“Jane, Jane! Fat and plain;With a button nose and turned-in toes,”
they would call after her, until the little girl dreaded the very sight of them. When Faithhad proved that she was not afraid of the sisters Jane Tuttle became her steadfast admirer, and was greatly pleased to come in the afternoon with her mother. But she was surprised to find Louise Trent there before her, and evidently very much at home. However, she was too kind-hearted a child not to be pleasant and polite to the lame girl, and Louise was now as ready to make friends as, before knowing Faith, she had been sullen and unfriendly.
Each of the girls was encouraged to set a few neat stitches in the quilt. Then, on the arrival of Mrs. Fairbanks and Mrs. Lewis, Aunt Prissy told Faith that if she wanted to take the little girls to her own room she might do so.
There was a glowing fire on the hearth, and Faith was pleased for Jane to see her pleasant chamber, and to introduce “Lady Amy.”
“I wish I had brought my doll,” said Jane, as the little girls gathered in front of the fire. “Mine is one my mother made for me.”
“There, Louise! We could make you a doll!” exclaimed Faith, knowing how much her friend had always wished for a doll of her own.
But Louise shook her head.“I guess I am too old for dolls; I’m twelve,” she said slowly, “and I don’t have time to make dresses for dolls now that I’m learning to read and write. You see,” and she turned to Jane, “I keep house for my father.”
Jane looked at Louise, wondering to herself why she had ever imagined that Louise Trent was a girl that she could not have for a friend. Why, Louise was really pretty! thought fat little Jane, looking admiringly at the smooth black hair, and the neat and pretty dress. And so nearly grown-up, too. Twelve years old! Jane resolved to go and see Louise, and to ask her to come for a visit.
“I shall always play with dolls,” she heard Faith declare. “I’d like to have a regiment of dolls, and play games with them. Wouldn’t it be fun to have dolls that we could make up names for, and then have them do all sorts of things?”
Louise and Jane agreed that would be a fine game.
“We could dress up the pillows on your bed for dolls,” suggested Louise.
“Yes, and put my dresses on them,” responded Faith eagerly, running to the closetand bringing out the blue dress, a skirt and a small shawl. It was not long before two “cushiony” figures, as large as Jane, were seated on the bed.
“Let’s put our coats and caps on them, Faith; and when the other girls come this evening we’ll make them think the pillows are company,” suggested Louise.
Jane jumped about the room with delight as Faith and Louise adjusted the caps and fur coats.
“We’ll introduce them as Annie Snow and Mary White,” said Faith. “It will be fun to see what the girls will say.”
Four little girls were expected, and several boy friends of Donald’s. Aunt Prissy wondered a little at Faith’s eagerness to take the girls directly up-stairs on their arrival, but she was greatly pleased to see that Louise, Jane and Faith were evidently having a delightful time.
It was nearly dusk when the little visitors arrived, and Faith’s room was rather dim and shadowy. The little girls coming in were rather surprised to find that there were strangers, evidently just arrived, sitting on Faith’s bed.
“Girls, these are two of my best friends, Annie Snow and Mary White,” said Faith, tryinghard not to laugh, as her schoolmates bowed politely and greeted the stout figures on the bed, who, apparently, did not hear the introductions.
Jane, giggling with delight, circled around the newcomers; while Louise seated herself on the bed and began talking to Annie Snow. Faith endeavored to make the newcomers at ease, and it was not long before she had to run down-stairs to help her aunt with the supper, leaving Louise and Jane to carry on the game.
The children were to have their supper in the kitchen. The tables for young and old had been spread before the arrival of any of the guests, so there was but little for Aunt Prissy and Faith to do before calling the guests to supper.
Louise was the last one to enter the kitchen, her face radiant with fun and delight at the success of “Annie Snow” and “Mary White.” She found a chance to tell Faith that “Annie” and “Mary” had managed to say that they didn’t feel like eating supper, and that the girls had not yet discovered the joke.
“We’ll bring them down after supper,” Faith whispered.
“Are your friends from the Wilderness?” asked Peggy Tibbetts, the oldest girl of the party, as Faith sat down beside her.
“No,” Faith answered slowly. “They are both coming down after supper, and I know you will be surprised when I tell you that they live right in this house.”
Peggy Tibbetts was surprised. She looked almost frightened, and lost no time in whispering this information to the other girls; so that when Faith announced that she would run up-stairs and ask “Annie” and “Mary” to come down there was an anxious silence.
Faith asked Jane to go with her, and in a few moments they returned with the two clumsy “girls.” In the brightly-lit kitchen the dressed-up figures could no longer be mistaken, and the children were greatly pleased and amused by “Annie” and “Mary,” who were established in straight-backed chairs, and urged to share in the supper.
There was so much laughter and merriment in the kitchen that Aunt Prissy looked in for a moment. “Faithie dear, who are the little girls in the corner?” she asked. To Louise and Jane this seemed a triumph indeed, and when Aunt Prissy, entering into the spirit of the affair, insistedupon being introduced to “Annie” and “Mary,” and said she was very glad to see them, the children danced about, greatly pleased with this unexpected fun.
When the clock struck nine the grown people and children were all ready to start for home. Louise was to stay all night with Faith. As the children said their good-byes and stepped out into the snow-trodden path they called back messages to “Annie” and “Mary.” The full moon shone down so brightly that the path could be plainly seen, and in the distance the dark line of the forest, and the heights of Ticonderoga.
“It’s the best time I ever had in all my life,” declared Jane, as she trotted off holding fast to her mother’s hand.
And Faith said the same as she bade Aunt Prissy good-night. “It’s fun to have parties, isn’t it, Aunt Prissy,” she said, “and all the girls are so pleasant.”
“That is what makes the good time, isn’t it?” responded her aunt.
“I hope it won’t storm to-morrow,” Louise said, as the two girls prepared for bed.
“What makes you think of a storm?” questioned Faith.
“There was a ring around the moon,” said Louise; “that’s one sign, and the air felt like snow.”
But Faith was too happy over the evening to think about weather signs. She had, for that night, quite forgotten about the English soldiers and her resolve to send a message to Ethan Allen.
Louise’s predictions proved right; for when the morning came snow was falling steadily, and great drifts were heaped up against the walls and fences. A chill east wind came sweeping across the ice-bound lake, and it was plain that there would be no more skating for many days.
For nearly a week trails and roads were impassable. Mr. Trent, knowing that Louise was safe and happy with her friends, made no effort to reach her; and the Scotts were glad to keep indoors, safe from the fierce cold and wind.
Donald and Hugh dug a tunnel to the shop, and Mr. Scott kept a path open to the barn, while indoors Aunt Prissy kept the two girls busy and happy. She declared that she had been hoping for a day to dye some recently woven blankets, and asked Faith what color she thought would be best.
“But how can you make any color you like, Aunt Prissy?” asked Faith.
“Perhaps not ‘any color I like,’ but I have a good lot of colors to choose from,” replied Aunt Prissy. “People who live in the wilderness need only to step outdoors to find almost anywhere some plant that furnishes dye, and I gather my dye-plants and roots every summer, as I am sure your own mother does.”
“I know mother always gathers the dogwood roots to make a scarlet dye. Kashaqua told her about that,” answered Faith. “The Indians use it for their feathers.”
“And I am sure your mother dyed your brown dress with the shells of the hickory-nut,” said Aunt Prissy, “and the yellow root is what I used to color the covers on the chair cushions in your room.”
This was all new to Louise, and she listened eagerly, thinking to herself that she would color the faded quilts on her own bed; and that another summer she would gather a good supply of the roots and plants of which Mrs. Scott spoke.
“The pokeweed berries will color a good red,” continued Mrs. Scott; “but for scarlet we must use the dogwood roots.”
Then Mrs. Scott showed the little girls her bundles of dyestuffs, each plant and root tied up and marked carefully with its name and use. A large number of the dogwood roots were put into a huge iron kettle, the kettle filled with water, and hung over the fire. When it had boiled for several hours there would be a good scarlet dye in which the new blankets would be dipped. Then they would be hung to dry in the shed.
The next day the sun came out and shone brightly down on a white and glistening world, and that afternoon Mr. Trent came to take Louise home. He would not come in, but waited at the door until she was ready to go. But he thanked Mrs. Scott for all her kindness to his little daughter.
Faith was quite sure that Mr. Trent must be sorry to be a Tory instead of a loyal American. “But I suppose he can’t help it,” she decided, and always thought of her friend’s father as unfortunate.
Faith and Louise always had so many things to talk about that they seldom spoke of the redcoats; and when they did Louise seemed to dislike them more than Faith herself.
Faith and Donald both had snow-shoes, and on their way to school, a few days later, Faith stopped at the shoemaker’s door. But there was no response to her knock, and when she tried the door it would not open. She wondered where Louise and her father could be, but not until the next day did she hear that the shoemaker and Louise had left their home, apparently not to return. They had gone with a number of English families, on sledges, down the river, without a good-bye to the kind friends who had grown to love the little lame girl.
“I know Louise couldn’t help it,” Faith declared, when Aunt Prissy told her the news. “She will write to me, I know she will,” but it was a long time before any word came to her from her little friend. And now Faith became more and more eager for March to come, that she might once more see her father and mother, and make some attempt to send a message to Ethan Allen.
Thenight after hearing that Louise had gone Faith felt more nearly homesick than at any time since her arrival at her aunt’s house. Everything seemed to remind her of her friend. Even “Lady Amy” made her remember that Louise had never owned a doll of her own.
“And I had meant to give Louise one of my strings of blue beads just as soon as I had asked Aunt Prissy,” she thought, regretfully, holding up the pretty beads, and recalling how much Louise had admired them.
“Aunt Prissy,” she called, running down the stairs and into the sitting-room, “may I not give Louise one of my bead necklaces?”
Aunt Prissy looked up in amazement.
“But how can you, Faithie, dear? We do not know where she is,” she answered.
“We shall know some time. Of course we shall. And when we do, may I? I meant to ask you the day of the quilting,” said Faith.
“Of course you may, child. I was sure that you would want to when Esther sent the beads. I only hope you may have a chance to give them to Louise at an early day,” responded Aunt Prissy.
This decision proved a comfort to Faith. As the weeks went by, and no news of the shoemaker and his little daughter was received, she would often look at the string of blue beads which she meant to give her friend. “I wish I had given them to her on my birthday,” she thought regretfully, “but she shall have them some time,” for Faith was quite sure that it could not be very long before Louise would find a way to let them know where she was.
March came, “stirring the fire” vigorously from the day of its arrival. The ice in the lake broke up rapidly, the snow melted, and by the middle of the month Faith began to expect her father. Nathan Beaman, in his clumsy boat, had crossed from Shoreham a number of times. He often teasingly reminded Faith of her plan to ask Ethan Allen to come and take possession of Fort Ticonderoga.
“You’d better hurry. The British will be sending men down from Canada by early summer, and then ’twill be of no use for the Green Mountain Boys to try to capture the fort,” he said.
“How do you always know so much about what the English are going to do?” asked Faith.
The children were all in the shop. Nathan was helping Donald in the construction of a small boat, and Faith and the two younger boys had been filling a basket with chips and shavings to carry into the house.
“Can’t help knowing,” answered Nathan. “I hear the men at the fort talking about all their fine plans to own all this country every time I go there.”
“Nathan,” and Faith lowered her voice so that the other children would not hear, “you know I promised not to tell about the door at the fort?”
Nathan nodded; he was looking at her sharply, and half feared that she was about to tell him that she had broken the promise.
“Well, of course I shan’t tell. But if my telling some American would help send the soldiers away, mayn’t I tell then?” and Faith’s face was very serious as she waited for his response.
“Yes. I meant you weren’t to tell Louise Trent, or those Young girls,” said Nathan. “And don’t tell any one unless you are sure it will be of some use. You see I may tell, if it comes to that.”
Faith drew a long breath. “Thank you, Nathan,” she said, in so serious a tone that the boy laughed aloud.
“You are as grave about that old fort as my father and the Shoreham men are. You ought to hear my father tell about the big fight here in 1758. He was a young man then, and the French held the fort, and the English were after it.”
Donald had stopped his work, and he and Hugh were listening eagerly. “Tell us, tell us about it,” said Donald.
“Father says there’ll never be anything like it again. All the Colonies sent men, and Lord Howe brought thousands of English soldiers. England was our friend then,” said Nathan.“They had thousands of boats, and rafts to carry their big guns. They had big flags, and music; and they didn’t lurk or skulk about. Their boats came right down the lake in fine shape; they landed, and marched toward the fort. But the French were ready for them, and beat them back. However, the next year the English and Americans drove the French out.”
“I guess the English are brave,” Donald ventured, returning to his work.
“Of course they are. Why, we’re all English ourselves,” declared Nathan, “and that’s why we won’t stand being treated so unfairly. We can’t stand it.”
“I’m not English. I’m an American,” said Faith; “and when the Americans take Ticonderoga that will be American too.”
“That’s the way to talk, little maid,” said a gruff voice, and the children turned quickly toward the door.
“I didn’t mean to listen,” and a tall man, dressed in deerskin jacket and trousers, with moccasins, and wearing a fur cap, stepped into the shop, resting his musket against the wall near the door. “Shouldn’t have dared come in if I had not heard I was in good company,” he said laughingly, his sharp eyes looking carefully about the shop.
Nathan, with a half-muttered word of good-bye to the children, had started toward the door; but the newcomer’s hand grasped his arm.
“Wait a minute!” he said, swinging the boy about. “I’m not so sure about letting you start off so smart. You may head straight for the fort, for all I know. What’s your name?”
Nathan stood silent. His face flushed, but he looked the newcomer steadily in the face.
“Let go of Nathan!” said Donald sturdily, clutching at the man’s arm, and kicking at his legs. “This isn’t your shop. You let go of him.”
“I guess I’d better,” laughed the man, taking a firm hold of Donald and looking at both his captives in evident amusement. “Well, Philip Scott, what sort of a hornet’s nest have you here?” he called out, and Faith turned around to see her Uncle Philip standing in the doorway. “I’ll not let go these men until you promise to defend me,” continued the stranger.
“You are safe, Phelps,” responded Mr. Scott, coming forward and, as Nathan and Donald were released, giving the stranger a cordial welcome. Nathan vanished without a word, but on Mr. Scott’s saying that he was the son of Mr. Beaman of Shoreham, the stranger was reassured. It was evident he did not wish his arrival to become known at the fort.
Faith heard the stranger say that he had come from Hartford, and that he would cross to the New Hampshire Grants as soon as he could safely do so.
“I’d like to look in at Fort Ticonderoga if I could without the soldiers knowing it,” she heard him say, and her uncle replied that it would be impossible.
Faith was sure that this stranger was on some errand to the Green Mountain Boys, for he spoke of Remember Baker, and Seth Warner.
“I’d like to take Colonel Allen a plan of the fort,” she heard him say, as she helped Aunt Prissy prepare an early dinner for their visitor.
Faith wished that she was grown up. Then, she was sure, she would dare to tell this stranger of the way up the cliff to the unguarded entrance. “He could go up this evening, and then he could tell Colonel Allen all about it,” she thought, and before dinner was over she had resolved to find a way to tell him. But after a talk with Mr. Scott the visitor had declared he must get a few hours sleep. He said that he had been on the trail since very early that morning, and must be off again soon after sunset.
“Run in the sitting-room, Faithie, and fix a cushion for Mr. Phelps,” said Aunt Prissy, and the little girl started obediently.
“I’ll tell him now,” she resolved, and as the tall man followed her she said quickly: “I know how you can get into the fort and no one see you. It’s a secret. I’ll show you. But Uncle Phil won’t let me if you tell him.”
“I’ll not tell him. You are a brave child. Tell me quickly,” responded the tall stranger.
“There’s a canoe under the big willow at the bottom of the field——” began Faith, but he interrupted.
“Yes! Yes! I know. I am to cross the lake in it. But how can I get into the fort?”
“I could show you. I can’t tell you,” answered Faith.
“Then ’tis of small use. Harm might come to you, child,” he answered, stretching himself out on the long settle with a tired sigh.
Faith went slowly back to the kitchen. Here was the very chance she had so long hoped for, and this stranger would not let her attempt it.
All that afternoon Faith was very quiet. She walked across the fields to the shore and looked at the big willow tree where the canoe was concealed.She looked off toward Mount Defiance, and Mount Hope, rising clearly against the sky, as if standing sentinels for Fort Ticonderoga.
“I’ll try, anyway,” she said to herself, as she turned toward home.
After supper she went early up-stairs. But she did not undress. She knew that her uncle would not go to the lake shore with his visitor, for that might attract the attention of some hunter or fisherman. It would not be long before Mr. Phelps would start. There was no time to lose. She put on her fur cap, and a knit jacket, and then peered out of the window. The sky was clear, and the moon made it almost as light as day. The sound of the falls came clearly through the quiet air.
“He could find his way up the cliff as plainly as if it were daylight,” thought Faith, as she turned from the window.
She opened her door and closed it silently behind her. Her cousins were in bed, her uncle and aunt in the sitting-room with their visitor. Faith would have to pass the sitting-room door and go through the kitchen; the slightest noise would betray her. She had put on her moccasins, the ones Kashaqua had given her, and shestepped cautiously, without a sound. In a few moments she was safely out-of-doors and running across the field. She crouched down in the canoe and waited.
Faith did not hear or see the stranger as he came toward the shore—not until he grasped the canoe to push it into the water.
“King of Britain!” he whispered under his breath, when Faith spoke his name. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m going to show you the way into the fort. Yes! ’Twill take not more than an hour or two. Then you can leave me here. ’Twill do me no harm, and you will tell Colonel Allen about the fort,” said Faith, in a whisper.
The man slid the canoe into the water. “You are well-named, Faith,” he responded. “Well, ’tis a chance, and no man will harm a little maid,” and with a stroke of his paddle he sent the canoe clear of the willows and headed toward the fort.
“Keep close to the shore,” whispered Faith, peering anxiously ahead.
Several hours later Faith stepped from the canoe, and said a whispered good-bye to the stranger, and watched the canoe dart off straighttoward Shoreham. He had scaled the cliff, while Faith kept the canoe close under the alder bushes, entered the door of the fort, and skilfully made his way about the fortifications, determining the right place for an attack and assuring himself that the fortress contained valuable stores.
As Faith stepped from the canoe the man tried to thank her.
“Some day your Uncle Scott will hear of this, and be proud indeed of so brave a child,” he said, “and I shall tell Colonel Allen your name, and of your courage. Be sure of that. You have helped the American cause more than a regiment of soldiers.”
Faith said over his words as she made her way across the fields. She recalled her first visit to the fort. “I’m glad those girls ran off that day,” she thought, as she gently tried the back door. It was securely fastened. A low warning growl from “Scotchie” made her fear to lift a window. He would arouse the household. She stood on the steps, shivering a little in the sharp March wind. “I must get in without making a noise,” she thought. But she could think of no way to accomplish it.
In spite of her silence “Scotchie” realized that some one was outside. He barked, growled, and once or twice threw himself against the door. Then suddenly his growls stopped, and, before Faith had time to move, the kitchen door opened slightly and she heard her uncle say, “Who’s there?” and knew that, musket in hand, he was awaiting her answer.
“Scotchie’s” warning growl turned to a joyful greeting as Faith spoke his name.
“Great Cæsar! Faith!” exclaimed her uncle, drawing her into the kitchen. “What on earth are you doing out-of-doors at this time of night?”
“You locked the door,” whimpered Faith.
“But why did you not call out? We thought you went straight to bed,” said her uncle.
“I went down to the shore——” began Faith, and then stopped suddenly.
“Well, go straight to bed, and tell your aunt about it in the morning. She is fast asleep now.”
Faith was glad to obey. She was too tired and sleepy to be greatly troubled by what would happen in the morning. She had resolved that if Aunt Prissy questioned her she would tell the truth. But she hoped earnestly that in someway the secret could be kept even from her aunt and uncle, until Mr. Phelps should tell them.
When she came down to breakfast it appeared that her uncle had only told Aunt Prissy that Faith had run out after supper, and, instead of calling and knocking until some one opened the door, had waited until “Scotchie’s” bark had brought him to the door.
Aunt Prissy was more surprised and alarmed at this news than Faith had expected. She cautioned Faith never to go out without telling some one of the family.
“Why, some wolf or wildcat might have been about; or a party of Indians might have happened along and taken you off,” she said. “And we should never have known what had become of you.”
Faith promised never again to leave the house without her aunt’s permission, and was glad indeed that she had escaped without telling of her journey to the fort.
“Aunt Prissy! Do you know what day this is?” she asked, so soberly that her aunt looked at her a little anxiously. “It is the very last day of March; it has been a warm and pleasant month, and my father has not come for me.”
“And are you so anxious to say good-bye to us, Faithie? You know that instead of your making a visit home your father has decided it is best for you to stay; not come back unless for a visit, until another autumn,” responded Aunt Prissy.
“Yes, I know. But why does he not come?” persisted Faith.
“Perhaps to-day will bring him,” Aunt Prissy answered hopefully.
Faith came and stood close beside Aunt Prissy’s chair. She wanted to say that she loved her cousins and uncle and Aunt Prissy very dearly; to tell her that she had been happy; and that it had been a beautiful visit; but that now she wanted to see her own dear mother more than anything else. But how could she say all this so that Aunt Prissy would understand?
Aunt Prissy put down her knitting and drew the little girl into her lap.
“There! Now tell me all about it, dear,” she said, resting her face against Faith’s yellow curls.
And Faith told her all that she had been thinking; all that she had thought would be so difficult. And Aunt Prissy listened, saying,“Of course,” and “Yes, indeed,” from time to time, and understanding even more than Faith found words to tell.
“Why, Aunt Prissy, it’s almost like having two homes,” concluded Faith.
Before Aunt Prissy could answer there was the sound of voices in the kitchen, and Donald, closely followed by Mr. Carew, came into the room.
“It’s the very last day of March!” Faith reminded him.
“And I came near not getting here to-day,” her father replied, as Faith drew him to the big chair near the window, and climbed to a seat on his knees. “I was held up on the trail by a tall fellow, from Connecticut, as it proved. He was bound to make me own up that I was an English spy. I told him my name, and my errand, and when I spoke Faith’s name, why, he was at once my best friend, told me of his visit at this house, and could not say enough in praise of my little daughter,” responded Mr. Carew.
“The Americans seem to be gaining courage,” said Aunt Prissy. “The men of the Wilderness do not mean to let the other Colonies do all the fighting, I’m sure.”
“Indeed we’ll do our part, Priscilla,” her brother assured her.
Faith told her father of the disappearance of Mr. Trent and Louise; of the quilting party, and of all the happenings since his November visit. But she did not tell him of guiding the Connecticut man to the pathway up the cliff to Fort Ticonderoga.
It was evident that Mr. Phelps had kept the secret for some purpose of his own; so, much as she wanted her father to know, Faith resolved that she would not tell him. This secret did not worry and trouble her as the others had done. “I guess it’s because this secret means helping somebody, and the others were just—well, just mean secrets,” Faith decided, as she thought it over.
The next morning Faith and her father were ready to start at an early hour. Uncle Phil, Aunt Prissy, the boys and “Scotchie” walked with them to the shore.
“You will come back when summer comes, won’t you, Cousin Faith?” said Donald. “You’ll come for a visit even if you don’t stay and go to school.”
“I will if I can,” Faith promised,“and when Louise comes back give her the blue beads, Aunt Prissy.”
“Yes, indeed, dear child,” responded her aunt, wondering to herself if Louise and her father would ever again be seen in that vicinity. Then there were messages for Faith’s mother, and not until she was in the canoe were the good-byes really said.
The little group stood on the shore watching the canoe for some minutes, and then turned back toward the house. They were all very quiet, but as they reached the road Donald called out: “There’s somebody on our door-step! Why, it is Louise! Yes, it is,” and with a gay call he was off, running swiftly toward the house while the others hurried after him.
“Where is Faith?” Louise asked eagerly, when Mrs. Scott had welcomed her, and they were in the big kitchen.
“She’s gone home,” said Donald, before his mother could answer. But Mrs. Scott told the little girl of how much Faith had missed her, and of the string of blue beads that she had left to be given to Louise.
It was evident that Louise was greatly disappointed to find that her friend had gone. Butshe fastened the beads about her neck, and touched them with loving fingers.
“Faith was my very first friend,” she said. “My father says that we have come back to stay,” she added, “and perhaps Faith will come in the summer?” There was such a pleading, questioning look in the girl’s dark eyes that Mrs. Scott felt a new tenderness and sympathy for her, and put her arm about Louise as she answered:
“Perhaps she will. But you must come often and see me; for we shall both miss her very much.”
“Oh, may I, Mrs. Scott? I was afraid you wouldn’t want me to come,” and Louise’s face brightened.
“Why, I am to help you with your studies, and Donald is to call for you when you begin school. Faith arranged all that,” responded Mrs. Scott smilingly.
Faith was silent as the canoe went swiftly across the lake, and they had nearly reached the shore before she began asking questions about “Bounce,” whom her father declared to be now a “grown-up cat,” and about all the familiar things about the house and mill.
“Listen, father!” she said, as they landed, and he drew the canoe to its hiding-place in the alder bushes. “Hear the falls!” and for a moment the two stood quietly hearkening to the “Chiming Waters.”
Then Mr. Carew adjusted the pack, containing Faith’s belongings, picked up his musket, without which no woodsman dared travel in those days, and they started up the trail.
Everywhere were evidences that spring was near at hand. Many trees and shrubs were showing the delicate gray green of coming buds; and now and then the fragrance of the wild arbutus was in the air. Birds were busy; wood-thrushes and pewees were calling; now and then a golden-throated warbler sounded his clear note. The air was soft and warm for the season, and Faith was so happy in the thought of being really on her way home that she forgot for a time that Mr. Phelps had said that no American settler’s home in the Wilderness could be safe until Fort Ticonderoga was held by American soldiers.
“It’s lovely to be going home, isn’t it, father?” she said; and Mr. Carew smileddown at his little daughter, and agreed with her that nothing better could be desired.
“We shall see with glad surpriseLilies spring, and verdure rise;And soon, amidst the wilds, we’ll hearMurmuring waters falling clear,”—
sang Mr. Carew softly.
“Oh, that is mother’s song,” exclaimed Faith. “It just means home, doesn’t it?” And again her father was quite ready to agree.
They walked slowly up the rocky trail and when they reached the top of the first ridge they stopped to rest and eat the excellent lunch that Aunt Prissy had prepared for them. But Faith declared that she was not tired. It seemed to her that she could run all the way if her father would only permit. And when in the early afternoon she first heard the sound of the mill-stream she did run, until, out of breath, she had to rest on a moss-grown stump for her father to catch up with her.
And then, in a short time, they were standing on the edge of the clearing. The brook was dancing and singing as if eager to welcome Faith; the sun shone warmly down on milland cabin and running down the path came Mrs. Carew; while standing near the cabin was Kashaqua, in her gayest feathers, grunting and smiling.
“Mother dear! Mother dear!” called Faith, as she ran forward and was held close in her mother’s arms.
Kashaquawas evidently delighted to see Faith safely at home once more. She had brought a present for her little friend; and after Faith had talked to her mother, and yet, as she declared, had “not begun to tell her” all she had to tell, Kashaqua unrolled a soft bundle and spread out the skin of a black bear cub. It was hardly larger than the skin of a good-sized puppy; but the fur was so soft and glossy that Faith and her mother exclaimed admiringly over its beauty, and Faith said that she would take the greatest care of it. She questioned Kashaqua about “Nooski,” the tame bear which had followed them on their journey to Ticonderoga.
“Gone!” replied Kashaqua, and had no more to tell of the wild creature that she had tamed, and, suddenly, Kashaqua disappeared in her usual silent fashion without a sign or word of farewell.
Faith was tired, and quite satisfied to rest on the big settle and talk to her mother, while “Bounce,” steady and well-behaved, curled up on the hearth rug. Faith told her mother about Louise; about Caroline and Catherine and their mischief, and of the quilting party. She told her about Nathan Beaman, and of the skating on the lake, and how the English soldiers had extinguished the fire and spoiled their fun. But she did not tell her of the evening when she had guided Mr. Phelps up the moonlit lake to the foot of the cliff, and told him how to make his way into the fort. Some time, she resolved, her mother should know all about it; but she still felt that she must keep it a secret.
Mrs. Carew asked many questions about the fort.
“There is more travel over the trails than ever before,” she told the little girl, “and we hardly know who are our friends. The English are sending their spies everywhere. Be very cautious, Faithie, and say nothing to any stranger that you have ever been near Fort Ticonderoga. This part of the country will not be safe until American soldiers take the place of the English in the fort.”
“Oh, mother dear, I hope they will soon. I wish that I could help take the fort.”
“Who knows but you may help in some way, when the right time comes,” her mother responded, smiling at her little daughter’s eagerness. “Now, I am going out to get something for you. Something that you will like very much,” she added, and left Faith alone.
Faith closed her eyes, wondering happily what it was that her mother would bring. She thought of the caraway cookies, of the little round pies made of the dried pumpkin, and then a noise at the door made her open her eyes. For an instant she believed that she must be asleep and dreaming, for Esther Eldridge was standing in the door—Esther grown taller and stronger, with red cheeks and shining eyes.
“Yes, it’s really Esther,” Mrs. Carew called over the little girl’s shoulder, and Esther ran toward the settle as Faith started forward to meet her.
“Isn’t this a fine surprise?” Esther exclaimed. “I was so afraid you would hear about our living here before you got home.”
“Living here?” questioned Faith, looking so puzzled that both Mrs. Carew and Esther laughed aloud.
“Yes! yes, indeed! My father and mother and I,” answered Esther delightedly.
“But where? I have been up-stairs, and all over the house and I didn’t see anybody, or anything,” said Faith.
“Oh, we live in our own house—a house just like this; or it will be just like this when it is all finished,” and Esther told of her father’s decision to bring his family to the Wilderness to live. He had purchased a grant of land adjoining that held by Mr. Carew soon after Esther’s visit in September. The timber for the cabin had been cut early in the winter, and the cabin begun, and now it was nearly finished. “We moved last week,” said Esther, “and you can see our house from your back door.”
Faith forgot all about being tired and ran to the back door to look. Yes, there it was; the big new cabin, near the path down which Ethan Allen had led her home, when, angry at Esther, she had run off to the woods.
“Isn’t it splendid! Oh, Esther, it is the very best thing that ever happened,” Faith declared; “isn’t it, mother dear?”
Mrs. Carew was quite ready to agree with her little daughter.“Good neighbors was the only thing we really lacked,” she agreed, “and perhaps others will come when there is better protection for their safety.”
The two little friends had much to tell each other, and when Esther started for home Faith walked with her as far as the mill. From the mill the new cabin could be clearly seen.
“Do you remember asking me if I listened to the brook?” Esther asked laughingly, as they stood looking at the dancing waters of the stream. “Well, I know now just what you meant. It’s company, isn’t it?”
Then Faith told her of the “Chiming Waters” of Ticonderoga, and of some of the old tales of the lake that her aunt and Nathan had related.
“Did you see the English soldiers?” questioned Esther.
“Oh, yes.” And Faith described the skating party on the lake that the redcoats had interfered with. “I wish I could see Ethan Allen, as I did that day in September, and tell him all about the fort and the soldiers, and ask him to drive the English away. My father says that Colonel Allen could drive them away,” said Faith.
“Of course he could! My father says so, too,” agreed Esther.“Would it not be a fine thing for us to send him a letter, Faith, and ask him?”
“Oh, Esther! That’s just what I thought of. But we ought to do it right away, for more soldiers are coming to the fort, Nathan Beaman says, and then it won’t be so easy,” responded Faith.
The two little girls talked earnestly. They both knew of the cave on the rocky slope near Lake Dunmore, and that messages were sometimes left there for the settlers. But Lake Dunmore was a long distance away.
“It would take all day to go and get back,” said Esther, “and our mothers would never let us go; you know they wouldn’t.”
“One of us ought to go to-morrow,” answered Faith, “but how can we plan it?”
“I know! I know!” declared Esther. “I’ll ask your mother if you may come for a visit, and then you’ll go home at night. Some time you can tell her all about it,” concluded Esther as she noticed Faith’s serious and doubtful expression.
“And what will you do? Don’t you mean to go with me?” asked Faith.
“Oh, yes! I’ll tell my mother I am going to spend the day with you. Then we’ll start off in good season, and we’ll get home before our mothers miss us,” said Esther.
“Faith! Faith!” and Mrs. Carew’s voice sounded through the clear air.
“I must run back now. I’ll write the letter to-night and be over near your house as early as I can in the morning,” said Faith.
“Hide behind the big pine,” said Esther, and the two friends, greatly excited over their project, separated and ran toward their respective homes.
It was not easy for Faith to write the letter, for she would have to ask her mother for the quill pen, and the bottle of ink, made from the juice of the pokeberry. But in the early evening, while her mother was busy, Faith secured the quill and ink and a sheet of the treasured paper and wrote her letter: