ax her into doing anything,"
Peggy explained. "But--" and this with unmistakable firmness--"I'm going
to find out."

After dinner, when the other girls were indulging in afternoon naps, or
lounging on the porch, Peggy donned a broad-brimmed shade hat, and with
Hobo at her heels, started toward Lucy's home. The zig-zag path crossing
the pastures was both shorter and pleasanter than the road, and Peggy
rather enjoyed getting the better of such obstacles as snake fences and
brooks that must be crossed on stepping stones. Such things gave to an
otherwise prosaic ramble the fine flavor of adventure.

She was flushed and warm, and looking, had she known it, unusually
pretty, with her moist hair curling in rings about her forehead, when
she came in sight of Lucy's home, a straggling cottage which would have
been improved by paint and the services of a carpenter. Both lacks were
partially concealed by vines which climbed over its sagging porch, and
tall rows of hollyhocks, generously screening with their showy beauty
its weather-beaten sides. A girl was in the back yard chopping wood, a
rather slatternly girl with disordered hair. Peggy descended on her
briskly to ask if Lucy were at home.

Hatchet in hand, the girl faced about. Peggy's head whirled. She made a
confused effort to recall whether Lucy had ever mentioned a sister, a
sister considerably older, and not nearly so nice. Then her momentary
confusion passed, and she realized she was facing Lucy herself. The
shock of her discovery showed in her voice as she exclaimed, "Why, it's
you!"

"Of course," said Lucy a little coldly, but she cast a half-apologetic
downward glance at her untidy dress, and her color rose. With obvious
reluctance she asked, "Won't you come in?"

Peggy was conscious of a thrill of righteous indignation. She stood very
straight and her eyes met those of the other girl squarely. "Lucy, are
you angry with me?"

Lucy Haines did not answer immediately. Her bared throat twitched
hysterically and all at once the eyes which looked into Peggy's brimmed
over.

"Don't, please!" she said in a choked voice. "Me angry! Why, you're the
kindest girl I ever dreamed of. Till I'm dead I'll love to think about
you and how good you are. But it's no use."

Peggy seated herself on the woodpile. Her native cheerfulness had
returned with a rush.

"Now, Lucy Haines, let's talk like two sensible people. If I'm as nice
as all that, you ought to be willing to trust m