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house, and she’d come back and stay with them until she was ready to travel home.
    As Peg went about her studies and evening chores she could think of little else than seeing Miss Hennessey again. The next day she wiggled and fidgeted so much in class that Miss Thomas said, “Peg Kelly, I declare! You’ve been squirming as though there’s a bug down your back. Now settle down and pay attention.”
    Marcus, who sat behind Peg, leaned forward and whispered, “There
is
a bug down your back. It’s a black beetle with six wiggly legs and sharp pointed teeth. And if it can find any meat on your bones, it will bite!”
    He gave her neck a sharp pinch, and Peg shuddered. It did feel like a bug! But she clamped her teeth together and ignored him. It was hard to ignore the odor coming from Marcus, however. Every time his mother wondered if she’d seen a nit in his hair she doused his head in kerosene oil; and, even though it was only the beginning of October, she’d already hung a small bag of garlic around his neck to ward off the fall catarrh and had sewn him into his long underwear for the winter.
    He pulled his treasured obsidian arrowhead from his pocket and dangled it next to her. It was tempting to try to snatch it, knowing that such a long, finely tapered obsidian arrowhead was rare in these parts, but Peg didn’t move.
    Marcus, who didn’t like being ignored, kicked the back of Peg’s bench. She refused to respond, gleefully knowing this would bother him more than anything else she could do. Marcus was such a … a child!
    After school Peg ran all the way home. She brushed and brushed her hair, unable to tame her wild redcurls, so she tied a sunbonnet over her hair, picked up the shawl and silver pin, and set out to visit Miss Hennessey.
    Hugging the shawl close to protect it as she hurried through the crowds, Peg followed Ma’s instructions and rang the bell of Mrs. Kling’s boardinghouse.
    “I’m Peg Kelly, and I’ve come to see Miss Violet Hennessey, please,” she told the round, rosy woman who opened the door.
    The woman tucked a loose strand of gray-streaked hair into the bun that rested like a fat biscuit on top of her head. “Peg Kelly? Kelly? And who might your people be?” she asked.
    “My mother is Noreen Kel—Murphy,” Peg answered. “She’s married to John Murphy, the blacksmith.”
    Smiling broadly, the woman said, “Of course, of course. I’m Mrs. Kling, child. Come inside, please.”
    As soon as the door had shut behind her, Peg glanced around the large, ornate parlor. The windows were decorated with lace curtains, dark velvet swags dipping across the tops. There were crocheted, white doilies of every size on all the tables and on the backs and arms of the overstuffed chairs. Paintings of landscapes and of flowers covered the walls, and oil lamps with hand-painted flowers on their glass chimneys were placed throughout the room.
    “Miss Hennessey isn’t here at the moment,” Mrs. Kling told Peg.
    “Oh,” Peg said. Disappointed, she slumped against a high-backed wing chair, resting her chin on the shawl and trying to think of what to do next. She could leave the shawl with Mrs. Kling to deliver to Miss Hennessey, but that would rob her of the visit she’d planned.
    She straightened, taking a deep breath. “Is it all right if I wait for her to return?”
    “Of course,” Mrs. Kling said. “Just find yourself a comfy seat. I don’t think you’ll have to wait long.”
    As Mrs. Kling left the room, Peg sat in the wing chair, but soon two boarders, wearing black frock coats and trousers and stovepipe hats, entered and stared with curiosity at Peg as they made their way to the staircase. Not wanting to be on exhibit, Peg moved to a chair back against the farthest wall under the leaves of a large potted plant.
    Peg had waited scarcely half an hour when the door opened, and a beautiful woman entered, her right hand resting lightly on her escort’s arm. She was dressed in a full