“That child is getting clear beyond me.  She’s growin’ up that fast it fair takes my breath away, and she knows more right now in five minutes than I ever knew in my whole life, though ’twouldn’t never in this world do to let her suspicion it.”

Consequently, once having sized up Mrs. Harold, and fully decided as the months rolled by that she “weren’t no meddlesome busybody, a-trying to run things,” she was only too glad to ask her advice in many instances, and Peggy’s toilet this evening was one of them.  Poor old Harrison had begun to find the intricacies of a young girl’s toilet a trifle too complex for her, and had gone to Mrs. Harold for advice.  The manner in which it was given removed any lingering vestige of doubt remaining in Harrison’s soul, and tonight Peggy was a vision of girlish loveliness in a soft pink crepe meteor made with a baby waist, the round neck frilled with the softest lace, the little puffed sleeves edged with it, and a “Madam Butterfly” sash and bow of the crepe encircling her lithe waist.  Her hair was drawn loosely back and tied a la pompadour with a bow of pink satin ribbon, another gathering in the rich, soft abundance of it just below the neck.

By chance she sat between Mrs. Howland and her father, Mrs. Harold was next Mrs. Howland, with Mr. Harold, Constance and Snap just beyond, and Polly at the very end of the seat, though why she had slipped there Mrs. Howland could not understand.

Peggy had instantly been attracted to Mrs. Howland and had fallen in love with Constance as only a young girl can give way to her admiration for another several years her senior.  But there was nothing of the foolish “crush” in her attitude:  it was the wholesome admiration of a normal girl, and Constance was quick to feel it.  Mrs. Howland was smaller and daintier than Mrs. Harold, though in other ways there was a striking resemblance between these two sisters.  Mrs. Harold, largely as the result of having lived among people in the service, was prompt, decisive of action, and rather commanding in manner, though possessing a most tender, sympathetic heart.  Mrs. Howland, whose whole life had been spent in her home, with the exception of the trips taken with her husband and children when they were young, for she had been a widow many years, had a rather retiring manner, gentle and lovable, and, as Peggy thought, altogether adorable, for her manner with Polly was tenderness itself, and Polly’s love for her mother was constantly manifested in a thousand little affectionate acts.  She had a little trick of running up to her and half crying, half crooning: 

“Let me play cooney-kitten and get close,” and then nestling her sunny head into her mother’s neck, where the darker head invariably snuggled down against it and a caressing hand stroked the spun gold as a gentle voice said: 

“Mother’s sun-child.  The little daughter who helps fill her world with light.”  Polly loved to hear those words and Peggy thought how dear it must be to have some claim to such a tender love and know that one meant so much to the joy and happiness of another.