When she was seated, and ready to start, the old lady turned towards him, called out to him in a cheery voice: "Good-bye, Robert!" and kissed her hand to him.
Mrs Keswick slowly drove away, and Mr Brandon stood at his hall door, gazing after her until she was entirely out of sight. Then he ejaculated: "The Devil's daughter!" and went into his library.
"I wonders," said Peggy when she returned to the kitchen, "how you all's gwine to like habin dat ole Miss Keswick libin h'yar as you all's mistiss."
"Who's gwine to hab her?" growled Aunt Judy.
"You all is," sturdily retorted Peggy. "Dar ain't no use tryin' to git out ob dat. Dat old Miss Keswick done gone an' kunjered Mahs' Robert, an' dey's boun' to git mar'ed. I done heered all 'bout it, an' she's comin' h'yar to lib wid Mahs' Robert. But dat don' make no dif'rence to me. I's gwine to lib wid Mahs' Junius an' Miss Rob in New York, I is. But I's mighty sorry for you all."
"You Peggy," shouted the irate Aunt Judy, "shut up wid your fool talk! When Mahs' Robert marry dat ole jimpsun weed, de angel Gabr'el blow his hohn, shuh."
Slowly driving along the road to her home, the Widow Keswick gazed cheerfully at the blue sky above her, and the pleasant autumn scenery around her; sniffed the fine fresh air, delicately scented with the odor of falling leaves; and settling herself into a more comfortable position on her seat, she complacently said to herself: "Well, I reckon the old scapegrace has got his money's worth this time!"
CHAPTER XXXI.
There were two reasons why Peggy could not go to live with "Mahs' Junius and Miss Rob" in New York. In the first place, this couple had no intention of setting up an establishment in that city; and secondly, Peggy, as Roberta well knew, was not adapted by nature to be her maid, or the maid of any one else. Peggy's true vocation in life was to throw her far-away gaze into futurity, and, as far as in her lay, to adapt present circumstances to what she supposed was going to happen. It would have delighted her soul if she could have been the adept in conjuring, which she firmly believed the Widow Keswick to be; but, as she possessed no such gift, she made up the deficiency, as well as she could, by mixing up her mind, her soul, and her desires, into a sort of witch's hodge-podge, which she thrust as a spell into the affairs of other people. Twice had the devices of this stupid-looking wooden peg of a negro girl stopped Lawrence Croft in the path he was following in his pursuit of Roberta March. If Lawrence had known, at the time, what Peggy was doing, he would have considered her an unmitigated little demon; but afterward, if he could have known of it, he would have thought her a very unprepossessing and conscienceless guardian angel.
As it was, he knew not what she had done, and never considered her at all.