CHAPTER VIII“WHITE WITCHES”
For a moment both Anna and Luretta looked at Melvina a little doubtfully, for they could but remember and be ashamed of their part in the foolish game they had tried to play with her so short a time ago. But Melvina was smiling and friendly, and evidently had cherished no ill-feeling toward them. By the time she had replied to Mrs. Foster’s friendly inquiries in regard to her mother, Anna and Luretta were quite at their ease; and Luretta said to herself that she did not wonder Anna wanted to be like Melvina. Luretta even began to wonder if it would not be well for her to learn to speak as softly as did Melvina Lyon; it certainly had a pleasant sound, she thought admiringly.
“I must return home,” said Mrs. Foster, “but Melvina’s father will expect her to wait here for him; so, Luretta, you and Anna may stay with her until he comes. Here is a clean log whereyou can sit comfortably, and do not go far from this spot.”
The little girls promised, and Mrs. Foster started for home. Hardly had she turned her back when Melvina clasped Anna by the hand, and exclaimed: “Now you can tell me more about the woods, and the little animals who live in hollow logs or burrow under rocks, and about the different birds and their nests! Oh, begin quickly, for my father may soon return,” and she drew Anna toward the big log that lay near the path.
“Tell her about our rabbits, Danna,” suggested Luretta. “My brother Paul brought me two little gray rabbits from the forest,” she explained; and Melvina listened eagerly to the description of Trit and Trot, and of their cunning ways and bright eyes, and was told that they had already lost their fear of Luretta and Anna.
“I wish I could see them. I have never seen any little animals except kittens,” said Melvina. It seemed to Melvina that Anna and Luretta were very fortunate children. They could run about in old clothes, play on the shore and among the piles of lumber, and they knew many strange and interesting things about the creatures of theforest which she had never before heard. The long lessons that she had to learn each morning, the stint of neat stitches that she had to set each day, and the ceremonious visits now and then, when she always had to take her knitting, and was cautioned by her anxious mother to “remember that she was a minister’s daughter, and behave properly, and set a good example”—all these things flitted through Melvina’s thoughts as tiresome tasks that she would like to escape, and be free as Anna seemed to be.
“Mayn’t I bring the rabbits down here for Melvina to see?” asked Anna. “The box would not be very heavy.”
But Luretta had objections to this plan. Her brother had told her not to move the box from the sunny corner near the shed; and, beside this, she was sure it was too heavy for Anna to lift. “If you should let it fall they might get out and run away,” she concluded. Then, noticing Anna’s look of disappointment, she added: “I know what you may do, Danna. You and Melvina may go up and see the rabbits, and I will wait here for Parson Lyon and tell him where Melvina is, and that we will see her safely home; and then I will hurry after you.”
“Oh! Yes, indeed; that is a splendid plan,” said Melvina eagerly, jumping up from the log. “Let us go now, Anna. And is not Luretta kind to think of it?”
Anna agreed rather soberly. Mrs. Foster had told them to remain near the log, she remembered, but if Melvina saw no harm in Luretta’s plan she was sure it must be right; so taking Melvina’s hand they started off.
“Let’s run, Anna,” urged Melvina; for Anna was walking sedately, in the manner in which she had so often seen Melvina come down the path, and she was a little surprised that her companion had not at once noticed it. But Anna was always ready to run, and replied quickly: “Let’s race, and see who can get to the blacksmith shop first.”
Away went the two little girls, Melvina’s long braids dancing about, and her starched skirts blown back as she raced along; and, greatly to Anna’s surprise, Melvina passed her and was first at the shop.
“I beat! I beat!” exclaimed Melvina, her dark eyes shining and her face flushed with the unwonted exercise.
“You do everything best,” Anna declaredgenerously, “but I did not know that you could run so fast.”
“Neither did I,” Melvina acknowledged laughingly. Anna felt a little puzzled by this sudden change in Melvina, which was far more noticeable than Anna’s own effort to give up her boyish ways and become a quiet, sedate little girl. For ever since the few hours of freedom on the shore, on the day of the tempest, Melvina had endeavored to be as much like Anna as possible. She ran, instead of walking slowly, whenever she was out of her mother’s sight. She had even neglected her lessons to go out-of-doors and watch a family of young robins one morning, and had been immediately called in by her surprised mother. In fact, Melvina had tried in every way to do things that she imagined Anna liked to do. She had even besought her mother to cut off her hair; but, as she dared not give her reason for such a wish, Mrs. Lyon had reproved her sharply, saying that it was a great misfortune for a little girl not to have smoothly braided hair, or long curls. So while Anna endeavored to cover her pretty curly hair, to behave sedately, and give up many of her outdoor games, in order to be like Melvina, Melvina was wishing that shecould be exactly like Anna; and as they stood looking at each other at the end of their race each little girl noticed a change in the other which she could not understand, and they started off toward Luretta’s home at a more sober pace.
