"Here they are," said Anna, as they came to the corner of the shed and saw the rabbits looking out at them between the slats of the box.

Melvina kneeled down close to the box and exclaimed admiringly as Trit and Trot scurried away to the farthest corner.

"I do wish I could touch one! Would it not be fun to dress them up like dolls!" she said. "If they were mine I would dress them up in bonnets and skirts, and teach them to bow. Oh, Anna! Can't we take one out? One of them is yours, Luretta said so; let us take out your rabbit, Anna."

"But we haven't anything to dress it up in," said Anna, beginning to think that Melvina was a good deal like other little girls after all.

"Could we not take your rabbit over to my house, Anna? My mother has gone to Mrs. Burnham's to spend the day, and we could take Trot up to my room and dress her up and play games. Do, Anna!" urged Melvina.

"It would be great sport indeed," agreed Anna eagerly; "we could call Trot by some fine name, like Queen Elizabeth, and have your dolls for visitors."

"Yes, yes, we could! Or play Trot was a lion that we had captured in Africa. Where is the door to the box, Anna?" and Melvina's dark eyes shone more brightly than ever as Anna slid back the little door that Paul had so carefully made, and, after several vain efforts, finally secured one of the rabbits and quickly wrapped it in the skirt of her dress.

"Shut the door, Melvina! Quick! or the other will run out," she said, but although Melvina hastened to obey she was only just in time to catch the second rabbit in her hands; an instant later and it would have scampered away free.

"Put your skirt around it. Hurry, and let's run. Mrs. Foster is coming," whispered Anna, and the two little girls ran swiftly behind the shed, holding the trembling frightened rabbits, and then across the fields toward Mr. Lyon's house. Not until they reached the back door of the parsonage did either of them remember Luretta, and then it was Anna who exclaimed:

"But what will Luretta think when she comes home and does not find us, and sees the empty box?"

"She won't go home for a long time; we will be back and the rabbits safe in their box by that time," declared Melvina. "We will go up the back stairs, Anna; and we need not be quiet, for London has gone fishing. We will have a fine time! Oh, Anna, I am so glad you stopped me that day when we went wading, for now we are friends," she continued, leading the way up-stairs.

"But I was horrid, Melvina," Anna said, recalling her efforts to make Melvina appear silly and ignorant so that Luretta would scorn her.

"No, indeed, you were not," responded Melvina. "When we played on the shore you made me laugh and run. I never played like that before."

"Well, I think you are real good," said Anna humbly, as she followed Melvina into a pleasant sunny chamber. "Most girls would have been angry when their fine clothes were spoiled; and you were punished too, and I was not;" and Anna looked at Melvina admiringly, thinking to herself that she would do anything that Melvina could ask to make up to her for that undeserved punishment.

"You will have to hold both the rabbits while I get my dolls," said Melvina; and Anna's attention was fully occupied in keeping the two little creatures safe and quiet in the folds of her skirt, which she held together bag fashion, while Melvina drew a large box from the closet and took out three fine dolls.

Anna gazed at the dolls admiringly. Each one wore a gown of blue silk, and little shirred bonnets to match. Melvina explained that they, the dolls, all wanted to dress just alike.

"We will put these on Trit and Trot," she said, drawing out two white skirts from her collection of doll clothes. "And see these little white bonnets!" and she held up two tiny round bonnets of white muslin; "these will be just the thing."

The rabbits submitted to being dressed. Both the girls were very gentle with them, and gradually the little creatures grew less frightened. Neither Anna nor Melvina had ever had such delightful playthings before. The rabbits were Queen Elizabeth and Lady Washington, and the dolls came to bow low before them. The time passed very rapidly, and not until London was seen coming toward the house to prepare the noonday meal did the little girls give another thought to Luretta. Melvina, glancing from the window, saw London coming up the path with his basket of fish. She was holding Lady Washington, and for a second her clasp was less firm, and that was enough. With a leap the rabbit was through the open window, the white skirt fluttering about it. Anna, starting up in surprise, let go Queen Elizabeth, who followed Lady Washington through the window so closely that it was small wonder that London dropped his basket of fish and ran back a few steps with a loud cry. After a few scrambling leaps the rabbits disappeared, and London, trembling with fright, for he believed that the strange leaping creatures dressed in white must be some sort of evil witches, picked up his basket, and shaking his head and muttering to himself, came slowly toward the house.

"And there comes my father, and Luretta is with him," exclaimed Melvina. "What shall we do, Anna? And what will Luretta say when we tell her about the rabbits? Come, we must be at the front door when they get here, or my father will fear I am lost."

Mr. Lyon smiled as he saw his little girl standing in the doorway, and his troubled look vanished. But Luretta looked flushed and angry. All the morning she had been sitting on the log waiting for Mr. Lyon, and when he came at last she had hurried home only to find that her mother had not seen either of the girls, and Luretta had run after Mr. Lyon to tell him this, and accompanied him to the door.

"I will walk home with Luretta," Anna said with unusual meekness. Melvina watched them go, a little frightened at the end of the morning's fun. She did not know what they could say to Luretta to explain their mischief. At that moment London came into the front entry.

"I'se seen strange sights this mornin', massa!" he said, rolling his eyes. "I'se seen white witches flyin' out ob dis house."

"London! Do not talk of such wickedness," said Mr. Lyon sharply. "Even your little mistress is amused at such absurd talk," for Melvina, knowing what London had seen, was laughing heartily. But London, shaking his head solemnly, went back to the kitchen, sure that he had seen a strange and awful sight, and resolved to speak to Mr. Lyon again of the matter.

"Well, Danna Weston! You can't have one of my rabbits now, after treating me this way," said Luretta. "And I am not going to walk home with you, either," and she ran swiftly ahead.

Anna did not hurry after her, as Luretta hoped and expected. She began to feel very unhappy. Trit and Trot were gone, and who could tell but the skirts and bonnets might not strangle them? Then, suddenly, she remembered that Rebecca was at home ill, and that she had entirely forgotten her, and the young checkerberry leaves she had intended picking for her sister. She put the thought that it was all Melvina's fault out of her mind. Even if it were, had not she, Anna, led Melvina into a more serious trouble on the day of the tempest? She resolved that she would take all the blame of the lost rabbits, that Melvina should not even be questioned about them if she could help it. But it was a very sober little girl who went up the path toward home.



CHAPTER IX

REBECCA'S VISIT

Before Anna reached home Rebecca had decided that she must see Lucia Horton as soon as possible; for she began to fear that Lucia in some way might betray their secret; but Rebecca knew that her mother would not consent to her going out until she appeared more like her usual self than she had at breakfast time. So she brushed her hair neatly, bathed her face, and just before Anna's return home, came into the kitchen.

"My head does not ache at all, Mother," she announced, "and I feel as well as ever."

Mrs. Weston looked at Rebby in astonishment. "I declare!" she exclaimed, "if thoroughwort tea doesn't beat all! But I never knew it to act as quickly before. Well, I must take time and go to the swamp for a good supply of it before this month goes. 'Tis best when gathered in May."

"May I not walk over and see Lucia?" Rebby asked a little fearfully, wondering what she could do if her mother refused.

"Why, yes; it will very likely do you good. But walk slowly, dear child," responded Mrs. Weston, taking Rebecca's sunbonnet from its peg behind the door and tying the strings under Rebby's round chin.

"When the Polly comes into harbor you will have the gold beads from your Grandmother Weston, in Boston; but how Danna guessed it is more than I can imagine," she said, and Rebecca started down the path. Mrs. Weston stood for a moment in the doorway looking after her. She was more disturbed by Rebecca's sudden illness than she wished to acknowledge.

"I wish indeed that the Polly and Unity would come; perchance it is the lack of proper food that ails the children: too much Indian meal, and no sweets or rice or dried fruits," she thought anxiously. "And to think 'tis England, our own kinsfolk, who can so forget that we learned what justice and loyalty mean from England herself," she said aloud, as she returned to her household duties. For Mrs. Weston, like so many of the American colonists, had been born in an English village, and knew that the trouble between England and her American colonies was caused by the injustice of England's king, and his refusal to listen to wise advisers.

Lucia Horton's home lay in an opposite direction from the blacksmith shop. It stood very near the shore, and from its upper windows there was a good view of the harbor. It had no yard or garden in front, as did so many of the simple houses of the settlement, and the front door opened directly on the rough road which led along the shore.

Rebecca rapped on the door a little timidly, and when Mrs. Horton opened it and said smilingly: "Why, here is the very girl I have been wanting to see. Come right in, Rebecca Flora," she was rather startled.

"Lucia is not very well," Mrs. Horton continued, "and she has been saying that she must, must see Rebecca Flora; so it is most fortunate that you have arrived. Some great secret, I suppose," and Mrs. Horton smiled pleasantly, little imagining how important the girls' secret was. Her two elder sons, boys of fifteen and seventeen, were on the Polly with their father, and she and Lucia were often alone.

