“There—­child,” said she, “here’s a piece of sweet cake and a couple of simballs, that I managed to save out for you.  Jest set right up and eat ’em, and don’t ever be so dretful naughty again, or I don’t know what will become of you.”

This reproof, tempered with sweetness, had a salutary effect on Ann.  She sat up, and ate her sweet cake and simballs, and sobbed out her contrition to grandma, and there was a marked improvement in her conduct for some days.

Mrs. Polly was a born driver.  She worked hard herself, and she expected everybody about her to.  The tasks which Ann had set her did not seem as much out of proportion, then, as they would now.  Still, her mistress, even then, allowed her less time for play than was usual, though it was all done in good faith, and not from any intentional severity.  As time went on, she grew really quite fond of the child, and she was honestly desirous of doing her whole duty by her.  If she had had a daughter of her own, it is doubtful if her treatment of her would have been much different.

Still, Ann was too young to understand all this, and, sometimes, though she was strong and healthy, and not naturally averse to work, she would rebel, when her mistress set her stints so long, and kept her at work when other children were playing.

Once in a while she would confide in grandma, when Mrs. Polly sent her over there on an errand and she had felt unusually aggrieved because she had had to wind quills, or hetchel, instead of going berrying, or some like pleasant amusement.

“Poor little cosset,” grandma would say, pityingly.

Then she would give her a simball, and tell her she must “be a good girl, and not mind if she couldn’t play jest like the others, for she’d got to airn her own livin’, when she grew up, and she must learn to work.”

Ann would go away comforted, but grandma would be privately indignant.  She was, as is apt to be the case, rather critical with her sons’ wives, and she thought “Sam’l’s kept that poor little gal too stiddy at work,” and wished and wished she could shelter her under her own grandmotherly wing, and feed her with simballs to her heart’s content.  She was too wise to say anything to influence the child against her mistress, however.  She was always cautious about that, even while pitying her.  Once in a while she would speak her mind to her son, but he was easy enough—­Ann would not have found him a hard task-master.

Still, Ann did not have to work hard enough to hurt her.  The worst consequences were that such a rigid rein on such a frisky little colt perhaps had more to do with her “cutting up,” as her mistress phrased it, than she dreamed of.  Moreover the thought of the indentures, securely locked up in Mr. Wales’ tall wooden desk, was forever in Ann’s mind.  Half by dint of questioning various people, half by her own natural logic she had settled it within herself, that at any time the possession of these papers would set her free, and she could go back to her own mother, whom she dimly remembered as being loud-voiced, but merry, and very indulgent.  However, Ann never meditated in earnest, taking the indentures; indeed, the desk was always locked—­it held other documents more valuable than hers—­and Samuel Wales carried the key in his waistcoat-pocket.