Miss Leighton could not say she was, for her bitterness against Peggy's mother had been slowly fading away since she had known Peggy herself. Her head was in a whirl with conflicting thoughts. But she felt she must accept or decline her little niece's invitation at once—she could not discuss it there in the street.
"My dear, I cannot—" she was beginning, when a rush of tenderer, better feelings than she had experienced for years filled her heart and caused her to hesitate. She looked at Peggy's expectant face with its sightless blue eyes, and the last remnant of her pride died away, though she repeated, "I cannot, I cannot!"
But the sharp ears of the blind child had caught the note of indecision in the other's tone, and taking the old lady by the hand she said persuasively:
"Come, Aunt Caroline, we will go on, and Barnes and Billy will follow. I know the way quite well. Oh, do come!"
And, much to Barnes's astonishment, and Billy's intense excitement, Miss Leighton answered in a voice which no longer wavered, but had become decided and firm:
"To please you, little Sunbeam, I will!"
* * * * *
"Here's wonderful news from the Pringles!" exclaimed Mrs. Tiddy on Christmas morning, as she stood in the hall at Lower Brimley, ready to start for church with her husband, and glanced hastily through the letter she held in her hand—one of several which the postman had just delivered. "I cannot stay to read all Margaret says now, but I see she has had a visit from her aunt, and there must have been a complete reconciliation, for—fancy, Ebenezer!—the old lady is going to dine with them to-day!"
"I'm heartily glad to hear it," Mr. Tiddy responded. "Depend upon it, Peggy has brought that about—the reconciliation, I mean. But come, my dear, or we shall be late for church."
Then as they passed down the garden path, side by side, he continued: