"O, no indeed." Peggy spoke with her usual blitheness. "Sally's splendid if she's looked after. Of course she hasn't any head-piece, but she's as willing as the day is long."
The sudden entrance of the object of this eulogy cut it short. Sally was dressed for the street, even to a faded cotton umbrella tucked under her arm at such an angle that the point would endanger the eyesight of all pedestrians. "I'm leaving," she announced cheerfully.
As Peggy's amazement temporarily bereft her of the powers of speech, Ruth was driven to expostulate. "You don't mean you're going away to stay? You wouldn't do that, I'm sure."
"My step-aunt's husband's had a stroke," explained Sally with unimpaired cheerfulness. "It's his second and 'tain't likely he'll last long. I wouldn't miss his fun'rel for anything."
Peggy by this time was capable of remonstrance. "But, Sally, wait till the time is set for the funeral. He may live some time yet. Just think how hard it will be for me if you leave me while mother's away."
Ordinarily Sally would have been touched by this plea. She was a reliable creature, on the whole, and devoted to the Raymonds, one and all. But the temptation afforded by the serious illness of her step-aunt's husband was of no common sort.
"My goodness, Miss Peggy!" she exclaimed indignantly. "The fun'rel ain't the whole show. I wouldn't miss his last hours for anything you could name. My step-aunt's sister from West Virginia will come on, like enough, to say nothin' of her kin up in Lester County. I ain't the sort o' girl to slight my duties every time the circus comes to town," declared Sally impressively, "but a reel death in the fambly don't happen every day, and 'twould be flying in the face of Providence not to take notice."
If Peggy had looked forward to a pensive evening, with leisure for occasional tears, this unexpected development necessitated an immediate change of program. She had neglected her lessons for the next day in helping her mother to get away, and the sudden accession of Sally's duties in addition to her own meant that every minute must be accounted for. When her father went to bed that night he stood in the doorway for a full minute, his glance travelling from the clock to the desperate figure of his daughter. Peggy's elbows were planted on the table, while her hands clutched her hair, and her lips moved noiselessly. On the whole, her attitude suggested Lady Macbeth rather than a high school girl, poring over one of the gems of English literature.
"Daughter."
Peggy did not hear.