"Collectin' in a stockin' is a help," she murmured to herself, "but it ain't half big enough for me to do, and I'm a-goin' to do as much as ever as I can, not as little!"
She was very silent when she got back to Lucy, and when she went to bed shed some tears.
"You feels quite low, Peggy," she murmured, between her sobs. "'Tis the miss of your stockin': seems as if there have been a death in yer room, but 'tis all foolishness! Think of where 'tis gone, and what that there money be a-goin' to do. And if you don't feel homey without a stockin', get out another and start fillin' it to-morrer!"
With which resolve she fell asleep comforted.
* * * * *
It is an April day, and four years have passed since Peggy returned from London to her country home.
She is standing under an apple-tree in the garden, and she is listening to a merry peal of bells.
Albert Edward is sitting up on his haunches and watching her; but a sturdy young man is watching her too, and he is not, like Albert Edward, obliged to watch in silence, for he has a tongue in his head.
"Peggy!"
Such a start Peggy gave, and a rising blush comes into her cheeks that makes her almost pretty.