Miss Rand had a great many, and so had Mrs. Carter, but her brother Joe had the fewest of all the grown people, for he had been building a fire in the hut, so that Mrs. Owen could fry bacon and heat cocoa for dinner.

When they all took a recess in picking and sat down on the piazza of the camp for their dinner, Peggy thought she had never tasted anything so good in her life as the bread and butter and hard-boiled eggs and crisp bacon. For dessert they had saucers of blueberries and cups of cocoa, and some cake and doughnuts, which Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Horton had contributed to the feast.

As they were resting after dinner, Mrs. Carter read a story aloud to them. Then they all picked blueberries again. Diana and Clara soon got tired, and Miss Rand fixed a comfortable place for them to lie down on the window-seats in the hut. Mrs. Owen took some gray blankets out of one of the lockers and covered them up carefully.

At night, when Dr. Carter came for them with the automobile, they had the large pails Mrs. Owen had brought filled with blueberries as well as the quart pails. Peggy had never seen so many blueberries together in her life. The automobile had seats for seven. There were four grown people at the picnic, and Dr. Carter made five. And there were six children.

"I'll come back for a second load," Dr. Carter said.

"I'd rather walk," said their Uncle Joe, "and I am sure the boys would."

"We'll go down by the short cut," said Tom.

"All right. I can stow the rest of you in."

The three ladies got in on the back seat, Diana was in front with her father, and Alice and Clara were in the side seats.

"Peggy, we can make room for you in front," said Dr. Carter.

But Peggy had no idea of missing that walk down the hill with the boys and their Uncle Joe. "I'd rather walk," she said.

"Jump in, Peggy," said her mother, "you must be very tired."

"I'm not a bit tired, truly I'm not, mother. I've been so tied down all day picking berries, I'm just crazy for a run."

"Let the young colt have a scamper," said Dr. Carter; "it will do her good."

As Peggy danced along down the hillside, she thought how fortunate Diana was to have a father and an uncle and two brothers. She raced down the hill with Christopher while Tom and his uncle followed at their heels.

"There, I have beaten you, Christopher," said Peggy, breathlessly, as she sank down on a rock at the bottom of the hill.

"I could have beaten you if I had tried," said Christopher.

"Then why didn't you?"

"Well, I thought, as you were a girl and younger, I'd let you get a start, and I expected to pass you."

"Oh, dear, I am tired of being a girl. Just let's play I'm a boy. You can call me Peter."

"I don't want to play you are a boy. I like you better the way you are," Christopher said, as he glanced at her blue frock.

"Yes, Peggy," said Uncle Joe, "we all like you better the way you are."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to be a girl and make the best of it. But I do wish I had men and boys in my family."

"You might adopt us," said Uncle Joe. "I would like you and Alice for nieces. A lot of children I'm no relation to call me 'Uncle Joe,' and I'm sure the boys would like you and Alice for cousins."

"You bet we would," said Christopher.

So Peggy came back from the picnic a much richer little girl than she had been when she went to it. "Alice," she said, as she burst into the house, "Mr. Beal says we can call him 'Uncle Joe,' and we can play that Tom and Christopher are our cousins."

"I'd like to call him 'Uncle Joe,'" said Alice, "for he was so nice about Topsy, but I don't want the boys for my cousins."



CHAPTER XI

THE GEOGRAPHY GAME

The children's Uncle Joe was an architect. He was making some additions to Mrs. Horton's house, and so he came up every little while to see how the work was getting on; and later, he was given the new Savings Bank to build. He often came on from New York for a few days and stayed with the Carters. All the children were delighted when he came, for he was just as nice as a child to play with. In fact, he was nicer, for he knew so much more. He was a great traveler, for he had been a Lieutenant in the army and had been across seas. He had traveled, also, in the United States, and there was hardly a State he had not stayed in. The children were never tired of hearing his stories about places and people. He had, too, a delightful way of inventing games, making them up out of his own head.

One rainy October afternoon, Alice and Peggy were sitting in the living-room when the telephone rang. Alice had Lady Janet curled up in her arms, and Peggy was reading aloud from "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland." Peggy flung down her book and ran to the telephone.

"Oh, Peggy," said Diana's plaintive voice, "it is so wet I have had to stay in all day; can't you and Alice come and play with me?"

"I guess so," said Peggy, who was always ready to go anywhere; "I'll ask mother."

"Don't let's go out, it is so wet," said Alice, who was interested in the story.

"I'm going if mother'll let me," said Peggy.

Mrs. Owen had no objection, and, as Alice did not like to be left behind, she and Peggy put on their rubbers and raincoats.

Alice gave Lady Janet a parting hug. "You darling, I am going to see your mother," she said; "shall I give her your love? Peggy, she is licking my hand," said Alice.

The two children went out into the chilly October rain. Alice shivered, but Peggy was delighted to be out. She walked into every puddle she came to.

"You'll get your feet wet," said Alice.

"I'm just trying to see if it will go over my rubbers," said Peggy. "Oh, it did that time—I didn't think it would."

"You've got your feet very wet," said Alice.

"I know I have, but I can dry my shoes and stockings at Diana's."

Diana was sitting before the fire in her room with a book. She jumped up and flung her arms about Alice, who was nearer her, and then about Peggy.

"Peggy has got her feet wet," said Alice anxiously. "She'll have to put on some of your stockings while hers are drying."

"I can't get into Diana's stockings," Peggy said, as she looked down at her feet. "I'll just sit in my bare feet until my shoes and stockings are dry."

"Uncle Joe and the boys may come in. I'll get you some of mother's," said Diana.

So Peggy was dressed in a pair of black silk stockings that were much too large for her, and a pair of bedroom slippers that were so big that she was afraid to walk for fear they would fall off. She liked the slippers very much, however, for they were such a pretty shade of blue, and they had black fur all around the edge.

It was early in the afternoon, so the children settled down for a long play. They were beginning to wish they could think of something else to do when Uncle Joe came in.

"How cozy you look," said he. "Can you give a poor working-man a seat by the fire?"

Peggy who was nearest the fire, sprang up, forgetting all about her slippers.

"I think I see a bird in borrowed plumage," said Uncle Joe. "Did you get your feet wet?"

"I walked into a mud-puddle on purpose, for the fun of it," said Peggy. "I wanted to see if it would go over my rubbers. I didn't think it would, but it did."

"Oh, Uncle Joe, can't we play the geography game?" said Diana. "Peggy has never played it."

"I don't like geography so very much," said Alice.

"It's just a game," said Diana. "We have to see who can say the forty-eight States quickest. We say them like the alphabet, those beginning with A first, and the one who gets the A's done first looks them up on the map, to see where they are. It's lots of fun."

"Diana likes it because she always beats Tom and Christopher," said her uncle.

"Let's begin," said Diana, "one, two, three."

But neither Peggy nor Alice could think of a single State beginning with A.

"There are three," said Diana. "You can look them up on the map and find them." She brought out an atlas and turned to a map of the United States.

Alice and Peggy pored over the map eagerly.

"I've found one," said Peggy, "it's Arizona."

"Here is Alabama," said Alice.

"Here, is another one, Arkansas," said Peggy. "Now for the B's."

"There aren't any B's," said Diana.

Tom and Christopher came in just then, and Peggy and Alice listened as the others played the game. Once in a while Peggy thought of a State beginning with the right letter, but, as a rule, she thought of the wrong States. Massachusetts would pop into her head when Uncle Joe was asking for I's, and South Carolina when he wanted the K's. It was quite discouraging, for the other children had played the game so much.

"This is only the first part of the game," said Diana. "Uncle Joe has had us each trace a map of the United States, and then we play we have to live in one of the States that begins with the same letter our first name begins with; then we put the tracing over white cardboard and cut out our State, and we can paint it any color we like. We are going to put in the rivers and big towns by and by. I can't live in any State but Delaware," she said regretfully.

"There is only Pennsylvania for me to live in," said Peggy.

"Alice can live in Arizona or Alabama or Arkansas," said Christopher.

"I don't want to live in any of them," said Alice gently, with her sweetest smile. "I want to live just where I do live."

"But New Hampshire doesn't begin with an A," said Peggy.

"I know it doesn't, but I don't want to live in any other State."

"But it's only a game," said Peggy. "Don't you want to play you live in nice Alabama where they have such warm winters, and there are such lots of cunning little black children?"

"No, I don't. I want to cut out a map of New Hampshire and paint it pink."

"But, Alice, you've got to play the game," said Peggy.

"I'm going to play my own kind of game and cut out a map of New Hampshire and paint it pink."

"If she doesn't care to live in Alabama or Arizona or Arkansas, we might let her live in a State beginning with the first letter of her last name," said Uncle Joe. "How do you feel about living in Ohio or Oklahoma or Oregon?"

"I don't want to live in any of those States. I want to live in New Hampshire and paint it pink."

"But you can't," Peggy insisted. "You've got to play the game."

Alice looked up beseechingly at Uncle Joe. She smiled and showed her dimples. "Dear Uncle Joe," she said sweetly, "can't you fix the game some way so I can live in New Hampshire and paint it pink?"

