Peggy in Her Blue Frock | Page 2

"I'll give you a
year to try your experiment; and remember, if you don't succeed, my
offer holds good. I'll always have a room in my small apartment for one
of the children; and Peggy is old enough to get a great deal of good
from a New York school."
Peggy looked as if nothing would induce her to leave her mother. Not
that she disliked her grandmother. Peggy liked people of all ages. She
did not like old ladies so well as people of her mother's age, because
the younger ones were so much more active; and she liked children
better still, for the same reason; and boys even better than girls, because
they never expected you to play dolls with them. Peggy did not care for
dolls as Alice did. When the world was so full of live things that

scampered and frisked, or flew or crawled, why tie one's self down to
make-believe people that could neither speak nor move? Pussy was
much more interesting than any doll.
Peggy looked at the furniture, standing forlornly about in strange places.
Her own mahogany bureau was downstairs. "It looks for all the world,"
said Peggy, "like a cat in a strange garret." She had read this phrase in a
book the day before, and it took her fancy. And then she wondered how
their own cat would feel in her new home. And there was not any garret
in the tiny house where they were going.
The cat walked in just then, but seeing the confusion she fled upstairs.
She was a gray pussy, with darker gray stripes, and a pronounced purr
that was almost as cozy as the sound of a tea-kettle. She had a pleasant
habit of having young families of kittens, two or three times a year. The
only drawback was, the kittens had to be given away just as they got to
the most interesting age. There were no kittens now, only pussy, whose
whole name was Lady Jane Grey.
Their grandmother was making a list of the books, for some of the
boxes were to go to her in New York, others to the Town Library,
while many of them they were to keep themselves. All the medical
books were to be left in their father's office for the new doctor to
dispose of as he thought best.
"Do you know, mother, how many children the doctor has, and whether
they are boys or girls?" Peggy asked.
"No, he just said 'children' in his letter."
"I hope there will be a girl, and that she will like to play with dolls,"
said Alice.
"But you've Clara, I don't see what more you want," said Peggy.
"But Clara is never here in the winter," said Alice.
That night, after the children had gone to bed, they began to talk about

the doctor's family. It was the last night they were to spend in the old
house, and they felt a little sad as they climbed into the mahogany
four-poster bedstead, for the room looked desolate. The curtains had
been packed, and all the furniture was gone except the bed.
"Anyway, we'll be sleeping on it to-morrow night," said Peggy. "We'll
have Roxanna Bedpost with us just the same."
She looked at the lower bedpost at her right that she had christened by
this name when she was a tiny child, because her mother had hung
Peggy's blue sunbonnet on it.
"Shut up your eyes, Peggy, and see things," said Alice. "Perhaps you
can see the children who are going to live here."
Peggy had a delightful way of seeing things that Alice could not see.
She shut her eyes up and thought hard and then she opened them and
looked at the opposite wall.
It seemed quite simple, but whenever Alice tried it she could see
nothing. "Do you really see things, Peggy?" she once asked.
"I see them in my mind's eye," said Peggy.
"What do you see to-night, Peggy?" said Alice.
"I see two children, a boy and a girl; and they are picking red apples in
our orchard."
"In March?"
"It's not March in my mind's eye. They are beautiful, big, red apples.
The girl is a little bigger than you and a little smaller than me, so she's
just right for both of us to play with, and her name is Matilda Ann."
"I don't think that is at all a pretty name."
"I did not say it was a pretty name; I just said her name was Matilda
Ann."

"I hope it isn't."
"Well, what do you guess it is?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"You must guess something."
"Oh, well, Fanny."
"Fanny! That's a very stupid sort of name," said Peggy.
They were still talking about the possible names of the possible girl