So she wandered about, ate the seed-cake for her supper, then, seeing the gate open that led to Parson Kendall's orchard, she peeped in, noticing a wide, rustic chair under a broad tree.
"I wonder if that might be a comfortable chair to rest in awhile," murmured the child, and just to try it she slipped along the green.
Yes, the back came high above her head, and as she sat wondering how she should ever go to Slipside Row and meet Mistress Cory Ann, she slid off to Dreamland, her pretty head drooping to one side, her rosy lips parted.
Then as it grew later, but was still quite light, good Parson Kendall walked out in his orchard, and in his walk stopped before the rustic seat under the branching tree.
"What a personable child it is!" he muttered. "Some youthful wayfarer well tired out. I wonder who she may be? I know not her countenance at all."
When Sally opened her eyes, oh! oh! oh! there stood the parson, in black coat, black waistcoat, black knee-breeches, black stockings, and sober face.
Little people were much afraid of the parson in those days, and in fact he was held in high respect, if not some fear, by people all, and Sally would almost have fallen from the chair in fright, only that Parson Kendall's voice was soft and kind, as he asked:
"Prithee, little one, where is thy home, and art thou very tired?"
"Speak up!" cried her Fairy, "tell the truth."
"I was afraid to go home, sir," said Sally.