Uncle Joe looked thoughtful. A bright idea occurred to him. "Alice, what word do the three last letters of your last name spell if you begin at the end and spell backwards?"

"New," said Peggy, before Alice could speak.

"She can live in New Hampshire on that account," said Uncle Joe.

"That isn't fair," said Peggy. "I ought to be able to live in New Hampshire."

"You can if you like—or in New York, or New Jersey, or New Mexico."

Peggy was dazzled by these opportunities for travel.

"It isn't a bit fair," said Christopher. "Poor Diana oughtn't to have to live in Delaware when Peggy and Alice have such a lot of States to choose from."

"It doesn't seem quite fair," Uncle Joe admitted. "I'll have to let Diana live in a State beginning with a C if she prefers."

"And I am C. C., so I don't have much choice," said Christopher.

"When I get my map of Delaware painted and fixed and I've lived there awhile, I'll come and live in Colorado with you, Christopher."

"I'm going to begin with Pennsylvania," said Peggy. "I'm going to play the game in the right way. But where can Uncle Joe live? In Jersey with the New left off?"

"As I'm uncle to half the children I know, I feel justified in taking up my residence in the State of Utah," he said.

"Mother," Diana called out, as Mrs. Carter passed the door, "do come in; you can live in any of eight States, beginning with an M—Maine, Massachusetts—"

"My mother can, too," Peggy interrupted. "Her name is Mary. What is your mother's name?"

"Her name is Mary, too."

The two little girls wondered at the coincidence.

"Tom can only live in Tennessee or Texas," said Diana.

"I'm going to live in Texas," said Tom. "Uncle Joe has been there. He said he saw a prairie fire once and it looked like the waves of the sea. And at the ranch where he was, the turkeys roosted in trees and the moon looked as big as a cart wheel."

The children were soon busy tracing their States and cutting them out. Alice found New Hampshire so hard to do that she was sorry she had not chosen Alabama, but she would not let anybody know this on any account. She painted New Hampshire a delicate shade of pink. Peggy painted Pennsylvania a blue that shaded in with her blue frock. Diana painted Delaware green, and Tom chose crimson for Texas, the color of the college he hoped to go to some day.

"I was going to paint Colorado crimson," said Christopher.

"You can't," said Tom. "I have chosen crimson."

"Can't I paint Colorado crimson, Uncle Joe?"

"If you like. I think I'll paint Utah orange, so as to have as much variety as possible on the map."

"That is a good idea," said Christopher; "I'll paint Colorado yellow."

Alice and Peggy were so interested in the game that they played it every morning when they first waked up, and they got so they could say the forty-eight States while they were putting on their shoes and stockings. It amused them to see which States their different friends could live in.

They felt there were very few children and still fewer grown people who ought to be told the game. It was like a secret society. Some people were so scornful they would think it silly, and they did not care enough about most people to let them into the secret. Mrs. Owen thought it a good game, but she was too busy to play it. Age did not seem to make any difference. Old Michael, for instance, took to it very kindly.

Peggy sat in the wheelbarrow one day while he was raking leaves and she explained the game to him.

"You are very lucky," she ended, "for you can live in so many States—Maine, Massachusetts—" she began; and she said over the whole eight, ending with Minnesota.

"I think I'll try Minnesoty for a change," said the old man. "I've a cousin who went out to St. Paul. Will you be my grandchild and come and keep house for me?"

"I'd love to, Mr. Farrell, but I have to live in Pennsylvania. I'm learning all about William Penn and Independence Hall in Philadelphia, and Betsy Ross, who made the first flag, so I can tell it to Uncle Joe when he comes back. And I have to read about New Hampshire to Alice, so I'm quite busy. Did you know it was called the Granite State, Mr. Farrell?"

"I have heard tell as much."

"Oh, Mr. Farrell," said Peggy hopping up, "do let me try to rake the leaves. They dance about as if they were at a party. What does Mrs. Farrell's name begin with—can she go to Minnesota with you?"

"Her name is Hattie. I guess my old woman will have to stay right here in New Hampshire. It is hard to break up families that way. My old woman and I haven't been separated for forty-two years, come Christmas."

Miss Betsy Porter was another of Peggy's friends who was greatly interested in the game. Peggy often dropped in to see her and her cat. Miss Betsy Porter always had something very good and spicy to eat. This time it was spice cake. Peggy was on her way back from the village with some buttons and tape for her mother, so she could not stop long. Miss Porter thought it a grand game.

"Only, I am a woman without a country," she said. "There are no States beginning with B, and I can't even come in on Elizabeth."

"You can come in on your last name," said Peggy. "You can live in Pennsylvania with me."

"That is great. I went to Philadelphia once when I was a girl." And she told the eagerly listening Peggy all about the Quaker city with its straight streets and its old buildings.

"I am afraid if your mother is in a hurry for those buttons and that tape," said Miss Betsy, "you'd better be going home now, but some afternoon when you can stay longer I'll read you a book about some of the signers of the Declaration of Independence."

"What a lucky child I am to have my name begin with a P," Peggy said. "There can't be any other State as interesting as Pennsylvania."



CHAPTER XII

HOW PEGGY SPENT HER MONEY

As Peggy was going out of Miss Betsy's kitchen door, some hens straggled along the grass. Some were brown and some were white and some were yellow. Peggy thought they were all fat, prosperous-looking hens. She admired their red combs and their yellow legs.

"I wish we had some hens," she said to Miss Betsy. "Eggs cost such a lot we can't ever have any cake."

"I'd give you some fresh eggs to take back to your mother, only I am afraid you might slip and break them."

Peggy looked thoughtful. It would be nice to have the eggs, but it would be hard to have to walk home with the eggs on her mind.

"Mother, I wish we kept hens," she said as she ran into the kitchen. "Miss Betsy has such nice ones."

"How do you happen to know anything about Miss Betsy's hens?" her mother asked. "Is calling on Miss Betsy your idea of coming straight home from the village?"

"You didn't say to come straight home, truly, you didn't, mother. I thought you wouldn't mind my making a short call on her and the cat."

Mrs. Owen found it as hard to find fault with Peggy as it had been to find fault with Peggy's father.

"We've got a hen-house out in the yard," Peggy went on. "The people who lived here before us must have kept hens, so it must be a good climate for them."

"I have a few things to do besides taking care of hens," said Mrs. Owen firmly.

"I'd take all the care of them."

"I should as soon trust them to Lady Janet's care."

"But Alice could help me. She'd remind me to feed them."

"And, besides, hens cost a great deal," said Mrs. Owen. She had been thinking of the possibility of keeping hens.

"Do chickens cost a lot? Couldn't we begin with little chickens and let them grow into hens?"

"If we want eggs this winter we'd have to buy hens."

"Maybe people will give us a few hens," said Peggy hopefully. "Miss Betsy has a lot, and the Hortons' farmer has millions; and the Thorntons have some, and so has Michael Farrell."

"My dear little girl, people who are so fortunate as to have hens prize them more than if they had gold. You might as well expect me to give away my preserves and canned vegetables."

Peggy was never tired of looking at the rows of jars of preserves and vegetables, and the tumblers of jelly that her mother had put up. The greater part of them had been sent away, and there was enough money in the bank from their sale to buy winter coats and hats for both of the children, besides something toward then coal.

Peggy went into the pantry for another look at the shelves. There was a pint jar of the precious strawberry preserve and four pints of raspberries and a dozen pints of cherries from their own tree, and there were a great many jars of blueberries and blackberries, and there was currant jelly and grape jelly. Peggy liked the rich color of the strawberries and raspberries and cherries next the more somber blueberries and blackberries.

The shelf where the vegetables were was almost more delightful in color. The green peas and beans were next the red tomatoes, and beyond them were a few jars of pale yellow corn. They had turnips and carrots and beets stored in the cellar, ready for use.

The children felt very important, and as if their mother could not have had the garden without their help. As she believed in profit-sharing, she paid them for part of their work, while some they did just to help the garden along. At the end of the season they had each earned nearly two dollars. Their mother made it quite two dollars and told them they could spend the money exactly as they pleased, provided they did not get anything to eat with it, like candy.

"You can each get a toy if you like—something that won't break too easily; or you can get something to wear, or something growing—like a house plant."

As usual, Alice knew exactly what she wanted most. It was a doll carriage, and she and Peggy went down to the store and chose it.

Peggy did not care for any of the toys. "I want something that's alive," she said, "like a canary-bird, or one of Miss Betsy's hens. I think I'll buy a hen—that will be most useful. If she laid an egg every day we could take turns in having a fresh egg."

"That would be great," said Alice.

Miss Betsy Porter was greatly interested in the children's plan. "Only, are you sure your mother will be willing to let you keep hens?" she asked prudently.

"Yes, we have a house for them, and she said we could get anything we liked. She had thought about keeping hens, only they are so expensive."

