“Oh don’t let us wander now from the subject under discussion. I’ll tell you her story in half-a-dozen lines,” said Jessie. “She is the daughter of an old friend of father’s, and father has gone mad about her. Her father is dead, she was brought up in an Irish cabin, she doesn’t know how to behave as a lady, she has turned our house topsy-turvy, she has made us all miserable, and no doubt she will make school miserable too. However, Mrs. Fleming was told all about her—all her ways, her queernesses, and everything else, and she’s absolutely willing to take her in hand. That being the case, there’s nothing for it but to rest satisfied and make the best of the worst. If The Imp does annoy Peggy a little it will do her good, that’s all I can say.”
“You’re a very queer girl!” said Bridget. “Well, I must say that I don’t like The Imp. I’m certain she works for evil in the school. I don’t know what there is about her; but I never feel happy in her presence, and I think she is doing her utmost to effect a bad influence over that dear little child, Elisabeth Douglas.”
“Well, Elisabeth took to Peggy; she went away holding Peggy’s hand.”
“Yes, a nice quarrel there’ll be to-night between Peggy and The Imp,” said Jessie with a laugh. “Fancy anybody daring to come in the way of one of The Imp’s favourites!”
The girls talked a little longer on the subject of The Imp, it was discussed more and more fully, and after a great deal of conversation it was finally decided that for the present nothing was to be told with regard to this peculiar girl, but that she was to be watched, and the girls would have a further consultation at the end of a fortnight, when, if necessary, they would speak to Mrs. Fleming on the subject.
Bridget O’Donnell went to bed that night feeling really unhappy. Her little room was so cosy, everything was so nice and comfortable, but the dark-blue eyes of the other Irish child seemed to haunt her. She wanted to kiss that child, to put her arms round her, to say to her, “I too, come from the Emerald Isle; I too come from the land of the mountain and the lake; I too love what you love; I too have the warm, warm heart of the Irish maiden.” But nothing of this could poor Bridget waft across to Peggy Desmond.
Peggy herself, still holding little Elisabeth’s hand, went across the quadrangle to the left wing, where the Lower School was situated.
There she was met by Miss Archdale, who spoke very kindly and said: “Oh you are our dear, new little pupil,” and then, bending down, she kissed little Elisabeth. “What is your name, dear?” she said in a kind tone to Peggy.
“Why thin, me name’s nothing at all,” replied Peggy.
“I don’t quite understand you, dear. What did you say?”