"I've had a death belongin' to me, too," she said. "'Tis awful! 'Twas my aunt, and now I've no one left." When they entered the shop, Miss Churchhill asked Peggy to wait outside. "I want to have a private talk with Mrs. Creak," she said. Peggy trod the pavement outside with firm steps. "You've done it, Peg! You've found yerself a place with a real lady, and it has been as straight and easy as anythink!" Some acquaintances accosted her. "'Ulloo, Peggy, goin' to church on a weekday?" "'Ave you bin to a treat?" "I'm a-goin' into service," said Peggy, with uplifted head. "Oh, you por critter!" Then they danced round her singing— "Worked in the army, worked in the navy, But most worked o' all is the poor little slavey; Cookin' and scrubbin', dustin' and runnin', Missis is allays a-beatin' and scoldin'!" Peggy turned upon them furiously. "You keep your tongues quiet. I'm a-goin' to the country, I am! When you gets taken for a day's 'curshion, you think o' me! Not pickin' flowers and eatin' apples and blackberries one day in the year, but all the year round, all day long, I'll be doin' it! I shall live in a hop-garding orchard, and never want no dinner off sassages or herrins, for I shall eat strawberries and plums and grapes till I got quite a tired o' their taste!" "Go it, Peg!" cried out a small boy. "And where be yer goin' to live? In a carawan?" "In a white house," went on Peggy waxing warm in her enthusiasm, "with walls covered with roses, and a green door; and vi'lets, and lilies and chrysanthys all over the garding, and a pond with swans, and a fountain—" "Garn wi' yer!" A piece of mud was flung at her. Peggy beat a hasty retreat, and tumbled into the arms of Miss Churchhill. "If you please 'm, may I come?" "I am going to see your Sunday school teacher. I know her slightly. Mrs. Creak gives a good account of you, Peggy, but you see Mrs. Creak is quite a stranger to me." "She's real good 'm, Mrs. Creak is." "I have no doubt of it. I will write to you after I have seen Miss Gregory. Good afternoon, Peggy." Miss Churchhill walked away, and Peggy darted into the sweet-shop, where she stayed for half an hour talking over the wonderful fortune that might be coming to her. CHAPTER IV COUNTRY MUD IT was a mild afternoon towards the end of February. Sundale Station looked deserted when the London train dashed into it. Only a porter stood on the platform to welcome any arrivals, and when the one passenger proved to be our Peggy, hugging her small box, he looked at her with grim humour. "I'm paid by the Company to wait on you, Miss, so hand over. Where are you going? Not from this part, are you?" "I'm going to my place." Peggy was in nowise daunted.