It was an unusually mild morning for the season of the year, and the sun was shining from a cloudless sky. Its rays fell full upon Peggy’s face as she advanced; upon reddened eyes, trembling lips, and two large tears trickling down her cheeks. It was undeniable that she was crying, but she carried her head well back upon her shoulders, rather courting than avoiding observation, and as she drew nearer it became abundantly evident that Peggy had retired in honour of Mariquita, and that consolations had better be deferred to a more promising occasion.
“A most lacerating wind!” she said coolly. “It draws the moisture to my eyes. Quite piercingly cold I call it!” and even Mellicent had not the courage to contradict.
And here, dear readers, we leave Peggy Saville at a milestone of her life. In what direction the cross roads led the little company of friends, and what windings of the path brought them once more together, remains still to be told. It was a strange journey, and in their travelling they met many friends with whom all young people are acquainted. The giant barred the way, and had to be overcome before the palace could be reached; the Good Spirit intervened at the right moment to prevent calamity, the prince and princess stepped forward and made life beautiful; for life is the most wonderful fairy tale that was ever written, and full of magic to those who have eyes to see it.
Farewell then to Peggy Pickle, but if it be the wish of those readers who have followed her varying fortunes so far, we may meet again with Mariquita Saville, in the glory of sweet and twenty, and learn from her the secret of the years.
[THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.]
By ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object in Life,” etc.