CHAPTER VIIION THE ISLAND
Amos made no answer to his sister’s frightened exclamation. He was well used to the harbor, as he often went fishing with his father, and had been on cruises of several days. Tide and wind both took the boat swiftly toward Long Point, a low, narrow sand-beach, which ran out into the harbor.
“We’ll run straight into Long Point if the wind don’t change,” said Amos.
Anne had held fast to her line and now felt it tugging strongly in her grasp.
“I’ve caught something!” she exclaimed, “and I don’t believe I can ever pull it in.”
Amos reached across and seized the line. “Gee!” he exclaimed, “I’ll bet it’s a cod,” and he pulled valiantly. It took all the boy’s strength to get the big fish into the boat. “I’ll bet it weighs ten pounds,” declared Amos proudly, quite forgetting in his pleasure overthe big fish that the boat was still moving swiftly away from the settlement.
“Amos, Amos, just see how fast we are going,” said Amanda; “we’ll be carried right out to sea.”
“Well, then some vessel will pick us up and bring us back,” answered her brother, “but it looks now as if we would bring up on Long Point, and we can walk home from there easy enough. It’s only a couple of miles.”
“Perhaps we could get home before they missed us,” suggested Anne, hopefully.
Amos nodded; he was still busy with the big fish, but in a few moments he began to look anxiously ahead.
“The wind’s pulling round to the southeast,” he said. “I guess we sha‘n’t hit Long Point after all.”
“We’re going right into Wood End,” declared Amanda, “or else to House Point Island. Oh, Amos, if we land on that island nobody will ever find us.”
“It will be better to land anywhere than to be carried beyond Race Point,” said Amos; “the wind is growing stronger every minute.”
The three children no longer felt any interestin their fish-lines. Amos had drawn his line in when they started off from shore, and Amanda had let go of hers when the first oar was lost. Anne was the only one who had kept a firm hold on her line, and now she drew it in and coiled it carefully around the smooth piece of wood to which it was fastened.
“I’ll get this boat ashore some way,” declared Amos boldly; “if we run near any land I’ll jump overboard with the painter and pull the dory to shore. I’ll get up in the bow now so’s to be ready.”
Neither of the little girls said anything. Amanda was ready to cry with fear, and Anne was watching the sky anxiously.
“The sun is all covered up with clouds,” she said, and before Amos could answer there came a patter of raindrops. The wind, too, increased in force and the waves grew higher. Anne and Amanda crouched low in the boat, while Amos in the bow peered anxiously ahead.
Within the curve of the shore of Race Point lay House Point Island, where Amos hoped they might land. It was a small island partly covered with scrubby thickets but no tall trees, and with shallow water all about it. Amos was surethat he could pull the clumsy boat to shore if the wind would only set a little in that direction. The September afternoon was growing late, the sky was now completely overcast, and the rain falling steadily.
“We’re getting near the island,” said Amos. “I’ll slide overboard in a minute, and all you girls need do is keep still till I tell you to jump,” and Amos, the painter of the dory in one hand, slipped over the high bow of the boat and struck out for shore. He was a strong swimmer, and managed to change the course of the boat so that it swung in toward the shallow water, and in a few minutes Amos got a foothold on the sand, and pulled strongly on the rope until the boat was well out of the outward sweep of the current.
“Now jump out,” he commanded; “you on one side, Anne, and Amanda on the other, and take hold of the side and help pull the boat ashore.”
The two girls obeyed instantly, and the three dripping children struggled up the beach, pulling the dory beyond reach of the tide.
“We must be sure this boat is safe,” said Amos; “if we can get it up a little further, wecan tip it up on one side and crawl under and get out of the rain.”
The codfish, plaice and flounder Amos took out carefully and carried to a large rock further up the beach. “We’ll have to eat those fish if we stay here very long,” he said.
It grew dark early and the children, under the shelter of the boat, peered out at the rushing waves, listened to the wind, and were very glad that they were on shore, even if it was an island and miles away from home.
“Nobody can find us to-night,” said Anne, “but prob’ly to-morrow morning, first thing, my Uncle Enos and your father will take a boat and come sailing right down after us.”
“How will they know where we are?” whimpered Amanda. “We’ll have to stay here always; I know we shall.”
“If we do I’ll build a brush house,” said Amos hopefully, “and there’s lots of beach-plums grow on this island, I’ve heard folks say; and we’ll cook those fish and I’ll bet I can find mussels along the shore.”
“We can’t cook anything,” said Anne, “for we can’t make any fire.”
“I can make a fire when things get dry,”said Amos; “how do you suppose Indians make fires when they are off like this? An Indian doesn’t care where he is because he knows how to get things to eat and how to cook them, and how to make a shelter. I’ve wished lots of times that I’d had the chances to learn things that Indians have.”
