“A fit and fa-vor-able windTo further us provide;And let it wait on us behind,Or lackey by our side;From sudden gusts, from storms, from sands,And from the raging wave;From shallows, rocks, and pirates’ hands,Men, goods, and vessel save.”
“A fit and fa-vor-able windTo further us provide;And let it wait on us behind,Or lackey by our side;From sudden gusts, from storms, from sands,And from the raging wave;From shallows, rocks, and pirates’ hands,Men, goods, and vessel save.”
“A fit and fa-vor-able windTo further us provide;And let it wait on us behind,Or lackey by our side;From sudden gusts, from storms, from sands,And from the raging wave;From shallows, rocks, and pirates’ hands,Men, goods, and vessel save.”
In Brewster time was going very smoothly with Anne. The Freemans were kind and pleasant people, and the big house was filled with many things of interest to a little girl. First of all there was black Hepsibah, a black woman whom Captain Freeman had brought, with her brother Josephus, from Cuba when they were small children. They had grown up in the Freeman household, and were valued friends and servants. Anne liked to hear Hepsibah laugh, and the negro woman’s skirts were as stiffly starched as those of Mrs. Freeman herself, who had taught Hepsibah, and trained her to become an excellent housekeeper.
On the high mantelpiece in the dining-room were great branches of white coral, brought from the South Seas; on each side of the front door were huge pink shells. And in the funny little corner cupboard were delicately tinted pinkcups and saucers, and the mahogany table was always set with a tall shining silver teapot, and a little fat pitcher and bowls of silver, and the plates were covered with red flowers and figures of queer people with sunshades. Rose told her that these plates came all the way from China, a country on the other side of the earth.
“When does your father say we shall start for Boston?” Anne asked, as the two girls walked down the shady pleasant street that led to the wharves. Anne was not a dull child, and she noticed that no word had been said of Boston, and began to wonder if Mr. Freeman blamed her for running away. “Perhaps your father thinks I am a wicked girl to have run away,” she added before Rose could answer.
“Oh, Anne, no indeed; nobody would think you wicked,” Rose answered promptly. “But father sent a letter to Captain Enos by Amos, and he expects that the captain will get word to us to-day or to-morrow——”
“To say whether I may go or not?” interrupted Anne. “Oh, Rose!” and there was a pleading note in the little girl’s voice,“I do want to go so much, and I do wonder and wonder why Amanda should have slapped me, and why Aunt Martha should have punished me. I do wish I could hear Aunt Martha say again that I was a good child, as she used often to do.”
Rose clasped the little girl’s hand affectionately. “I believe that Amanda was jealous because you were to have this visit,” said Rose, “and who knows, perhaps by this time she is as sorry as can be, and has told Mrs. Stoddard all about it. Perhaps word may come this very night that your Aunt Martha thinks you are a good child, and forgives you for running away.”
As the girls walked along they met a party of men carrying rifles, and hurrying toward Brewster Common.
“They are going to the training field,” explained Rose, at Anne’s surprised exclamation, “and may have to march to Boston to-morrow. Father is anxious to get home.”
The wharves at Brewster were much larger and better cared for than the Province Town landing places; but there were few boats to be seen. Far out a sloop, coming briskly on before a favoring wind, attracted the girls’ attention.
“Rose, that’s the ‘Morning Star,’ Uncle Enos’s sloop. I know it is,” declared Anne; “and he will never let any one else sail her, so it’s Uncle Enos! Let’s hurry! He’s coming straight for this very wharf.”
The big sloop swung round, the mainsail came rattling down, and Captain Enos ran his craft skilfully up beside the long wharf just as Anne, closely followed by Rose, came running down the pier.
“Uncle Enos! Uncle Enos!” exclaimed Anne joyfully. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” and she clasped both hands around his brawny arm as he stepped on the wharf. “And here is Rose,” she continued as the elder girl stepped forward to speak to the captain.
“Growing more like a rose every day,” declared Captain Enos, as he shook hands with Rose. “And here is our little maid all ready to start on the great journey, eh?” and he looked kindly down into Anne’s smiling face. “And what would you girls say if I told you that I had sailed over here to take Anne back to Province Town?”
“Oh, Uncle Enos!”
“Oh, Captain Stoddard!” exclaimed the girls fearfully.
“Wouldn’t like it, eh? Well,” said the captain, “then we won’t have it that way, and Anne may go with you.”
“Oh, Uncle Enos!”
“Oh, Captain Stoddard!” The exclamations were the same, but the words were in such joyous tones that Captain Enos began to laugh heartily, as did Rose and Anne, so that it was a very merry party that went gaily up the street toward Mr. Freeman’s house, where Captain Enos was warmly welcomed.
After supper he and Anne had a long talk together about Amanda and Amos. “Amanda’s had a hard time, I reckon,” declared the captain, “and if I know aught of her parents she will remember this all her life, and will not be so ready to bear false witness against her neighbor.”
“I did not so much mind Amanda’s slapping me,” replied Anne soberly, “but I thought when Aunt Martha shut me up that ’twas because she no longer loved me.”
“Tut, tut, and so you walked off into the wilderness. A very wrong thing to do, Anne,” and Captain Enos’s voice was very grave.“Your running away has made a sad talk in the settlement, and some of the people are ready to say that we have not treated you well, or you would not have fled from us.”
Anne began to realize, for the first time, that she had acted very selfishly. Thinking of nothing but her wish to go to Boston with Rose she had made her best friends anxious and unhappy.
They were sitting on the broad sofa in the quiet sitting-room, and Anne leaned against Uncle Enos and said quickly: “I ought to go straight back to Province Town!” She said it in such a sharp voice that Uncle Enos looked at her wonderingly, and saw that tears were very near falling.
“No, Anne,” he answered kindly. “I want you to go with the Freemans, and have a pleasant visit. Your father’s ship will be in Boston in a few weeks, and he will rejoice to find you there and will bring you safely back to Province Town.”
