Peggy Raymond's Way; Or, Blossom Time at Friendly Terrace

by Harriet L. Smith

The sale was to be held in a large vacant store in the down-town district, and was to last three days. All contributors had been asked to send their offerings several days in advance, and the Friendly Terrace girls, with a score of others, were on hand to assist in classifying the articles as they arrived, and were arranging them so as to make the best possible showing. As Peggy worked with the others, she was conscious of a return of her former misgivings. Undoubtedly among the contributions arriving by the wagon load there were many articles which would be useful to some one, but Peggy wondered who would be able to make use of the cracked pitchers and leaky kitchen utensils which were coming in such quantities. She looked disapprovingly at the loads of worn-out finery, displayed on the clothing table. In her opinion people who would buy second-hand evening dresses ought not to afford any. Of the flimsy evening frocks, most of them cut excessively low, some were spotted and soiled, while others were torn and generally bedraggled. Peggy made up her mind that under no circumstances would she be a saleswoman at that table.

The array of bric-a-brac aroused similar qualms. Looking the collection over, Peggy wondered at the things people had once regarded as ornamental. And even though they now realized their error, and were glad to rid themselves of these offenses against good taste, it seemed to Peggy rather hard that they should encourage the unenlightened to purchase such monstrosities under the mistaken notion that they were beautifying their homes. She was glad to turn to the book table where, if nowhere else, really worth-while bargains were offered. There were piles of the best magazines, many of them with the leaves uncut. There were odd volumes of classic writers, the most of which seemed in excellent condition. Peggy set herself to make the book table as inviting as possible, in hopes that the sales would be gratifying.

But while her original misgivings had returned in full force, Peggy said nothing about them. As far as she could see, they were unshared by any person present. The three girls who were her most intimate friends were working away enthusiastically, their bright faces unclouded by a doubt. Peggy had been a little startled by the discovery that Amy had deliberately left her out of the plot for painting Aunt Phoebe's sitting-room floor. It led her to wonder if perhaps she was over-particular.

"No one else seems to see anything out of the way," Peggy reflected. "It seems as if it must be all right, if I'm the only one who thinks it isn't. Oh, dear, I hope I'm not getting so critical and fussy that I imagine that things are wrong when they're not." Again her thoughts turned to Aunt Phoebe's painted floor. If Amy had asked her coöperation, she would have refused, and would have done her best to dissuade Amy from her reckless scheme. But the results had been all that could be desired. Aunt Phoebe had her new carpet, and was radiantly happy, while Uncle Philander-Behind-His-Back had undoubtedly been taught a lesson he sorely needed. Strange to say, he did not seem to hold any grudge against Amy for taking sides against him. Amy, who had been out to admire the new carpet, reported that he had received her without any display of animosity, and unprotestingly had allowed Aunt Phoebe to serve her with ice cream. "It must be that I'm getting too particular," thought Peggy. "This time I won't say a word."

She broke her resolution, however, when the committee, who had been delegated to mark the prices of each article, set to work. Peggy had comforted herself by recalling Priscilla's assurance that everything would be sold at prices almost too small to mention. Instead, it seemed to the astonished Peggy that a good price was set on articles which from her standpoint were quite valueless. "O, don't you think that is too much?" She could not help exclaiming as one of the committee attached a price card to a three legged chair, which kept an upright position only by balancing itself against a rickety table.

The lady smiled upon her. "We'll have the prices rather high the first day," she replied. "Of course we want to make all we can. Then we'll reduce them for the second day, and on the third we'll take anything we can get."

Peggy did not return the smile. She was perplexed and troubled. She was beginning to realize that though these women were working for charity, they knew very little about the practical problems of the poor. She looked at the three-legged chair and wondered what she would do if she saw some reckless mother of a family preparing to squander real money on anything so worthless.

Although Peggy had expressed a wish to be stationed at the book table, Mrs. Vanderpool had insisted on placing her among the household furnishings. "You've got such a winning way, my dear," she said, "and you would be wasted on the books. Nobody buys books at a rummage sale except the people who would buy them anyway. I'm expecting great things from that persuasive tongue of yours." Peggy blushed guiltily, even while she smiled. She was glad Mrs. Vanderpool had such a complimentary idea of her persuasive powers and hoped she would not disappoint her.

From the hour of its opening, the rummage sale was crowded. Peggy's heart went out to the women who came pouring in as soon as the doors were opened to the public. Many of them had a distinctly foreign look. They came hatless, holding their money tightly, and looking about them with sharp, dark eyes in search of the bargains they coveted. In the evening the shop girls and factory workers were out in full force, and Peggy noticed uneasily how inevitably they gravitated toward the cast-off finery which had aroused her disapproval. She turned her back that she might not be a witness to the thriving business she suspected that department of doing.