Chapter XI: The Last Day at Seafield

Now, if Peggy had taken time to think about it, she was only going to make herself unhappy by collecting all these delightful creatures in the tub; for her visit to Seafield was to come to an end on Wednesday, and this was Monday evening. The whole of Tuesday morning Peggy thought of nothing but her dear sea beasts. She stood beside the tub and watched them; she crumbled a bit of bread very fine, and flung it into the water, and actually saw one of the flounders eat a crumb; she chased the hermit crab into its shell a dozen times, and watched the whelks move slowly along the side of the tub. It was the nicest amusement she had ever had. But in the afternoon Aunt Euphemia said that they were going to drive to the station.

“Your father is coming for you, Peggy, you know; he is going to take you home to-morrow.”

Peggy was very fond of her father—so fond that she had cried when she said good-bye to him last week. It surprised Aunt Euphemia extremely that, instead of being glad to hear of his coming, Peggy seemed sorry, for she burst into tears.

“Why, Peggy, are you not glad to see your father?” said Aunt Euphemia.

“I don’t want to go home!” Peggy sobbed.

Aunt Euphemia was rather pleased. “Do you want to stay with me then, dear?” she asked.

“No; it’s my sea beasts. Oh, oh, oh!” sobbed Peggy. “Do you think father will take the tub of sea beasts back in the train with us?”

No wonder Aunt Euphemia was hurt. It was nasty of Peggy to say that she only wanted to stay because of the sea beasts.

“Of course, he will do nothing of the kind,” said Aunt Euphemia. “All the beasts must be put back into the sea to-night.”

She walked away and left Peggy to cry alone. But after she had cried for some time, Peggy remembered that father was different from Aunt Euphemia, and perhaps would not distress her by making her part from the dear sea beasts. So she dried her eyes, and thought perhaps it was as well that he was coming.

The drive to the station was quite dull. Nothing happened, for Peggy wasn’t allowed to sit on the box-seat with the driver as she wanted to, but had to sit beside her aunt in the carriage. At the station, too, there was very little to notice—only some sheep in a truck, looking very unhappy. Peggy gathered some blades of grass, and held them to the sheep, and they nibbled them up. Then the train came puffing in, and the next minute she saw her father jump out of a carriage, and come along the platform to where she was. Peggy was so delighted to see him that she ran right at him, and caught hold of his knees so that she nearly made him fall. Then she took his hand, and began telling him everything at once, in such a hurry that it was impossible for him to understand anything she said.

“Not so fast, Peggy. Wait till we are in the carriage,” he said, laughing.

It seemed a very long time till they were all packed in, and then Peggy had to climb on to her father’s knee and put her arm round his neck. “Now may I begin?” she asked.

“Yes, sweetest; tell me all about everything now,” her father said. And Peggy began her story, of course, at the wrong end.

“I’ve got a tub full of such dear sea beasts, father,” she said. “There are two flounders, and a lot of whelks, and a hermit crab, and two anemones fixed on a stone, and a big one stuck on to the foot of the tub, and I watch them all day; and, please, how am I to take them home?”

“Well, I must come and see them first,” her father said.

“And please, father, I got lost one day, and had my frock stolen—the new one—and the bees stung me, and a crab nipped my finger, and I was very naughty once—only once—and I went on to a green ship, and—and—”

“Why, Peggy, you seem to have had a week of the most extraordinary adventures; it will be quite dull to come home.”

Peggy wasn’t quite sure about this. She had so many things she was fond of at home, that if only she might take her sea beasts back with her, she thought she would be quite happy to return. She sat still for a few minutes thinking about this, while Aunt Euphemia spoke to her father. But the moment the carriage stopped at the door, she seized her father’s hand, and begged him to come and see her tub of sea beasts.

“Not till after tea, Peggy; I’ll come then,” he said.

Peggy would have liked him to come there and then, but she knew she must wait.

Tea seemed longer than usual. Her father told her to be quiet, so she ate away without uttering a word, and listened to all the dull things Aunt Euphemia was saying. At last, when tea was over, she came round to where her father sat, and took hold of his hand, and gave it a little squeeze, which she knew he would understand.

“Yes, dearest!” he said, but waited to hear the end of what Aunt Euphemia was saying. “Now, Peggy,” he said at last, “come along;” and together they went out to the garden, and came to the tub. Peggy looked in.

