AT CLARA’S HOUSE
Peggy was walking up the long avenue that led to Clara’s house. She had had a wonderful afternoon. “Only I haven’t been punished at all,” thought Peggy. This was because old Michael had arrived with his seed catalogues soon after her mother left, and, as he was one of her best friends, Peggy was very happy.
“Mother will be back soon,” said Peggy. “Let’s play that I am mother, and we’ll look at all the pictures of flowers and vegetables and mark the ones I want, just as she does.”
Old Michael was quite ready to play the game, only he said it might be confusing to her mother if they marked the catalogues; so Peggy got a sheet of her own best note-paper, with some children in colored frocks at the top of it.
“It’s a pity to waste that good paper,” said he.
“It’s my own paper, Mr. Farrell,” said Peggy, in a grown-up voice. “You forget that I am Mrs. Owen and can do as I please.”
“Sure enough, ma’am, I did forget,” he said as he looked at the small lady in her blue frock.
“Peonies, poppies, portulaca,” said Peggy; “we’ll have a lot of all of those, Mr. Farrell. And we’ll have the poppies planted in a lovely ring.”
“It was vegetables we were to talk about to-day, ma’am,” said Mr. Farrell respectfully. “How many rows of string-beans do you want to start with, and how many butter-beans? And are you planning to have peas and corn and tomatoes?”
“Mother is planning to can things to sell,” Peggy began. “Oh, dear, I forgot I was mother! I think a hundred rows of string-beans will be enough to start with, Mr. Farrell. I am afraid that is all my children can take care of. They are to help me with the garden. We haven’t much money; and we have to earn some or Peggy may have to go to live with her grandmother, and I just couldn’t stand that. I could not be separated from my child; and Peggy and Alice must always be together. Perhaps you can’t understand this, Mr. Farrell, never having been a mother yourself. It is no laughing matter,” she said, looking at old Michael reprovingly.