y
one apple tree where they were going, but there was a cherry tree.
Peggy's face brightened when she thought of the cherry tree. And they
were to have a garden full of vegetables.

"Mary," said the children's grandmother to their mother, "I'll give you
a year to try your experiment; and remember, if you don't succeed, my
offer holds good. I'll always have a room in my small apartment for one
of the children; and Peggy is old enough to get a great deal of good
from a New York school."

Peggy looked as if nothing would induce her to leave her mother. Not
that she disliked her grandmother. Peggy liked people of all ages. She
did not like old ladies so well as people of her mother's age, because
the younger ones were so much more active; and she liked children better
still, for the same reason; and boys even better than girls, because
they never expected you to play dolls with them. Peggy did not care for
dolls as Alice did. When the world was so full of live things that
scampered and frisked, or flew or crawled, why tie one's self down to
make-believe people that could neither speak nor move? Pussy was much
more interesting than any doll.

Peggy looked at the furniture, standing forlornly about in strange
places. Her own mahogany bureau was downstairs. "It looks for all the
world," said Peggy, "like a cat in a strange garret." She had read this
phrase in a book the day before, and it took her fancy. And then she
wondered how their own cat would feel in her new home. And there was not
any garret in the tiny house where they were going.

The cat walked in just then, but seeing the confusion she fled upstairs.
She was a gray pussy, with darker gray stripes, and a pronounced purr
that was almost as cozy as the sound of a tea-kettle. She had a pleasant
habit of having young families of kittens, two or three times a year.
The only drawback was, the kittens had to be given away just as they got
to the most interesting age. There were no kittens now, only pussy,
whose whole name was Lady Jane Grey.

Their grandmother was making a list of the books, for some of the boxes
were to go to her in New York, others to the Town Library, while many of
them they were to keep themselves. All the medical books were to be left
in their father's office for the new doctor to dispose of as he thought
best.

"Do you know, mother, how many children the doctor has, and whether they
are boys or girls?" Peggy asked.

"No, he just said 'childr