“Well, Peggy,” she cried, “I hope you have slept well; and here’s your tea, and——Oh good gracious!”
Hastily Molly put the tray on a table and gazed around her with a sense of astonishment and dismay, for the bed had no longer an occupant, the pretty soft nightdress lay on the floor, the window was wide open, and the bird had flown!
For a moment a fearful thought assailed Molly. Could the child in her despair have run away? But no—this must be impossible. Molly determined not even to begin frightening anybody until she had had a good search for Peggy in the gardens and farmyards. Accordingly, she dressed with remarkable speed, and before Jessie opened her eyes again was not only out of the room but out of the house. Wherever Peggy was she would find her.
Easier said than done, for Peggy had been clever in her day and generation, and had escaped out of doors and also out of Preston Manor grounds before another soul was awake. Molly, therefore, rushing here and there, and making what inquiries she could of every single individual she met, could get no news at all with regard to Peggy. Her heart began to beat fast, and fear took possession of her. The child had been really unhappy on the previous night; she, Molly, had done wrong to allow her to sleep alone. There was something terribly pathetic about that poor little face, and her want of appetite and her long-drawn, heavy sighs had gone straight to Molly’s warm heart.
After wandering round and round, and discovering no sign or news of Peggy anywhere, she was forced to go back to the house. She had a wild hope for a minute that Peggy might be safely ensconced in her bedroom; but there was no such luck. Peggy was no more to be found in the house than out of the house. What could have happened to her?
Jessie wakened at her usual hour, and when she missed her sister concluded that she had gone to make friends with the stranger. She said to herself, “How troublesome all this is!” and then had calmly and quietly dressed, with the assistance of Ruth, who brushed her hair, plaited it in two long, fair plaits, which were tied at the ends with big bows of white ribbon. As the day happened to be a very hot one, Jessie was arrayed in a white frock. She looked with pleasure at her pretty reflection in the glass, and then went downstairs to join her parents in the cheerful breakfast-room. Peggy, of course, must be present during the meal; what enormities would she commit, what awful solecisms would she be guilty of?
When, however, on her way downstairs, Jessie suddenly caught sight of her sister Molly, with her hat hanging on her arm, her face very hot and flushed, her hair in wild disorder, she stood still in amazement, and then said, “Well, whatever can be the matter with you? Have you and that horrid Irish girl been dancing a jig together on the lawn? You look like it, you really do.”
“Oh don’t!” said Molly, “don’t! If you knew you wouldn’t speak like that.”
“If I knew!” exclaimed Jessie. “If I knew what?”
“Why, she’s gone, she’s gone away, she can’t be found anywhere, high or low! Oh dear, oh dear! she—she may have—have drowned herself! Oh I am miserable!” And poor Molly burst into tears.