CHAPTER IXBETTY'S ADVENTURE
"Come, Ruth, Mistress Hastings is waiting for thy fine velvet coat," and Ruth looked up to see Aunt Deborah smiling down upon her; and in a moment the little girl was clinging to Aunt Deborah's arm, and asking anxiously:
"Did Mother find the mended place in her dress? Oh, Aunt Deborah! I do wish I had told her all about it!"
"Slip off the coat, dear child, and run and tell her now," said Aunt Deborah, and in a moment Ruth was running across the garden to where her mother was standing with Mrs. Merrill. Mrs. Pennell smiled down at her little daughter, and clasping the warm little hand in her own turned toward the gate.
In a moment Ruth was in the midst of her story, and Mrs. Pennell listened without a word until Ruth, breathless and almost in tears, finished by saying:
"I didn't think it would hurt the dress,Mother! I'm so sorry. And I am sorry I didn't tell you the moment you got home."
Ruth felt her hand clasped a little more closely at this; but her mother made no response until they were in Ruth's pleasant chamber. Then Mrs. Pennell drew her little girl down beside her on the broad window-seat; and leaning her head against her mother's shoulder Ruth told of the day she had stayed up-stairs as a punishment for her thoughtlessness.
"Mother, you haven't said a word!" Ruth finally exclaimed, looking up anxiously. "Are you ashamed of me?"
"Why, I think I am rather proud of my little daughter," was the smiling response. "You set your own punishment, and I know you will stop and think when next you plan such a masquerade party. My dress, it seems, is but little the worse, after all; and Hero is well worth some sacrifice. Perhaps if you had not been 'dressed up' you would not have been admitted to General Howe's house, and might not have succeeded in rescuing Hero," said Mrs. Pennell, stooping down to kiss her little girl's flushed cheek.
"Oh, Mother! I do love you," exclaimedthe happy child. "I'll never be afraid to tell you everything."
"Of course you will tell me everything. That is what mothers are for," rejoined Mrs. Pennell. "And now I will take off my silk gown, and you had best smooth your hair and make yourself tidy for supper."
"That sounds like Aunt Deborah," said Ruth laughingly. But as she obeyed her mother's suggestion she thought happily that now Mother was at home everything was sure to go smoothly.
When Gilbert's play was over Mrs. Hastings, although sadly troubled over Betty's "borrowings," and the ruin of her pretty bonnet, complimented Gilbert and Winifred on the success of the play; and not until she had chatted for a few moments with Mrs. Merrill did she go to rescue her valued mantle and the treasured velvet coat. She hoped the English officer's coat was none the worse for its part in the play; and, like Betty, she hoped to return it before it was missed by its rightful owner; for it would be no easy matter to explain why it had been borrowed, and she knew its loss would make serious trouble.
She noticed that her mantle was dusty and wrinkled, and that the lace on the velvet coat was torn. The scarlet coat, however, was not to be found, and Betty had also disappeared.
Deciding that she would find her little daughter and the coat safely at home Mrs. Hastings bade her friends good-bye and started for her walk home. But she did not find Betty there. Supper time came, and still no Betty. A servant was sent to Mrs. Merrill's to inquire for the little girl, but came hurrying back with the tidings that Betty had not been seen since the end of the play.
Mrs. Merrill now looked through every room, but Betty was not to be found. She inquired at the homes of her neighbors, but no one had seen the little girl.
The April twilight deepened to dusk; the stars shone out and found Mrs. Hastings anxious and troubled, for she could find no trace of Betty.
When Betty ran down the alley she had thought it would be an easy matter to reach home with the red coat; but she had forgotten that Philadelphia was full of the King's soldiers, and that a bareheaded little girl racing down the street with the coat of an English officerover her arm would not escape notice; and she had only reached Second Street when a passing soldier called to her. His call only made her run the faster, and the soldier sped after her. If Betty had stopped at once, told her own name and address, and the name of the owner of the coat, the soldier would doubtless have taken her directly home and made sure that she had told him the truth, and it is probable that her troubles would have been at an end. But Betty was now too frightened to think clearly. She did not even know the direction in which she ran was straight away from her home. The English soldier ran clumsily, and Betty, turning quickly into another street, soon distanced him; but only to run straight into another soldier, who seized her firmly by both arms, swung her about, and without a word marched her down the street.
