Chapter XI: Home Again

"I SHOULD think they will be here very soon now!"

The speaker was Mrs. Pringle, who stood at the sitting-room window of her home, looking out into the narrow street, one cold, wet, spring evening. Her arm was around Billy's shoulders; and the little boy's face, which wore an expression of eager watchfulness, was pressed close to the window-pane.

"Yes," Billy answered, "I hope so. It always seems so long when one is waiting, doesn't it, mother? How it is raining!"

"I wish it had been a finer evening for Peggy's return," Mrs. Pringle remarked. "We must keep the fire up."

She moved back from the window and put mare coals into the grate.

"We will give our little Sunbeam a warm welcome, at any rate," she added with a smile.

All day, she had gone about her household duties with the happiest of hearts, and every now and again she had run upstairs to make sure that Peggy's bedroom was quite in order. For her husband, who had gone to Cornwall a few days previously, was expected to bring his little daughter home that night. Needless to say, Billy was no less delighted than his mother at the prospect of so soon seeing Peggy again; whilst Sarah, in the kitchen, had opened the door, that she might hear the expected cab pull up before the house, and kept the kettle on the boil in readiness to make tea the minute the travellers should arrive.

"Here they are!" cried Billy excitedly, at last, and, followed by his mother, he rushed into the passage, almost colliding with Sarah, who was hurrying from the kitchen, and flung wide the front door, admitting as he did so a blast of cold wind.

"Don't go out into the rain, Billy," advised Mrs. Pringle, her face aglow with expectancy. "See, your father is lifting Peggy out of the cab; he will bring her straight in."

The next minute, Peggy was in her mother's arms, rapturously returning her mother's welcoming kiss; then came Billy's turn to be embraced, and after that, Sarah's. The little girl's countenance was one beam of happiness, and her cheeks were so rosy that her brother gazed at her in surprise.

"Why, Peggy, how you've altered!" he cried. "And I do believe you've grown!"

"I'm sure she has," Mrs. Pringle agreed. "She is looking remarkably well. She left home as white as a lily, and she has returned like a red, red rose."

"Are you glad I've come home?" Peggy asked, not because she was in the least doubtful on the point, but because it was so sweet to know she had been missed and how welcome was her presence at home once more.

"Glad?" exclaimed Billy, "I should think we are! We've all of us missed you most dreadfully, Peggy. Even Mr. Maloney noticed that the house seemed quite different without you!"

"Yes; but now our little Sunbeam has returned to us," Mrs. Pringle said lovingly, "and it is such happiness to have her given back to us well and strong!"

"And has no one a welcome for me?" asked Mr. Pringle at that point. He had seen about the luggage and dismissed the cabman, and now stood regarding the excited group with a glance half humorous, half tender. "Have you forgotten that you have not seen me for three whole days? Never mind," he continued, after he had kissed his wife and his little son, "I am content to take the second place to-night. But Peggy and I are both tired and hungry; so, suppose we have our tea at once—as soon as Peggy has removed her wraps."

A very pleasant meal followed; and afterwards the family drew round the fireplace, in a circle, to talk.

"I've so much to tell you, that I don't know where to begin," Peggy remarked. "Oh, I do think the very nicest part of going away on a visit is the coming home again!"

There was a general laugh at that, and Mr. Pringle said:

"That's good hearing, my dear. We left Cornwall bathed in glorious sunshine this morning," he continued, addressing his wife. "Your schoolfellow's home is in a most beautiful spot. I cannot express how greatly I have enjoyed my three days' holiday at Lower Brimley. Both Mr. and Mrs. Tiddy have been kindness itself, and never shall we be able to repay them for all they have done for Peggy!"

"I was—oh, so sorry to say good-bye to them," the little girl said soberly, "and there was Wolf—poor Wolf! He had to be shut up in the stable for fear he would follow us to the station and want to go by train. He is such a dear, dear dog! You will love him, Billy, when you see him!"

"Do you think I shall ever see him, Peggy?" Billy asked, anxiously. "Do you really think Mr. Tiddy will remember to invite me to Lower Brimley in the summer holidays?"

