself, an’ ye think ye may as well do it with a good grace; but if it gives ye any pleasure for me to say I’m obliged, why thin, I’ll say it. Now, what on earth are those ladies glaring at us for?”

“Of course they’re glaring at us for talking English; we’re not supposed to say anything except in French.”

“The Lord save us! What’ll I do? I don’t know a word of the tongue.”

“Oh you will soon.”

“Maybe, there’s no sayin’, I wasn’t born stupid, thank the Lord; I’m sure if I was I’d be dazed enough since I came to this cold land. There, don’t talk to me any more if it’s against the rules; let me ate me bit of food or I won’t have strength to nourish me brain.”

The girls finished the rest of the meal in silence, the Dodds kept glancing across at Peggy and then at The Imp, then at one another, and finally at Sophia Marshall, who could not exactly make out what was happening. As the girls, however, filed afterwards into the great central schoolroom, where each class could be quite undisturbed by the voices of the other class—so immense was the room—Grace Dodd fell back and took Sophia’s arm.

“Sophy, will you do something for us?”

“If I can.”

“You know the back playground?”

“The field where we have hockey in the winter? Of course I know it.”

“Will you meet Kitty and Anne and me there to-day at recess? Will you come there without fail, and don’t let anybody else come—come alone, will you? Peggy is to be there too. We want to have a little secret confab. You understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“You are on our side?”

“I suppose so.”

“You’d best be on our side. I’ve brought such a glorious lot of chocolates back with me. You’re mad on chocs, aren’t you, Sophy?”

“Yes,” said Sophy, turning a rather greedy little face towards Grace.

“Well, put your hand down into my pocket, you’ll find some creams there; help yourself to as many as you like, but don’t forget the field at the back.”

“I won’t forget,” said Sophia.

That first day at school was not likely to be a very brilliant one for poor little Peggy. She was, however, a remarkably smart and clever child, although she had only been given an Irish education at an Irish Board School. Yet, nevertheless, her learning was quite sound, she could read fluently, she could recite poetry with a wonderfully pathetic sort of lilt in her voice, she knew her history admirably, she spelt to perfection, her writing was good, her geography and grammar were absolutely up to the average, and there was not the slightest doubt that with a little instruction she would be exceedingly musical. At present, however, her musical education—except as far as her wild and lovely voice was concerned—was completely neglected. On the whole, the teachers who examined Peggy Desmond gave a promising account of her. As to foreign languages she, of course, knew none. She must begin at the very beginning and begin at once; French—yes, French certainly. After the first term, French and German. For the rest of her education she might go on with the head-class of the Lower School—in fact, there were several subjects that she knew a great deal more about than did Kitty Merrydew. Nothing could exceed Kitty’s final disgust when she discovered that for almost all subjects Irish Peggy was in the same class with herself. Peggy was informed by her teacher that if she took pains and really applied herself to her studies she might have the great honour of being moved into the Upper School before her first year was up; the only thing that would keep her back was her absolute ignorance of foreign languages. But Peggy, when she did make up her mind to study, could study with a will; already she was eager to begin her French, to overcome the grammar, to learn the pronunciation. She had a remarkably correct ear, and this thing itself was a wonderful help to her. Mrs. Fleming, who had a short conversation with the child, knew that the best way of breaking Peggy from her barbarities of speech was to give her another language besides English to learn. Accordingly it was arranged that the child was to have special lessons to herself alone in the French tongue each day, that she was to talk with Mademoiselle in the French tongue; but during the rest of the time she was to be allowed the freedom of her broken English, for it could scarcely be called anything else. But what finally delighted and charmed Peggy was when she was told that she was now to learn the piano. Miss Archdale sat down and played something for her, and the child’s eyes filled with sudden tears at the ecstasy which overpowered her at the sound. She bent forward, flung her arms round her teacher’s neck, and kissed her several times.

“Oh, wurra, wurra!” she said, “stop that, will ye, for the Lord’s sake! Ye’re breakin’ me heart intirely.”

“But why so, dear—why so?”

