It was a very differently dressed little daughter who returned to him at the end of the following week. She wore a neat brown wool dress, with a collar and cuffs of scarlet cloth, a cape of brown, and a cap of brown with a scarlet wing on one side. These, with her well-made, well-fitting shoes, made Louise a very trim little figure in spite of her lameness. Her hair, well brushed and neatly braided, was tied back with a scarlet ribbon. A bundle containing underwear, aprons, handkerchiefs, and hair ribbons of various colors, as well as a stout cotton dress for Louise to wear indoors, arrived at the shoemaker's house with the little girl.

Her father looked at her in amazement. "Why, Flibbertigibbet, you are a pretty girl," he declared, and was even more amazed at the gay laugh with which Louise answered him.

"I've learned a lot of things, father! I can make a cake, truly I can. And I'm learning to read. I'm so glad Faith Carew is going to live in Ticonderoga. Aren't you, father?"

Mr. Trent looked at his daughter again, and answered slowly: "Why, yes, Flibbertigibbet, I believe I am."



CHAPTER X

THE MAJOR'S DAUGHTERS

The day that school began Faith returned home to find that a letter from her mother and father had arrived. It was a long letter, telling the little girl of all the happenings since her departure at the pleasant cabin in the Wilderness. Her father had shot a deer, which meant a good supply of fresh meat. Kashaqua had brought the good news of Faith's arrival at her aunt's house; and, best of all, her father wrote that before the heavy snows and severe winter cold began he should make the trip to Ticonderoga to be sure that his little daughter was well and happy.

But there was one sentence in her mother's letter that puzzled Faith. "Your father will bring your blue beads," her mother had written, and Faith could not understand it, for she was sure Esther had the beads. She had looked in the box in the sitting-room closet after Esther's departure, hoping that Esther might have put them back before starting for home, but the box had been empty.

"Who brought my letter, Uncle Phil?" she questioned, but her uncle did not seem to hear.

"Father got it from a man in a canoe when we were down at the shore. The man hid——"

"Never mind, Hugh. You must not repeat what you see, even at home," said Mr. Scott.

So Faith asked no more questions. She knew that the Green Mountain Boys sent messengers through the Wilderness; and that Americans all through the Colonies were kept notified of what the English soldiers stationed in those northern posts were doing or planning. She was sure that some such messenger had brought her letter; and, while she wondered if it might have been her friend Ethan Allen, she had learned since her stay in her uncle's house that he did not like to be questioned in regard to his visitors from across the lake.

"I'll begin a letter to mother dear this very night, so it will be all ready when father comes," she said, thinking of all she longed to tell her mother about Louise, the school and her pretty new dresses.

"So you did not bring your beads," said Aunt Prissy, as she read Mrs. Carew's letter. "Did you forget them?"

Faith could feel her face flush as she replied: "No, Aunt Prissy." She wished that she could tell her aunt just why she had felt obliged to give them to Esther Eldridge, and how puzzled she was at her mother's reference to the beads. Faith was already discovering that a secret may be a very unpleasant possession.

As she thought of Esther, she recalled that her aunt had spoken of Louise as "mischievous," and Faith was quite sure that Louise would never have accepted the beads or have done any of the troublesome things that had made the first days of Esther's visit so difficult.

"Louise isn't mischievous," she declared suddenly. "What made you think she was, Aunt Prissy?"

Aunt Prissy was evidently surprised at this sudden change of subject, but she replied pleasantly:

"I ought not to have said such a thing; but Louise has improved every day since you became her friend. How does she get on in her learning to read?"

For Faith stopped at the shoemaker's house every day on her way home from school to teach Louise; and "Flibbertigibbet," as her father generally called her, was making good progress.

"She learns so quickly," replied Faith, "and she is learning to write. I do wish she would go to school, Aunt Prissy," for Louise had become almost sullen at the suggestion.

Faith did not know that Louise had appeared at the schoolhouse several years before, and had been so laughed at by some of the rough children of the village that she had turned on them violently and they had not dared come near her since. They had vented their spite, however, in calling, "Witch! Witch! Fly home on your broomstick," as Louise hobbled off toward home, vowing that never again would she go near a school, and sobbing herself to sleep that night.

Aunt Prissy had heard something of the unfortunate affair, and was glad that Louise, when next she appeared at school, would have some little knowledge to start with and a friend to help her.

