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Ay–thought the perverse Dickie Blue when he clapped eyes on the fresh gingham in which Peggy Lacey was fluttering over the kitchen floor (he would not deign to look in her gray eyes), the maid might have her letter an’ her ring an’ wed whom she pleased; an’ as for tears at the weddin’, they’d not fall from the eyes o’ Dickie Blue, who would by that time, ecod, perhaps have consummated an affair with a maid of consequence from Grace Harbor! Ha! There were indeed others! The charms of the intellect were not negligible. They were to be taken into account in the estimate. And Dickie Blue would consider the maid from Grace Harbor.

“She’ve dignity,” thought he, “an’ she’ve learn-in’. Moreover, she’ve high connections in St. John’s an’ a wonderful complexion.”

Dickie meant it. Ay. And many a man, and many a poor maid, too, as everybody knows, has cast happiness to waste in a mood of that mad description. And so a tragedy impended.

“Is it you, Dick?” says Peggy Lacey.

Dickie nodded and scowled.

“‘Tis I. Was you lookin’ for somebody else t’ call?”

“No, Dickie.”

It was almost an interrogation. Peggy Lacey was puzzled. Dickie Blue’s gloomy concern was out of the way.

“Well,” said Dicky, “I’m sorry.”

“An’ why?”

“Well,” Dickie declared, “if you was expectin’ anybody else t’ come t’ see you, I’d be glad t’ have un do so. ‘Tis a dismal evenin’ for you t’ spend alone.”

Almost, then, Peggy Lacey’s resolution failed her. Almost she protested that she would have a welcome for no other man in the world. Instead she turned arch.

“Did you bring the mail?” she inquired.

“I did.”

“Was there nothin’ for me?”

“There was.”

“A letter!”

“Ay.”

Peggy Lacey trembled. Confronting, thus intimately, the enormity she proposed, she was shocked. She concealed her agitation, however, and laid strong hands upon her wicked resolution to restrain its flight.

“Nothin’ else?” said she.

“Ay; there was more.”

“Not a small packet!”

“Ay; there was a small packet. I ‘low you been expectin’ some such gift as that, isn’t you?”

“A gift! Is it from St. John’s?”

“Ay.”

“Then I been expectin’ it,” Peggy eagerly admitted. “Where is it, Dickie? I’m in haste to pry into that packet.”

The letter and the package were handed over.

“‘Tis not hard,” said Dickie, “t’ guess the contents of a wee box like that. I could surmise them myself.”

Peggy started.

“Wh-wh-what!” she ejaculated. “You know the contents! Oh, dear me!”

“No, I don’t know the contents. I could guess them, though, an I had a mind to.”

“You never could guess. ‘Tis not in the mind of a man t’ fathom such a thing as that. There’s a woman’s secret in this wee box.”

“‘Tis a ring.”

“A ring!” Peggy challenged. “You’d not care, Dickie Blue, an ’twas a ring t’ betroth me!”

Dickie Blue was sure that his surmise had gone cunningly to its mark. Pride flashed to the rescue of his self-esteem. His face flared. He rose in wrath.

“Betrothed, is you?” he flung out. “I’ll weather it, maid! Ha! I’ll weather it!”

“Weather it!” cried poor Peggy, in a flame of indignation.

“I’m not hurt!”

“Sit you down!”

“I’ll not sit down. I’m goin’.”

“Sit you down, oaf that you is!” Peggy Lacey commanded. “I’ll read my letter an’ open my packet an’ return. Don’t ye budge! Don’t ye dare!”

Peggy Lacey swept out of the kitchen. Her head was high. There was no compassion in her heart. Nor was she restrained by any lingering fear of the consequences of that wicked deceit to the immediate practice of which she had committed herself. And as for Dickie Blue, he sat stock-still where she had bade him remain, his eyes wide with the surprise of the domination. He did not budge. He did not dare.

* * * * *

Precisely what Peggy Lacey did in the seclusion of her chamber it would be indelicate to disclose. Moreover, I am not minutely aware of all the intricacies of the employment of those mysterious means by which she accomplished the charming effect that she did in some intuitive way presently accomplish; and at any rate I decline the task of description. I confess, however, that the little packet contained a modest modicum of the necessary materials, whatever they were; and I have no hesitation in praising the generous interest, the discretion and exuberant experience of the gay widow of the late Cap’n Saul Nash o’ the Royal Bloodhound, whose letter, dealing with the most satisfactory methods of application, as related to the materials aforesaid, whatever they were, and whose wisdom included a happy warning or two–I have no hesitation in admitting that the letter was completely sufficient to enlighten the ignorance of pretty Peggy Lacey, and to steel her resolution and to guide her unreluctant hand in its deceitful work. When at last she stood back from the mirror to survey and appraise the result, she dimpled with delight. It was ravishing, no doubt about that! It supplied the only lack of which the disclosure of sly old Skipper John had informed her. And she tossed her dark head in a proper saucy fashion, and she touched a strand of hair to deliberate disarray, and smoothed her apron; and then she tripped into the kitchen to exercise the wiles of the little siren that she had become.