Rebecca had but stepped into the house when she heard her name called from the stairway. "Oh, Rebecca, come right up-stairs," called Lucia, and Mrs. Horton nodded her approval. "Yes, run along. 'Twill do Lucia good to see you. I cannot imagine what ails her to-day. I saw one of the O'Brien boys passing just now, and he tells me their liberty tree has been found and brought to shore!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Rebecca in so surprised a tone that Mrs. Horton laughed. "'Twould have been full as well if the tree had been allowed to drift out to sea," she added in a lower tone.

Rebecca went up-stairs so slowly that Lucia called twice before her friend entered the chamber where Lucia, bolstered up in bed, and with flushed cheeks and looking very much as Rebby herself had looked an hour earlier, was waiting for her.

"Shut the door tightly," whispered Lucia, and Rebecca carefully obeyed, and then tiptoed toward the bed.

For a moment the two girls looked at each other, and then Lucia whispered: "What will become of us, Rebecca? Mr. O'Brien told Mother that the men were determined to find out who pushed the liberty tree afloat, and that no mercy would be shown the guilty. That's just what he said, Rebby, for I heard him," and Lucia began to cry.

"But the tree is found and brought back," said Rebecca, "and how can anyone ever find out that we did it? No one will know unless we tell; and you wouldn't tell, would you, Lucia?"

Lucia listened eagerly, and gradually Rebecca grew more courageous, and declared that she was not at all afraid; that is, if Lucia would solemnly promise never to tell of their creeping down to the shore and cutting the rope that held the tree to the stake.

"Of course I never would tell," said Lucia, who was now out of bed and dressing as rapidly as possible. "I wasn't ill; but I stayed up-stairs because I was afraid you might tell," she confessed; and then Rebecca owned that she had felt much the same. "But I had to take a big bowlful of bitter thoroughwort tea," she added, making a little face at the remembrance.

"Well, you are a better medicine than thoroughwort tea," said Lucia; and Mrs. Horton opened the door just in time to hear this.

"Why, it is indeed so," she said, looking in surprise at her little daughter, who seemed quite as well as usual. "Your father has just passed, Rebecca, and I asked his permission for you to stay to dinner with us, and he kindly agreed. I think now I must have a little celebration that Lucia has recovered so quickly," and with a smiling nod she left the two girls.

"I know what that means," declared Lucia, for the moment forgetting the danger of discovery. "It means that we shall have rice cooked with raisins, and perhaps guava jelly or sugared nuts."

Rebecca looked at her friend as if she could hardly believe her own ears; for the dainties that Lucia named so carelessly were seldom enjoyed in the remote settlement; and although Captain Horton took care that his own pantry was well supplied it was not generally known among his neighbors how many luxuries his family enjoyed.

"Surely you are but making believe," said Rebecca.

"No, truly, Rebby; we will likely have all those things to-day, since Mother said 'twould be a celebration; and I am glad indeed that you are here. You do not have things like that at your house, do you?" said Lucia.

Rebecca could feel her cheeks flush, but she did not know why she felt angry at what Lucia had said. It was true that the Westons, like most of their neighbors, had only the plainest food, but she wished herself at home to share the corn bread and baked fish that would be her mother's noonday meal. She was silent so long that Lucia looked at her questioningly; and when Mrs. Horton called them to dinner they went down-stairs very quietly.

The table was set with plates of shining pewter. There was a loaf of white bread, now but seldom seen in the settlement, and a fine omelet; and, even as Lucia had said, there was boiled rice with raisins in it, and guava jelly.

Rebecca was hungry, and here was a treat spread before her such, as Lucia had truly said, she never had at home; but to Mrs. Horton's surprise and Lucia's dismay, Rebecca declared that she must go home; and taking her sunbonnet, with some stammering words of excuse she hastened away.

"A very ill-bred child," declared Mrs. Horton, "and I shall be well pleased if your father can take us away from this forsaken spot on his next trip."

Lucia sat puzzled and half frightened at Rebecca's sudden departure. Lucia did not for a moment imagine that anything she had said could have sent Rebecca flying from the house.

Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Anna were nearly through dinner when Rebecca appeared, and Mrs. Weston declared herself well pleased that Rebby had come home; there were no questions asked, and it seemed to Rebby that nothing had ever tasted better than the corn bread and the boiled fish; she had not a regretful thought for the Hortons' dainties.

Anna told the story of all that had occurred to her that morning; of taking the rabbits to the parsonage, and of London's exclamation and terror at the "white witches," and last of all of Luretta's anger. "And I didn't even tell Luretta that the rabbits were lost," concluded the little girl, and then, with a deep sigh, she added: "I suppose I will have to go right over and tell her."

"Yes," replied her mother gravely, "you must go at once. And you must tell Luretta how sorry you are for taking the rabbits from the box. And fail not to say to Mrs. Foster that you are ashamed at not keeping your promise."

Mr. Weston did not speak, but Rebecca noticed that he seemed pleased rather than vexed with his little daughter. "That's because Anna always tells everything," thought Rebecca. "But if I should tell what I did last night he would think me too wicked to forgive," and at the thought she put her head on the table and began to cry.

"Why, Rebby, dear! 'Tis my fault in letting you go out this morning," exclaimed Mrs. Weston, now quite sure that Rebecca was really ill. But in a few moments her tears ceased, and she was ready to help with washing the dishes and setting the room in order.

"I will walk along with you, Danna," said her father, when Anna was ready to start on the unpleasant errand of owning her fault to Luretta, and they started out together, Anna holding fast to her father's hand.

"I wish I need not go, Father," Anna said as they walked along.

Mr. Weston's clasp on his little daughter's hand tightened. "Let me see; do you not remember the verse from the Bible that 'he who conquers his own spirit is braver than he who taketh a city'?" he questioned gently.

Anna looked up at him wonderingly, and Mr. Weston continued: "It is your courage in owning your fault that makes you a conqueror, and as brave as a brave soldier."

"As brave as Washington?" asked Anna, and when her father smiled down at her she smiled back happily. Probably a little girl could not be as brave as a great soldier, she thought, but if her father was pleased it would not be so hard, after all, to tell Luretta about Trit and Trot. But Anna again firmly resolved that she would take all the blame herself; Melvina should not be blamed in any way for the loss of the rabbits.



CHAPTER X

AN AFTERNOON WALK

At the turn by the blacksmith shop Mr. Weston said good-bye, and Anna went on alone to Luretta's home. The front door was open, and before she reached the house she heard someone crying, and when she stood on the doorstep she realized that it was Luretta, and that Mrs. Foster was endeavoring to comfort her.

"The rabbits are much happier to be free to run back to the woods. Perhaps by this time they have found their mother, and are telling all their adventures to their brothers and sisters," she heard Mrs. Foster say.

"But Danna and Melvina may have taken them," sobbed Luretta; and then Anna rapped at the door.

"Come in," called Mrs. Foster, and Anna, a little timidly, entered the sitting-room.

Luretta looked up, but did not speak.

"Come right in, Anna," said Mrs. Foster pleasantly. "Luretta has bad news for you; the rabbits are gone."

Anna did not look up, and there was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then she began her story:

"If you please, Mistress Foster, I am sorry I broke my promise to you this morning. You bade me to wait with Melvina by the big log, and I did not."

"You came and took my rabbits," wailed Luretta, "and I s'pose you gave one to that stuck-up Melvina."

Anna nodded. "Yes, I did take them; but I meant to bring them back, Luretta, truly I did. But they got away."

A fresh wail from Luretta made Anna look pleadingly up at Mrs. Foster, whose eyes rested kindly upon her.

"Luretta, stop thy foolish crying," said Mrs. Foster, "and let Anna tell you all the story of the rabbits." Then she rested her hand on Anna's shoulder and said kindly:

"I am glad, Anna, that you and Luretta are friends, for thou art a brave and honest child. Now, I must attend to my work, and I will leave you," and the two little girls found themselves alone in the room.

Luretta was sitting in the big cushioned wooden rocker, with her face hidden against the back. Anna was standing in front of her, trying to think of something to say that would make Luretta forgive her. Then she heard Luretta's half-smothered voice say: "Do you s'pose our rabbits did find their mother?"

"I don't know, Luretta, but I only meant to let Melvina play with them. We—I took them out and carried them over to Melvina's house and we dressed them up in doll's clothes——"

"Yes? Yes? And what else?" asked Luretta eagerly, now facing about and forgetting all her anger in hearing what Anna had to tell. So Anna went on and described all that had happened, imitating London's cry of terror at the sight of the "white witches." At this Luretta began to laugh, and Anna came nearer to the big chair, and even ventured to rest against its arm.