"Perhaps she will go next term, now that she has a girl friend to go with her," responded Mrs. Scott.

Faith was making friends with two girls whose seats in the schoolroom were next her own. Their names were Caroline and Catherine Young. Faith was quite sure that they were two of the prettiest girls in the world, and wondered how it was possible for any one to make such beautiful dresses and such dainty white ruffled aprons as these two little girls wore to school. The sisters were very nearly of an age, and with their soft black curls and bright brown eyes, their flounced and embroidered dresses with dainty collars of lace, they looked very different from the more suitably dressed village children.

Caroline was eleven, and Catherine nine years old. But they were far in advance of the other children of the school.

They lost no time in telling Faith that their father was an English officer, stationed at Fort Ticonderoga; and this made Faith look at them with even more interest. Both the sisters were rather scornful in their manner toward the other school children. As Faith was a newcomer, and a stranger, they were more cordial to her.

"You must come to the fort with us some day," Caroline suggested, when the little girls had known each other for several weeks; and Faith accepted the invitation with such eagerness that the sisters looked at her approvingly. Their invitations to some of the other children had been rudely refused, and the whispered "Tories" had not failed to reach their ears.

"We like you," Caroline had continued in rather a condescending manner, "and we have told our mother about you. Could you go to the fort with us to-morrow? It's Saturday."

"Oh, yes; I'm sure I may. I have wanted to go to the fort ever since I came. You are real good to ask me," Faith had responded gratefully, to the evident satisfaction of the English girls who felt that this new little girl knew the proper way to receive an invitation.

It was settled that they would call for Faith early on Saturday afternoon.

"I may go, mayn't I, Aunt Prissy?" Faith asked, as she told her aunt of the invitation, and was rather puzzled to find that Aunt Prissy seemed a little doubtful as to the wisdom of permitting Faith visiting the fort with her new friends.

"It is a mile distant, and while that is not too long a walk, I do not like you to go so far from home with strangers," she said; but on Faith's declaring that the sisters were the best behaved girls in school, and that she had promised to go, Mrs. Scott gave her consent; and Faith was ready and waiting when Caroline and Catherine arrived, soon after dinner on Saturday.

"Is your father an officer?" asked Caroline, as the little girls started off.

Faith walked between her new friends, and looked from one to the other with admiring eyes.

"No, my father is a miller. And he owns a fine lot of land, too," she answered smilingly.

"Our father is a major. He will go back to Albany in the spring, and that is a much better place to live than this old frontier town," said Catherine. "We shan't have to play with common children there."

Faith did not quite know what Catherine meant, so she made no response, but began telling them of her own journey through the wilderness and across the lake. But her companions did not seem much interested.

"Your uncle is just a farmer, isn't he?" said Caroline.

"Yes, he is a farmer," Faith replied. She knew it was a fine thing to be a good farmer, so she answered smilingly. But before the fort was reached she began to feel that she did not like the sisters as well as when they set out together. They kept asking her questions. Did her mother have a silver service? and why did her aunt not have servants? As they neared the fort Catherine ran to her sister's side and whispered in her ear. After that they kept close together, walking a little way ahead of Faith. At the entrance to the fort Faith was somewhat alarmed to find a tall soldier, musket in hand. But he saluted the little girls, and Faith followed her companions along the narrow passageway. She wondered to herself what she had done to offend them, for they responded very stiffly to whatever she had to say. The narrow passage led into a large open square, surrounded by high walls. Faith looked about with wondering eyes. There were big cannons, stacks of musketry, and many strange things whose name or use she could not imagine. There were little groups of soldiers in red coats strolling about.

"Where is your father, Catherine?" she asked, and then looked about half fearfully; for both her companions had vanished.

None of the soldiers seemed to notice Faith For a moment she looked about with anxious eyes, and then decided that her friends must have turned back to the entrance for some reason.

"And they probably think that I am right behind them," she thought, running toward an arched passageway which she believed was the one by which she had entered the fort. But it seemed much longer than when she came in a moment before. She began running, expecting to see the sisters at every step. Suddenly she found that she was facing a heavy door at the end of the passage, and realized that she had mistaken her way. But Faith was not frightened. "All I have to do is to run back," she thought, and turned to retrace her steps. But there were two passageways opening behind her at right angles. For an instant she hesitated, and then ran along the one to the right.

