Chapter XII: Aunt Caroline's Disappointment

THE first few days after Peggy's return home were very wet and cold, although it was late spring. But one morning, she arose conscious of a change in the atmosphere and that the sun was shining into her bedroom window, whilst the sparrows were twittering noisily outside as though they had matters of great importance to discuss with each other.

"I think we are going to have a taste of spring weather at last," observed Mr. Pringle at the breakfast table that morning. "There's the promise of a beautiful May day, and I hope," he continued, addressing his wife, "that you will manage to get out for a while in the sunshine—you and Peggy."

"I want to do so," Mrs. Pringle replied. "I have some shopping to do first of all, and afterwards we may, perhaps, extend our walk."

Accordingly Peggy and her mother spent most of the morning out-of-doors. They were both in excellent spirits, and though, of course, they had to take their walk in the streets, they thoroughly enjoyed it. Mrs. Pringle looked into the shops and told her little daughter what the windows contained; and they bought a bunch of wallflowers from a costermonger's barrow, for a penny, which smelt almost as sweet as those at Lower Brimley, Peggy declared, and she wondered if they had come from Cornwall—that corner of the world which, to the blind child, would always be remembered as a paradise of flowers.

Then, on their way home, they encountered Mr. Maloney, whom Peggy had not met since her return. He turned and walked with them as far as their own door, listening with a rather preoccupied air, Mrs. Pringle thought, to the little girl's chatter, and watching her animated countenance with an expression of grave scrutiny in his kindly eyes.

"I want a private conversation with you and your husband, Mrs. Pringle," he remarked. "If I call this evening, shall I find you both disengaged?"

"Yes," she assented, adding anxiously, "there is nothing wrong, is there? You have no bad news to tell us?"

"Oh, no!" he responded, with a reassuring smile. "Please do not imagine that for a moment. I will call this evening, then, about seven."

Peggy wondered what Mr. Maloney could have to say to her parents in private. And Mr. Pringle expressed astonishment when his wife informed him at dinner-time of the reason the Vicar had assigned for his proposed call. Whilst Billy, though he made no remark, was filled with intense curiosity, and by the evening had become quite excited, and found great difficulty in concentrating his mind to prepare his lessons for the following day.

Mr. Pringle had given orders that the Vicar was to be shown into the music-room, as the small apartment was called which was apportioned to the use of the master of the house. And as soon as Mrs. Pringle, who had been sewing in the sitting-room, heard Sarah admit Mr. Maloney punctually at the hour he had appointed, she laid aside her work, and the next moment, the children were alone.

Billy continued to pore over his lesson books, whilst Peggy sat opposite to him at the table, her busy fingers engaged in knitting a sock, one of a pair she was making for her father. Sarah had taught the little girl the accomplishment of knitting during the long evenings of the previous winter, and the pupil did her teacher great credit. There had been silence in the room, except for the click of Peggy's knitting-needles, for some minutes, when the little girl suddenly dropped her work, and springing to her feet, stood listening intently.

"What is it?" asked Billy, glancing at her quickly, and noting that she had grown very pale. "What do you hear?"

"Nothing, now," she answered tremulously. "But I thought—I thought—I suppose it was my fancy!"

"What did you think you heard?" he questioned curiously. "Why, you have turned quite white! What startled you, Peggy?"

"I thought I heard mother crying, but I suppose I was wrong. I don't hear anything now."

Billy went to the door, opened it, and listened; but nothing could be heard except a murmur of voices from the music-room. He shut the door and returned to the table.

"Why should mother cry?" he demanded, uneasily.

"Didn't you tell me Mr. Maloney said nothing was wrong?"

"Yes," Peggy responded, "and he wouldn't have deceived us, I know."

"Then mother wouldn't cry for nothing!"

"I expect it was my mistake, Billy."

More than half an hour passed—an hour—and at last the children heard the music-room door open and footsteps in the passage. Then the front door opened and shut, and a moment afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. Pringle entered the sitting-room without their visitor.

One glance at his mother told Billy that his sister's sharp ears had not deceived her, for there were traces of recent tears on Mrs. Pringle's face. She crossed the room and took a chair by her little daughter's side, and her voice bespoke strong emotion as she said:

"Peggy, dear, we have decided to tell you what brought Mr. Maloney here to-night. Yesterday, he had a visit from Aunt Caroline, who wishes to—to—"

"Oh, I know!" cried Peggy joyfully, as her mother hesitated. "She wishes to be friendly with you, mother! Isn't it that?"