"Luretta, let's you and I go up the trail toward the forest. Perhaps we might find Trit and Trot," she suggested.

Luretta was out of the chair in a moment; and, quite forgetting all her anger toward Anna, she agreed promptly and the two little girls, hand in hand, came into the kitchen and told Mrs. Foster their plan.

She listened smilingly, but cautioned them not to go beyond the edge of the forest.

"You might meet some animal larger than a rabbit," she warned them; "'tis the time when bears are about nibbling the tender bark and buds of the young trees; so go not into the wood. Beside that a party of Indians were seen near the upper falls yesterday."

"But the Indians come often to the village, and do no harm," said Anna.

But Mrs. Foster shook her head. She remembered that the Indians could not always be trusted. The little girls promised to follow the trail only to the edge of the wood, and started soberly off.

"We might see Trit and Trot behind any bush, might we not?" suggested Luretta hopefully.

"Perhaps we might see a little baby bear! Would it not be fine if we could catch two little bears instead of rabbits?" responded Anna, as they climbed the hill, stopping now and then to pick the tender young checkerberry leaves, or listen to the song of some woodland bird. A group of young spruce trees stood beside the trail, and here the two little girls stopped to rest. The sun was warm, and they both were glad to sit down in the pleasant shade.

They talked about the Polly, wondering when she would come to port, and then their thoughts went back to their lost pets.

"I do think you ought not to have taken them from the box. I am sure Paul will not like it when I tell him they are gone," said Luretta.

Anna's face grew grave. "Must you tell him?" she asked.

"Of course I must. He will bring home young leaves and roots for them to-night, and what will he say!" and Luretta's voice sounded as if tears were very near.

While Luretta spoke Anna's eyes had been fixed on a little clump of bushes on the other side of the trail. The bushes moved queerly. There was no wind, and Anna was sure that some little animal was hiding behind the shrubs. Greatly excited, Anna leaned forward, grasping Luretta's arm.

"Look! those bushes!" she whispered.

At that moment a queer ball of dingy white appeared on the opposite side of the trail, and instantly Anna sprang toward it. Her hands grasped the torn and twisted piece of floating cloth, and closed upon the poor frightened little creature, one of the lost rabbits, nearly frightened to death by the strange garment that had prevented his escape.

If he could have spoken he would have begged for the freedom that his brother had achieved; but he could only tremble and shrink from the tender hands that held him so firmly.

In a moment Anna had unfastened the doll's skirt, and Trit, or Trot, was once more clear of the detested garment.

"Oh, Danna! Do you suppose we can take it safely home?" exclaimed the delighted Luretta.

"Just see how frightened he is," Anna responded. Somehow she no longer wished to take the little creature back and shut it up.

"Do you suppose its mother is trying to find it?" she continued thoughtfully.

"And would it tell its brothers and sisters all its adventures, just as Mother said?" questioned Luretta.

"Why not?" Anna's brown eyes sparkled. "Of course it would. Probably Trot is safe home by this time, and all the rabbit family are looking out for Trit."

Anna looked hopefully toward Luretta. If Trit went free it must be Luretta's gift. Anna felt that she had no right to decide.

"Let him go, Danna," said Luretta softly; and very gently Anna released her clasp on the soft little rabbit. It looked quickly up, and with a bound it was across the trail and out of sight.

Both the girls drew a long breath.

"I will tell Paul about Trit's mother and brothers and sisters," said Luretta, as they started toward home. "Probably he will laugh; but I guess he will say they ought to be free."

Both Anna and Luretta were very quiet on the walk home. Anna began to feel tired. It seemed to her that a great deal had happened since morning. She remembered the liberty pole, with a little guilty sense of having been more interested in the rabbits, and in Melvina and Luretta, than in the safety of the emblem of freedom. But she was glad that Luretta was no longer angry at her.

"You don't care much about the rabbits, do you, Danna?" Luretta asked, as they stopped near Luretta's house to say good-bye.

"I am glad they are free," replied Anna. "It would be dreadful to have giants catch us, wouldn't it?"

Luretta agreed soberly, thinking that to the rabbits she must have seemed a giant.

"Father will say 'twas best to let them go, whatever Paul says," she added, and promising to meet the next day the friends parted.

Anna danced along the path in her old fashion, quite forgetting Melvina's measured steps. Everything was all right now. She and Luretta were friends; Mrs. Foster had pardoned her; and the liberty pole was found. So she was smiling and happy as she pushed open the door and entered the pleasant kitchen, expecting to see her mother and Rebby; but no one was there. The room looked deserted. She opened the door leading into the front room and her happy smile vanished.

Her mother sat there, looking very grave and anxious; and facing the kitchen door and looking straight at Anna was Mrs. Lyon, while on a stool beside her sat Melvina, her flounced linen skirt and embroidered white sunbonnet as white as a gull's breast.

Anna looked from one to the other wonderingly. Of course, she thought, Mrs. Lyon had come to call her a mischievous girl on account of the rabbits. All her happiness vanished; and when her mother said: "Come in, Anna. Mrs. Lyon has come on purpose to speak with you," she quite forgot to curtsy to the minister's wife, and stood silent and afraid.



CHAPTER XI

AN EXCHANGE OF VISITS

"IT is Mr. Lyon's suggestion," concluded Mrs. Lyon, "and Melvina is eager to come and live with you, Mrs. Weston, if Anna is ready to come to me."

Mrs. Lyon, it seemed to Anna, had been talking a long time. She had said that Melvina was not very strong, and that possibly she was kept too much indoors; and then had come the astounding suggestion that, on the very next day, Anna should go and live with the minister and his wife, and Melvina should come and take her place.

"Oh, do, Anna! Say you will," Melvina whispered, as the two little girls found a chance to speak together while their mothers discussed the plan. For Melvina was sure that if she came to live in Anna's home she would become exactly like Anna; as brave and as independent, and who could tell but what she might grow to look like her as well!

The same thought came to Anna. Of course, if she lived with Mrs. Lyon she would learn to behave exactly like Melvina. But to go away from her father and mother and from Rebby; this seemed hardly to be possible.

"Do you want me to go, Mother?" she asked, half hoping that her mother might say at once that it was not to be thought of.

"I must talk with your father; 'tis a great opportunity for your good, and I am sure he will be pleased," replied Mrs. Weston. For had not the Reverend Mr. Lyon written a book, and, it was rumored, composed music for hymns; for any little girl to live in his family would be a high privilege. And this was what Mr. Weston thought when he heard of the plan.

"Why, it is a wise scheme indeed," he said gravely; "my little Danna is being too much favored at home, and to be with the minister and his wife will teach her as much as a term in school."

"But I am not to stay long, Father. I am only to stay for two weeks," said Anna, "and you must not learn to think Melvina is your little girl."

"Mr. Lyon wishes Melvina to run about as freely as we have allowed Anna," Mrs. Weston explained, "and to have no lessons or tasks of any kind, and to spend an hour each afternoon at home while Anna does the same."

"But I am to have lessons, just as if I were Melvina," Anna declared, and before bedtime it was decided that on the next day Anna should go to the minister's to remain a fortnight.

Rebecca was the only one who did not think well of the plan. "I do not want Danna to go," she said over and over; and added that she should not know how to treat Melvina, or what to say to her. It was Rebecca who went with Anna to Mr. Lyon, carrying the small package containing Anna's clothing, and she brought back Melvina's carefully packed basket. Mrs. Lyon looked worried and anxious as she saw Melvina start off for the Westons'; but she gave her no cautions or directions, beyond telling her to be obedient to Mrs. Weston. Then she took Anna's hand and led her up-stairs to the pleasant room where she and Melvina had played so happily with the rabbits.

"You can leave your sunbonnet here, Anna, and then come down to the library. This is the hour for your lesson in English history."

"'English history,'" Anna repeated to herself excitedly. She wondered what it could mean. But if it was something that Melvina did she was eager to begin.

Mr. Lyon smiled down at his little visitor as she curtsied in the doorway. He hoped his own little daughter might return with eyes as bright and cheeks as glowing.

"This is where Melvina sits for her study hour," he said, pointing to a small chair near a side window. There was a table in front of the chair, and on the table was spread a brightly colored map.

"To-day we are to discover something of the English opinion of Americans," began Mr. Lyon, taking up a small book. "It is always wise to know the important affairs of the time in which we live, is it not, Anna?" he said thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir," responded Anna seriously, sitting very straight indeed and feeling of greater consequence than ever before.

"America's great trouble now, remember, is taxation without representation," continued the minister; "and now listen carefully to what an Englishman has to say of it: 'While England contends for the right of taxing America we are giving up substance for the shadow; we are exchanging happiness for pride. If we have no regard for America, let us at least respect the mother country. In a dispute with America who would we conquer? Ourselves. Everything that injures America is injurious to Great Britain, and we commit a kind of political suicide when we endeavor to crush them into obedience.'