"I'm sure this is the way I came," she said aloud. But as she went on the passageway seemed to curve and twist, and to go on and on in an unfamiliar way. It grew more shadowy too. Faith found that she could not see very far ahead of her, and looking back it seemed even darker. She began to feel very tired.

"I'm sure Caroline and Catherine will come and find me," she thought, leaning against the damp wall of the passage. "I'll just rest a minute, and then I'll call so they will know which way to turn to find me."



CHAPTER XI

A DAY OF ADVENTURE

"Caroline! Caroline!" called Faith, and the call echoed back to her astonished ears from the shadowy passage. "I'd better go back! I'm sure the other was the right way," she finally decided; and very slowly she retraced her steps, stopping now and then to call the names of the girls who had deserted her.

It seemed a long time to Faith before she was back to where the big solid door had blocked the first passage. She was sure now that the other way would lead her back to the square where she had last seen her companions. But as she stood looking at the door she could see that it was not closed. It swung a little, and Faith wondered to herself if this door, after all, might not open near the entrance so that she could find her way to the road, and so back to Aunt Prissy.

She could just reach a big iron ring that swung from the center of the door; and she seized this and pulled with all her might. As the door slowly opened, letting in the clear October sunlight, Faith heard steps coming down the passage. The half-opened door nearly hid her from sight, and she looked back expecting to see either Caroline or Catherine, and, in the comfort of the hope of seeing them, quite ready to accept any excuse they might offer. But before she could call out she heard a voice, which was vaguely familiar, say: "I did leave that door open. Lucky I came back," and Nathan Beaman, the Shoreham boy, was close beside her.

When he saw a little girl still grasping the iron ring, he seemed too surprised to speak.

"I'm lost!" Faith whispered. "I'm so glad you came. Major Young's little girls asked me to come to the fort, and then ran away and left me," and Faith told of her endeavors to find her companions.

"Lucky I came back," said Nathan again, but this time his voice had an angry tone. "It was a mean trick. Those girls——" Then Nathan stopped suddenly. "Well, they're Tories," he concluded.

"I was afraid it was night," said Faith.

"No, but you might have wandered about in these passageways until you were tired out. Or you might have fallen from that door. Look out, but hold close to the door," said Nathan.

Faith came to the doorway and found herself looking straight down the face of a high cliff to the blue waters of the lake. Lifting her eyes she could look across and see the distant wooded hills of the Green Mountains, and could hear the "Chiming Waters" of the falls.

"It's lovely. But what do they have a door here for?" Faith asked.

And then Nathan explained what forts were for. That a door like that gave the soldiers who held the fort a chance to look up and down the lake in order to see the approach of an enemy by water. "And gives them a chance to scramble down the cliff and get away if the enemy captures the fort from the other side." Then he showed Faith the two big cannon that commanded the lake and any approach by the cliff.

"But come on. I must take you home," he declared, moving as if to close the door.

"Could we get out any other way than by going back through that passage?" asked Faith, who thought that she never wanted to see the two sisters again, and now feared they might be waiting for her.

"Certainly we could. That is, if you are a good climber," replied Nathan. "I'll tell you something, that is, if you'll never tell," he added.

"I won't," Faith declared earnestly.

"Well, I can go down that cliff and up, too, just as easily as I can walk along that passage. And the soldiers don't pay much attention to this part of the fort. There's a sentry at the other end of the passage, but he doesn't mind how I get in and out. If you'll do just as I say I'll take you down the cliff. My boat is hidden down by Willow Point, and I'll paddle you alongshore. 'Twill be easier than walking. That is, if you're not afraid," concluded Nathan.

"No, I'm not afraid," said Faith, thinking to herself that here was another secret, and almost wishing that she had not agreed to listen to it.

"Come on, then," said Nathan, stepping outside the door, and holding tightly to the door-frame with one hand and reaching the other toward Faith. "Hold tight to my hand and don't look down," he said. "Look to the right as you step out, and you'll see a chance for your feet. I've got a tight hold. You can't fall."

Faith clutched his hand and stepped out. There was room toward the right for her to stand. She heard the big door clang behind her. "I had to shut it," Nathan said, as he cautiously made his way a step down the face of the cliff. Faith followed cautiously. She noticed just how Nathan clung to the outstanding rocks, how slowly and carefully he made each movement. She knew if she slipped that she would push him as well as herself off into the lake.

