She dreaded the passing of the seasons, as they would take with them each some heart-rending charm of Peggy's infancy. Now it would be the ceasing of her pretty, helpless cry, as Peggy acquired mastery over things; now the repudiation of her delicious play, as Peggy's intellect perceived its puerility; and now the leaving off for ever of the speech that was Peggy's own, as Peggy adopted the superstition of the English language. A few years and Peggy would have cast off pinafores, a very few more, and Peggy would be at a boarding-school; and before she left it she would have her hair up. There was a pang for Peggy's mother in looking backward, and in looking forward pang upon intolerable pang. But Peggy was in no hurry to grow up. Her delicacy prolonged her babyhood and its sweet impunity. The sad state of Peggy's little body accounted for all the little sins that weighed on Peggy's mother's soul. You couldn't punish Peggy. An untender look made her tremble; at a harsh word she cried till she was sick. When Peggy committed sin she ran and told her mother, as if it were some wonderful and interesting experience. Anne was afraid that she would never teach the child the difference between right and wrong. In this, by some strange irony, Majendie, for all his self-effacement, proved more effectual than Anne. They were all three in the drawing-room one Sunday afternoon at tea-time. It was Peggy's hour. And in that hour she had found her moment, when her parents' backs were turned to the tea-table. The moment over, she came to Majendie, shivering with delight. "Oh, daddy, daddy," she cried, "I did 'teal some sugar. I did 'teal it my own self, and eated it all up." Peggy had been forbidden to touch the sugar basin ever since one very miserable day. "Oh, Peggy, Peggy," said her mother, "that was very naughty." "No, mummy, it wasn't. It wasn't naughty 't all." She pondered, gravely working out her case. "I'd be sorry if it was naughty." Majendie laughed. "If you laugh every time she's naughty, how am I to make her learn?" Majendie held out his hand. "Come here, Peggy." Peggy came and cuddled against him, smiling sidelong mischief at her mother. "Look here, Peggy, if you eat too much sugar, you'll be ill; and if you're ill, mummy'll be unhappy. See?" "I'm sorry, daddy." Peggy's mouth shook; she turned, and hid her face against his breast. "There, there," he said, petting her. "Look at mummy; she's happy now." Peggy's face peeped out, but it was not at her mother that she looked. "Are you happy, daddy?" He stooped, and kissed her, and left the room. And then Peggy said, "I'm sorry, mummy. Why did daddy go away?" "I don't know, darling." "Do you think he will come back again?" "Darling, I don't know." "You'd like him to come back, wouldn't you, mummy?" "Of course, Peggy." "Then I'll go and tell him." She trotted downstairs to the study, and came back shaking her head sadly. "Daddy isn't coming. Naughty daddy."