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.”

“Sure enough, ma’am, I did forget,” he said as he looked at the small lady in her blue frock.

“Peonies, poppies, portulaca,” said Peggy; “we’ll have a lot of all of those, Mr. Farrell. And we’ll have the poppies planted in a lovely ring.”

“It was vegetables we were to talk about to-day, ma’am,” said Mr. Farrell respectfully. “How many rows of string-beans do you want to start with, and how many butter-beans? And are you planning to have peas and corn and tomatoes?”

“Mother is planning to can things to sell,” Peggy began. “Oh, dear, I forgot I was mother! I think a hundred rows of string-beans will be enough to start with, Mr. Farrell. I am afraid that is all my children can take care of. They are to help me with the garden. We haven’t much money; and we have to earn some or Peggy may have to go to live with her grandmother, and I just couldn’t stand that. I could not be separated from my child; and Peggy and Alice must always be together. Perhaps you can’t understand this, Mr. Farrell, never having been a mother yourself. It is no laughing matter,” she said, looking at old Michael reprovingly.

Her mother came a great deal too soon; and she did not approve of all of Peggy’s suggestions about the garden. “Run along now, Peggy, and get the yeast-cake, and don’t bother us any more,” she said unfeelingly.

Surely no little girl had ever gone to the village and back so quickly as Peggy went. She resisted the temptation to get two yeast-cakes, for fear one might not be fresh, thinking it wiser to do exactly as her mother said.

And now, as she was walking between the rows of trees, she could hardly wait to see Clara. She had not seen her since Thanksgiving Day.

There were three men at work at the Hortons’ place, raking leaves and uncovering the bushes in the rose garden. Peggy was glad they did not have so many people at work. It was much more fun doing a lot of the work one’s self and talking things over with old Michael. Mrs. Horton was talking with the man in the rose garden. He looked cross as if he did not like to be interrupted. Mrs. Horton was short and plump, with beautifully fitting clothes, but she never looked half so nice, in spite of them, as Peggy’s mother did in her oldest dresses, for Mrs. Owen carried her head as if she were the equal of any one in the land.

Mrs. Horton looked pleased when she saw Peggy. She shook hands with her and said how tall she had grown. Peggy was tired of hearing this. And then she told her that the children were up in the apple tree. “You can go right through the house and out at the other door,” she said. “The path is too muddy. Miss Rand will let you in. We are camping out; we haven’t brought any of the servants with us.”

They only had the care-taker and her husband and these men on the place. If this was camping out, Peggy wondered what she and her mother and Alice were doing, with nobody but themselves to do anything, except old Michael or Mrs. Crozier for an occasional day.

Miss Rand opened the door for Peggy. She was a small, slim little thing, with big frightened eyes with red rims. She looked as if she had been crying. Peggy wondered what the trouble was. She felt sorry for her, so she gave her a kiss and a big hug and said how glad she was to see her. And Miss Rand smiled and her face looked as if the sun had come out. She was very nice-looking when she smiled.

“You are the same old Peggy,” said Miss Rand, and Peggy was so grateful to her for not saying how tall she had grown that she stopped and told her all about Lady Jane and how she lived first at one house and then at the other; for Miss Rand had a heart for cats, and it was a trial to her that Mrs. Horton would never have one.

Speaking of Lady Jane, Peggy had an awful feeling that she had slipped out of the kitchen door when old Michael came in. “I didn’t see her after he left when I went into the kitchen for a drink of water,” said Peggy. “Wouldn’t that be too bad?”

“It would be nice for Diana to have a little visit from her,” said Miss Rand.

“Do you know Diana?”

“Yes, I used to teach in a school near where they lived. She came to school when she was well enough, and when she wasn’t I gave her lessons at home. She is a dear child.”

But Peggy was getting too impatient to see Clara to stop to hear more about Diana. So she went through the wide hall and out of the other door to the brick terrace and down the steps that led to the formal garden and the orchard beyond. A peacock was strutting about as if he owned the place. His tail looked so very beautiful that Peggy felt a little envious. “I wish people could wear ready-made clothes as lovely as his,” she thought. “They are much nicer than my blue frocks, and they can never get spoiled.”

She ran quickly along past the pool, where the water-lilies would blossom later on, to the orchard. In one of the nearest apple trees there was a platform built around it with a flight of steps leading up to it. It was what the children called the apple tree house. Here Clara and Alice were playing dolls. Peggy could seldom be induced to play dolls. She ran up the steps and made a dash for Clara. Clara, in a lilac frock, was sitting primly on one of the wooden chairs with which the platform was furnished. Her hair was a darker brown than Alice’s, and her face had the pallor of the city child who has lived indoors all winter. She was rather a stiff little girl in her manners, and however glad she might feel inside at seeing Peggy again, she did not show it. She submitted to being kissed and hugged gravely as if she were taking a doctor’s prescription, and she kissed Peggy’s cheek with a gentle peck.

“Dear me, but you have grown a lot,” said Clara.

“Well, I can’t help it if I have,” said Peggy.

She felt cross and a little hurt because Clara had not seemed any more glad to see her when she had been just crazy to see Clara. Miss Rand had been delighted to see her, and even Mrs. Horton had seemed more glad than Clara. Only the peacock and Clara had seemed proud. Perhaps Clara had been afraid Peggy would rumple her dress. It was a very lovely shimmery dress with smocking. Peggy liked dresses that were smocked. She seated herself on a branch of the apple tree and began to swing back and forth. She was never shy herself, so it did not occur to her that Clara was shy. There did not seem to be anything to say, and it seemed a long, long time, since Thanksgiving Day, when she had last seen Clara, and as if they would have to get acquainted all over again.

“Did you have a nice journey?” said Peggy.

“No, horrid! I’m always car-sick. Father’s coming for us and we are going back in the automobile.”

“That will be great fun,” said Peggy.

“It will be better than the train,” said Clara, “but it’s a long ride, and I always get awfully tired.”

“Do you?” said Peggy, swinging back and forth again.

“How long your legs are,” said Clara.

Peggy stopped short in her swinging. “If you say anything about my legs I shall go crazy,” she announced. Then she climbed as high in the apple tree as she could get and dared them to come and join her. “Come up into my house, you short-legged people,” she called down. “I have a room in a tower and there are windows in it, and I can see all over the place. Come up here—why don’t you come?”

“Don’t be cross, Peggy,” said Alice. “You know I am scared to, and Clara would spoil her dress if she climbed up there.”

“What are dresses for if you can’t climb trees in them?” Peggy called down.

“I wish I had a frock like yours, it is such a pretty color,” said Clara, who always liked other people’s things better than her own.

The compliment to her dress restored Peggy’s good humor. She was very seldom cross, and she felt thoroughly ashamed of herself. So she condescended to play dolls with Clara and Alice, and there was no fun so great as to have Peggy play dolls. She put them through such adventures and made them have such narrow escapes that the little mothers were positively thrilled. So it was a very happy afternoon for every one, even for Miss Rand, who came out just before it was time for the children to go home, with a tray on which there was a pitcher of something nice and cold that tasted of orange, and some small doughnuts. Miss Rand sat down on an apple branch, which seat she preferred to a chair, and she sang for them, at Peggy’s request, some Scotch songs, in a sweet contralto voice.

“It has been a nice afternoon,” said Peggy, as she kissed Clara good-bye, and this time Clara gave her a most responsive kiss.