ready and the little cowhide trunk packed, Sallyhad no time to think of herself. Many times she flew back and forth between cart and house; and at last the travelers were ready. When Uzal carried Mistress Todd out and placed her in a chair he had arranged in the back of the cart, Sally followed with the baby and, kissing him tenderly, put him in his mother's waiting arms. Then she hugged little Mary and swung her up into the straw-covered bottom of the cart.
"Good-bye, mistress," she said hesitatingly to the children's mother.
Mistress Todd nodded briefly. "Farewell to ye," she said in a cold voice.
Sally, left alone, flew about her task of "straightening up," trying to forget the little deserted feeling she had, the feeling of having been cast adrift in merciless fashion, without thought or care of her uncertain future. "The maid will have to shift for herself!" kept recurring to her, keeping miserable rhythm to the swing of her broom, to the swish of her dustcloth, to the ticking of the old clock in the corner. "How could she?" wondered Sally passionately. "Could she not ha' imagined little Mary i' my place! Oh, my mother, are ye not somewhere i' this great world? Are ye not wondering about me? Be there not somebody who cares?" And poor Sally wept some very bitter tears into