"I mustn't slip! I mustn't," she said over and over to herself.

Nathan did not speak, except to tell her where to step. At last they were safely down, standing on a narrow rocky ledge which hardly gave them a foothold. Along this they crept to a thick growth of alder bushes where a clumsy wooden punt was fastened.

Faith followed Nathan into the punt, and as he pushed the boat off from the bushes she gave a long sigh of relief.

"That was great!" declared Nathan triumphantly. "Say, you're the bravest girl I know. I've always wondered if I could bring anybody down that cliff, and now I know I can. But you mustn't tell any one how we got out of the fort. You won't, will you?" And Faith renewed her promise not to tell.

Nathan paddled the boat out around the promontory on which the fort was built. He kept close to the shore.

"Does Major Young stay at the fort?" questioned Faith.

"Not very long at a time. He comes and goes, like all spies," replied Nathan scornfully. "I wish the Green Mountain Boys would take this fort and send the English back where they belong. They keep stirring the Indians up against the settlers, so that people don't know when they are safe."

It was the last day of October, and the morning had been bright and sunny. The sun still shone, but an east wind was ruffling the waters of the lake, and Faith began to feel chilly.

"I'll warrant you don't know when this lake was discovered?" said Nathan; and Faith was delighted to tell him that Samuel De Champlain discovered and gave the lake his name in 1609.

"The Indians used to call it 'Pe-ton-boque,'" she added.

But when Nathan asked when the fort was built she could not answer, and the boy told her of the brave Frenchmen who built Ticonderoga in 1756, bringing troops and supplies from Canada.

"The old fort has all sorts of provisions, and guns and powder that the English have stored there. I wish the American troops had them. If I were Ethan Allen or Seth Warner I'd make a try, anyway, for this fort and for Crown Point, too," said Nathan.

The rising wind made it rather difficult for the boy to manage his boat, and he finally landed some distance above the point where Kashaqua had reached shore. Faith was sure that she could go over the fields and find her way safely home, and Nathan was anxious to cross the lake to Shoreham before the wind became any stronger. Faith felt very grateful to him for bringing her from the fort.

"You'll be as brave as Colonel Allen when you grow up," she said, as she stood on the shore and watched him paddle off against the wind.

He nodded laughingly. "So will you. Remember your promise," he called back.

The wind seemed to blow the little girl before it as she hurried across the rough field. She held tight to her velvet cap, and, for the first time, wondered if she had torn or soiled the pretty new dress in her scramble down the cliff. Her mind was so full of the happenings of the afternoon that she did not look ahead to see where she was going, and suddenly her foot slipped and she fell headlong into a mass of thorn bushes, which seemed to seize her dress in a dozen places. By the time Faith had fought her way clear her hands were scratched and bleeding and her dress torn in ragged ugly tears that Faith was sure could never be mended.

She began to cry bitterly. "It's all the fault of those hateful girls," she sobbed aloud. "If they had not run off and left me I should be safe at home. What will Aunt Prissy say?"

Faith reached the road without further mishap, and was soon walking up the path. There was no one in sight; not even Scotchie was about. A sudden resolve entered her mind. She would slip up-stairs, change her dress, and not tell her aunt about the torn dress. "Perhaps I can mend it, after all," she thought.

As she changed her dress hurriedly, she wondered where all the family could be, for the house was very quiet. But she bathed her hands and face, smoothed her ruffled hair, and then looked for a place to hide the blue dress until she could find a chance to mend it. She peered into the closet. A small hair-covered trunk stood in the far corner and Faith lifted the top and thrust her dress in. At that moment she heard Donald's voice, and then her aunt's, and she started to go down-stairs to meet them.



CHAPTER XII

SECRETS

"Did you see all the fort, and the guns, and the soldiers?" asked Donald eagerly, running to meet his cousin as she came slowly into the sitting-room. "Why, your hand is all scratched!" he added in a surprised tone.

Faith tried to cover the scratched hand with a fold of her skirt. Aunt Prissy noticed that the little girl wore her every-day dress.

"Didn't you wear your blue dress, Faithie?" and without waiting for an answer said: "Well, perhaps this one was just as well, for you might have hurt your blue dress."

