The taproom smelled of cider and fish and the smoky wood fire burning on it blackened hearth. It was dimly lit and empty, except for three old men who sat at a table with glasses in front of them, and a sharp-faced, sallow girl polishing other glasses behind a narrow bar. When Sally Rose walked across the uneven floor, her head up, her eyes shining in the candlelight, her hips swaying ever so slightly, the heads of the old men turned toward her as sunflowers turn to follow the golden light of day. Kitty walked demurely behind her, but nobody noticed Kitty. “Nanny,” cried Sally Rose, putting out her hand to the girl eagerly, as if there was no one in the world she would be gladder to see than Ipswich Nan. “Nanny, we’re o’ertaken with darkness, and we need a bed for the night, my cousin and I.” She drew Kitty forward, and they stood together at the bar. “We’ll need supper, too, Nanny,” she said. Nanny curtsied. “Yes, Miss Sally Rose,” she answered, beaming adoringly at the pretty, smiling face turned toward her. “The bed in the east chamber is aired and ready. Should I serve you there, or....” She glanced about the taproom. Sally Rose began to pull off her embroidered gloves, put up a hand to pat her golden hair. “Oh--at that table by the fire, please. It was chilly, coming the last mile through the swamp willows, and with all the fog about.” Nanny lighted a candle in a pewter holder and carried it to the table by the fire. “I’ll bring you supper right off, Miss Sally Rose. We got dandelion greens and a ham bone--” Sally Rose made up a face. “Oh Nanny,” she pleaded, “you know my stomach’s delicate.” Kitty clapped her hand over her mouth so that she would not giggle. Sally Rose had never been sick in her life, and could probably digest brass nails if she had to. “Couldn’t you find a bit of chicken, Nanny?” “Chicken I’ve not got,” answered Nanny. “But there’s a piece of spring lamb I just been a-roasting for the minister’s wife. She’s got Salem company coming tomorrow.” “The lamb will do nicely,” said Sally Rose, sitting down at table. “About our horses,” asked Kitty, taking the chair across from her cousin. “Oh, of course. I’ll speak to one of the men and have them seen to. I noticed the landlord as I came in.” They turned to look at the three men by the table. The men were all staring at them and talking together in low voices. One of them now rose and came forward. He wore a leather apron tied around his middle and walked with a decided limp. “Job Townsend’s daughter, ain’t you?” he demanded of Sally Rose. “Visit kin in Newburyport on occasion?” Sally Rose smiled and dimpled. “Why, how clever of you to remember me! Of course I’m Job Townsend’s daughter,” she said. “And I’m on my way home from Newburyport right now. I’ve often told my cousin Kitty here, about your tavern--there isn’t a better one in the whole of Essex County.” Strangely enough, the landlord was not smiling at Sally Rose, and he ignored her compliment.