Sally shook her head. "Nay," she answered with maddening gentleness.
Mistress Todd gave her a little shake. "Here I be wi' my week's baking on hand, forsooth, wi' a sick child to care for, the parson to come a-calling, as he hath sent word by Eleazer Lamson's boy—and you up here mooning i' the hayloft!" she bewailed. "Call yourself, too, an honorable lass! I vow, 'tis enow to try the patience o'Aye, Mary, what be it now?"
She turned from Sally, who was hanging her head beneath the tirade, to question a tiny girl of five who had peeped into the door of the saddle room where they were standing.
"An it pleaseth ye, Moth-er," lisped the little girl, "the parthon hath arrived!"
Mistress Todd gave a tragic groan and glanced down miserably at her gown. "Lawk, whate'er possessed the man to come a-calling so early!" she ejaculated in a vexed tone. "Run along, Mary. Tell him I will come at once," she bade the child, in a soft voice of fond motherhood. "Now, ye, Sally," her tone changed to a sharper pitch, "run in and clean yourself. 'Tis a pity a great girl o' fourteen, almost fifteen, must look thus! Your hair, your gown, the straw on your skirt—where are your stockings?"
"I—I" began Sally falteringly.
"Didst not understand ye were forbidden
