“Now, Betty,” said her mother, as the family rose from that meal we call tea, but they named supper, “I will put the babies to bed, and then step up the hill to Mistress Standish’s to see little Lora, who is worse of her measles to-night, and thou wash up the dishes and redd the kitchen, and then go to bed like a good little lass. I’ll take in the gentleman’s supper, and ask what he fancies for his breakfast. John, you’ll find me at the captain’s when ’tis time for lecture.” “Ay, dame; and meantime I’ll smoke a quiet pipe here with Betty and dry my wet feet.” But hardly had the mother disappeared when John Alden felt two tender arms about his neck, and heard a broken whisper,-- “Oh, father! I’m so sorry!” “What! Betty, child, is’t thou? And crying! Nay, then, little woman, what is it all about? Come sit on father’s knee and tell him thy trouble. What makes thee sorry, my little maid?” “I--don’t--know--father.” “Don’t know! Nay, how canst thou be sorry and not know why? That’s naught but foolishness, Betty.” “Please, father, will you speak to mother, and not have me carry the gentleman’s sarver into the fore-room, nor make his bed any more?” “What! what!” exclaimed Alden, pushing the child back until he could look into her wet and troubled face. “Nay, then, Betty, I ’ll have the truth of thee; has the man been rude to thee, or said a word amiss?” “I--oh, don’t look so angry, father; you frighten me.” “But I will be answered, Betty! Why dost thou fear to go into this man’s room? What has he said to thee?” “He’s said naught but kindness, father; he never spoke a cross word, not one. What should he scold _me_ about?” And the innocent wonder of the sweet face filled the man with fear lest his child might have understood him. Yet still with his own persistence he asked,-- “But why dost thou not want to take him his victual, poppet?” “I may not tell you, daddy dear, because I promised sure and fast I would not tell, but I’d rather he asked mother or you”-- “Asked us what, child?” “To help him-- Nay, father, please do not ask me, for I promised I would tell nobody, and he said they’d cut off his ears and burn his cheeks”-- “Tut, tut, he’s been scaring thee, thou silly little maid, and I doubt not asking thee to help him escape. Now isn’t that the great secret?” “No, daddy--that is, perhaps he thought Pris would help him escape”-- “Pris? Why, what has she to do with this man, or thou with either of them?” “Mother’s coming, and I don’t want to tell her, for she’d chide me so sharply if I did not give up the secret, and I promised, father dear, I promised, and you said I ought to die rather than tell a willful lie.” “And so I did. Well, I’ll think on’t; go back to thy dishes now.” And as Priscilla bustled into the room and hastily put on her outdoor gear she noticed neither how grave her husband looked, nor how little progress Betty had made with the dishes.