"I will sell you a Rhode Island Red," said Miss Betsy. "They lay well, and I will throw in a fine young cock. My neighbors are complaining because the young spring roosters are beginning to crow, and I was expecting to have to send them to the market. I'll let Michael Farrell take them up to your house this afternoon, if your mother will let you have them. You can stop at his house and send me word by him whether or not your mother wants them."

Peggy and Alice went out into the yard with Miss Betsy to choose a hen and a rooster.

"It is like a family," said Peggy, "having two of them. They won't be lonely. I shall call them Henry Cox and Henrietta Cox."

"Well, children, what did you buy with your two dollars?" Mrs. Owen asked when they came home that morning.

"I got a carriage for Belle," said Alice.

"And what did you get, Peggy?"

She hesitated—"Something very useful," she said. "Guess, mother. It's something that will grow and something that is alive."

"A rose in a pot," said her mother.

Peggy laughed. "Oh, mother, you are 'way off. It has feathers."

"You haven't bought a canary-bird?" Mrs. Owen said in tones of dismay.

"No, mother, she is much more useful. It is a hen, and her name is Henrietta Cox, and Miss Betsy gave me a young cock because he crowed so he woke up the neighbors; and we haven't any near neighbors. And his name is Henry Cox."

"A hen and a cock! Peggy, what will you think of next!"

"You said I could get anything I liked, mother, and I am sure a hen is much more useful than a doll's carriage. I'll let you have one of her eggs every third morning for your breakfast."

"Did you ever stop to think how they were to be fed? Grain is so high now many people have stopped raising hens."

"Miss Betsy says the Rhode Island Reds aren't so particular as some hens. She says you can feed them partly with sour milk and scraps off the table."

"Sour milk!" said Mrs. Owen; "it's all very well for Miss Betsy to talk about sour milk, for her brother keeps a cow, and he sends her all the skim milk she can use. I am surprised she let you have a hen and cock without consulting me."

"She did say she would send them up this afternoon by old Michael if you would let me have them," faltered Peggy. "But, oh, mother dear, I do want them so much. It isn't as if I had spent my money on something foolish, like candy."

"No, that is true," said Mrs. Owen. After all, she had thought of keeping hens herself.

"I'll tell you what we'll do, Peggy," she said. "You can sell Henrietta's eggs to me, when she begins to lay, at whatever the market price is, and the money can go toward their food, and if there is any left you can have it to spend. That will be a good lesson in arithmetic for us."

So Peggy and Alice ran over to old Michael's house, where he was always to be found at his dinner-hour, to tell him the glad news.

Mrs. Farrell came to the door. She was a prosperous, comfortable looking person, with a plump, trig figure and smoothly arranged white hair. Peggy thought of telling her about the geography game, but there was something about her that made her hesitate. She was afraid Mrs. Farrell would think it a crazy game.

"Won't you come in, you little dears?" said Mrs. Farrell.

Alice looked pleased at being called a "little dear," but Peggy was all the more sure that Mrs. Farrell would not care for the geography game.

"I just wanted to see Mr. Farrell a minute," she said.

"He is at dinner. Can't you give me the message?"

"I don't think I could," said Peggy. "It is very important, and it is not easy to remember all of it. We'll not keep him a minute—truly, we won't."

"I guess I can remember the message if you can."

"It is about a hen and a rooster that Miss Betsy Porter wants him to call for to send down to our house—only mother wants our hen-house fixed first."

How bald it seemed put in this way! If only she could have seen old Michael himself, how differently she would have worded the message!

"It isn't very hard to remember that message, dearie," said Mrs. Farrell, in her cooing voice.

Peggy hated to have her call her "dearie." Half the pleasure in her purchase would be gone if she could not see old Michael. Suddenly, she had a bright idea. She ran around the side of the house to the kitchen window and waved her hand to old Michael.

It was one of the warm days in late autumn, and she was still wearing one of her blue frocks. Her hair was flying about and she pushed it back. Old Michael loved children, and he never hesitated to come at their call. He hastily shoved a large piece of apple pie into his mouth, and, seizing a piece of cheese, he came out of the kitchen door. They were out of hearing of Mrs. Farrell—that unfortunate "Hattie," who was doomed always to live in New Hampshire, while her husband was free to travel into any State, beginning with M, where his imagination led him.

"Well, what is it now?" he asked.

"Oh, Mr. Farrell, the most wonderful thing has happened!" said Peggy; "I have bought such a lovely hen from Miss Betsy Porter, and she has given me a young rooster, and I am going to play they are people from the State of Rhode Island; and their names are Mr. Henry Cox and Mrs. Henrietta Cox—only, of course, for most people, they are just a cock and hen—just two Rhode Island Reds."

"I see," said old Michael. "But why are you telling me about it?"

"Miss Betsy said you could bring them to us this afternoon. She said you were working for her, but mother wanted the hen-house fixed up a little first. Can you do it to-morrow?"

"I see," said old Michael; "you want the apartment in the hotel made ready for Mr. and Mrs. Cox?"

"Oh, yes," Peggy said, laughing with delight; "I want everything done for the people who are renting my house."

"All right, Peggy, I'll look out for the comfort of your tenants."

"My tenants are not going to keep any maid, Mr. Farrell; I've got to give them most of their meals, although they will get some out, and I thought you'd advise me what food is cheapest and best."

They talked about the best food for Mr. and Mrs. Cox all the way to Peggy's house, where Mr. Farrell stopped to inspect the hen-house on his way to Miss Porter's.

"I always meant to keep hens sometime," Mrs. Owen confided to Mr. Farrell, "but I did not mean to begin this winter."

"If you have them at all, you might as well have a few more," he said; "it is a little like summer boarders—the more you have, the more profit you get."

"I know," said Mrs. Owen, "but unfortunately, you have to begin by buying the hens."



CHAPTER XIII

MRS. OWEN'S SURPRISE PARTY

Mrs. Owen was to have a birthday, and Peggy and Alice felt something especial ought to be done to celebrate it. It was Miss Pauline Thornton who put the idea of a surprise party into Peggy's head. She came over one rainy evening to tell Mrs. Owen about a surprise party the Sewing Circle was to give to the minister's wife on her fiftieth birthday. Miss Pauline Thornton lived with her father in the large gray stone house behind the stone wall on which Peggy was fond of walking. She was a great friend of Mrs. Owens, who could never understand why the children did not like her, for she was tall and good-looking and always wore beautiful clothes. Older people found her very agreeable and efficient. Mrs. Owen helped her off with her raincoat. Underneath it was a dress the color of violets.

If Miss Pauline had been the kind of person with whom one could play the geography game, Peggy thought what a good time they could have had living together in Pennsylvania. But as it was, she did not like to spend even a half-hour with her. Miss Pauline's big house seemed dreary to Peggy, with its high ceilings and stately furniture and pictures. When she went there to call with her mother, she always hoped that she might see the collie dog and Miss Pauline's father. She liked old Mr. Thornton. He had white hair and a kind face, and he looked as if he might like to play the geography game, if only his daughter was not there, but she always was there.

Mrs. Owen was reading aloud to the children when Miss Thornton came in.

"I didn't mean to interrupt; I thought the children were always in bed by this time," she said, glancing at the clock.

"It is their bedtime, but I was late in beginning to read to them to-night. You can finish the story to yourselves if you like."

"Aren't you going to shake hands with me, Peggy?" Miss Thornton asked.

Peggy slowly unlocked her arms, which she had folded behind her, and held out an unwilling hand.

"What is the story that is so interesting?" Miss Thornton asked, as she took the book out of Peggy's other hand.

"'Snow White and Rose Red,'" she said. "I never cared for fairy-tales when I was a child."

Peggy and Alice seated themselves in the same chair, with the book between them.

"You ought to come over nearer the light; you will strain your eyes," said Miss Thornton.

Mrs. Owen gave up her seat to the children and Miss Thornton began to talk about the surprise party.

Peggy soon found herself listening.

"It is to be in the afternoon—like an afternoon tea," she said.

"Are all the parish to be there—men as well as women?" asked Mrs. Owen.

"No, only the women. It is what Prissy Baker calls a 'hen-party.'"

Peggy could keep silent no longer. "Do you mean people are going to give her hens?" she asked.

"Hens? No; that is just an expression, Peggy; that means a party of ladies."

Peggy was silent. She might have known that they would not have thought of anything so interesting. The fact that they were to take the minister's wife ten five-dollar gold pieces, in a silk bag, was a poor substitute, indeed, for living, cackling, laying hens.

After the children went to bed, they could still hear Miss Pauline's voice going on and on.

"It's funny mother likes her so much," Peggy said. "If I ever grow up I shall have friends who like to do interesting things, and read fairy-stories, and talk on nice subjects, the way Miss Betsy Porter does. Oh, Alice," she said, shutting up her eyes and then opening them wide, "I am beginning to see things on the wall. Look and see what is coming."

Alice stared at the wall, in the darkness, but as usual, she could see nothing. "What do you see?" she asked.

"Hens!" Peggy exclaimed dramatically; "white ones, Rhode Island Reds, Plymouth Rocks, yellow ones—all kinds, a regular procession; and I see ladies, too, in bright dresses. They are all going to a hen party."

