Mistress Todd returned to her chair, a grim expression settling upon her countenance that served to confirm the good minister's suspicions of her attitude toward the little waif he had given into her charge a few years before. His face was very grave as he followed his hostess back to the center of the room. Reseating himself in the armchair from which he had started, while Sally and little Mary escaped up the stairs, he eyed the lady with sober gaze for a while.
"Mistress Todd, it hath been over three years since I came to ye and asked ye to take the young lass Sarah and care for her, hath it not?" he asked at last.
The lady nodded her head shortly. "Aye, 'twas in 1774, I mind," she confirmed him.
"Art tired o' the charge?" Unexpectedly brief, the minister looked at her searchingly. She raised frank eyes to meet his gaze.
"I will be honest wi' ye, sir—I am tired o' having Sally here!" she answered. "The lass be no help to me, as I had thought she would be—there be a queer strain to her. Seem's if her people before her were not brought up to work, for sometimes she acts as though I should be waiting on her, 'stead o' her on me! 'Tis all unconsciouslike; that's why I be thinking she comes o' queer stock. But she be lazy, unpractical, as ye have but now perceived. I am a worker, mysel', Parson Chapman, a hard