"Ah! There is still wisdom in the English council; but I fear it is too late," said Mr. Lyon, as if speaking his thoughts aloud. "And now, my child, what is the subject of our lesson?" he questioned, looking kindly at Anna.

"England and America," she replied promptly.

Mr. Lyon nodded. "And why does America firmly resolve not to be unjustly taxed?" he asked.

"Because it wouldn't be right," said Anna confidently.

Mr. Lyon was evidently pleased by her direct answers.

"If an Englishman sees the injustice of his government it is small wonder that every American, even to a little girl, can see that it is not to be borne," said Mr. Lyon, rising and pacing up and down the narrow room, his thoughts full of the great conflict that had already begun between England and her American colonies.

Anna's eyes turned toward the map. There was a long yellow strip marked "American Colonies," then, lower down, a number of red blots and circles with "The West Indies" printed across them. Far over on the end of the map was a queerly shaped green object marked "Asia" and below it a beautiful blue place called "Europe." Anna was so delighted and interested in discovering France, and Africa, the AEgean Sea, and the British Isles, that she quite forgot where she was. But as she looked at the very small enclosure marked "England," and then at the long line of America she suddenly exclaimed: "America need not be afraid."

Mr. Lyon had seated himself at his desk, and at the sound of Anna's voice he looked up in surprise.

"Why, child! You have been so quiet I had forgotten you. Run out to the sitting-room to Mrs. Lyon," and Anna obeyed, not forgetting to curtsy as she left the room.



Mrs. Lyon had a basket piled high with work. There were stockings to be darned, pillow-cases to be neatly repaired, and an apron of stout drilling to be hemmed. Anna's task was to darn stockings. She was given Melvina's thimble to use, a smooth wooden ball to slip into the stocking, and a needle and skein of cotton.

How long the afternoon seemed! Never before had Anna stayed indoors for the whole of a May afternoon. She felt tired and sleepy, and did not want to walk about the garden after supper—as Mrs. Lyon kindly suggested; and not until Mrs. Lyon said that Melvina, on every pleasant day, walked about the garden after supper, did Anna go slowly down the path. But she stood at the gate looking in the direction of her home with wistful eyes.

"Two weeks," she whispered; it seemed so long a time could never pass. Then she remembered that the next day she would go home for the daily visit agreed upon.

If the days passed slowly with Anna, to Melvina they seemed only too short. She had quickly made friends with Rebecca, and the elder girl was astonished at the daring spirit of the minister's daughter. Melvina would balance herself on the very edge of the bluff, when she and Rebby, often followed by a surprised and unhappy Luretta, went for a morning walk. Or on their trips to the lumber yard for chips Melvina would climb to the top of some pile of timber and dance about as if trying to make Rebby frightened lest she fall. She went wading along the shore, and brought home queerly shaped rocks and tiny mussel-shells; and, as her father had hoped, her cheeks grew rosy and her eyes bright.

The day set for the erection of the liberty pole was the last day of the "exchange visit" of the two little girls, and Anna was now sure that Mrs. Lyon must think her very much like Melvina, for she had learned her daily lessons obediently, and moved about the house as quietly as a mouse.

But when she awoke on the morning of the day upon which she was to return home she was sure it was the happiest day of her life. Mrs. Lyon had even called her a "quiet and careful child," and the minister smiled upon her, and said that she "was a loyal little maid." So she had great reason for being pleased; and the thought of being home again made her ready to dance with delight.

The day that the tree of liberty was planted was declared a holiday, and the inhabitants of the town gathered on the bluff where it was to be set. Melvina and Anna and Luretta were together, and the other children of the neighborhood were scattered about.

"Where is Rebby, Mother?" Anna asked, looking about for her sister.

"To be sure! She started off with Lucia Horton, but I do not see them," responded Mrs. Weston, smiling happily to think that her own little Danna would no longer be absent from home.

There was great rejoicing among the people as the tree was raised, and citizen after citizen stepped forward and made solemn pledges to resist England's injustice to the American colonies. Then, amid the shouts of the assembled inhabitants, the discharge of musketry, and the sound of fife and drum, Machias took its rightful place among the defenders of American liberty.

But Rebecca Weston and Lucia Horton, sitting in an upper window of the Horton house, looked out at the inspiring scene without wishing to be any nearer. Rebecca was ashamed when she remembered her own part in trying to prevent the erection of a liberty pole, for now she realized all it stood for; and she was no longer afraid of an attack upon the town by an English gunboat. To Rebecca it seemed that such an attack would bring its own punishment. Her thoughts were now filled by a great desire to do something, something difficult and even dangerous to her own safety, in order to make up for that evening when she had crept out in the darkness and helped Lucia send the tree adrift.

But Lucia's mind was filled with entirely different thoughts. She was ready to cry with disappointment and fear in seeing the liberty pole set up. She could not forget that her father had said that such a thing would mean trouble.

"If we had not set it adrift, Lucia, we could be on the bluff now with the others," Rebby whispered, as they heard the gay notes of the fife.

"Bosh! Who wants to be any nearer? My mother says 'tis a silly and foolish performance," replied Lucia. "But perhaps 'twill be cut down before the Polly comes into harbor."

Rebecca jumped up from the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes shining.

"No one would dare, Lucia Horton. And if it is cut down I'll know you, or someone in this house, planned it; and I will tell my father just what you told me and what we did," she exclaimed, starting toward the door.

"You can't tell, ever, Rebecca Weston! You promised not to," Lucia called after her, and Rebecca stopped suddenly. Lucia was right. No matter what happened she could never reveal what Lucia had told her, because of her promise; and a promise was a sacred thing.

Without a word of good-bye Rebecca went slowly down the stairs. This was the second time she had left the Horton house in anger. "I won't come here again," she thought, a little sadly, for she and Lucia had been "best friends" ever since Captain Horton had brought his family to the remote settlement.

"There's Rebby," Anna called joyfully, as holding her father's hand, and with her mother walking close behind, she came along the path toward home. Rebby was walking slowly along a short distance in front of the little party, and Anna soon overtook her.

"Oh, Rebby! Was it not a splendid sight to see the liberty tree set up?" Anna exclaimed eagerly, "and all the men taking off their hats and cheering?"

"Yes," responded Rebby briefly; and then looking at Anna she said: "Oh, Danna! I wish, more than anything, that I could do something to protect the liberty tree."

"Perhaps you can, Rebby, sometime, you and I together," replied Anna hopefully; "anyway, isn't it lovely that I am home to stay?"

And to this Rebby could agree smilingly, but she kept in her heart the wish she had just uttered.



CHAPTER XII

WILD HONEY

Anna went singing about the house quite satisfied now to be herself; and Rebby and her mother smiled at each other at the happiness of the little girl.

"I doubt not you have learned many things, Danna," said Rebby, a little wistfully, as the sisters sat on the broad doorstep after supper looking down at the broad flowing river.

"Yes, indeed!" replied Anna confidently. "Why, Rebby, I know all about history. The minister told me that a hundred and fifty years ago there were English traders living right here, and they were driven away by the French. And then, some forty years ago, Governor Belcher of Massachusetts came cruising along this coast, and there was no one at all here. And, Rebby, Mr. Lyon says there are no such pine forests in all the colonies as stretch along behind this settlement. But, Rebby, you are not listening!" and Anna looked reproachfully at her sister.

"Oh, yes, indeed, Danna, I heard every word. And I heard Father say that very soon there would be a regular school here, with a master, as soon as America conquers her enemies. But, Danna, do you suppose anyone will dare touch the liberty pole?" For Rebby's thoughts could not long stray from Lucia Horton's prediction that it might be cut down.

"What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Weston from the doorway behind them. "Cut down the liberty pole? Why, there is not a man in Machias who would do such a traitorous deed."

Rebby's face flushed scarlet at his words, but before she could speak, her father continued: "Well, Danna, are you ready for a day's tramp with me to-morrow? I must go up to the mill at Kwapskitchwock Falls, and we will start early."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Danna, jumping up and clasping her father's hand. "And perhaps we shall catch a salmon above the falls, and broil it over a fire for our dinner."

"That is what we will hope to do," replied Mr. Weston. "And, Rebby, why do you not come with us? 'Tis but a few miles, and a day in the woods will do you good."

"Why, perhaps I shall, if Mother does not need me," Rebby answered. She so seldom cared for woodland tramps that Anna gave a little exclamation of surprised delight.

"I'll make a corn-cake to take with us," Rebby added, "and since we start early I had best bake it to-night," and she went into the kitchen followed by Anna singing:

"We'll go to the forest of liberty trees, Where there are rabbits and birds and bees."