"I wish I could see them," said Alice. "Do you really see them, Peggy?"

"Yes, in my mind's eye. It is such a nice picture, Alice," she cried, "let's have a surprise party of just hens for mother!"

"That would be great!" said Alice.

"We'd ask Mrs. Horton and Clara and Miss Rand."

"They wouldn't come all the way from New York."

"They might come. Sometimes they do come for a week-end, and her birthday comes on a Saturday. And we'll ask all the Carters, of course. Each family need only give one hen."

"And Miss Pauline Thornton," said Alice. "They have lots of hens."

"No," said Peggy firmly; "I'm not going to ask her. She'd spoil the party."

"She had on a lovely gown," said Alice, "and she's one of mother's best friends."

Peggy went to consult Miss Betsy Porter about the party, and Miss Betsy thought it a fine idea. She said that Peggy and Alice could bring their note-paper, with colored pictures on it, down to her house, and write the notes, and she would enclose them in a note she would write each person, so they would know there was some responsible person to help about the surprise party, and that it was not merely an idea of the children's. She said she would bring a loaf of her best spice cake and some cookies and sandwiches, and she knew that Mrs. Carter would be delighted to make and pour the tea, and Miss Thornton would pour the chocolate.

"But I don't want Miss Pauline," said Peggy. "She would spoil the party."

"But she is one of your mother's best friends. Whose birthday is it, Peggy? Yours or your mother's?"

"Mother's," said Peggy, hanging her head.

"Pauline is a good sort," said Miss Betsy. "There is no use in disliking good people, Peggy. I think it had better be a small party, for your mother would not want the care of many hens, and, besides, small parties are the most fun. We'll ask all of the Carters—that will make five."

"Six with Uncle Joe—I know he'll come on 'specially for it, if I ask him," said Peggy. "He needn't bring a hen, because he belongs to the family. There's to be just one hen for every family."

"Then, if Mrs. Horton and Miss Rand and Clara should come on," said Miss Porter, "that would make nine, I would make ten, and Miss Pauline eleven."

"If I've got to have Miss Pauline," said Peggy, with a sigh, "I'm going to have the dog and her father."

"All right," said Miss Betsy, "that will make one hen for the Carters, one for the Hortons,—for I'm sure they will give a hen, even if they can't come themselves,—one for the Thorntons, and one for me."

"Not one for you," said Peggy. "You have given me Mr. Henry Cox already."

"I would not be left out on any account," said Miss Betsy. "Six hens would be as many as your mother would want, as she isn't planning to run a poultry farm. I am sure Mrs. Horton would like to give a pair—she has so many. I'll suggest they send Rhode Island Reds—it is better to have all of a kind."

"I think it would be more fun to have them different," said Peggy.

"They get along better if they are all of a kind," said Miss Betsy. "I have too many kinds, but I can give you another Rhode Island Red. It is like the Jews and the Italians—they are happier in a quarter by themselves."

"It will be a Rhode Island Red Quarter," said Peggy, in delight. "I can name one Mrs. Rhoda Rhodes."

"I know some people who are named Henn," said Miss Betsy.

Peggy looked doubtful. "It may be all right for people," she said, "but I don't like it for hens. I think Henderson sounds nicer."

She and Alice sat down to write the notes. Miss Betsy made no suggestions, but they were glad to ask her about the spelling. Peggy wrote the notes to the Carters and Hortons, and Alice wrote the one to Miss Thornton.

Dear Mrs. Carter, Peggy wrote—

Mother is to have a birthday a week from next Saturday, and we are going to celebrate it by giving her a surprise party consisting of hens,—each family to bring one hen,—Rhode Island Reds preferred,—as we have Mr. Henry Cox and Mrs. Henrietta Cox already. Please ask Uncle Joe to come. He need not bring a separate hen, but can join in with you. Old Michael Parrell has them for sale.

Your loving friend PEGGY

This invitation is for you all,—Dr. Carter, if he is not too busy,—Tom, Christopher, and Diana.

"You haven't given the hour, or asked her to pour tea," Miss Betsy said, as she read the note through.

"Oh, bother! so I haven't. I'll put in a postscript:"

The party will begin at four o'clock. We'd like it if you would pour tea.

Alice's note was as follows:

Dear Miss Pauline,

We are going to have a surprise party for mother a week from next Saturday, at four o'clock. Will you please wear your pretty violet gown and pour chocolate and bring a hen. Please bring your father and Bruno.

Your loving little friend ALICE OWEN

When Saturday came there was great excitement at the Owens' house. The children dressed Lady Janet up with a blue ribbon, which Peggy with difficulty tied in a bow around her resisting neck. They gave their mother the little presents they had for her at breakfast-time. It seemed strange she was so unsuspicious.

After the dinner dishes were done, she said she thought she would go down to see Miss Thornton for a little while, and she invited the children to go with her.

"We don't want to go," said Peggy.

"I think you ought to change your gown, mother, and put on your pretty black, one, with the thin sleeves," said Alice.

"My dear child, why should I put on my best gown just to call on a friend?"

"Because it is your birthday," said Peggy. "We are going to dress up, too. One never knows what may happen on a birthday. Somebody might call."

If Mrs. Owen began to suspect that something unusual was to happen, she showed no sign of it, but she obediently went up and put on her black gown, with the thin sleeves, while Peggy and Alice dressed up in their best white frocks. Peggy wore a blue sash and Alice a pink one.

"It will be great to get mother out of the house," said Peggy. "I'll telephone to Miss Pauline that she is coming, so she can slip out before she gets there, and Mr. Thornton can keep mother until four o'clock, and then he and Bruno can walk back with her."

"That will be great," said Alice.

Mrs. Owen was disappointed not to find Pauline at home, and she was going to call on Mrs. Carter when Mr. Thornton invited her in with such a courtly bow that she could not refuse. She noticed that he gave an uneasy glance at the clock, from time to time.

"I am afraid I am keeping you from some engagement," she said at last.

"I was going out for a walk with Bruno at four," said he. "We will walk home with you if you will let us."

"I shall be delighted, and so will the children."

There was no one in sight when she opened the front door, but there was a suspicious noise from the dining-room. People seemed to be walking about and setting the table.

"I think I am going to have a surprise party," said Mrs. Owen. "Won't you stay for it?"

"That is just what I mean to do," said Mr. Thornton. "Bruno and I had an especial invitation."

The dining-room door opened, and who should come into the parlor but Mrs. Owen's dear friend Mrs. Horton, who she thought was miles away.

"Hester!" she cried, in delight. And the two ladies kissed each other, just as heartily as if they had been little girls.

"Why, Clara, how do you do? Here are more surprises," she said.

Clara gave a stiff little curtsey and held up her cheek primly to be kissed.

"And Miss Rand, too; this is great! Oh, and Mr. Beal! I did not see you at first. What a delightful party this is!" and she greeted Mrs. Carter and her children, as they came out of the dining-room.

"The doctor had to go out of town to see a patient," said Mrs. Carter, "but he hopes to get here before we go."

Then the door from the kitchen opened, and Miss Betsy Porter came into the dining-room with the chocolate urn, and Miss Pauline followed with plates of cake.

It was a delightful party. Everybody enjoyed it. The only trouble was that Uncle Joe found so much to say to Miss Pauline that Peggy did not see as much of him as she would have liked. If he had to talk to a grown-up young lady, she did not see why he did not talk to Miss Rand—she was so much nicer.

Mrs. Owen had no idea there was anything more in the way of a surprise. She drank her cup of tea and talked to Mrs. Horton and Mrs. Carter with pleasure that seemed to shine out from her face.

"Would you take me out to the hen-house, to see your cock and hen, Mrs. Owen?" Mr. Thornton asked, a little later. "I have heard so much about Peggy's new family, I'd like to see them."

"Certainly," said Mrs. Owen, a little surprised; "they are not much to look at, just a pair of Rhode Island Reds."

She was surprised to find all of her guests following them, but she had no suspicions. They went out of the front door, and walked around through the side yard to the back of the house. What was Mrs. Owen's surprise to see a sign on the hen-house, painted in red letters, outlined in white:

HOTEL HENNERY

she read. "Why, how amazing!" she said.

"It's Mr. Farrell's present to you, mother," Peggy said. "He has been working at home, painting that board, and he put it up while you were at Mr. Thornton's. Isn't it a nice sign?"

As Mrs. Owen came near the hen-house, she stood still, in amazement. It seemed as if something was the matter with her eyes, and she was seeing double. For there, walking about the netted-in hen-yard, with an air of being completely at home, were not only Henry and Henrietta Cox, but two others, closely resembling Henrietta.

"They are Henrietta's cousins," Peggy explained, "the Henderson sisters, Charity and Hope, and Faith is inside the house." Sure enough, there was Faith and another lady from Rhode Island whom Peggy introduced to her mother as Biddy Henshaw. But who was the seventh feathered person walking out of the door? Peggy counted again—yes, there were the three Hendersons and Biddy Henshaw—that made four; and Rhoda Rhodes, and her own dear Henrietta, and Henry Cox—six hens and a cock—there were surely seven hens. Where did the seventh come from? She counted them over and over again. There were seven. Who had brought the seventh? She asked everybody. No one knew. Suddenly, she knew as well as if she had been told. It must have been old Michael. He had brought it as a surprise when he came with the sign. And the hen's name flashed into her mind.

