“Ay me!” exclaimed the child.
“And ’tis not in leaf, let be flower,” added her tormentor.
“What can I do?” cried Maude in dismay.
Still keeping tight hold of her wrist, Parnel answered the query by the execution of a war-dance around Maude.
“Parnel, do leave go!” supplicated the prisoner.
“Mistress Maude is bidden lay out herbs!” sang the gaoler in amateur recitative. “Mistress Maude hath no shepherd’s pouch! Mistress Maude is loth to go and pluck it!”
“Parnel, do leave me go!”
“Mistress Maude doth not her mistress’ bidding! Mistr—”
Suddenly breaking off, Parnel, who could be as quick as a lizard when she chose, quitted her hold, and vanished out of sight in some incomprehensible manner, as Ursula Drew marched into the kitchen.
“Now, then, where be those herbs?” demanded that authority, in a tone indicative of a whipping.