CHAPTER IX

"I'M A-GOIN' BACK TO LONDON!"

ONE Monday morning Peggy was very busy making raspberry jam under Helen's superintendence. Joyce had gone away for a week's visit to some friends, and Helen was alone. Helen had just left the kitchen and gone upstairs to get some jam papers, when Peggy heard a terrible crash and heavy fall. She rushed out of the kitchen and, to her horror, found that her mistress had fallen the whole length of the narrow flight of stairs, and, in falling, had struck her head with considerable violence against a corner of the wainscoting. She was lying unconscious at the foot of the stairs, and blood was oozing slowly out from a cut on her head.

For a moment Peggy lost her presence of mind. She uttered a loud shriek, and rushing to the front door screamed, "Help! Murder! Thieves! Fire!"

No one heard her cries, and, as she afterwards remarked, "'Twas as well, for it were lies I shouted, but the words wouldn't come proper, I were so full of horror, but I knowed the very worst had happened, and so the worst slipped off my tongue!"

As no help came, she recovered herself, and valiantly tried to raise poor Helen from the ground. This she found she could not do, so she fetched a basin of warm water and a sponge, and bathed the cut, tying a large pocket-handkerchief round it, and then, after placing a pillow under Helen's head, dashed out of the house. Albert Edward darted after her with a delightful bark, but he was ordered back immediately.

"Stay with missus, you bad dog, and take care of her till the doctor comes!"

So back Albert Edward went, and lay down across Helen's feet with a little wistful sigh. Peggy sped on to Mrs. Timson's, who was fortunately at home.

"Dear heart!" she exclaimed, when the accident was made known to her. "I'll go round to the poor dear at once! You'd best get the doctor, for I've known 'em bleed to death afore any could get to 'em! Dr. Nairns be the nearest, but 'tis six miles away. Run up to Farmer Bedford's. He may send his lad and horse. Whatever you does, Peggy, be quick about it."

There was no need to tell Peggy that. She was off like the wind, but, alas Farmer Bedford and all his men were harvesting.

"Can you ride, my girl?" said Mrs. Bedford. "For we have our pony in the stable. I could put a sack over him, and you're welcome to take him if you like."

Peggy went to the stable, and eyed the white pony in terror.

"Would I be there double quick on him?"

"For certain you would. Here! We'll soon fix him; but, bless the girl! You can't ride into Ferndale without a hat!"

Peggy put her hands up to her cap in dismay. But Mrs. Bedford seized hold of a cotton sunbonnet, and clapped it over her head. Then she assisted Peggy to mount.

But it was a dreadful moment to the inexperienced rider when the pony ambled out of the yard. And before the gate was reached, he broke into a canter, and over went Peggy, head foremost, into a heap of straw. She picked herself up in a moment, and, barring a shaking, was none the worse for her tumble; but nothing would induce her to mount again.

"I haven't the legs for ridin'," she explained; "and I'll not waste a minute more time, but run off for the doctor at once."

Off she started, an odd little figure in her print gown and apron, and a sunbonnet perched on the top of her cap. She soon found that too much speed was a mistake, and she relapsed into a slow jog-trot along the hot, dusty highroad. Oh, what an interminable way it seemed!

The sun beat fiercely down, and Peggy began to fear that her breath and strength would give out. On she toiled, and at length raised a hot, streaming face to the sky—

"Oh God, I arsks you to make me keep on, for 'tis my missus's life I'm a-thinkin' of. I arsks you to make the road shorter, or my legs stronger!"

And was it an answer to prayer, when the hot, pitiless sun became shut off by a long line of woods on each side of the road? Peggy thought it was, and smiled contentedly as she trudged bravely on. Milestone after milestone she passed, and at last came in sight of the town.

People stared at her as she jog-trotted along in the middle of the road, a panting, dusty little object, only once pausing to make sure of the doctor's house.