“Here they are,” said Anna, as they came to the corner of the shed and saw the rabbits looking out at them between the slats of the box.
Melvina kneeled down close to the box and exclaimed admiringly as Trit and Trot scurried away to the farthest corner.
“I do wish I could touch one! Would it not be fun to dress them up like dolls!” she said. “If they were mine I would dress them up in bonnets and skirts, and teach them to bow. Oh, Anna! Can’t we take one out? One of them is yours, Luretta said so; let us take out your rabbit, Anna.”
“But we haven’t anything to dress it up in,” said Anna, beginning to think that Melvina was a good deal like other little girls after all.
“Could we not take your rabbit over to my house, Anna? My mother has gone to Mrs. Burnham’s to spend the day, and we could take Trot up to my room and dress her up and play games. Do, Anna!” urged Melvina.
“It would be great sport indeed,” agreed Anna eagerly; “we could call Trot by some fine name, like Queen Elizabeth, and have your dolls for visitors.”
“Yes, yes, we could! Or play Trot was a lion that we had captured in Africa. Where is the door to the box, Anna?” and Melvina’s dark eyes shone more brightly than ever as Anna slid back the little door that Paul had so carefully made, and, after several vain efforts, finally secured one of the rabbits and quickly wrapped it in the skirt of her dress.
“Shut the door, Melvina! Quick! or the other will run out,” she said, but although Melvina hastened to obey she was only just in time to catch the second rabbit in her hands; an instant later and it would have scampered away free.
“Put your skirt around it. Hurry, and let’s run. Mrs. Foster is coming,” whispered Anna, and the two little girls ran swiftly behind the shed, holding the trembling frightened rabbits, and then across the fields toward Mr. Lyon’s house. Not until they reached the back door of the parsonage did either of them remember Luretta, and then it was Anna who exclaimed:
“But what will Luretta think when she comes home and does not find us, and sees the empty box?”
“She won’t go home for a long time; we will be back and the rabbits safe in their box by that time,” declared Melvina. “We will go up the back stairs, Anna; and we need not be quiet, for London has gone fishing. We will have a fine time! Oh, Anna, I am so glad you stopped me that day when we went wading, for now we are friends,” she continued, leading the way up-stairs.
“But I was horrid, Melvina,” Anna said, recalling her efforts to make Melvina appear silly and ignorant so that Luretta would scorn her.
“No, indeed, you were not,” responded Melvina. “When we played on the shore you made me laugh and run. I never played like that before.”
“Well, I think you are real good,” said Anna humbly, as she followed Melvina into a pleasant sunny chamber. “Most girls would have been angry when their fine clothes were spoiled; and you were punished too, and I was not;” and Anna looked at Melvina admiringly, thinking toherself that she would do anything that Melvina could ask to make up to her for that undeserved punishment.
“You will have to hold both the rabbits while I get my dolls,” said Melvina; and Anna’s attention was fully occupied in keeping the two little creatures safe and quiet in the folds of her skirt, which she held together bag fashion, while Melvina drew a large box from the closet and took out three fine dolls.
Anna gazed at the dolls admiringly. Each one wore a gown of blue silk, and little shirred bonnets to match. Melvina explained that they, the dolls, all wanted to dress just alike.
“We will put these on Trit and Trot,” she said, drawing out two white skirts from her collection of doll clothes. “And see these little white bonnets!” and she held up two tiny round bonnets of white muslin; “these will be just the thing.”
The rabbits submitted to being dressed. Both the girls were very gentle with them, and gradually the little creatures grew less frightened. Neither Anna nor Melvina had ever had such delightful playthings before. The rabbits were Queen Elizabeth and Lady Washington, and thedolls came to bow low before them. The time passed very rapidly, and not until London was seen coming toward the house to prepare the noonday meal did the little girls give another thought to Luretta. Melvina, glancing from the window, saw London coming up the path with his basket of fish. She was holding Lady Washington, and for a second her clasp was less firm, and that was enough. With a leap the rabbit was through the open window, the white skirt fluttering about it. Anna, starting up in surprise, let go Queen Elizabeth, who followed Lady Washington through the window so closely that it was small wonder that London dropped his basket of fish and ran back a few steps with a loud cry. After a few scrambling leaps the rabbits disappeared, and London, trembling with fright, for he believed that the strange leaping creatures dressed in white must be some sort of evil witches, picked up his basket, and shaking his head and muttering to himself, came slowly toward the house.
“And there comes my father, and Luretta is with him,” exclaimed Melvina. “What shall we do, Anna? And what will Luretta say when we tell her about the rabbits? Come, we must beat the front door when they get here, or my father will fear I am lost.”
Mr. Lyon smiled as he saw his little girl standing in the doorway, and his troubled look vanished. But Luretta looked flushed and angry. All the morning she had been sitting on the log waiting for Mr. Lyon, and when he came at last she had hurried home only to find that her mother had not seen either of the girls, and Luretta had run after Mr. Lyon to tell him this, and accompanied him to the door.
