“Why, Peggy, my child, you have been in the wars!” he said; and then he stooped and kissed her, and sat down by her bedside, holding her hand. Mrs. Fleming had had a long talk with him, and, on purpose, she left him alone with Peggy.
“Now, Peggy,” he said, looking at her, “you will tell me how this happened, won’t you? Which of those abominable girls has been treating you cruelly, poor little woman? You will tell Uncle Paul, won’t you?”
Peggy looked at him out of her wistful blue eyes. “I mustn’t tell,” she said.
“But if I ask you, you will tell.”
“No, I mustn’t tell. I can tell you if you promise never to tell anybody else at all, but you will tell—you will tell Mrs. Fleming, and then she’ll tell the school. No, I can’t tell.”
“But somebody was unkind to you?”
Peggy nodded. Then she said impulsively, “I don’t want to talk of it. How long are ye going to stay, Uncle Paul?”
“I am going to stay until to-morrow morning, Peg.”
“And how is everything at your house, Uncle Paul?”
“Very well, Peg; much as usual.”