But when she reached it, she could hardly make herself understood. Happily the doctor had just come in from his morning rounds, and when his servant told him, he came out to interview Peggy himself.

"Have you come from Sundale? Why, that is a long walk! An accident? Yes. Take time, my girl. Here, sit down!"

Peggy swayed from side to side.

"Please, sir," she gasped, "my legs is done for. They've walked theirselves silly!"

She remembered no more, for she fainted dead away. And it was some minutes before Dr. Nairns could restore her to consciousness.

When she could tell him what had happened, he wasted no more time, but had his trap round at once, perched Peggy up by his side, and drove rapidly towards Sundale.

At first Peggy felt too shaken and exhausted to speak, but after a time she found her tongue.

"You see, sir, that there hoss would have brought me quicker, but I h'ain't been brought up to ridin', havin' come from London, please, sir, and the hosses be mostly wanted for carts up there. If I'd a-knowed you'd want to ride a hose when you go to service, I'd a-tried to practise ridin'. I've see'd circus girls who don't think nothin' of it, but I weren't acquainted with hoss-keepin' folks in London. I ought to have kept on him, but he bumped so sudden, that it took me with a shock. I do hope as how my missus ain't dead, I does indeed!"

A great sob stopped further utterance.

Dr. Nairns, with a little smile, tried to comfort her.

"I daresay we shall find her up and about," he said. "Perhaps she was only stunned for a minute or two."

Peggy cheered up at once.

"Do you think so, sir? Well, p'raps she was, only 'twas a awful sight to see. Have you been to see many stunned ladies, please, sir? Do they get up the nex' mornin' same as if nothin' happened?"

"Sometimes they do."

"It must be wonderful nice to make sick folks well," went on Peggy. "You does just what the Lord Jesus used to do. Now He have turned people's sick bodies over to you, hasn't He, sir, while He looks after the sick souls? And I'm a-tryin' to help in it, sir. It don't take a very clever person to fetch a doctor, or to tell folks where to go for one. I tries to tell 'em where to go for sick hearts and such-like; and, please sir, ain't it a good thing the Lord don't live six miles away from anybody, like you does?"

Dr. Nairns discovered that he was driving beside a little "character." But Peggy's simplicity and faith touched him, as it did every one with whom she came in contact. He let her talk on, and did not snub her, and by and by they came to Sundale.

They found Helen still unconscious, but Mrs. Timson had managed to get her on the sofa in the dining room, and, with Dr. Nairns' help and instruction, they carried her upstairs to her own bed.

"Concussion of the brain," was the doctor's verdict. "You must telegraph to her sister, and had better have a nurse," he told Peggy.

But she objected to the latter suggestion.

"Please, sir, I'm a first-rate nurse, and if Miss Joyce comes back, we shall manage fine. I've nursed a crippled aunt, sir, from the time I was a baby, and I did everythink for her! She could never use her legs at all, sir."

"Well, well," said Dr. Nairns; "send for her sister. She will settle it."

So Joyce was telegraphed for, and came back late that evening. Then ensued some very anxious days and nights. Peggy was at her best. Joyce forbade her to speak in the sick room, and when her talkative tongue was silent, she proved a very quiet and skilful little nurse.

Helen slowly mended, but when she was convalescent, the doctor ordered change of air for her, and after a good deal of anxious thought as to ways and means, Joyce decided to take her to Bournemouth.

Then she had a talk with Peggy.

"We cannot afford to take you with us, Peggy, and you are too small to be left in the house alone. We mean to shut it right up. Nov the question is, what is to become of you?"

Poor Peggy's face fell considerably.

Joyce went on—

"You have been a good faithful little maid to us, and we don't want to lose you. We thought that perhaps you might be able to take a temporary situation with some one, and now we have heard of one. Mrs. Dale, who you know came to see us yesterday, is going back to London, and has offered to take you with her. If you would like to go, she wants to see you this afternoon. We thought it would be very nice for you, as you will be able to see your London friends again. And then when we come back to the Cottage you will be here to meet us."