Anne and Rose Freeman stood at the gate all ready to enter the comfortable chaise with its broad seat and big wheels. The big brown horse was apparently eager to start, but black Josephus held him firmly until the girls and Mr. Freeman were seated, and then handed the reins to Mr. Freeman.
“Good-bye, good-bye,” called the girls, leaning out beyond the hood of the chaise to wave to Aunt Hetty and Captain Freeman and Uncle Enos, who had stayed to see the travelers start on the ride to Boston.
“A horse is useful,” remarked Uncle Enos, thoughtfully, as he watched them drive away, “but there’s not one in Province Town settlement as yet. We have little need of one, with so many good boats.”
The summer morning was clear and bright, and not too warm. They had made an earlystart, and the heavy dew still lingered on the trees and flowers.
“How far shall we go to-day, father?” asked Rose.
“We will pass the night in Sandwich, if all goes well,” replied Mr. Freeman. “Your aunt has put us up a fine luncheon, and we will give Lady a rest toward noon and enjoy it.”
The sandy roads made it rather slow traveling, but Anne was as happy as a bird. They got many glimpses of the sea, and now and then some wild creature would run across the road, or peer at them from the shelter of the woods. Once or twice a partridge, with her brood of little ones, fled before them, and there was a great deal for them to see and enjoy. Anne felt very happy to know that Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos had forgiven her for running away, and that they were glad for her to go to Boston. She did not cherish any ill-will against Amanda, and thought herself a very fortunate little girl to be sitting beside Rose Freeman and riding along the pleasant road in such a grand chaise.
Mr. Freeman told them that there was something very wonderful to be seen in Suet, a little village that they would pass through on theirway to Sandwich. “Captain Sears is an old friend of mine,” said Mr. Freeman, “and we will make him a call and he will be glad to show us how salt is made.”
“Can he make salt?” questioned Anne.
“Yes, and a good thing for the colony it is; for salt is hard to get, with English frigates taking all the cargoes afloat,” answered Mr. Freeman; “and Cape Cod is the very place to make it, for there is plenty of salt water.” Then he told them how Captain Sears had first made long shallow troughs and filled them with the sea-water, and the sun dried up the water, leaving the salt in the bottom of the vats. “And now,” continued Mr. Freeman, “I hear he has had big kettles made, and with huge fires under them boils the water away and gets good salt in that fashion. We’ll stop and have a look, if time allows.”
Just before noon the sky began to grow dark, and there was a distant rumble of thunder. They were driving through a lonely stretch of country; there was no house in sight, and Mr. Freeman began to watch the sky with anxious eyes. He knew that, on the bare sandy plain over which they were now traveling, the windwould sweep with great force, sufficient perhaps to overturn the chaise. Rose and Anne grew very quiet as they heard the thunder and watched the threatening sky.
“We’ll soon reach the Yarmouth woods,” said Mr. Freeman encouragingly, “and if the storm comes may be able to find some sort of shelter, but I fear it will prevent our reaching the salt works.”
Rose and Anne both thought to themselves that troughs and kettles filled with salt water would not be very much of a sight, and were very glad when the sandy plain was behind them and they were once more in the shelter of the woods, which broke the force of the wind. It was now raining in torrents.
“One good thing about this is that the rain will beat the sand down and make the traveling better,” said Mr. Freeman.
The road was a mere lane, and they all began to feel a little uncomfortable and discouraged as the thunder deepened and came peal after peal, followed by shooting darts of lightning. The big horse was going at a good pace, but, all at once, Lady made a quick turn, and before Mr. Freeman could stop her had swung into an evenmore narrow track, half hidden by underbrush from the main road. In a few moments they saw a long low shingled house nearly hidden by closely growing trees.
“Well done, Lady!” exclaimed Mr. Freeman laughingly, as Lady stopped directly in front of the door.
Mr. Freeman handed the reins to Rose and sprang out, and rapped on the door, but no answer came.
“I don’t believe there is any one here,” he declared. “Stay in the chaise a moment, and I’ll find out.” As he spoke he gave the door a little push when, much to his surprise, it swung open and Mr. Freeman found himself face to face with a tall, black-bearded man who regarded him with a scowling countenance.
“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.
At that moment a peal of thunder heavier than any preceding it made Rose and Anne shrink more closely together in the corner of the chaise. “He looks like a pirate,” whispered Rose fearfully.
“We want shelter until this storm is over,” Mr. Freeman replied. “May I drive my horse into that shed?”
The man grunted an unwilling assent, and Mr. Freeman sprang back into the chaise and drove Lady under a rough shelter in the rear of the house.
“Don’t go in the house, will you, father?” whispered Rose; for the man had opened a back door leading into the shed and was regarding his undesired guests with suspicious eyes.
“How did you happen to come here?” he asked gruffly. “This road don’t lead nowheres.”
“My horse turned in from the main road very suddenly,” explained Mr. Freeman. “We had no plan except to get on to Sandwich as fast as possible.”
“Going far?” questioned the man.
“We are on our way to Boston,” answered Mr. Freeman.
“Guess the English are going to give the Yankees a lesson even if they couldn’t hold Boston!” said the man with a smile, as if he would be glad to know his words would come true.
“I think not, sir,” answered Mr. Freeman sharply; “and a Cape Cod man ought to be the last to say such a thing.”
“You’re not a Tory, then?” exclaimed theman eagerly. “Get right out of that chaise and come in. These your girls? Let me help you out, missy,” and he came toward the carriage.
“Get out, Anne,” said Mr. Freeman in a low tone, and in a moment the two girls were following the black-bearded man into a low dark kitchen.
“You folks looked so dressed up I thought like as not you were Tories,” declared the man, as if wishing to explain his rude reception. “Now take seats, and I’ll put your horse where it can have a bit of fodder.”
