She told him in a few rapid words,—first, what had happened the evening before, and ending by a detailed account of finding the tea in the store-closet.
Her father was scowling ominously by the time the story was finished; and he sat in silence for a few moments, his head bent, as though considering what she had told him. Then he said: "I thank you, my child, for what you have told me. I must speak with Penine o' these matters, and that right away. Do you go, Dot, and tell her I wish to talk with her, and must do so as soon as she can see me in her room."
"Why not let Mary go?" Dorothy suggested. "Aunt Penine likes Mary, and she does not like me—nor I her." And she looked quite belligerent.
"I will be glad to go, if you say so," Mary offered, rising from her chair.
"Well, well," he said, "it matters little to me who goes; only I must see her at once. And thank you, Mary, child, if you will kindly tell her so."
As soon as Mary left the room, Dorothy came over to her father's chair and perched herself upon one of its oaken arms.
"And now there is another thing I wish to tell you," she said, "and I'd best do it now."
He put an arm about her and smiled up into her troubled face.
"Well, well," he said playfully, while he smoothed her curls, "what a wise little head it has grown to be all on a sudden! We shall be hearing soon that Mistress Dorothy Devereux has been invited by the great men o' the town—Lee and Orne and Gerry, and the rest o' them—to be present at their next meeting, and instruct them on matters they wot not on, despite their age and wisdom."
She would not smile at his badinage, but went on soberly to warn him of what she suspected between her Aunt Penine and their ostracized neighbor, Jameson,—telling him also of the unusual amount of coin being spent by the boy, Pashar, whom she had seen carrying notes for her aunt.