But how gat such a guest into my hall?"
"Ay, indeed!" cried good old Mr. Wilson. "What little bird of
scarlet plumage may this be? Methinks I have seen just such
figures when the sun has been shining through a richly painted
window, and tracing out the golden and crimson images across the
floor. But that was in the old land. Prithee, young one, who art
thou, and what has ailed thy mother to bedizen thee in this
strange fashion? Art thou a Christian child--ha? Dost know thy
catechism? Or art thou one of those naughty elfs or fairies whom
we thought to have left behind us, with other relics of
Papistry, in merry old England?"
"I am mother's child," answered the scarlet vision, "and my name
is Pearl!"
"Pearl?--Ruby, rather--or Coral!--or Red Rose, at the very
least, judging from thy hue!" responded the old minister,
putting forth his hand in a vain attempt to pat little Pearl on
the cheek. "But where is this mother of thine? Ah! I see," he
added; and, turning to Governor Bellingham, whispered, "This is
the selfsame child of whom we have held speech together; and
behold here the unhappy woman, Hester Prynne, her mother!"
"Sayest thou so?" cried the Governor.
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