"How are you, Peggy?" Miss Leighton began. "You look very well," she continued, without waiting for a reply. "We—Barnes and I—came to hear your friend Mr. Maloney preach, and I thought I should like a word with you. We sat close behind you in church."
"Did you?" said Peggy, smiling. "Wasn't it a nice sermon? And we had my favourite hymn! Oh, Aunt Caroline," she proceeded sympathetically, "we were so sorry to hear you had been ill. Are you really quite well now? Yes. Oh, I'm so glad! Oh, Barnes, how do you do? Aunt Caroline, this is Billy. Billy, you remember Aunt Caroline, don't you? You know you saw her once before and you said you would know her again."
Billy had no alternative but to shake hands with Miss Leighton. And, now he came to regard her more closely, she did not look the sort of person who would steal his sister from him. He thought he read goodwill towards himself in her face, as he scrutinised it in the light of the lamp near which they were standing, and she showed no resentment for the decidedly rude way in which he had treated her, the real fact being that she had guessed the impulse which had prompted his strange behaviour. For some minutes, he watched her talking to Peggy whilst Barnes stood aside patiently waiting. Then, he reminded his sister that if they did not go home, their mother would wonder what had become of them.
"Yes," agreed Peggy, "we mustn't wait any longer. Mother's at home alone—it's Sarah's afternoon out—and she's always anxious if we're later than she expects us."
"One moment more," said Miss Leighton. "I must wish you a very happy Christmas before we part, and I want you to tell me what I can give you for a present. Choose whatever you like. And Billy—he must choose something too!"
"Oh, how kind of you!" cried Peggy. Whilst Billy's eyes glistened with delight, and a look of approval settled on his face—approval of this great-aunt of his, against whom he had entertained such a strong prejudice before.
"I want to do something to add to your happiness," Miss Leighton said, in a voice which trembled with an emotion which she tried in vain to repress.
"Do you, Aunt Caroline?" the little girl questioned earnestly. "Do you, indeed?"
"Yes, my dear—"
"Then if you really and truly want to add to my happiness," Peggy broke in excitedly, "you'll come home with us now—we've not far to go—and be friends with mother again! Oh, do come! It grieves mother dreadfully to think you're angry with her! But, you're not angry any longer, are you?"