e
only here!

She went through the garden, and found some consolation in a talk with
John Strong, who, always the pink of courtesy, leaned on his hoe, and
told her many valuable things concerning the late planting. Her
questions were shrewd and intelligent, for Peggy had not lived on a farm
for nothing, and she already knew more about the possibilities of
Fernley than Margaret or Rita would learn in a year.

"Where shall I go for a walk?" she asked, when John Strong showed signs
of thinking about his work again. "I hate to go alone, but no one would
come with me. I have been over the hill and into the oak woods. What is
another nice way to go, where there will be strawberries?"

John Strong considered. "About two miles from here, miss, you'll find a
very pretty strawberry patch. Go through the oak woods and along beside
the bog; but be careful not to step into the bog itself, for it is a
treacherous bit."

"What kind of a bog? Why don't you drain it?" asked Peggy.

"It is a peat-bog," returned the gardener. "It would be a very costly
matter to drain it, but I believe Mr. Montfort is thinking of it, miss.
A short way beyond the woods you'll come upon the strawberry meadow; it
is the best I know of hereabouts. Good morning, miss."

Off went Peggy, swinging her hat by the ribbon, a loop of which was
coming off, and thinking of home and of Jean, her most intimate sister.
She loved Margaret dearly already, but one had always to be on one's
good behaviour with her, she was so good herself. Oh, how delightful it
would be to have Jean here, and to have a race through the woods, and
then a good, jolly romp, and perhaps a "spat," before they settled down
to the business of strawberry-picking! She could have spats enough with
that horrid, spiteful Cuban girl, but there was no fun in those; just
cold, sneering hatefulness. Thinking of her cousin Rita, Peggy gave her
hat a twist and a fling, and sent it flying across the green meadow on
which she was now entering.

"There!" she said, "I just wish that was you, Miss Rita,--I do! I
wouldn't help you up, either."

Then, rather ashamed of her outburst, she went to pick up the hat again;
but, setting foot on the edge of the green meadow, she drew it back
hastily.

"Aha!" said Peggy. "The peat-bog! _Now_ I've been and gone and done it!"

She whistled, a long, clear whistle that would have done credit to any
one of her brothers, and gazed ruefully at the hat, which lay out of