“Yes, I also thought of the pony; but the pony did not kick Peggy, because I asked her the question, and she said it did not.”
“Oh,” said The Imp, with a toss of her head, “do you believe her?”
“I do. I do not lay it down to the pony.”
“I thought there was no doubt of it,” repeated The Imp again.
“Kitty Merrydew, I must ask you now to be silent except when spoken to. Girls, will any of you who can throw the slightest light on the strange thing which has happened to Peggy Desmond hold up your hands?”
There was a dead silence, not a single hand was raised.
Mrs. Fleming looked from one face to the other, she seemed to be reading the souls behind the faces. “Are you afraid?” she said then. “Is there any reason which keeps you from telling me the simple truth?”
No answer.
Suddenly, however, Priscilla Price spoke. “I don’t know anything,” she said. “If I did know anything at all I should certainly tell.”
“Thank you, Priscilla; my dear, I believe you.”