"I'll love you through the happy years,
Till I'm a nice old lady."
Poems written for a Child.
When they woke, both of them at the same moment it seemed, though probably one had roused the other without knowing it, the sun had gone, the sky looked dull, it felt chilly and strange. Peggy had thought it must be past dinner-time before they had sat down to rest; it seemed now as if it must be past tea-time too!
Sarah started up, Peggy feebly clinging to her.
"Oh dear, dear," said Sarah, "I shouldn't have gone to sleep, and it's got that cold!" She was shivering herself, but Peggy seemed much the worse of the two. She was white and pinched looking, and as if she were half stupefied.
"I'm so cold," she said, "and so hungry. I thought I was in bed at home. I do so want to go home. I'm sure it's very late, Light Smiley; do take me home."
"I'm sure, missy, it's what I want to do," said poor Sarah. "I'm afeared it's a-going to rain, and whatever 'ull we do then? You wouldn't wait 'ere a minute, would you, while I run to see if there's a road near?"
"No, no," said Peggy, "I won't stay alone. I'm very, very frightened, Light Smiley, and I think I'm going to die."
"Oh Lor', missy, don't you say that," said Sarah, in terror. "If you can't walk I'll carry you."
"I'll try to walk," said Peggy, picking up some spirit when she saw Sarah's white face.
And then the two set off again, dazed and miserable, very different from the bright little pair that had started up Fernley Road that morning.