“I’ll look first at your dress, Peggy. What have you been doing to it? I never saw a child like you for getting into mischief. Ring the bell, and come here and tell me how you have destroyed your frock.”
Peggy looked down. The front of her blue serge frock was covered all over with chalk. She seemed to have rubbed it into the stuff in the strangest way. She was as white as a miller.
“O auntie, I’m sorry! It’s the chalk,” Peggy cried.
“What chalk? Where did you get chalk, and how did you smear it over yourself in this way?” asked Aunt Euphemia.
“I was finding pearls—such lovely pearls. I am going to make a necklace of them; see!” said Peggy, holding them out to her aunt to be admired.
“Just bits of stone. What nonsense! Throw them out of the window,” said Aunt Euphemia. She was much displeased.
Peggy was very obedient. It did not occur to her to refuse to throw the pearls away. She walked across to the open window, and flung them out with scarcely any hesitation; but, oh dear, what it cost her! Such a sore lump came into her throat, and she kept swallowing it down so hard. Then Martin came in, looking very cross, and carrying a large cloth-brush, and she was taken to the front door and brushed, and brushed, to get the chalk away.
“You’ll please not to play that game again,” said Martin crossly. “It’s a queer thing you can’t be alone half an hour without getting into mischief.”
Peggy made no answer. Her throat was too sore with trying not to cry. For nothing else seemed as if it would give her any pleasure again if she wasn’t allowed to pound chalk and find pearls.
