“I’d a sight sooner imitate that Jessie; she’s so stiff an’ stuck-up. I don’t like her, not a bit.”
“Oh, you mustn’t imitate in that way; that would be very rude.”
“Or,” said Peggy, her eyes dancing, “I’d like best of all to imitate herself. Me word! wouldn’t I like to strut into a room like herself, me head thrown back an’ me chest bulged out, an’ meself very nearly fallin’ backwards? Would it be right of me to do it, Miss Mary—I mane Mary—because, if it would, it would tickle me fancy mightily.”
“No, it wouldn’t be right at all, Peggy, and you’re not to do it.”
Presently the two girls went downstairs. Mary undoubtedly felt that she had got a “handful” in Peggy Desmond. Peggy was wondering and looking about her; she had caught a little of Mary’s spirit, and wished to please Mary, and Mary had put a new idea into her head—she was to imitate. She did not think for a minute that it would be much fun imitating Mary herself; besides, whatever Mary said, it was rude to imitate. Her grandfather and grandmother and the O’Flynns had told her that she must not ever “make game of folks,” as they expressed it. Surely, then, she would not make game of dear, dear Miss Mary; not she, no, indeed, not for the world. But who could she imitate? She was told she mustn’t imitate Jessie, and she mustn’t imitate Mrs. Wyndham, and it would be rude to imitate dear little Molly, for she quite liked Molly; but there were the servants; she might imitate one of them.
There were generally two men to serve at lunch-time at Preston Manor. Mary came downstairs holding Peggy’s hand, and with a nod to Jessie it was quickly arranged that the little girl was to sit next her new friend. Occasionally Mary took the small hand and pressed it. Lunch began. Peggy was strangely silent. When she was asked if she would take such a thing, she said, “Yes, I thank you,” and when she was asked if she would take another, she said, “No, I’m obliged”; and on the whole her behaviour was fairly good, but all this time her small mind was exceedingly busy.
There happened to be a new footman in the room that day, and this man, it so happened, had a rather painful stammer in his speech. Now, nothing makes one so nervous as a stammer, and Peggy observed that the footman flushed very red indeed when he passed things round, and also that when he was spoken to, he said, “Y-y-y-yes,” and could not very well go on. Suddenly it occurred to Peggy that it would be a delightful thing if she imitated Joseph, as this servant was called.
The first part of the luncheon went off without anything special occurring; but by the time the puddings and other sweets were handed round Peggy had quite learnt her lesson.
“Will you have some pudding, Peggy, or some of this stewed fruit?” inquired Mrs. Wyndham. She spoke in a somewhat languid tone and looked at the child as she did so.
“I’ll have p-p-p-p-p—fr-u-it—’m,” said Peggy.