“Dear Popsy,—I came across a cheap lot of frocks the other day at a bankrupt’s sale, and thought at once of Little-sing and her daughter Popsy-wopsy. I am sending the dresses off to you without saying a word to Little-sing. You will be well off now for some time, and won’t require the five pounds from me for dress at Christmas. Hope you’re enjoying your fine young ladies and fine life. Neither Little-sing nor me miss you a bit; but, all the same, your room will be ready for you at Christmas. Take care of those good clothes, for I can’t often spend as much on you.
“Good-bye for the present.—Your affectionate father,
“Bo-peep.
“P.S.—I have a good mind to call on that fine-lady schoolmistress of yours, Mrs. Ward. There’s no saying but that Little-sing and me may come along some afternoon when you least expect us.”
Maggie crushed the letter in her hand. Fresh terrors seemed to surround her. Dreadful as the impossible clothes were, they were nothing to what the appearance on the scene would be of the impossible stepfather and her poor mother. Oh, why had she concealed the position of the man whom her mother had married? Already Aneta had detected her little act of deception with regard to the Martyns of The Meadows. But that, Maggie felt, could be got over. It was easy for a girl to make a mistake in a matter of that kind, and surely there were other Martyns in the country high-born and respectable and all that was desirable. But James Martin who kept a grocer’s shop at Shepherd’s Bush—James Martin, with “grocer” written all over him!—rich, it is true; but, oh, so vulgarly rich! Were he to appear and announce his relationship to her at the school, she felt that, as far as she was concerned, the end of the world would have arrived. What was she to do? There was not a minute to be lost. In one way or another she had seen a good deal of Bo-peep during the last half of those dreadful summer holidays, and she knew that he was, as he expressed it, as good as his word.
Her only chance was in writing to her mother. But then, if, by any chance, Maggie’s letter got into the hands of Bo-peep, his wrath would be so great that he would, in all probability, take her from the school at once. What was to be done? Poor Maggie felt herself between two fires. In either 137 direction was danger. On the whole, she resolved to throw herself on her mother’s mercy. Mrs. Martin, as she was now, would much prefer Maggie to remain at school, and she might be clever enough to keep Maggie’s stepfather from putting in an appearance at Aylmer House.
Maggie wrote a short and frantic letter. She was in the midst of it when there came a tap at her room-door.
“It’s I, Maggie,” said Miss Johnson’s voice from without. “Your light is still burning; you ought to be in bed.”
Maggie flew and opened the door. “I am sorry,” she said. “I was a good deal upset about those detestable clothes. I am writing to my mother. Please, Lucy, let me finish the letter. When it’s done—and I won’t be a minute longer—I’ll put it in the post-box myself, so that it can go by the first post in the morning.”
“Very well, dear,” said Lucy, who was too kind not to be good to any girl in the school; “only be quick, Maggie,” she said, “for you know you are breaking the rules.”