Young women -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
"Yes," said Robert vaguely. He was afraid that the good lady would not
be so willing to leave Peggy undisturbed if she knew her real
whereabouts, and was determined to say nothing to undeceive her. He
felt sure that the girl had hidden herself in the summer-house at the
bottom of the garden, and a nice, damp, mouldy retreat it would be this
afternoon, with the rain driving in through the open window, and the
creepers dripping on the walls. Just the place in which to sit and
break your heart, and catch rheumatic fever with the greatest possible
ease. And yet Robert said no word of warning to Mrs Asplin. He had an
inward conviction that if anyone were to go to the rescue, that person
should be himself, and that he, more than anyone else, would be able to
comfort Peggy in her affliction. He sauntered up and down the hall
until the coast was clear, then dashed once more into the cloak-room,
took an Inverness coat from a nail, a pair of goloshes from the floor,
and sped rapidly down the garden-path. In less than two minutes he had
reached the summer-house, and was peeping cautiously in at the door.
Yes; he was right. There sat Peggy, with her arms stretched out before
her on the rickety table, her shoulders heaving with long, gasping sobs.
Her fingers clenched and unclenched themselves spasmodically, and the
smooth little head rolled to and fro in an abandonment of grief. Robert
stood looking on in silent misery. He had a boy's natural hatred of
tears, and his first impulse was to turn tail, go back to the house, and
send someone to take his place; but even as he hesitated he shivered in
the chilly damp, and remembered the principal reason of his coming. He
stepped forward and dropped the cloak over the bent shoulders, whereupon
Peggy started up and turned a scared white face upon him.
"Who, who--Oh! it is you! What do you want?"
"Nothing. I saw you come out, and thought you would be cold. I brought
you out my coat."
"I don't want it; I am quite warm. I came here to be alone."
"I know; I'm not going to bother. Mrs Asplin thinks you are in your
room, and I didn't tell her that I'd seen you go out. But it's damp.
If you catch cold, your mother will be sorry."
Peggy looked at him thoughtfully, and there was a glimmer of gratitude
in her poor tear-stained eyes.
"Yes; I p-p-romised to be careful. You are very kind, but I can't think
of anything to-night. I am too miserably wretched."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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