For as she spoke the sunshine had broken out again more brilliantly; and the bright, thin sparkle which often dazzles one between the showers in unsettled weather, lighted up that quarter of the sky where the children were gazing, and, to their fancy at least, the white spot caught and reflected the rays.
"Oh zes, I see," Hal repeated. "But, Peggy, I'd like to go zere and to see it. Can't we go, Peggy? It would be so nice, nicer than making up stories. And do you think—oh do you think, Peggy, that p'raps there's pigs zere, real pigs?"
He clasped his hands entreatingly as he spoke. Peggy must say there were pigs. Poor Peggy—it was rather a comedown after her fairy visions. But she was too kind to say anything to vex Hal.
"I thought you said pigs was silly," she objected, gently.
"Playing pigs to make Baby laugh is silly," said Hal, "and pigs going to market and stayin' at 'ome and roast beefin', is d'edful silly. But not real pigs."
"Oh well, then, you may think pigs if you like," said Peggy. "I don't think I will, but that doesn't matter. You may have them in the cottage if you like, only you mustn't tell Thor and Terry and Baldwin about it."
"I won't tell, on'y you might have them too," said Hal discontentedly. "You're not kind, Peggy."
"Don't let's talk about the cottage any more, then," said Peggy, though her own eyes were fixed on the far-off white spot as she spoke. "I think p'raps, Hallie, you're rather too little to care about it."
"I'm not," said Hal, "and I do care. But I do like pigs, real pigs. I sawed zem in the country."
"You can't remember," said Peggy. "It's two whole years since we was in the real country, Hallie, and you're only three and a half. I know it's two years. I heard mamma say so to papa, so you wasn't two then."