"Oh, father, we've a visitor! Guess who it is. But, no, you never will, so I may as well tell you. It's Mr. Tiddy. You remember who he is, don't you? The Cornish gentleman who married Miss Bates."
"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Pringle, suddenly enlightened. Miss Bates had been a school friend of his wife's. The two had always corresponded regularly, though they had not met of late. Miss Bates had earned her living as a governess until five years previously, when she had married a well-to-do farmer in Cornwall.
"He is a very nice man, father," Peggy continued, "and he's brought us a hamper full of all sorts of good things to eat—cream, and butter, and eggs, and a big cake, which his wife made herself, with a sugary top, and a couple of chickens! Do come and see him at once."
Accordingly Mr. Pringle allowed his little daughter to lead him into the sitting-room, where the visitor was being entertained by Mrs. Pringle and Billy, and after a few minutes' conversation with him, he mentally agreed with Peggy that this new acquaintance was a very nice man.
Ebenezer Tiddy was a thorough countryman in appearance, being clad in a tweed suit, and boots which had evidently been made to keep out inches deep of mud. He was tall and vigorous, with a ruddy, kindly countenance, and steady grey eyes which looked one straight in the face. He had entered the house a complete stranger half an hour before, but already the children were at their ease with him, and Mrs. Pringle was looking decidedly more cheerful than when her husband had left her after their conversation about the doctor's prescription. Mr. Pringle felt glad Mr. Tiddy had come, since his presence had evidently proved exhilarating.
"I arrived in town last night," the visitor explained, "and the first thing this morning I said to myself, 'I'd better execute my wife's business before I attend to my own.' And now you're here, Mr. Pringle, I'll speak of the real object of my visit. Said my wife to me one day last week, 'Ebenezer, how I should like to have little Peggy Pringle to stay with us for a while! Her mother has written to me that she met with an accident and doesn't seem to pick up after it as she ought. I believe a change of air would be the best medicine for her now.'"
Here Mr. Tiddy paused, and looked at Peggy, who, sensitive like all blind people, was fully conscious of his gaze.
"Oh, Mr. Tiddy!" she exclaimed. "And—what did you say?"
"That she'd better write and invite you to visit us at once, my dear, believing, as I do, that Cornish breezes and Cornish living would make you strong in no time. 'But she can't travel alone,' said my wife, who is quicker of thought than I am, 'and how are we to get her here, Ebenezer?' 'That can be easily managed,' I replied; 'when I go to London next week to interview the florist who is going to buy our flowers this spring, I'll ask her parents to trust her to me.' And if they will," concluded Mr. Tiddy, looking smilingly first at Mrs. Pringle, then at her husband, "I am sure I shall be very pleased and proud, and my wife and myself will do our best to make her visit a happy one. The little maid won't have any children for playmates, but I don't think she'll be dull, for there's always something or other to interest folks at a farm, and I need hardly say we'll take good care of her."
"How kind you are!" Mrs. Pringle exclaimed, her face alight with pleasure, "Peggy does indeed need a change very badly, and we have been bemoaning the fact that we could not give her one. I am sure she would be quite happy with you and your wife."