As the minister stared, however, she got slowly to her feet; and pushing back the curls from her grotesquely marked face, she stood in silent, overwhelming dismay.
"Wretched maid! There, there, son!" Mistress Todd's voice alternately assailed Sally and sought to soothe the crying infant.
Little Mary now created a diversion by lifting her head to stare at Sally and then running over to her to clasp the young girl by the knees.
"Why, it's only Thally, Moth-er!" she cried in reassuring tone. She looked up into the charcoal-smudged face. "Hast hurt thyself, Thally?" she asked in a pitying little voice.
"Nay—no hurt, I'll warrant, the naughty wench!" interrupted Mistress Todd scornfully.
But here Parson Chapman interrupted in his turn. "Nay, dear Mistress Todd," he implored, advancing to the girl's side to look down at her with kind eyes, "I do protest the lass meant no harm an ye will gi' her opportunity to explain! One can see that in the pretty face! How now, my dear," he took one of Sally's moist, hot hands in his own cool grasp, "why dost creep into the room to frighten the mistress so?"
"I—I—was trying to—to reach you stairs without being seen, sir!" stammered poor Sally. "I was—was 'shamed, sir!" And she glanced down at her torn frock and bare feet with tears in her eyes.
