Peggy got up and brushed the dew from her dress, and walked slowly back to the house in the gathering twilight. In the Rose Parlour Aunt Helen sat turning out her little writing-desk, and wiping suspicious drops from her eyes.
'Don't keep old letters, child,' she said, as Peggy crept up to her with silent sympathy. 'It opens so many wounds to re-read the tender words of those who are estranged or gone away from us, and all the hopes and expectations that have come to nothing.'
'Don't read them, Auntie. Let's tear them up and burn them, if they make you cry.'
'No, no; I can't bear to part with them, after all! We'll lock them up in the desk again. But, Peggy, take my advice, and if you quarrel with anyone, go and fight it out at once, and get it over, and don't let misunderstandings make the breach so wide that nothing can ever mend it again.'
CHAPTER VII
MAUD MIDDLETON'S PARTY
'Methinks, good friend, to-day I scarce do know thee,
The fashion of thy manner hath so changed.'
'Oh, Aunt Helen!' cried Peggy, bursting into the dining-room one afternoon, where her aunt was busy adding up accounts, 'can't we all go to Maud Middleton's party?'
'And who is Maud Middleton, I should like to know?' inquired Aunt Helen, pausing in the midst of her butcher's bill. 'I have not heard you mention her before. Is she one of your schoolfellows?'
'Oh no, she's the dearest girl! They have a French governess, but they go to the dancing-class on Fridays, and Maud and I always dance together, and I simply love her!' said Peggy, who was apt to take up friendships with enthusiasm.