“Oh, Peggy is too good to need to be made to take things, I’m sure,” said the doctor.
Peggy sat up suddenly in bed.
“If you give it to me quick,” she said to the doctor, “I’ll take it!”
“Very well; here it is,” he said, shaking a powder into a glass, and holding it out to Peggy.
Aunt Euphemia expected her to taste it and declare she couldn’t take it; but Peggy drank the medicine right off without a word, and lay down again.
“Poor little soul! Keep her in bed to-morrow, and I fancy she will be all right next day,” said the doctor.—“Good-night, Peggy; go to sleep, and if you are quite well on Thursday when I come you shall have a ride on my horse.”
These were the last words Peggy heard, and she fell asleep very soon, and slept all night long.
It is horrid to be kept in bed when one feels quite well. Peggy wanted to get up and go out next day, and instead, had to lie still with nothing to amuse her. The bed she was in was of a kind you never see nowadays, with four huge mahogany pillars supporting red damask curtains. It was just like sleeping in a tent.
Peggy found that by sitting high up on the pillows she could see out of the window. The sea was right in front of the house, and a little harbour filled with ships. There was a funny noise always going on at the harbour, and Martin told her it was the ships being loaded with coal. In the evening, just when Peggy was very dull, she saw a ship with great white sails come floating along. There was scarcely any wind, so every one of the sails was up, and it looked like a big white bird. Then, as it came near the mouth of the harbour, it stood quite still in the water, and a little steamer went puffing out to it. A rope was thrown to the ship, and by this rope it was towed into the harbour. Peggy could hear the men calling out to one another and laughing.
“Maybe, if you are good, Miss Peggy, I’ll take ye down to the harbour one day,” said Martin.