“Oh because it’s just too beautiful!”

“You shall learn to make the lovely music yourself, Peggy.”

“Oh no, it’s jokin’ ye be.”

“No, I am not, Peggy dear. I see that you are a very clever girl; you will have it all your own way in no time, I can prophesy that.”

And now at last the recess had come. For half-an-hour every morning the girls could do as they pleased and nobody interfered with them. They left their lesson-books and went out into the grounds. As a rule, during the first day of school, there was so much to talk over that special friend walked with special friend, games came on later in the day, but now news of all sorts had to be imparted from one to the other.

Suddenly Grace Dodd ran up to Peggy, who was talking to Hannah Joyce. “Peggy, will you come with me just for a minute, I won’t keep you any time.”

“You come along too, Hannah,” said Peggy.

“No, no, no, we don’t want you, Hannah, we just want Peggy. Please, Peggy, come—do. Peggy, will you? You’ll be a coward if you don’t.”

“Me a coward!” said Peggy. “You wait here for me, Hannah, I’ll be back in a minute.”

She wrenched her hand from Hannah, who looked suspiciously at Grace’s eager face. Grace took the little girl through the Lower School, on purpose to blind Hannah’s suspicions, and then out through a small paddock into the field where hockey was played in the cold weather.

The hockey-field was long, smooth, and flat; it was situated at some distance from the other playgrounds; at one side of it was a paddock, where a rough-coated pony was now nibbling grass, at the other side was a high wire-fence; at the north was another fence, made of oak, about ten feet high. The field was being already prepared for the autumn sports; but at the present moment it was quite empty, the gardeners being away at their midday meal. This fact The Imp was well acquainted with, and knew that she and her satellites would have the field to themselves. She stood now towards the farther end of the field, holding in her hand her hockey-club; the other girls were also provided with their clubs, they were playing hockey in a desultory sort of fashion, in reality not playing it at all, but looking to an outsider as if they were.

Peggy had never even seen a game of hockey. She entered the field now through the paddock, her eyes fixed on the ground, Grace Dodd holding her tightly by one arm. Suddenly she caught sight of the pony and stopped dead. “Ah, wisha, Whinsie, Whinsie!” she called, addressing the rough little animal by the name of her own pet pony on the O’Flynns’ little farm. “Ah, wurra, me pet,” she continued, “and the top of the mornin’ to ye, Whinsie boy.”

The pony turned his gentle eye and fixed it on Peggy. In an instant Peggy had sprung on his back and was careering round and round the paddock, holding on to a tuft of Whinsie’s thick mane.

This was by no means what the expectant girls desired. The Imp whispered a word to Grace and Anne, who rushed into the paddock, whirling their hockey-clubs.

“Lave me alone, will ye, or I’ll ride ye down!” cried Peggy. She rode Whinsie straight up to them, but the little animal shied violently and the girls stepped back in terror. They were veritable cowards, and so Peggy informed them. She sprang lightly off the animal’s back, patted him tenderly on his rough coat, and entered the hockey-field with a nonchalant air.

“Now thin,” she said, “whativer do ye want me for? I tell ye what,” she continued, standing still and facing the four girls, “it’s mighty cowardly ye look, grouped up together in a hape, and with them ugly shillalahs in yer hands. Is it to strike me ye want to be afther? Or what is it ye want at all, at all? For I can’t be idlin’ me time, I can tell ye; it’s back to Whinsie I want to go, he suits me much better than any of ye. Now thin, what’s up, what’s up?” She said this because she suddenly found herself surrounded. The Imp and Sophia stood in front of her, Grace Dodd and her sister stood behind, the hockey-clubs were suddenly raised so as to form a railing to right and left.

Peggy’s great sapphire eyes blazed with suppressed fury, her pretty face grew a trifle pale. She was quick enough to notice at once that she was caught in a trap. “Now, out with it,” she cried. “What do you want wid me at all, ye bits of cowards? Four to wan. Me word, we don’t do that sort of thing in Ould Ireland!”

