Peggy was profuse in her thanks. She hid it under her jacket, and got home in such haste that even her aunt had little fault to find with her.
It was Sunday. She was up early, for she had a lot to do before she was at liberty to go out, and Peggy attended a Sunday School close by, and always went to church on Sunday morning. After that, she stayed in with her aunt for the rest of the day.
Sunday afternoon was the time for Mrs. Perkins' visitors to come and see her. Sometimes it was a neighbour who dropped in for a chat; sometimes a married niece; but there was always a cup of tea going if nothing more, and Peggy waited on everybody and listened to the talk with interest, though she was never supposed to speak.
She went off to Sunday School this morning in a happy frame of mind. Possibilities of a good place always seemed to centre in Miss Gregory, her teacher; and Peggy had made up many wonderful stories about this young lady. How one Sunday morning she would come to school and say,—
"Peggy, I have for a long time thought you would make me a good little servant. Now I am sure of it. I will come round and talk to your aunt, and I will buy you some clothes and next week you shall come to me."
Sometimes Peggy's fancies took a still higher flight. Miss Gregory would say,—
"Peggy, I am buying a house in the country. It is a Rectory, and I have bought the church with it. It has a beautiful garden, and flowers and fruit; you must come with me and be my servant."
I am afraid Peggy's thoughts were often far away from her lessons. She secretly adored her teacher; but if I were to tell the real truth, Miss Gregory looked upon her as a quiet dull little scholar, who was less attentive than many others, and who seemed the most uninterested of them all.
But to-day the lesson attracted Peggy from the very first. It was about the little captive maid who told Naaman's wife of the great prophet who could cure her master. She listened with big eyes and open mouth to the story.
Miss Gregory wound up with—