ggy was fond of walking. She was a
great friend of Mrs. Owens, who could never understand why the children
did not like her, for she was tall and good-looking and always wore
beautiful clothes. Older people found her very agreeable and efficient.
Mrs. Owen helped her off with her raincoat. Underneath it was a dress
the color of violets.

If Miss Pauline had been the kind of person with whom one could play the
geography game, Peggy thought what a good time they could have had
living together in Pennsylvania. But as it was, she did not like to
spend even a half-hour with her. Miss Pauline's big house seemed dreary
to Peggy, with its high ceilings and stately furniture and pictures.
When she went there to call with her mother, she always hoped that she
might see the collie dog and Miss Pauline's father. She liked old Mr.
Thornton. He had white hair and a kind face, and he looked as if he
might like to play the geography game, if only his daughter was not
there, but she always was there.

Mrs. Owen was reading aloud to the children when Miss Thornton came in.

"I didn't mean to interrupt; I thought the children were always in bed
by this time," she said, glancing at the clock.

"It is their bedtime, but I was late in beginning to read to them
to-night. You can finish the story to yourselves if you like."

"Aren't you going to shake hands with me, Peggy?" Miss Thornton asked.

Peggy slowly unlocked her arms, which she had folded behind her, and
held out an unwilling hand.

"What is the story that is so interesting?" Miss Thornton asked, as she
took the book out of Peggy's other hand.

"'Snow White and Rose Red,'" she said. "I never cared for fairy-tales
when I was a child."

Peggy and Alice seated themselves in the same chair, with the book
between them.

"You ought to come over nearer the light; you will strain your eyes,"
said Miss Thornton.

Mrs. Owen gave up her seat to the children and Miss Thornton began to
talk about the surprise party.

Peggy soon found herself listening.

"It is to be in the afternoon--like an afternoon tea," she said.

"Are all the parish to be there--men as well as women?" asked Mrs. Owen.

"No, only the women. It is what Prissy Baker calls a 'hen-party.'"

Peggy could keep silent no longer. "Do you mean people are going to give
her hens?" she asked.

"Hens? No; that is just an expression, Peggy; that means a party of
ladies."

Peggy was silent. She might have known that the