The boat proved a shelter against the wind, and the long night wore slowly away. Amos slept soundly, but neither Anne nor Amanda could sleep, except in short naps from which they quickly awakened. The storm ceased in the night and the sun came up and sent its warm beams down on the shivering children, who crept out from the dory and ran and jumped about on the sand until they were quite warm and very hungry.
Amos went searching along the shore for the round dark-shelled mussels which he knew were good to eat, and Anne and Amanda went up toward the thick-growing bushes beyond the sand-banks to look for beach-plums.
“Look, Anne! Look! Did you ever see so many on one bush?” exclaimed Amanda, and the bush was indeed well filled with the appetizing fruit.
“We must take a lot to Amos,” said Anne, “for he is getting mussels for us now.”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Amanda; “do you suppose they will come after us this morning, Anne?”
“Of course they will, first thing,” replied Anne hopefully, so that Amanda grew more cheerful, and when they got back to the boat with aprons full of beach-plums and found Amos waiting for them with a fine lot of fresh mussels they quite forgot to be troubled or unhappy. The sun was shining brightly, the blue water looked calm and smooth, and the wind had entirely gone. They ate the plums and mussels hungrily.
“We’d better look around a little,” said Amos, when they had finished, “and see if we can find a good place for a brush house. We ought to build it near the shore so that we can keep a watch for any passing boat.”
“Won’t father find us to-day?” asked Amanda anxiously.
“Can’t tell,” replied her brother; “anyway we want to get ready to build a house, for we might have to stay here a week.”
“I believe you want to stay a week, Amos Cary!” exclaimed his sister.
“I’d just as soon stay as not,” said Amos, “if I can find some rotten wood like the Indians use to start a fire; but it isn’t much use to look for it until things begin to dry up.”
Amos, followed closely by the little girls, went up the bank and toward a place where grew a thicket of small pines. “We can break off a lot of these branches and carry them down to the shore,” he said, “and fix some beds of them under one side of the dory. It will be better than sleeping on the sand.”
They made several trips back and forth to the boat with armfuls of pine boughs until they each had quite a pile, long and wide enough for a bed, and high enough to keep them well off the sand. But Amos was not satisfied.
“This sand-bank makes a good back for a house,” he said; “now if we could only build up sides, and fix some kind of a roof, it would make a fine house.”
“Won’t the dory do for one side?” asked Anne.
“No,” said Amos, “but we can pile up heaps of sand here on each side of our beds, right against this sand-bank, and that will make three sides of a house, and then we’ll think of something for the roof.”
So they all went to work piling up the sand. It was hard work, and it took a long time before the loose sand could be piled up high enough for Anne and Amanda to crouch down behind.
“I’m dreadful hungry,” said Amanda, after they had worked steadily for some time; “let’s rest and eat some mussels and beach-plums,” and Amos and Anne were both quite ready to stop work.
“It must be past noon now,” said Amos, looking at the sun, “and there hasn’t a boat come in sight.”
Anne had begun to look very serious. “My Aunt Martha may think that I have run away,” she said, as they sat leaning back against the piles of warm sand.
“No, she won’t,” Amos assured her, “for they’ll find out right off that Amanda and I are gone, and father’s dory, and it won’t take father or Captain Enos long to guess what’s happened; only they’ll think that we have been carried out to sea.”
The little girls were very silent after this, until Amos jumped up saying: “I’ve just thought of a splendid plan. We’ll pile up sand just as high as we can on both sides. ThenI’ll take those fish-lines and cut them in pieces long enough to reach across from one sand heap to the other, and tie rocks on each end of the lines and put them across.”
“I don’t think fish-lines will make much of a roof,” said Amanda.
“And after I get the lines across,” went on Amos, not heeding what his sister had said, “we’ll lay these pine boughs across the lines. See? We can have the branches come well over each side and lap one row over another and make a fine roof,” and Amos jumped about, greatly pleased with his own invention.
They all returned to piling up sand and before sunset had made walls taller than their heads, and Amos had put the lines across and the covering of pine boughs, so that it was nicely roofed in.
“It will be a lot better than sleeping under the dory,” said Anne, as they looked proudly at the little shelter, “and there’s pine boughs enough left for beds, too!”
“We can get more to-morrow,” said Amos, “and we’ll have a fire to-morrow if I can only find some punk, and cook those fish.”
“But I want to go home to-morrow,” saidAmanda; “I know my mother wants me. We’ve got a boat; can’t you make an oar and row us home, Amos?”
“There isn’t anything to make an oar out of,” answered Amos.
They made their supper on more mussels and beach-plums, and then lay down on their beds of boughs in the little enclosure. They could see the moon shining over the water, the big dory hauled up in front of their shelter, and they all felt very glad that they were not drifting out at sea.
Amos had many plans in his head, and was eager for another day to come that he might carry them out, but Amanda and Anne went to sleep hoping only that the next day would see one of the big fishing-boats of Province Town come sailing up to the island to take them safely home.
