She had never known her own mother; all she remembered was a face bending close and a soft hand that tucked in the coverlet one night when she couldn't sleep.

The memory had haunted her from the days of her childhood--clear and distinct, with every detail in place.

Had there been light enough in her mother's bed-room, she was sure she could have added the dear face itself to her recollection.

Plump, full-bosomed, rosy-cheeked Peggy (fifteen years younger than Tom) supplied the touch and voice, and all the tenderness as well, that these sad memories recalled, and all that the motherless girl had yearned for.
And the simple, uneventful life--one without restraints of any kind, greatly satisfied her: so different from her own at home with Prim as Chief Regulator.

Everybody, to her delight, did as they pleased, each one following the bent of his or her inclination.