"Lor'," said Sarah at last, "how can shoes see, they've no eyes, missy?"
"But you can fancy they have. Don't you ever play in your mind at fancying?" asked Peggy. "I think it's the nicest part of being alive, and mamma says it's no harm if we keep remembering it's not real. But never mind about that—do look at the hills, Sarah, and oh, can you see the white speck shining in the sun? That's the cottage—I call it my cottage, but p'raps," rather unwillingly, "it's the one your papa lived in when he was little."
"D'ye really think so?" said Sarah, eagerly. "It's Brackenshire over there to be sure, and father's 'ome was up an 'ill—deary me, to think as it might be the very place. See it—to be sure I do, as plain as plain. It do seem a good bit off, but father he says it's no more'n a tidy walk. He's almost promised he'll take some on us there some fine day when he's an 'oliday. I axed 'im all I could think of—missy—all about the cocks and 'ens and cows and pigses."
"Not pigs," interrupted Peggy. "I don't like pigs, and I won't have them in my cottage."
"I wasn't a-talking of your cottage," said Sarah, humbly. "'Twas what father told us of all the things he seed in the country when he were a boy there. There's lots of pigses in Brackenshire."
"Never mind. We won't have any," persisted Peggy. "But oh, Light Smiley, do look how splendid the sky is—all blue and all so shiny. I never sawed such a lovely day. I would so like to go a walk."
"And why shouldn't you?" asked Sarah.
"There's no one to take me," sighed Peggy. "It's Monday, and Fanny's very busy on Mondays, and I told you that tiresome Miss Earnshaw's not comed."
"Tell you what, missy," she said, "why shouldn't we—you and me—go a walk? I'm sure mother'd let me. I've got my 'at, all 'andy, and I did say to mother if so as missy seed me I might stop a bit, and she were quite agreeable. I'm a deal older nor you, and I can take care of you nicely. Mother's training me for the nussery."