"Mother," she said, "this is Angelica Seraphina Hen-Farrell."

"What a silly name!" said Clara.

"I'm tired of giving them sensible names," said Peggy.

And so the surprise party turned into a surprise for Peggy herself. Peggy had asked old Michael to come to the surprise party, but he had refused.

"I haven't the right clothes to wear," he said.

"It doesn't matter about the clothes," said Peggy. "It is the person inside them."

Old Michael was so curious to see how Peggy took the surprise of the seventh hen that he strolled around to see. He had on his working clothes, but his face and hands had been well scrubbed after the day's work was over. He waited until the grown-up people turned to go back into the house, and then came forward where Peggy could see him. Alice, followed by the other children, was going toward the house.

"Well, Peggy, was it a good surprise party?" he asked.

"It was great, and I got surprised myself! How nice of you to give mother Angelica Seraphina Hen-Farrell! That is her name, isn't it?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Farrell. "How did you happen to know it?"

"It just popped into my head," said Peggy. "I shut up my eyes, and I just seemed to know she was Angelica Seraphina Hen-Farrell."

"She is called 'Angel' for short," he said.

"Angel? What a nice name! I'm so glad we have seven hens. Don't you like odd numbers best, Mr. Farrell? I think they are much more interesting."

"They say there is luck in odd numbers," he said.

"Alice likes even numbers best," said Peggy.

"Yes, she would; she's a kind of even-dispositioned young one."

"Yes, Alice is a darling," said Peggy.

"There are other darlings round here," he said.

"Yes, seven of them: Hope, Faith, and Charity Henderson; Biddy Henshaw, Rhoda Rhodes, Angel Hen-Farrell, and my own dear Henrietta Cox. Oh, there are eight—I forgot Mr. Henry Cox. He's the greatest darling of them all."



CHAPTER XIV

A CHRISTMAS EGG

Carols are what one thinks of at Christmas, and eggs seem to belong to Easter, but this was an especial egg that was very dear to Peggy because it was one of the first. Peggy and Alice had hunted with such anxious care, every morning in Hotel Hennery, to see if they could find any eggs, and each morning they were disappointed; for all the hens were moulting.

"It does seem as if they needn't all moult at the same time," said Peggy. "I do hope somebody will begin to lay before Thanksgiving, so we can have a Thanksgiving egg. Henrietta, don't you think you could give me just one egg for Thanksgiving?"

Whatever Henrietta's thoughts were, she kept them to herself, and not one hen produced an egg in time for Thanksgiving.

Mrs. Owen, with Peggy and Alice, dined with the Carters. Mrs. Carter wrote saying what pleasure it would give them all if they could come, and she added there would be no other guests except her husband's Aunt Betsy and her brother Joe. She hoped it would not be too hard for Mrs. Owen to have a Thanksgiving dinner in her own old house; if she did not feel like it, she would understand.

Dear Mrs. Carter Mrs. Owen replied—

It would be much harder to stay at home than to go to you. The greatest cause I have for Thanksgiving this year is the fact that you are my friend, and that Diana is the friend of my children. Since we had to leave the house, I am glad it is you who are living in it.

Faithfully yours MARY OWEN

So the children had a happy Thanksgiving, even without the Thanksgiving egg. And still Peggy and Alice looked eagerly for eggs and could not find even one. Autumn had changed to winter, and still the hens were moulting, and there were no eggs. The vegetable garden, at the back of the house, was now turned into a fairy country, for the brown earth was covered with a snowy quilt, and every twig on the trees and shrubs was encased in diamonds. The snow came suddenly—one night, when the children went to bed, the ground had been bare, and in the morning the world seemed all made over new. But still the dwellers in Hotel Hennery showed no signs of laying eggs.

And then one morning, a few days before Christmas, just as the children had given up hope, Peggy found an egg. It was a thrilling moment; and Angel Hen-Farrell was so proud to be the first of the hens to lay an egg that she would not stop talking about it. What she said sounded to Alice like "Cut-cut-cad-ar-cut, cadarcut, cadarcut," but Peggy said she was talking a foreign language.

"I can translate it for you, Alice," she said; "it is the Rhode Island Red language."

"What is she saying?"

"She is saying: 'Come and look at my first egg of the season. It is very beautiful. The shell is of the palest brown, like coffee ice-cream. It is very beautiful. Look at it, all ye hens who have laid nothing. It is very beautiful—of palest brown, like coffee ice-cream.'"

Diana had one of her ill turns, just before Christmas; and the poor little girl had to spend Christmas in bed. She was much better when the day came, but her father said she must not get up, but that she could see Peggy and Alice for a little while in the afternoon.

The children had hung their stockings up the night before, and they had been surprised and delighted with their presents. Peggy wanted to take them up to show to Diana.

"But there are such a lot of them," Alice protested, "and some of them are so big."

"We can wear up the furs and stocking-caps and mittens," said Peggy, "and we can put the other things in a basket and carry them up on our new sled. She'd love to see her namesake."

"I'm not going to take Diana out in such slippery walking," said Alice, "she might get a fall and break her head."

"As you please," said Peggy; "but I know if I liked a person well enough to name a child after her, I'd take her up the first minute, slippery or not."

"You might," said Alice, "but I'm not going to. She is my child, and she's very breakable."

"Well, anyway, I am going to take Diana a Christmas egg, breakable or not."

"It isn't your egg; it's mother's," Alice reminded her; for Henrietta had not begun to lay.

"I'm sure mother will let me have an egg to give to Diana, won't you, mother?"

"Certainly," said Mrs. Owen; "I should never have had any of my Rhode Island friends if it had not been for Peggy."

"I think I'll write a verse to go with the egg," said Peggy.

Alice admired the way in which Peggy could write verses. Peggy had only to take a pencil in hand, and a verse seemed to come out on the paper. "I think the verses live inside the pencil," Peggy once said. She liked a blue pencil best. It seemed to have more interesting verses living inside it than a black one.

"I'd like to see if I can do it," Alice said.

"All right," and Peggy handed the pencil over. "Don't hold it so tight; hold it loosely, like this."

But the pencil would write nothing for Alice, no matter how she held it. And Peggy had only held it a few minutes before she wrote a verse. She sat with her eyes tight shut, for she said she could think better. And presently Peggy and the pencil wrote a Christmas verse. She liked it so well she copied it on a sheet of her best Christmas note-paper. At the head of the sheet was the picture of a window with a lighted candle and a Christmas wreath; and there were a boy and a girl outside, singing Christmas carols. This was the verse that Peggy and the pencil wrote.

"I'd like to send a Christmas carol, To please and cheer my dear Diana: But here's an egg Angel Hen-Farrell Has laid in her best Christmas manner."

Mrs. Owen packed the egg carefully with cotton wool in a small box. She folded the paper with the verse on it and put that on top. She tied the box up with some Christmas ribbon that had come around one of Peggy's presents. The ribbon had holly leaves with red berries on it. She slipped a tiny Santa Claus card under the ribbon. On the card Peggy wrote, "Diana, from a friend who lives in Hotel Hennery."

Peggy put the box in a bag, and some other presents for Diana, from Mrs. Owen and Alice and herself; and they put in a few of their presents and cards to show her. It was very slippery. Their mother went with them as far as the Thorntons' and she carried the bag. Then Peggy carried it, for a time, and then Alice. Peggy fell down once. She landed on the back of her head, but she held the bag out in front of her so the egg should not get broken.

Diana was delighted to see them. She was in bed, in a pretty brown woolen dressing-gown, that was just the shade of her hair and eyes. The bed was covered with books and games, and there were two dolls leaning against the footboard, and one in Diana's arms. She was a pretty doll, with yellow hair, almost the color of Peggy's hair, and eyes that opened and shut.

"See, she shuts her eyes tight, just as you do, Peggy, when you are thinking hard," said Diana. "She looks quite a lot like you."

"Her eyes are blue and mine are gray," said Peggy. "I wonder why they never make dolls with gray eyes."

"She is named for you," Diana announced. "Tom and Christopher gave her to me, and she came with her name written on a Christmas card that was pinned to her dress, 'Peggy Owen Carter,' and Tom wrote a poem that came with her."

Diana hunted through the box which held her Christmas cards and letters, and finally found the verses, which she read aloud.

"Closed in her room, in her white bed, Poor little suffering martyr, While others skate or coast with sled, There lies Diana Carter.

"But she's so joyous in her mind, She makes our Christmas merry. She's quite adorably kind, With lips like a red berry.

"A holly berry, bright and gay, Some children may be smarter, But there's no child on Christmas Day Sweeter than dear Di Carter.

"So, while in her white bed she lies, Poor little Christmas martyr, We give her as a glad surprise, Miss Peggy Owen Carter.