“I will walk home with Luretta,” Anna said with unusual meekness. Melvina watched them go, a little frightened at the end of the morning’s fun. She did not know what they could say to Luretta to explain their mischief. At that moment London came into the front entry.
“I’se seen strange sights this mornin’, massa!” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’se seen white witches flyin’ out ob dis house.”
“London! Do not talk of such wickedness,” said Mr. Lyon sharply. “Even your little mistress is amused at such absurd talk,” for Melvina, knowing what London had seen, was laughing heartily. But London, shaking his head solemnly, went back to the kitchen, sure that hehad seen a strange and awful sight, and resolved to speak to Mr. Lyon again of the matter.
“Well, Danna Weston! You can’t have one of my rabbits now, after treating me this way,” said Luretta. “And I am not going to walk home with you, either,” and she ran swiftly ahead.
Anna did not hurry after her, as Luretta hoped and expected. She began to feel very unhappy. Trit and Trot were gone, and who could tell but the skirts and bonnets might not strangle them? Then, suddenly, she remembered that Rebecca was at home ill, and that she had entirely forgotten her, and the young checkerberry leaves she had intended picking for her sister. She put the thought that it was all Melvina’s fault out of her mind. Even if it were, had not she, Anna, led Melvina into a more serious trouble on the day of the tempest? She resolved that she would take all the blame of the lost rabbits, that Melvina should not even be questioned about them if she could help it. But it was a very sober little girl who went up the path toward home.
CHAPTER IXREBECCA’S VISIT
Before Anna reached home Rebecca had decided that she must see Lucia Horton as soon as possible; for she began to fear that Lucia in some way might betray their secret; but Rebecca knew that her mother would not consent to her going out until she appeared more like her usual self than she had at breakfast time. So she brushed her hair neatly, bathed her face, and just before Anna’s return home, came into the kitchen.
“My head does not ache at all, Mother,” she announced, “and I feel as well as ever.”
Mrs. Weston looked at Rebby in astonishment. “I declare!” she exclaimed, “if thoroughwort tea doesn’t beat all! But I never knew it to act as quickly before. Well, I must take time and go to the swamp for a good supply of it before this month goes. ’Tis best when gathered in May.”
“May I not walk over and see Lucia?” Rebbyasked a little fearfully, wondering what she could do if her mother refused.
“Why, yes; it will very likely do you good. But walk slowly, dear child,” responded Mrs. Weston, taking Rebecca’s sunbonnet from its peg behind the door and tying the strings under Rebby’s round chin.
“When thePollycomes into harbor you will have the gold beads from your Grandmother Weston, in Boston; but how Danna guessed it is more than I can imagine,” she said, and Rebecca started down the path. Mrs. Weston stood for a moment in the doorway looking after her. She was more disturbed by Rebecca’s sudden illness than she wished to acknowledge.
“I wish indeed that thePollyandUnitywould come; perchance it is the lack of proper food that ails the children: too much Indian meal, and no sweets or rice or dried fruits,” she thought anxiously. “And to think ’tis England, our own kinsfolk, who can so forget that we learned what justice and loyalty mean from England herself,” she said aloud, as she returned to her household duties. For Mrs. Weston, like so many of the American colonists, had been born in an English village, and knew that the trouble between Englandand her American colonies was caused by the injustice of England’s king, and his refusal to listen to wise advisers.
Lucia Horton’s home lay in an opposite direction from the blacksmith shop. It stood very near the shore, and from its upper windows there was a good view of the harbor. It had no yard or garden in front, as did so many of the simple houses of the settlement, and the front door opened directly on the rough road which led along the shore.
Rebecca rapped on the door a little timidly, and when Mrs. Horton opened it and said smilingly: “Why, here is the very girl I have been wanting to see. Come right in, Rebecca Flora,” she was rather startled.
“Lucia is not very well,” Mrs. Horton continued, “and she has been saying that she must,mustsee Rebecca Flora; so it is most fortunate that you have arrived. Some great secret, I suppose,” and Mrs. Horton smiled pleasantly, little imagining how important the girls’ secret was. Her two elder sons, boys of fifteen and seventeen, were on thePollywith their father, and she and Lucia were often alone.
Rebecca had but stepped into the house whenshe heard her name called from the stairway. “Oh, Rebecca, come right up-stairs,” called Lucia, and Mrs. Horton nodded her approval. “Yes, run along. ’Twill do Lucia good to see you. I cannot imagine what ails her to-day. I saw one of the O’Brien boys passing just now, and he tells me their liberty tree has been found and brought to shore!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Rebecca in so surprised a tone that Mrs. Horton laughed. “’Twould have been full as well if the tree had been allowed to drift out to sea,” she added in a lower tone.