CHAPTER IXTHE CASTAWAYS
“My, it was cold last night,” shivered Amanda, as she and Anne went toward the spring of fresh water which bubbled up near the shore for their morning drink. “I do wish Amos would plan some way to get us home to-day.”
“How can he?” asked Anne; “he hasn’t any oars, and see what a long way it is across the water to Long Point. He couldn’t swim that far.”
“Yes, he could, too,” declared Amanda, “and when the tide is out the water is so shallow that you can see the yellow sand shining through. He could swim some and walk some, and he’d get over there all right; then he could walk home and tell father and Captain Enos and they would come right after us.”
“Why doesn’t he go then?” questioned Anne. “I do know that my Aunt Martha is sadlyworried; it is full two days since we set forth.”
“Amos likes to stay here,” said Amanda, lowering her voice to a whisper; “he thinks it is fun to live as Indians do, and he doesn’t want to go home. If he gets enough to eat he’ll stay and stay, and then he can tell Jimmie Starkweather of being wrecked on an island.”
“Couldn’t we get across to Long Point?” asked Anne.
“No. We can’t swim, and ’twould be foolish to try,” answered Amanda.
“We’ll have cooked fish for dinner,” said Amos as they ate beach-plums for breakfast. “I’m sure I can find some punk somewhere on this island, and while I am looking for it you girls gather all the dry twigs you can find, make a good-sized hole in the sand and fill it up with dry stuff that will take fire quickly, and I’ll show you how Indians cook.”
“I’d rather have some Indian meal mush,” replied Amanda; “can’t you swim across to Long Point, Amos, and hurry home and send some one after us?”
Amos looked at her in astonishment, and then smiled broadly. “I know a better waythan that,” he said, and without waiting to answer the girl’s eager questions he ran off toward the thicket of pines.
“We’ll dig the hole in the sand, and then find some dry wood,” said Anne; “anything cooked will taste good, won’t it?”
“Amos knows some way to get us home,” said Amanda, “and he’s got to tell us what it is, and start just as soon as he cooks his old fish. I wonder what it is!”
Now that Amanda saw a prospect of getting home she felt more cheerful and so did Anne; and they gathered dry brush, bits of bark and handfuls of the sunburned beach-grass until the hole in the sand was filled, and there was a good-sized heap of dry brush over it.
“Do you suppose Amos can really make a fire?” asked Anne.
“I guess he can,” said Amanda. “Amos is real smart at queer things like that, that other boys don’t think about.”
“I’ve found some!” shouted Amos, as he leaped down the bank; “just a little bit, in the stump of an old oak tree up here. Now wait till I get the thole-pins, and you’ll see,” and he ran toward the dory and returned with a pair ofsmooth, round thole-pins, and sat down on the sand in front of the brush heap. The precious piece of punk was carefully wrapped in a piece of the sleeve of his flannel blouse.
“I had to tear it off,” he explained, when Amanda pointed to the ragged slit, “for punk must be kept dry or it isn’t a bit of use.”
He now spread the bit of flannel on the sand in front of him, and kneeling down beside it began to rub the thole-pins across each other as fast as he could move his hands. Anne and Amanda, kneeling on each side of him, looked on with anxious eyes.
“There’s a spark!” at last shouted Amanda.
The spark fell on the dry punk, in an instant the punk caught and there were several sparks, then Amos held a wisp of dry grass in front of it and blew vigorously, and the smouldering punk flamed up, the grass caught, Amos thrust it under the dry brush, and in less than a minute the whole mass was burning briskly. The children all jumped about it in delight.
“My, I wish we could have had a fire like that last night, when I was so cold,” said Amanda.
“We’ll keep it burning now,” said Amos.“I’ve always wanted to start a fire this way. I think it’s better than flint and tinder,” for in those days the wooden splint matches were not known in the settlement, and fires were started by rubbing flint and steel together until a spark caught.
“We are going home this afternoon,” said Amanda, so firmly that Amos looked at her in surprise.
“What for?” he asked. “I think it’s fine here. We’ve got a house and a fire, and we’ll have fish enough to last——”
“We are going home,” interrupted Amanda; “it’s horrid here, and everybody will be afraid we are drowned.”
A little smile crept over Amos’s freckled face. “’twill indeed be a tale to tell Jimmie Starkweather,” he said, looking admiringly at the brush-covered shelter, and then at the brisk fire. “’Tis a shipwreck such as no boy in the settlement has had.”
Amos asked no more questions, but sent the girls after more dry brush, while he dug another hole in the sand. Then with a long stick he pushed the hot wood and coals from the first hole into the second, and carefully laid the bigplaice fish on the hot sand, pushed a thick covering of hot sand over it, and started a new fire on top of it.
“’twill be baked to a turn,” he said to his sister and Anne; “’Tis the way the Indians cook fish and mussels and clams. I have seen them.”
