Marjorie, left alone, addressed herself to resting up in preparation for the afternoon's trip. There was a big hammock on the porch, and thither, wrapped in her heavy coat, she went to lie. She tried to think out some plans for her future life without Francis; but the plans were hard to make. There were so many wild things to watch; even the clouds and sky seemed different up here. And presently when Peggy, no more than healthfully excited by her hard morning's work on the cellar, came prancingly out to enjoy more of her guest's society, she found her curled up, asleep, one hand under her cheek, looking about ten years old and very peaceful. "Isn't she the darling!" she breathed to her mother. "She is that!" said Mrs. O'Mara heartily. "But they've both got fine young tempers of their own, for all they're so gay and friendly. Somebody's going to learn who's rulin' the roost, when the first edge of the honeymoon's off. And it's in me mind that the under-dog won't be Mr. Francis." "Oh, mother! How can you talk so horridly?" remonstrated Peggy. "As if they ever had any chance of quarreling!" "There's none," said Mrs. O'Mara wisely, "but has the chancet of quarrelin' when they're man an' wife. An' why not? Sure it brightens life a bit! 'Tis fine when it's over, as the dentist said to me whin he pulled out the big tooth in me back jaw." "Well, I know _I'm_ never going to quarrel," said Peggy vehemently. "Then ye'd be a reformed character itself, an' why not start to curb yer temper now?" said her mother. "I can mind a certain day----" But Peggy engulfed her mother in a violent embrace, holding her mouth shut as she did so, and as Peggy was even taller than Mrs. O'Mara and quite as strong, the ensuing struggle and laughter woke Marjorie. "Now, see that! An' take shame to yerself!" said Mrs. O'Mara apologetically. "'Twas me angel girl here, Mrs. Ellison, explainin' by fine arguments how peaceful-minded she is. Now let me away, Peggy, for there's the meal to make." Peggy, laughing as usual, sat down unceremoniously by Marjorie. "I was just saying that I didn't see why married people should quarrel," she explained, "and mother says that they all have to do some of it, just to keep life amusing. _I_ think you and Francis get along like kittens in a basket." "And does she think we quarrel?" inquired Marjorie sleepily, yet with suspicion. Peggy shook her head with indubitable honesty. "No, she only says you will sooner or later. But that's because she's Irish, I think; you know Irish people do like a bit of a shindy once in awhile. I admit I don't mind it myself. But you Americans born are quieter. When you quarrel you seem to take no pleasure whatever in it, for all I can see!" Marjorie laughed irrepressibly. "Oh, Peggy, I do love you!" she said. "It's true, I don't like quarreling a bit. It always makes me unhappy. It's my Puritan ancestry, I suppose." "Well, you can't help your forebears," said Peggy sagely.