Back Aa

Little Maid of Province Town, A

Close

<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> <h3>AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY</h3> “I have a fine dish of ink all ready,” said Captain Enos the next morning, “but ’Tis too clear a morning to sit in the house and write letters. There are good cod coming into the harbor, and I must row out and catch what I can while the weather is good.” “Can we not write the letter to-night?” asked Anne. “Aunt Martha has some fine pitch knots to burn that will make the kitchen light as day.” “We’ll see, come night,” replied Captain Enos. The two were walking down the sandy path together,—Captain Enos bound for the shore, and Anne started for Mistress Starkweather’s to thank her for the coral beads. “Be a good child,” said Captain Enos, as he turned from the path and left Anne to go on alone. 130 As the little girl came near the spring, she saw a man rolling a water cask toward it, and toward the shore she could see several other men, whom she knew came from the British ship. She looked closely at the man at the spring, and as she passed near him, noticed that his hair was red. He smiled and nodded as Anne went by, and then she saw that he had pleasant blue eyes, and she stopped and said: “Have you forgotten the little girl you saved from the Indians?” “No, indeed!” replied the big man heartily; “and so you are John Nelson’s little girl. And you are not afraid of a Britisher?” “Oh, no!” said Anne, in surprise; “you have two little maids in England.” “That I have, safe with their mother. But I should like well to see their bright faces, and your father would like to see you, child. You do not forget him?” “No,” said Anne soberly. “We plan to write him a letter for you to take.” “Speak not so loud,” cautioned the man; “the other sailors may hear. And get your letter ready soon, for, come a fair wind, we’ll be off up the coast again to Boston Harbor.” 131 “Do your little girls write you letters?” asked Anne. The big man shook his head. “No, they are not yet taught to write,” he said. “It may be I’ll be sailing back come spring, and then I’ll tell them about the little maid I saw in Province Town.” “Tell them my name is Anne,” said she eagerly. “I wish I could go to Boston and find my father. I must hurry now, but I wish I knew the names of your little girls.” “They have good names,” said the big man. “Each one is named for a grandmother. One is Betsey and the other Hannah.” “I’ll remember,” said Anne, and she said “Good-bye” and went quickly on toward Mrs. Starkweather’s. “I do wish I could go and find my father,” she thought as she walked along. “I know he’d like to see me better than a letter. I wish I had asked William Trull to take me in the big ship. But maybe Aunt Martha would not wish me to ask him.” All day Anne thought about the letter that Captain Enos had promised to write for her; and when supper was over and the kitchen 132 began to grow dusky with the shadows of the October evening, she ran out to the little shed and came tugging in a big root of pine. “May I put this on the fire, Aunt Martha?” she asked, “that Uncle Enos may see to write?” “Tis a pine knot,” said Mrs. Stoddard. “We shall need many such for light and heat before the long winter goes. But put it on, child. ’Tis a good plan to write thy father.” The pine knot blazed up brightly, and Captain Enos drew the table near the open fire, and, with Anne perched on a high stool beside him, and Mrs. Stoddard busy with her knitting, while the white kitten purred happily from its comfortable place under her chair, the letter was begun. Word for word, just as Anne told him, Captain Enos wrote down about the stockings and shoes, the school and the kitten, the pink beads and William Trull, and at last Anne said: “That is all, only that I want to see him and that I love him well,” and Captain Enos finished the letter, and Anne went up-stairs to bed. “I have a plan to take a cargo of fish to Boston, Martha,” said Captain Enos, as soon as Anne had gone. “The ‘Somerset’ will sail on 133 the first fair wind. I can fill the sloop with good cod by the time she is out of gunshot; and I’ll venture to say they will bring a good price in Boston Town.” “But how can you make safe landing there, Enos?” asked his wife anxiously. “I’ll manage,” replied the captain smilingly, “and it may be I can get some news of Anne’s father.” “’Twould be a brave cruise,” said Mrs. Stoddard. “I should like well to go with thee, Enos.” Captain Enos laughed heartily. “And so would Anne, I dare say,” he replied. “Maybe when spring comes and the British have been sent home I’ll take you and Anne to Boston on a pleasure trip. If I get a good price for my fish, I’ll bring you home a warm shawl, Martha.” “Mind not about me, Enos, but get some good wool cloth, if you see the chance, to make Anne a dress. She likes bright colors, and the Freemans will tell you where to purchase, and you may see some plaid or figured stuff that has good wearing in it. Three yards of good width will be a plenty.” 