"Hadn't she no mamma, or nurse, or—or—brudders?" Hal interrupted.
"No, not none," Peggy went on. "She lived quite alone, and she didn't like it. The house was as big as a—as a church, and she hadn't no bed, and no chairs or tables, and there was very, very high stairs."
"Is there stairs in churches?" asked Hal.
Peggy looked rather puzzled.
"Yes, I think there is," she said. "There's people high up in churches, so there must be stairs. But I didn't say it were a church, Hal; I only said as big as a church. And the stairs was for Baby—you'll hear—p'raps there wasn't reelly stairs. Now, Baby; one day a little piggy-wiggy came up the stairs—one, two, three," and Peggy's hand came creeping up Baby's foot and leg and across his pinafore and up his bare arm again, by way of illustrating piggy's progress, "and when he got to the top he said 'grumph,' and poked his nose into the little girl's neck"—here Peggy's own nose made a dive among Baby's double chins, to his exceeding delight, setting him off chuckling to himself for some time, which left Peggy free to go on with the serious part of the story for Hal's benefit—"and there was a window in the big house, and the little girl used to sit there always looking out."
"Always?" asked Hal again. "All night too? Didn't her ever go to bed?"
"She hadn't no bed, I told you. No, she didn't sit there all night, 'cos she couldn't have see'd in the dark. Never mind about the night. She sat there all day, always looking out, 'cos there was something she liked to see. If I tell you you won't tell nobody what it was, will you. Hal?"
Hal looked very mystified, but replied obediently,
"No, won't tell nobody," he said.
"Well, then, I'll tell you what it was. It was a——" But at this moment Baby, having had enough of his own meditations, began to put in a claim to some special attention. The piggy had to be summoned and made to run up and down stairs two or three times before he would be satisfied and allow Peggy to proceed.