"I waited till all were past and all sound died away, and then I fetched a compass, and ran home as fast as I might to warn the company and the captain." "And thou didst well, Peter," replied Carver musingly, while Priscilla standing in the doorway behind him, with Mary Chilton at her side, nodded mockingly, and clapped her hands in silent applause. Turning suddenly, the governor surprised her antics, but smiling, asked,-- "Dost know, Priscilla, whither Captain Standish went this morning?" "He and Francis Cooke went a-field so soon as they had done breakfast, sir, and as they carried axes and wedges in hand, it would seem they had gone to rive timber," replied Priscilla demurely. "Ay, like enough; but as 't is near noon, when they will be home for dinner, we will e'en wait till we have the captain's counsel, and meantime I'll see that all have their arms in readiness." "And I will go help to make the dinner ready," said Priscilla. "Thou canst lay the table, Mary." "Ay," replied the girl listlessly, and turning suddenly to hide the tears that filled her blue eyes. Priscilla looked after her, and the forced gayety faded from her own face as she put her arm about her friend's waist and led her away. "Nay, then, nay, then," whispered she; "no more crying, poppet! Didst thou not cry half the night in spite of all I could say?" "But how can I be gay, and father and mother both dead, and I so weak and ailing, and alone." "But, Mary, I have lost more than that," said Priscilla in a low voice, and with that hard constraint of manner common to those who seldom speak of their emotions. "I know thou hast lost father, mother, brother"-- "And even the faithful servant whom I remember in the dear old home when I was a toddling child," said Priscilla gloomily. "Ay, but some have tenderer hearts than others and feel these things more cruelly," persisted Mary weeping unrestrainedly. Priscilla removed her arm from the others waist and stood for a moment looking out at the open door with a mirthless smile upon her lips. Then, with one long sigh, she turned, and patting Mary's heaving shoulder said gently enough,-- "I'm more grieved for thee than I can tell, dear Mary; but still I find that to busy one's self in many ways, and to put on as light-hearted a look as one can muster, is a help to grief. See now poor Elizabeth Tilley. She hath cried herself ill, and must tarry in bed where is naught to divert her grief. Is it not better to keep afoot and be of use to others, at least?" "Ay, I suppose so," replied Mary disconsolately. "Well, then, lay the table, while I try if the meat is boiled. Oh, if we had but some turnips, or a cabbage, or aught beside beans to eat with it." "Canst not make a sauce of biscuit crumbs and butter and an onion, as thou didst for the birds?" asked Mary drying her eyes.