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Little Maid of Province Town, A

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<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> <h3>A SPRING PICNIC</h3> Before the six weeks of school came to an end Anne could read, and could write well enough to begin a letter to her father, although there seemed no chance of sending it. She thought often of her visit to Newburyport, and wondered if she would ever see Squire Coffin’s little niece again. And she remembered William Trull, and his little daughters of whom he had told her. But no news had come to Province Town of how Boston was faring. A few weeks after Captain Enos’s trip to Boston another Province Town fisherman had started out with a cargo of fish, hoping for equal good fortune. But weeks passed and he did not return, and no tidings were heard of him, and his family and neighbors now feared that the British had captured his boat and taken him prisoner. No word came to Anne from her father, and 178 as the ice formed along the shore and over the brooks, the cold winds came sweeping in from sea with now and then a fall of snow that whitened the marshes and the woods, the little settlement on the end of Cape Cod was entirely shut off from news from Boston, and they knew not what the British were doing. Captain Enos and the men of the port went fishing in the harbor, and the women and children kept snug at home in the little houses. Captain Enos had finished the cedar chair for Anne’s doll, and Amos had made one as near like it as possible for Amanda’s “Lovely Anne.” Both the little girls could now knit nearly as smoothly as Mrs. Stoddard herself, and almost every day Amanda came up to Mrs. Stoddard’s, for she and Anne were reading “Pilgrim’s Progress” together. Now and then Mrs. Stoddard would read several pages aloud of the adventures of Christian, while the two little girls knit. Anne had a warm hood of gray and scarlet yarn which she had knit herself, and mittens to match, so that she could go to church on Sundays, and run down to Mrs. Starkweather’s or to see Amanda without being chilled by the cold. 179 It was a mild day late in February when Jimmie Starkweather brought home a pink blossom from the woods. “See, mother! The first Mayflower,” he exclaimed. “I found it half under the snow. Does it not smell sweet?” “It does indeed, son,” replied Mrs. Starkweather; “bring me your grandmother’s pink china cup from the cupboard, fill it with cool water, and we will put the blossom on the table for thy father to see. Spring is indeed close at hand.” On the same day that Jimmie found the arbutus bloom, Captain Enos came in from fishing with news to tell. A Boston schooner outward bound had come near to where he was fishing, and in response to his hail and call of “What news?” had answered that a battle was now expected at any day between the British and Americans. “If it be so,” said Captain Enos, “’twill not be long before the British ships will be homeward bound, and they’ll not stop to trouble us much on their way.” “We must keep a lookout for them,” said Captain Starkweather. “I wish we could get 180 more news. ’Tis like enough all will be settled before we know aught of it.” All through March, with its high winds and heavy rains the people watched the harbor for a sight of the big white-winged ships, knowing that if the English ships were homeward bound it would mean that the Americans had won, and that the colonies would be free from paying the heavy taxes which England had fixed upon them, and that they could go about their work in peace and quiet. April brought warm, sunny days, and Anne no longer wore the knit hood and mittens, and had once more set her playhouse under the pine trees in order, and now Amanda with her doll often came to play with her. “’Tis nearly a year ago since my father was captured by the British,” said Anne one day as she and Amanda, followed by the white kitten, went out under the pine trees. “Anne!” exclaimed Amanda, “I did not know what ‘spy’ and ‘traitor’ meant when I called those words at you.” Anne looked at her playmate smilingly. “You would not say them now, Amanda, would you?” she answered. 