orning between nine and ten, as Mary sat by Alice's cradle
rocking her to sleep, she was sensible of an unusual commotion in and
around the house. First there was the sound as of some one dancing in
the dark passage. Then there was the same noise in the kitchen below,
and a merry voice was heard singing snatches of wild songs, while
occasionally peals of laughter were heard mingled with Mrs. Grundy's
harsher tones. Mary's curiosity was roused, and as soon as Alice was
fairly asleep, she resolved to go down and ascertain the cause of the
disturbance, which had now subsided.

As she opened her door, she saw advancing towards her from the
farthest extremity of the hall, a little, shrivelled up woman, with
wild flashing eyes, and hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. She
was shaking her fist in a very threatening manner, and as she drew
nearer Mary saw that her face was going through a great variety of
changes, being at first perfectly hideous in its expression, and then
instantly changing into something equally ridiculous, though not quite
so frightful. Quickly divining that this must be Sal Furbush, Mary
sprang back, but had not time to fasten her door ere the wild woman
was there. In a tremor of terror Mary ran under the bed as the only
hiding-place the room afforded, but her heart almost ceased beating as
she saw her pursuer about to follow her. Springing out with a bound
she would perhaps have made her egress through the open window, had
not Sally prevented her by seizing her arm, at the same time saying,
"Don't be alarmed, duckey, I shan't hurt you; I'm Sal. Don't you know
Sal?"

The voice was low and musical, and there was something in its tones
which in a measure quieted Mary's fears, but she took good care to
keep at a respectful distance. After a while Sally asked, "Have you
come here to board?"

"I have come here to live," answered Mary, "I have no other home."

"Well, for your sake I hope there'll be an improvement in the fare,
for if there isn't I declare _I_ won't stay much longer, though to be
sure you don't look as if you'd been used to any thing better than
skim-milk. What ails your teeth, child?"

Involuntarily Mary's hand went up to her mouth, and Sally, who if she
expected an answer, forgot to wait for it, continued. "Do you know
grammar, child?"

Mary replied that she had studied it a few months in Worcester, and a
few weeks in Chicopee.

"Oh, I am so glad," said Sal, "for now I shall have a