"No, dear," Mrs. Pringle replied sadly. "She has no desire to have anything to do with any of us but you. She would like to adopt you, Peggy—to have you to live with her—"

"Oh mother!" broke in the little girl. "No! No!"

"That is what she wishes. She offers to bring you up and provide for you, and to make you a rich woman some day. But your father and I have declined her offer, Peggy darling. We will keep our little daughter and trust to Providence to take care of her future."

"You have been crying," said Peggy distressfully, "and I can hear the tears in your voice now. Oh, don't cry, mother! What can Aunt Caroline be thinking of, to imagine you and father would let her adopt me! As though I could leave you all to go and live with her!"

"I knew she was a nasty old woman!" cried Billy, in tones of the greatest indignation. "And now I know she is cruel too! It is cruel of her to wish to take Peggy away from us! And the idea of her going to Mr. Maloney and—"

"Hush, Billy!" admonished Mr. Pringle. "She went to Mr. Maloney because she knew he was our friend," he proceeded. "You must not misjudge her; certainly she did not mean to be cruel. I have no doubt she imagines she is acting kindly; but she does not understand us or realise that Peggy would not be happy separated from the members of her own family. We have talked over Miss Leighton's offer with Mr. Maloney, and we have declined it. I think we are right, and Mr. Maloney thinks so too; but he could not well refuse to put Miss Leighton's offer before us, as she had made a point of his doing so. To-morrow he will give her our reply, and I fear she will be very angry as well as disappointed; but we cannot part with our little Sunbeam," he concluded tenderly.

"Did she want me to live with her altogether?" Peggy asked wonderingly, taking her mother's hand and holding it in a firm clasp.

"Yes, dear. She said you might come home sometimes—that she would not object to your coming to see us now and again, but—oh, Peggy, Peggy!" And poor Mrs. Pringle caught the little girl in her arms and kissed her passionately. "I hope we haven't been selfish," she continued, "but God gave you to us, and I cannot think it would be right to give you up for the sake of worldly advantages. No, I cannot think that! You have always had a happy home, have you not, Peggy?"

"Oh, so happy!" the little girl answered earnestly. "Why do you cry, mother—when I am not going to leave you?"

"I am very foolish, I dare say," said Mrs. Pringle. "But it hurts me to think Aunt Caroline could imagine I would give up my own child."

"Poor woman, she over-estimates the worth of her money," Mr. Pringle remarked, with a pitying note in his voice. "She does not understand that there are things even in this world not to be purchased with gold."

"Why should she want to adopt me?" questioned Peggy wonderingly, turning her flushed face towards her father. "It is not even as though I wasn't blind! Why doesn't she adopt some little girl who has no mother or father or brother to love her? Why should she want me?"

"Because, somehow, you have touched a soft spot in her heart, little Sunbeam," Mr. Pringle answered. "I can think of no other reason. Poor Miss Leighton! I am afraid she will be very disappointed when she hears we cannot favour her plan."

"Poor Aunt Caroline!" sighed Peggy. "Why can't she be friendly with us all, and come and see us and be nice like she was when she came to tea at Lower Brimley?" And she shook her head sorrowfully as she thought of the old lady, so rich in money, so poor in other ways.

Billy, looking at his sister, wondered at the regretful expression of her face. He could not tell, and he certainly would have been amazed, had he known that her tender heart was ready to pour a portion of the wealth of its affection upon her whom he regarded, not unnaturally, as one of the proudest and most disagreeable of people, and he felt triumphant as he reflected that Miss Leighton would be disappointed at finding herself balked in her selfish plan.

When, on the following day, Miss Leighton heard from Mr. Maloney that Mr. and Mrs. Pringle had considered her offer and courteously declined it, she made no comment on their decision whatever. But she was even more disappointed than Billy had anticipated she would be, and there was more of sorrow than of anger in her heart. Briefly she informed Barnes that Peggy's parents had refused to allow her to adopt the child.

"You were right, Barnes," she admitted with a sigh. "You thought my niece would refuse my offer, did you not?"

"Yes, ma'am," Barnes answered briefly. She said no more, for in her heart she was confident that Peggy would be better and happier at home.