Jessie, as far as possible, tried to follow her mother’s example; but Molly was too restless and miserable to enjoy her meal. The fact is, she had fallen in love with the poor, wild, beautiful little Irish girl. She was rather ashamed of her own feelings, and determined, therefore, to keep her sensations to herself.
Meanwhile Mr. Wyndham wandered over the grounds, made inquiries of the men, and could get no news about Peggy. It was strange, it was unaccountable; no one had seen the child, not a soul knew anything whatever about her; and meanwhile Peggy herself was enjoying life at their very door. She had managed her own affairs with rare cleverness, simply by not managing them at all. She had, by this very easy device, put every one off the scent.
“I’m well shut of them!” she was heard to remark as she scrubbed pails and polished the different farm-vessels in Mrs. Anderson’s roomy kitchen.
“What a queer expression!” said the farmer’s wife; “and who are you shut of?”
“They that lives away at beyont,” was her enigmatical answer. “Ah, an’ sorra a wan of thim I want to see again!”
Up to the present, therefore, Mrs. Anderson had no clue whatever to the real whereabouts of the child. It was harvest-time, and immediately after breakfast her husband and all the men available on the place went off to the harvest-fields; she and Peggy had sole possession of the big kitchen. Never before had she so willing a maid, so capable and clever, and “all there.” There was a great charm, too, about Peggy when she liked. Her face was no longer sorrowful, it was beaming. Whenever she passed Mrs. Anderson she laid her hand on that good woman’s shoulder or her arm and gave it a squeeze. “Sure, then, it’s loving ye I be,” she said.
And Mrs. Anderson looked into that charming, lovely face, and felt that she also loved the poor little waif who had been brought to her door. But where was “beyont”? Somebody surely knew the child.
Meanwhile Wyndham, not having got the slightest clue to the whereabouts of Peggy, was forced to start off to the nearest town, where he had important business to transact, business which should have been attended to days ago, but which his visit to Ireland delayed.
Molly and Jessie wandered about the grounds, and Mrs. Wyndham stepped into her carriage and drove to the house of her friend Miss Fox Temple.
Mrs. Wyndham found that good lady at home, and quickly revealed her troubles. “Never was there such a miserable case before,” she said. “My husband arrived late last night with that fearful Irish girl, who behaved in a most disgraceful manner, set the servants giggling, and would not do one single thing she was told; in short, she’s an absolute barbarian. And to crown all, she has run away this morning. We haven’t the least idea where she is.”