"Yes! oh, yes!" said Mr. Montfort, abstractedly. "Pigtail—yes, by all means. And how will you and Peggy amuse yourselves, my dear? No Rita this summer to electrify us all. You will not find it dull?"
"Dull, Uncle John? how could Fernley possibly be dull? Why, Peggy and I are going to be as happy as possible. I have all kinds of plans made. You see, it is time Peggy was learning something about housekeeping and that sort of thing, and I thought this summer would be the very best time to show her a little. Of course, when she is at home, she wants to be doing twenty thousand things on the farm, just as she always has done, and the time goes so quickly, she has not begun to think yet about the indoor things; so I am going to be the Humdrum-major, Uncle, and give her some lessons; if you approve, that is."
"Highly, my dear, highly. Every woman should be able to take care of her own house, and the only way for her to learn is to begin upon some one else's. I should think Peggy might make a vigorous little housekeeper, if a chaotic one. Don't let her loose in the library, Margaret, that is my only prayer."
"Uncle John, I really do believe that you think housekeeping consists entirely in dusting and setting things to wrongs, as you call it."
"Well, my love, I confess that has always seemed to me a prime element in the art. But I also confess my ignorance, and the depth and darkness thereof. Am I humble enough? Now I must go and take the puppies for an airing. Till dinner-time, May Margaret!"
Mr. Montfort strolled away, and Margaret bent with renewed energy over her work, giving herself a little shake as she did so. Her uncle's words still sounded in her ears: "You will not find it dull?" She had answered out of the fulness of her heart, thinking it impossible that dulness should come where Uncle John was, especially as he happened to be at Fernley House, the most enchanting place in the world. Yet—and yet—it was going to be very, very different, of course, from the life of the past year, so filled full and running over with delight. It was not only that she missed the children; it was that in the care of them, the watching over the growing bodies and the eager minds, she was learning so much herself, feeling the world grow, almost hourly, bigger and brighter and sweeter. The mother-nature was strong in Margaret Montfort, and the children were bringing out all that was best and strongest in her. Well, she must do without that now for awhile; and there was no doubt that the prospect seemed a little flat, even with Peggy to brighten it. Dear Peggy! Margaret loved her fondly; but she was so grown up now, so strong herself, so helpful and self-reliant, that there was no question of taking care of her any more. "Why, she knows twenty times as much as I do," said Margaret, "about most things, except history. I don't suppose she will ever remember the difference between Mary Stuart and Mary Tudor. But, foolish creature," cried Margaret to herself, "what have you just been saying to Uncle John? Here is all the world of housekeeping, about which Peggy knows little or nothing, and which, thanks to Elizabeth and Frances, you do begin to understand a little. Is it a small thing, I ask you, to teach the qualities and fine shades of damask, and the high-lights of huckaback? or the different cuts of meat, and when what is in season? I am ashamed of you, Margaret Montfort! And then there are the puppies, too! Don't let me hear another word of dulness from you, miss, do you hear? Perhaps you would like to be weaving cotton in a factory this heavenly day, or selling yards of hot stuffs in a shop? Go away!" and Margaret shook her head severely, and was surprised at herself.
The puppies were two fine young setters, Nip and Tuck by name, which the wise uncle had bought on purpose to soften the blow of the parting with the children. Margaret had never known dogs before, and though Messrs. Nip and Tuck were being strictly trained, and had to spend much of their time in the stable-yard, she still had many a pleasant half-hour with them, when her uncle took them for a run over hill and dale, or gave them a lesson in the garden. Her one anxiety was lest they should meet the Queen of Sheba, her great Angora cat, and there should be trouble; for the Queen was a person of decided temper. Margaret had taken infinite pains, ever since the arrival of the puppies, to keep them out of one another's sight; but Mr. Montfort warned her that she was merely putting off the inevitable, and that the day must come when cat and dogs should meet.
It seemed a little hard that this meeting must take place when the master was not present; but the finger of Fate pointed, and at this very moment, while Margaret was sitting with her peaceful thoughts, Michael, the stable-boy, chanced to drop the leash in which he was leading the puppies to their master. Three minutes later, Nip and Tuck were careering wildly around Margaret, leaping on her with frantic caresses, and talking both at once, and very loud, as dear dogs will sometimes do.
"Down, Nip!" cried Margaret. "Tucky, do behave yourself. Now, boys, however did you get away? Charge, do, like dear boys, and wait for the master; he will be here in a minute."
Nip and Tuck explained breathlessly that they had just got out by the luckiest chance in the world, that they loved her to distraction, and that, upon the whole, they preferred her society to that of any one else in the world, if only she would let them lick her nose. This Margaret firmly refused to do, and they lay down panting for a moment, but only for a moment. Again the finger of Fate pointed; and so it came to pass that as Mr. Montfort came round one corner in search of his run-aways, the Queen of Sheba came round the other. There seemed but one white flash as the two puppies, recognizing their destiny on the instant, flew to meet it, yelling like demons of the pit.