ed for the
library, but met the parson in the hall.

"Whither away, maiden?" cried the parson, sternly.

"I would have speech with thee in the library," said Sally, rather
faintly.

"And I would have speech with _thee_!" the parson replied.

Not a word spake good Parson Kendall while Sally told her story.

Goodwife Kendall knew that Sally had returned, but so discreet a tongue
had she, that not even her sisters knew that the whereabouts of the
maiden who had appeared neither at the breakfast nor the dinner table
were unknown either to the parson or his wife.

There was silence as Maid Sally finished her strange, brave story.

Was her best friend, the kind parson, angry at what she had done? Would
he blame her sharply, or cry shame on so bold a deed?

A queer note there was in his voice when he spoke at last.

"I am proud of thee, maid, proud of thee! Thou art fit to rank with the
soldiers who would put down injustice and oppression. But why aid the
young son of Sir Percival Grandison, why he in particular, eh?"

For a moment it was Sally's turn to be silent. Then she said, with her
steadfast eyes on the parson's face:

"I have told you, sir, what floated to my ears. It was the first case
wherein I bethought me that my own courage might serve my country in a
way, and serve one of her sons, too."

Parson Kendall was content with the reply.

"We worried over thee this morn," he said, "and have made quiet
inquiries to-day, but all without letting any one know thou hadst really
disappeared. Do not so try us again."

"I will not," said Maid Sally.

"Now get for thyself food and drink," said the parson. "I have sharp
summons to attend upon Mistress Cory Ann Brace, who lieth ill at her
house. I was about to set forth to visit her when thou appearedst. And
after thy repast, thou hadst best go to thy bed at once. I will speak
with Goodwife Kendall a moment concerning thy story. Long sleep wilt
thou need after thy night's campaign."

Sally smiled at the parson's speech. Full well she knew that while an
army kept the field it was in "campaign."

"Did I keep the field last night, sir?" she inquired.

"Verily I think thou hadst the field all to thyself, from set out to
finish," smiled the parson. "I am proud of thee! But let us know the
next time when thou goest on rescue."

"I will, sir," said Maid Sally.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE QUEER NAME

When Sally, bright as a new sixpence, appeared at breakfast th