And she held up what Peggy had not noticed that she was carrying—the big umbrella that had caused so much trouble two days before.
"The numbrella," cried Peggy. "Oh thank you, Sarah, for bringing it back. I never thought of it! How stupid it was of me."
"Mother told me for to bring it to the door and give it in," Sarah went on. "I didn't mean to come upstairs, but, the door was open, you see, miss, and I knowed your nussery was at the top, and—I 'ope it's not a liberty."
"No, no," said Peggy, her hospitable feelings awaking to see that her little visitor was still standing timidly in the doorway, "I'm very glad you've comed. You don't know how glad I am. It's so lonely all by myself—Miss Earnshaw hasn't come this morning. Come in, Light Smiley, do come in. Oh how nice! I can show you the mountings and the little white cottage shining in the sun."
She drew Sarah forwards. But before the child looked out of the window, her eyes were caught by the tiny red slippers on the sill.
"Lor'," she said breathlessly, "what splendid shoes! Are they for—for your dolly, missy? They're too small for a baby, bain't they?"
"Oh yes," said Peggy, "they're too small for our baby, a great deal. But then he's very fat."
"They'd be too small for ours too, though she's not a hextra fine child for her age. She were a very poor specimint for a good bit, mother says, but she's pickin' up now she's got some teeth through. My—but them shoes is neat, to be sure! They must be for a dolly."
"I've no doll they'd do for," said Peggy, "but I like them just for theirselves. I always put them to stand there on a fine day; they like to look out of the window."
Sarah stared at Peggy as if she thought she was rather out of her mind!—indeed the children at the back had hinted to each other that missy, for all she was a real little lady, was very funny-like sometimes. But Peggy was quite unconscious of it.