Mrs. Weston smiled as she listened. "'Twould indeed be fine if you could find a store of wild honey in the woods; 'twould be a great help," she said, measuring out the golden meal for Rebby to use for her corn-cake. There was no butter or eggs to use in its making, for all food was getting scarce in most of the loyal households. Rebby scalded the meal and stirred it carefully, then added milk, and turned the batter into an iron pan which she set over the fire. When it was cooked it would be a thin crispy cake that would be appetizing and nourishing. Rebby's thoughts traveled away to the dainties of the Hortons' cupboard, but she said to herself that the "spider cake," as the corn-cake was called, especially when eaten in the woods with freshly broiled salmon, would taste far better than the jellies and preserved fruits of the Hortons. Rebby could not forget Mrs. Horton's scorn of the liberty pole.

The Westons were up at an early hour the next morning. The sun was just showing itself above the tops of the tall pines when the family sat down to their simple breakfast. Anna wore her skirt of tanned deerskin, moccasins, and her blouse of home-made flannel, while Rebecca's dress was of stout cotton. Each of the girls wore round, turban-like hats. Anna's was trimmed with the scarlet wings of a red bird, while Rebby's had the white breast of a gull.

Mr. Weston wore deerskin breeches and moccasins and a flannel blouse. A stout leather belt about his waist carried a couple of serviceable knives, and he carried his musket, for the forest was filled with many wild animals, and the settlers were always ready to protect themselves.

Rebby carried a basket that held the corn-cake, and a flint and steel from which they would strike the spark for their noonday fire.

Anna ran along close beside her father, until the path narrowed so that only one could walk, followed by the others. The air was cool and full of the forest odors. Now and then birds flitted past them, and once or twice Anna had a glimpse of startled rabbits, which she was sure were Trit and Trot.

"If I could only catch one to give Luretta," she thought, "then she would forgive me for taking the other rabbits," for Anna's thoughts were often troubled because of the loss of Luretta's pets.

Mr. Weston stopped at one point to show his daughters an arrow marked on a tall pine and pointing east. "That is to show the beginning of the path to Chandler's River settlement," he explained. "The trail is so dim that the woodsmen have blazed the trees to show the way. There is a good store of powder and shot at Chandler's River," he added, a little thoughtfully.

Rebby looked at the arrow, and afterward she had reason to remember her father's words.

The mill at Kwapskitchwock Falls was not in use at the time of their visit, and the mill workers were in Machias. But great booms of logs, waiting to be sawed into lumber, lay all along the river banks.

The sun was high in the heavens when the little party came in sight of the falls dashing over the rocks.

Mr. Weston led the way to a big flat rock above the mill, and where two large beech trees cast a pleasant shade.

"You can rest here while I look over the mill," he said, "and then I will see if I can spear a salmon for our dinner."

The girls were quite ready to rest, and Rebby set the basket carefully on the rock beside them.

"Would it not be fine if we could catch a salmon and have it all cooked when Father comes back?" Anna suggested, but Rebby shook her head.

"We haven't any salmon spear, and it is quick and skilful work," she responded. "Father will be better pleased if we obey him and rest here."

From where the girls were sitting they could look some distance up the quiet stream, and it was Anna who first discovered a canoe being paddled close to the opposite shore.

"Look, Rebby," she said, pointing in the direction of the slow-moving craft. "Isn't that an Indian?"

Rebby looked, and after a moment answered: "Why, I suppose it is, and after salmon. But he won't come down so near the falls." But the girls watched the slow-moving canoe rather anxiously until it drew close in to the opposite shore, and was hidden by the overhanging branches of the trees.

Rebby decided that she would gather some dry grass and sticks for the fire, and asked Anna to go down near the mill and bring up some of the bits of wood lying about there.

"Then when Father does bring the salmon we can start a blaze right away," she said.

Anna ran off toward the mill yard, and Rebby left the shade of the big beeches to pull handfuls of the sun-dried grass.

Rebby had gone but a few steps when she heard a queer singing murmur that seemed to be just above her head. She looked up, but the sky was clear; there was no bird flying low, as she had imagined; but as she walked along the murmur became louder, and Rebby began to look about her more carefully. A short distance from the flat rock was a huge stump of a broken tree, and Rebby soon realized that the noise came from the stump, and she approached it cautiously.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "It's a honey-tree! It is! It is!" for she had seen the bees as they went steadily in a dark murmuring line, direct to the old stump.

"A honey-tree" was a fortunate discovery at any time, for it meant a store of delicious wild honey. It was, as in this case, usually a partially decayed tree where the wild bees had swarmed, and where stores of honey were concealed. Sometimes the bees had filled the cavities of the tree so full that they were forced to desert it and find new quarters; but it was evident that here they were very busy indeed.

"They will have to be smoked out," decided Rebby, who had often heard her father tell of the way in which such stores were captured. "I wish I could do it, and get some honey for dinner," she exclaimed aloud.

"Well, why not?" she heard someone say from behind her, and she turned quickly to find Paul Foster, looking so much like an Indian boy in his fringed leggins and feathered cap that it made her jump quickly.

Paul laughed at her surprise.

"I came up-stream in my canoe after salmon," he explained, "and I have speared three beauties; I saw you from across the stream, so I paddled over. You've made a great find," and he nodded toward the old stump.

"Could we smoke out the bees and get some honey, Paul?" Rebby asked eagerly. She and Paul were nearly of an age, and Paul was a friendly boy, always ready to make bows and arrows or toy boats for his little sister and her girl playmates.

"I don't see why not," he responded, as if smoking out a hive of wild bees was a very usual undertaking; "but I haven't a flint and steel," he added.

"I have, in my basket," declared Rebecca; and in a few minutes Paul and Rebecca had gathered a mass of sticks and grass, heaping it a short distance from the stump.

"Mustn't get a blaze, only a heavy smoke," said Paul as he struck the flint and steel together, and carefully sheltered the spark which the dry grass instantly caught.

At the sight of the smoke Mr. Weston came running from the mill, and with his assistance the bees were speedily disposed of.

The old stump proved well filled with honey.

"I have a bucket in my canoe," said Paul, and it was decided to fill the bucket and take home all it would hold, and to return the next day in Paul's canoe with tubs for the rest of the honey.

Paul insisted that Mr. Weston should accept one of his fine salmon to broil for their midday meal, and then Rebby exclaimed:

"Where is Danna? She went to the mill after wood before we found the honey-tree, and she isn't back yet."

"Oh! She is probably playing that she is an explorer on a journey to the South Seas," laughed Mr. Weston. "I will go after her," and he started off toward the mill, while Rebecca added wood to the fire, and Paul prepared the salmon to broil.

Mr. Weston called "Danna!" repeatedly, but there was no answer. He searched the yard and the shore, but there was no trace of his little daughter. He went through the big open mill, and peered into shadowy corners, but Anna was not to be found. And at last he hurried back to tell Paul and Rebby, and to have them help him in his search for the missing girl.



CHAPTER XIII

DOWN THE RIVER

Anna had gathered an armful of dry wood and was just starting back when a queer little frightened cry made her stop suddenly and look quickly around. In a moment the noise was repeated, and she realized that it came from a pile of logs near the river bank. Anna put down the wood, and tiptoed carefully in the direction of the sound.

As she came near the logs she could see a little gray creature struggling to get loose from a coil of string in which its hind legs were entangled.

"Oh! It's a rabbit!" Anna exclaimed. "Perhaps it is Trit," and she ran quickly forward. But the little creature was evidently more alarmed at her approach than at the trap that held him, and with a frantic leap he was off, the string trailing behind him; but his hind feet were still hampered by the twisting string, and he came to a sudden halt.

"Poor Trit! Poor Trit!" called the little girl pityingly, as she ran after him. Just as she was near enough to touch him another bound carried him beyond her reach. On leaped the rabbit, and on followed Anna until they were some distance below the mill and near the river's sloping bank, over which the rabbit plunged and Anna after him. A small boat lay close to the shore, and Bunny's plunge carried him directly into the boat, where, twisted in the string, he lay struggling and helpless.

Anna climbed into the boat and picked up "Trit," as she called the rabbit, and patiently and tenderly untied the string from the frightened, panting little captive, talking gently as she did so, until he lay quiet in her hands.

The little girl was so wholly absorbed in her task that she did not notice that the boat was not fastened, or that her spring into it had sent it clear from the shore. Not until Trit was free from the string did she look up, and then the little boat was several feet from the shore, and moving rapidly downstream.

If Anna had stepped overboard then she could easily have waded ashore and made her way back to the mill; but she was so surprised that such a course did not come into her thoughts, and in a few moments the boat was in deep water and moving with the current downstream.

