Then, too, Dr. Llewellyn in his love for the classics made them a fairy world for the girl and the commingling of the practical with the ideal maintained the balance.

When one o’clock came dinner was served and after that Dr. Llewellyn went his way and Peggy hurried off to her beloved horses.

On this day Columbine was to bid good-bye to Severndale.  As Peggy entered the big airy stable with its row upon row of scrupulously neat box stalls, for no other sort was permitted in Severndale, Columbine greeted her from one of them, as though asking:  “Why am I kept mewed up in here while all my companions are enjoying their daily liberty out yonder?”

Peggy opened the gate and entered the stall.  The beautiful creature nestled to her like a petted child.

“Oh, my bonny one, my bonny one, how can I send you away?” asked Peggy softly.  “Will they be good to you out yonder?  Will they understand what a prize they have got?  Washington is far away and so big and so fashionable, they tell me.  It would break my heart to have you misused.”

The filly nickered softly.

“I am going to send a little message with you.  If they read it they will surely pay heed to it.”

She drew from the pocket of her blouse a little package.  It was not over an inch wide or three long, and was carefully sealed in a piece of oil silk.  Parting the thick, luxuriant mane, she tied her missive securely underneath.  When the silky hair fell back in place the little message was completely concealed.  Peggy clasped her arms about the filly’s neck, kissed the soft muzzle and said: 

“Good-bye, dear.  I’ll never forget you and I wonder if I shall ever hear of you or see you again?”

Her eyes were full of tears as she left the stable.  Two hours later Columbine was led from her happy home.  What later befell her we will learn in a future volume of Peggy Stewart.  Meanwhile we must follow Peggy’s history.

On the following Saturday, in the golden glow of an October afternoon, with the hills a glory of color and the air as soft as wine, Peggy drove Comet and Meteor, her splendid carriage horses, to the Bound Bay station to meet Mrs. Harold and her niece.  Tzaritza bounded along beside the surrey and old Jess, the coachman of fifty years, sat beside his young mistress, almost bursting with pride as he watched the skill with which she handled the high-spirited animals, for Jess had taught her to drive when she was so tiny that he had to hold her upon his lap, and keep the little hands within the grasp of his big black ones.

Leaving the horses in his care she stepped upon the little platform which did primitive duty as a station, to await the arrival of the electric car which could already be heard humming far away up the line.

As her guests stepped from the car she advanced to meet them, saying as she extended her hand to Mrs. Harold: 

“This is Mrs. Harold, I reckon.  I am Peggy Stewart.  I am glad to meet you.”