Rebecca went up-stairs so slowly that Lucia called twice before her friend entered the chamber where Lucia, bolstered up in bed, and with flushed cheeks and looking very much as Rebby herself had looked an hour earlier, was waiting for her.
“Shut the door tightly,” whispered Lucia, and Rebecca carefully obeyed, and then tiptoed toward the bed.
For a moment the two girls looked at each other, and then Lucia whispered: “What will become of us, Rebecca? Mr. O’Brien told Mother that the men were determined to find out who pushed the liberty tree afloat, and that nomercy would be shown the guilty. That’s just what he said, Rebby, for I heard him,” and Lucia began to cry.
“But the tree is found and brought back,” said Rebecca, “and how can anyone ever find out that we did it? No one will know unless we tell; and you wouldn’t tell, would you, Lucia?”
Lucia listened eagerly, and gradually Rebecca grew more courageous, and declared that she was not at all afraid; that is, if Lucia would solemnly promise never to tell of their creeping down to the shore and cutting the rope that held the tree to the stake.
“Of course I never would tell,” said Lucia, who was now out of bed and dressing as rapidly as possible. “I wasn’t ill; but I stayed up-stairs because I was afraid you might tell,” she confessed; and then Rebecca owned that she had felt much the same. “But I had to take a big bowlful of bitter thoroughwort tea,” she added, making a little face at the remembrance.
“Well, you are a better medicine than thoroughwort tea,” said Lucia; and Mrs. Horton opened the door just in time to hear this.
“Why, it is indeed so,” she said, looking in surprise at her little daughter, who seemed quiteas well as usual. “Your father has just passed, Rebecca, and I asked his permission for you to stay to dinner with us, and he kindly agreed. I think now I must have a little celebration that Lucia has recovered so quickly,” and with a smiling nod she left the two girls.
“I know what that means,” declared Lucia, for the moment forgetting the danger of discovery. “It means that we shall have rice cooked with raisins, and perhaps guava jelly or sugared nuts.”
Rebecca looked at her friend as if she could hardly believe her own ears; for the dainties that Lucia named so carelessly were seldom enjoyed in the remote settlement; and although Captain Horton took care that his own pantry was well supplied it was not generally known among his neighbors how many luxuries his family enjoyed.
“Surely you are but making believe,” said Rebecca.
“No, truly, Rebby; we will likely have all those things to-day, since Mother said ’twould be a celebration; and I am glad indeed that you are here. You do not have things like that at your house, do you?” said Lucia.
Rebecca could feel her cheeks flush, but she didnot know why she felt angry at what Lucia had said. It was true that the Westons, like most of their neighbors, had only the plainest food, but she wished herself at home to share the corn bread and baked fish that would be her mother’s noonday meal. She was silent so long that Lucia looked at her questioningly; and when Mrs. Horton called them to dinner they went down-stairs very quietly.
The table was set with plates of shining pewter. There was a loaf of white bread, now but seldom seen in the settlement, and a fine omelet; and, even as Lucia had said, there was boiled rice with raisins in it, and guava jelly.
Rebecca was hungry, and here was a treat spread before her such, as Lucia had truly said, she never had at home; but to Mrs. Horton’s surprise and Lucia’s dismay, Rebecca declared that she must go home; and taking her sunbonnet, with some stammering words of excuse she hastened away.
“A very ill-bred child,” declared Mrs. Horton, “and I shall be well pleased if your father can take us away from this forsaken spot on his next trip.”
Lucia sat puzzled and half frightened at Rebecca’ssudden departure. Lucia did not for a moment imagine that anything she had said could have sent Rebecca flying from the house.
Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Anna were nearly through dinner when Rebecca appeared, and Mrs. Weston declared herself well pleased that Rebby had come home; there were no questions asked, and it seemed to Rebby that nothing had ever tasted better than the corn bread and the boiled fish; she had not a regretful thought for the Hortons’ dainties.
Anna told the story of all that had occurred to her that morning; of taking the rabbits to the parsonage, and of London’s exclamation and terror at the “white witches,” and last of all of Luretta’s anger. “And I didn’t even tell Luretta that the rabbits were lost,” concluded the little girl, and then, with a deep sigh, she added: “I suppose I will have to go right over and tell her.”
“Yes,” replied her mother gravely, “you must go at once. And you must tell Luretta how sorry you are for taking the rabbits from the box. And fail not to say to Mrs. Foster that you are ashamed at not keeping your promise.”
Mr. Weston did not speak, but Rebecca noticedthat he seemed pleased rather than vexed with his little daughter. “That’s because Anna always tells everything,” thought Rebecca. “But if I should tell what I did last night he would think me too wicked to forgive,” and at the thought she put her head on the table and began to cry.
“Why, Rebby, dear! ’Tis my fault in letting you go out this morning,” exclaimed Mrs. Weston, now quite sure that Rebecca was really ill. But in a few moments her tears ceased, and she was ready to help with washing the dishes and setting the room in order.
