She had gone one afternoon in January, soon after the beginning of the year, to run about in the pine woods, for what with work and study she had grown tired and felt stupid.

"Go and play," cried her Fairy.

"But my books," said Sally.

"You will grow dull, and do well neither with books, needle, or other work without some time for play," cried the Fairy.

And so Sally put by her book, left her mending, and ran like a wild, free thing into the woods, that had a fresh, sweet smell to them. The air was cool and did the child good. She wandered farther and farther on, thinking it was in truth a good thing to play at times.

"Sing!" cried her Fairy, "none will hear thee, sing'st thou ever so loudly here."

Now naught has yet been said of Sally's voice. She scarcely knew she had what would be called "a voice." Often she sang at her work, but Mistress Brace would likely as not bid her be quiet and not make so great a racket.

Mistress Cory Ann liked to talk a great deal herself, and so would hush Sally's singing, which after a time made Sally think that singing was only making a troublesome noise, so she did not much of it in the house.

"Sing!" said the Fairy.

Sally stood against a tree and sang without a thought or care as to how her voice might sound. The notes rang out clear and strong, for she sang as would a bird. And over and again she sang a few sweet verses she had learned from hearing young Mistress Rosamond Earlscourt practising them with her lute in the summer-house.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "SALLY STOOD AGAINST A TREE AND SANG WITHOUT A THOUGHT OR CARE."]

As she stopped, full of the joy of hearing her own young voice, she heard a little sound, and, turning around, oh! oh! there stood Master Sutcliff, the precentor, or leader of the meeting-house choir, which was made up of all such young men and maidens as could sing with melody in their voices.

Master Sutcliff was also teacher of the singing-school, to which all were welcome who could pay the regular fee, either in money, apples, fruit, or hay.

"You have a heartsome voice," said the singing master, coming closer to Sally, and speaking in his own rich ba.s.s. "A heartsome voice; how would it please you to come to the singing-school and help lead some of the more timorous ones?"

"I do not think my mistress would allow it," said Sally, with downcast eyes.

"If she consents would'st come?" asked Master Sutcliff. "I will teach you to sing correctly, and do something toward training the voice a kind Providence hath given thee."

"Yes, I would come," said Sally, without lifting her eyes.

Off strode Master Sutcliff, but Sally could sing no more. What would Mistress Cory Ann say?

"She will not allow it," said Sally to herself.

"Wait and see," cheered her Fairy.

And it seemed that wonders would never cease now they had begun, for when Sally went about getting supper Mistress Brace said to her:

"If you would be doing some good by your screeching at tunes, Master Sutcliff has been here, and will pay me three shillings a term for letting you help at his singing-school. I told him I couldn't be lending you for nothing, so now, all but Sat.u.r.days your evenings will be taken up. I hope that will satisfy you."

"My dress is not fit," said Sally.

"I will see to that!" snapped Mistress Cory Ann.

And see to it she did. For she went the next day to Goodman Chatfield's store, and bought a piece of blue linsey-woolsey, which in a day or two was made into so becoming a dress, that Mistress Brace wished she had bought the green one, which was not as pretty, but which Goodman Chatfield held at a higher price.

And Master Sutcliff knew he had made a good trade, for Sally's strong young voice was true as well, and soon led right bravely the chorus of many voices. And for the maid herself it was great joy thus to sing with others, and be taught the notes that she soon learned.

One day Mistress Brace saw Parson Kendall again coming up her steps, and, curtseying as before, she bade him enter.

"I hear," said the parson, "that Master Sutcliff pays thee a quarterly sum for allowing the young maid that is in thy care to lead somewhat at the singing-school."

"Yes," said Mistress Cory Ann, "I could not let her sing for naught. I feed her, there surely should be some return."

"But she sings only at night, when a maid of her tender years had far better be in her bed. And she serves thee a large part of the day. So I think it but thy duty to use what Master Sutcliff gives thee for her use alone."

"I shall," said Mistress Brace, "and more, too, for I clothe as well as feed her."

"But not overabundantly," insisted the parson. "I met the young damsel yesterday, and I think she wore no hosen."

"She hath stockings," said Mistress Brace.

"More than one pair?"

"Perhaps not, parson."

"Then more she must have. I find that I once met the maiden's father, a well-dressed, goodly appearing man. It puzzleth me that so little should have been left for his little daughter's needs. A gentleman he was whose image hath not faded from my mind."

Very much it vexed Mistress Brace that Parson Kendall should keep so sharp an eye on Maid Sally. And still more it troubled her that he should speak again of her father and the kind of man he seemed.

But from that time Sally had better clothes to wear and felt no shame as she went to and fro to evening lessons and to singing-school.

And so came the springtime, the sweet springtime, and there was beauty everywhere. On the porch at Ingleside the honeysuckle and climbing roses were bursting into radiant bloom. The birds began nesting in the magnolias and the white-belled halesia-trees.

Sandpipers went scudding along down by the water, and the mountain holly began putting on a new dress. The pink azalea, or swamp pink, violets, b.u.t.tercups, and all kinds of meadow beauties began peeping up all around.

So smart a scholar had Sally shown herself, that Mistress Kent would gladly have taken her into her cla.s.ses, but the proud Virginia matrons who sent their richly clothed children to the dame school would still have thought Sally too poorly dressed a little maid to sit beside their dainty little darlings.

Sally was beginning to add, subtract, divide, and multiply. And when the school closed for the summer and Mistress Kent lent her a simple history to read, she was wild with delight that she would still have a book near by.

And much as Sally hated to give up her lessons for a few months, there was a bird singing in her heart, singing a song of which poor Sally was half ashamed and yet which made her very, very glad. For in June, rich, flowery, song-bird June, _he_ was coming home, her Fairy Prince!

"And now I can far better understand all he reads," she said to her Fairy. Then her glad voice fell. "But I can never, never come up to him," she sighed; "there is yet a mountain of difference between us."

"You have begun to climb," said her Fairy.

"Ah, but there is proud Lady Rosamond Earlscourt, and Lady Irene Westwood, and so many other high-born damsels of his own kind, all so proud, so well-born."

"What know you of your own birth?" asked her Fairy, sharply. "How often must I ask thee?"

"I only remember the Flats and Slipside Row," said Sally's forlorn voice.

"Keep climbing," said her Fairy. "Does not something within you still urge you to climb and climb?"

"Yes, yes," cried Sally, "and climb I will!"