Mary Thornton laughed and then cried again, and having so relieved her mind, went to work like a heroine. How we two women slaved that day, sweeping and scouring, and shaking out, while the village maid, whom Walter had sent in, did little more than stare in amazement, and stand about in the way. Thanks to my uncle and Garrett, we had enough ready money, so Walter rode over to Biddeford and brought back a piece of moreen and another of green baize. When we had the house decently clean and sweet, Mary and I set ourselves down to the making of some hangings and curtains, and while we were thus busy, one of our parishioners, a farmer's wife, Dame Yeo, came in, bringing a pot of cream and a basket of new laid eggs. I must say our people were very good to us from the first, save two or three families, who, holding to the old ways, looked upon Walter and myself as altogether profane and sacrilegious persons. "Dear me!" exclaimed the good woman, in surprise. "Well, you do look as neat as any daisy. But, my dear soul, what be you a-doin' now. Making of hangings, I declare. Why thou'lt never get through all that by thyself, madam." "Oh, you don't know how much I can do," I answered. "I see well, madam, that you are a good housewife," answered Dame Yeo, "but yet you should have more help. There is a very decent body living alone in a cottage down to our place who has skill with the needle. May be you saw her in church—a tall woman in black, a-sitting on one of the stone benches. Folks say she has been a nun, and some hint that she knows more than she should, but I believe she is a good woman for all that." "I noticed her, and wondered who and what she was," said I. "Do you think, dame, she would come and help us?" "I dare say she would, and I will ask her when I go home. But, madam, there is good news for you. Our young squire and his lady have returned to the manor house, and 'tis said they mean to live there, or at least, to abide some time." "Who are they?" I asked. "You know I am a stranger here." "Oh, they are great folks," answered Dame Yeo. "Sir Robert is heir to my Lord Stanton of Stanton, unless he should marry again and have children, and my lady is daughter to old Sir Stephen Corbet. They lived here once before a little while, but the lady was carried off by pirates and hardly rescued, and after that they took a dislike to the place. Some say," and here her voice sunk to a whisper, "that it was not pirates who carried her off, but that a priest was mixed up in it. I don't know. Any how, she is a most gracious lady, and I am right glad she hath come back. Well, Madam Corbet, I will send Dame Anne to you, an' you will." "Do so," I answered. "And, dame, will you carry this little book to your daughter. 'Tis a copy of the Psalms in English, and will be easy for her to hold and read." For poor Amy Yeo was held fast in bed by a broken joint which had never knit kindly and gave her great pain.