Accordingly Peggy put on her clothes. Their newness and softness drew scornful remarks from her lips and anger from her heart. “Why, to glory now, what do I want wid the likes of thim? It’s a morshial shame to waste the good money on thim when ye can buy unbleached calico for threepence a yard.”
But as Peggy had nothing else to wear she was forced to resort to the soft clothing which had been purchased for her in London the day before; and, finally, dressed in a little dark-blue serge skirt and a white muslin blouse, she opened the French windows and stepped out. She found herself on a part of the roof, which did not trouble her much, for she was accustomed to climbing anywhere, and after some slight difficulty she managed to spring into the welcoming arms of an old yew-tree, and from thence to descend to the ground. The cool fresh morning air revived her and raised her spirits; but, try as she would, she could nohow manage to get into the back yard, for the simple reason that it was not as yet open, the workmen not arriving until six o’clock.
Peggy sat down on a garden bench and looked around her. This was the first time she had had any sense of liberty since her arrival. As long as she was travelling with Mr. Wyndham she was nothing more nor less than a prisoner; a prisoner surrounded by hateful luxury, it is true, but still a prisoner. What she specially disliked in her present surroundings was that sense of belonging to some one else, that sense of being a prisoner. At home she could do exactly what she liked, the O’Flynns never dreaming of interfering with their darling; but here all was different. If she could retain her liberty she might in the end work her way back to Ireland, and be once again a happy Kerry girl in her cabin home. She thought and thought, and the more dazzling did the prospect of liberty appear in her eyes. Presently she stole her hand into her pocket, and to her relief and pleasure found that she was the proud possessor of three shillings. Wyndham had given her the change the day before, telling her that she might like to have the money to buy stamps and such like things. Ah yes! but she would not waste it on stamps. Was it not a nucleus which might be increased? To Peggy’s ignorant little soul three shillings seemed a vast lot of money, and if it were spent carefully it would go a long way. There was no doubt whatever that Mr. Wyndham, kind gentleman though he was, and Mrs. Wyndham, whom she did not take to at all, and Jessie, whom she pronounced a foreigner out and out, and Molly, who was more to her taste, but was also a foreigner, be the same token, all meant between them, in some sort of fashion, to keep her prisoner. Now a prisoner she would not remain, not while the good God had given her a strong pair of legs, and there was liberty in the world. She made up her mind; she would run away. There was no time like the present, “when all the worruld of England seemed dead aslape, bad cess to it! But, be the same token, this was the good-luck for her!”
She started from her seat, and, walking quickly, soon discovered a stile, over which she mounted and got into a large meadow. Here some bulls were feeding; there were three of them at least, and they all raised their stout, stolid heads, and fixed their blinking little eyes on the child. They had each of them a ring in his nose, and had short, strong horns. Had the Wyndhams seen the bulls they would have rushed screaming back into safety; but not so Peggy Desmond, she was no more afraid of a bull than she was of a little bit of a heifer. Why should she be at all, to be sure? She had put no hat on her curly head, and now she stood still within an inviting range of the great beasts, looking from one to the other with love and interest in her dark-blue eyes.
“Why thin, me darlin’s,” she called out, “is it lonely ye be, like meself for all the wurrald? Ah wurra then, come along and let me pet ye! Why thin, it’s home ye remind me of, and it’s the water to me eyes ye do bring.”
It is a well-known fact that cows, and in especial bulls, are some of the most absolutely curious creatures under the light of the sun; they are, in short, at all times devoured with curiosity. To see a small girl, therefore, standing calmly in their midst, and not running away from them, as most small girls did, excited their curiosity to a painful degree. They must investigate this person and find out what she was made of, afterwards they could toss her or not just as the fancy took them. Accordingly, bellowing slightly, and bending their heads, as was their custom when after mischief, Farmer Anderson’s three fierce bulls came up to examine that curiosity, Peggy Desmond. When they approached within close reach of her, Peggy came up to the nearest, laid her hand on his warm, soft red coat, said, “Ah thin, me darlin’, it’s mighty invitin’ ye look;” and the next minute, laying hold of one of his short horns, she sprang on his back, crept up toward his forehead, and began to pat him between his horns, calling him endearing names and keeping her seat by means of the horns. The beast gave an infuriated roar and rushed across the field, his brothers following in an equal state of indignation. Peggy patted, stroked, uttered endearing words, and by a sort of magic kept her seat. The roar of the bull had been heard by Farmer Anderson, whose house was quite close by; but when he appeared on the scene he, as he afterwards expressed it, nearly died of the shock.
There was a pretty little strange girl seated on the back of Nimrod, who was now going quietly about the field, having ceased to make any effort to dislodge his unwelcome guest—or was she unwelcome any longer? Perhaps her soft words and gentle, endearing expressions proved soothing rather than otherwise to his turbulent spirit. Anyhow, he had ceased to attempt to dislodge Peggy Desmond, who, laughing and singing, was thoroughly enjoying her ride. The other two bulls were trotting after Nimrod, who went round and round the great field a little faster each time.
Farmer Anderson stood as one stunned. “For the Lord’s sake, get down, missy!” he shouted, “get down this minute, or Nimrod will bait you!”
But the dark-blue Irish eyes of Peggy looked calmly at Farmer Anderson. She turned Nimrod by giving one of his horns a tug, and rode up to his master.
“I’m likin’ me ride intirely,” she said; “and whatever’s the matter wid ye? I’m doin’ no harm to the baste.”