“Why, father,” she cried, “my crab is floating on his back! Isn’t it funny of him?”

Colonel Roberts examined the crab for a minute.

“I’m afraid he’s dead, Peggy,” he said. “They don’t turn up their toes that way unless they’re dead.”

Peggy knelt down, so as to come nearer to the tub, and looked down into it. Then she uttered a little wail. “O father, I think they’re _all_ looking sick somehow! Look at my flounders!”

One of the flounders, alas! was dead already, as well as the crab, and the other looked rather sorry for himself. Colonel Roberts, however, would not let Peggy cry.

“Look here, child,” he said; “they want to be put back into the sea—that’s all. There are too many of them all crowded together in the tub; we’ll take them back to a pool on the shore, and they will soon be as frisky as ever again.”

“Not the dead ones,” said Peggy solemnly.

“No, not the poor dead ones, but the sick ones. Go and fetch me a pail, and we’ll carry them down to the shore.”

“But then I won’t ever see them again,” Peggy objected.

“Now, don’t be a selfish little girl. You would rather they lived and were happy, wouldn’t you?”

“Ye—s,” Peggy faltered.

“Well, go and fetch the pail.”

After all, it would be good fun to put them all back into the sea, Peggy thought; so she ran away and fetched the garden pail from the shed. Colonel Roberts pulled up his sleeves, and dived his arm into the tub, and fished up the creatures one by one. They all looked rather flabby and sick.

“Now, we must take them down to the shore,” he said.

They selected a nice large pool, and one by one placed the poor sick creatures into it. Then Peggy sat down to watch. She had not long to wait: the sick flounder revived in the most extraordinary manner, the anemones began to wave their feelers about in the nice clean water as if they too felt all right.

“See! they are all quite happy again, Peggy,” said her father.

“Oh, I _am_ sorry not to keep them,” said she. “Do you think I’ll ever get anything to play with that I can love so much?”

“Well, that depends upon yourself, Peggy; but as we walk back to the house you can guess what I’ve got for you at home.”

“Have you got something new for me—something I’ll love?”

“Yes, quite new. I fancy you’ll love it very much.”

“As much as my sea beasts?”

“Oh, a great deal more. What do you think would be the nicest thing you could have?”

“A Shetland pony?”

“No, far nicer.”

“A big Persian pussy-cat?”

“No, nicer still.”

Peggy began to dance with impatience. “Oh, do tell me; what is it?” she cried.

“Well, you will find a new sister at home, very small and pink, with blue eyes and a lot of nice black hair.”

Peggy received this description dumbly; indeed, she walked on for a few yards before she said bitterly,—

“O father, I’d have liked the Shetland pony _ever_ so much better; couldn’t you change it yet? Is the sister much cheaper? I’ll give you my shilling!”

She was rather hurt by the way her father laughed at this proposal.

“Why, Peggy, a sister will be ever so much nicer than a pony; she will be able to play with you and speak to you soon.”

“Can’t she speak? She can’t be a very good one,” said Peggy dolefully.

“No, she can only cry as yet—she cries a good deal.”

“Well, I don’t want her then, father. Do please send her away, and get me the pony instead, or even the cat.”

“I think we’ve got to keep her, Peggy. Suppose you wait till you see her. Perhaps you won’t wish then to send her away.”

“Can she walk, if she is so stupid, and can’t talk?” Peggy asked suspiciously.

“Oh no, she can’t walk; she is dressed in long robes, just like your Belinda.”

“Who has been playing with her?” Peggy asked. “Has mother? It doesn’t amuse her much to play with Belinda, and if this thing is just like her, I wonder mother cares to play with it either.”

“Yes, mother has played with her most of the time.”

“Well, I think it’s very queer of her, for she doesn’t like Belinda a bit,” said Peggy. Then, after a moment’s silence, she added, “Perhaps I’ll like it too; I don’t _feel_ as if I would. And please, father, will you let me ride up to the house on your back?”

This ended the discussion about the new sister.

And now, if I were to tell you how precious the new sister was to Peggy, it would take another volume as big as this to tell it. For when Peggy’s sister grew a little older, they had such wonderful adventures together that Peggy used to wonder how she had got on all the tiresome years when she was alone.

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where
multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer
errors occur.

Book name and author have been added to the original book cover.
The resulting cover is placed in the public domain.