Faith sat down on the big sofa thinking to herself that she could never be happy again. First, and worst of all, was the ruined dress. Then the remembrance of the way she had been treated by Caroline and Catherine; and, last of all, her secrets!—every one a little more important and dreadful than the other. First the blue beads; then Nathan's knowledge of a hidden entrance to Fort Ticonderoga; and then the dress. She was so taken up with her unhappy thoughts that she did not realize she had not answered Donald, or spoken to her aunt, until Donald, who was standing directly in front of her, demanded: "What's the matter, Cousin Faith? Does your tooth ache?"

Faith shook her head. "I'm tired. I didn't have a good time at all. I don't like those girls," and, greatly to Donald's alarm, she put her head on the arm of the sofa and began to cry.

In an instant she felt Aunt Prissy's arm about her, and heard the kind voice say: "Never mind, dear child. Don't think about them."

After a little Aunt Prissy persuaded Faith to lie down and rest until supper time.

"I'll sit here with my sewing and keep you company," said Aunt Prissy. "It's an hour to candle-light."

Donald tiptoed out of the room, but was back in a moment standing in the doorway and beckoning his mother; and Mrs. Scott went quietly toward him, closing the door softly behind her.

"It's those girls. The ones Faith went with to the fort," Donald explained in a whisper. "They're on the door-step."

Caroline and Catherine were standing, very neat and demure, at the front door.

"Has your little girl got home?" inquired Catherine in her most polite manner; "she ran off and left us," added Caroline.

"Faith is safe at home," responded Mrs. Scott in a pleasant voice.

"Why didn't you ask them to supper, mother? You said you were going to," demanded Donald, as he watched the sisters walk down the path.

"Your cousin is too tired for company," said his mother, who had planned a little festivity for Faith and her friends on their return, but had quickly decided that her little niece would be better pleased not to see the sisters again that day.

"All the more cake for us then," said Donald cheerfully, for he had seen a fine cake on the dining-room table; "there comes the shoemaker's girl," he added. "Shall you ask her to stay, mother?"

"Yes, indeed," and Mrs. Scott turned to give Louise a cordial welcome.

"Faith is resting on the sofa, but you may go right in, Louise. I know she will be glad to see you," she said, smiling down at the dark-eyed little girl. "When are you coming to make us another visit?"

"Father said I might stay all night if you asked me," responded Louise, who now felt sure that Mrs. Scott was her friend.

"We shall be glad indeed to have you, my dear. Let me take your cap and cape. And go in and cheer up Faithie, for I fear she has had an unhappy time," said Mrs. Scott.

Louise's smile faded. She had never had a friend until Faith Carew came to Ticonderoga, and the thought that any one had made Faith unhappy made her ready to inflict instant punishment on the offenders.

"Oh, Louise! I'm so glad it's you!" exclaimed Faith, as she heard the sound of Louise's crutch stubbing across the floor.

Louise sat down beside the crumpled little figure on the sofa.

"What did they do, Faith?" she demanded.

Faith told the story of the walk to the fort; of the disagreeable manner of both Caroline and Catherine toward her, and of their disappearance as soon as they were inside the fort. But she did not tell of her efforts to find them, nor of Nathan Beaman's appearance.

"They are hateful things!" Louise declared, "but it won't be long before they'll go to Albany with their father. Oh!" she ended a little fearfully. "I ought not to have told that. It's a secret," she added quickly.

"No, it isn't. They told me," answered Faith, "and if it were a secret I shouldn't want to know it. I hate and despise secrets."

Louise looked at her friend with a little nod of comprehension. "That's because you have a secret," she said.

"How did you know, Louise?" and Faith wondered if it were possible Louise could know about the blue dress.

"I know," said Louise. "It's dreadful to know secrets. I can stay all night. My father has gone to the fort. Oh!" and again she put her hand over her mouth. "I ought not to have told that. He doesn't want any one to know."

Faith leaned back against the sofa with a little sigh of discouragement. It seemed to her there was nothing but secrets. She wished she was with her mother and father in her pleasant cabin home, where everybody knew about everything.

"Where's 'Lady Amy'?" asked Louise, quite sure that such a beautiful doll would comfort any trouble. And her question made Faith remember that Louise was a guest.

"I'll get her," she said, and in a few moments "Lady Amy" was sitting on the sofa between the two little friends, and Faith was displaying the new dresses that Aunt Prissy had helped her make for the doll.