Mr. Freeman followed the man back to the shed, and Anne and Rose looked at each other, and then glanced about the low dark room.
“I don’t believe he’s a pirate,” whispered Anne; “anyway I’m glad to be in out of this dreadful storm.”
“So am I,” answered Rose, “but it is a funny house. What do you suppose made Lady turn in at that place? This man may not be a pirate, but there is something odd about him. This whole place is queer. I almost wish we had stayed in the chaise.”
Under the two windows that faced toward thewoods ran a long box-like seat, and in one corner of the room stood a shoemaker’s bench, with its rows of awls, needles threaded with waxed thread, hammers, sharp knives, tiny wooden pegs, and bits of leather; a worn boot lay on the floor as if the man had started up from his work at Mr. Freeman’s rap.
“What’s that, Rose?” questioned Anne, pointing to a piece of iron that could be seen extending from beneath an old blanket which lay under the bench.
“It’s a rifle!” answered Rose. “Look, Anne! Quick, before he comes back. I believe there are a lot of guns there.”
Anne knelt down to lift the blanket. Rose was close beside her, leaning over to see what the blanket might conceal, when the kitchen door swung open and the man entered. As he looked at the two girls his face darkened again, and he came quickly forward.
“Aha!” he muttered. “It’s just as I thought. Pretty clever of the old Tory to bring these girls along to peek about and find out all they can,” but the girls did not hear him until he stood beside them, and then his scowl was gone and he spoke pleasantly:“A good many rifles for one man, but they are not all mine. I’m storing them for friends.”
“Where’s father?” asked Rose, a little anxiously.
“He’s giving the pretty horse a rub down,” answered the man; “now there’s a better room for young ladies than this old kitchen,” he continued. “Just come this way,” and he opened a door into a long dark passage, into which the girls followed him.
“Right in here,” said the man, opening a door at the further end of the hall, and holding it ajar for the girls to pass in.
“It’s all dark!” exclaimed Anne, who had been the first to enter. Rose was close behind her and as Rose crossed the threshold the heavy door swung to behind them. They heard bolts shot and then all was quiet.
Rose sprang against the door with all her strength, but instantly realized that it was useless to try to open it. “Father! Father!” she screamed, and Anne, hardly knowing what she said, called also “Father!”
“It’s dark as pitch,” whispered Anne, clutching at Rose’s dress; “there can’t be a window in this room, or we’d see light somewhere.”
The two girls clung together, not knowing what next might befall them.
“There may be some other door,” said Rose after they had screamed themselves hoarse. “We must not be frightened, Anne, for father is sure to look for us. Let’s go round the room and try and find a door. We can feel along the wall,” so the two girls began to grope their way from the door.
“These inside walls are brick!” exclaimed Rose, as her hands left the wooden framework of the door. “Oh, Anne, I do believe it is a sort of prison all walled inside.” Just then their feet struck against something hard and round which rolled before them with a little rumble of sound. Rose leaned down. “They’re cannon-balls,” she whispered. “Oh, Anne! There’s a whole pile of them. Don’t go another step; we’ll fall over them. I do believe the man is a pirate, or else a Tory.” For in those troublous times the Americans felt that a Tory was a dangerous enemy to their country.
As the girls groped about the room they came to a heavy iron chest, and sat down, realizing that all they could do was to wait until Mr. Freeman should discover them.
“Don’t be afraid, Anne,” said Rose, putting her arm about her little companion, and felt surprised when Anne answered in a hopeful voice:
“Rose, look! Right up on that wall there’s a window. I can see little edges of light.”
“So there is, but it’s too high to do us any good; we can’t reach it,” answered Rose.
“Well, I’m glad it’s there,” said Anne.
Now and then they heard the far-off roar of the thunder, but at last it seemed to die away, and little edges of light showed clearly around the shuttered window on the further wall. The girls watched it, and, their eyes becoming used to the shadowy room, they could now distinguish the pile of cannon-balls in the opposite corner, and behind them a small cannon and a keg. They could see, too, the outlines of the doorway.
“How long do you think we shall have to stay here?” whispered Anne, as the dreary fearful moments dragged by.
“I don’t know, dear,” answered the elder girl, “but we mustn’t be afraid.”
The hours went by and the little edge of light around the high shuttered window began tofade a little, and the girls knew that the long summer day was fading to twilight, and that it had been about noon when they came to the house. A great fear now took possession of Rose’s thoughts, the fear for her father’s safety. She was sure that unless some harm had befallen him he would have found them before this time.
“Rose!” Anne’s sharp whisper interrupted her thoughts. “If I could get up to that window I could get out and go after help. The window isn’t so very high; it isn’t as if we were up-stairs.”
At that very moment the big door swung open, and the man entered. He had a candle in one hand and carried an armful of rough gray blankets which he dropped on the floor beside the girls, and instantly, without a word, departed, and the girls heard the bolts shot on the outside.
“Those blankets are for us to sleep on. Oh, Anne, what has he done to my dear father?” and Rose began to cry bitterly.
“Rose, he’s coming back!” warned Anne, but the girl could no longer restrain her sobs and their jailer entered, this time carrying thebig lunch basket which Aunt Hetty had put under the seat when they drove off so happily from Brewster.
“Here’s your own grub,” said the man roughly. “Your father’ll have to put up with what I give him.”
“You—you—won’t kill my father, will you?” sobbed Rose.
“Oh, no, no!” answered the man, and then apparently regretting his more friendly tone added, “But I reckon I ought to, coming here a-peekin’ an’ a-pryin’ into what don’t concern him,” and he set the basket down on the iron chest with such a thud that it fairly bounced.
“Oh, he wasn’t; I was the one who peeked at the guns,” said Anne.
“Oho! Peekin’ at the guns! Well, I’ve got you now where you can’t peek much,” came the gruff answer.
