ught just to be glad
they're all at home."

Her self-reproach made her readier than ever to wait on them all the
next morning. Nobody could make such buckwheat cakes as could Mrs.
Brower; nobody could turn them as could Peggy. They were worth coming
from New York and Baltimore and Ohio to eat. Peggy stood at the griddle
half an hour, an hour, two hours. Her head was aching. Hazen, the latest
riser, was joyously calling for more.

At eleven o'clock Peggy realized that she had had no breakfast herself,
and that her mother was hurrying her off to investigate the lateness of
the butcher. Her head ached more and more, and she seemed strangely slow
in her dinner-getting and dish-washing. Her father was away, and there
was no one to help in the clearing-up. It was three before she had
finished.

Outside the sleigh-bells sounded enticing. It was the first sleighing of
the season. Mabel and Ben had been off for a ride, and Arna and Hazen,
too. How Peggy longed to be skimming over the snow instead of polishing
knives all alone in the kitchen. Sue Cummings came that afternoon to
invite Peggy to her party, given in Esther's honour. Sue enumerated six
other gatherings that were being given that week in honour of Esther's
visit home. Sue seemed to dwell much on the subject. Presently Peggy,
with hot cheeks, understood why. Everybody was giving Esther a party,
everybody but Peggy herself. Esther's own chum, and all the other girls,
were talking about it.

Peggy stood at the door to see Sue out, and watched the sleighs fly by.
Out in the sitting-room she heard her mother saying, "Yes, of course we
can have waffles for supper. Where's Peggy?" Then Peggy ran away.

In the wintry dusk the doctor came stamping in, shaking the snow from
his bearskins. As always, "Where's Peggy?" was his first question.

Peggy was not to be found, they told him. They had been all over the
house, calling her. They thought she must have gone out with Sue. The
doctor seemed to doubt this. He went through the upstairs rooms, calling
her softly. But Peggy was not in any of the bedrooms, or in any of the
closets, either. There was still the kitchen attic to be tried.

There came a husky little moan out of its depths, as he whispered,
"Daughter!" He groped his way to her, and sitting down on a trunk,
folded her into his bearskin coat.

"Now tell father all about it," he said. And it all came out with
many sobs--the nights and dawns with Minna, the Latin, t