Chapter II: The Wasps

You will not have read even as much as this without finding out that Peggy was always getting into trouble. And indeed it was her nature to do so, poor dear, though it seldom was through any serious fault on her part. The first evening of her visit to Seafield had ended in this fight with Patrick, and the next morning something much worse happened. I must tell you all about it.

The sun was shining very brightly next morning, and Peggy felt as happy as possible. On the way downstairs she met Patrick; and because she was very sweet-tempered and forgiving, she sat down on the top step at once, and held out her hand to him—a little warily, of course.

She was delighted to see that Patrick, too, wanted to be on friendly terms. He came and rubbed his head against her and purred. So they made it up, and Peggy ran downstairs.

“May I play in the garden, auntie?” she asked at breakfast.

Aunt Euphemia considered for a moment. “Yes, if you do not leave the garden, and do not tread upon the flower-beds, or gather the flowers,” she answered at last.

Peggy did not much mind these regulations. It looked so delightful out there in the sunshine that she wanted nothing else. So when breakfast was over, she ran out and began to wander about, looking at all the new things—quite new most of them were to her. Different flowers grew here from those that filled the garden at home, and they were so nice to smell, even if she might not pick them. In one corner grew a bush of a great feathery shrub that she had never seen before. She walked round and round it, and longed to have one of the long feathery switches for a wand, such as fairies use.

Just as she was thinking how much she would like this, a young man came across the lawn with the mowing-machine. He looked good-natured, Peggy thought, and she wondered if she might ask him about the wand. She did not know his name, however, and felt a little shy. She stood still, with her finger in her mouth (a bad habit she had), and watched him while he poured oil into the little holes of the mowing-machine. Then she summoned up courage to speak to him.

“Man,” she said, in a very shy voice—“man, I would like one of these branches for a fairy-wand; do you think I might have one?” She pointed to the bush.

He looked up with a grunt and a laugh, flung down the oil-can, and drew a big clasp-knife out of his pocket. “One o’ thae yins?” he asked in a kind voice.

She nodded, and pointed to the branch she specially desired.

“What’s your name, please?” she asked.

“James, missie,” he said, hacking away at the branch while he spoke, and in a minute he handed her the lovely long spray she had wanted.

Oh, what a wand it was!—longer a great deal than herself, and so supple that it bent just like a whip.

“See here, missie,” said James; “ye’ll no can manage it that way; I’ll peel it to ye.” He took the branch and began peeling off the outer skin till it showed a satin-like white wood.

“Oh, let me peel!” cried Peggy; and together they peeled away till the branch was bare—all except a beautiful bunch like a green tassel at the tip.

With this in her hand, Peggy walked away across the lawn, and you may fancy how delightful it was. She pretended she was a fairy queen, and a touch of her wand would do whatever she chose. She walked about muttering charms to the flowers, and then saw her friend Patrick lying on a bank. She graciously extended the tip of her wand to him, and he played with it for a minute quite like a kitten.

But then it struck her that she would walk round the house. And outside one of the windows she saw the funniest thing hanging. It looked like a little bottle made of flimsy gray paper. She wondered what it could possibly be; and standing right under it, she poked up her hand and tickled the mouth of the gray-paper bottle. The next moment, she heard a terrible buzzing noise, and a cloud of wasps came flying down upon her. Peggy never knew what she did. Down went the wand, and she screamed aloud, for the wasps were stinging her all over her hands and face. The next moment James came running up the bank to her. He caught her up in his arms and ran across the lawn. They both seemed surrounded and followed by the wasps, and a new sting came on poor Peggy’s face or neck every moment. There was a gate in the garden wall, and James ran to the gate, opened it, and crossed the road. The next minute Peggy saw that he was wading into the sea with her and dipping her under the water.

The wasps fell away in the distance, an angry, buzzing, black cloud; and poor Peggy, more dead than alive, found herself being carried back to the house, all her clothes dripping with the salt water. James was dripping too, and moving his head in a queer way as if his neck hurt him.