Mary turned and looked at the girl. The footman, Joseph, rushed out of the room, and there was a sound of convulsive laughter in the hall. Peggy looked up with her innocent eyes. “Did I frighten him?” she said. “Ye told me I was to imitate.” She looked full at Mary.
“Oh my dear, I didn’t mean that. Forgive her, please, Mrs. Wyndham; she—she’ll soon be all right.”
“No, I won’t; I’ll always be wrong,” said Peggy; “always and always and always; there ain’t no use trying to bother about me at all, at all!” And the excited child burst into tears.
But Mary, after all, had her way. Ever since she came into the world had not Mary Polly Molly had her own way? She had it now with Peggy when she took the girl up to her room, and got into an American rocking-chair and rocked backwards and forwards with the angry child folded in her arms. When the little girl’s passion was over, Mary began to talk to her in gentle, sweet tones, telling her stories of Ireland—beautiful stories, stories of its glens and vales, of its rivers and mountains, of its meadows of emerald green, of its waterfalls, of its countless delights, and the lonely Irish child listened, fascinated by the stories. Then Mary, who saw her opportunity, brought in very delicately little fairies and little brownies, and made up tales about them, and she suddenly suggested to Peggy that nothing could be better for her than to have a dear little fairy godmother who would remain with her day and night and tell her what to do.
“We will call her the Fairy Princess Mona,” said Mary. “Where I lived there was a dear little Irish girl called Mona, and I think the dear little fairy of that name will be a sweet godmother for you, Peggy. She will sleep in your bed at night, and she will make herself very disagreeable when you are naughty, and she will make herself very agreeable when you are good.”
“But is it nonsense ye’re talking, Miss Mary?”
“Not Miss Mary.”
“Is it nonsense ye’re talking, Mary, or is it sense?”
“It is sense, darling, and now I will explain it to you. The little Fairy Princess Mona really lives inside you. She has got another name; her name is ‘Conscience,’ and she will tell you, with her dear little clear voice, when you are doing wrong and hurting people; she will hurt you a little bit herself then; and, of course, you being a sweet, true Irish child, will stop immediately. Now, it was very unkind of you to imitate poor Joseph to-day, and the little fairy, the Princess Mona, must have been fearfully hurt when you did it. I’m dreadfully afraid that poor Joseph, although he laughed then, did not laugh afterwards, and he certainly ran out of the room in great confusion.”
“Whativer will I take him to make him happy again?” asked Peggy.