Then he
ejaculated: "The Devil's daughter!" and went into his library.

"I wonders," said Peggy when she returned to the kitchen, "how you
all's gwine to like habin dat ole Miss Keswick libin h'yar as you
all's mistiss."

"Who's gwine to hab her?" growled Aunt Judy.

"You all is," sturdily retorted Peggy. "Dar ain't no use tryin' to git
out ob dat. Dat old Miss Keswick done gone an' kunjered Mahs' Robert,
an' dey's boun' to git mar'ed. I done heered all 'bout it, an' she's
comin' h'yar to lib wid Mahs' Robert. But dat don' make no dif'rence
to me. I's gwine to lib wid Mahs' Junius an' Miss Rob in New York, I
is. But I's mighty sorry for you all."

"You Peggy," shouted the irate Aunt Judy, "shut up wid your fool talk!
When Mahs' Robert marry dat ole jimpsun weed, de angel Gabr'el blow
his hohn, shuh."

Slowly driving along the road to her home, the Widow Keswick gazed
cheerfully at the blue sky above her, and the pleasant autumn scenery
around her; sniffed the fine fresh air, delicately scented with the
odor of falling leaves; and settling herself into a more comfortable
position on her seat, she complacently said to herself: "Well, I
reckon the old scapegrace has got his money's worth this time!"

CHAPTER XXXI.

There were two reasons why Peggy could not go to live with "Mahs'
Junius and Miss Rob" in New York. In the first place, this couple
had no intention of setting up an establishment in that city; and
secondly, Peggy, as Roberta well knew, was not adapted by nature to be
her maid, or the maid of any one else. Peggy's true vocation in life
was to throw her far-away gaze into futurity, and, as far as in her
lay, to adapt present circumstances to what she supposed was going to
happen. It would have delighted her soul if she could have been the
adept in conjuring, which she firmly believed the Widow Keswick to be;
but, as she possessed no such gift, she made up the deficiency, as
well as she could, by mixing up her mind, her soul, and her desires,
into a sort of witch's hodge-podge, which she thrust as a spell
into the affairs of other people. Twice had the devices of this
stupid-looking wooden peg of a negro girl stopped Lawrence Croft in
the path he was following in his pursuit of Roberta March. If Lawrence
had known, at the time, what Peggy was doing, he would have considered
her an unmitigated little demon; but afterward, if he could have
known of it, he would have thought her a very unprepossessin