"Making off with an officer's coat," he said, after what seemed a very long time to the frightened girl. "What's your name?"
Betty made no response. She resolved that no one should ever know that Betty Hastings had been suspected of such a dreadful thing as taking what she had no right to take.
"Won't speak, eh? Well, I'll take you to Captain De Lancy and see what he has to say to you," said the soldier, and the silent little girl, still holding the scarlet coat, was led down one street after another until she saw the shining waters of the Schuylkill River before her, and the soldier led her up the steps of an old stone house whose garden ran down to the river. The soldier was evidently familiar with the house, for he pushed open the door and led Betty into a big pleasant room, and motioned toward a comfortable chair.
"You can sit there until the captain comes in; and you had best tell me your name. 'Twill do you no good to sulk," he said, taking the coat from her reluctant grasp. But Betty only set her lips more firmly. She resolved not to speak, no matter what might befall her.
"Very well, Miss. I'll leave you to find your tongue," said the soldier, laying the coat carefully over a chair and leaving the room. Betty heard him turn the key in the lock. She was tired, and leaned back in the cushioned chair, hardly realizing what had befallen her. She could hear steps now and then outside the door, and every moment expected that it would openand the captain of whom the soldier had spoken would appear.
But the room grew shadowy in the deepening twilight and no one came near. Betty's thoughts flew homeward to the candle-lit dining-room where Dinah, the Hastings' colored servant, would be spreading the table for supper, and Betty realized that she was very hungry.
She left her seat and tiptoed toward a long window at the further end of the room. The window looked out into the garden, and Betty instantly realized that it swung in on hinges and was not fastened, and that it would be an easy matter to let herself down to the ground.
"I must take the coat," she thought, and crept back to the chair where the scarlet coat lay. In a moment she was back at the window and had dropped the coat to the ground; and now, grasping the window sill with both hands, she let herself carefully down. Picking up the coat, and keeping close in the shadow of the house, Betty made her way until she was near the door through which she had entered the house. She went very carefully, peering ahead into the shadows, and listening intently for any sound that might warn her that her flight hadbeen discovered. But she heard no sound, and at last she reached the road.
"It is too dark for any one to know what color the coat is now," she thought, as she hurried along.
Betty realized that she was a long distance from home, but she was sure that she could soon find her way to some familiar street and then it would be an easy matter to reach home. Now and then she passed groups of people homeward bound, or English soldiers sauntering along the street, and then turning a corner she gave a little exclamation of delight, for there, close at hand, were the brick walls of Christ Church, its graceful spire rising against the clear April sky. And now home was near at hand and Betty quickened her pace. She had almost forgotten her mother's ruined bonnet and the fact that she had no excuse to give for borrowing the things for Gilbert's play without permission. All she could think of was the fact that she was in sight of home. She ran up the steps and the door opened as if by magic, and Betty's mother clasped her little girl, scarlet coat and all, in her welcoming arms.
CHAPTER XTHE LOST PROGRAMME
The scarlet coat, after being carefully brushed and pressed, was returned to its place in the closet; and its owner never knew or imagined the part it had taken in Gilbert's play. The soldier who had locked Betty into Captain De Lancy's room, and returned to find that the silent little captive had outwitted him and made her escape, decided that it was best to keep the affair to himself, and say nothing about a little girl with an officer's coat for which she would not account.
Ruth and Winifred came early the next morning to make sure that Betty was safe at home, and listened eagerly to the story of her adventure.
"Do you suppose you could find the way back to the stone house?" questioned Ruth.
"Yes, I am sure I could," responded Betty;but she did not suggest, as Ruth hoped, that they should all make an excursion to the house by the river. In fact, Winifred and Ruth both agreed on their way home that Betty seemed very sober. And it was true that Betty was more quiet than usual for several days; for she realized that she had had a narrow escape from a serious punishment. Nor could she forget the pretty plumed bonnet that Hero had so gaily destroyed. The fact that her mother did not speak of the bonnet only made Betty the more repentant. She and Ruth had both resolved that they would not again take for granted that they could use other people's property without permission.
"Aunt Deborah is going home to Barren Hill to-morrow," said Ruth, as she and Winifred came near home; "Farmer Withely is to call for her. You know he brings in butter and cheese from his farm every Thursday, and Aunt Deborah will ride home in his wagon. I wish I were going with her."
"Oh, Ruth Pennell!" said Winifred reproachfully.
"Well, I do. Barren Hill is half-way to Valley Forge, and perhaps I could see myfather. And, Winifred! One day Lafayette stopped at Aunt Deborah's door! Perhaps I might see him; perhaps he might ask me to carry a message for him," said Ruth eagerly.
"Little girls can't carry war messages," Winifred rejoined confidently. "You are just like Gilbert, always wishing you could do something for Lafayette. I don't see why. I would rather help Washington."
"It's because Lafayette came 'way from France," Ruth replied, "and, anyway, I am going to Barren Hill. Mother says that I may go next month."
"I have thought of something!" Winifred announced. "To-morrow you and I will drive out a little way with your aunt. With Fluff, I mean; and Hero may go too. I will harness Fluff into the cart, and we will be all ready to start at the same time they do."
Ruth agreed that this would be a fine plan, and both the girls were sure that Aunt Deborah would be pleased that they wished to go a part of the way with her. They decided to take "Josephine" and "Cecilia," as well as Hero, with them.
"IT WAS A FAVORITE PLAY-HOUSE""IT WAS A FAVORITE PLAY-HOUSE"
"It will make up to them for not taking part in the play," said Winifred. So much had happened during the past week that Ruth had entirely forgotten the unfinished chair for Cecilia, but now she spoke of it to Winifred.
"I will help you finish it. But let's take our dolls and work into the garden; it is too warm to stay in the house," she said, and in a short time the two little girls had brought Cecilia and Josephine, as well as their sewing bags, to the shade of the wide-spreading maple tree that grew in the further corner of the Penells' garden. Ruth's father had built a low seat around this tree, and it was a favorite play-house for the two little friends. Hero followed them, and stretched himself out at their feet, quite sure that they were both happier because of his presence.
For a little while the girls worked steadily, covering with chintz the cardboard pieces that would form the chair.
"I'll put it together," said Winifred, and with skilful fingers she fastened the seat, back and arms; and with a triumphant "There!" set it down beside Ruth, who looked at it admiringly, and lost no time in establishing Cecilia in her new possession.
"Wouldn't it be fine if we could make a sofa, and a table and a little bed for each of our dolls?" suggested Ruth.
"We can," declared Winifred, "but I think it would be nicer to have the table and bed made of wood. Let's go in your shed and see if we can find some nice smooth pieces."
"And Father's tool box is in the shed," said Ruth, as they left their dolls in Hero's care and ran across the garden to the shed, whose open door faced the big maple.
The shed was nearly square. Beside the wide door there were two windows, both looking into the garden, and beneath these was Mr. Pennell's work-bench, and a box containing his treasured tools; and on a long shelf over the bench were carefully arranged strips and squares of polished wood. For in the days of peace Mr. Pennell had used his leisure hours in making frames for pictures, a work-box, desk or light-stand; and had collected this store of material from many sources. Ruth had often played about in the shed while her father was at work, but she had no idea of the value of his store of wood.
"Oh, Winifred! Look! This will make afine table!" she said, standing on the work-bench and pulling down a strip of curly maple.
"And here are some dark shiny strips, just the thing for bed-posts!" said Winnie, drawing out a slender length of highly polished mahogany. In a few minutes the two girls had pulled down a number of strips of wood, had opened Mr. Pennell's tool-chest and taken out a number of planes, a small saw, gimlets and a hammer.
"But we haven't any patterns," said Winifred. "You know we had a pattern for the chair."
"We don't need any pattern for a table. It is just a top and four legs, one at each corner," declared Ruth. "We can begin on the table to-day; then we can look at sofas and beds and make patterns, if we need to."
"Here is something to measure with," said Winifred, holding up a foot-rule. "We can make anything! Oh, Ruth! Instead of making doll furniture let's make truly tables, I am sure some of those pieces are large enough."
"Winifred, you always think of just the right thing," Ruth responded admiringly. "Let's make a table for a present for Betty. She got all those nice things for us to dress up in, and we have never made her a present."
Winifred nodded approvingly. She was greatly pleased by Ruth's admiration, and she thought that Betty would be greatly surprised to discover that two girls so much younger than herself could really make a table.
"Ruth! Ruth!" called Aunt Deborah from the back porch. "Dinner is ready!"
So the two little girls were obliged to leave their pleasant plans, and, after promising to return early that afternoon, Winifred started for home while Ruth ran into the house.
"My chair is all finished for Cecilia," she announced as she took her seat at the dinner-table, "and Winifred and I are going to make a table for Betty."
Mrs. Pennell and Aunt Deborah both smiled their approval, thinking that the table for Betty, like Cecilia's chair, was to be made of pasteboard.
"Thee must bring thy doll to Barren Hill," said Aunt Deborah. "There are fine places to play in the big barn and in the pine woods, and thy doll will be company for thee."
"How soon may I visit Aunt Deborah, Mother?" Ruth asked eagerly. "May I not go with Farmer Withely next week?"
"I cannot spare you so soon, Ruthie dear," responded her mother, "and I will have to ask permission from the English General for you to leave the town. You see they fear even small Americans," she concluded laughingly. But before dinner was over it was decided that, if all went well, Ruth should go to Barren Hill about the first of May. That seemed a long time to Ruth; but she remembered that Betty's table was not even begun, and if she and Winifred did decide to make furniture for their dolls the three weeks that must pass before her visit to Barren Hill would perhaps be none too long a time.
Mrs. Pennell had just left the table when there was a rap at the door, and before any one could respond it opened, and there stood Winifred; her face was pale and she was evidently frightened.
"Oh, Mrs. Pennell! There are two English officers at our house. They have come to take Gilbert," she exclaimed, "and they want Ruth too."
"'Take Gilbert'!" echoed Mrs. Pennell. "What has he done? And what do they want of Ruth?"
"Oh! It's because of the play. Mother lost the programme we made for her. It blew away, and an English soldier found it; and they are going to take Ruth too," Winifred finished nearly in tears.
"I will go and speak with these officers," said Aunt Deborah calmly. "Thee need not be troubled, Winifred. Thee and Ruth had best come with me so they can see how dangerous an enemy they have to arrest," and Aunt Deborah smiled so reassuringly that Winifred took courage, and followed Aunt Deborah to the door. They were soon in the Merrills' garden, just in time to meet two English soldiers with Gilbert between them coming down the steps.
Aunt Deborah went forward smilingly.
"Thee does not mean to take this lad from his home," she said, speaking to the elder of the two men. "He has done nothing worthy of thy notice, and his mother can ill spare him."
"That may be, madam. But we must obey orders. We have to take G. Merrill and R. Pennell to General Howe," the man answered civilly.
"Here is R. Pennell," said Aunt Deborah, her hand resting protectingly on Ruth's shoulder."Surely thee does not mean to take this little girl?"
The soldiers seemed somewhat surprised at this, but repeated that they must obey orders. Gilbert did not seem at all afraid; he took Ruth by the hand, and told her that it was nothing to be alarmed about. Mrs. Merrill, Aunt Deborah, Ruth's mother and Winifred kept close to the "prisoners" as the little party made its way down the street toward the headquarters of the English General.
CHAPTER XIA LONG ROAD
"What is this?" called a pleasant voice, and the two soldiers halted instantly and saluted a young officer who blocked their way.
"If thee please, sir, there has been a mistake made," said Aunt Deborah, and proceeded to tell the story of the birthday entertainment that the children had given for Mrs. Merrill.
The young officer listened gravely.
"As you say, madam, they are but children; but such games find little favor among loyal English people," he responded.
"But thee must remember we are Americans," said Aunt Deborah fearlessly. The young officer turned and walked beside them. Now and then he smiled as if amused by his own thoughts, but he said nothing more until they reached the headquarters of the General.
"Wait here a moment," he said, and ran up the steps.
"I shall tell them that Ruth had nothing to do with it, and that I am the only one to blame," Gilbert said to Mrs. Pennell. "Of course they won't punish any one but me."
Before Mrs. Pennell could reply the young officer appeared at the door, and came slowly down the steps.
"Come with me, young sir," he said, resting his hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "You may take the little girls home, ladies," he added. "I am quite sure they will not prove a danger to England's cause."
"I will wait for my son," said Mrs. Merrill. "I do not suppose you mean to detain him long."
