Peggy in Her Blue Frock | Page 3

very homesick, for she was tired out; and she felt sad and lonely in the small house where her husband had never lived. The children did not mind so much, but it was strange, when they waked in the morning, to see the unfamiliar stretch of pasture from their window instead of the garden and the next house.
But Pussy minded it so much that she slipped out while the others were having their breakfast. They were all so busy that no one missed her until dinnertime, and then Peggy and Alice looked everywhere in the small house and they called "Lady Jane" many times, but no little furry, gray pussy answered.
Their grandmother had gone back to New York and their mother was too busy getting settled to hunt for the cat.
"She'll come back when she gets hungry," she said. "I want you children to help me unpack. See these nice drawers for the linen."
"I don't think they are half so nice as the linen closet in the other house," said Alice.
"Now, children," said their mother, "no one ever said this house was so nice as the large one where you were born, and we can't pretend life is so pleasant as if we had your father here with us; but we have a great deal to be thankful for. If we haven't much money, we have health and strength and each other. Your father said to me when he went away: 'Mary, if I don't come back, I don't want you and the children ever to forget me, but I want you to remember all the happy times we have had together, and to think how glad I'd be of all the happy times you'd have by yourselves.'"
The children got very much interested in arranging the linen in the drawers.
"Oh, Peggy, you are no housekeeper; the pillowcases don't go in that drawer," said her mother. "See how carefully Alice puts the towels in."
Alice smiled and showed her dimples, and Peggy stopped and gave Alice a hug.
"Things seem just to slide out of my hands," said Peggy; "and I can't remember which drawer the things go in."
There was a cupboard where Alice's dolls were to live, and it interested her greatly to get this apartment ready for them. So they all again forgot about Lady Jane Grey until supper-time. Their mother put bowls of milk on the table for the children, with plenty of bread and jam; and there was a big saucer of milk for Lady Jane, warmed just the way she liked it. Again they called her, but she did not come. Peggy made a trip down cellar, thinking she might have hidden there, and she hunted the house from top to bottom, but there was no dainty Lady Jane to be seen.
"She'll come back sometime," said their mother; but the children were not so sure of this.
It seemed sad to go to bed without knowing what fate had befallen Lady Jane; but their mother was sure she would come back that night.
In the morning Peggy ran downstairs eagerly before she was dressed.
"Has she come, mother?" she asked.
"Has who come?" said her mother, whose mind was on starting the kitchen fire.
"Lady Jane."
"No, she hasn't come."
"And it is so wet," said Peggy, as she looked at the falling rain; "she'll get drenched without any rubbers or raincoat."
"You can be sure she is under shelter somewhere. A cat can always look out for herself."
"But, mother, I'm worried about her."
"I think," said Mrs. Owen, as she put the oatmeal into the double-boiler, "that she has gone back to her old home."
"But, mother dear, she couldn't like strange people better than she likes us!"
"Cats are strange creatures," said Mrs. Owen. "Run along and get dressed. After breakfast if the rain holds up you and Alice can run over to the Hortons' house and telephone to the Carters', to see if she is there. I shall be glad when we get our telephone in."
The rain did not stop, but the children were so persistent that after breakfast Mrs. Owen let them put on their rubbers and raincoats and run over to the Hortons' house. The house was up a long avenue of trees. On this March day there were no leaves on the trees, and the bare branches looked black against the gray sky as they were tossed about by the wind. There were patches of snow by the side of the road. It all looked very dismal, for the house was closed, as the family did not come back until June, and only the care-takers were living in the back part of the house. It was where Clara lived in the summer. She was the children's most intimate friend. She was a little more than a year younger than Peggy and about a