"Her eyes are blue, her hair is gold, She surely is a charmer. We rescued her, like knights of old, And vowed that naught should harm her.

"For she was living in a shop, In a glass case, this treasure, Where she could neither run nor hop, With weary months of leisure.

"So Peggy Owen Carter comes, With joyous Christmas greeting, A carol gay, she softly hums, Joy's long, if time is fleeting."

"What a nice poem," said Peggy, with a sigh of envy.

"Yes, isn't it?" said Diana.

"I wish I could write poetry like that," said Peggy. "I just wrote one verse. It's in my present to you."

"Oh, have you brought me a present?" Diana said, in delight.

"Yes, mother and Alice and I have each given you one, and there is this one from Angel Hen-Farrell."

"An egg!" Diana cried. "Father said I could have an egg for my supper. I'll have it dropped on toast. I couldn't have any of the Christmas dinner, except the oyster soup."

"Oh, you poor darling!" said Peggy.

"It was very good soup," said Diana, "and I was so happy to have Peggy Owen Carter and the rest of my presents; and the carols, last night, were so lovely!"

"Carols last night?" the children cried. "We didn't hear any."

"The Christmas Waits came and sang under my window. I could see them from my bed. The leader carried a torch so the others could see to read their books. He had on a red cloak. And they sang such beautiful carols!"

"Oh, why didn't they come out and sing to us?" said Alice.

"You are pretty far out of town. I think they only sang to sick people and old people. They went up to the hospital, and they asked father for a list of his patients who were not too sick to be disturbed by the singing."

"Well, anyway, I'd rather have been well than to have heard the carols," said Peggy. "You poor dear, I can't get over your being in bed on Christmas Day."

But Diana's eyes were shining. "I shouldn't have had Tom's poem if I had been well," she said, "or the Christmas egg. Even if one is sick, Christmas is the happiest time in all the year."



CHAPTER XV

THE GREAT STORM

That was a winter of great storms. They began in November, and the snow piled up higher and higher, so that when one went down to the shops, one walked between walls of snow. The oldest inhabitant remembered nothing like it.

"It seems like going up mountains," Peggy said to Alice, one day when they came to a house where the sidewalk had not been shoveled out.

It was a wonderful winter for children, for such coasting and tobogganing had never been known. It was not such a good winter for creatures who wore fur and feathers. Lady Janet, who had never known any other winter and did not realize that the oldest inhabitant had not known one like it, would return from an encounter with the snowflakes in dazed wonder and take her seat on a chair in front of the kitchen stove, or she would patiently watch by a mouse-hole for hours together.

The inhabitants of Hotel Hennery took life placidly, although they were confined to the hotel. But, having nothing more interesting to do, they turned their attention to laying eggs; after January set in, they all began to lay, so that Mrs. Owen and the children each had a fresh egg for breakfast most of the time.

The snow-storms grew more and more frequent as the winter passed, and the snow was deeper and deeper. It was all great fun for Alice and Peggy. They never tired of the coasting and the walk to and from school. It was hard for Diana, however, for in stormy or very cold weather she had to stay in the house. She was so much better after the summer that, in the autumn, she began to go to school. Diana was in the same room with Peggy, in the class below her. She had to be out of school almost half the time.

"I wouldn't mind being out of school," said Alice. "Think of having no lessons to get and staying in that lovely room with a wood fire on the hearth, and everybody coming to see you."

"You wouldn't like it a bit if you didn't feel well," said Peggy. "Think of not being able to go coasting."

The children went to see Diana almost every day, and there did not seem to be any room quite so pleasant as Diana's room, with the fire on the hearth and the blooming flowers.

Diana was often well enough to be downstairs in the parlor, and this was a pleasant room, too. It seemed strange to the children to think it was their own old parlor, for it was so differently arranged. There was a large piano at which Diana practiced when she was well enough. It took up the side of the room where their mother's writing-desk had been. Their piano was an upright one, and it had been on the opposite side of the room. Small as it was, it almost filled up one side of their tiny parlor now. It had been used very little since it had gone to its new surroundings, for there was no longer any money for music-lessons, and Mrs. Owen had been too busy to touch it; besides, she had never played a great deal, except the accompaniments for her husband's singing. So the piano was resting. But Mrs. Owen had determined that, just as soon as she had got ahead a little, the children should have their music-lessons again.

Alice's birthday came in February, and when her mother asked her what she would like best, in the way of a celebration, she did not hesitate a minute.

"I should like to have Diana come the night before and spend the whole day."

"Don't you want any one else?"

"No one else," said Alice, "except you and Peggy, of course. I never have played dolls all I wanted to, because Peggy doesn't like to play, and so, on my birthday, I'd like to have just a feast of dolls, from morning until night."

"But there will be your school," said her mother. "I couldn't let you skip that."

"Couldn't you? I thought perhaps you could."

"No, I couldn't. I think it would be better if Diana came to dinner and for the afternoon."

"No," said Alice, "the night is the best part. Peggy can sleep in the spare room, and we can have our dolls sleep with us, and the next day, Diana can rest while I go to school."

It seemed a pretty good plan—Alice's plans were usually reasonable. The only doubt was, whether Diana would be well enough to make the little visit. But she was well enough, and her father drove her down in his sleigh, all bundled up in many wraps. Diana had on a brown cap made of beaver fur that almost matched her golden-brown hair. And over this, to make sure she did not take cold, was a thick, brown veil. Wrapped around her shoulders and pinned with a large gilt pin, in the shape of a feather, was a warm, green-and-blue plaid shawl. Under this was her own brown coat, and under that, a blue sweater. Peggy undid her wraps and pulled off her blue mittens.

They had a fire in the parlor because Diana was coming, and they gave Diana the small company chair that their grandmother used to sit in when she was a little girl.

While Peggy was busy getting Diana out of her wraps, Alice was taking off the wraps of her namesake Alice, and those of Peggy Owen Carter, for Diana had been asked to bring these two with her. The dolls were wrapped up in the same way their little mother was, only they wore hoods instead of fur caps, and they did not have sweaters under their coats. But they were carefully wrapped up in Turkish towels, instead of shawls.

"I hope my children have not taken cold," said Diana. "Peggy is rather delicate."

"I won't have a delicate namesake," said Peggy. "She can't be delicate if she is named for me."

No sooner had Peggy said it than she noticed a shadow on Diana's bright face, and she remembered that Diana was delicate. One never thought of her as an invalid, for she was always so cheerful.

"I think it is nice for people to be delicate," Peggy hastened to add, "but not for dolls. If a doll is delicate, she might get broken."

"Our dolls are people," Alice said, "aren't they, Diana?"

"Certainly," said Diana. "They are just as much people as the Rhode Island Reds are."

"Indeed, they are not," said Peggy. "My darling Rhode Island Reds are alive."

"Your Rhode Island Reds could be killed and eaten," said Alice. "Nobody would eat a doll any more than they would a person. And they look like people, and the Rhode Island Reds don't."

It was hard for Peggy to have Alice and Diana sleep together without wanting her. It was the first time in her life that she had not slept with Alice the night before her birthday. In fact, the only times she could remember their being separated at night was when Alice had the measles, and one other time, when she herself had gone for a short visit to her grandmother with her father. And the worst of it was, there was plenty of room for three in the wide bed, if it were not for the room those ridiculous dolls took up. Diana was her intimate friend just as much as she was Alice's. Indeed, even more, because they liked to read the same books and to write stories. Diana was nearer her age than Alice's; and yet, Alice liked to have these stupid dolls sleep with her better than her own flesh-and-blood sister!

Mrs. Owen noticed that Peggy looked very sober at supper time, and, while she was helping with the dishes, she said, "What is my little girl looking unhappy about?"

"Do I look unhappy, mother?"

"Yes, what is the trouble?"

Then Peggy told her the whole story.

"Now, Peggy, let's sit right down and see what we can do about it," said Mrs. Owen. "You are jealous because Alice wants Diana all to herself. It is very natural, but it is not a nice feeling."

"I am not jealous of Diana," said Peggy; "but I just can't stand having Alice like to play with dolls better than to play with me. I could tell them fairy-stories, and see things on the wall."

"But that is no treat for Alice. You can do that any night. What she wants is somebody who likes to play dolls just as much as she does. It is Alice's birthday we are celebrating, not yours. When your birthday comes, you can have Diana all to yourself, if you like, for the night."

"But I'd always rather have Alice, too—always, always," said Peggy.

"But if you were fond of dolls, and Alice had been saying impolite things about them, you might find it pleasanter to have Diana all to yourself. I suspect you have been saying some not very kind things about Alice's family."

"I said Belle looked as if she had smallpox," Peggy owned, "and so she does. I said Sally Waters's feet were so small she could put them in her mouth."

"Do you think those remarks were very kind?"

Peggy looked thoughtful. "Perhaps not exactly kind," she said.

"Now, Peggy, I am going to let you sleep with me to-night," said Mrs. Owen.

"Truly mother," said Peggy, with a radiant face.

