“Nevertheless,” said the mother, calmly, though growing more pale, “this badge hath taught me⁠—it daily teaches me⁠—it is teaching me at this moment⁠—lessons whereof my child may be the wiser and better, albeit they can profit nothing to myself.”

“We will judge warily,” said Bellingham, “and look well what we are about to do. Good Master Wilson, I pray you, examine this Pearl⁠—since that is her name⁠—and see whether she hath had such Christian nurture as befits a child of her age.”

The old minister seated himself in an armchair, and made an effort to draw Pearl betwixt his knees. But the child, unaccustomed to the touch or familiarity of any but her mother, escaped through the open window, and stood on the upper step, looking like a wild tropical bird, of rich plumage, ready to take flight into the upper air. Mr. Wilson, not a little astonished at this outbreak⁠—for he was a grandfatherly sort of personage, and usually a vast favorite with children⁠—essayed, however, to proceed with the examination.