"I am sure he will," the little girl replied positively. "I heard him mention it several times; he won't forget, he always keeps his word."

"And what about Aunt Caroline?" Mrs. Pringle at length asked. "I was never more surprised in my life than when I heard you and she had met!"

"Was it not strange?" Peggy said seriously. "You know she came from Penzance on purpose to see Mr. Tiddy's daffodils, and she was so pleased with them."

"Did she find out who you were, then?"

"Oh, no—not until long after that—when she was lodging at Higher Brimley. I met her on the beach and she spoke to me, and—and I talked rather much, for I told her my name—she asked me, I think—and all about my accident. Even then she didn't say who she was. But afterwards she came to Lower Brimley and asked permission to go around the garden—Mr. Tiddy had told her she might—and Mrs. Tiddy and I went with her, and just before she left she said I was distantly related to her and explained who she was. After that, she was very nice and kind to me—very kind indeed!"

"But you don't like her, Peggy, do you?" cried Billy. "I thought her such a proud, cross old woman!"

"She speaks in rather a proud way sometimes," Peggy allowed reluctantly, "but she isn't cross when you know her—at least, she wasn't to me. She said she wouldn't have driven away so quickly after I had been knocked down by her horse, if she had known I was blind. Yes, I rather like her, but I don't suppose I shall ever meet her again, though I should like to. And then there's Barnes—"

"Barnes? Is she still with Aunt Caroline?" broke in Mrs. Pringle, eagerly.

"Yes," nodded Peggy, "and she asked me such a lot of questions about you, mother. I like Barnes. She told me about her poor afflicted brother, and—wasn't it strange?—Aunt Caroline had never heard of him till I happened to speak of him to her."

"I dare say not, my dear," Mrs. Pringle answered, evincing no surprise. "I remember about poor Barnes's brother," she proceeded. "He is not right in his mind, and Barnes helps support him and her mother too. The mother must be a very aged woman now."

"Yes," the little girl answered. "Poor Barnes! Aunt Caroline used to speak so sharply to her sometimes—I heard her—but that is her way, I suppose."

"It used to be," Mrs. Pringle admitted with a sigh, "and, from what you tell me, I imagine she has not altered much these last ten years."

"I don't think she's a bit happy," Peggy said, shaking her golden head. "That seems very sad, doesn't it? Barnes told the servants at Lower Brimley that Aunt Caroline has no friends, because she always thinks people who are nice to her want her money."

"Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. Pringle understandingly, with a quick glance at her husband. "Poor Aunt Caroline!"

She sat in silence after that, listening whilst Peggy expatiated at great length upon all the delights of life at a farm. Billy drank in every word with keen interest, reflecting that some day, not so very distant, he would most likely enjoy his share of the pleasures which his sister explained so marvellously—considering she had been unable to see.

"I know everything was very beautiful," she said, in conclusion, "for there seemed to be flowers everywhere, and the scent of the gorse on the cliffs was wonderful—I never smelt anything so sweet or strong before! And the air was so warm, and the sun shone nearly every day, and—"

"And now you have come back to rain and cold," interposed Mrs. Pringle; "you will feel it a hardship, I fear, after the mild climate you've enjoyed of late and after having spent so much time out-of-doors, to be cooped up in a small house again."

"I don't mind the rain and the cold in the very least," Peggy declared, "and I love our little house. Oh, I'm so glad to be at home! Yes, indeed I am! I've enjoyed my visit to Cornwall; but I think I've missed you all as much or more than you have missed me. I'm glad I went, but I'm gladder still to be back again—to be able to hear your voices and put out my hands and feel you are here! You would understand what that means, if you were blind. Oh, I think I was never so happy in my life before as I am to-night."

"Thank God for that, my darling," Mrs. Pringle responded in a tremulous voice. "Oh, we have much to thank Him for!" she added softly, as she remembered the pale, delicate little girl she had seen off at Paddington railway station with a very heavy heart six weeks previously and mentally compared her with the one—a picture of health and contentment—who now nestled close to her side. She had prayed—oh, so earnestly!—that Peggy might be restored to her well and strong, and her Father in Heaven had answered her prayer.