CHAPTER XIIWILD HONEY
Anna went singing about the house quite satisfied now to be herself; and Rebby and her mother smiled at each other at the happiness of the little girl.
“I doubt not you have learned many things, Danna,” said Rebby, a little wistfully, as the sisters sat on the broad doorstep after supper looking down at the broad flowing river.
“Yes, indeed!” replied Anna confidently. “Why, Rebby, I know all about history. The minister told me that a hundred and fifty years ago there were English traders living right here, and they were driven away by the French. And then, some forty years ago, Governor Belcher of Massachusetts came cruising along this coast, and there was no one at all here. And, Rebby, Mr. Lyon says there are no such pine forests in all the colonies as stretch along behind this settlement.But, Rebby, you are not listening!” and Anna looked reproachfully at her sister.
“Oh, yes, indeed, Danna, I heard every word. And I heard Father say that very soon there would be a regular school here, with a master, as soon as America conquers her enemies. But, Danna, do you suppose anyone will dare touch the liberty pole?” For Rebby’s thoughts could not long stray from Lucia Horton’s prediction that it might be cut down.
“What’s that?” exclaimed Mr. Weston from the doorway behind them. “Cut down the liberty pole? Why, there is not a man in Machias who would do such a traitorous deed.”
Rebby’s face flushed scarlet at his words, but before she could speak, her father continued: “Well, Danna, are you ready for a day’s tramp with me to-morrow? I must go up to the mill at Kwapskitchwock Falls, and we will start early.”
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Danna, jumping up and clasping her father’s hand. “And perhaps we shall catch a salmon above the falls, and broil it over a fire for our dinner.”
“That is what we will hope to do,” replied Mr. Weston. “And, Rebby, why do you not comewith us? ’Tis but a few miles, and a day in the woods will do you good.”
“Why, perhaps I shall, if Mother does not need me,” Rebby answered. She so seldom cared for woodland tramps that Anna gave a little exclamation of surprised delight.
“I’ll make a corn-cake to take with us,” Rebby added, “and since we start early I had best bake it to-night,” and she went into the kitchen followed by Anna singing:
“We’ll go to the forest of liberty trees,Where there are rabbits and birds and bees.”
“We’ll go to the forest of liberty trees,Where there are rabbits and birds and bees.”
Mrs. Weston smiled as she listened. “’Twould indeed be fine if you could find a store of wild honey in the woods; ’twould be a great help,” she said, measuring out the golden meal for Rebby to use for her corn-cake. There was no butter or eggs to use in its making, for all food was getting scarce in most of the loyal households. Rebby scalded the meal and stirred it carefully, then added milk, and turned the batter into an iron pan which she set over the fire. When it was cooked it would be a thin crispy cake that would be appetizing and nourishing. Rebby’s thoughts traveled away to the dainties of the Hortons’cupboard, but she said to herself that the “spider cake,” as the corn-cake was called, especially when eaten in the woods with freshly broiled salmon, would taste far better than the jellies and preserved fruits of the Hortons. Rebby could not forget Mrs. Horton’s scorn of the liberty pole.
The Westons were up at an early hour the next morning. The sun was just showing itself above the tops of the tall pines when the family sat down to their simple breakfast. Anna wore her skirt of tanned deerskin, moccasins, and her blouse of home-made flannel, while Rebecca’s dress was of stout cotton. Each of the girls wore round, turban-like hats. Anna’s was trimmed with the scarlet wings of a red bird, while Rebby’s had the white breast of a gull.
Mr. Weston wore deerskin breeches and moccasins and a flannel blouse. A stout leather belt about his waist carried a couple of serviceable knives, and he carried his musket, for the forest was filled with many wild animals, and the settlers were always ready to protect themselves.
Rebby carried a basket that held the corn-cake, and a flint and steel from which they would strike the spark for their noonday fire.
Anna ran along close beside her father, until the path narrowed so that only one could walk, followed by the others. The air was cool and full of the forest odors. Now and then birds flitted past them, and once or twice Anna had a glimpse of startled rabbits, which she was sure were Trit and Trot.
“If I could only catch one to give Luretta,” she thought, “then she would forgive me for taking the other rabbits,” for Anna’s thoughts were often troubled because of the loss of Luretta’s pets.
Mr. Weston stopped at one point to show his daughters an arrow marked on a tall pine and pointing east. “That is to show the beginning of the path to Chandler’s River settlement,” he explained. “The trail is so dim that the woodsmen have blazed the trees to show the way. There is a good store of powder and shot at Chandler’s River,” he added, a little thoughtfully.
Rebby looked at the arrow, and afterward she had reason to remember her father’s words.
The mill at Kwapskitchwock Falls was not in use at the time of their visit, and the mill workers were in Machias. But great booms of logs, waitingto be sawed into lumber, lay all along the river banks.
The sun was high in the heavens when the little party came in sight of the falls dashing over the rocks.
Mr. Weston led the way to a big flat rock above the mill, and where two large beech trees cast a pleasant shade.
“You can rest here while I look over the mill,” he said, “and then I will see if I can spear a salmon for our dinner.”
The girls were quite ready to rest, and Rebby set the basket carefully on the rock beside them.
