"I shouldn't have known where it came from if Miss Plympton, the milliner, hadn't happened to come in," the young girl was saying. "She said at once, 'It's Minty Kittredge's feather. I had it dyed for her last summer, and there's the little tag from the dye-house on it now.' I can't think why she sent it to me."
Aunt Kittredge turned to the shrinking figure behind her, holding the blue feather accusingly in her hand.
"Araminta Kittredge, what does this mean?" she demanded sternly.
"I—I—she felt so bad about her gull's wing, and—and——" A rising sob fairly choked Minty.
"Please don't scold her. I'm sure she can explain," pleaded the minister's daughter.
"It's my duty to find out just what this means," said Aunt Kittredge severely. "I never heard of a child doing such a high-handed thing! You can do your errand now, because your uncle wants you to, but when you come back I shall have a settlement with you."
Poor Minty! She ran fast, never looking back, although the minister's daughter called to her in kindliest tones.
There was no hope of keeping a secret from Aunt Kittredge when once she had discovered that there was one. The only chance of saving Priscilla's life lay in persuading Lot Rankin to care for and conceal her.
But, alas! she found that Lot was not to be persuaded. He was going into the woods to work, and his mother was "set against turkeys." Moreover, she was "so lonesome most of the time that when folks did come along she told 'em all she knew."