On each side of the river the woods grew down to the shore, and now and then the wide branches of overhanging trees stretched for some distance over the stream. A blue heron rose from the river, making its loud call that drowned Anna's voice as she cried: "Father! Father!" Even had Mr. Weston been near at hand he could hardly have distinguished Anna's voice. But Anna was now too far downstream for any call to reach her father or Rebby and Paul, who were all anxiously searching for her.

At first the little girl was not at all frightened. The river ran to Machias, and, had it not been that she was sure her father and sister would be worried and sadly troubled by her disappearance, Anna would have thought it a fine adventure to go sailing down the stream with her captured rabbit. Even as it was, she had a gleeful thought of Luretta's surprise and of Melvina's admiration when she should tell them the story.

She soon discovered that the boat leaked, and, holding the rabbit tightly in one hand, she took off her round cap and began to bail out the water, which had now risen to her ankles. Very soon the little cap was soggy and dripping; and now Anna began to wonder how long the leaky little craft could keep afloat.

Both Anna and Rebby could swim; their father had taught them when they were very little girls, and Anna knew that if she would leave the rabbit to drown that she could reach the shore safely; but this seemed hardly to be thought of. She now resolved to clutch at the first branch within reach, hoping in that way to scramble to safety with Trit. But the boat was being carried steadily along by the current, although the water came in constantly about her feet.

"I mustn't get frightened," Anna said aloud, remembering how often her father had told her that to be afraid was to lose the battle.

The boat swayed a little, and then Anna found that the board seat was wabbling.

"I never thought of the seat," she whispered, slipping down to her knees and pulling the seat from the loose support on which it rested. It was hard work to use the board as a paddle with only one hand, but Anna was strong and resolute, and managed to swing the boat a little toward the shore, so when a turn of the river came, bringing the boat close toward a little point of land, she quickly realized that this was her opportunity, and holding Trit close she sprang into the shallow water and in a moment was safe on shore.

The old boat, now half-filled with water, moved slowly on, and Anna knew that it would not be long afloat. She looked about her landing-place with wondering eyes. Behind the little grassy point where she stood the forest stretched close and dark; the curve of the river shut away the course by which she had come, but she could look down the smooth flowing current, and toward the wooded shores opposite.

The rabbit moved uneasily in her hands, and the little girl smoothed him tenderly. "I don't know who will ever find me here, unless it should be Indians," she said aloud, remembering the canoe that she and Rebby had noticed as they sat on the big rock.

Anna felt a little choking feeling in her throat at the remembrance. It seemed so long ago since she had seen Rebby and her father. "And it's all your fault, Trit," she told the rabbit; "but you could not help it," she added quickly, and remembered that the rabbit must be hungry and thirsty, and for a little while busied herself in finding tender leaves and buds for Trit to eat, and in holding him close to the water's edge so that he could drink. Then she wandered about the little clearing and to the edge of the dark forest. She began to feel hungry, and knew by the sun that it was well past noon.

"Oh! If that Indian we saw in the canoe would only come downstream," she thought longingly. For Anna well knew that when night came she would be in danger from the wild beasts of the wilderness, but that almost any of the Indians who fished and hunted in that region would take her safely back to her home.

An hour or two dragged slowly by; Anna was very tired. She held Trit close, and sat down not far from the river's edge. "Father will find me some way," she said to herself over and over, and tried not to let thoughts of fear and loneliness find a place in her mind. The little wild rabbit was no longer afraid of its captor, and Anna was sure that it was sorry it had led her into such trouble. But now and then tears came to the little girl's eyes, when suddenly she heard a voice from the river just above the curve singing a familiar air:

"Success to fair America,— To courage to be free, Success to fair America, Success to Liberty."

"Oh! That is Paul! That is Paul!" cried Anna, jumping up and down with joy; and the next moment a canoe swung round the curve, paddled by a tall boy with a cap ornamented by tall feathers.

Paul nearly dropped his paddle as he saw Anna at the river's edge.

"However did you get here?" he exclaimed, as with a swift stroke of his paddle he sent his canoe to shore.

Anna told him quickly of the capture of Trit, the leaking boat, and her jump to safety, while Paul listened with astonished eyes, and, in his turn, told of the discovery of the honey-tree, and then of the search for Anna.

"Your father and Rebby are sadly frightened," he concluded; "they are well on the way home now, thinking possibly you might have followed the path. Now, get in the canoe, and I'll try my best to get you home by the time they reach the settlement."

Anna sat in the bottom of the canoe, and Paul skilfully wielded the paddle, sending the little craft swiftly down the river.

"That bucket is full of honey," he said, nodding toward the bow of the canoe. But Anna was not greatly interested in the honey; she had even forgotten that she was hungry and thirsty. She could think only of her father and Rebby searching along the path for some trace of her.

It was late in the afternoon when the canoe swept across the river to the same landing where Paul had fastened the liberty tree earlier in the month. And in a few moments Anna was running up the path toward home, followed by Paul with the bucket of honey.

"Why, child! Where are Father and Rebby? and where is your cap?" questioned Mrs. Weston.

"Oh, Mother!" began Anna, but now the tears could not be kept back, and held close in her mother's arms she sobbed out the story of the capture of Trit, and all that had followed. And then Paul told the story of the honey-tree, and his story was not finished when Anna exclaimed: "Father! Rebby!" and ran toward the door.

How Mr. Weston's face brightened when he saw Danna safe and sound, and how closely Rebby held her little sister, as Anna again told the story of her journey down the river.

When Paul started for home Mrs. Weston insisted that a generous portion of the bucket of honey should go with him; and Trit, safely fastened in a small basket, was sent to Luretta as a gift from Anna. He promised to be ready the next morning to return to the falls with Mr. Weston in the canoe to bring home the store of honey.

As the Westons gathered about the table for their evening meal they looked at each other with happy faces.

"I couldn't feel happier if the Polly were in port, and America triumphant over her enemies," declared Mr. Weston, as he helped Anna to a liberal portion of honey.



CHAPTER XIV

AN UNINVITED GUEST

Paul and Mr. Weston started off at an early hour the next morning in Paul's canoe to bring home the honey. Beside a tub they took with them a number of buckets, for the old stump had a rich store of honey.

It was a time of leisure for the lumbering settlement. The drives of logs had all come down the river and were safely in the booms. The mills could not run as usual, for the conflict with England made it difficult to send lumber to Boston. The crops were now planted, so Mr. Weston, like other men of the settlement, had time for hunting and fishing or for improving their simple homes. Some of the men passed a good part of each day lounging around the shores and wharves, looking anxiously down the harbor hoping to see Captain Jones' sloops returning with the greatly needed provisions.

Rebecca was up in season to see her father start, but Anna, tired from the adventure of the previous day, had not awakened.

"Is the liberty tree safe?" Rebby asked a little anxiously, as she helped her mother about the household work that morning.

"Why, Rebby dear, what harm could befall it?" questioned her mother. "The traitor who set it afloat will not dare cut it down. 'Tis a strange thing that, search though they may, no trace can be found of the rascals."

Rebecca's hands trembled, and she dared not look up. It seemed to the little girl that if her mother should look into her eyes she would at once know that she, Rebecca Flora Weston, who had been born in Boston, and whose parents were loyal Americans, had committed the dreadful deed. She wished with all her heart that she could tell her mother all that Lucia Horton had said; but the promise bound her. She could never tell anyone. Rebecca knew that she could never be happy again. "Not unless I could do some fine thing to help America," she thought, a little hopelessly; for what could a little girl, in a settlement far away from all the strife, do to help the great cause for which unselfish men were sacrificing everything?

Mrs. Weston was troubled about Rebecca. "The child has not really been well since her birthday," she thought, "although I cannot think what the trouble can be."

"Your father says that the honey is really yours, Rebby dear," continued Mrs. Weston, "and that you may decide how it shall be disposed of."

"I don't care," Rebby responded, a little faintly. "Only, of course, Paul ought to have half, because he helped."

"Yes, of course; but even then your share will be a good quantity," said Mrs. Weston. Before Rebecca could speak Anna came running into the room, her brown eyes shining, and her curls, now long enough to dance about her face, falling over her brown cheeks.

As she ate her porridge her mother questioned her about the adventure of the previous day, and for a time Rebby forgot her own worries in listening to Anna's account of her journey in the leaking boat, and of her leap to safety.

"It was not mischief, was it, Mother, to try and capture Trit?" she concluded.

"No, indeed, dear child. Who could foresee such an adventure?" replied Mrs. Weston. "And we are all proud that you did so well; that you did not wander into the forest, where you would surely have been lost. I was just asking Rebby what use we would make of the honey. Of course we want to share it with our neighbors. 'Tis rare good fortune to have such a store of sweets."

"Let's have a honey party," suggested Anna. "Could we not, Mother?"

