And Lady Peggy fell a-weeping with such violence as Chockey had never seen; and, being a wise damsel, she left her mistress alone and went down to soothe the gouty Earl, tied to his chair, as best she could for the absence of his daughter Peg from dinner. [Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Illustration] II _In the which Her Ladyship wheedles her noble father and makes up her mind._ The Earl forsooth was a testy gentleman, and his girl was his plague and his pride; on her, rather than on his heir, the old man’s fancy was set, for the reason that Kennaston, disclaiming all the country sports, the half wild outdoor life, the lusty joys and racing bumps and cups that had been vastly helpful in reducing the little his parent had started his career with, had elected instead to try his luck at that most inscrutable, vile trade of scribbling! Peg’s twin, her fellow in height and build, which made a slender youth of him indeed, had gone up to London quill-armed, ink-fingered, brain-possessed with rhymes; empty-pursed, determined to carve with such unlikely weapons as that apt bird, the goose, furnishes, a fame and fortune for himself, that should dazzle the world and recoup the fortunes of his well-nigh fallen house. While the Earl jeered, Peg, herself scarce able to spell a two-syllabled word, looked up to her brother as nothing short of whatever stood in her mind for Shakespeare; for, low be it spoke, the fair Peggy had small notion of books, their makers or their pleasurable usage. To her they represented waste time almost, and only as a means of communication with Kennaston did she, since his absence began, pore daily over a dictionary, a speller, and a copy-book. So sat she now, a couple of months after the parting betwixt her and Sir Percy; lips pursed, brows knit, goose-feather in finger, poring over a blank sheet of paper first, and from it turning to the closely-writ page of a letter from her twin. Chockey sat on a stool hard by,—they were both in the buttery, for Lady Peggy was apt with all the mysteries of housekeeping, and had as fine a churning, as big cheeses, as fat chickens, as nice eggs, as good hams as any other in the county,—had she not, the Earl, her father, had lacked something or all of his comfort. Chockey, then, sat working butter, squeezing all the white milky bubbles back and forth in the wooden bowl, and printing the pats in the trays, while her mistress sighed, swallowed, and at last burst forth in speech.