“Holy Moses!” she cried, “if I didn’t have a stitch in me side intirely at the face of ye, Pat, when I let out that screech! But there, I’m all right, and I have me liberty, praise the Lord! To be sure now, I was dumfoundered how to get off that roof until ye placed yerself so handy.”
Several men and women now came flocking round the girl, and it must be owned that they all burst into laughter, and one or two of them said, “Well done, missy! it’s you that have the spirit.”
“You’d better let me wash you, my dear,” said a big, red-faced woman, who had charge of the fowls. “You’re a sight to behold if you were to meet any of the family.”
“But I don’t want to meet the family,” said Peggy; “I want to stay here along wid ye an’ the dear little hins an’ the turkeys an’ the geese. Why then, me fine master, an’ do ye think I’m afraid o’ ye?” Here she went up to the great turkey-cock and pulled him by the tail. The fierce bird tried furiously to peck at her, but she kept her ground, rushing round and round in a circle, clinging on to the bird, while the servants and farm-labourers held their sides with laughter. At last, however, Mrs. Johns, as the red-faced woman was called, induced Peggy to come and be washed; but, although the young lady’s face and hands could be restored to a state of moderate cleanliness, the frock was past all hope.
“Whatever is to be done?” said Mrs. Johns. “The frock will tell on you, missy dear.”
“I don’t care if it does,” answered the child; “now that I am here I want to have a bit o’ fun. Can none o’ ye consale me for a bit if the quality go by? I’m ragin’ with a hunger, too, bedad, for I couldn’t swallow a bit at tea-time, wid herself scowlin’ at me. Oh now thin, Mary asthore, it’s you that will be kind to me, won’t ye? Ye’ll wet a drop o’ tay an’ bring it out here to the farmyard, an’ I’ll dhrink it, for I’m as dhry as a cinder; an’ I could do with a lump o’ cake, too. You run an’ fetch thim for me, Mary asthore.”
“My name is Ann,” replied the woman, “but I’ll do what you want, you poor little thing.”
Accordingly, Peggy, seated on a three-legged stool in the yard, enjoyed herself vastly. She was surrounded by her satellites, the sort of people she could appreciate and understand. She drank cup after cup of “tay” and devoured many hunches of rich cake, chattering as she ate, and throwing crumbs to the different birds that flocked round her. When she was quite satisfied she rose and shook the crumbs from her dirty frock.
“I’ll come again to-morrow, God bless ye all, me darlin’s,” she said. “An’ now, fetch a ladder, for I must be goin’ back by the road I come. Pat, man, run. Why, man, have ye got joints in yer bones? Ye’ll have me cotched if ye don’t stir yer stumps.”
Pat, whose real name was William, secured a ladder, and held it while Peggy climbed. Soon she was lost to view in the intricacies of the roof.