“I will walk along with you, Danna,” said her father, when Anna was ready to start on the unpleasant errand of owning her fault to Luretta, and they started out together, Anna holding fast to her father’s hand.
“I wish I need not go, Father,” Anna said as they walked along.
Mr. Weston’s clasp on his little daughter’s hand tightened. “Let me see; do you not remember the verse from the Bible that ‘he who conquers his own spirit is braver than he who taketh a city’?” he questioned gently.
Anna looked up at him wonderingly, and Mr.Weston continued: “It is your courage in owning your fault that makes you a conqueror, and as brave as a brave soldier.”
“As brave as Washington?” asked Anna, and when her father smiled down at her she smiled back happily. Probably a little girl could not be as brave as a great soldier, she thought, but if her father was pleased it would not be so hard, after all, to tell Luretta about Trit and Trot. But Anna again firmly resolved that she would take all the blame herself; Melvina should not be blamed in any way for the loss of the rabbits.
CHAPTER XAN AFTERNOON WALK
At the turn by the blacksmith shop Mr. Weston said good-bye, and Anna went on alone to Luretta’s home. The front door was open, and before she reached the house she heard someone crying, and when she stood on the doorstep she realized that it was Luretta, and that Mrs. Foster was endeavoring to comfort her.
“The rabbits are much happier to be free to run back to the woods. Perhaps by this time they have found their mother, and are telling all their adventures to their brothers and sisters,” she heard Mrs. Foster say.
“But Danna and Melvina may have taken them,” sobbed Luretta; and then Anna rapped at the door.
“Come in,” called Mrs. Foster, and Anna, a little timidly, entered the sitting-room.
Luretta looked up, but did not speak.
“Come right in, Anna,” said Mrs. Foster pleasantly. “Luretta has bad news for you; the rabbits are gone.”
Anna did not look up, and there was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then she began her story:
“If you please, Mistress Foster, I am sorry I broke my promise to you this morning. You bade me to wait with Melvina by the big log, and I did not.”
“You came and took my rabbits,” wailed Luretta, “and I s’pose you gave one to that stuck-up Melvina.”
Anna nodded. “Yes, I did take them; but I meant to bring them back, Luretta, truly I did. But they got away.”
A fresh wail from Luretta made Anna look pleadingly up at Mrs. Foster, whose eyes rested kindly upon her.
“Luretta, stop thy foolish crying,” said Mrs. Foster, “and let Anna tell you all the story of the rabbits.” Then she rested her hand on Anna’s shoulder and said kindly:
“I am glad, Anna, that you and Luretta are friends, for thou art a brave and honest child. Now, I must attend to my work, and I will leaveyou,” and the two little girls found themselves alone in the room.
Luretta was sitting in the big cushioned wooden rocker, with her face hidden against the back. Anna was standing in front of her, trying to think of something to say that would make Luretta forgive her. Then she heard Luretta’s half-smothered voice say: “Do you s’pose our rabbits did find their mother?”
“I don’t know, Luretta, but I only meant to let Melvina play with them. We—I took them out and carried them over to Melvina’s house and we dressed them up in doll’s clothes——”
“Yes? Yes? And what else?” asked Luretta eagerly, now facing about and forgetting all her anger in hearing what Anna had to tell. So Anna went on and described all that had happened, imitating London’s cry of terror at the sight of the “white witches.” At this Luretta began to laugh, and Anna came nearer to the big chair, and even ventured to rest against its arm.
“Luretta, let’s you and I go up the trail toward the forest. Perhaps we might find Trit and Trot,” she suggested.
Luretta was out of the chair in a moment; and, quite forgetting all her anger toward Anna, sheagreed promptly and the two little girls, hand in hand, came into the kitchen and told Mrs. Foster their plan.
She listened smilingly, but cautioned them not to go beyond the edge of the forest.
“You might meet some animal larger than a rabbit,” she warned them; “’tis the time when bears are about nibbling the tender bark and buds of the young trees; so go not into the wood. Beside that a party of Indians were seen near the upper falls yesterday.”
“But the Indians come often to the village, and do no harm,” said Anna.
But Mrs. Foster shook her head. She remembered that the Indians could not always be trusted. The little girls promised to follow the trail only to the edge of the wood, and started soberly off.
“We might see Trit and Trot behind any bush, might we not?” suggested Luretta hopefully.
“Perhaps we might see a little baby bear! Would it not be fine if we could catch two little bears instead of rabbits?” responded Anna, as they climbed the hill, stopping now and then to pick the tender young checkerberry leaves, orlisten to the song of some woodland bird. A group of young spruce trees stood beside the trail, and here the two little girls stopped to rest. The sun was warm, and they both were glad to sit down in the pleasant shade.
They talked about thePolly, wondering when she would come to port, and then their thoughts went back to their lost pets.
