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"I don't know. She's coming, at any rate," said Peggy, rather crossly. "Bunty sent me to find out if everybody had really gone. Toddlekins will have to get a taxi, that's all. Whew! I'm being blown to bits! I want to get back to my pen-painting. I'm making a birthday present for my cousin. Ta-ta!" Diana stood watching Peggy's retreating figure as the latter raced up the garden and into the house.
Though the reader may find some similarity of fact and idea as we progress in this part of the Life of Kit Carson, the interest which hangs about it, nevertheless, will not, or should not be dampened, because this pen-painting of his long and active experience is a better and more faithful exhibit of those qualifications, knowledge and skill which afterwards made him, first the guide and then the bosom friend of the illustrious Fremont, than any assertions whether authenticated by published record, whether rested upon statement on knowledge, information and belief of acquaintances and friends, or, whether facts taken from the thousand allusions to his exploits which have from time to time flooded the press of the United States.
Peggy sat indoors, doing pen-painting; Vi brought stones for a rockery; Sadie and Magsie played a set of tennis on the cinder court; Diana and Wendy, who had asked to join the cycle party, and had in consequence received a severe snub from Geraldine, wandered about the garden like unquiet spirits. "It's the limit to be an intermediate!" groused Wendy gloomily. "Seniors and juniors get all the fun!
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