"I cannot say as to that, madam; but you are quite welcome to wait. If you will come in I will see that you find a comfortable chair," he replied courteously.
"I will wait here," said Mrs. Merrill.
"And we will wait also," declared Ruth's mother.
Ruth and Winifred clasped each other's hands as they watched Gilbert being led up the steps. They thought their mothers were very brave indeed to reply so calmly to an English officer.
Gilbert was absent not more than a half hour, but it seemed much longer to the anxious little group. He came down the steps alone, and when his mother slipped her hand under one arm while Winifred clasped his other hand he smiled and said: "Humph! All they did was laugh and tell me to choose a better plot for my next play. They are not soldiers at all. Why, they asked me if I would not like to take a part in one of Major André's plays."
"What did you say, Gilbert?" questioned Winifred.
"I said 'No.' And that's all I said. And I did not thank them for the offer; and then they laughed more than ever. I wish Washington would drive them out of Philadelphia," answered Gilbert, who was a trifle disappointed that the Englishmen had not taken his play more seriously. He would not have minded if he had been held as a prisoner for a few days; it would have made him feel that he had really done something to prove his loyalty to the American cause.
But Mrs. Merrill was very glad to have her tall son safely beside her, although she was inclined to agree with him that the gay youngEnglish officers took their duties too lightly. There had been balls at the City Tavern every week during the winter, and most of the officers seemed to forget that there were dangers in store for them from the American Army at Valley Forge.
Gilbert's adventure made Ruth and Winifred completely forget their plan to make a table as a present for Betty until late that afternoon; and then they decided not to begin it until after Aunt Deborah's departure the next day.
"Mother has a table shaped like a heart. We could mark a heart on that square piece of dark wood with chalk and then cut it out," suggested Winnie. "I am sure Betty would like that better than a plain square table."
"Of course she would," agreed Ruth. Neither of the little girls realized how hard an undertaking it would be to carve a heart-shaped table top from the square piece of mahogany.
Ruth was awake at an early hour the next morning. The April sun shone warmly in through her open window; the robins, who had built a nest in the hawthorn tree, sang jubilantly as if rejoicing that spring was really at hand, and Ruth could hear her mother and Aunt Deborahmoving about in the lower rooms. It was just the day for a ride in the country.
Ruth was glad that Winifred had thought of so pleasant a plan as driving a part of the way with Aunt Deborah. Both the little girls had taken it for granted that their mothers would have no objection. Winifred was used to driving the pony, and had often taken Ruth with her, but they had never been farther than Fair Mount, a pleasant hill just outside the town on the Schuylkill River, or along the quiet streets of the town; but to-day Winifred had said that they would drive until Aunt Deborah should tell them to turn toward home.
Farmer Withely usually arrived in the city at an early hour, delivered his produce, then gave the big brown horse an hour or two rest, and was ready to start on his return journey directly after dinner.
Aunt Deborah did not keep him waiting, and was at the gate with Mrs. Pennell beside her when the round-faced smiling farmer in his long coat of heavy blue drilling and his wide-rimmed hat came driving up.
"Where can Ruth be?" her mother said anxiously, as the farmer lifted Aunt Deborah'strunk into the back of the wagon and stood waiting to help her mount to the high seat.
At that moment the pony carriage drew up behind the wagon with Winnie and Ruth smiling and waving their hands at Aunt Deborah.
"We are going a little way with you, Mistress Farleigh," called Winifred.
"May I go, Mother?" Ruth added.
Aunt Deborah was evidently greatly pleased that the little girls had wished to go a little way with her on her journey home, and Mrs. Pennell smiled and nodded her consent, thinking that Ruth would be safely back in an hour at the longest, and waving her good-byes as Farmer Withely climbed to his seat and the brown horse trotted off, closely followed by Fluff.
Down the street they went, turning now into the broader highway and at last reaching the river road that led straight to Matson's Ford, beyond which the road led on to Valley Forge.
As they came in sight of the river the big horse stopped, and in a moment Fluff was beside the farmer's cart. Aunt Deborah smiled down at the little girls.
"'Tis best that thee turn toward home now. And I thank thee both for coming so far withme. 'Twill not be long now, Ruth, before I hope to see thee at Barren Hill. And thee, Winifred, will be welcome also whenever thou canst give me the pleasure of a visit."
Before Aunt Deborah had finished speaking Ruth was out of the pony carriage and standing on the step of Farmer Withely's cart holding up a package.
"Here is something I made for you, Aunt Deborah," she said. Aunt Deborah reached down and received the small carefully wrapped package.
"Thank thee, dear child," she said, and Ruth stood by the roadside and waved a good-bye as the brown horse trotted off at a more rapid pace than he had traveled through the town.
"I wish we could have gone farther," she said regretfully as she went back to her seat beside Winifred.
"Well, we can. We'll turn up that shady road and see where it goes," responded Winifred. "What did you give your aunt?"
"A needle-book. Mother helped me make it. It is of blue flannel, with embroidered edges, and shaped like a small book, with Aunt Deborah'sinitials on the cover," said Ruth. "Would it not be pleasant if you could visit Aunt Deborah when I do?"
Winifred feared that such a visit would not be possible. But the two little friends talked of many things as Fluff trotted along the narrow country road, hardly more than a lane, and sheltered by closely growing trees. Now and then the road came out into an open space, and there would be many violets growing close to the roadside. Then the girls sprang from the cart and gathered handfuls of the fragrant blossoms, while Fluff nibbled at the grass, or twisted his head to watch his young mistress. The wild honeysuckle was also in bloom along a sloping pasture, and Ruth was eager to gather it to take home to her mother. She climbed up the rough slope, followed by Winifred, and they soon had large bunches of the delicate blossoms. From the top of the little hill that they had climbed they could see the distant line of the blue river, and after roaming about for a time they decided it was time to return to Fluff and start for home. The pony whinnied a little impatiently and shook his head at them as they approached.
"He thinks we have stayed too long," said Winifred laughingly. "What time do you suppose it is, Ruth?"
"Oh! we can't have been away from home more than an hour," said Ruth; "but the sky looks cloudy, doesn't it?"
But it was not clouds that made the sky darken, it was the rapidly approaching twilight. The tall trees shut out the golden spring sunshine; and the afternoon had passed so pleasantly that neither Ruth nor Winifred had any idea that evening was close at hand, or that they were miles from home in a solitary and unknown road that had seemed to grow more narrow as they went on.
"Perhaps we had better turn around now," suggested Winifred a few moments after they had gathered the wild honeysuckle. "I told Mother we would be home early. Why, what is the matter with Fluff?" she added in a startled tone, for the little pony had come to a full stop.
Both the little girls jumped out of the cart and ran to the pony's head, which drooped low. Fluff was breathing heavily, and it seemed to Winifred as if his slender legs trembled.
"Why, he can't be tired. He had that longrest just now," said Ruth anxiously. Neither of them realized that ever since leaving the river the road had run steadily up-hill, or that the pony had been traveling for a number of hours. Fluff was no longer young, and he had never been required to go long distances; and now he could go no further.
"I'll take off his harness," said Winifred quickly. "I hope he isn't going to have a fit. Ned Ferris's pony has fits." It did not take her long to set Fluff free from the pony-cart, and he turned a grateful look toward his little mistress, who began to wish there was a brook or spring near at hand where the little creature could drink.
Ruth smoothed Fluff's head, and Winifred with a bunch of wayside grass rubbed his back and legs.
"He's going to lie down," said Winifred as Fluff moved his head about quickly; and in a moment the tired little creature had stretched himself at their feet.
"What shall we do? I am sure Fluff can't take us home," exclaimed Winifred, "and we can't go and leave him here."
"It can't be very far from home," respondedRuth. "I could go home and tell Gilbert, and he would come right back for you with Ned's pony."
"But what could we do with Fluff?" asked Winifred a little despondently. "He is too tired to drive home."
"Perhaps he'd be rested enough by that time to go home, if he didn't have to pull the cart," said Ruth; "anyway, I do think one of us ought to go home or our mothers will think some harm has befallen us. I'll stay, if you would rather go."
But Winifred shook her head. She did not wish to leave the pony; neither was she pleased at the thought of staying by herself on that lonely road. At last, however, they decided that Ruth's plan was the best they could think of, and Ruth started.
"I'll hurry all the way, Winifred; and Gilbert will come back as fast as he can," she called as she started to run down the hill.
