Part 10 (1/2)

Yes, the back came high above her head, and as she sat wondering how she should ever go to Slipside Row and meet Mistress Cory Ann, she slid off to Dreamland, her pretty head drooping to one side, her rosy lips parted.

Then as it grew later, but was still quite light, good Parson Kendall walked out in his orchard, and in his walk stopped before the rustic seat under the branching tree.

”What a personable child it is!” he muttered. ”Some youthful wayfarer well tired out. I wonder who she may be? I know not her countenance at all.”

When Sally opened her eyes, oh! oh! oh! there stood the parson, in black coat, black waistcoat, black knee-breeches, black stockings, and sober face.

Little people were much afraid of the parson in those days, and in fact he was held in high respect, if not some fear, by people all, and Sally would almost have fallen from the chair in fright, only that Parson Kendall's voice was soft and kind, as he asked:

”Prithee, little one, where is thy home, and art thou very tired?”

”Speak up!” cried her Fairy, ”tell the truth.”

”I was afraid to go home, sir,” said Sally.

”Hast thou done wrong, my child?”

”I meant not to do wrong,” said Sally, ”but I ran away.”

”Ah, how was that? Tell me the truth about it.”

And trembling in every limb, with eyes cast down, poor little Sally stammered out the whole story: her longing, her determination, her fine chance, Mistress Brace's refusal to let her go, and now her fear of returning home.

”I will go with thee to Slipside Row,” said the parson, ”and do not fear, thou shalt not suffer in any way.”

And now again, had Sally been a well-taught child, she would have known how mean a thing it was to listen to what might be said in the keeping-room. But when the parson said to Mistress Cory Ann, ”I would have speech with thee, Mistress Brace,” up crept Sally to a room over the keeping-room, and lying flat on the floor, with her ear to a large crack under the window, she could hear nearly all that was said.

Sally had been surprised at the many low curtseys Mistress Cory Ann made when the parson came up to the door, and at the look of fear that had come over her face. Yes, Mistress Brace had indeed looked afraid!

Now Sally heard Parson Kendall say:

”But had you any right to make of the child almost a servant when she was left so sadly alone?”

”It was that or the Town House,” said Mistress Brace, shortly.

”Perhaps not,” said the parson's calm, firm voice; ”our town sendeth not all to the Town House who are poor or unfortunate. Had her father no friends? And was there no money left?”

”I know nothing of her father's friends,” said Mistress Brace, ”and as to money, very little there was of that, and it has been spent on the girl.”

Ah, but the woman's voice had trembled when she spoke of the money, and her face grew very red, so that the parson, knowing something must be wrong, said, sternly:

”I had better lay the case before the burgesses. If the little wench so greatly desireth knowledge, then knowledge she should have. It is my duty to look after an orphan child of my parish, who seemeth not to be having the chances she should have.”

The dreadful word ”burgesses,” meaning the men in power, and who governed the colonies, frightened both Mistress Brace and Maid Sally, and very glad was Sally when Mistress Cory Ann exclaimed:

”There be no need, parson, to trouble any of the burgesses! Here the girl has been, here she can stay. If she so much has set her heart on learning, then go she can to Mistress Kent and earn her schooling as the mistress has planned. But I like it not that the girl should run away, not telling me whither she was going.”

”She said all was explained, but that you refused to enter into the plan,” said the parson.