“You’d best be on our side. I’ve brought such a glorious lot of chocolates back with me. You’re mad on chocs, aren’t you, Sophy?”
“Yes,” said Sophy, turning a rather greedy little face towards Grace.
“Well, put your hand down into my pocket, you’ll find some creams there; help yourself to as many as you like, but don’t forget the field at the back.”
“I won’t forget,” said Sophia.
That first day at school was not likely to be a very brilliant one for poor little Peggy. She was, however, a remarkably smart and clever child, although she had only been given an Irish education at an Irish Board School. Yet, nevertheless, her learning was quite sound, she could read fluently, she could recite poetry with a wonderfully pathetic sort of lilt in her voice, she knew her history admirably, she spelt to perfection, her writing was good, her geography and grammar were absolutely up to the average, and there was not the slightest doubt that with a little instruction she would be exceedingly musical. At present, however, her musical education—except as far as her wild and lovely voice was concerned—was completely neglected. On the whole, the teachers who examined Peggy Desmond gave a promising account of her. As to foreign languages she, of course, knew none. She must begin at the very beginning and begin at once; French—yes, French certainly. After the first term, French and German. For the rest of her education she might go on with the head-class of the Lower School—in fact, there were several subjects that she knew a great deal more about than did Kitty Merrydew. Nothing could exceed Kitty’s final disgust when she discovered that for almost all subjects Irish Peggy was in the same class with herself. Peggy was informed by her teacher that if she took pains and really applied herself to her studies she might have the great honour of being moved into the Upper School before her first year was up; the only thing that would keep her back was her absolute ignorance of foreign languages. But Peggy, when she did make up her mind to study, could study with a will; already she was eager to begin her French, to overcome the grammar, to learn the pronunciation. She had a remarkably correct ear, and this thing itself was a wonderful help to her. Mrs. Fleming, who had a short conversation with the child, knew that the best way of breaking Peggy from her barbarities of speech was to give her another language besides English to learn. Accordingly it was arranged that the child was to have special lessons to herself alone in the French tongue each day, that she was to talk with Mademoiselle in the French tongue; but during the rest of the time she was to be allowed the freedom of her broken English, for it could scarcely be called anything else. But what finally delighted and charmed Peggy was when she was told that she was now to learn the piano. Miss Archdale sat down and played something for her, and the child’s eyes filled with sudden tears at the ecstasy which overpowered her at the sound. She bent forward, flung her arms round her teacher’s neck, and kissed her several times.
“Oh, wurra, wurra!” she said, “stop that, will ye, for the Lord’s sake! Ye’re breakin’ me heart intirely.”
“But why so, dear—why so?”
“Oh because it’s just too beautiful!”
“You shall learn to make the lovely music yourself, Peggy.”
“Oh no, it’s jokin’ ye be.”