“He is Augustus' little boy,” he said. “He has tired himself with play. Augustus should have better watch of the child such weather as this. I'll put a flea in his careless ear to that effect.” Loaded with the small burden of the sleeping boy, the General led the way across the grounds. Now when I had ceased to hope for her, a light foot on the sod told me how Peg was at hand. I verily believe the perverse witch to have been behind a tree, or hidden of a shrub, and not a score of yards from us during our whole halt in the square. I would have accosted her, but she brushed by with a curt bending of the head and not a word, and joined the General where that chieftain marched ahead with the pickaninny. My heart sank, and I fell still farther to the rear, more lonely than before Peg came. It was ten minutes later, and when Peg, leaving the General, was on the turn of setting forth for her own house. I was in my workshop, idle at my desk, thoughtful with no thoughts, and my heart inexpressibly sad. As Peg would have crossed my door, her glance swept the interior of the room. With that, she came to a full stop. I looked up with an eagerness to hear her speak; and thinking, too, that now she would come in, and we two be the old kind friends again. But instead of kindness, my glance gave me her face, cloudy and threatening. Also, there were lamps of danger lighted in her eyes. What new crime had I done? It was clear I stood guilty of some baseness; I read that much in Peg's frown, and the last poor spark of my hope pinched out. Never again, whatever the temptation, would I condemn a husband to his wife. Peg swept into the room while I gazed on her without speaking. If for no reason save one of politeness, I should have greeted her; but my manners were quite driven out of my head with wondering what new eggs would here be toasting on the spit for me. “Where is my chair?” cried Peg, and with a voice as full of wrath as a coal of fire. Then pointing to where her leathern chair was not: “Where is my chair, I say?” Stupidly, I looked over beyond my desk where her throne had been in happy times; but I kept my teeth on my tongue, not willing to have the risk of a word. “I will have it back!” Peg went on, eye as vicious as a kestrel's, “I will have it instantly back!” With every headlong dispatch I went after the chair, while Peg walked up and down as might that leopard who should own those two sharp teeth, the gleam of which just showed beneath the upper redness of her lip like points of pearl. When the chair was restored, I turned to her and called my courage to my shoulder. “And now will you sit down?” said I. “I will not sit there until I choose,” stormed Peg, still up and down. Her cheek was flame, but with no laughing roguishness of fun; her eyes shone like mirrors, but not from any interest of amusement. As she went to and fro, leopard-like, she would have those eyes on me with a questioning indignation.