"Please 'm, how long will you be away?"

"Perhaps two months. We are not sure."

"And, please 'm, does Mrs. Dale want me to do cookin'? For you know 'm, I ain't a very good hand at it yet, for you always does the sweets and pastries."

"I don't think you will be required to do any cooking."

"Please 'm, I'll do my best."

Peggy's face was very grave, and it was graver still when she set out to walk to Mallow Farm. She had not been there since Ellen had treated her so badly, and she wondered what she should say to her if she saw her.

On the way she met old Job Somers, hobbling between two sticks, a few yards from his cottage.

Albert Edward who, as usual, accompanied Peggy, made a frantic dash at his legs; but it was only a friendly recognition, and the old man looked down at him with a pleased smile.

"He be a proper little dawg, so he be! And I be always pleased to see 'im, for I knows my tidy little maid be not far off."

"I'm a-going back to London," said Peggy, with serious face. "I hardly knows what 'll happen to me now. 'Tis a shock my head hasn't got over, for my missuses are goin' away and don't want me. And two months is a long time, mister; and another place will be very anxious work for me."

"Dear life!" ejaculated the old man. "Bill and me will miss you sorely. 'Twas only yester-night Bill were sayin' p'raps one day he'd ask yer to come and stop prop'ly with us. He do like the place kep' tidy."

Peggy was too full of the impending change in her prospects to realise the full significance of this speech.

"Bill will have to keep the place tidy hisself till I comes back agen," she said. "I'll come in and say goodbye afore I goes, mister, but I must hurry along and see Mrs. Dale now."

She reached the farm, and Ellen opened the door to her. For a moment both girls looked at each other silently, but Ellen's cheeks were crimson, and though she gave her head a little toss, she looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

As for Peggy, her chin and nose were uptilted, and her voice as steady as a rock.

"I wants to see Mrs. Dale."

Without a word Ellen ushered her into that lady's sitting room.

Mrs. Dale received Peggy very kindly.

"Your mistress has told you, Peggy," she began, "of my plan, has she not? Would you like to come with me?"

"Please 'm, what will be my work? I should like better to come to you than anybody else, please 'm."

"I have an elderly servant, Peggy, who wants a girl to help her in the housework. You will not be in the kitchen at all except for meals. I want a quiet, steady girl, who will do what she is told, and shall be very glad to have you for the two months your mistresses are away. After then, I think I shall be going abroad."

"I think I'm steady," said Peggy reflectively. She was not quite so sure of herself now as she used to be. "And I tries to be quiet. My missuses say my tongue be my worst trouble, but I will try to say nothink to nobody if you wishes it 'm. And I won't speak never to you unless you speaks to me first 'm. I think if I sets my mind to it, I can do it 'm."

"I am sure you will, Peggy," said Mrs. Dale pleasantly. "I hear your mistresses are leaving next week. I shall go up to town on Thursday then, and would like you to travel with me."

"Yes 'm, thank you 'm. I will reely do my very best, please 'm."

The interview was over, and Peggy let herself out of the front door. There was no sign of Ellen, but when she reached the garden gate there was her former friend standing by it, with an awkward look of shame upon her face.

"You might pass the time o' day wi' me, Peggy," she muttered.

Peggy stood still, and regarded her gravely.

"I'm a-goin' back to London," she said, in a solemn tone, "and so I says goodbye to you, Ellen. I wishes you well, and I hopes as how you'll never get a friend like yerself is. I forgives you for breakin' wi' me, but I h'ain't got no more to say to yer."

"It were all that Ned Thorpe," said Ellen eagerly. "And he have gone away, Peggy, and won't come back no more, and I've heard tell he's goin' to be married soon. He carried on with one of the Rectory girls same as me, and I never knowed it, and I do be sorry, Peggy, for I liked you better 'n any girl I know."

Peggy's old pleased smile came back.

