rsistently over her face; she was
scared, and grieved, and, withal, a trifle sulky. Mrs. Polly Wales
cooked some Indian meal mush for supper in an iron pot swinging from
its trammel over the blazing logs, and cast scrutinizing glances at
the little stranger. She had welcomed her kindly, taken off her outer
garments, and established her on the little stool in the warmest
corner, but the child had given a very ungracious response. She would
not answer a word to Mrs. Wales' coaxing questions, but twitched
herself away with all her small might, and kept her hands tightly
over her eyes, only peering between her fingers when she thought no
one was noticing.

She had behaved after the same fashion all the way from Boston, as
Mr. Wales told his wife in a whisper. The two were a little dismayed,
at the whole appearance of the small apprentice; to tell the truth,
she was not in the least what they had expected. They had been
revolving this scheme of taking "a bound girl" for some time in their
minds; and, Samuel Wales' gossip in Boston, Sam Vaughan, had been
requested to keep a lookout for a suitable person.

So, when word came that one had been found, Mr. Wales had started at
once for the city. When he saw the child, he was dismayed. He had
expected to see a girl of ten; this one was hardly five, and she had
anything but the demure and decorous air which his Puritan mind
esteemed becoming and appropriate in a little maiden. Her hair was
black and curled tightly, instead of being brown and straight parted
in the middle, and combed smoothly over her ears as his taste
regulated; her eyes were black and flashing, instead of being blue,
and downcast. The minute he saw the child, he felt a disapproval of
her rise in his heart, and also something akin to terror. He dreaded
to take this odd-looking child home to his wife Polly; he foresaw
contention and mischief in their quiet household. But he felt as if
his word was rather pledged to his gossip, and there was the mother,
waiting and expectant. She was a red-cheeked English girl, who had
been in Sam Vaughan's employ; she had recently married one Burjust,
and he was unwilling to support the first husband's child, so this
chance to bind her out and secure a good home for her had been
eagerly caught at.

The small Ann seemed rather at Samuel Wales' mercy, and he had not
the courage to disappoint his friend or her mother; so the necessary
papers were made out, Sam Vaughan's and wife's