and her face was mottled, but serenity shone from her.
"I burned it so my fairies would bring back that bird to life!" she asserted calmly.
She looked up trustingly at her mother and father. Surely they would understand that the sacrifice of a mere switch was nothing compared to a bird's life! Surely they would understand that if burning three gray hairs was so potent a magic, burning a whole switch must be far better! But whether they understood or not, whether punishment followed or not, she, Sara, felt that she had done her duty.
She had them all at a disadvantage. She had, in the first place, the weapon of perfect faith. Moreover, she had about her the radiant consciousness of one who has performed a noble act. So this high moment was not the time for a talk on either the morals of burning one's Grandmother's new switch, or the laws of nature. She stood there a white, straight little figure—the figure of one who has had a moment of insight, of high resolve, and the courage to carry through her resolve.
The three older people were silent, Grandma bursting to speak, but restraining herself in the face of Sara's recent bereavement. Her mother for a moment had caught a glimpse deep into the heart of her little girl and into her tangled mind, and wondered what would happen to this blind faith when even this act of courage had not brought the bird back to life.
They passed by Mrs. Painter's. That kind and voluminous lady was proceeding leisurely down her flower-bordered path.
"Oh, I'm glad that's you!" she cried cheerily. "I was just going to your house, Mrs. Marcey. I've been worried about Sara all the afternoon. When she went home crying I called after her that Teeny was all right, but I was afraid she didn't hear."