“Won’t you leave the candle?” asked Rose.
“I guess not,” he answered with a little laugh, and pointed toward the keg. “Look at that keg! Well, it’s full of powder, and powder’s too sca’se an article these days to leave a candle in the same room with it.”
“But we can’t see to eat,” pleaded Anne.“We’ll be real careful; we won’t go near the corner.”
For a moment the man hesitated; then he set the candle down on the chest beside the basket.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll leave it; ’twon’t burn more than an hour.” He looked down at Rose’s tear-stained face, and added, “Ain’t no cause to cry about your father; he’s had a good supper, and I ain’t goin’ to hurt him.”
“Oh, thank you!” and Rose looked up at him gratefully.
The door had hardly swung to before Anne whispered, “Rose, Rose, I must get out of that window some way. You know I must. It’s too small for you, but I’m sure I could get through.”
“Let’s eat something before you think about that,” suggested Rose, who began to feel more hopeful now that she knew her father was safe, and opened the big basket. The man had brought them a pitcher of cool water, and the girls ate and drank heartily.
“Aunt Hetty would be surprised if she knew where we were eating these lovely doughnuts,” said Anne, holding up the delicately browned twisted cruller.
“Anne, if we could push this chest under the window I could stand on it and try to open the window and if I can open it, then I will lift you up and you can crawl through,” said Rose, biting into a chicken sandwich.
Anne nodded, watching the candle with anxious eyes, remembering that their jailer had said that it would burn but an hour.
“Now, Anne,” said Rose, after they had satisfied their hunger, and closed the basket, “we must try to push the chest.”
To their surprise it moved very easily, and they soon had it directly under the window. Rose was on top of it in an instant, and Anne held the candle as high as she could reach so that Rose could examine the fastening.
“Why, Anne, it pushes right out,” said Rose. “It’s only hooked down. Look!” and she pushed the heavy square outward. “But it doesn’t go very far out,” she added. “I wonder if you can crawl through. I do believe this shutter is shingled on the outside, so that nobody could tell there was a window. Oh, Anne! Isn’t this a dreadful place!” Rose peered cautiously out of the open space. “Blow out the candle,” she said quickly, drawing back into the room. “He might be outside and see the light.”
Anne instantly obeyed.
“Now, Anne, dear,” said Rose, “if you can get out what are you going to do?”
“I’ll run back to the road as fast as I can go and get some people to come back here and rescue you,” said Anne.
“Yes, but you had best go on; you know there are no houses for a long way on the road we came, and we must be nearer the Suet settlement than any other. You won’t be afraid, Anne!”
“No, Rose,” declared the little girl, “and if I think of you shut up here, even if I am afraid, I shall keep on until I find somebody and bring him to help you.”
“That’s splendid, Anne!” answered Rose. “Now step here beside me, and I’ll lift you up.”
“Hold tight, Anne,” whispered Rose.
Anne had succeeded in squeezing through the narrow window space, and Rose, leaning out as far as possible, kept a firm grasp on the little girl’s hands.
“I’m going to let go now,” whispered Rose; “try to drop easily, Anne,” and in an instant Anne’s feet touched the soft earth.
Rose watched her jump up and a moment later vanish in the thick growth of trees. Then she hooked the window securely, and sat down again on the iron chest. Her arms and shoulders felt lame and sore from holding Anne, but after a moment she forgot the ache and her thoughts turned to her father, and to brave little Anne traveling off through the darkness of the summer’s night to bring help to her friends.
The house was so closely surrounded by woods that Anne had to move very carefully. The storm was over, but it was very dark in theshadow of the trees. For a few moments she wandered about, not quite knowing if she were moving in the right direction, but at last she found herself in the rough path up which Lady had made her way from the main road. Once or twice she stumbled and nearly fell over stumps of trees, but at last she reached the junction, and now the moonlight enabled her to see the white line of the sandy road stretching far ahead.
“I can run now,” she whispered to herself, and sped away, her moccasin-covered feet making no sound as she ran. All at once Anne stopped suddenly, for coming down the road toward her were a number of dark figures. They were so near that she could hear the sound of their voices. Anne turned quickly to the roadside and crouched behind a bunch of low-growing shrubs. As the men came nearer one of them said:
“’Twas about here I saw something run into the woods.”
“A fox, maybe,” answered one of his companions.
“Maybe, and maybe not. It’s not the time to take chances of a spy being about with those guns stored at Bill Mains’. I’m going to have a look around here and make sure,” and the man turned straight toward the place where Anne crouched, fairly trembling with fear, for she had heard the man speak of the guns, and was quite sure that these men were Tories, as she supposed Bill Mains to be. She moved unconsciously, and the rustling betrayed her whereabouts, and the man took hold of her shoulder and drew her out into the road.
“Look at this! A little girl! Where’s your father?” he demanded, drawing Anne toward his three companions, who were evidently too surprised to speak. “Where’s your father?” he repeated, giving Anne a little shake.
“He—he’s at sea,” half sobbed Anne, hardly daring to lift her head, and wondering what dreadful fate would befall her if these men should discover that she had just escaped from Bill Mains’ house, and that she knew all about the guns hidden there.
“Don’t be rough with the little maid, Dan,” said one of the men; “it’s early in the evening yet, and no harm in a child being on the road. Like as not she hid there from fear of us. Do you live near here, little one?”
Anne now ventured to look up, but in the dusk could only see that the man who spoke so kindly was bareheaded, while the others wore slouch hats which shaded their faces.
“No, sir,” she answered.
“There’s no house for miles,” declared the man who had discovered Anne, “and there’s some older person about, you may be sure.”
As he spoke Anne said to herself that she would not let them know how she came there. “If I do perhaps they will kill Mr. Freeman,” thought the frightened child. So when they questioned her she would not answer, and the men now had some reason to believe that Anne had older companions who might indeed be spies upon those who sympathized with the Americans.
