highest praise that could have been bestowed upon her.

"Daddy, will you make a truce with me?"

Her father stopped to look down at her, doubtful of falling into a
snare, for he had wakened to the fact that his little fourteen-year-old
daughter had a pretty long head for her years. Peggy's white teeth
gleamed behind her rosy lips and her eyes danced wickedly.

"What are you hatching for your old Dad's undoing, you witch?"

"Nothing but a truce. It is almost the first of September. Will you give
me just one more year of this glorious freedom? I shall be nearly
sixteen then, and then if you still wish it, I'll go to a finishing
school, or any other old school you say to be polished off for society
and to do the honors of Severndale properly when you retire. But, Daddy,
please, please, don't send me this year. I love it all so dearly--and
I'll be good--I truly will."

At the concluding words the big dark eyes filled. Her father bent down
to kiss away the unshed tears. His own eyes were troublesome.

"I sign the truce, sweetheart, for one year, but I want a detailed
report every week, do you understand?"

"You shall have it, accurate as a ship's log."

Five days later he had joined his ship and Peggy was once more alone,
yet, even then, over yonder under the shadow of the dome of the chapel
at the Naval Academy the future was being shaped for the young girl: a