"And now we will think out just how we can make Alice and Diana have a good time to-morrow," Mrs. Owen went on. "Suppose, while I am making cookies and biscuit for the flesh-and-blood members of the family, you make small ones for the dolls? I am sure that will delight the little mothers. To tell the truth, Peggy, I didn't like dolls a bit better than you do when I was a little girl. I liked playing around with my brother William and your father a great deal better."

Peggy felt a little happier when Diana said, in a disappointed tone, "Isn't Peggy going to sleep with us?"

"No," said Alice; "the dolls are going to sleep with us. Peggy doesn't care about dolls. I am going to have a real feast of dolls, for once in my life."

"And I am going to sleep with mother," said Peggy proudly.

"You are not!" said Alice, thinking Peggy was joking.

Peggy could hear the children's voices going on and on in the other room, as she lay in bed. It made her feel lonely. Her mother always sat up late, so she would not come to bed for a long time. She tried to amuse herself by seeing things on the wall, but this was no fun without Alice. The voices in the other room went on and on until Peggy grew drowsy, and at last, fell asleep.

She was waked up by the slamming of a blind. The wind had risen, and she felt the cold air blowing in at her window. She looked at the face of the illuminated clock, which stood at the side of her mother's bed, on a small table. The hands pointed to ten minutes past ten. Her mother would soon come upstairs. The wind was so cold she got up to shut the window, and her bare feet walked into a snowdrift. Yes, there was really quite a little mound of snow on the floor, for it had begun snowing fast just before supper. She stopped to brush it up, and then took the electric candle and went into the other room to see if there was any snow coming in there. But there was not, for the windows were not on the same side of the house. She could see by the light of her candle that the bed was, indeed, too full to have left any place for her. On the outer side of the white pillow lay Belle, her staring brown eyes wide open; and next her was Sally Waters, peacefully sleeping; and beyond her, the doll that was Diana's namesake. Then came Alice herself, fast asleep, her long, dark lashes against her cheek, and a happy look on her face. Beyond her lay Peggy Owen Carter, also asleep; and next to Alice's namesake, and on the inner side of the bed and beyond her, lay Diana herself, fast asleep, with slightly parted lips.

"Well," said Peggy, "I never saw anything like that before. She has dolls on both sides of her. I guess she has a feast of dolls, for once in her life."

Peggy hurried back to bed, for her feet were icy cold. She was still awake when her mother came upstairs.

"Mother, what do you think? I walked into a snowdrift," said Peggy.

"What do you mean?" said her mother.

So Peggy told her all about it.

"You ought to have called me," said Mrs. Owen.

"But it was such fun sweeping it up and throwing it out of the window. We can't throw dust out of the window."

When Peggy waked in the morning, the air was thick with snowflakes, and everything was heaped and piled high with snow. It seemed as if it would be impossible to get out to feed the hens, for not only was it very deep, but it was drifting with the wind.

"It is a real blizzard," said Mrs. Owen. "It is the worst storm we have had yet."

"Oh, there is no going to school to-day, mother," Alice said, dancing about the room in glee.

It was not often that Alice danced. She was a quiet child. Peggy caught Alice by the waist, and they both danced together, and then they each took one of Diana's hands and they all three danced in a strange dance that they made up as they went along. It was full of bobbing curtsies and racing and scampering about the room. They ended by coming up to Mrs. Owen and making more curtsies, just the number that Alice was years old.

"Madam, it is your daughter's birthday," said Peggy. "Madam, the Frost King has decided to celebrate it by his best blizzard. He has planned it so we can't go to school, and so Diana can make us a longer visit. All hail to the Frost King!"

"I wish the Frost King had planned it so we could get our milk this morning," said Mrs. Owen; "he didn't tell me he was planning the blizzard, and now I haven't a bit of milk in the house."

"The Frost King says the water is all right for drinking," said Peggy. "He says it is so cold it doesn't have to be put on ice."

The children had a merry time eating their breakfast, although even Peggy's fertile imagination could think of no way by which the Frost King could make oatmeal taste well without milk.

Suddenly Mrs. Owen had a bright idea. "We can have maple syrup on our oatmeal," she said.

This was, indeed, a treat, and so were the eggs the Rhode Island family had laid, and there was delicious toast and butter, and oranges, as an especial birthday treat.

"I am afraid old Michael won't be able to come and shovel us out, on account of his rheumatism," said Mrs. Owen.

Peggy and Alice put on their raincoats and rubber boots and stocking caps, and they took their snow-shovels and tried to make a path to the hen-house. Diana watched them, with her face close to the kitchen window. Peggy stopped to wave to Diana, and lost her footing, tumbling down into the snow. She got up, shaking herself and laughing heartily. Diana watched the children as their eyes grew brighter and their cheeks redder and redder with their exercise. The snow powdered them over with flakes from head to foot. It was impossible to make a good path, for the wind kept blowing the snow back, but they made enough headway so they could get out to Hotel Hennery. They came back to the house for food for its hungry inhabitants. There were others to be fed—blue jays, chickadees, sparrows, and crows; and then a flock of pheasants. And there was Lady Janet. She could not understand why there was no milk in her saucer and looked at them with beseeching eyes.

As the long morning passed, and Peggy and Mrs. Owen were busy in the kitchen, making the large biscuits and cookies, and the small ones, even Alice had begun to get tired of playing with dolls.

"Can't we come out in the kitchen and help you?" she asked.

"No, I don't need your help."

"Can't Peggy come in and play games with us?"

"No, Peggy is helping me."

"I am very busy," said Peggy. "You can play games by yourselves."

Then Alice realized how flat every game seemed without Peggy. It was all right so long as they were playing dolls, but one could not play dolls all day. The geography game would be a pleasant change. Alice proposed having an afternoon tea for the dolls, and Diana agreed, although it did not seem quite a suitable hour for it in the middle of the morning.

"I wish mother would let us go out into the kitchen and help her," Alice said.

They had had too much play, and this was the truth. A little real work would have been interesting.

"I guess they are making some kind of a surprise for your birthday dinner," said Diana.

And when dinner came, and they saw the big biscuits and the little ones, and large cookies with caraway seeds in them, and the small ones, they were perfectly delighted.

The dolls were all allowed to come to the table with them, and, as there were four people and five dolls, each doll was well looked after. Alice had two on one side of her and one on the other. It was a merry meal; Peggy, having made up her mind to play dolls, did it thoroughly. She answered for the dolls in a different voice for each. Her namesake, Peggy Owen Carter, who sat beside her, ate so much her little mother had to reprove her.

"My dear child, you mustn't be so greedy," said Diana. "I should think you had never tasted lamb stew before."

"I haven't," said Peggy Owen Carter, in a shrill, high-pitched voice that made the children laugh. "We only have such things as legs of lamb and roast beef and turkey and broiled chickens at our house."

"Oh, please, can't we help to do the dishes?" Diana asked, when the lively meal was over.

"Yes, you and Alice can do the dishes inside while Peggy helps me in the kitchen with the pots and pans."

"Can't Peggy help us?" Alice asked.

She had learned the value of Peggy. Everything was so much more exciting when she was around.

"You can begin by yourselves, and I'll be through with her pretty soon," said Mrs. Owen.

It kept on snowing fast all day, and, toward the end of the afternoon, Diana began to wonder how she was to get home. Mrs. Owen went to the telephone to call up the Carters, but could not make it work. She tried again and again. The line was out of order. This had happened once before that winter in another snowstorm. Diana began to look a little sober. She was not exactly homesick, but the thought of home with her father and mother and her two brothers seemed very pleasant. It seemed forlorn not to be able to reach them by telephone. They knew where she was, however, and it was pleasant to have Peggy and Alice so overjoyed at the great storm.

"They never can come for Diana to-day," Peggy said. "The roads aren't broken out."

When night came, both Diana and Alice begged Peggy to sleep with them, and this was a triumph. They asked her to sleep in the middle, as each wanted Peggy next to her; and they kept her telling stories of what she saw on the wall until Mrs. Owen came up and said, "Children, you must stop talking, or I shall take Peggy into my room again."

Peggy saw wonderful things. They were all snow scenes, in deep forests where every twig was coated with diamonds or powdered with snow. She saw the Frost King there, having his revels, and finally, just before Mrs. Owen came up to stop their talking, she saw the roads being broken out, and Tom and Christopher coming for Diana with the big sled. Diana went to sleep with this pleasant picture in her mind, and, toward the end of the next day, it really happened. It stopped snowing early the next morning, but the snow-plough did not get around in time for the children to go to school. It was just after dinner when Tom and Christopher appeared.

"We've come to make a path to your front door, Mrs. Owen," Tom said. "And we'll make one to the hen-house, too."

They had brought their snow-shovels along with them, and they began to dig with a will. Peggy got her shovel and went out to help them, and Alice and Diana watched the merry trio from the window.

"I can't bear to have Diana go," said Peggy. "I wish she could live here always."

"I've had a lovely time," said Diana.

But, like Lady Jane Grey, she was glad to get back to the other house.



