The offer was too tempting to refuse. Peggy sat in the kitchen rocking-chair, where Sally rested when her daily labors were over, and watched Priscilla as she proceeded deftly with the work. "It seems a shame," she said, but without conviction, "to leave everything to you." "Nonsense! As if you weren’t always doing things for other people." Priscilla crossed the room to lower the shade and stood transfixed. "I thought Dick said Elaine was sick." "She hasn’t been out of bed to-day. You know she’s rather subject to sick attacks," explained Peggy. "But they don’t last more than a day or two." Priscilla’s laugh was rather disagreeable. "It hasn’t lasted as long as that," she replied. "She’s up and dressed. Just passed the window. Rather a remarkable recovery, isn’t it?" Peggy did not speak. "Elaine isn’t particularly fond of housework, I imagine," continued Priscilla, lowering the shade, and turning back to the waiting dishes. "But I’d rather say right out I didn’t want to help, than make a pretence of being sick. And especially after all you’ve done for her, Peggy." Peggy was in a mood to be an easy prey to suspicion. Tired, half sick, with over-strained nerves, and throbbing temples, it was not strange that for a moment she half believed that Elaine’s plea of illness was only an excuse for evading work she did not like. In spite of Peggy’s lessons, Elaine still found housekeeping duties very irksome. In a moment, however, Peggy’s sense of fairness revolted against the assumption, which for the moment she had accepted as proved. "Perhaps she felt better, all at once. People often do, after being sick all day." "She trotted by the window as if she’d never felt better in all her life," remarked Priscilla tartly. "Maybe her mother exaggerated a little," persisted Peggy. "Or perhaps Dick didn’t quite understand." "O, of course, if you’re bound to find excuses for her, Peggy, you can do it. You can excuse anything in anybody, if you simply won’t believe what you see with your own eyes." The dishes in the pan clicked ominously, as Priscilla splashed with energy. Peggy was saved the necessity of replying by the sudden opening of the back door. A tall, ungainly figure appeared on the threshold and the girls united in a rapturous shriek. "Sally!" Sally came in and removed her coat. Her manner was dejected, and with a pang of conscience Peggy recalled the melancholy reason for her absence, as well as for her return. With a determined effort to keep her own relief out of her voice, she suggested sympathetically "Your uncle, I suppose--"