"Come alonger me, darling," continued the woman. She took Mary's arm,
and half-dragged, half-led her into the room above. The child's hat had
fallen off, and the light streamed down upon her bright yellow hair and
her frightened brown eyes, as she raised them timidly to the dark faces
round her. The woman started and gave a quick significant glance at her
husband.

"You live at the parson's house in Wensdale, don't yer, dearie?" she
said coaxingly.

"Yes," said Mary. She wondered how the woman knew.

"But you're not the parson's child," continued the woman. "Give me your
hand." She bent, muttering over it: "No, no, not the parson's child--
you belong to dark people, for all so white and fair you are."

Was the woman a witch? Mary gazed at her with eyes wide with fear, and
the man and boy stood by with a cunning grin on their faces.

"Seven years ago," the woman went on in a sing-song tone, "you was lost.
Seven years ago you was found. Seven years you've lived with
strangers, and now you've come to yer own people."

What did she mean? These dirty, dark, evil-looking tramps her own
people! Mary took courage and drew herself haughtily upright.

"You're not my people," she said boldly. "I live at the vicarage, with
Mr and Mrs Vallance. I must go back to the others--it's getting
late."

"Not so fast, my little queen," said the woman, still holding her hand
and gazing at the palm. "What's this 'ere little token I ketch sight
on? Why, it's a little shoe! A little leather shoe with a row o' brass
nails an' a brass toe. Now, by that 'ere token I know you belongs to
us. Yonder's yer father, and yonder's yer brother; nobody and nothin'
can't take you from us now."

Mary burst into tears. It was too dreadful to find that this woman knew
all about her; was it possible that she belonged to her in any way?

"I can't stay with you," she sobbed, "I must go back. They wouldn't let
you keep me if they knew."

"They couldn't help it," said the woman with a scornful laugh, "not all
the parsons and squires as ever was couldn't."

Poor Mary! All her spirit had gone from her now, she stood helplessly
crying in the middle of the room.

"Wouldn't yer like to come back to pore Seraminta, yer own mother, what
brought yer up and took care on yer?" the woman said in coaxing tones,
"an to father Perrin, and dear brother Bennie."

"No--no--no," sobbed Mary, "I must go home."

"Well, now," said the woman, with a s