"Mommer sent me," said the saddened Peggy with the downcast eyes, "to
ask you ladies, please'm, not to come home to-day."
"Is Lois worse?" was Miss Dorcas's anxious question.
"No'm. The doctor says she's lots better, but"--Peggy hesitated--"he
says she mustn't have no company and I think he says she mustn't have no
company till Monday. And here's something for you." She thrust into
Anne's hand a newspaper package which being opened revealed a gauze fan
spangled with silver, soiled and frayed, but the pride of Peggy's heart.
"And you won't come till Monday, ma'am?" she urged.
Miss Dorcas agreed, but Miss Margery, when she heard the tale, shook her
head.
"That's one of Peggy's tales that I'm going to look into," she said. "I
have to see a girl in that neighborhood and I'll go there this
afternoon."
"And you'll let me go with you? Please," pleaded Anne. "I'm so homesick
for Honey-Sweet. She's never been away from me before. You can hand her
out the window and let me visit her, if I can't see Lois."
It was a raw December day and none of the Callahan children were
playing, as usual, in front of the little brown house. The
sewing-machine was rattling away at such furious speed that Miss
Margery's knock at the door was unheard.
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