"Only my father, miss. Mother died five years ago. Father's a fisherman; his name's Josiah Petherick, and I'm called Salome."
"What a quaint, pretty name," Margaret exclaimed. "And you have you no sisters or brothers?"
Salome shook her head.
"Have you—have you always been lame?" Miss Conway questioned.
"Yes, miss, always. I can't get about without my crutches."
"How dreadful!" Margaret cried with ready sympathy. "Oh, I am, sorry for you."
Salome looked gratefully at the speaker, and smiled as she made answer, "You see, miss, I'm accustomed to being a cripple. Often and often I've wished my legs were straight and strong like other people's, but as they are not, I must just make the best of them. Mr. Amyatt says—"
"Who is Mr. Amyatt?" Miss Conway interposed.
"Our Vicar, miss. He lives in that big house near the church. He's such a good, kind gentleman, you'll be sure to like him."
"Well, what does he say?" Miss Conway inquired with a smile.