134 “There’s but little trading in Boston these days,” replied Captain Enos; “there’s a blight on the land, until we can make England give us fairer treatment. I do believe ’twill come to open war in Boston.” As they talked, Captain Enos was busy shaping the wooden doll which Anne was to give Amanda. “I must finish this before I begin to plan for Boston,” he said. “What did we do for pleasure, Martha, before Anne came to live with us? Why, we had not even a white kitten. And ’twas little enough I thought of whittling out dolls.” “Or I of knitting scarlet stockings,” answered his wife. “Anne knits her stint each day, and will soon have hers done, but her second pair I am knitting for the child. November is close at hand, and then she must be warmly clad.” “Her leather shoes are ready,” said Captain Enos, with a satisfied nod. The next morning Captain Enos gave the letter to William Trull, who promised to find a chance of forwarding it to John Nelson. “What think you, Anne?” said Mrs. Stoddard when the little girl came home from school 135 that day. “The ‘Somerset’ is getting under way, and your Uncle Enos says ’Tis like enough that your father will have the letter before the week ends.” “I wish I could see him read it,” said Anne. “And your Uncle Enos has a bold plan, child. He is filling up his sloop with fine cod to take to the Boston market, and if this wind holds, he will go sailing up the coast to-morrow morning. Mayhap he’ll be in Boston before the ‘Somerset.’” “But they will fire their big guns at him and sink the sloop!” said Anne fearfully. “Your uncle will not give them a chance,” answered Mrs. Stoddard. “He will put in and out among the islands and keep out of their sight.” “May I not go with him, Aunt Martha? I could see my father then.” Mrs. Stoddard shook her head. “’Twould not be wise, child. Your uncle would not wish it. There would be but little chance of finding your father. Your uncle plans to make but a short stay and get home as soon as may be. It is no time to be coasting about, with British ships ready to sink any craft they see. Here, see!” and she held something up in her hand. 136 “Oh, Amanda’s doll!” exclaimed Anne, “and you have made a fine dress for her. Can I take it down now?” and the little girl took the wooden doll which Captain Enos had whittled out and looked at it admiringly. “Yes, run along,” replied Mrs. Stoddard; “’twill be a great surprise for Amanda.” Anne hurried down the hill and along the shore toward the Cary house, holding the doll carefully under the little shawl of gay plaid which Mrs. Stoddard had pinned about her shoulders. The sand no longer felt warm about her bare feet. “I shall be wearing my new stockings and shoes soon,” she thought, as her feet felt the cold dampness. Amanda saw her coming and ran out to meet her, a white kitten close at her heels. “See, the British ship is going!” exclaimed Amanda, and the two little girls turned and watched the big ship under full sail moving off across the harbor. “Amanda,” said Anne, “you know you gave me the nice white kitten?” “Yes,” replied Amanda; “has it run away?” “Oh, no; it is just as contented as can be,” 137 said Anne; “only ever since you gave it to me I have wished I could give you something.” Amanda’s face flushed and she dug her bare toes into the sand. She was remembering how unkind she and Amos had been to Anne, and was wishing that Anne would not thank her for the kitten. “And now I have a present for you,” went on Anne, taking the wooden doll from beneath the little plaid shawl. “Your doll!” exclaimed Amanda in surprise. Anne shook her head smilingly. “No,” she said, “your doll. See, it is new. And it is larger than mine. Take it,” for Amanda’s hands were behind her, as if she did not mean to take the gift. “It’s yours. Uncle Enos made it, and Aunt Martha made the dress,” and Anne held the doll toward her friend. Then Amanda’s hands unclasped and reached forward eagerly. “It’s a fine doll,” she said. “I do think, Anne, it is full handsomer than yours. Come, that I may show it to my mother. I shall name it for you, Anne. I have already named it. I shall call it Lovely Anne Nelson. Indeed I 138 shall. I never had a gift before.” And Amanda held the doll tight and smiled happily at Anne, as she reached out to draw her into the house that Mrs. Cary might see the doll. When Anne started for home, Amanda walked along beside her for a little way. When they neared the spring she put her arm about Anne’s neck and kissed her on the cheek. “There!” she exclaimed; “now you know how dear you are. I was bad to you, Anne Nelson, right here at this very spring; and I set