Never did Abigail forget that wonderful day. The journey could not be made until nightfall, as Lord Christopher, who insisted upon accompanying the expedition, would have to be bled and must rest during the afternoon. So Lady Phipps took the little maid with her, and changed the sad-coloured linsey-woolsey sacque and petticoat—having perceived a rent in the latter garment—for a white lute-string dress she herself had worn when young. Her own fair hands braided the little maid’s soft brown hair and bound it with yellow ribbon, and she tied a similar ribbon around her waist. Abigail’s shy brown eyes shone like stars and her cheeks were the colour of blush-roses. Mr. Mather remained to dinner. Although solemn in some respects, it was on the whole a happy company that sat at the Governor’s board that day. After dinner Lady Phipps and Abigail went out into the garden, leaving the gentlemen to their pipes and conversation. Lady Phipps mended the little petticoat with elaborate and careful darning. She told Abigail many stories and also had her little guest read aloud from the psalms. Thus the pleasant afternoon was whiled away. When at last the shadows began to lengthen in the pretty garden, and it was the hour of five by the ivy-festooned sun-dial, supper was served out of doors. The Governor and Master Ronald joined them. Mr. Mather had repaired to his home. Lord Christopher rested in his room. Then Lady Phipps hurried Abigail upstairs to don again her linsey-woolsey attire. While thus engaged they heard a great trampling of horses. “Oh, what may that be?” cried Abigail, all agog. “It is the soldiers who will accompany my husband to Salem,” replied her ladyship. Abigail could scarce dress quickly enough, so anxious was she to get downstairs. “And what may that other sound o’ laughing be?” “It is made by the college students outside,” answered Lady Phipps, glancing out of the window; “they are seated on the fence. They huzza because the Governor is going to Salem to save your friend. Lack-a-mercy-me! one great bumpkin hath fallen backwards into my flower-bed and broken the lily-stalks. Off that fence they go, every mother’s son of them.” And she flew out of the room and ran downstairs while Abigail hurried to the window. She looked out upon a busy scene. It was near sunset. The mellow light of the departing day flashed upon the spear-heads and muskets and the burnished armour of mounted soldiers drawn up into a group on the further side of the street. Near by a Moor held two saddle-horses, one of the steeds having a pillion. She saw the students all tumble pellmell off the fence when Lady Phipps appeared, breathless with running, her fine black eyes flashing, as she lamented her lily-stalks. But the student who had fallen picked himself up and handed one of the broken stalks to her, with so much grace that she smiled and went back into the house.