She had gone one afternoon in January, soon after the beginning of the year, to run about in the pine woods, for what with work and study she had grown tired and felt stupid.
"Go and play," cried her Fairy.
"You will grow dull, and do well neither with books, needle, or other work without some time for play," cried the Fairy.
And so Sally put by her book, left her mending, and ran like a wild, free thing into the woods, that had a fresh, sweet smell to them. The air was cool and did the child good. She wandered farther and farther on, thinking it was in truth a good thing to play at times.
"Sing!" cried her Fairy, "none will hear thee, sing'st thou ever so loudly here."
Now naught has yet been said of Sally's voice. She scarcely knew she had what would be called "a voice." Often she sang at her work, but Mistress Brace would likely as not bid her be quiet and not make so great a racket.
Mistress Cory Ann liked to talk a great deal herself, and so would hush Sally's singing, which after a time made Sally think that singing was only making a troublesome noise, so she did not much of it in the house.
"Sing!" said the Fairy.
Sally stood against a tree and sang without a thought or care as to how her voice might sound. The notes rang out clear and strong, for she sang as would a bird. And over and again she sang a few sweet verses she had learned from hearing young Mistress Rosamond Earlscourt practising them with her lute in the summer-house.