"Why, that is a splendid idea!" declared Mrs. Weston. "'Twill cheer up the whole settlement to be asked to a party. To be sure I can offer them only honey; but perhaps 'twill take their minds from the Polly, and from England's injustice toward us. Rebecca, you and Anna shall start out at once and ask the neighbors as far as Mr. Lyon's house. That will bring as many as twenty people. And tell each one to bring a cup and spoon, as I have no extra dishes."

As soon as Anna had finished her breakfast the two girls put on their sunbonnets and started on their pleasant errand. The neighbors were to be asked to come the next afternoon for a taste of wild honey, and Mrs. Weston again cautioned them to be sure and speak of the cup and spoon that each guest was to bring.

"I wish I could offer them a dish of tea," thought Mrs. Weston, and then reproached herself for the thought, for was not the tea tax one of England's sins against the colonies, and had not loyal women refused to brew a single cup until America gained her rights?

Mr. Foster was busy in his blacksmith shop. The mill men could be idle, but Worden Foster hammered busily away day in and day out. His hay-forks were always in demand, and he made many stout locks and keys, as well as door-latches and hooks.

"Shall we ask him first?" questioned Anna.

"Yes," replied Rebecca. "He is our best neighbor, so 'tis right to ask him first."

Rebecca and Anna stood in the open doorway for a moment watching the glow of the forge and the bright sparks that sprang from the red bar of iron which Mr. Foster was shaping into a spearhead.

He nodded toward his little visitors smilingly, and listened with evident pleasure to Rebecca's invitation.

"But you tell me Paul is to have a good portion of the honey; 'tis hardly fair we Fosters should come," he replied, and then added quickly, "But why not let us have the neighbors, and divide the honey that is left after the party?"

"Why, yes, sir; I think that will be a good plan," responded Rebby soberly, "and perhaps Luretta will go with us to ask the neighbors."

Mr. Foster nodded again, whistling softly to himself, and as the little girls bade him a polite "Good-morning" and went on toward his house they could hear his whistle ring above the sound of his hammer.

Luretta came running to meet them.

"I was just coming to your house to thank you for Trit. Oh, Anna! You are the bravest girl in the settlement. Paul says you are. And to think you caught the rabbit for me." Luretta, quite out of breath, with her arm across Anna's shoulders, looked admiringly at her friend.

"It's only fair," Anna replied, "because I lost yours." And then Anna had to tell again the story of her capture of Trit. Luretta listened eagerly. "I do wish I could have been with you, Danna," she said. But Anna shook her head. "The boat would have sunk," she responded soberly.

Mrs. Foster thought the plan for a honey party an excellent idea, and promised to come in good season; and Luretta was greatly pleased to go with her friends to invite the neighbors.

"Will not Lucia Horton be pleased when we tell her about the honey?" said Anna.

Rebecca stopped suddenly. "We are not to ask the Hortons," she announced.

"Not ask Lucia! Why not?" questioned Anna, while Luretta looked at Rebby with wondering eyes.

"No," Rebecca declared firmly. "The Hortons have a cupboard filled with jellies, and candied fruits, and jars of syrups, and fine things from the West Indies and from far places, and 'tis not fair. We have only the wild bees' honey, a taste for each neighbor." Rebecca stopped with a little sigh. She had not thought about not asking Lucia until Anna spoke, but now she realized that, if she could help it, she would never again go to the Hortons' house. Rebecca was old enough to realize the difference between loyalty and selfish indecision, and she was sure that the Hortons were thinking more of their own comfort than of the good of America.

"But Lucia is your best friend," said Anna; "she gave you those beautiful silk mitts on your birthday."

Rebecca's face colored. She made no answer. The silk mitts, she resolved, must be given back. Probably she would never have another pair; but never mind, if she gave up Lucia's friendship she must give up the mitts.

For a few minutes the little girls walked on in silence, but Luretta was eager to talk about Trit, and very soon she and Anna were talking happily of plans to teach the captured rabbit, and were no longer troubled by Rebecca's decision not to ask the Hortons to the honey party. If they thought of it at all it was to agree with Rebby: that people with a cupboard full of dainties, when their neighbors had only the coarsest fare, ought not to be asked to share the wild honey.

Mrs. Lyon welcomed the little girls in a most friendly manner, and Anna was made happy when the minister's wife said that she really believed that Anna's stitches were as tiny and as neatly set as those of Melvina herself.

"Melvina is out-of-doors," she continued; "I have decided that she is much stronger to be in the open air a portion of each day, and London has made her a playhouse under the pines behind the house."

Both Anna and Luretta hoped that Mrs. Lyon would ask them to go and see Melvina's playhouse, but as she did not they said their polite "Good-day, Mrs. Lyon," curtsied, and followed Rebecca down the path.

The invitations had now all been given and accepted, and Luretta was eager to get home, urging Anna to stop and see Trit, who was safe in the same box that had been made for the other rabbits.

"You may both run ahead if you wish," said Rebby with quite a grown-up manner, for she really felt a great deal older than her little sister, "and I will go straight home and tell Mother that everybody is coming."

"Everybody except the Hortons," Luretta reminded her.

"Yes; I meant everyone whom we had asked," Rebby rejoined.

Off ran the two younger girls, and Rebecca followed more slowly. Although she had intended to go directly home she now decided to take the path along the bluff and see for herself that the liberty tree stood safe, defiant of all enemies. Rebby's thoughts were filled with a certain fear that Lucia Horton might contrive some new plan to make away with this emblem of freedom; and she gave an exclamation of satisfaction as she saw the handsome young pine, well braced with rocks and timber supports, standing on the bluff.

"The Polly will see it first thing when she comes into harbor," thought Rebby, "and nobody will dare fire on it," and vaguely comforted by this thought she started on toward home.

Mr. Weston and Paul were just landing their load of honey, and Rebecca went down to the shore to tell them of the plan for the honey party, of which they both approved. The tubs and buckets were all carried to the Westons' and safely stored away in the big pantry.

Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Weston were talking over arrangements for the next day. Mrs. Foster had suggested that they should each bake a quantity of "spider-cakes." "They are thin and crispy, and will relish well with the honey," she said, and Mrs. Weston agreed, although both the women realized that by making these cakes they would diminish their household stores of Indian meal almost to the danger point. But the Polly, with her cargo of wheat flour, sugar, and other necessities, was long overdue; she must soon come to their relief, they thought hopefully; and if she failed to arrive why then they must do their best.

"The neighbors need something cheerful to think of," declared Mrs. Foster, "and I am sure a taste of honey will cheer us all."

The next day was clear and warm with a pleasant southerly wind. Mr. Weston decided to put up some seats under the tall elms, so that the guests could enjoy the spring air. Paul was quite ready to help him; they brought planks from the lumber yard, and long before the first visitor arrived the low comfortable seats were ready.

Anna and Rebby were busy all the morning making small plates of birch-bark, which they stripped from the big logs. These little plates would each hold a square of "spider-cake" and a helping of honey; and as the guests would bring their own cups, to be filled with clear spring water, and their own spoons, the Westons felt that all was ready.

Rebby and Anna both wore their Sunday best, but their dresses were carefully covered by their long pinafores. For they would serve each guest, and it would not do that any careless movement should send a stream of honey over their best gowns. Luretta and Melvina would also help, and had been warned to bring pinafores to wear.

There was a pleasant air of excitement all through the little settlement as the people, dressed in their simple best, walked along the path leading to the Westons'. The minister and his wife, each holding Melvina by the hand, were among the first comers.

"It was a friendly thought to ask your neighbors to share your good fortune," said Mr. Lyon as he greeted Mrs. Weston.

"To tell the truth, 'twas Anna who first thought of it," she responded, and was well pleased when Mrs. Lyon declared that she was not surprised to hear it, as she considered Anna a very thoughtful and generous child.

Rebecca had forgotten for the time her own sense of unworthiness, and was smiling happily as friend after friend arrived, when suddenly her smile vanished. For coming up the path in a fine dress of pale yellow muslin and wearing a flower-trimmed hat was Lucia Horton. No one but Rebecca, of course, was surprised to see Lucia. It was to be expected that she would be a guest at Rebecca's house. Anna and Luretta did not see Lucia's arrival, but Rebby stood quite still, pale and angry, and watched Lucia smiling and speaking to the neighbors. Then Lucia came straight toward Rebecca, and, making an ugly face at her, exclaimed:

"Who is afraid of you, anyway, Rebecca Flora Weston?"



CHAPTER XV

REBBY AND LUCIA

Rebby was too astonished at Lucia's unexpected appearance to make any response to this rude salutation; and, with another scornful glance, Lucia went on her way to where Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston were talking together, and took a seat beside them, and was cordially welcomed by Rebecca's mother, who, of course, knew nothing of the trouble between the two girls.

