Gratingly, the door swung open and a man's head looked cautiously out.
Peggy reflected that Mr. Huntington looked a great deal more scared than she was, and the thought helped a little.
Mr. Huntington looked down at the vivid little figure in the red coat, and his eyes widened.
Well, he wasn't going to eat her, anyway, so she needn't be so frightened, Peggy decided with a breath of relief.
"Oh, Mr. Huntington," she said with a surprising increase of confidence, "I came--I came--I--came--" but the confidence had evaporated before she could find words to explain.
"I see you did," replied the old man, still mildly--and could she believe that twinkle in his eyes was a smile? Perhaps he didn't often have much to smile about, so that this was the best he could do.
"Won't you come in?" he invited, as an afterthought.
And Peggy followed him into Gloomy House.
The hall was stately, with its wide folding doors opening into the library on one side and a dining-room on the other. In it were an old tall clock and a black walnut hat-rack.
"It's a little chilly in here for you, I'm afraid," said her host politely.
The day had been cool even out in the sunshine and they had been glad when their crackling fire was made on the river bank. But in this damp, big room there was a biting quality out of all proportion to the temperature outside.
"It's not--at--all--cold," stammered Peggy, through chattering teeth, trying to make her tone of everyday courtesy like that Mr. Huntington had used.
"I just wanted to invite you to something," she plunged bravely into her mission. "It's a special treat to be given by our cooking class of Andrews school."
"To invite--?" Mr. Huntington looked vaguely puzzled and alarmed. "My dear young lady," he protested, "I haven't been invited to anything in twenty years." Then an understanding look came over his face. "Oh, I see," he murmured. "How much are the tickets?"
"Oh," cried Peggy, hurt and chagrined, "oh, there are no tickets--oh, _no_, that's not the way it is at all. You see the cooking class is--awfully proud of itself and we can stand burned hands and horrid blackened dishes that we couldn't at first. And we can get awfully good dinners, too. So we thought that instead of just getting them up at school and eating them ourselves, we'd give a series of parties around at the homes of the girls and the trustees of the school and I--I thought we'd come and give one at your house, too," she wound up breathlessly.