“No, I am not, Peggy dear. I see that you are a very clever girl; you will have it all your own way in no time, I can prophesy that.”
And now at last the recess had come. For half-an-hour every morning the girls could do as they pleased and nobody interfered with them. They left their lesson-books and went out into the grounds. As a rule, during the first day of school, there was so much to talk over that special friend walked with special friend, games came on later in the day, but now news of all sorts had to be imparted from one to the other.
Suddenly Grace Dodd ran up to Peggy, who was talking to Hannah Joyce. “Peggy, will you come with me just for a minute, I won’t keep you any time.”
“You come along too, Hannah,” said Peggy.
“No, no, no, we don’t want you, Hannah, we just want Peggy. Please, Peggy, come—do. Peggy, will you? You’ll be a coward if you don’t.”
“Me a coward!” said Peggy. “You wait here for me, Hannah, I’ll be back in a minute.”
She wrenched her hand from Hannah, who looked suspiciously at Grace’s eager face. Grace took the little girl through the Lower School, on purpose to blind Hannah’s suspicions, and then out through a small paddock into the field where hockey was played in the cold weather.
The hockey-field was long, smooth, and flat; it was situated at some distance from the other playgrounds; at one side of it was a paddock, where a rough-coated pony was now nibbling grass, at the other side was a high wire-fence; at the north was another fence, made of oak, about ten feet high. The field was being already prepared for the autumn sports; but at the present moment it was quite empty, the gardeners being away at their midday meal. This fact The Imp was well acquainted with, and knew that she and her satellites would have the field to themselves. She stood now towards the farther end of the field, holding in her hand her hockey-club; the other girls were also provided with their clubs, they were playing hockey in a desultory sort of fashion, in reality not playing it at all, but looking to an outsider as if they were.
Peggy had never even seen a game of hockey. She entered the field now through the paddock, her eyes fixed on the ground, Grace Dodd holding her tightly by one arm. Suddenly she caught sight of the pony and stopped dead. “Ah, wisha, Whinsie, Whinsie!” she called, addressing the rough little animal by the name of her own pet pony on the O’Flynns’ little farm. “Ah, wurra, me pet,” she continued, “and the top of the mornin’ to ye, Whinsie boy.”
The pony turned his gentle eye and fixed it on Peggy. In an instant Peggy had sprung on his back and was careering round and round the paddock, holding on to a tuft of Whinsie’s thick mane.