Sally had slept but a little while when something hit her arm, which was stretched out, and lifting her head, she heard a startled cry.

"Lorr de massy, chile! You nearly scare de bref outen my body!" and there was Mammy Leezer, whose staff had touched her arm before the old woman saw her from the side of a tree.

It took but a look or two to see Sally's swollen eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Now what a-matter, honey?" asked the soothing old voice. "I come over here in de woods fo' some big burdock leaves I knew was here, and I soaks dem in winegar fo' to quiet de mis'ry in my bones. But what grieve you? Tell ole Mammy all 'bout it."

Sally shivered with a sob that came before she could keep it back, then she simply said that she had wanted to study, and some one was willing to teach her, but that Mistress Brace would not allow it.

Mammy put on the cunning look that meant a good deal.

"Oh, now doan't go bursting yo' poor lil heart over dat," she crooned, "p'raps yous'll be gettin' de schoolin' after all."

"You don't know Mistress Brace," said Sally, with a sad little smile.

"No, I doan't berry much," said Mammy, in a voice that swelled, "but I might be gettin' to knowin' her better one o' dese days." And she hobbled away, a broad grin on her round face.

When beyond Shady Path, Mammy was delighted to see Mistress Brace striding along, a market basket on her arm.

Now Mammy knew not the first thing about the money that Sally's father had left for his little girl. But she did know that he had boarded in a nice house at Jamestown Corners when Mistress Brace lived there, that he had appeared to have plenty of money, and that his little girl wore the nicest of clothes.

All this she heard long ago from a colored woman who lived at Jamestown Corners, and would sometimes stop at the quarters at Ingleside.

The dark woman had shaken her head in dismal fashion after Mistress Brace removed first to the Flats, and then to Slipside Row, keeping the child with her, and she would say:

"I wonder whar Mars' Dukeen's money all go to, for he had money, shor!"

This rushed into Mammy's mind as Mistress Brace drew near, but she said in her sweet singsong:

"Good evening, mistis, whar de lil one to-night?"

"Who, Sally?" asked Mistress Cory Ann, eying Mammy with a hard, sidelong glance, "I'm sure I don't know where she is."

"Le's see," began Mammy, standing still, "didn' some one say she were goin' to de dame school or sumpin o' that kind? Seems to me I heerd it somewhar. And she oughter go, too! Her pappy—I know all 'bout her pappy—he meant his lil girl should have learnin' with de best, and oh, de gracious me! such tings as happens to folks as cheats chillern outen their schoolin'!"

Mammy looked around with a fearful air as she added:

"Why, if ennybody try to keep dat young Mars' Lion from learnin' all he want to, de plagues and de torments that come upon dem!"

She went muttering away, leaving Mistress Cory Ann wishing that she was on the ocean with her "Mars' Lion." But for all that, her words sunk into Mistress Brace's mind and troubled her, nor could she forget them.

Yet two afternoons of the week she determined Sally should not have. But she said to her the next morning that, after thinking things over, she would spare her one afternoon a week, but it must be whenever it was most convenient.

To her surprise Sally replied that she must go on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, or not at all.

"Then it's not at all you'll go!" cried the angry mistress, "and remember, the Town House is not far away!"

"What will you do now?" asked her good Fairy, when Sally was alone.

"I do not quite know," Sally made reply, "I must think it out."

When Wednesday came Sally went to her attic room after dinner, but Mistress Brace took no notice of it. So very quiet had been Maid Sally during the few days past that Mistress Cory Ann thought all had been given up as to books and schooling.

But now Sally put on the print dress, coaxed down her shining hair, put on her shoes, and slipping out without a word to Mistress Brace, she started for the home of the schoolmistress.

She never forgot the pleasure of that first afternoon at the pretty cottage. A canary-bird was trilling songs in a cage hung out on the porch. In the sitting-room, the old mother greeted her from her high-backed, cushioned rocking-chair. The old dame used fine language, and the books, pictures, and solid furniture, everything simple but nice, seemed in a way to belong to the world that Sally herself belonged to.

"You see you don't know just who you are," whispered her Fairy, "but do not mind that, all may be known in good time."

But when Mistress Kent returned from her sister's, and the mother said that Sally had been a good, likely child, and had given her a seed-cake,—Sally was afraid to go home.

So she wandered about, ate the seed-cake for her supper, then, seeing the gate open that led to Parson Kendall's orchard, she peeped in, noticing a wide, rustic chair under a broad tree.

"I wonder if that might be a comfortable chair to rest in awhile," murmured the child, and just to try it she slipped along the green.

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.

"I did not fully understand about it," said Mistress Brace, and so mild was her tone that Sally was again much surprised. "Let things take their course," she added, "and twice a week the girl can go where she likes and I will lay no rule against it. Then she can still help betimes."

"We will leave it that way for the present," said the parson, as he seemed to be rising to go, "but no blame is to be laid upon the child for telling what she did. I saw that she was in trouble and asked the cause. She did no wrong to answer truthfully. I shall now feel it my duty to see that the young maid hath a fair chance to learn what good Mistress Kent knoweth full well how to impart. I wish thee good day, Mistress Brace."

Sally scudded away, her eyes fairly dancing with joy.

"Fairy! O Fairy!" she cried under her breath, "a fine dream has come true! I shall go to Mistress Kent and learn! learn! learn! Blessings on thee, good parson! I would like to thank thee."

"Be wise and let not any one know what you have overheard," warned her Fairy.

"Indeed, I shall know nothing at all," laughed Sally, "until Mistress Cory Ann says to me I can go schooling twice a week;" and Sally's eyes sparkled like fire.

When Saturday came, but not until then, Mistress Cory Ann said, with a scornful toss of her head:

"Since you think it so fine a thing to dabble in books, and choose to fill your head with what others have got along plenty well without, I care not where you go this afternoon, but mind you show smartness at other times, or the twice-a-week trips will cease."

That was all, and that was enough. Sally knew now that her pet dream was to work itself out beautifully.

She had a few pence earned by mending, and at Goodman Chatfield's store she begged to know if ninepence would buy a decent pair of stockings.

"Indeed, no, a shilling is the least that will buy stockings of any kind," said storeman Chatfield, who in very truth liked to chatter. "But I am much wanting an errand done at the Cloverlove plantation, and if you would do it, I will, with the ninepence, give a pair of hosen that will stand you well."

It was half a mile to Cloverlove plantation, and half a mile back, but Sally gladly did the errand, and ran home happy as any bird with a smart new pair of stockings tucked under her arm.