“Is it safe to go to Mains’ house?” questioned one of the men, and there was a little talk among them over the matter, but they decided to go on; and, holding Anne fast by the hand, the man who had drawn her out from her hiding-place led the way, and Anne had not been away from the shingled house but an hour or two before she found herself again at the front door.
In response to a low whistle the door openedand the men filed into the room. Bill Mains, holding a candle in his hand, stood in the little passageway and as he saw Anne he nearly let the candle fall, and exclaimed in amazement:
“Where did you find that child? I had her double locked up in the brick room.”
“Are you sure of it?” asked the man who kept so tight a grasp on Anne’s arm that the mark of his fingers showed for several days after.
“Of course I’m sure; locked two of them up there before the thunder-storm, and have their father tied up in the kitchen. Tory spies they are.”
At the sound of the hated words Anne exclaimed: “Indeed we are not Tory spies. We are not either of those things. Mr. Freeman is a patriot, and his son is with Washington. How dare you say we are Tories and treat us so!” and the little girl quite forgot her fear, and, as the hold on her arm loosened, she took a step away from the man and said: “We were going to Boston, and going to stop at Suet to see Captain Sears, and that man,” and she pointed at Bill Mains, “shut us up because Rose and I peeked under a blanket at some guns.”
As Anne stopped speaking the men looked at one another in surprise. At last the bareheaded man began to laugh, and the others joined in; all but Bill Mains, who looked somewhat ashamed.
“You’ve been a bit too cautious, I reckon, Bill,” said the man who had found Anne. “Mr. Freeman of Boston is known as a loyal man. Did he not tell you who he was?”
“I gave him no chance after I found this little maid looking at the guns I had covered with blankets,” confessed Mains. “I told him I’d gag him if he said one word, and I reckon he thought he had fallen into the hands of a rank Tory. Who are you, little maid?” and he turned kindly toward Anne.
“I am John Nelson’s daughter, who is at sea on the ‘Yankee Hero,’ and I live with Uncle Enos and Aunt Martha Stoddard in Province Town, but now I am going with Rose Freeman for a visit in Boston,” explained Anne, who could hardly realize that these men were now kindly disposed toward her, and that Bill Mains was sadly ashamed to have so ill treated his unexpected guests. “You must let Rose right out of that dark room,” she added hastily.
“I should say so. You shall open the door yourself, little maid,” answered Mains. “You boys go on to the kitchen and get Mr. Freeman’s pardon for me if you can,” and he turned and led Anne toward the room where Rose was locked in.
When Rose saw Anne standing in the doorway she exclaimed: “Oh, Anne, has he brought you back!” in such an unhappy voice that Bill Mains felt very uncomfortable.
“It’s all right, Rose. You are to come right out where your father is. There are some nice men out there,” declared Anne, clasping her hands about Rose’s arm.
“Oh! then you found help,” and there was a world of relief in Rose’s voice as Anne led her out of the room, which Mr. Mains did not forget to lock carefully behind them.
“He thought we were Tory spies; that’s why he locked us up,” Anne explained, in a tone that almost seemed to praise Mr. Mains for such precaution.
“Tory spies, indeed!” said Rose, sending a scornful glance in his direction. “He should have known better. Where is my father?”
“Right this way, miss,” replied Mr. Mainshumbly, and the girls followed him to the kitchen where they found Mr. Freeman surrounded by the four men who had brought Anne back to the house.
Rose’s father was as ready to pardon the mistake as Bill Mains was eager to have him.
“It’s worth a little trouble to find we have such good men ready to defend our cause,” he declared, “but I am afraid my girls here are pretty tired, and if you can give them a room without cannon and powder, I’m sure they will sleep well,” as indeed they did in a neat little chamber into which Mr. Mains conducted them, bringing in the little trunk which had been strapped on the back of the chaise.
Mr. Freeman had believed that he was in the hands of the Tories, so that he did not greatly blame his host for being doubtful regarding him.
“It will delay us a little on our journey, but it is no great matter,” he said pleasantly in response to Mains’ repeated apologies. Then Mains explained that this house had been built of brick, and then boarded over and covered with shingles, as a storehouse for supplies for the American army. The four men had just returned from carrying powder to a couple of Yankeeboats at Plymouth. These boats were among the many privateers that cruised about during the Revolution, harassing English vessels, and often capturing rich prizes, and helping the American cause. They stayed late in the evening talking with Mr. Freeman, and listening with interest to what he could tell them of affairs in Boston; and when they started off on their way toward Brewster they promised to let his brother know of the mistake, which seemed to them a very good joke on their friend Mains.
Mr. Mains was up at an early hour the next morning, and Mr. Freeman declared the breakfast to be the best that he had ever tasted. There was broiled partridge, hot corn bread, a big dish of freshly picked blueberries, and plenty of good milk; and Anne and Rose thought that nothing could be better, and even decided that Mr. Mains did not look like a pirate after all. “For I don’t believe pirates wear brown gingham aprons, do you, Rose?” said Anne, watching Mr. Mains awkwardly tying his apron strings.
Lady had been well cared for, and was rested and ready for the journey when Mr. Mains ledher up to the door for the girls to enter the chaise.
“I’m mighty sorry,” he repeated as he helped the girls in, “sorry, I mean, to have locked you folks up; but real glad to know you,” and he waved them a smiling good-bye, as Mr. Freeman carefully guided Lady along the rough way to the main road.
“Well, Anne, I guess you’ll remember this journey all your life,” said Rose, as they reached the highway and Lady trotted briskly along as if glad to find her feet on good sand again. “Just think, father,” she continued, “of all that has happened to her since she left Province Town, and she’s not in Boston yet.”
“Things happened when I went to Boston before,” said Anne, remembering her brief visit to Newburyport, when she had safely carried a paper of importance to loyal Americans.
