think, if they could hear you call me Peggy?--that's as bad as Pete,
isn't it?"

"I'm afraid it is;" and auntie laughed a little as she spoke.

The great summer hotel was not nearly full yet, for it was only the last
of June; and as Peggy went down to luncheon, her hand closely clasped in
"auntie's," whom should she meet face to face in the rather
deserted-looking hall but "those girls"? It was a little embarrassing
all round, and they all colored up very rosily as they met.

"I wonder where the boy is?" thought Peggy; "he and that New York girl
were nice." She glanced over her shoulder at this thought. There was the
boy; and--yes, he was standing at the office desk, carefully examining
the hotel register. "He's looking for our names!" flashed into Peggy's
mind, "and those girls set him up to it. I wonder what they'll say to
'Mrs. Smith and niece'? I know; they'll say, or the girl they call Agnes
will say, 'Smith, of course! I knew they had some such common name as
that.'"

Something very like this comment did take place when Master Will, in
obedience to Dora Robson's request, brought the information that the
people at the corner table were Mrs. Smith and her niece. But if Peggy
could only have heard Will flash out upon this comment the further
information that very distinguished people had borne the name of
Smith,--could have heard him quote the famous English clergyman Sydney
Smith, whose wit and humor were so charming,--if Peggy could have heard
Will going on in this fashion, she would have thought he was very nice
indeed, and been quite delighted with his independent outspokenness.