“I’ll pull it again, and see if Peggy will do the same,” said Rob pleasantly; and poor Mellicent stared from one smiling face to another, conscious that she was being laughed at, but unable to see the point of the joke.
“When Peggy comes,” she said, in an injured tone, “I hope she will be sympathetic. I’m the youngest, and I think you ought all to do what I want; instead of which you make fun, and laugh among yourselves, and send me messages. For instance, when Max wanted his stamps brought down—”
Maxwell passed his big hand over her hair and face, then, reversing the direction, rubbed up the point of the little snub nose.
“Never mind, chubby, your day is over! We will make Peggy the message-boy now. Peggy will be a nice, meek little girl, who will like to run messages for her betters! She shall be my fag, and attend to me. I’ll give her my stamps to sort.”
“I rather thought of having her for fag myself; we can’t admit a girl to our study unless she makes herself useful,” said Oswald languidly; whereupon Rob banged the notebook on the table with clanging decision.
“Peggy belongs to me,” he announced firmly. “It’s no use you two fellows quarrelling. That matter is settled once for all. Peggy will be my fag; I’ve barleyed her for myself, and you have nothing to say in the matter.”
But Esther tossed her head with an air of superior wisdom.
“Wait till she comes,” she said sagely. “If Peggy is anything like her brother, you may spare yourself the trouble of planning as to what she must or must not do. It is waste of time. Peggy will be mistress over us all!”