“I do think you ought not to have taken them from the box. I am sure Paul will not like it when I tell him they are gone,” said Luretta.
Anna’s face grew grave. “Must you tell him?” she asked.
“Of course I must. He will bring home young leaves and roots for them to-night, and what will he say!” and Luretta’s voice sounded as if tears were very near.
While Luretta spoke Anna’s eyes had been fixed on a little clump of bushes on the other side of the trail. The bushes moved queerly. There was no wind, and Anna was sure that some little animal was hiding behind the shrubs. Greatly excited, Anna leaned forward, grasping Luretta’s arm.
“Look! those bushes!” she whispered.
At that moment a queer ball of dingy whiteappeared on the opposite side of the trail, and instantly Anna sprang toward it. Her hands grasped the torn and twisted piece of floating cloth, and closed upon the poor frightened little creature, one of the lost rabbits, nearly frightened to death by the strange garment that had prevented his escape.
If he could have spoken he would have begged for the freedom that his brother had achieved; but he could only tremble and shrink from the tender hands that held him so firmly.
In a moment Anna had unfastened the doll’s skirt, and Trit, or Trot, was once more clear of the detested garment.
“Oh, Danna! Do you suppose we can take it safely home?” exclaimed the delighted Luretta.
“Just see how frightened he is,” Anna responded. Somehow she no longer wished to take the little creature back and shut it up.
“Do you suppose its mother is trying to find it?” she continued thoughtfully.
“And would it tell its brothers and sisters all its adventures, just as Mother said?” questioned Luretta.
“Why not?” Anna’s brown eyes sparkled. “Of course it would. Probably Trot is safehome by this time, and all the rabbit family are looking out for Trit.”
Anna looked hopefully toward Luretta. If Trit went free it must be Luretta’s gift. Anna felt that she had no right to decide.
“Let him go, Danna,” said Luretta softly; and very gently Anna released her clasp on the soft little rabbit. It looked quickly up, and with a bound it was across the trail and out of sight.
Both the girls drew a long breath.
“I will tell Paul about Trit’s mother and brothers and sisters,” said Luretta, as they started toward home. “Probably he will laugh; but I guess he will say they ought to be free.”
Both Anna and Luretta were very quiet on the walk home. Anna began to feel tired. It seemed to her that a great deal had happened since morning. She remembered the liberty pole, with a little guilty sense of having been more interested in the rabbits, and in Melvina and Luretta, than in the safety of the emblem of freedom. But she was glad that Luretta was no longer angry at her.
“You don’t care much about the rabbits, do you, Danna?” Luretta asked, as they stopped near Luretta’s house to say good-bye.
“I am glad they are free,” replied Anna. “It would be dreadful to have giants catch us, wouldn’t it?”
Luretta agreed soberly, thinking that to the rabbits she must have seemed a giant.
“Father will say ’twas best to let them go, whatever Paul says,” she added, and promising to meet the next day the friends parted.
Anna danced along the path in her old fashion, quite forgetting Melvina’s measured steps. Everything was all right now. She and Luretta were friends; Mrs. Foster had pardoned her; and the liberty pole was found. So she was smiling and happy as she pushed open the door and entered the pleasant kitchen, expecting to see her mother and Rebby; but no one was there. The room looked deserted. She opened the door leading into the front room and her happy smile vanished.
Her mother sat there, looking very grave and anxious; and facing the kitchen door and looking straight at Anna was Mrs. Lyon, while on a stool beside her sat Melvina, her flounced linen skirt and embroidered white sunbonnet as white as a gull’s breast.
Anna looked from one to the other wonderingly.Of course, she thought, Mrs. Lyon had come to call her a mischievous girl on account of the rabbits. All her happiness vanished; and when her mother said: “Come in, Anna. Mrs. Lyon has come on purpose to speak with you,” she quite forgot to curtsy to the minister’s wife, and stood silent and afraid.
CHAPTER XIAN EXCHANGE OF VISITS
“IT is Mr. Lyon’s suggestion,” concluded Mrs. Lyon, “and Melvina is eager to come and live with you, Mrs. Weston, if Anna is ready to come to me.”
Mrs. Lyon, it seemed to Anna, had been talking a long time. She had said that Melvina was not very strong, and that possibly she was kept too much indoors; and then had come the astounding suggestion that, on the very next day, Anna should go and live with the minister and his wife, and Melvina should come and take her place.
“Oh, do, Anna! Say you will,” Melvina whispered, as the two little girls found a chance to speak together while their mothers discussed the plan. For Melvina was sure that if she came to live in Anna’s home she would become exactly like Anna; as brave and as independent, and who could tell but what she might grow to look like her as well!
The same thought came to Anna. Of course, if she lived with Mrs. Lyon she would learn to behave exactly like Melvina. But to go away from her father and mother and from Rebby; this seemed hardly to be possible.