“I think all will go smoothly now,” said Mr. Freeman, “but it was a very brave thing for a little girl to start off alone for help, as you did last night, Anne,” and he looked kindly down at the little girl beside him. “Had we indeed been held prisoners by Tories you might have secured help for us, as you thought to do.”
“But she really did help us, father,” said Rose; “it was Anne who made them understand who we really were. I do believe we might be shut up still if Anne had not found a way to help us. Your father will be proud of you, Anne, when I tell him the story.”
It made Anne very happy to have Mr. Freeman and Rose praise her, and she quite forgave the man who had pulled her from behind the bushes, and whose finger marks she could still feel on her arm.
“I hope it won’t rain to-day,” said Mr. Freeman. “We ought to get to Sandwich by noon, and after Lady has rested, we’ll go on as far as we can. Lady seems as anxious to get to Boston as we do,” for the big horse was traveling at a rapid pace, and going as if she enjoyed it.
“You shall go and see Faneuil Hall when you are in Boston, Anne,” promised Rose, “and Mr. Hancock’s fine house. It has terraces and stone steps, and the English officers would well like to take up their quarters there.”
“They seem well satisfied with Vardy for a landlord at the ‘Royal Exchange,’” answered Mr. Freeman smilingly. “Look, there is a wasp’s nest as big as a bucket,” and Mr. Freemanpointed his whip toward a huge gray ball hanging from the branch of a partly decayed tree near the road.
“It’s a beauty,” said Rose, leaning out to see the wonderful ball of gray paper which swung from the branch above them.
Mr. Freeman turned Lady to the further side of the road and said, “If the wasps have deserted their house, as they sometimes do at this season, I’d like to get it to take home to the children. I never saw so large a nest. I can soon find out,” he concluded.
The brown horse stood quietly while Mr. Freeman and the girls got out of the chaise.
“Stay here a moment,” said Mr. Freeman, and he walked back toward the tree and threw a small round stone at the nest. It hit the mark, but no angry wasps appeared. Another stone touched it more forcibly, and, when the third failed to bring a single wasp from the nest, Mr. Freeman declared that he knew it was vacant, and cutting a branch from a slender birch tree with his pocket-knife, which he speedily made into a smooth pole, he managed to secure the nest without damaging it and brought it proudly back to show to Rose andAnne, neither of whom had ever seen one before.
“It’s just like paper,” said Anne admiringly, touching it carefully.
“That’s just what it is,” said Mr. Freeman. “I expect men learned from wasps how to make paper. For wasps go to work in a very business-like way. They chew up dead and crumbling wood and spread it out smoothly, and when it dries and hardens there is a sheet of paper, all ready to be used as one of the layers for this dry warm nest. Men make paper by grinding up wood or linen rags.”
“You can put the nest in our lunch-basket, father,” said Rose. “Frederick and Millicent will think it the most wonderful thing they have ever seen.”
Frederick and Millicent were Rose’s younger brother and sister. Frederick was about Anne’s age, but little Millicent was only six years old.
Lady turned her head as if to ask why they were lingering so far from a good stable; and Rose and Anne stopped a moment before getting in the chaise to rub her soft nose and tell her that she would soon be in Sandwich and should have a good feed of oats for her dinner.
“We shall reach the tavern in good season for dinner,” said Mr. Freeman, as they drove into the village of Sandwich.
It seemed a very wonderful thing to the little maid from Province Town to drive up to the inn, with its big painted sign swinging from a post near the road, and she took hold of Rose’s hand as if half afraid.
Rose looked down at her little friend with a smiling face.
“Why, Anne,” she said laughingly, “you were not a bit afraid to start off through the woods alone, or to journey with Indians, and here you are trembling because you are going into this little tavern for dinner.”
Anne managed to smile, but she kept a tight clasp on Rose’s hand. It was not that she was frightened, but as she stepped from the chaise she had heard one of the loiterers about the door exclaim,“Look at the child, bareheaded and wearing moccasins,” and her quick glance had comprehended the exchange of smiles; and Anne now felt uncomfortable and realized that she was not suitably dressed to travel in the high chaise. She looked at Rose, with her pretty dress of blue dimity, and white hat with its broad ribbon, her neat shoes and stockings, and realized that there was a great contrast in their appearance. Anne was very silent all through the meal and ate but little. Even Mr. Freeman began to notice that she was very silent and grave, and thought to himself that the little girl might be homesick.
“We can drive to Plymouth this afternoon,” he said, as they finished their dinner. “It is only about twenty miles, and we can get there early in the evening.”
Anne knew all about Plymouth. From the hill in Province Town she had looked across the water to Plymouth, and Uncle Enos had told her that many years ago a band of Pilgrims from England had landed at Province Town, and then sailed on and settled in Plymouth. Uncle Enos had wondered at it, and had shook his head over a people who would willingly settle in any other place than Province Town.
The road now followed the shore very closely,and Rose was interested in watching the boats, and the many flocks of wild sea-birds circling about in the summer air. But Anne leaned back in the corner of the chaise silent and troubled. The more she thought about her lack of all the things that Rose had the more unhappy she became. “They will all be ashamed of me when I get to Boston,” she thought, “and I have no money to buy things, and it will be three weeks or more before my dear father will reach Boston. Oh, dear!” And Anne, for the moment, wished herself back on the Province Town sands where a bareheaded, moccasin-shod little girl could be as happy as the day was long.
The sun had set, and it was in the cool of the early evening when they drove through Plymouth’s main street. They were all tired and quite ready for bed. It seemed a very large town to Anne, with its meeting-houses and stores, but she was glad that it was nearly dark and hoped that no one would notice that she had no hat or sunbonnet.
“If I had not run away Aunt Martha would have seen to it that I had things like other girls,” and she said to herself that “always, always, after this I’ll tell Aunt Martha before I do things.”
“To-morrow night we’ll be in Boston, Anne! Think of that,” said Rose happily, when the landlady had shown them to the comfortable chamber that they were to occupy for the night. “Father says we’ll start by sunrise, and give Lady a rest at Scituate. Just think of all I shall have to tell when I get home. And then we’ll go to the shops the very next day. Oh, Anne! I can’t keep the secret another minute,” and Rose came to the window where Anne stood looking out, and putting her arm over the younger girl’s shoulder whispered in her ear: “Captain Stoddard gave me two golden guineas to spend for you, Anne. He said your father left them to buy clothes for you. I planned not to tell you until we were really in the shops and ready to purchase, but I thought it too good news to keep longer,” and Rose smiled down at her little friend.
“Two guineas to buy clothes!” Anne’s voice sounded as if such good fortune was almost beyond belief.
“And I can have a hat, and shoes and stockings, since my own were left behind in the wigwam?” she said questioningly.
“Indeed you can. And mother will go with us, and I doubt not you will have a pretty dress and slippers as well as shoes, and many fine things, for two guineas is a large sum to spend.”
“Perhaps I shall not need to spend it all for clothes,” said Anne; “then I can buy a present for Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos, and perhaps something for Amanda.”
“Amanda!” echoed Rose. “Well, Anne, I would not take her home a gift; she does not deserve one from you.”
Anne was silent, but she was excusing Amanda in her thoughts. As Amos so often said of Jimmie Starkweather that “nothing ever happens to Jimmie,” so did Anne think of Amanda. She somehow felt sorry for Amanda, and had quite forgiven the ugly slaps her playmate had given her.
It took Anne a good while to go to sleep that night. Blue dimity dresses and shining slippers danced before her wakeful eyes, and a white ribbon to tie back her hair. Already she was trying to decide what her present to Amanda should be; and it seemed to her that she had just gone to sleep when Rose was shaking her gently and saying: “Time to get up.”
The travelers were all in the best of spiritsthat morning: Rose, happy to be so near home, Anne delighted at the prospect of having dresses like the girls who lived in Boston, and Mr. Freeman had had the best of news from Plymouth friends, who declared that news from Philadelphia had been received stating that the Congress there was agreed upon declaring the independence of America.
“’Tis what Mr. Samuel Adams has worked so hard for,” Mr. Freeman told the girls; “and when the Congress has fully determined upon the form of the declaration word will be sent post-haste to Boston; and I trust, too, that Mr. Adams may be spared for a visit to his family. He has been absent from Boston for a year past.”
Mr. Freeman had asked the landlord to furnish them with a luncheon, as he did not know if there would be a suitable place to procure food in Scituate; and with a bag of oats for Lady fastened on top of the little trunk, and a basket of luncheon under the seat of the chaise, the travelers could choose just when and where to stop.
“We’ll keep a sharp outlook for a good clear stream of water,” said Mr. Freeman.
“And I hope we can stop near the shore,” said Rose; “I’d like to go in wading.”
Anne thought that it would not make much difference where they stopped. The fragrant summer air, the pleasant shadow of the trees along the road, and the hope of soon being in Boston so filled her thoughts that where or what she ate seemed of little consequence.
Several hours after leaving Plymouth they found themselves on a pleasant stretch of road bordering the water.
“There is the very beach for wading!” exclaimed Rose happily, and even as she spoke they heard the splash of falling water and just before them was a rough bridge of logs over a rapid stream of clear water. Lady nearly stopped, and gave a little whinny as if asking for a drink.
“Just the place!” declared Mr. Freeman; “and here’s a good piece of greensward in the shade for Lady,” and he turned into a little grassy field beyond the bridge where a big beech tree stood, making a grateful circle of shade.
“Lady must have a couple of hours’ rest,” said Mr. Freeman, “so you girls can go down to the beach or do whatever you like until you are ready for luncheon.”
The girls took off their shoes and stockings and ran down to the water’s edge, and were soonwading about enjoying the cool water. After a little while they tired of wading and went up on the dry warm sand. Patches of bayberry bushes grew near the shore, and their fragrant leaves and small gray berries at once attracted Rose’s attention. She had never before seen this shrub, a species of myrtle, and Anne was delighted to find something that she could tell the elder girl.
“It’s bayberry, Rose. Just rub the leaves between your fingers and see how sweet it smells,” she said. “Aunt Martha makes candles of these little green berries, and likes them better than tallow candles. When you snuff them out they make all the room smell just like this,” and Anne held the bruised leaves up for Rose to smell.
“I don’t see how candles could be made of these little berries,” said Rose.
“And Aunt Martha makes a fine salve from them, too,” continued Anne. “When she makes the candles I gather the berries, quarts and quarts, and she boils them in a kettle, and then skims off the top, and boils it again, and then turns it into the molds.”
“Come to luncheon, girls!” called Mr. Freeman,and they ran back to the grassy field and the shade of the beech tree. On one side Lady was nibbling her oats happily. The lunch basket stood open; Mr. Freeman handed Rose a small tin drinking cup, and the girls ran down to the brook for a drink of the clear water.
“Cape Cod twists about Massachusetts Bay like a long arm, doesn’t it, father?” said Rose, as they all seated themselves around the lunch basket.
Mr. Freeman laughed at Rose’s description of the Cape, but nodded his head in agreement.
“I believe it does, my dear,” he answered. “Province Town is the hand curved in, and Truro the wrist; Chatham must be the elbow, and now we are getting pretty well up to the shoulder.”
After luncheon they all went back to the shore, and picked up many tiny shells. Some of these were clear white, and others a delicate pink. Mr. Freeman told them that the Indian women pricked tiny holes, with a small sharp-pointed awl, in these shells and strung them like beads, and Rose and Anne thought it would be a fine plan to carry a quantity of shells to Boston and string them into necklaces.
