"Ah! Peg," Bridget began, "is that you? Mark has just been here."
"Indeed?" replied Peggy, twisting up one pretty curl so tightly as to hurt her head.
"The blessed truth," continued the wicked little tormentor. "Did you meet him?"
A very desponding "yes," was the response.
"Well," demanded Bridget, anxiously, "did he say anything—I mean, anything particular?"
"He only said the weather was pleasant, and then passed on, without ever even shaking hands with me," sadly replied Peggy.
"Mark needn't have done that; whatever happens, he ought to be civil to you," said Bridget, with a peculiar expression that made Peggy's heart flutter within her like a pigeon.
"Civil to me! what do you mean, Bridget?"
Bridget hummed an air, and, as if suddenly wishing to change the conversation, said, gaily:
"Oh! I forgot, we were to tell each other's dreams this morning. Peg, you begin, what did you dream about?"