Amos on to tease you. And now you have given me a gift.” “But you gave me the kitten,” answered Anne, “and I chased you away from the spring with sand and water.” “But now we like each other well,” said Amanda. “You like me now, Anne?” “Yes,” replied the little girl; “I would not give you a gift if I did not like you well,” and the two little girls smiled at each other happily and parted, Amanda to run home to her doll, while Anne went more slowly up the hill, thinking of the trip Uncle Enos was about to make and wishing that she could go with him. “I could wear my scarlet stockings and new 139 shoes for my father to see,” she thought, “and I would be no trouble to Uncle Enos. There are two bunks in the sloop’s cabin, and I would be company for him.” The more Anne thought about this cruise to Boston the more she longed to go. Captain Enos was late to his supper that night. “I have a fine cargo of fish,” he said, “and I shall go out on the morning tide, before you are awake, little maid,” with a nod to Anne. “Next spring you and Aunt Martha shall go with me and see the fine town of Boston, with its shops and great houses. The British soldiers will be gone by that time, and it may be we will have our own government. There will be good days for us all then.” “I want to go now,” said Anne, and Captain Enos laughed and shook his head. “Run away to bed now, child,” said Aunt Martha, as soon as the supper dishes were washed, “and take these stockings up-stairs with you. I toed off the last one while you were at Amanda Cary’s.” So Anne said good-night, and Captain Enos gave her a good-bye kiss, telling her to take good care of her Aunt Martha while he was 140 away, and went slowly up-stairs. But she did not undress and go to bed. She sat down on the little wooden stool, her mind full of a great resolve. She sat there quietly until she heard Captain Enos and Mrs. Stoddard go to bed. Then she moved softly to the little table under which stood her new shoes. Taking these and her scarlet stockings, she crept softly down the stairs. Crossing the kitchen gently, she slid back the bolt, and let herself out into the night. There was a fresh wind from the southwest, and the little girl shivered a little as she ran toward the shore. The sloop was anchored some little distance from shore; Captain Enos would row out in his dory to her. As Anne reached the shore and looked out at the sloop she almost lost courage. “I don’t see how I can ever get out there without a boat,” she exclaimed aloud. “Out there?” the voice sounded close at her elbow, and Anne gave a jump and looked around. “What do you want to get out to Captain Enos’s boat for?” asked Jimmie Starkweather. “Oh, Jimmie!” exclaimed the little girl, “what are you doing down on the shore in the night?” 141 “Night! Why, it’s not much after dark,” answered the boy. “Father has been out fishing all day, and I have just pulled the dory up, and was going home when I heard you. What do you want to go out to the sloop for?” “Jimmie, my father is in Boston and I do want to see him,” said Anne. “Captain Enos is going to sail early to-morrow morning for Boston, and I want to go out and sleep in the cabin to-night. Then I will keep as quiet as I can till he is nearly in Boston, and then I will tell him all about it, and he will take me to see my father.” Jimmie shook his head. “Doesn’t Captain Enos want you to go?” he asked. “He says I may go next spring,” answered Anne, “but if you row me out to the sloop, Jimmie, ’twould be no harm. You could tell Aunt Martha to-morrow, and I would soon be home. But ’Tis a long time since I saw my father. You see yours every day.” There was a little sob in Anne’s throat and Jimmie wondered if she was going to cry. He hoped she wouldn’t. “Jump into the dory,” he said. “I’ll get a 142 good lesson from my father, I’ll warrant, for this; but jump in. And mind you tell Captain Enos that I told you to go home, but that you would not.” “Yes, Jimmie,” said Anne, putting her shoes and stockings into the boat, and then climbing in herself. The boy sprang in after her, pushed off the dory, and in a short time had reached the sloop. “Now go straight to the cabin and shut the door,” cautioned Jimmie, and Anne obeyed, creeping into the top bunk and pulling a rough blanket over her. She heard the sound of Jimmie’s oars, as he pulled toward shore, felt the motion of the tide, as the big sloop rose and fell, and soon was asleep and dreaming that her father and William Trull were calling her a brave little maid. Jimmie had many misgivings after he reached shore, and made up his mind to go straight to Captain Stoddard and tell him of Anne’s plan. Then he remembered that Anne had trusted him with her secret. “I guess I’ll have to let her go,” he decided. <hr class='major' /> 143 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2