The time went swiftly, and when Mr. Freeman said that Lady had now had a good rest and would be quite ready to start on, the girls reluctantly left the beach and walked slowly toward the chaise.
“I wonder where father and Lady are?” said Rose, and as she spoke Mr. Freeman came running across the little green field.
“Lady is gone! Stolen, I’m afraid,” he called out.
The girls looked at him in amazement.
“She was securely fastened, and even if she got loose would not have gone far,” he continued, “and there is no trace of her.” Mr. Freeman’s face was very anxious, and Rose exclaimed:
“But who could take Lady, father? We have not seen a person since we left Plymouth.”
“Some strolling person,” answered Mr. Freeman; “perhaps some frightened Tory from one of the loyal settlements on his way toward a place of safety.”
Anne stood silent, holding up the skirt of her dress filled with the pretty shells.
“And shall we have to walk to Boston?” asked Rose.
“And leave this good chaise? I think not; though I hardly know how we can remain here,” said Mr. Freeman.
For an hour or more they searched the near-by woods and up and down the road, but there was no trace to be found of Lady, nor did they find anything to tell them of how she had vanished.
“Your mother told me that it was no time for a visit so far from home,” said Mr. Freeman, “and if Lady is indeed stolen I shall have good reason to wish that I had stayed at home. I hardly dare send you girls along the road alone, but if I leave this chaise it may disappear as Lady has done.”
“Where could we go, father?”
“We are not far from Scituate, and any of the settlers who have a horse would come back and get the chaise,” he answered. “I do not know of any harm that could befall you if you keep in the highway.”
“Of course we must go,” Rose decided quickly, and Anne looked at her friend admiringly, thinking, as she so often did, that she would like to be exactly like Rose Freeman.
In the excitement of discovering that Lady had disappeared Rose had dropped all the prettyshells she had gathered, but Anne was holding her skirt tightly clasped.
“Put your shells in the lunch basket, Anne,” said Mr. Freeman; “I’ll pick up those you have dropped, Rose. We shall reach Boston some time, and you will be glad of these to remind you of an adventurous journey,” and his smile made the girls ready to start off with better courage.
“Stop at the first house on the road,” directed Mr. Freeman; “tell them who you are, and what has befallen us, and ask them to come to my assistance, and for permission to stay at the house until I come for you.”
“Yes, father,” replied Rose, and then she and Anne started down the road. They kept in the shade for some distance, then the road ran up a long sandy hill where the sun came down fully upon them, and before they reached the summit they were very warm and tired.
“There’s a house!” exclaimed Anne, as they stopped to rest on the top of the hill.
“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Rose. “And it’s a farmhouse. See the big barns. There are sure to be horses there.”
The girls quite forgot the heat, and ran downthe sandy hill and hurried along the road, which now was a smoother and better one than any over which they had traveled, and in a short time were near the comfortable farmhouse. A woman was standing in the doorway watching them.
“Where in the world did you girls come from,” she called out as they opened the gate, “in all this heat? Come right in. I should think your folks must be crazy to let you walk in the sun. Was that your father who went galloping by on a brown horse just now?”
As soon as the woman finished speaking Rose told her their story.
“Then that man had stolen your horse! A Tory, I’ll wager; and like enough a spy,” said the woman; “and my menfolks all away. There are two horses in the pasture; if you girls can catch one of ’em and ride it back to where your father’s waiting, why, you’re welcome.”
Anne and Rose looked at each other almost in dismay. Neither of them had ever been on the back of a horse, and to go into a pasture and catch a strange horse seemed to them very much like facing a wild beast.
“We’ll try,” said Rose with a little smile.
“I thought you would,” said the woman approvingly. “I’d go myself, but I’ve got bread in the oven, and I must see to it.”
The woman led the way to a shed and filling a shallow pan with oats from a big bin, handed it to Rose, saying: “You go right through those bars—leave ’em down; I’ll put ’em up for you—and shake these oats and call ‘Range, Range,’ and the old horse will be sure to come, and the colt will follow.”
Rose took the pan, and Anne pulled back the heavy bars, and they went a few steps beyond the fence into the pasture and began to call “Range! Range!”
In a moment there was the thud, thud of hoofs and two black horses came dashing down the pasture. Their long manes and tails gave them a terrifying look to the two girls, who, nevertheless, stood their ground, Rose holding out the pan as the woman had bidden her.
“Oh, Rose! They’ll run right over us!” exclaimed Anne, watching the horses rushing toward them so swiftly.
But the horses came to a sudden stop a few feet from where the girls stood. Then one turned and rushed away, kicking up his heels as if to say: “I’m not to be caught!”
Rose kept on calling “Range! Range!” and shaking the pan, and the other horse stepped forward and stuck his nose into the dish.
“Grab hold of his mane, Anne. Quick! and hold on tight!” said Rose; “the woman is coming now with the bridle.”
Anne obeyed, holding fast to the black mane until Mrs. Pierce came running from the barn, bringing a blanket and a bridle.
“I’m glad you caught Range,” she said; “he’s used to a saddle, and the colt is wild as a deer.” While she talked she was strapping the blanket securely on the horse’s back, and now slipped the bit into his mouth.
“The little girl better go,” she continued, nodding toward Anne. “You just climb that fence, and I’ll lead Range alongside and you can get on his back nicely. Sit boy fashion; it’s safer. No sense as I can see in a girl jest hanging on to one side of anything,” and almost before she knew it Anne found herself on the back of the black horse.
Mrs. Pierce, who had told the girls her name on the way to the pasture, led Range out into the road and headed him in the right direction.
“If he don’t go fast enough kick your heels against his sides and call to him,” directed the woman, handing the reins to Anne, and giving the horse a sharp slap that sent him off at a good pace.
It seemed to Anne as if she were going up into the air, or over the horse’s head. But somehow she managed to keep on Range’s back, though she did not dare to give a backward look.