CHAPTER XIIA LONG RIDE
"I wish we had brought Hero," thought Ruth regretfully as she hurried down the shadowy road, "then he could have come with me for company." For at the last moment before leaving home the little girls had decided that it was not best to let Hero accompany them. There was not room for him in the pony-cart, and for him to race along the streets might well mean that he would again disappear; so Ruth had been quite ready to leave him at home. But now she would have been very glad to have him running along beside her. "Josephine" and "Cecilia" had also been left behind; in fact neither Winifred nor Ruth had remembered the dolls until after they had said good-bye to Aunt Deborah. And, while Ruth was regretting the absence of Hero, Winifred, sitting close beside Fluff, was wishing that her beloved Josephine was there to keep her company.
"It would be a great adventure for Josephine," she thought, looking up through the overhanging branches of the big oak under which Fluff had stopped to rest. For a time she amused herself by braiding the long grass and weaving it about green twigs broken from an elder-bush until she had made a wide, shallow basket with a handle. Into this she put the violets and wild honeysuckle, resolving to take it home as a present to her mother. She put it carefully under the seat of the pony-cart, and then decided to search for a spring or brook, for she was thirsty.
Fluff showed no signs of wishing to start for home, or even to eat the tempting young grass growing near.
"If I find a brook perhaps I can lead him, and then he will get a good drink," thought Winifred, crossing the narrow road and pushing aside a thick growth of wild shrubs.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, for she had stepped at once on to damp yielding moss which covered her low cut slippers and wetted her feet as completely as if she had stepped into a brook. Just beyond this moss lay a clear little pool of water, evidently fed by springs.
Winifred discovered that the farther, or upper, bank of the pool was dry and sandy, and in a few moments she was kneeling beside the clear water and drinking thirstily. She then made her way back to the road, breaking down branches of the shrubs to make a way for Fluff, who was now on his feet looking about as if in search of his little mistress.
"Come on, Fluff," she said coaxingly, grasping the plume-like mane. "Come and have a drink." The pony moved forward obediently. He hesitated a moment at having to push his way through the undergrowth, but with Winifred encouraging and urging him forward he was soon in sight of the pool, and then sprang forward so suddenly that his mane slid through Winifred's hands and she found herself on her hands and knees while Fluff, with his nose in the clear water, was drinking thirstily.
Winifred laughed as she scrambled to her feet. Her shoes and stockings were wet and muddy, her pretty blue linen dress was torn, and now she realized that her hat was gone, that she must have lost it in pushing her way through the undergrowth; but these things seemed of small consequence to Winifred just then; for thepony, with his forefeet planted firmly in the shallow water, was evidently more himself than he had been since he had stopped short under the oak tree.
"I'll lead him back and harness him into the cart and start after Ruth," thought his little mistress happily, "and I do believe it is getting dark!" she added aloud, realizing that the woods seemed very shadowy, as she made her way toward the pool.
As she came near Fluff he lifted his head from the water, shook himself much as a big dog would do, and whinnied with satisfaction. But as Winifred approached more closely he gave a little dancing step into the water just beyond her reach.
"Oh, Fluff! It isn't any time to play games. We must start for home before it is really dark," said Winifred. But Fluff was now rested, and free from his harness in a fragrant shadowy wood. He was sure that his little mistress must be as ready as himself for a game, so he edged along the pool until a clear space opened before him, and then he stepped out, and trotted briskly away between the tall trees.
"Fluff! Fluff!" called Winifred, runningafter him. "Oh! where did he go?" for the pony had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed him. Winifred ran on until her way was blocked by thickly growing underbrush. Then she turned back, but now she could not find the pool. The shadows deepened; she could hardly distinguish one tree from another, and there was no sound or sign from the gray pony.
"What shall I do?" she said, standing close to the trunk of a pine tree that rose straight and tall with wide-spreading branches. She realized that she must now be some distance from the road and the big oak tree where she had left the pony-cart, and Fluff perhaps was deep in this wilderness, unable to make his way back; and, worst of all, night was close upon her.
It was indeed a dangerous position for a little girl to be alone in a wilderness as Winifred found herself. It was a time when many wild beasts still wandered about, often coming near to the outskirts of towns and villages. Winifred remembered that only a few weeks earlier a catamount had been killed at Fair Mount, and she knew that in the early spring bears left the dens where they had slept through the winter,and wandered through the woods eating the tender young buds and leaves. She crouched closer to the tree as she remembered these things, and then suddenly she recalled the words that she had worked on her sampler: "There shall no evil befall thee. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways."
Her mother had traced the words, and Winifred had worked them in dull blue yarns on the perforated wool cloth. She said them over aloud: "No evil befall thee," and was no longer afraid. She did not think now of the beasts of the dark wood, but of a kindly presence that would shelter her.
"Perhaps Fluff will come and find me," she thought hopefully. "Anyway, Ruth will soon be back with Gilbert, and they will call my name, and I shall call back," and so comforted and encouraged Winifred sat down on the soft pine spills and leaned back against the tall tree. A pair of squirrels chattered noisily in the branches; a soft-footed little animal sped by almost touching her feet, and she could hear faint calls from nesting birds near at hand.
"For he shall give his angels charge overthee," the little girl whispered to herself, and soothed and quieted by the spring fragrance of the wood her eyes closed.
Ruth, meanwhile, was trudging along the road toward home. She was sure that she could find the way without any trouble.
"All I have to do is to turn when I come to the river road and follow it straight back to the city, and then any one can tell me how to get home," she thought, hopefully. But she began to think she should never reach the river road. Her thin shoes were scrubbed and dusty, and she wondered what Aunt Deborah would say at her untidy appearance.
Now and then she would quicken her pace and run until she was out of breath. She began to understand why Fluff was tired out. Just before she reached the river road there was the sound of breaking twigs, and of some animal making its way through the woods, and the next moment a deer followed by a young fawn sprang into the road directly in front of the surprised and startled little girl; but they vanished before Ruth realized that they had been within reach of her hand.
"Oh! I wish Winifred could have seen them,"she thought. The road now hardly showed in the thick dusk. Ruth stumbled often, and began to be both hungry and thirsty. She wished she could stop and rest; but the thought of Winifred sitting alone under the big oak tree made her resolve not to stop until she reached home.
At last she could see an open space ahead, and the dark line of the river; and at the same moment she heard the sound of trotting feet on the road behind her and a little gray figure ran swiftly by.
"That was Fluff! I know it was Fluff," she exclaimed, and called loudly after the pony. But Fluff did not stop; he knew he was headed for home, and it was much easier to run along free and unharnessed than to pull a cart containing two little girls.
Ruth now hardly knew what to do. Perhaps Winifred might be coming closely behind the pony.
"Perhaps I ought to wait and see if she is coming," thought Ruth, puzzled and uncertain as to the right course to take. Before she could decide she saw the gleam of a lantern, and heard the wheels of a carriage coming rapidlyover the road, and without a moment's hesitation she called out: "Stop! Please stop!" and heard a familiar voice respond:
"It's Ruth. It's Ruth." And the light of the lantern showed Gilbert and his mother in Ned Ferris's pony-cart.
In a moment they were standing in the road beside her, and Ruth was telling the story of the woodland road, and of Winifred waiting beside the pony-cart under a big oak tree.
"And Fluff just ran by, headed for home," she concluded.
"I thought it was Fluff who raced past us. I was sure it was he," said Gilbert.
They were now puzzled what course to take. To leave Winifred alone so far from any human habitation was not to be thought of; neither did Mrs. Merrill wish Ruth to go on toward home without some one with her.
"Gilbert, you must go home with Ruth, and I will drive on after Winifred," she decided. "Mrs. Pennell will be sadly troubled when Fluff comes running home and she has no news of her little girl. Go as quickly as you can."
Gilbert agreed; but he felt a little defrauded as he and Ruth turned toward home. He wouldhave enjoyed going up that dark hillside road, where it seemed to him some interesting adventure might befall a traveler.
Mrs. Merrill, with the lantern fastened to the front of the cart, drove rapidly up the hill, trying to pierce the dusky shadows of the roadside. Now and then she called Winifred's name, and listened intently for some response, but none came.
At last the light from the lantern showed the pony-carriage in the shadow of the big oak tree, and in a moment Mrs. Merrill was on the ground beside it. But Winifred was not to be seen. "Winifred!" she called over and over, but there was no reply.