"Then I never, never, in all my born days in this world, and never did, and never will," moaned Phebe, looking about for a handkerchief.
It was the first time Grace had spoken sharply to her. She had been in Mrs. Clifford's family for two years, and in that time her excellent mistress had taught her much in regard to her duty; so, if Phebe had now broken the eighth commandment, it could not have been a sin of ignorance.
The moment Grace's whirlwind of anger was over, she regretted her hasty words to the desolate little orphan. "Everything has gone wrong since Cassy went away," mused Grace. "I wonder what I'll do or say next? But there, Phebe needn't steal, I declare! It's good enough for her, if she did; and where's my ring if she didn't?"
Grace would as soon have suspected one of Horace's pet doves, as
Barbara Kinckle.
Up to this time the little girls had not found their baskets. But one noon, Captain Clifford came home with a strange account of a crazy woman who had escaped from an almshouse in an adjoining county. She had been wandering about the woods for weeks, fancying herself a prophetess, and sometimes crying out to passers-by, "I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness; prepare ye the way." She had entered a country church and cut down one half of a pulpit curtain for a cloak. She had just been found now at Small's Enlargement, and had become so raving that she was carried away in a strait jacket.
"They say," said Captain Clifford, helping himself to venison, "she has been telling fortunes with a pack of dirty cards. I must confess I was surprised to hear that our Grace had been one of the rabble to visit her, Maria."
Mrs. Clifford looked at her husband in surprise. "Our Grace?"
"Yes, our Grace. It seems to be new to you. Mr. Harrington told me to-day that she was ringleader of a party of little girls who went out to Small's Enlargement on a picnic excursion. The woman stole their baskets, and said such hobgoblin things that his Isabel has been nearly frantic ever since."
"My daughter!" said Mrs. Clifford, in a sorrowful voice.
"O, ma, I've wanted every hour and minute to tell you, and pa too; but
I promised not to!"