"Do you really mean it, Ellen? Oh my! How glad I be! Do you mean to come back to me faithful?"

"Sure as I be standin' here I does," asserted Ellen; "and I be awful sorry you be goin' to Lunnon, and I only wish Mrs. Dale would take me too. Can't you ask her, Peggy? You and me would do for her grand!"

Peggy's eyes glistened.

"So we would; but she have got other servants, Ellen, and I'm all of a tremble, for I've never been with proper servants afore, and hardly knows what they be like. Oh, Ellen, I do be very glad you and me is friends again!"

And in rapture Peggy flung herself into Ellen's arms, when they hugged and kissed and promised to write to each other "every Sunday faithful!"

Peggy seemed to tread on air as she walked home that afternoon.

"Please 'm," she said to Helen. "I'm so full of egsitement that you must 'scuse me smilin' a lot. Ellen have made it up, please 'm, and she and me is where we was afore. And, please 'm, my heart is full up agen. It have been dreadful empty since Ellen left me. And, please 'm, Mrs. Dale is a-goin' to take me with her nex' week on Thursday."

The next week was a very busy one to Peggy. She seemed to have so much to prepare and do. She went to old Job and paid him a farewell visit, and then had the great joy of seeing her old pedlar again, and of hearing from him that her words "had taken hold of him."

"You told me to come back and tell yer," the old man said, "if my old dead soul were made alive agen. I didn't much believe I had one till you spoke to me; but when I went my ways it seemed to be prickin' me and a-heavin' of itself into my thoughts, and I couldn't sleep that there night at all. And the nex' day and the nex' I were uncommon dull and low, for I kep' thinkin' o' my old mother buried in churchyard thirty years ago or more; but she were a very religious woman, she were. And texes she used to say kep' comin' through me. 'Come unto Me . . . and I will give you rest—' that were one on 'em.

"And then you says to me, 'You'll 'ave to go to get your soul cured,' you says. And then last week I got tooked off to a mission service by a neighbour, and then it all come up agen, and after fightin' and strugglin' agen it, I giv' right in, and I kneels down and calls myself a wicked sinner and beseeches of the Lord to save my unhappy old soul. And, my girl, He listened to me, that He did, and 'tis wonnerful; and I be trustin' Him to keep me and my soul together in His hands 'till death us do part,' and then He'll take my soul to glory."

"Oh!" gasped Peggy. "I is uncommon glad, mister. I telled yer 'twould make you happy, didn't I?"

"Yes," the old pedlar said, as he hoisted his pack on his shoulders and went his way. "I be wery much obliged to you, me dear, and I'll thank you if so be you offers just a prayer in company wi' me now and agen that the Lord 'll, help me to live proper like, and not disgrace Him."

Peggy said nothing of this to any one, but it sent her about the house with such a radiant face that Joyce said indignantly to her sister—

"I declare, Peggy seems quite delighted to leave us! I suppose she really wants to get back to London. She is an ungrateful little thing, after all we have done for her!"

But if she had heard Peggy talking to herself and Albert Edward the last night in the kitchen, Joyce would not have judged her so hardly.

"How do you feel, Albert Edward? 'Tis an end and a beginnin' agen, ain't it? And I'm dreadful sorry for the end. I always did have a leanin' to the country, and it's come and gone very quick like. 'Tis very well for you to take it so calm. Your missuses are a-goin to take you with 'em, but they don't want me, and I shall miss 'em awful."

A little sob interrupted her speech. She continued, "But I ain't a-goin' to fret, for Ellen and me is friends, and that there old pedlar done what I told him to, and I shall see Mrs. Creak agen, and I likes my new missus. And London do be very home-like after all said and done, and you and me will be back here before long, Albert Edward, and if you take my advice, when you comes to disagreeables, you'll set your mind to make the best on 'em, like I does. And we won't think no more about the goodbyes to-morrer, Albert Edward, or I shall be a-roarin' and a-cryin' afore the time!"