"Yes, ma'am," Barnes answered briefly. She said no more, for in her heart she was confident that Peggy would be better and happier at home.
[CHAPTER XIII]
PREPARING FOR CHRISTMAS
FOR many months, the Pringle family heard no more of Miss Leighton. Spring gave place to summer; and in the early autumn Billy paid his visit to Cornwall, returning, after a never-to-be forgotten six weeks' holiday, with Mr. and Mrs. Tiddy, who spent a short while in London, during which time they went to see Miss Leighton, mindful of the promise which they had made to her.
But, although the old lady received her Cornish acquaintances with every sign of cordiality and pleasure, she never once mentioned Peggy, and when Mrs. Tiddy spoke of her, she quickly changed the conversation, so that her visitors came to the conclusion that her liking for the little blind girl had been merely a passing fancy, and that she had lost the interest she had certainly once entertained for the child. Such, however, was not the case.
It was the end of September when the Tiddys returned to their Cornish home; and shortly afterwards Miss Leighton had a long and serious illness, the result of a neglected cold. When she had recovered and was able to dispense with the services of the trained nurse, who, with Barnes, had nursed her back to health, it was December, and every one was preparing for Christmas.
The season of peace and goodwill never brought much happiness to Miss Leighton nowadays; but it made many calls upon her purse. And when she had written several cheques to be sent to the various charities to which she was a regular contributor, she generally considered she had done all that could be reasonably expected of her for her fellow creatures.
But this year, as she sat by the fire in the drawing-room of her London house, one afternoon about a week before Christmas, a sense of unusual dissatisfaction with herself began to creep over her. Memory was busy with her; and, gazing into the fire, she pictured a little figure clad in a shabby blue serge coat and skirt and a Tam o' Shanter cap, and saw once more a fair face with a halo of golden curls around it—a happy face, beautiful with that inward peace and light which only God can give. Then, in her imagination, she heard a clear, child's voice say:
"But I don't think she can be really charitable, if she isn't kind in little ways and if she's unforgiving!"
Miss Leighton winced as she recalled the words and the decided tone in which they had been uttered. How the child's judgment of her had rankled in her heart! It had hurt her at the time it had been given, though she had never resented it: it hurt her a great deal more now.