“Do you want me to go, Mother?” she asked, half hoping that her mother might say at once that it was not to be thought of.
“I must talk with your father; ’tis a great opportunity for your good, and I am sure he will be pleased,” replied Mrs. Weston. For had not the Reverend Mr. Lyon written a book, and, it was rumored, composed music for hymns; for any little girl to live in his family would be a high privilege. And this was what Mr. Weston thought when he heard of the plan.
“Why, it is a wise scheme indeed,” he said gravely; “my little Danna is being too much favored at home, and to be with the minister and his wife will teach her as much as a term in school.”
“But I am not to stay long, Father. I am only to stay for two weeks,” said Anna, “and you must not learn to think Melvina is your little girl.”
“Mr. Lyon wishes Melvina to run about asfreely as we have allowed Anna,” Mrs. Weston explained, “and to have no lessons or tasks of any kind, and to spend an hour each afternoon at home while Anna does the same.”
“But I am to have lessons, just as if I were Melvina,” Anna declared, and before bedtime it was decided that on the next day Anna should go to the minister’s to remain a fortnight.
Rebecca was the only one who did not think well of the plan. “I do not want Danna to go,” she said over and over; and added that she should not know how to treat Melvina, or what to say to her. It was Rebecca who went with Anna to Mr. Lyon, carrying the small package containing Anna’s clothing, and she brought back Melvina’s carefully packed basket. Mrs. Lyon looked worried and anxious as she saw Melvina start off for the Westons’; but she gave her no cautions or directions, beyond telling her to be obedient to Mrs. Weston. Then she took Anna’s hand and led her up-stairs to the pleasant room where she and Melvina had played so happily with the rabbits.
“You can leave your sunbonnet here, Anna, and then come down to the library. This is the hour for your lesson in English history.”
“‘English history,’” Anna repeated to herself excitedly. She wondered what it could mean. But if it was something that Melvina did she was eager to begin.
Mr. Lyon smiled down at his little visitor as she curtsied in the doorway. He hoped his own little daughter might return with eyes as bright and cheeks as glowing.
“This is where Melvina sits for her study hour,” he said, pointing to a small chair near a side window. There was a table in front of the chair, and on the table was spread a brightly colored map.
“To-day we are to discover something of the English opinion of Americans,” began Mr. Lyon, taking up a small book. “It is always wise to know the important affairs of the time in which we live, is it not, Anna?” he said thoughtfully.
“Yes, sir,” responded Anna seriously, sitting very straight indeed and feeling of greater consequence than ever before.
“America’s great trouble now, remember, is taxation without representation,” continued the minister; “and now listen carefully to what an Englishman has to say of it: ‘While Englandcontends for the right of taxing America we are giving up substance for the shadow; we are exchanging happiness for pride. If we have no regard for America, let us at least respect the mother country. In a dispute with America who would we conquer? Ourselves. Everything that injures America is injurious to Great Britain, and we commit a kind of political suicide when we endeavor to crush them into obedience.’
“Ah! There is still wisdom in the English council; but I fear it is too late,” said Mr. Lyon, as if speaking his thoughts aloud. “And now, my child, what is the subject of our lesson?” he questioned, looking kindly at Anna.
“England and America,” she replied promptly.
Mr. Lyon nodded. “And why does America firmly resolve not to be unjustly taxed?” he asked.
“Because it wouldn’t be right,” said Anna confidently.
Mr. Lyon was evidently pleased by her direct answers.
“If an Englishman sees the injustice of his government it is small wonder that every American, even to a little girl, can see that it is not to be borne,” said Mr. Lyon, rising and pacing upand down the narrow room, his thoughts full of the great conflict that had already begun between England and her American colonies.
Anna’s eyes turned toward the map. There was a long yellow strip marked “American Colonies,” then, lower down, a number of red blots and circles with “The West Indies” printed across them. Far over on the end of the map was a queerly shaped green object marked “Asia” and below it a beautiful blue place called “Europe.” Anna was so delighted and interested in discovering France, and Africa, the Ægean Sea, and the British Isles, that she quite forgot where she was. But as she looked at the very small enclosure marked “England,” and then at the long line of America she suddenly exclaimed: “America need not be afraid.”
Mr. Lyon had seated himself at his desk, and at the sound of Anna’s voice he looked up in surprise.
“Why, child! You have been so quiet I had forgotten you. Run out to the sitting-room to Mrs. Lyon,” and Anna obeyed, not forgetting to curtsy as she left the room.
HOW LONG THE AFTERNOON SEEMED!HOW LONG THE AFTERNOON SEEMED!
Mrs. Lyon had a basket piled high with work. There were stockings to be darned, pillow-cases to be neatly repaired, and an apron of stout drilling to be hemmed. Anna’s task was to darn stockings. She was given Melvina’s thimble to use, a smooth wooden ball to slip into the stocking, and a needle and skein of cotton.