“Would it not be fine if we could catch a salmon and have it all cooked when Father comes back?” Anna suggested, but Rebby shook her head.
“We haven’t any salmon spear, and it is quick and skilful work,” she responded. “Father will be better pleased if we obey him and rest here.”
From where the girls were sitting they could look some distance up the quiet stream, and it was Anna who first discovered a canoe being paddled close to the opposite shore.
“Look, Rebby,” she said, pointing in the directionof the slow-moving craft. “Isn’t that an Indian?”
Rebby looked, and after a moment answered: “Why, I suppose it is, and after salmon. But he won’t come down so near the falls.” But the girls watched the slow-moving canoe rather anxiously until it drew close in to the opposite shore, and was hidden by the overhanging branches of the trees.
Rebby decided that she would gather some dry grass and sticks for the fire, and asked Anna to go down near the mill and bring up some of the bits of wood lying about there.
“Then when Father does bring the salmon we can start a blaze right away,” she said.
Anna ran off toward the mill yard, and Rebby left the shade of the big beeches to pull handfuls of the sun-dried grass.
Rebby had gone but a few steps when she heard a queer singing murmur that seemed to be just above her head. She looked up, but the sky was clear; there was no bird flying low, as she had imagined; but as she walked along the murmur became louder, and Rebby began to look about her more carefully. A short distance from the flat rock was a huge stump of a broken tree, andRebby soon realized that the noise came from the stump, and she approached it cautiously.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “It’s a honey-tree! It is! It is!” for she had seen the bees as they went steadily in a dark murmuring line, direct to the old stump.
“A honey-tree” was a fortunate discovery at any time, for it meant a store of delicious wild honey. It was, as in this case, usually a partially decayed tree where the wild bees had swarmed, and where stores of honey were concealed. Sometimes the bees had filled the cavities of the tree so full that they were forced to desert it and find new quarters; but it was evident that here they were very busy indeed.
“They will have to be smoked out,” decided Rebby, who had often heard her father tell of the way in which such stores were captured. “I wish I could do it, and get some honey for dinner,” she exclaimed aloud.
“Well, why not?” she heard someone say from behind her, and she turned quickly to find Paul Foster, looking so much like an Indian boy in his fringed leggins and feathered cap that it made her jump quickly.
Paul laughed at her surprise.
“I came up-stream in my canoe after salmon,” he explained, “and I have speared three beauties; I saw you from across the stream, so I paddled over. You’ve made a great find,” and he nodded toward the old stump.
“Could we smoke out the bees and get some honey, Paul?” Rebby asked eagerly. She and Paul were nearly of an age, and Paul was a friendly boy, always ready to make bows and arrows or toy boats for his little sister and her girl playmates.
“I don’t see why not,” he responded, as if smoking out a hive of wild bees was a very usual undertaking; “but I haven’t a flint and steel,” he added.
“I have, in my basket,” declared Rebecca; and in a few minutes Paul and Rebecca had gathered a mass of sticks and grass, heaping it a short distance from the stump.
“Mustn’t get a blaze, only a heavy smoke,” said Paul as he struck the flint and steel together, and carefully sheltered the spark which the dry grass instantly caught.
At the sight of the smoke Mr. Weston came running from the mill, and with his assistance the bees were speedily disposed of.
The old stump proved well filled with honey.
“I have a bucket in my canoe,” said Paul, and it was decided to fill the bucket and take home all it would hold, and to return the next day in Paul’s canoe with tubs for the rest of the honey.
Paul insisted that Mr. Weston should accept one of his fine salmon to broil for their midday meal, and then Rebby exclaimed:
“Where is Danna? She went to the mill after wood before we found the honey-tree, and she isn’t back yet.”
“Oh! She is probably playing that she is an explorer on a journey to the South Seas,” laughed Mr. Weston. “I will go after her,” and he started off toward the mill, while Rebecca added wood to the fire, and Paul prepared the salmon to broil.
Mr. Weston called “Danna!” repeatedly, but there was no answer. He searched the yard and the shore, but there was no trace of his little daughter. He went through the big open mill, and peered into shadowy corners, but Anna was not to be found. And at last he hurried back to tell Paul and Rebby, and to have them help him in his search for the missing girl.
CHAPTER XIIIDOWN THE RIVER
Anna had gathered an armful of dry wood and was just starting back when a queer little frightened cry made her stop suddenly and look quickly around. In a moment the noise was repeated, and she realized that it came from a pile of logs near the river bank. Anna put down the wood, and tiptoed carefully in the direction of the sound.
As she came near the logs she could see a little gray creature struggling to get loose from a coil of string in which its hind legs were entangled.
“Oh! It’s a rabbit!” Anna exclaimed. “Perhaps it is Trit,” and she ran quickly forward. But the little creature was evidently more alarmed at her approach than at the trap that held him, and with a frantic leap he was off, the string trailing behind him; but his hind feet were still hampered by the twisting string, and he came to a sudden halt.
“Poor Trit! Poor Trit!” called the little girl pityingly, as she ran after him. Just as she was near enough to touch him another bound carried him beyond her reach. On leaped the rabbit, and on followed Anna until they were some distance below the mill and near the river’s sloping bank, over which the rabbit plunged and Anna after him. A small boat lay close to the shore, and Bunny’s plunge carried him directly into the boat, where, twisted in the string, he lay struggling and helpless.
Anna climbed into the boat and picked up “Trit,” as she called the rabbit, and patiently and tenderly untied the string from the frightened, panting little captive, talking gently as she did so, until he lay quiet in her hands.
The little girl was so wholly absorbed in her task that she did not notice that the boat was not fastened, or that her spring into it had sent it clear from the shore. Not until Trit was free from the string did she look up, and then the little boat was several feet from the shore, and moving rapidly downstream.
If Anna had stepped overboard then she could easily have waded ashore and made her way back to the mill; but she was so surprised that such acourse did not come into her thoughts, and in a few moments the boat was in deep water and moving with the current downstream.
On each side of the river the woods grew down to the shore, and now and then the wide branches of overhanging trees stretched for some distance over the stream. A blue heron rose from the river, making its loud call that drowned Anna’s voice as she cried: “Father! Father!” Even had Mr. Weston been near at hand he could hardly have distinguished Anna’s voice. But Anna was now too far downstream for any call to reach her father or Rebby and Paul, who were all anxiously searching for her.
At first the little girl was not at all frightened. The river ran to Machias, and, had it not been that she was sure her father and sister would be worried and sadly troubled by her disappearance, Anna would have thought it a fine adventure to go sailing down the stream with her captured rabbit. Even as it was, she had a gleeful thought of Luretta’s surprise and of Melvina’s admiration when she should tell them the story.
She soon discovered that the boat leaked, and, holding the rabbit tightly in one hand, she took off her round cap and began to bail out the water,which had now risen to her ankles. Very soon the little cap was soggy and dripping; and now Anna began to wonder how long the leaky little craft could keep afloat.
Both Anna and Rebby could swim; their father had taught them when they were very little girls, and Anna knew that if she would leave the rabbit to drown that she could reach the shore safely; but this seemed hardly to be thought of. She now resolved to clutch at the first branch within reach, hoping in that way to scramble to safety with Trit. But the boat was being carried steadily along by the current, although the water came in constantly about her feet.
“I mustn’t get frightened,” Anna said aloud, remembering how often her father had told her that to be afraid was to lose the battle.
The boat swayed a little, and then Anna found that the board seat was wabbling.
“I never thought of the seat,” she whispered, slipping down to her knees and pulling the seat from the loose support on which it rested. It was hard work to use the board as a paddle with only one hand, but Anna was strong and resolute, and managed to swing the boat a little toward the shore, so when a turn of the river came, bringingthe boat close toward a little point of land, she quickly realized that this was her opportunity, and holding Trit close she sprang into the shallow water and in a moment was safe on shore.
The old boat, now half-filled with water, moved slowly on, and Anna knew that it would not be long afloat. She looked about her landing-place with wondering eyes. Behind the little grassy point where she stood the forest stretched close and dark; the curve of the river shut away the course by which she had come, but she could look down the smooth flowing current, and toward the wooded shores opposite.
The rabbit moved uneasily in her hands, and the little girl smoothed him tenderly. “I don’t know who will ever find me here, unless it should be Indians,” she said aloud, remembering the canoe that she and Rebby had noticed as they sat on the big rock.
Anna felt a little choking feeling in her throat at the remembrance. It seemed so long ago since she had seen Rebby and her father. “And it’s all your fault, Trit,” she told the rabbit; “but you could not help it,” she added quickly, and remembered that the rabbit must be hungry andthirsty, and for a little while busied herself in finding tender leaves and buds for Trit to eat, and in holding him close to the water’s edge so that he could drink. Then she wandered about the little clearing and to the edge of the dark forest. She began to feel hungry, and knew by the sun that it was well past noon.
“Oh! If that Indian we saw in the canoe would only come downstream,” she thought longingly. For Anna well knew that when night came she would be in danger from the wild beasts of the wilderness, but that almost any of the Indians who fished and hunted in that region would take her safely back to her home.
An hour or two dragged slowly by; Anna was very tired. She held Trit close, and sat down not far from the river’s edge. “Father will find me some way,” she said to herself over and over, and tried not to let thoughts of fear and loneliness find a place in her mind. The little wild rabbit was no longer afraid of its captor, and Anna was sure that it was sorry it had led her into such trouble. But now and then tears came to the little girl’s eyes, when suddenly she heard a voice from the river just above the curve singing a familiar air:
“Success to fair America,—To courage to be free,Success to fair America,Success to Liberty.”
“Success to fair America,—To courage to be free,Success to fair America,Success to Liberty.”
“Oh! That is Paul! That is Paul!” cried Anna, jumping up and down with joy; and the next moment a canoe swung round the curve, paddled by a tall boy with a cap ornamented by tall feathers.
Paul nearly dropped his paddle as he saw Anna at the river’s edge.
“However did you get here?” he exclaimed, as with a swift stroke of his paddle he sent his canoe to shore.
Anna told him quickly of the capture of Trit, the leaking boat, and her jump to safety, while Paul listened with astonished eyes, and, in his turn, told of the discovery of the honey-tree, and then of the search for Anna.
“Your father and Rebby are sadly frightened,” he concluded; “they are well on the way home now, thinking possibly you might have followed the path. Now, get in the canoe, and I’ll try my best to get you home by the time they reach the settlement.”
Anna sat in the bottom of the canoe, and Paulskilfully wielded the paddle, sending the little craft swiftly down the river.
“That bucket is full of honey,” he said, nodding toward the bow of the canoe. But Anna was not greatly interested in the honey; she had even forgotten that she was hungry and thirsty. She could think only of her father and Rebby searching along the path for some trace of her.
It was late in the afternoon when the canoe swept across the river to the same landing where Paul had fastened the liberty tree earlier in the month. And in a few moments Anna was running up the path toward home, followed by Paul with the bucket of honey.
“Why, child! Where are Father and Rebby? and where is your cap?” questioned Mrs. Weston.
“Oh, Mother!” began Anna, but now the tears could not be kept back, and held close in her mother’s arms she sobbed out the story of the capture of Trit, and all that had followed. And then Paul told the story of the honey-tree, and his story was not finished when Anna exclaimed: “Father! Rebby!” and ran toward the door.
How Mr. Weston’s face brightened when he saw Danna safe and sound, and how closelyRebby held her little sister, as Anna again told the story of her journey down the river.
When Paul started for home Mrs. Weston insisted that a generous portion of the bucket of honey should go with him; and Trit, safely fastened in a small basket, was sent to Luretta as a gift from Anna. He promised to be ready the next morning to return to the falls with Mr. Weston in the canoe to bring home the store of honey.
As the Westons gathered about the table for their evening meal they looked at each other with happy faces.
“I couldn’t feel happier if thePollywere in port, and America triumphant over her enemies,” declared Mr. Weston, as he helped Anna to a liberal portion of honey.
CHAPTER XIVAN UNINVITED GUEST
Paul and Mr. Weston started off at an early hour the next morning in Paul’s canoe to bring home the honey. Beside a tub they took with them a number of buckets, for the old stump had a rich store of honey.
It was a time of leisure for the lumbering settlement. The drives of logs had all come down the river and were safely in the booms. The mills could not run as usual, for the conflict with England made it difficult to send lumber to Boston. The crops were now planted, so Mr. Weston, like other men of the settlement, had time for hunting and fishing or for improving their simple homes. Some of the men passed a good part of each day lounging around the shores and wharves, looking anxiously down the harbor hoping to see Captain Jones’ sloops returning with the greatly needed provisions.
Rebecca was up in season to see her fatherstart, but Anna, tired from the adventure of the previous day, had not awakened.
“Is the liberty tree safe?” Rebby asked a little anxiously, as she helped her mother about the household work that morning.
“Why, Rebby dear, what harm could befall it?” questioned her mother. “The traitor who set it afloat will not dare cut it down. ’Tis a strange thing that, search though they may, no trace can be found of the rascals.”
Rebecca’s hands trembled, and she dared not look up. It seemed to the little girl that if her mother should look into her eyes she would at once know that she, Rebecca Flora Weston, who had been born in Boston, and whose parents were loyal Americans, had committed the dreadful deed. She wished with all her heart that she could tell her mother all that Lucia Horton had said; but the promise bound her. She could never tell anyone. Rebecca knew that she could never be happy again. “Not unless I could do some fine thing to help America,” she thought, a little hopelessly; for what could a little girl, in a settlement far away from all the strife, do to help the great cause for which unselfish men were sacrificing everything?
Mrs. Weston was troubled about Rebecca. “The child has not really been well since her birthday,” she thought, “although I cannot think what the trouble can be.”
“Your father says that the honey is really yours, Rebby dear,” continued Mrs. Weston, “and that you may decide how it shall be disposed of.”
“I don’t care,” Rebby responded, a little faintly. “Only, of course, Paul ought to have half, because he helped.”
“Yes, of course; but even then your share will be a good quantity,” said Mrs. Weston. Before Rebecca could speak Anna came running into the room, her brown eyes shining, and her curls, now long enough to dance about her face, falling over her brown cheeks.
As she ate her porridge her mother questioned her about the adventure of the previous day, and for a time Rebby forgot her own worries in listening to Anna’s account of her journey in the leaking boat, and of her leap to safety.
“It was not mischief, was it, Mother, to try and capture Trit?” she concluded.
“No, indeed, dear child. Who could foresee such an adventure?” replied Mrs. Weston.“And we are all proud that you did so well; that you did not wander into the forest, where you would surely have been lost. I was just asking Rebby what use we would make of the honey. Of course we want to share it with our neighbors. ’Tis rare good fortune to have such a store of sweets.”
“Let’s have a honey party,” suggested Anna. “Could we not, Mother?”
“Why, that is a splendid idea!” declared Mrs. Weston. “’Twill cheer up the whole settlement to be asked to a party. To be sure I can offer them only honey; but perhaps ’twill take their minds from thePolly, and from England’s injustice toward us. Rebecca, you and Anna shall start out at once and ask the neighbors as far as Mr. Lyon’s house. That will bring as many as twenty people. And tell each one to bring a cup and spoon, as I have no extra dishes.”
As soon as Anna had finished her breakfast the two girls put on their sunbonnets and started on their pleasant errand. The neighbors were to be asked to come the next afternoon for a taste of wild honey, and Mrs. Weston again cautioned them to be sure and speak of the cup and spoon that each guest was to bring.
“I wish I could offer them a dish of tea,” thought Mrs. Weston, and then reproached herself for the thought, for was not the tea tax one of England’s sins against the colonies, and had not loyal women refused to brew a single cup until America gained her rights?
Mr. Foster was busy in his blacksmith shop. The mill men could be idle, but Worden Foster hammered busily away day in and day out. His hay-forks were always in demand, and he made many stout locks and keys, as well as door-latches and hooks.
“Shall we ask him first?” questioned Anna.
“Yes,” replied Rebecca. “He is our best neighbor, so ’tis right to ask him first.”
Rebecca and Anna stood in the open doorway for a moment watching the glow of the forge and the bright sparks that sprang from the red bar of iron which Mr. Foster was shaping into a spearhead.
He nodded toward his little visitors smilingly, and listened with evident pleasure to Rebecca’s invitation.
“But you tell me Paul is to have a good portion of the honey; ’tis hardly fair we Fosters should come,” he replied, and then addedquickly, “But why not let us have the neighbors, and divide the honey that is left after the party?”
“Why, yes, sir; I think that will be a good plan,” responded Rebby soberly, “and perhaps Luretta will go with us to ask the neighbors.”
Mr. Foster nodded again, whistling softly to himself, and as the little girls bade him a polite “Good-morning” and went on toward his house they could hear his whistle ring above the sound of his hammer.
Luretta came running to meet them.
“I was just coming to your house to thank you for Trit. Oh, Anna! You are the bravest girl in the settlement. Paul says you are. And to think you caught the rabbit for me.” Luretta, quite out of breath, with her arm across Anna’s shoulders, looked admiringly at her friend.
“It’s only fair,” Anna replied, “because I lost yours.” And then Anna had to tell again the story of her capture of Trit. Luretta listened eagerly. “I do wish I could have been with you, Danna,” she said. But Anna shook her head. “The boat would have sunk,” she responded soberly.
Mrs. Foster thought the plan for a honey party an excellent idea, and promised to come ingood season; and Luretta was greatly pleased to go with her friends to invite the neighbors.
“Will not Lucia Horton be pleased when we tell her about the honey?” said Anna.
Rebecca stopped suddenly. “We are not to ask the Hortons,” she announced.
“Not ask Lucia! Why not?” questioned Anna, while Luretta looked at Rebby with wondering eyes.
“No,” Rebecca declared firmly. “The Hortons have a cupboard filled with jellies, and candied fruits, and jars of syrups, and fine things from the West Indies and from far places, and ’tis not fair. We have only the wild bees’ honey, a taste for each neighbor.” Rebecca stopped with a little sigh. She had not thought about not asking Lucia until Anna spoke, but now she realized that, if she could help it, she would never again go to the Hortons’ house. Rebecca was old enough to realize the difference between loyalty and selfish indecision, and she was sure that the Hortons were thinking more of their own comfort than of the good of America.
“But Lucia is your best friend,” said Anna; “she gave you those beautiful silk mitts on your birthday.”
Rebecca’s face colored. She made no answer. The silk mitts, she resolved, must be given back. Probably she would never have another pair; but never mind, if she gave up Lucia’s friendship she must give up the mitts.
For a few minutes the little girls walked on in silence, but Luretta was eager to talk about Trit, and very soon she and Anna were talking happily of plans to teach the captured rabbit, and were no longer troubled by Rebecca’s decision not to ask the Hortons to the honey party. If they thought of it at all it was to agree with Rebby: that people with a cupboard full of dainties, when their neighbors had only the coarsest fare, ought not to be asked to share the wild honey.
Mrs. Lyon welcomed the little girls in a most friendly manner, and Anna was made happy when the minister’s wife said that she really believed that Anna’s stitches were as tiny and as neatly set as those of Melvina herself.
“Melvina is out-of-doors,” she continued; “I have decided that she is much stronger to be in the open air a portion of each day, and London has made her a playhouse under the pines behind the house.”
Both Anna and Luretta hoped that Mrs. Lyonwould ask them to go and see Melvina’s playhouse, but as she did not they said their polite “Good-day, Mrs. Lyon,” curtsied, and followed Rebecca down the path.
The invitations had now all been given and accepted, and Luretta was eager to get home, urging Anna to stop and see Trit, who was safe in the same box that had been made for the other rabbits.
“You may both run ahead if you wish,” said Rebby with quite a grown-up manner, for she really felt a great deal older than her little sister, “and I will go straight home and tell Mother that everybody is coming.”
“Everybody except the Hortons,” Luretta reminded her.
“Yes; I meant everyone whom we had asked,” Rebby rejoined.
Off ran the two younger girls, and Rebecca followed more slowly. Although she had intended to go directly home she now decided to take the path along the bluff and see for herself that the liberty tree stood safe, defiant of all enemies. Rebby’s thoughts were filled with a certain fear that Lucia Horton might contrive some new plan to make away with this emblemof freedom; and she gave an exclamation of satisfaction as she saw the handsome young pine, well braced with rocks and timber supports, standing on the bluff.
“ThePollywill see it first thing when she comes into harbor,” thought Rebby, “and nobody will dare fire on it,” and vaguely comforted by this thought she started on toward home.
Mr. Weston and Paul were just landing their load of honey, and Rebecca went down to the shore to tell them of the plan for the honey party, of which they both approved. The tubs and buckets were all carried to the Westons’ and safely stored away in the big pantry.
Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Weston were talking over arrangements for the next day. Mrs. Foster had suggested that they should each bake a quantity of “spider-cakes.” “They are thin and crispy, and will relish well with the honey,” she said, and Mrs. Weston agreed, although both the women realized that by making these cakes they would diminish their household stores of Indian meal almost to the danger point. But thePolly, with her cargo of wheat flour, sugar, and other necessities, was long overdue; she mustsoon come to their relief, they thought hopefully; and if she failed to arrive why then they must do their best.
“The neighbors need something cheerful to think of,” declared Mrs. Foster, “and I am sure a taste of honey will cheer us all.”
The next day was clear and warm with a pleasant southerly wind. Mr. Weston decided to put up some seats under the tall elms, so that the guests could enjoy the spring air. Paul was quite ready to help him; they brought planks from the lumber yard, and long before the first visitor arrived the low comfortable seats were ready.
Anna and Rebby were busy all the morning making small plates of birch-bark, which they stripped from the big logs. These little plates would each hold a square of “spider-cake” and a helping of honey; and as the guests would bring their own cups, to be filled with clear spring water, and their own spoons, the Westons felt that all was ready.
Rebby and Anna both wore their Sunday best, but their dresses were carefully covered by their long pinafores. For they would serve each guest, and it would not do that any careless movementshould send a stream of honey over their best gowns. Luretta and Melvina would also help, and had been warned to bring pinafores to wear.
There was a pleasant air of excitement all through the little settlement as the people, dressed in their simple best, walked along the path leading to the Westons’. The minister and his wife, each holding Melvina by the hand, were among the first comers.
“It was a friendly thought to ask your neighbors to share your good fortune,” said Mr. Lyon as he greeted Mrs. Weston.
“To tell the truth, ’twas Anna who first thought of it,” she responded, and was well pleased when Mrs. Lyon declared that she was not surprised to hear it, as she considered Anna a very thoughtful and generous child.
Rebecca had forgotten for the time her own sense of unworthiness, and was smiling happily as friend after friend arrived, when suddenly her smile vanished. For coming up the path in a fine dress of pale yellow muslin and wearing a flower-trimmed hat was Lucia Horton. No one but Rebecca, of course, was surprised to see Lucia. It was to be expected that she would bea guest at Rebecca’s house. Anna and Luretta did not see Lucia’s arrival, but Rebby stood quite still, pale and angry, and watched Lucia smiling and speaking to the neighbors. Then Lucia came straight toward Rebecca, and, making an ugly face at her, exclaimed:
“Who is afraid of you, anyway, Rebecca Flora Weston?”
CHAPTER XVREBBY AND LUCIA
Rebby was too astonished at Lucia’s unexpected appearance to make any response to this rude salutation; and, with another scornful glance, Lucia went on her way to where Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston were talking together, and took a seat beside them, and was cordially welcomed by Rebecca’s mother, who, of course, knew nothing of the trouble between the two girls.
“Lucia has forgotten her cup and spoon, Rebby; bring her your lustre mug,” called Mrs. Weston.
For a moment Rebby pretended not to hear. She was filling the cups with cool spring water, and not until her mother called the second time did she start toward the house for her cherished lustre mug. She was ready to cry at the thought of Lucia’s insulting words, and now she must carry the pretty mug to her, and serve her as though she were a welcome guest.
“I won’t let her know that I care; and I must be polite because she is a guest, even if she wasn’t invited,” thought Rebby, as carrying the lustre mug and a birch-bark plate with a square of honeycomb and a brownish crisp “spider-cake” she went toward Lucia.
Neither of the little girls spoke, and Rebby did not look at her former friend who had led her into such sad mischief. Then suddenly there was a crash, a loud cry from Lucia and from Rebby as the lustre mug fell to the ground, and the contents of the frail plate streamed over the delicate yellow muslin of Lucia’s fine dress.
“Oh! She has spoiled my dress! She did it on purpose! She did! She did!” wailed Lucia, while Rebecca stood looking at the pieces of her cherished mug that had been brought from Boston when the Westons moved to Machias.
“She dropped it on purpose,” Rebby said, but no one seemed to think of her mug. Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston were both endeavoring to comfort Lucia, and to repair the harm done to the yellow muslin. But the honey and water were not easily removed from the delicate fabric.
“I am going home. It’s a cheap, foolish party anyway. Honey and water, and corn-bread!”sobbed Lucia angrily, pulling away from the friendly women, and running down the path.
Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston looked after her in amazed disapproval.
“I begin to think there is something in the rumors that Captain Horton and his wife are not trustworthy,” Mrs. Lyon said. “The child is so ill-bred she can be but indulged and spoiled at home,” and Mrs. Weston agreed. But neither of them imagined that Lucia’s mother and father were disloyal to the American cause, and only waiting a profitable opportunity to betray the little settlement to its enemies.
Lucia’s angry words cast but a brief shadow over the gathering, and no one noticed that Rebecca had disappeared. At the moment Lucia started for home Rebby had run toward the house. She hurried up the stairs to the little room under the roof where she and Anna slept, and from the closet she drew out the square wooden box that her father had made for her. Her initials R. F. W. were carved inside a small square on the cover, and it had a lock and key. Rebby was very proud of this box, and in it she kept her most treasured possessions: a handkerchief of fine lawn with a lace edge, a pinmade from a silver sixpence, and the prayer-book her Grandmother Weston had given her. When Lucia gave her the silk mitts for a birthday present Rebby had put them carefully away with these other treasures. Now she pulled them out hurriedly, and, without waiting to close the box, she ran down the stairs through the kitchen, keeping carefully out of sight of the group under the elm trees, until she could not be seen from the house. Then she caught a glimpse of Lucia’s yellow dress, and ran faster than before. But she did not call Lucia’s name. She said to herself that she would never speak to Lucia again.
Hearing the hurrying steps behind her Lucia looked over her shoulder, and seeing Rebby she became frightened and ran faster than ever. Lucia did not know why she was afraid, but she remembered that she had not been asked to the party, that she had spoken insultingly to Rebby, and—she had dropped the mug purposely. So it was small wonder that her guilty conscience accused her, and that she was eager to reach home before Rebby could overtake her.
On raced the two girls along the narrow path. A few men at the wharves watched the flying figures, but no one imagined it more than a game.Very soon the Horton house was in sight. Its front door opening on the street stood open to admit the pleasant spring air. In a moment Lucia was in the house and had slammed and fastened the door behind her.
Rebby stood on the step breathless, the silk mitts clasped in her hand. After a moment she rapped loudly on the door. There was no response. But in a moment an upper window opened, and Mrs. Horton looked down at Rebby.
“Why, Rebecca Flora!” she exclaimed in her pleasant voice. “Lucia has gone to your party.”
“If you please, Mrs. Horton, I have brought back the mitts Lucia gave me for a birthday present,” responded Rebby, her voice faltering a little.
“Oh! Don’t they fit? Why, that is a shame. Well, lay them on the step,” said Mrs. Horton, wondering why Rebby should look so flushed and warm, and why she had not given the mitts to Lucia. Later on, when she heard Lucia’s account of Rebby’s turning honey and water over the pretty yellow muslin, she decided that Rebecca was ashamed to keep a gift after treating Lucia so badly.
Rebby went slowly toward home tired and unhappy.All the pleasure of the party, she said to herself, was spoiled. She was not sorry to give up the mitts, for everything that reminded her of Lucia made her think of the night when they had pushed the liberty tree from its moorings.
When she was nearly home she heard Mr. Foster’s whistle and in a moment they were face to face.
“Well, Rebecca Flora, ’twas a fine party,” he said smilingly, for Mr. Foster had not seen the accident to the mug. “The neighbors are all smiling and cheerful, and we are all the better for meeting in this neighborly fashion,” and Mr. Foster ended his sentence with a whistle like a bird’s note. “You must come with the others to the liberty pole on Sabbath morning,” he added. “Parson Lyon is to preach to us there, and ’twill be a great occasion.”
“Yes, sir,” Rebby responded, and went slowly on up the slope. It began to seem to her that she would never escape from the liberty pole. And now she met Mr. and Mrs. Lyon, with Melvina dancing along in front of them. “More like Danna than Danna is like herself,” thought Rebby, smiling, as she remembered how sedately and quietly Melvina had walked before Dannaand Luretta had played their mischievous pranks on the day of the tempest.
The neighbors had all gone when Rebecca reached home, and Mrs. Weston and Anna were in the house, while Mr. Weston and Paul were taking up the seats under the elm trees. The pieces of the broken lustre mug lay on the kitchen table, and Rebby’s face clouded as she stood looking at them.
“Lucia Horton dropped it on purpose!” she said. “I know she did.”
“And nobody asked her to come to our party,” added Anna; “’twas rude of her to come.”
Mrs. Weston looked in astonishment at her two little daughters.
“Not ask Lucia?” she questioned, and listened to Rebby’s explanation: that, because of the Hortons’ store of dainties, and their scorn of the simple fare of their neighbors, Rebby had decided not to ask Lucia to her party.
But when the little girl had finished her story, Mrs. Weston shook her head disapprovingly.
“I am not pleased with you, Rebecca,” she said. “’Twas not a kind thought to sit in judgment and decide to punish a friend for somethingthat is no fault of hers. Lucia did right to come. Of course she thought you would welcome her.”
“She didn’t! She didn’t!” exclaimed Rebby. “She made up faces at me, and said—”
“Never mind, Rebecca. You see what comes from quarreling. Your mug is broken, Lucia’s dress is spoiled, and you had no pleasure from the afternoon. Now, there is something for you to do to put this straight. You must take off your pinafore, put on your sunbonnet, and go straight to Mrs. Horton’s and ask Lucia’s pardon.”
