It was a month later. The first snow had fallen, and the lawn was white with it, and all the trees and bushes powdered with frost. Coming out of the class-room one day, her heart singing of sines and cosines and tangents, Peggy found the Snowy and the Fluffy waiting for her at the door, with radiant faces.
"Oh, what?" cried Peggy. "A letter?"
"Yes," said Gertrude. "It has just come, though the postmark is two or three days ago. Where shall we go to read it? Your room, Peggy? So we will; it's nearer than the Nest, and I know you can't wait."
Grace's letters were indeed things to wait for in those days. She had gone to Lobelia's home with her; for, on coming to herself, the invalid had still clung to her new friend, with a persistency strange in one so timid and fearful. Convalescence came, with its unwilling fretfulness, its fits of unreason. Still Lobelia clung to Grace, and no one else could make her listen and obey. The nurse laughed, and said she might as well go, and leave her diploma with Miss Wolfe; yet stayed, for the two worked together in pleasant harmony and friendship. At last, Doctor Hendon ordered a change of scene, and now, too, Grace must go with her. The Parkins mansion was within driving distance of Pentland; the whole school had turned out to see the departure, the sick girl lying on cushions, her thin face already showing the signs of returning health, and really transfigured by the light of love and gratitude that beamed from it, as she looked from Grace to Peggy, and back again to Grace. She beckoned to Peggy, who pressed to her side and bent over her. "What is it, dear?" she whispered.
"Peggy!"
"Peggy, you don't mind?"
"Mind what? I don't mind anything, now that you are getting well."
"You—you were my first friend, the only friend I had. You don't mind—that I love her? I couldn't help it, Peggy. She kept me alive, you see. Often and often, when I was drifting away, and ready to die, she held me, and would not let me go. You are sure you don't mind, Peggy?"
Peggy kissed her heartily, and told her not to talk nonsense. "If you didn't love her," she said, "I'd have nothing to do with you, Lobelia Parkins. Do you hear that? Nothing! I wouldn't speak to you in the street, if I met you."