"Lucia has forgotten her cup and spoon, Rebby; bring her your lustre mug," called Mrs. Weston.

For a moment Rebby pretended not to hear. She was filling the cups with cool spring water, and not until her mother called the second time did she start toward the house for her cherished lustre mug. She was ready to cry at the thought of Lucia's insulting words, and now she must carry the pretty mug to her, and serve her as though she were a welcome guest.

"I won't let her know that I care; and I must be polite because she is a guest, even if she wasn't invited," thought Rebby, as carrying the lustre mug and a birch-bark plate with a square of honeycomb and a brownish crisp "spider-cake" she went toward Lucia.

Neither of the little girls spoke, and Rebby did not look at her former friend who had led her into such sad mischief. Then suddenly there was a crash, a loud cry from Lucia and from Rebby as the lustre mug fell to the ground, and the contents of the frail plate streamed over the delicate yellow muslin of Lucia's fine dress.

"Oh! She has spoiled my dress! She did it on purpose! She did! She did!" wailed Lucia, while Rebecca stood looking at the pieces of her cherished mug that had been brought from Boston when the Westons moved to Machias.

"She dropped it on purpose," Rebby said, but no one seemed to think of her mug. Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston were both endeavoring to comfort Lucia, and to repair the harm done to the yellow muslin. But the honey and water were not easily removed from the delicate fabric.

"I am going home. It's a cheap, foolish party anyway. Honey and water, and corn-bread!" sobbed Lucia angrily, pulling away from the friendly women, and running down the path.

Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston looked after her in amazed disapproval.

"I begin to think there is something in the rumors that Captain Horton and his wife are not trustworthy," Mrs. Lyon said. "The child is so ill-bred she can be but indulged and spoiled at home," and Mrs. Weston agreed. But neither of them imagined that Lucia's mother and father were disloyal to the American cause, and only waiting a profitable opportunity to betray the little settlement to its enemies.

Lucia's angry words cast but a brief shadow over the gathering, and no one noticed that Rebecca had disappeared. At the moment Lucia started for home Rebby had run toward the house. She hurried up the stairs to the little room under the roof where she and Anna slept, and from the closet she drew out the square wooden box that her father had made for her. Her initials R. F. W. were carved inside a small square on the cover, and it had a lock and key. Rebby was very proud of this box, and in it she kept her most treasured possessions: a handkerchief of fine lawn with a lace edge, a pin made from a silver sixpence, and the prayer-book her Grandmother Weston had given her. When Lucia gave her the silk mitts for a birthday present Rebby had put them carefully away with these other treasures. Now she pulled them out hurriedly, and, without waiting to close the box, she ran down the stairs through the kitchen, keeping carefully out of sight of the group under the elm trees, until she could not be seen from the house. Then she caught a glimpse of Lucia's yellow dress, and ran faster than before. But she did not call Lucia's name. She said to herself that she would never speak to Lucia again.

Hearing the hurrying steps behind her Lucia looked over her shoulder, and seeing Rebby she became frightened and ran faster than ever. Lucia did not know why she was afraid, but she remembered that she had not been asked to the party, that she had spoken insultingly to Rebby, and—she had dropped the mug purposely. So it was small wonder that her guilty conscience accused her, and that she was eager to reach home before Rebby could overtake her.

On raced the two girls along the narrow path. A few men at the wharves watched the flying figures, but no one imagined it more than a game. Very soon the Horton house was in sight. Its front door opening on the street stood open to admit the pleasant spring air. In a moment Lucia was in the house and had slammed and fastened the door behind her.

Rebby stood on the step breathless, the silk mitts clasped in her hand. After a moment she rapped loudly on the door. There was no response. But in a moment an upper window opened, and Mrs. Horton looked down at Rebby.

"Why, Rebecca Flora!" she exclaimed in her pleasant voice. "Lucia has gone to your party."

"If you please, Mrs. Horton, I have brought back the mitts Lucia gave me for a birthday present," responded Rebby, her voice faltering a little.

"Oh! Don't they fit? Why, that is a shame. Well, lay them on the step," said Mrs. Horton, wondering why Rebby should look so flushed and warm, and why she had not given the mitts to Lucia. Later on, when she heard Lucia's account of Rebby's turning honey and water over the pretty yellow muslin, she decided that Rebecca was ashamed to keep a gift after treating Lucia so badly.

Rebby went slowly toward home tired and unhappy. All the pleasure of the party, she said to herself, was spoiled. She was not sorry to give up the mitts, for everything that reminded her of Lucia made her think of the night when they had pushed the liberty tree from its moorings.

When she was nearly home she heard Mr. Foster's whistle and in a moment they were face to face.

"Well, Rebecca Flora, 'twas a fine party," he said smilingly, for Mr. Foster had not seen the accident to the mug. "The neighbors are all smiling and cheerful, and we are all the better for meeting in this neighborly fashion," and Mr. Foster ended his sentence with a whistle like a bird's note. "You must come with the others to the liberty pole on Sabbath morning," he added. "Parson Lyon is to preach to us there, and 'twill be a great occasion."

"Yes, sir," Rebby responded, and went slowly on up the slope. It began to seem to her that she would never escape from the liberty pole. And now she met Mr. and Mrs. Lyon, with Melvina dancing along in front of them. "More like Danna than Danna is like herself," thought Rebby, smiling, as she remembered how sedately and quietly Melvina had walked before Danna and Luretta had played their mischievous pranks on the day of the tempest.

The neighbors had all gone when Rebecca reached home, and Mrs. Weston and Anna were in the house, while Mr. Weston and Paul were taking up the seats under the elm trees. The pieces of the broken lustre mug lay on the kitchen table, and Rebby's face clouded as she stood looking at them.

"Lucia Horton dropped it on purpose!" she said. "I know she did."

"And nobody asked her to come to our party," added Anna; "'twas rude of her to come."

Mrs. Weston looked in astonishment at her two little daughters.

"Not ask Lucia?" she questioned, and listened to Rebby's explanation: that, because of the Hortons' store of dainties, and their scorn of the simple fare of their neighbors, Rebby had decided not to ask Lucia to her party.

But when the little girl had finished her story, Mrs. Weston shook her head disapprovingly.

"I am not pleased with you, Rebecca," she said. "'Twas not a kind thought to sit in judgment and decide to punish a friend for something that is no fault of hers. Lucia did right to come. Of course she thought you would welcome her."

"She didn't! She didn't!" exclaimed Rebby. "She made up faces at me, and said—"

"Never mind, Rebecca. You see what comes from quarreling. Your mug is broken, Lucia's dress is spoiled, and you had no pleasure from the afternoon. Now, there is something for you to do to put this straight. You must take off your pinafore, put on your sunbonnet, and go straight to Mrs. Horton's and ask Lucia's pardon."

"Oh, Mother!" wailed Rebby. "It isn't fair. It isn't my fault."

But Mrs. Weston was firm. From Rebby's own story her mother decided that she had been unfair to Lucia; she did not ask if Rebby had purposely spilled the honey on Lucia's muslin dress, but she felt it was not the time to allow any ill feeling among the families of the settlement, and that Rebecca's failure to ask the Hortons to come with the other neighbors to taste the wild honey could easily offend them.

Anna stood looking first at Rebby and then at her mother. It was so seldom that Rebby cried, that it seemed a very dreadful thing to her younger sister.

"I'll go, Mother, let me go!" she asked eagerly.

"Do not be so foolish, Anna," responded Mrs. Weston. "This is your sister's duty. It has nothing to do with you. Take off your pinafore, Rebecca, and do as I bid you."

Rebecca was sobbing bitterly. She could not believe that her mother really meant that she should go and ask Lucia Horton's forgiveness.

"If you knew——" she began, tempted to tell her mother all that Lucia had said about the liberty pole, and even what they had done to prevent its erection. But the memory of her promise held her. She knew that her mother expected obedience, and she took off her pinafore, took her sunbonnet, and, still sobbing, went slowly from the room. Anna started to follow her, but Mrs. Weston called her back sharply.

"Anna, you are not to go with your sister," she said, and the little girl came slowly back.

"Oh, dear," she sighed, "I wish Lucia Horton would go sailing off to far lands. To—to Egypt," she concluded. For Anna had never heard much that was pleasant about Egypt, and was sure that all this trouble was Lucia's fault.

Rebecca had never been so unhappy in her life as when she realized that her mother expected her to go to the Hortons' and ask Lucia's pardon for not inviting Mrs. Horton and Lucia to the honey party. There were robins singing in the trees, bluebirds flitting about with gay little notes, and the spring day was full of beauty, but Rebby was not conscious of it as she went slowly along the path.

Very soon she was again standing in front of the Hortons' door, and summoning all her courage she rapped loudly. There was no response, and after a few moments she rapped again; but the house seemed silent and deserted, and no one came to open the door.