“Would you mind calling me just Peggy?  Miss Stewart makes me feel so old and grown-up,” said Peggy unaffectedly.

Mrs. Harold smiled approvingly and Polly cried: 

“Yes, doesn’t it?  I hate to be called Miss Howland.  I’m not, anyway, for I have an older sister.  Have you, too?”

“No,” answered Peggy.  “I have no one in the world but Daddy Neil, and he is away nearly all the time.  I wish he were not.  I miss him terribly.  He spent August with me and I have never before missed him as I do this time.  I have always lived here, Mrs. Harold.  I was born here,” she concluded in reply to Mrs. Harold’s question.

“But your companions?” Mrs. Harold could not refrain from asking.

Peggy smiled.

“That was Daddy Neil’s deepest concern during his last visit.  He had not thought much about it before, I guess.  I dare say you will think it odd, but my companions are mostly four-footed ones, though I am—­what shall I call it?  Guarded? chaperoned? cared for? by Harrison, Mammy Lucy and Jerome, with my legal guardian, Dr. Llewellyn to keep me within bounds.  I dare say most people would consider it very unusual, but I am very happy and never lonely.  Yes, Jerome, set the tray here, please,” she ended as the butler returned bearing a large silver tray laden with a beautiful silver chocolate service, egg-shell cups straight from Japan, a plate of the most delicate, flaky biscuits, divided, buttered and steaming, flanked by another plate piled high with little scalloped-edged nut cakes, just fresh from Aunt Cynthia’s oven.

Taking her seat beside the table Peggy poured and Jerome served in his most dignified manner, while Mrs. Harold marveled more and more and Polly thought she had never in all her life seen a girl quite like Peggy.

“It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen,” said Mrs. Harold.

“I am glad you like it, for I love it.  Few people know of it.  I mean few who come to Annapolis.  I have lived here so quietly since Mamma’s death when I was six years old.  Daddy comes whenever he can, but he has asked for sea duty since Mamma left us.  He has missed her so.”

“In which class did your father graduate, Miss Peggy!”

“In 18—­, Mrs. Harold.”

“Why then he must have been in the Academy when Mr. Harold was there.  He graduated two years later.  I wonder if they knew each other.  Mr. Harold would have been a youngster, and your father a first-classman, and first-classmen have been known to notice youngsters.”

Peggy looked puzzled.  Although she had always lived within ten miles of the Academy, she had never entered its gates, and knew nothing of its ways or rules.  Polly was wiser, having spent a month with her aunt.  She laughed as she explained: