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Little Maid of Province Town, A

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<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> <h3>SCARLET STOCKINGS</h3> “Good news from Truro, Captain Enos,” said Joseph Starkweather, one morning in August, as the two neighbors met at the boat landing. “There’ll be good hope for American freedom if all our settlements show as much wit and courage.” “And what have Truro men done?” demanded Captain Enos. “They are mostly of the same blood as our Province Town folks, and would naturally be of some wit.” Joseph Starkweather’s eyes brightened and twinkled at his neighbor’s answer. “’twas the sand-hills helped them,” he answered. “You know the little valleys between the row of sand-hills near the shore? Well, the British fleet made anchorage off there some days since, and the Truro men had no mind for them to land and spy out how few there were. So they gathered in one of those little valleys and, carrying smooth poles to look like muskets, 52 they marched out in regular file like soldiers over the sand-hill; then down they went through the opposite depression and around the hill and back, and then up they came again, constantly marching; and the British, who could be seen getting boats ready to land, thought better of it. They believed that an immense force of American soldiers had assembled, and the ships hoisted sail and made off. ’twas good work.” “Indeed it was,” responded Captain Enos. “I could wish that we of this settlement were not so at the mercy of the British. Our harbor is too good. It draws them like a magnet. I do think three thousand ships might find safe anchorage here,” and Captain Enos turned an admiring look out across the beautiful harbor. “Have you any news of John Nelson?” questioned Joseph Starkweather. “How could there be news of a man whose boat sunk under him well off Race Point in a southerly gale?” responded Captain Stoddard. Joseph approached a step nearer his companion and said: “He was on one of the British ships, Enos; he was seen there, and now news comes by way of a Newburyport fisherman that ’twas no fault of John Nelson’s. 53 The Britishers ran down his boat and took him on board their ship, and the news goes that when the fleet anchored off here Nelson escaped; swam ashore in the night, the story goes, and made his way to Wellfleet and joined the Americans at Dorchester who are ready to resist the British if need be.” Captain Enos’s face brightened as he listened. “That is indeed good news!” he said. “I am glad for our little maid’s sake that her father is known to be a loyal man. But ’Tis strange he did not seek to see Anne,” he continued thoughtfully. “John Nelson loved the little maid well,” declared Joseph Starkweather. “He had but poor luck here, but he did his best. The Newburyport man tells that the British are in great anger at his escape, and vow that the settlement here shall pay well for it when they make harbor here again.” “We have no arms to defend the harbor. ’Tis hard work to rest quiet here,” said Captain Enos; “but it is great news to know that our little maid’s father is a loyal man. We like the child well.” “’twas I sent Anne to your house, Enos,” 54 responded Joseph. “My own is so full that I dared not ask Mistress Starkweather to take the child in; and I knew your wife for a kind-hearted woman.” “It was a good thought, Joseph,” responded the captain, “and Anne seems well content with us. She has her playhouse under the trees, and amuses herself without making trouble. She is a helpful little maid, too, saving Mistress Stoddard many a step. I must be going toward home. There was an excellent chowder planned for my dinner, and Martha will rejoice at the news from Truro,” and the captain hurried toward home. Half-way up the hill he saw Anne, coming to meet him. “Uncle Enos! Uncle Enos!” she called, “Brownie is lost! Indeed she is. All the morning have I gone up and down the pasture, calling her name and looking everywhere for her, and she is not to be found.” “Well, well!” responded Captain Enos; “’Tis sure the Britishers have not stolen her, for there is not one of their craft in sight. The cow is probably feeding somewhere about; we’ll find her safe in some good pasturage. Is the chowder steaming hot and waiting?” 55 “Yes, Uncle Enos,” replied Anne, slipping her hand into the captain’s, “but Aunt Martha is greatly concerned about Brownie. She fears the Indians may have driven her off.” “We’ll cruise about a little after dinner,” answered the captain. “I don’t like to think that the Indians would show themselves unfriendly just now,” and his pleasant face grew stern and serious. But his appetite for the chowder was excellent, and when he started out to search for Brownie he was sure that he would find her near the marsh or perhaps in the maple grove further on, where the cattle sometimes wandered. “Now, Anne, I have an errand for you to do,” said Mrs. Stoddard, as the captain started on his search. “I’ve just remembered that the Starkweather children had good stockings last year of crimson yarn. Now it may be that Mrs. Starkweather has more on hand, and that I could exchange my gray, as she has stout boys to wear gray stockings, for her scarlet yarn; and then we’ll take up some stockings for you.” Anne’s face brightened. “I should well like some scarlet stockings,” she said. “I mean you to be warmly clad come frost,” 56 said Mrs. Stoddard. “Now see that you do the errand well. Ask Mrs. Starkweather, first of all, if she be in good health. It is not seemly to be too earnest in asking a favor. Then say that Mistress Stoddard has enough excellent gray yarn for two pair of long stockings, and that she would take it as a kindness if Mistress Starkweather would take it in exchange for scarlet yarn.” “Yes, Aunt Martha, I will surely remember,” and Anne started off happily. As she passed the spring a shrill voice called her name, and she turned to see Amanda Cary, half hidden behind a small savin. “Come and play,” called Amanda. “I am not angry if you did chase me. My mother says you knew no better!” Anne listened in amazement. Knew no better! Had not Captain Enos approved of her defense of herself, and were not the Cary children the first to begin trouble with her! So Anne shook her head and walked sedately on. “Come and play,” repeated the shrill voice. “My brother and Jimmie Starkweather are gone looking for our cow, and I have no one to play with.” 57 “Is your cow lost, too?” exclaimed Anne, quite forgetting Amanda’s unkindness in this common ill-fortune. Amanda now came out from behind the savin tree; a small, thin-faced child, with light eyes, sandy hair and freckles. “Yes, and we think the Indians have driven them off. For the Starkweathers’ cow is not to be found. ’twill be a sad loss, my mother says; for it will leave but three cows in the town.” “But they may be found,” insisted Anne. “My Uncle Enos has gone now to look for Brownie.” “‘Uncle Enos’!” repeated Amanda scornfully. “He’s not your uncle. You are a waif. My mother said so, and waifs do not have uncles or fathers or anybody.” “I am no waif, for I have a father, and my Uncle Enos will tell your mother not to say such words of me!” declared Anne boldly, but she felt a lump in her throat and wished very much that she had not stopped to talk with Amanda. “I don’t see why you get angry so quick,” said Amanda. “You get angry at everything. I’d just as soon play with you, if you are a waif.” 58 “I wouldn’t play with you anyway,” said Anne; “I have an errand to do, and if I had not I would rather never play than play with such a hateful, ill-speaking child as you are,” and Anne hurried on her way toward the Starkweathers’ low-built, weather-beaten house near the shore. “I shall be glad indeed to get rid of some of my scarlet yarn,” declared Mrs. Starkweather, “and you can take home a skein or two of it and tell Mistress Stoddard that her little girl does an errand very prettily. I could wish my boys were as well-mannered.” Anne smiled, well pleased at the pleasant words. “Uncle Enos says there is no better boy than Jimmie,” she responded. “He says he is a smart and honest lad,—a ‘real Starkweather,’ he calls him,” she responded. “Does he so?” and the woman’s thin face flushed with pleasure at this praise of her eldest son. “Well, we do prize Jimmie, and ’Tis good news to know him well thought of, and you are a kindly little maid to speak such pleasant words. Mistress Stoddard is lucky indeed to have you.” “I call her Aunt Martha now,” said Anne, 59 feeling that Mrs. Starkweather was nearly as kind as Mrs. Stoddard, and quite forgetting the trouble of Brownie’s loss or of Amanda’s teasing in the good woman’s pleasantness. “That is well,” replied Mrs. Starkweather. “You will bring her much happiness, I can well see. I could wish you had come to me, child, when your father went; but the Stoddards can do better for you.” “Should I have called you ‘Aunt’?” Anne asked a little wistfully. “Indeed you should, and you may now if Mistress Stoddard be willing. Say to her that I’d like well to be Aunt Starkweather to her little maid.” So Anne, with her bundle of scarlet yarn, started toward home, much happier than when she had rapped at Mrs. Starkweather’s door. Amanda was still sitting at the spring. “Anne,” she called shrilly, “may I go up to your house and play with you?” Anne shook her head, and without a backward look at the child by the spring kept on her way toward home. She had much to tell her Aunt Martha, who listened, well pleased at her neighbor’s kind words. 60 “And Amanda Cary said that their cow was lost, and the Starkweathers’ cow, too. Amos Cary and Jimmie are off searching for them now, and do fear the Indians have driven them off,” said Anne. “’twill be bad fortune indeed if that be true,” replied Mrs. Stoddard, “for we are not as well provisioned for the winter as usual, and it would be a worrisome thing to have the Indians bothering us on shore and the British to fear at sea. But I’ll take up your stockings to-day, Anne. The yarn is a handsome color, and well spun.” “I think I will not leave Martha at the playhouse after this,” said Anne thoughtfully; “something might happen to her.” Mrs. Stoddard nodded approvingly, and Anne brought the wooden doll in. “Like as not your Uncle Enos will make you a wooden chair for the doll when the evenings get longer,” said Mrs. Stoddard. “He’s clever with his knife, and ’twill give him something to busy his hands with. I’ll call his attention to the doll.” “My!” exclaimed Anne, “I do think an aunt and uncle are nice to have. And a father is too,” she added quickly, for she could not 61 bear that any one should think that she had forgotten her own father. “Yes, indeed, child; and there’s good news of your own father. He was on the British ship and escaped and made his way to Wellfleet to join the American soldiers.” “Oh, Aunt Martha!” and the little girl sprang up from her little stool and grasped her good friend’s gown with eager hands, and then told her the story of her father’s visit. “But I could not tell it before,” she said. “Indeed you are a loyal little maid,” replied Mrs. Stoddard approvingly, “and you must always keep a promise, but see to it that you promise nothing quickly. I think the better of John Nelson that he took great risk to make sure his little daughter was safe and well cared for. The captain will think it good news, too.” “My father will come back some day,” declared Anne, and Mrs. Stoddard agreed cheerfully. “To be sure he will,” she said, “but do not think of that too much, dear child. See, I have the stitches all cast on, and your scarlet stockings are really begun.” <hr class='major' /> 62 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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