“I wish somebody’d go away early every morning,” Amy sighed from a full heart, “and give us an excuse for getting up early. To think of sleeping away hours like this.”
“It’s a pity we didn’t leave long ago,” suggested Jack Rynson, between whom and Amy there existed a sort of armed truce, “so that you could discover what a country morning was like.” But before Amy could form a sufficiently withering reply, a tiny bird, perched on the topmost bough of a neighboring tree, had burst into such music that the little party stood silenced, and even playful bickering was forgotten.
Something of the magic of the morning vanished, it must be confessed, when the farewells could no longer be postponed, and the girls turned their faces toward Dolittle Cottage. “The worst of nice things,” said Ruth crossly, “is that you miss them so when they stop.”
“It’s only half-past six now,” announced Priscilla, consulting her watch. “Goodness! What are we going to do with a day as long as this?”
“I know what I’m going to do with part of it,” said Peggy. “I’m going to give Lucy Haines a good boost on her algebra. There’s been so much going on since the boys came, that she’s felt shy about dropping in. Afraid of interfering, you know. But I sent word to her by Jerry, yesterday, that I should expect her this afternoon.”
As it proved, it was not a difficult matter to occupy the long day, since each hour brought its own occupation and a little to spare. At the threshold of the cottage they were met by startling news, Dorothy hurrying out importantly to make the announcement.
“One of your little chickens has goned to Heaven, Aunt Peggy. A big bird angel took it.”
“What on earth does she mean?” Peggy demanded in a perplexity not unnatural, considering the highly idealized character of Dorothy’s report. It was left to Aunt Abigail to translate the catastrophe into prose. The Dolittle Cottagers were not the only early risers that fine morning. A big hawk, up betimes, and looking for his breakfast, had selected as a choice tit-bit, one of the yellow hen’s fast diminishing brood. Peggy felt that she could have borne it better had it not been for the unimpaired cheerfulness of the yellow hen’s demeanor.
The discussion of the tragedy delayed breakfast, and when the household finally gathered about the round table, it was a little after the regular breakfast hour rather than earlier. And, as sometimes happens, dinner seemed to follow close on the heels of breakfast, and directly after dinner, came Lucy Haines. Lucy’s manner of accepting a kindness always betrayed a little hesitancy, as if her independent spirit dreaded the possibility of incurring too heavy a weight of obligation. But usually after a little time in Peggy’s society, that air of constraint disappeared, greatly to Peggy’s satisfaction.
That afternoon session was a protracted one. Lucy’s attempt to master algebra without a teacher, had been not unlike the efforts of a mariner to navigate without a chart. Lucy’s little craft had struck many a reef, and was aground hard and fast, when the tug “Peggy” steamed up alongside. The fascination of discovering a key to mysteries seemingly impenetrable rendered Lucy as oblivious to the flight of time as Peggy herself. When the girls on the porch called in to ask the time, and Peggy glancing at the clock in the corner, replied that it was half-past four, Lucy let her book drop in her consternation. Instantly her face was aflame.