“Oh, Mother!” wailed Rebby. “It isn’t fair. It isn’t my fault.”
But Mrs. Weston was firm. From Rebby’s own story her mother decided that she had been unfair to Lucia; she did not ask if Rebby had purposely spilled the honey on Lucia’s muslin dress, but she felt it was not the time to allow any ill feeling among the families of the settlement, and that Rebecca’s failure to ask the Hortons to come with the other neighbors to taste the wild honey could easily offend them.
Anna stood looking first at Rebby and then at her mother. It was so seldom that Rebbycried, that it seemed a very dreadful thing to her younger sister.
“I’ll go, Mother, let me go!” she asked eagerly.
“Do not be so foolish, Anna,” responded Mrs. Weston. “This is your sister’s duty. It has nothing to do with you. Take off your pinafore, Rebecca, and do as I bid you.”
Rebecca was sobbing bitterly. She could not believe that her mother really meant that she should go and ask Lucia Horton’s forgiveness.
“If you knew——” she began, tempted to tell her mother all that Lucia had said about the liberty pole, and even what they had done to prevent its erection. But the memory of her promise held her. She knew that her mother expected obedience, and she took off her pinafore, took her sunbonnet, and, still sobbing, went slowly from the room. Anna started to follow her, but Mrs. Weston called her back sharply.
“Anna, you are not to go with your sister,” she said, and the little girl came slowly back.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed, “I wish Lucia Horton would go sailing off to far lands. To—to Egypt,” she concluded. For Anna had never heard much that was pleasant about Egypt,and was sure that all this trouble was Lucia’s fault.
Rebecca had never been so unhappy in her life as when she realized that her mother expected her to go to the Hortons’ and ask Lucia’s pardon for not inviting Mrs. Horton and Lucia to the honey party. There were robins singing in the trees, bluebirds flitting about with gay little notes, and the spring day was full of beauty, but Rebby was not conscious of it as she went slowly along the path.
Very soon she was again standing in front of the Hortons’ door, and summoning all her courage she rapped loudly. There was no response, and after a few moments she rapped again; but the house seemed silent and deserted, and no one came to open the door.
And now Rebecca did not know what to do. If she went home she knew that her mother would say that she must return at a later hour to fulfil her errand. So the little girl decided to sit down on the steps and wait for a time.
Twilight was near at hand. The sun was low in the western sky, and a cool little breeze crept up from the river and stirred the tree-tops. Shadows gathered about the house, and still therewas no sign or sound of the Hortons, and Rebby was about to start for home when a man came around the corner of the house and spoke to her.
He was evidently a sailor, and in a great hurry. He asked no questions but began speaking as if he had no time to lose.
“Tell your mother that thePollyandUnitywill come into harbor to-morrow, and that Captain Jones is on board theUnity. There’s a British gunboat along with them, and your father says there may be trouble, and for you and your mother to keep close indoors until he comes.”
The sailor started to move off, but Rebby found courage to ask:
“Where—where are the sloops now?”
“Anchored below Round Island; but we’ll be sailing in with morning tide. The Captain bade me keep well out of sight and come straight back to the sloop. Be sure you tell your mother,” responded the man, speaking in such low tones that Rebby had to listen sharply to understand.
“Yes, I’ll tell my mother,” she replied, and without a moment’s hesitation she started for home as fast as her feet could carry her. She had entirely forgotten her anger toward Lucia, or her mother’s reproof. All she could think ofwas the news this sailor, evidently a member of thePolly’screw, had told her, believing that he was speaking to Lucia Horton.
And now Rebecca recalled all that Lucia had told her of what might befall the little village if a British gunboat sailed into harbor and saw a liberty tree flaunting its courageous defiance to injustice. But now she could tell her father, not Lucia’s secret, but what the sailor had told her.
“And Father will know what to do. Father and Mr. Lyon,” she thought breathlessly, as she ran swiftly up the path and burst into the kitchen, where her father and mother and Anna were waiting her return.
She told her story quickly, and without any mention of what Lucia had confided in her weeks before. “The sailor thought I was Captain Horton’s little girl,” she concluded.
Mr. Weston questioned Rebby carefully, and then said:
“I’ll take this news to Captain O’Brien and to Parson Lyon; but say nothing about it to anyone until we see what news thePollybrings.” And he hurried away to prepare his neighbors for possible danger.
“You see, Rebby, your obedience may havesaved the settlement,” said Mrs. Weston, putting her arm about Rebecca.
“But I had not seen Lucia, Mother. I was waiting for her,” said Rebecca.
Mrs. Weston made no answer; her thoughts were too full of the possible dangers to the settlement from the British gunboat to think much of the postponed apology; nor was the matter ever again mentioned.
“Now, Rebby, you really have done something for America,” declared Anna, as the sisters went up to their room that night. But Rebby shook her head.
“No, Danna, I haven’t. But perhaps I can sometime, and you too,” she replied. For some reason, that Rebby could not explain even to herself, her thoughts centered around what her father had said on their trip to the Falls of the store of powder and shot at Chandler’s River settlement. She had heard her father say that Machias was but ill provided with munitions; and with a British gunboat coming into harbor the next day who could tell how quickly powder and shot might be needed?