were not called "Smith's Store" or "Brown's Market" but "At the Sign of the Scythe" or "At the Sign of the Steak."
When they came back at last to the Hunters and the Hounds inn, the Squire gave one glance into the noisy, overcrowded taproom he was about to enter and drew back.
"Ye cannot go in there, lass!" he exclaimed. "'Tis no place for you!"
He retraced his steps as far as the town pump and there paused to ponder the situation. Already, Mehitable could see, he was regretting having brought her. Partly to distract him, partly to reassure herself, she uttered an exclamation as a lady, followed at a short distance by a Negro slave, passed by.
"Father, I vow 'tis Mistress Martha Hicks!"
The lady turned involuntarily at hearing her name; but she would have hurried on had not Squire Condit started forward with outstretched hand which, in all politeness, she could not ignore. Her hand, however, fell limply away from his.
"Mistress Hicks!" exclaimed the Squire, in obvious relief. "Why, perhaps ye can help me solve my problem!"
"How may that be?" And the lady smiled rather wryly in the concealing darkness.
"I am beshrift for a temporary lodge for Hitty, here," explained the Squire, glancing at her with anxious eyes. "I would crave your hospitality for a while. The taverns are not fit places for a girl at this hour."
"Well, Squire Condit," returned Mistress Hicks,
