Peggy in Her Blue Frock

E >> Eliza Orne White >> Peggy in Her Blue Frock

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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."

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