"Not for some weeks yet. Oh, yes, I am a lot better! I feel really well; and Mrs. Tiddy says I am getting quite rosy and sunburnt. I am so glad, because they will be pleased at home."
"Are you one of a long family?"
"No. I have only one brother—Billy. Father is the organist of St. John's, but I do not expect you know the church. Mr. Maloney is our Vicar. He's a great friend of ours. I'm sure you'd like him, because he's such a good man. Mother says he's very clever, and people come a long distance often to hear him preach, so I suppose he must be."
"I think I've heard of him," said the old lady thoughtfully. "He gives up his life to working amongst the poor, does he not?"
"Yes. Nearly every one in our parish is poor. Mr. Maloney is, I believe, and we are, you know, because father's salary isn't much, and his music pupils don't pay him as they ought. But father is very clever, too, and some day I dare say we shall be better off. Father composes music, and there are very few people who can do that," the little girl said, with a ring of affectionate pride in her voice. "Do you live in London, too?" she inquired, thinking it was her turn to ask a question now.
"I have a house in town. Will you come and spend a day with me there when we both go back to our own homes?"
"I—I hardly know," Peggy replied doubtfully, flushing with surprise. "It's very kind of you to invite me; but I must ask mother. I don't know who you are, and—"
"And I don't know who you are, either! Suppose you tell me your name?"
"It is Margaret Pringle; but I am always called Peggy, because father calls mother Margaret."
"Pringle!" exclaimed the old lady, growing suddenly crimson. She looked almost angrily at Peggy as she spoke, but of course the little girl was unconscious of that fact, though she caught the sound of agitation in her voice. "Pringle!" she repeated. "Is it possible? Tell me, is your father's name John?"