“We are four to one,” said The Imp, “and we are not cowards, and don’t mean to take it from you, you common little Irish cabin-girl. You have no right to be in the school with ladies, and if you don’t do what I want directly you will be punished by me and by my friends.”

Peggy held herself very erect. Lady or cabin-girl, she looked glorious at that moment. Her arms were crossed, she flung back her small, stately head. “Go on with yer haranguin’,” she said. “I’m mighty curious to hear it out an’ out.”

“You know what you did to me last night?” said The Imp.

“Ah, to be sure, yes; I’m willin’ to do it again wid all the pleasure in life—in fact, me hands tremble to be at ye!”

“Hear her, girls,” said Kitty Merrydew; “you are witnesses to her dreadful words.”

“You’d better be quick, Kitty,” said Sophy, who in her heart of hearts hated this scene, “the bell will ring in no time for us to go back to school.”

The Imp glanced at a small jewelled watch which she wore in a bracelet round her wrist.

“There’s a quarter of an hour,” she said, “plenty of time for our purpose. Now then, Peggy Desmond, you have got to go right down on your knees and fold your hands so and look up in my face and say, ‘Kitty Merrydew, I beg your pardon from the bottom of my heart, and I’ll let you laugh and laugh and laugh every bit of the ugly Irish out of me.’ That’s what you’ve got to say, Peggy, and if you don’t, why——”

“Why what?” asked Peggy. “I’m mighty curious to know what’ll happen if I don’t do what ye’re requirin’ o’ me.”

“This is what is going to happen. We four girls are going to force you down on the ground, and one of us will sit on your shoulders, and another on your legs, and the other two will give you a little taste of a small riding-whip which we happen to have by us. That’s the alternative. You beg my pardon, or Anne and Grace Dodd take turn about to whip you, and whip you well, too.”

“Yes,” said Grace Dodd, “we can’t have our friend abused the way you abused her last night, Peggy Desmond. You’ve got to know your place in the Lower School, so now on to your knees, or we must set to work.”

“On to me knees! Never!” said Peggy. “Afraid of yez, ye cowards! not me. Let me go, Anne Dodd, don’t ye dare to touch me. What’s yer name, ye little spalpeen there, ye look as frightened as anything. Kape out o’ me reach, or I’ll scratch yer face. There, there! Oh my, but it’s shameful! One to four, I say—one to four!—Whinsie, me beauty—Whinsie, come along! Whinsie, come an’ help—come an’ help!”

The poor child was not frightened, nothing living could make her that; but with four strong pairs of arms against her one pair, with the judicious aid of the hockey-sticks, one of which tripped her up violently when she tried to run away, she was at last defeated to the extent of being stretched on the ground.

“Oh, oh, do stop!” said Sophia. “Don’t go on! Oh it’s horrid! And see how white she is! I think that hockey-stick hurt her, I do really. Oh do stop, Kitty! I’d never have come out with you if I’d known it was like this. Oh what am I to do? I won’t sit on her legs—no, I won’t!”

But there were times when Kitty Merrydew was nearly mad, and such a time was the present. To be defeated and defied by this brat of an Irish girl drove her beside herself. She took out her whip, and with the aid of the two Dodds was about to administer a severe cut across Peggy’s back when there was a sudden noise and commotion, the trampling of hoofs, and the quick sound of a pony approaching. For a few minutes Whinsie had looked on in astonishment, too absolutely amazed to understand poor Peggy’s cry for help, but within Whinsie’s heart there was a very faithful pony-sense of justice. Four against one! And wasn’t the girl who sat on his back Irish, and hadn’t he himself first seen the light in the Wicklow mountains? With a spirited neigh he leaped the fence which divided the paddock from the hockey-field and made straight for the girls. Now was their turn to be frightened. Seizing their hockey-sticks and Kitty’s riding-whip, they rushed away, leaving Peggy alone, pale, cold, and unconscious in the centre of the field. Whinsie sniffed all round her and tried to lick her little white face; but she lay, to all appearance, white and dead. The hockey-stick had done its work, and had broken her leg just above the ankle.