How long the afternoon seemed! Never before had Anna stayed indoors for the whole of a May afternoon. She felt tired and sleepy, and did not want to walk about the garden after supper—as Mrs. Lyon kindly suggested; and not until Mrs. Lyon said that Melvina, on every pleasant day, walked about the garden after supper, did Anna go slowly down the path. But she stood at the gate looking in the direction of her home with wistful eyes.
“Two weeks,” she whispered; it seemed so long a time could never pass. Then she remembered that the next day she would go home for the daily visit agreed upon.
If the days passed slowly with Anna, to Melvina they seemed only too short. She had quickly made friends with Rebecca, and the elder girl was astonished at the daring spirit of the minister’s daughter. Melvina would balance herself on the very edge of the bluff, when she and Rebby, often followed by a surprised andunhappy Luretta, went for a morning walk. Or on their trips to the lumber yard for chips Melvina would climb to the top of some pile of timber and dance about as if trying to make Rebby frightened lest she fall. She went wading along the shore, and brought home queerly shaped rocks and tiny mussel-shells; and, as her father had hoped, her cheeks grew rosy and her eyes bright.
The day set for the erection of the liberty pole was the last day of the “exchange visit” of the two little girls, and Anna was now sure that Mrs. Lyon must think her very much like Melvina, for she had learned her daily lessons obediently, and moved about the house as quietly as a mouse.
But when she awoke on the morning of the day upon which she was to return home she was sure it was the happiest day of her life. Mrs. Lyon had even called her a “quiet and careful child,” and the minister smiled upon her, and said that she “was a loyal little maid.” So she had great reason for being pleased; and the thought of being home again made her ready to dance with delight.
The day that the tree of liberty was planted was declared a holiday, and the inhabitants of thetown gathered on the bluff where it was to be set. Melvina and Anna and Luretta were together, and the other children of the neighborhood were scattered about.
“Where is Rebby, Mother?” Anna asked, looking about for her sister.
“To be sure! She started off with Lucia Horton, but I do not see them,” responded Mrs. Weston, smiling happily to think that her own little Danna would no longer be absent from home.
There was great rejoicing among the people as the tree was raised, and citizen after citizen stepped forward and made solemn pledges to resist England’s injustice to the American colonies. Then, amid the shouts of the assembled inhabitants, the discharge of musketry, and the sound of fife and drum, Machias took its rightful place among the defenders of American liberty.
But Rebecca Weston and Lucia Horton, sitting in an upper window of the Horton house, looked out at the inspiring scene without wishing to be any nearer. Rebecca was ashamed when she remembered her own part in trying to prevent the erection of a liberty pole, for now she realized all it stood for; and she was no longerafraid of an attack upon the town by an English gunboat. To Rebecca it seemed that such an attack would bring its own punishment. Her thoughts were now filled by a great desire to do something, something difficult and even dangerous to her own safety, in order to make up for that evening when she had crept out in the darkness and helped Lucia send the tree adrift.
But Lucia’s mind was filled with entirely different thoughts. She was ready to cry with disappointment and fear in seeing the liberty pole set up. She could not forget that her father had said that such a thing would mean trouble.
“If we had not set it adrift, Lucia, we could be on the bluff now with the others,” Rebby whispered, as they heard the gay notes of the fife.
“Bosh! Who wants to be any nearer? My mother says ’tis a silly and foolish performance,” replied Lucia. “But perhaps ’twill be cut down before thePollycomes into harbor.”
Rebecca jumped up from the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes shining.
“No one would dare, Lucia Horton. And if it is cut down I’ll know you, or someone in this house, planned it; and I will tell my father justwhat you told me and what we did,” she exclaimed, starting toward the door.
“You can’t tell, ever, Rebecca Weston! You promised not to,” Lucia called after her, and Rebecca stopped suddenly. Lucia was right. No matter what happened she could never reveal what Lucia had told her, because of her promise; and a promise was a sacred thing.
Without a word of good-bye Rebecca went slowly down the stairs. This was the second time she had left the Horton house in anger. “I won’t come here again,” she thought, a little sadly, for she and Lucia had been “best friends” ever since Captain Horton had brought his family to the remote settlement.
“There’s Rebby,” Anna called joyfully, as holding her father’s hand, and with her mother walking close behind, she came along the path toward home. Rebby was walking slowly along a short distance in front of the little party, and Anna soon overtook her.
“Oh, Rebby! Was it not a splendid sight to see the liberty tree set up?” Anna exclaimed eagerly, “and all the men taking off their hats and cheering?”
“Yes,” responded Rebby briefly; and thenlooking at Anna she said: “Oh, Danna! I wish, more than anything, that I could do something to protect the liberty tree.”
“Perhaps you can, Rebby, sometime, you and I together,” replied Anna hopefully; “anyway, isn’t it lovely that I am home to stay?”
And to this Rebby could agree smilingly, but she kept in her heart the wish she had just uttered.