CHAPTER XVI

GRANDMOTHER OWEN'S VISIT

There were other great storms before the winter was over, and spring was very late that year, but when it did come it seemed to the children as if the world had never been so beautiful. This was the joy of living in New England. There was no monotony about the seasons. After a winter with banks and banks of snow, and coasting enough to satisfy one's wildest dreams, the snow vanished; and the brown earth soon became ready for planting; the same miracle began again, of green points poking their heads up to the light.

And if other springs had been delightful, this was so thrilling Peggy wanted to dance and shout with joy—for her own dearly beloved Henrietta Cox was sitting on a dozen eggs, and one day some downy, fluffy chickens were hatched out. Yes, actually, these tiny creatures—living, moving, breathing creatures, all of them Peggy's very own—were chipping their shells, and making their entrance into this wonderful world. Alice took the chickens more calmly, but she was greatly interested in them in her quiet way.

"Oh, mother, I do hope grandmother likes chickens," Peggy said, when Mrs. Owen told the children that she had a letter from their grandmother, fixing the time of her annual spring visit.

"Peggy, you never seem to be able to think of but one thing at a time," said her mother. "What difference will it make whether your grandmother likes chickens? She won't have to do anything about them."

The children were very much interested in helping arrange the spare room for their grandmother. Alice got out the prettiest bureau cover from the linen closet, and the children helped their mother wash the china for the washstand. It was pretty china, covered with small pink roses, with green leaves. And there was a pincushion, that was white over pink, on the bureau. Peggy went out and picked some of the hemlock and put that in a green vase on the table.

It was a pleasant excitement to have their grandmother come. She always brought them presents. She was a quiet, dignified woman, and she had brown eyes very like Alice's, but her hair, that was once brown, was now snow-white. They all went down to the station to meet her, and they rode back with her in the taxi, and that was great fun.

Their grandmother was not a person who expressed a great deal, so, when she came into the house and said, "Mary, how pleasant you have made this little house look," they were all very much pleased.

The children could hardly wait for her trunk to be unpacked, for they were eager to see what she had brought. They did not venture to go into her room; she liked to have her room to herself. She was tired, and it was almost supper-time before she came down. She had some things in her hands.

"I have some blue gingham here for a dress for Peggy, and some pink for Alice," she said. "I have brought some material for new white dresses, too."

The children were delighted with the thought of their new frocks. Their grandmother brought them each a book besides.

Lady Janet wandered into the parlor.

"You have the same cat, I see," said their grandmother.

"Oh, no, grandmother, she's different," Alice said. "Don't you see how different she is? She's her daughter. She hasn't so many stripes on her tail, and she's a lighter gray. And she's got a different character."

"Has she?" said their grandmother, as pussy began to sharpen her claws on the sofa. "It seems to me her nature is very much the same. Do you let her come into the parlor?"

"Sometimes," said Mrs. Owen. "If the children see that she doesn't go up into the bedrooms and make small footmarks on the bed quilts—that is all I ask."

"You don't like cats very well, do you, grandmother?" said Peggy.

"Yes, I like them in their proper place."

"What is their proper place?" Peggy asked.

"I like to see a cat sitting patiently in front of a mouse-hole, or lying on the bricks in front of the kitchen stove; but I don't like to see it scratching the parlor furniture."

"Neither do I," said Mrs. Owen. "Put Lady Janet out into the kitchen, Alice."

They all went out to supper, and again the older Mrs. Owen praised the dainty appearance of the table.

"Mary, I don't know how you have done it, but you have made this tiny house just as attractive as your large one."

"All the paper and paint are new and fresh here, and I got rid of all my ugly furniture and have only kept the old pieces."

"I wish you would come and do my house over for me. And, by the way, I am hoping you and the children will come and spend three months with me this summer. I am sure the sea air will do the children good."

She did not notice how their faces clouded over. The mere suggestion filled them with despair. Leave her beloved Rhode Island Reds, Peggy was thinking, just as Henrietta had hatched out twelve downy, fluffy balls? Why, they would be big chickens when they came back. Leave Lady Janet? was Alice's thought. No sea-bathing and boating could make up for the loss of her friendly little face.

"Could I take Lady Janet with me, grandmother?" Alice asked.

"I hardly think so. A cat does not like to be moved."

"It is very kind of you to think of it," said Mrs. Owen, "but I am afraid I shall have to stay right here by my garden and my hens."

"Oh, have you hens?" Mrs. Owen asked.

"Yes, grandmother, seven of them and a cock," Peggy said; "and twelve teenty, tinety chickens, the dearest, cunningest things. Don't you remember," she added, reproachfully, "how I wrote and told you we had a birthday surprise party of hens for mother?"

"I do remember it now."

Peggy said no more about the hens. How terrible it was to be so old that the idea of seven hens and a cock and twelve chickens made no more impression on one than that! And yet, Miss Betsy Porter must be nearly as old as her grandmother, and Miss Betsy was deeply interested in hens. After all, it was the kind of person you were, and not the age.

Two or three days later, as Mrs. Owen was writing letters, she heard Peggy say to Alice, "I like it better when grandmother isn't here."

"So do I," said Alice. "I wonder when she is going home?"

Mrs. Owen looked up from her writing. "She is going to stay ten days longer, and then, if I can persuade her, she will come back to us for the whole summer."

Mrs. Owen turned to look at her little girls. Their faces wore a discontented, rebellious look.

"Did it ever occur to you that it is of no importance whether you like the way things are or not?" she asked. "You are two very small, unimportant people. Did you ever stop to think what your grandmother has had to bear?"

They had never thought anything about it. Their minds had been entirely taken up with their own affairs.

"Your father was your grandmother's only child," Mrs. Owen went on, and her voice was unsteady. "She owned the big house we used to live in, and every summer they came to it, so that your father and your Uncle William and I played together when we were children. When your father became a doctor and married me and settled down here, she gave us the house for a wedding present. Think, Peggy, for a minute, of what it meant to you to lose your father. But you had only known him a few short years, and you and Alice are so young you have a whole rich life before you. But your grandmother is not young; she had had him all his life, and he was her only child."

There were tears in her mother's eyes. Peggy had seldom seen them there. She slipped down from her chair and went over to her mother, putting an arm about her waist. It was not of her grandmother that she was thinking, but of her mother, who had lost so much, and yet was so brave.

Mrs. Owen dried her eyes and was silent for a minute.

Then she said: "Your grandmother is a very lonely person."

"But she lives in the city where there are lots and lots of people," said Alice.

"Yes, and she has many friends and acquaintances, but that does not prevent her being lonely. We are the only near relations she has. You remember how she wanted to take Peggy and bring her up. I could not consent to that. Then she wanted us all to spend the summer with her, and we all of us like better to be at home. But I think she would really like to spend the summer with us. Now, Peggy, the better one knows people, the more one finds to like in them, if they are good people; and it is just a question of what we are looking out for most in this world, whether it is to be happy ourselves, or to try to make other people happy. If we are trying to be happy ourselves, all kinds of things turn up that we did not expect, to spoil our fun. After all, it is not so very important, whether we are happy or not."

"I think it is very important," said Peggy. "And I guess you thought so when you were a little girl, mother."

"You are right, Peggy, I did. But now the question is, will you children try to make your grandmother happy?"

"I'll try," said Peggy; "but I just can't stand it if she doesn't care about my dear Rhode Island Reds."

But her grandmother did grow to appreciate them, to Peggy's great surprise. One morning she went out with Peggy when she fed the chickens. It was a sunny morning, with a soft blue sky and fleecy clouds.

"To think of my being here all these days and not having seen your hens," said Mrs. Owen.

"I thought, if you waited until you wanted to see them, it would be more of a treat," said Peggy.

"Who put that idea into your head, your mother?"

"No, I don't want people to see them unless it is a treat."

Peggy's grandmother looked at the little girl's eager, upturned face.

"Do you like them so much, Peggy?" she asked.

Peggy hesitated. It was one of the great decisions of her life. On her answer depended the success or failure of her intercourse with her grandmother. If she said, "I like them well enough," they would remain just seven Rhode Island hens and a cock, so far as her grandmother was concerned. She looked up at her grandmother, inquiringly. Her grandmother smiled down at her pleasantly.

"I just love them!" said Peggy.

"What a handsome cock!" said her grandmother.

This compliment to her favorite pleased Peggy. "Isn't he a beauty?" she said.

"He certainly is," said her grandmother warmly.

"His name is Mr. Henry Cox," said Peggy, in a burst of confidence.

"What a nice name," said her grandmother.

And so it was that the elder Mrs. Owen became interested in feeding the hens and chickens and helping hunt for eggs, and when she went home, at the end of the visit, they were all glad to think that she was to spend the summer with them.

"I am glad she is coming back," said Peggy to Alice. "Do you know, Alice, I think when she comes back, we'll teach her the geography game."

"I don't think she's got a very nice name," said Alice. "I'm glad they didn't call me Rebecca, for her. And she can only live in one State."

"Yes," said Peggy, "but it is such a nice State. She could live in Rhode Island, with all my dear Rhode Island Reds."

THE END