“We’ll go home as soon as we can eat it,” said Amanda; “’twill be low tide by that time, and if you have no better plan for us, Amos, Anne and I will wade to Long Point.”
“Wade!” repeated Amos scornfully; “you’d be drowned.”
“Then tell us your plan,” urged Amanda, while Anne looked at him pleadingly. She had thought much about her father as she lay awake under the roof of pine boughs, and wondered if some word from him might not have reached the settlement. She thought, too, about the scarlet stockings, and wished herself back in the little brown house on the hill. So she said, “We must go home, Amos.”
“I wish you girls had stayed home,” muttered Amos; “if some of the boys had come we’d have had a good time here; but girls always want to go home. Well, I’ll get you to Long Point without swimming,” and again Amos smiled, for hehad a secret of his own that he knew would greatly surprise Amanda and Anne.
It was not long before he began scraping the hot embers from the sand under which the fish was cooking. Then he poked the hot sand away, and there lay the plaice, steaming and smoking, and sending out an appetizing odor.
“There!” said Amos proudly, as he managed to cut off a piece with his jack-knife for each of the girls, “that’s as good fish as you ever tasted.”
“It’s the best,” said Anne, and Amanda ate hungrily. Indeed the children were all so hungry that they devoured the entire fish.
“If you’ll stay till to-morrow I’ll cook the cod,” said Amos, but both Amanda and Anne said they wanted to go home. So Amos with their help pushed and dragged the dory into the water, and then telling the girls to stay right by the boat until he returned, started off up the beach to where he had found the mussels. In a few minutes they saw him running back.
“Look, Amanda!” exclaimed Anne, “he’s found an oar!”
The little girls could hardly believe it possible; but Amos was smiling and seemed to think it was a great joke.
“I found it yesterday morning, the very first thing, when you were off after beach-plums,” he explained, “and I hid it, because I knew if I told you I’d found an oar you’d want to start for home right off; and as long as we were here I wanted some fun out of it. Now jump in, and I’ll scull you over to Long Point in no time.”
The girls were too glad at the idea of really starting for home to blame Amos for keeping them on the island so long, but Anne thought to herself that she was sure that none of the Starkweather boys would have hidden the oar. “Amos is smart, but he’s selfish,” she decided, as the boy bent to the big oar and sent the clumsy boat toward Long Point.
“’Tis a good oar, better than the one I lost,” said Amos, “and I do think ’twas lost from one of the English ships. There’s a big ‘S’ burned into the handle. Mayhap it belonged to the ‘Somerset.’ If so I’m glad they lost it.”
“’twas the ‘Somerset’ ran down my father’s boat and nigh drowned him,” said Anne, “and the sailors lent him no help, but laughed to see him struggle till he reached near enough their ship to clamber up.”
“I wish I could be a soldier like your father,” said Amos, and at this Anne looked upon him more kindly.
“Scull faster, Amos,” urged Amanda; “the sun is not two hours high, and ’Tis a long walk through the sand before we can get home. I do hope we’ll get there before milking time that I may have a drink of warm milk.”
When the boat touched the sandy shore of Long Point, Anne and Amanda scrambled over the bow and urged Amos to hurry.
“I must make the boat safe,” he said; “’twould be a sad loss to have the tide take her out. And I’ll hide this good oar, too. To-morrow Jimmie Starkweather and I will sail down and tow her back, and maybe take a look at the island,” and Amos looked back regretfully to the shores they had just left.
The dory was drawn up beyond reach of the tide, the oar hidden under the sand, and the children started on their walk toward home. The distance was but two miles, but walking through the loose sand was hard and tiresome.
“I slip back a step every step I take,” said Anne; “look, the sun is nearly out of sight now.”
“The milk will be strained and set ere this,” said Amanda mournfully; “there’s not even a beach-plum grows on this point, and the long grass cuts my feet whenever I come near it.”
“You could have had another baked fish by this time if you would have stayed on the island,” said Amos complainingly.
After this the children plodded on in silence for a long time. The harvest moon rose beyond the harbor and smiled down upon them. There was a silvery glint all over the water, and as they came round one of the big piles of sand, which are so often seen along the coast of Cape Cod, they all stopped and looked out across the harbor. It was Amos who pointed toward a big ship riding at anchor, perhaps a mile from the shore.
“There’s the ‘Somerset’ back again,” he said. “I wonder if there’s any harm done at the settlement?”
CHAPTER XSAFE AT HOME
It was late in the evening when the three tired, hungry children reached the settlement. Amanda and Amos ran up the path to their door and Anne plodded on toward Mrs. Stoddard’s, nearly a half mile from the Cary house.
There was not a light to be seen in the village, but Anne could see the shining lanterns on the “Somerset” sending narrow rays of light across the water. But she was too tired to think of the British ship, or of anything except how good it would be to sleep in a real bed again.
At Mrs. Stoddard’s door she stood for a moment wondering if she could not creep in and up-stairs without waking Uncle Enos and Aunt Martha; she tried the door softly, but it was bolted, so she rattled the latch and called, “Aunt Martha! Uncle Enos!” a sudden fear filling her heart that they might not hear her and that she might have to sleep on the door-step.
But in an instant she heard steps hurryingacross the kitchen floor, the big bolt was pulled back, the door swung open, and Anne was warmly clasped in Aunt Martha’s arms. Uncle Enos hurried close behind her, and Anne was drawn into the kitchen with many exclamations of wonder and joy.
“Light a candle that we may look at her,” said Aunt Martha, “and start up a fire. ’Tis a chilly night, and the child must have some warm porridge.”
It was not long before the fire was burning brightly, a kettle of hot water bubbling cheerfully, that Anne might have a warm bath to rest and soothe her tired limbs, and Anne, sitting on Aunt Martha’s lap, was eating a bowl of hot porridge and telling the story of her adventures.
“House Point Island, eh?” said Uncle Enos; “’Tis lucky there was an island just there, even so low a one as that. In a hundred years or so the tides and waves will sweep it away.”
Anne told of the brush-covered shelter, of Amos making a fire and cooking the fish, and of their journey home, while her kind friends listened eagerly.
“We feared the boat had been carried out to sea and that our little maid was lost,” said AuntMartha, “and the men have looked for you all about the shore. The ‘Somerset’ is in harbor and its crew are doing much mischief on shore, so that we have had much to disturb us. What a tangle of hair this is for me to brush out,” she added, passing a tender hand over Anne’s dark locks.
How good the warm water felt to Anne’s bruised feet; and she was sure that nothing ever tasted so good as the porridge. The rough hair was brushed into smooth braids, and it was a very happy little girl who went to sleep in the upper chamber with her wooden doll beside her, and the white kitten curled up on the foot of her bed.
“I’m glad I’m not a little Indian girl,” was Anne’s last thought before she went to sleep.
It was late the next morning when she awoke. Her soiled and torn clothes were not to be seen, but a dress of clean cotton and a fresh pinafore lay on the wooden stool.
“My, it’s nice to be clean,” thought Anne, remembering the uncomfortable efforts that she and Amanda had made to wash their faces in water from the island spring.
“It’s near noon, dear child,” said Mrs. Stoddard,as Anne came into the kitchen. “You shall have a boiled egg for your breakfast, and I am cooking a fine johnnycake for you before the fire. You must be nigh starved. To think of that Amos Cary hiding the oar instead of fetching you straight home.”
“But he worked all the time to make a house for us, and to cook the fish,” explained Anne, “and he speaks well of my father. I like him better than when he called me names.”
“Of course you do, child; and I did not think him so smart a boy as he proves. ’twas no small thing to start a fire as he did.”
“’twas Amanda made him come home,” said Anne; “she told him we would walk through the water to the Point, and then he said he would fetch us.”
“Your Uncle Enos thinks Amos may make a good sailor,” said Aunt Martha. “Indeed, if it were not for these British ships hovering about our shores it is likely that Skipper Cary would have been off to the Banks and taken Amos with him.”
The “Banks” were the fishing grounds off the island of Newfoundland, and for several years the Cape Cod fishermen had made summercruises there, coming home with big cargoes of fine fish which they sold in the Boston market at excellent prices. These fishing grounds were called the “Banks,” because of the heavy banks of fog which settled down in that region.
After Anne had finished her breakfast she went to Mrs. Stoddard’s big work-basket, and took out her knitting-work.
“May I not knit a long time to-day, Aunt Martha?” she asked. “My feet ache sorely, and I should like well to knit.”
“That is right,” answered Mrs. Stoddard, nodding her approval. “Your Uncle Enos drove Brownie over the hill where the sailors from the ‘Somerset’ will not be like to see her, and we will both stay indoors to-day and knit. Maybe we shall begin to read to-day, also.”
“After I have knit a good stint,” said Anne, “for ’twill be time for stockings soon.”
It was a happy morning for the little girl. She worked steadily and carefully until Captain Enos came up from the shore for his noon meal.
“Well, well,” he said smilingly, “now this seems good—to see our little maid safe at home by the window with her knitting. I saw Mistress Starkweather as I came home, and shebade me tell you she should walk this way to see you this afternoon. ’Tis a great day for Amos,” continued the captain; “he tells all the boys in the village of his great adventure in rounding Long Point and living two days on an island. You’d think he’d seen Terra del Fuego, to say the least.”
SHE WORKED STEADILY
SHE WORKED STEADILY
“And what is Terra del Fuego?” asked Anne wonderingly.
“’Tis a far island, Anne, in warm southern seas, such a distance as few Cape Cod sailors ever go; though we go to most places, I will say,” he added with a hearty laugh.
“Amos and Jimmie Starkweather were all for sailing off this morning to bring the dory home,” he continued, “but a boatload of the ‘Somerset’s’ men stopped them and sent them ashore, threatening to dismast any sloop that put up a sail in this harbor without their permission.”
Anne knit steadily on, thinking of her father, and wondering if these men on board the “Somerset” had any knowledge of him. But she asked no questions, knowing that Captain Enos would tell her if any news came.
The scarlet stockings had made good progress when Mistress Starkweather was seen comingup the sandy path. Anne ran to the door to meet her, and the good woman kissed her heartily. “To think of the danger you were in, dear child,” she said, as Anne led her into the sunny kitchen and drew out the most comfortable chair for her.
“Amos was not afraid,” said Anne, “but Amanda and I did wish ourselves home.”
“I’ll warrant that boy would not be afraid of the water, storm or no storm,” said Mrs. Stoddard, drawing her own chair near to her neighbor’s; “yet Captain Enos tells that he fled from our Anne here when she threw water at him,” and the two women smiled, remembering the little girl’s loyal defense of her absent father.
“School is to begin next Monday, if all goes well,” continued Mrs. Starkweather, “and beside that the minister declared we must all come more punctually to church. Last Sunday there were but seven in the meeting-house,” and Mrs. Starkweather’s face grew sober.
“I shall not have time to learn to read long words before Monday,” said Anne anxiously.
“I planned to teach the child a little before school begins,” explained Mrs. Stoddard, “from Captain Enos’s ‘Pilgrim’s Progress.’His mother bought the book in Boston, and he treasures it.”
“And no wonder,” replied Mrs. Starkweather; “beside the Bible there are few books in any household in the settlement. I doubt if the minister can lay claim to a half dozen. He has his knowledge in his head.”
“And so should all people have,” said Mrs. Stoddard. “Anne, go to the big red chest in my bedroom and take out the book that lays there and fetch it to me. Mayhap Mistress Starkweather would like to see it.”
Anne quickly obeyed. The big red chest was one that Captain Enos had carried when he went on whaling voyages. It had handles of twisted rope, and a huge padlock swung from an iron loop in front. Anne lifted the top and reached in after the book; but the chest was deep; there were only a few articles on the bottom of the chest, and she could not reach it. So she pushed the lid back until it rested against the wall, and stepped into the chest, stooping down to pick up the book. As she leaned over, bang,—down came the lid to the chest, shutting Anne closely in. For an instant the child was too frightened to move, as she lay on her face inthe big chest; then she tried to sit up, and found she could not. She tried to call “Aunt Martha,” but her voice sounded thick and muffled.
In the kitchen the two neighbors sat waiting for Anne and the book.
“Anne! Anne!” called Mrs. Stoddard. “Why, the child is usually so spry. I wonder what keeps her,” and she went into the bedroom.
“Did Anne slip out while we talked?” she called back to Mrs. Starkweather. “She’s not here.”
Just then there came a sound from the chest. “Pity’s sake!” exclaimed Mrs. Stoddard. “I do believe Anne is in the chest,” and she hastened to swing back the big lid and to lift the half-stifled child out.
“Did you ever!” she said. “How came you in the chest, child?”
“I got in to get the book and the lid fell on me,” half whispered Anne, clinging to Mrs. Stoddard’s skirts.
“Well, well, child, there is no harm done,” said Mrs. Stoddard, “but ’Tis not a safe thing to get into chests. I will get the book. I thought your arms were longer,” and Mrs. Stoddardreached into the sea-chest and drew out a long black-covered book. “It has many pictures,” she said. “I wonder I have not shown it to Anne before.”
Mrs. Starkweather looked at the book admiringly, and Mrs. Stoddard took Anne in her lap that they might all enjoy the pictures together.
“Look,” she said; “here is Christian setting forth on his journey, and here are Obstinate and Pliable, two of his neighbors, following him to urge him to come home.”
Anne looked at the picture eagerly. She had never seen pictures in a book before, and it seemed very wonderful to her.
“It is a good story,” said Mrs. Starkweather. “True, it is said to be but a dream, but I read it in my youth and liked it well. It has been a treat to see it, Mrs. Stoddard. ’Tis seldom I have so care-free an afternoon. Six boys to look after keep me busy,” and the good woman rose from her chair and with cordial words of good-bye started for home.
“I wish I could read this book,” said Anne, turning the leaves over carefully and wondering what the pictures meant.
“So you shall. We’ll read a little now. Come, you shall spell out the words, and I will speak them for you and tell you their meaning.”
An hour later when Captain Enos stepped into the kitchen he declared that he thought school had begun there; and while Mrs. Stoddard hurried about to prepare supper Uncle Enos continued Anne’s reading lesson.
“Perhaps I can read this book after I go to school,” said Anne.
“That you can,” answered the captain.
“And I will learn to write,” said Anne, “and it may be I could send a letter to my dear father.”
“That is a good child,” said Captain Enos, patting the dark head; “learn to write and we’ll set about starting the letter to your father as soon as you have it ready.”
“I shall have much to tell him,” said Anne, smiling up into Uncle Enos’s kind face.
“And he’ll have a good deal to tell you,” replied Captain Enos. “I wish I could see him myself. I’d like news of what’s going on in Boston.”
CHAPTER XICAPTAIN ENOS’S SECRETS
The playhouse under the pines was almost forgotten as the days grew colder, and the fall rains came, with high winds; and Anne’s scarlet stocking was now long enough for Aunt Martha to “set the heel” and begin to shape the foot. School had begun in Elder Haven’s sitting-room, with fourteen scholars, and Anne was learning to write.
“Master Haven says I write my own name nicely,” she said at the end of the first week, “and that by the time school closes he thinks I can write a letter.”
Captain Enos nodded approvingly. He and Anne were sitting before a bright fire of driftwood in the pleasant kitchen, while Mrs. Stoddard had gone to Mrs. Starkweather’s for more scarlet yarn. Anne was knitting busily; her wooden doll sat on the floor, and the white kitten was curled up close to the little girl’s feet.Captain Enos had several pieces of smooth cedar wood on a stool near his chair, and was at work upon one with his sharp jack-knife.
“Well, well!” he said, looking up from his whittling. “That will please thy father, Anne. And learn as fast as you can, for I see a fair chance of sending a letter to Boston, when one is ready; and then thy father could soon get it.”
“Oh, Uncle Enos!” exclaimed Anne, “if there be a chance to send a letter could you not write for me? It may be when I can write there will be no chance to send a letter.”
Captain Enos nodded. “You are a wise child,” he said. “My writing isn’t the plainest in the world, but I’ll do my best. I have some sheets of good smooth paper in my sea-chest, and a good quill pen, too. Elder Haven fixed the pen for me from the feather of a wild goose I killed on the marshes last spring. But I do not think there is such a thing as ink in the house; but I can make a fair ink with the juice of the elderberry and a fair lot of soot from the chimney. So think up what you wish to tell your father, Anne, and if it storms to-morrow we’ll write the letter.”
“How will you send it, Uncle Enos?” asked Anne, forgetting to knit and turning eager eyes toward the captain.
“Sshh!” said Captain Enos. “’Tis a secret—hardly to be whispered. But there is a good-hearted sailorman on board the British ship. We have had some talk together on the shore, and he told me that he liked thy father; and that he did not blame him for escaping from the ship.”
Anne nodded smilingly, and reached down and picked up her wooden doll.
“Has the sailorman any little girl?” she asked.
“That he has,” said Captain Enos. “He told me that he had two small maids of his own in Plymouth, England, far across the ocean; and he asked if I knew aught of John Nelson’s little girl.”
“That’s me!” said Anne, holding the wooden doll tight.
“Yes,” said Captain Enos, “and he said that he might find a chance to send some word to thy father that you were a good and happy child. Then I told him, Anne, that you planned to write a letter, and he said he’d takeit to Boston, and then ’twould soon reach thy father.”
“I wish I could hear the sailorman speak of my father,” said Anne, “and tell me of his little girls in England.”
“Mayhap you can, child. He comes ashore after water each day. A stout man he is, with reddish hair and good honest blue eyes. He tells me his name is William Trull. If you see such a man you may speak to him.”
“Uncle Enos! That is the sailorman who saved me from the Indian women, and brought me safe home,” exclaimed Anne. “Do you not remember?”
“Indeed I do, Anne. And I thought the name would mean something to you,” replied Captain Enos.
Anne smiled happily. It was good news to hear from the sailorman, and to know that he was a friend of her father’s.
“What are you making, Uncle Enos?” asked Anne, as the captain put down one smooth bit of wood and picked up another.
Captain Enos pointed to Anne’s wooden doll and whispered, “I’m afraid Martha Stoddard Nelson will hear. Put her down behindyour chair and come over here, and I’ll tell you.”
Anne set the doll down carefully, with its head turned away from Captain Enos, and tiptoed across the little space between them.
“I’m making a chair for Martha Stoddard Nelson,” whispered Captain Enos, “for a surprise. And you mustn’t tell her a word about it till it is all ready for her to sit in.”
Anne laughed. To have a secret with Uncle Enos was about the most delightful thing she could imagine; and to have it mean a fine cedar chair for her doll to sit in was the best kind of a secret.
“You mustn’t let Martha Stoddard Nelson face toward me more than you can help,” went on Uncle Enos. “You don’t think she has noticed what I am doing, do you?”
“No,” whispered Anne. “I’ll be very careful, and let her stay up-stairs a good deal until the chair is finished.”
“That will be a good plan,” said Uncle Enos, “and there comes your Aunt Martha. I hear her at the door.”
Anne ran to open the door and Mrs. Stoddard came in smiling and rosy from her walk in thesharp wind. The white kitten jumped up and came running toward her, and the good woman looked about the cheerful room as if she thought it the finest place in the world.
“I have more scarlet yarn,” she said, sitting down near Captain Enos, “and I have a present for thee, Anne; something that Mistress Starkweather sent thee with her love,” and Mrs. Stoddard handed Anne a small package.
“It’s a box!” declared the little girl, taking off the paper in which it was wrapped, “and see how sweet it smells.”
“’Tis of sandalwood,” said Captain Enos. “There must be many such in the settlement, for ’twas but a few years ago that some of our men came back from a voyage to Ceylon, and fetched such boxes in their chests.”
“Open it, Anne,” said Mrs. Stoddard, and Anne carefully took off the cover.
“Look, look!” she exclaimed, holding out the box toward Aunt Martha; “what are these shining things; all pink and round?” and she picked up a string of pink coral beads and held them up.
“Coral beads!” said Aunt Martha. “Mistress Starkweather said that she thought whenher husband brought them home she would keep them for a little girl of her own; but since she has but six boys, she says she knows of no little girl to whom she would rather give them than to thee, Anne. And you must go down to-morrow before school begins and thank her properly.”
“Coral beads!” repeated Anne, holding up the pink beads and touching them softly. “May I put them around my neck, Aunt Martha?”
“Indeed you may, child. See, here is a clasp of bright gold to hold them,” and Mrs. Stoddard fastened the beads around Anne’s neck.
“’Tis a fine gift,” said Captain Enos admiringly, “and shows a kind heart in Mistress Starkweather.”
“I wish my father could see,” said Anne. “When he knows about my scarlet stockings and leather shoes, and the white kitten, and that I go to school and have coral beads, he will think I am the luckiest girl in the world.”
“We will write him all that,” said Captain Enos.
Just then the wooden latch of the kitchen door rattled and the door swung open.
“It’s Amanda!” exclaimed Anne, and Amanda Cary stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind her.
“See, Amanda!” exclaimed Anne happily, “I have had a fine present. Mistress Starkweather gave me these,” and she touched the pink beads, “and this!” and she pointed to the sweet-smelling box of sandalwood.
Amanda’s thin face brightened. “I’ve got some coral beads just like yours,” she said; “my father got them ’way off across the ocean. When I grow older and times are better, my mother says I shall have a white dress and can wear my coral beads then.”
The two little girls played with the doll and kitten and Captain Enos kept on with his work.
“I wish I had a doll,” he heard Amanda say. “I have asked Amos to make me one, but he is not clever at whittling out things.”
Captain Enos nodded to himself smilingly. Since Anne and Amos and Amanda had been carried down the harbor to House Point Island together, and he had heard how pleasant Amanda had been to Anne, he had liked the Cary children better, and had quite forgiven their old-time teasing ways. After Amandahad started for home he called Anne to him and said, “I have another secret!”
“Yes!” said Anne, with a gay little laugh.
“Would you like to make Amanda Cary a present?” he questioned.
“I could not give her my doll,” answered Anne, her bright face growing sober. “’Tis all I have that my father made.”
“But if I make another doll, a fine wooden doll, as near like yours as I can, would you like to give that to Amanda?” asked Uncle Enos.
“Oh, yes! Yes, indeed,” said Anne, the smiles all coming back again.
“Then ’Tis a secret till I have the doll finished,” said Captain Enos; “then maybe you can make a dress for it, and give it to Amanda, just as she gave you her white kitten.”
Anne was very happy over this secret; it seemed even better than the new wooden chair for Martha Stoddard Nelson.
“I never gave anybody a present,” she said, “but I know it must be the finest thing in the world to give somebody a gift,” and she looked up into Uncle Enos’s kindly face questioningly.
“You are a good child, Anne,” he said, “and I will make the wooden doll as soon as timeoffers. Now take thy beads and box and Martha Stoddard Nelson to thy room, and I will bring in some wood for Aunt Martha. Then ’twill be time for a bite of supper.”
Anne carried her treasures up-stairs to the little room. There was a stand in the room now, one that had belonged to her father. It had two drawers, and in one of them Anne carefully put the sandalwood box with the pink coral beads.
“I guess I have more lovely things than any little girl,” she said to herself, as she slowly closed the drawer. “There’s my doll, and my white kitten, and my scarlet stockings, which I shall have finished to-morrow, and my leather shoes, and these coral beads and the box!” But Anne gave a little sigh and then whispered, “And if my dear father could only know all about them, and that I am to give a doll to Amanda.” She looked out of the small window toward the beautiful harbor, and wished that she might go sailing over it to Boston, to find her father and bring him safe to Province Town. “I wish King George knew how much trouble he was making with his old war-ships,” Anne whispered to the wooden doll.