Peggy wriggled a little. She didn't like to think about it much. It sounded so mysterious.
"What part's that?" she asked; "that big word."
"Constitootion," said Baldwin, as if he was trying to spell "Constantinople."
Miss Earnshaw laughed. She lived alone with her mother, and was not much used to children. But she was so pleasant-tempered and gentle that she easily got into their ways.
"I shouldn't use such long words," she said. "Our constitution just means ourselves—the way we're made. A strong, healthy person is said to have a good constitution, and a weakly person has a poor one."
Baldwin and Peggy both sat silent for a minute, thinking over what she said.
"I don't see how that's to do with crippling," said Peggy at last. "Does you mean," she went on, "that p'raps lame people's legs is made wrong—by mistake, you know. In course God wouldn't do it of purpose, would he?"
Baldwin looked rather startled.
"Peggy," he said, "I don't think you should speak that way."
Peggy turned her gray eyes full upon him.