181 “Say them now!” repeated Amanda. “Why, Anne, you are my best friend, and your father a soldier. ’twas but yesterday my father said that there was but one thing that Province Town had to be proud of in this war, and that was John Nelson, your father, because he is the only soldier from the settlement.” Anne’s cheeks flushed happily. “’twas hard not to have my father,” she said, “but he may come back any day now; Uncle Enos says so. And he is to live with us, and help Uncle Enos with the fishing. And then, Amanda, I shall be the happiest little girl in the settlement.” “To-morrow my mother is going to the marshes to gather young pine tips, and arrowroot, and young spruce tips and the roots of thoroughwort to brew beer with,” said Amanda; “Amos and I are to go with her, and if your Aunt Martha be willing you can go with us. She plans to take something to eat and be away till past noon.” “I am sure I may go,” replied Anne eagerly, “and we can bring home Mayflowers. There are many all along near the pine trees.” “Yes,” said Amanda, “and will it not be fine to eat our dinner out-of-doors? Amos plans to 182 start a fire and cook a fish for us, over it, this time, not under sand as he did when we were on the island.” Mrs. Stoddard gave her consent for Anne to go next day with the Carys. “I will bake you a molasses cake to carry,” she said; “if it were a few weeks later you could call it a May party. In England, and I know it is now a custom in many of our towns, all the children gather and put flowers on their heads, and have a May-pole wreathed with flowers, and dance around it. And they choose a little girl for Queen of the May.” “Can we not do that, Aunt Martha, when May is really here?” asked Anne. “Perhaps,” replied Aunt Martha, “if the minister sees no objection, and if we get good news before that time, why, a May-day party would be a pretty thing. The boys could put up the May-pole near the spring, and there will be all sorts of wild things in blossom by that time.” When they started off for the marshes Anne told Amanda what her Aunt Martha had said, and Mrs. Cary and Amos were greatly interested. Amos said that he knew where he could get a fine pole, and Mrs. Cary said that the little 183 girls could gather flowers and fasten them to the pole with vines and strings before it was set up. “And there must be a big wreath fastened on top of the pole,” said Mrs. Cary, “and by rights there should be long bright streamers coming down from the top for each to hold and twist in and out as they dance around it.” “Can we not take long strings and fasten flowers about them?” asked Anne. “Why, yes, indeed!” replied Mrs. Cary. “’twill be better than any bright ribbons. Now we must surely have a May-day party. Near the spring will be the very place.” As they searched for thoroughwort, and picked the tender spruce and pine tips, they all talked of the coming May-day, but Amos soon began to look about for a good place to make his fire. He had brought the fish in a covered basket, and said that he knew he could cook it as well as if he had a kettle to boil it in. He made a fire at a little distance from the woods, and then busied himself in putting up two crotched sticks, one on each side of the fire; a third stick rested across these two, and from it hung the fish, directly over the blaze. Amos watched his fire very carefully, and 184 kept a brisk blaze until the fish began to grow brown and steam. Then he declared that it was nearly cooked, and so let his fire die down until only a bed of smouldering coals remained. They all thought the fish tasted as good as if it had been cooked in a pan or kettle, and Mrs. Cary had a fine cake of Indian meal, and with Anne’s molasses cake they all said that it was the best dinner any one could have. The April sky was soft and blue, the sun warm, and Amos was sure that in a few days he could go in swimming. “And it’s only the nineteenth of April,” said Anne. Afterward these children always remembered the nineteenth of April, and would say, “That was the day we had our picnic at the marshes,” and on that day the minutemen were gathered at Lexington and Earl Percy was urging his tired men to meet them, and the great battle which did so much to settle the fate of the Americans was fought. But the people at Province Town did not know of this until long afterward. If Anne had known on the day when she was so happy, thinking of the May-day to come, and watching 185 Amos cook the fish over the fire, that her dear father with other brave men was at Cambridge on guard waiting for the British, who were determined to make a stand in their flight from the minutemen, and that on that very day her good friends, the Freemans, were hurrying away toward Watertown to escape the dangers of war which now centered about Boston, she would not have cared so much about the May-day plans. “It would be well to ask all the grown people as well as the children to the May party,” said Mrs. Cary, as the little party made its way toward home that afternoon. “I do not think there has ever been a May-day party before in the town, and it will be good for all of us to try and be cheerful.” Anne and Amanda looked at her wonderingly. The world seemed a very cheerful and happy place to both the little girls, and they could not know how anxious the older people were that the trouble with England might soon come to an end. <hr class='major' /> 186 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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