Peggy from Kerry

by L. T. Meade

“Girls,” said Mrs. Fleming, “I have delayed until now to speak to you all on a matter of great importance. I have done this because of the absence of Peggy Desmond from the school. I have a word now to say with regard to Peggy, and then I can proceed to speak to you on the other matter. It will take some little time, and you are permitted, girls, to seat yourselves.”

The girls did so, all pressing eagerly forward.

“I am glad,” began Mrs. Fleming, “that you welcomed Peggy when she came into the school this morning. I am glad that some amongst my girls are endowed with a right spirit with regard to her. We all know the old story now of that sad catastrophe which occurred during Peggy Desmond’s first real day at school. Some girl, or some girls, in the Lower School, are guilty of a terrible and most ferocious act of cruelty towards her; a very little more of this violence and Peggy Desmond might not be standing here. I have questioned the girls of the Lower School, but no one will throw light on the matter; I have used what influence I possess to bring the culprits to listen to reason, but no one will speak, no one will tell me how Peggy’s leg was broken. She herself, brave child, knows, but keeps silence, because of that noblesse oblige which, girls of the Lower School, some of you, alas! do not possess. Peggy has recovered, and in a few days she will be as well as ever; but I wish to let you all know now that there was a whole week during which the doctors and I were more than anxious about her; we thought it highly probable that she would not recover. Girls of the Lower School, think what your feelings would have been had such been the case.”

At this moment an unexpected interruption occurred, for Peggy herself burst into tears. “Ah, thin, wisha, why, ma’am,” she said, “don’t be rubbing it into thim like that; for the Lord’s sake, ma’am, don’t! I’m gettin’ strong as fast as possible, an’ the cratures needn’t be frightened at all. If I had died, for sure an’ sartin I might have appeared to some of thim as a white ghostie; but there, I’m all right, ma’am, so go on wid yer beautiful talk. Cratures, be aisy now, all of yez.” Here she looked boldly at The Imp and her satellites.

The rage in the heart of the said Imp may be better imagined than described, but far worse was to follow.

Mrs. Fleming allowed Peggy’s little outburst; then she said, gently, “Dear, you must not interrupt again while I am speaking. It is not done, dear, and I don’t wish it. Now, not a word, my love.”

Peggy subsided into her chair, where Mrs. Fleming had motioned her, and then the good lady proceeded.

“The Lower School has been unkind to Peggy Desmond; I therefore, having consulted with some of your teachers, have decided to remove her into the Upper School, where I can at least guarantee that she will not suffer again as she did in the past.”

There was an astonished silence; a breathless look of consternation was most markedly visible, not only on the face of The Imp, who looked forward to a great deal more fun out of Peggy, the Dodds, her satellites, but also on the face of Jessie Wyndham, who glanced at her sister, bent forward, and whispered something, and then was silent.

“Miss Greene,” said Mrs. Fleming, “you will undertake to arrange Peggy’s lessons, and you will tell her the drift of the rules of the Upper School. She is now well enough to study every day, although she must not overtire herself. And now, girls all, to turn from Peggy Desmond, I have something of the utmost importance to say to you. It is something which I did hope would concern the whole school; it does concern the whole school, but not quite as I had hoped during the first night of term. My dear girls, you have heard me speak of my very old and very dear friend, Agatha Howard. She was the best friend to The Red Gables School during her lifetime, and, children, she, being dead, yet speaks. She has left this world, doubtless to serve her heavenly Father in more extensive spheres and in larger fields of usefulness elsewhere. With her present occupations we have nothing to do, but we all have to love and bless her memory. She has richly endowed our school and in various ways, some of which need not concern the girls here assembled. She and I have met once, at least, every vacation, and the prize which I now offer in her name to the school has been most carefully thought out by us both. It is a prize of sterling value, and can only be obtained by one girl each year. My intention was that the Howard Prize was to be competed for towards the end of the spring term; but, owing to Peggy’s illness, I am now obliged to make the competition take place at the end of the summer term. The prize itself is a miniature of Agatha Howard, done when she was young and—very beautiful. It was done by the great miniature painter Richard Cosway, and was one of his later works. The miniature is to be copied by the best miniature painter of the present day, regardless of expense; when copied, it is to be set in a frame surrounded by large diamonds and with a back of pure gold. It will be suspended to a narrow gold chain, and will form a most exquisite ornament to wear round the neck of the lucky girl who obtains it. Now, this is the prize—the miniature of Mrs. Howard set in diamonds. Some of you may think nothing of it at the first idea, but let me explain its value. It will be very hard to win, and yet each year one girl, chosen by a committee of strangers to the school, people of the highest integrity and the soundest learning, are to adjudge it. The prize is to be given, not only for ability, but for conduct, and for—beauty of expression. This latter clause will, my dear children, doubtless surprise you very much, for you may say to yourselves that no girl can possibly help her expression; but let me assure you, children, that this is very far from the case, and that a brave, steadfast, and gallant soul, above all things the truthful soul, cannot help shining in the eyes and being reflected on the lips of a girl who otherwise may be quite plain. This beauty, this rare beauty of the mind, may pass by a face otherwise charming, may have nothing to do with bright eyes or a clear complexion or perfect features, but may come to dwell with the homely and the otherwise almost plain. Mrs. Howard in her lifetime so absolutely believed in real goodness of heart, that goodness of heart which comes from serving God, loving Him and obeying His commandments, that she determined to make it the first essential clause in her great competition. She may have been wrong—she may have been right—I have no opinion to give on these matters; I only know that such is her ruling, and those who compete for the prize have to take it into account. Now let me repeat over to you the three points at issue.