"Father says he will buy me a doll," Louise announced, "and he's going to get me a fine string of beads, too, when he goes away again;" for the shoemaker went away frequently on mysterious business. Many of the settlers were quite sure that he carried messages for the British officers to other forts; but he came and went so stealthily that as yet no proof was held against him.

"I have some blue beads. My father is going to bring them when he comes to see me," said Faith. "I hope yours will be just like them."

Louise shook her head a little doubtfully. "I may never get them, after all. Father forgets things," she said.

Before supper time Faith was in a much happier state of mind. She had helped Louise with her reading lesson; they had played that the sofa was a throne and Lady Amy a queen, and that they were Lady Amy's daughters; and the unpleasantness of the early afternoon had quite vanished when the candles were lighted, and supper on the table.

The supper seemed a feast to the shoemaker's daughter. Every time she came to visit Faith Louise tasted some new dish, so daintily prepared that she was at once eager to learn to make it. Faith was hungry, too, and, as no reference was made to her trip to the fort, she enjoyed her supper; and not until it was finished was she reminded of her troubles.

"To-morrow Louise may go to church with us, and you may wear your blue dress that you are so careful of," Aunt Prissy said.

Faith made no response. She did not know what to do or say. She was so quiet that her aunt was sure her little niece was overtired, and soon after supper sent the little girls off to bed.

"What is the matter, Faith?" questioned Louise, when they were safely in the big chamber, with its high white bed, curtained windows, and comfortable chairs, and which to Louise seemed the finest bedroom in all the world.

Faith threw herself face down on the bed. "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do! I've spoiled my blue dress!" she sobbed. There! That was one secret the less, she thought. And Louise would never tell. "I can't go to church. I don't dare tell Aunt Prissy about the dress. It was to be my best dress all winter," she added. "What shall I do, Louise?"

Louise shook her head. That Faith Carew, who seemed to her to be the most fortunate girl in all the world, should be in trouble was a far more dreadful thing to Louise than any trouble of her own.

"Let me see the dress," she said; "perhaps it isn't very bad."

Faith opened the trunk and pulled out the blue dress, which only that morning had been so fresh and dainty. Now it was rumpled, soiled and torn. Faith's tears flowed afresh as she held it out for Louise to see.

"I guess you'd better tell your aunt," Louise said soberly. "Tell her now, this minute," she added quickly; "the sooner the better."

Faith looked at her in surprise. She wondered at herself that she had hidden the dress, or even thought of not telling Aunt Prissy.

"I'll go now," she said, and, still holding the dress, walked out of the room. She no longer felt afraid. As she went down the stairs she thought over all Aunt Prissy's goodness toward her. "I'll tell her that I can wear my other dress for best," she decided.

The boys were already in bed; Mr. Scott was attending to the evening chores, and Aunt Prissy was alone in the sitting-room when Faith appeared in the doorway.

"Aunt Prissy, look! I tore my dress coming home to-day, and I was afraid to tell you! Oh, Aunt Prissy!" for her aunt had taken Faith and the blue dress into her arms, and held the little girl closely as she said:

"Why, dear child! How could you ever be afraid of me? About a dress, indeed! A torn dress is nothing. Nothing at all."

"Louise, you are my very best friend," Faith declared happily, as she came running into the room a few minutes later. "I am so glad you made me tell."

Louise looked at Faith with shining eyes. She wished there was some wonderful thing that she could do for Faith as a return for all the happiness her friendship had brought into her life.

The clouds had lifted. Faith had disposed of one secret, and felt the others would not matter very much. The two little friends snuggled down in the big feather bed and were soon fast asleep.



CHAPTER XIII

LOUISE MAKES A PRESENT

The week following Faith's visit to the fort proved rather a difficult one for her at school. Caroline and Catherine seemed to think they had played a fine joke, and accused her of running home when they were waiting for her. Faith had resolved not to quarrel with them, but apparently the sisters meant to force her into trouble, if sneering words and ridicule could do it.

"You're an American, so you don't dare talk back," sneered Catherine one day when Faith made no reply to the assertion that Faith had meant to run home from the fort alone.

"Americans are not afraid," replied Faith quickly.

Catherine jumped up and down with delight at having made Faith angry.

"Oh, yes they are. My father says so. Another summer the English soldiers are going to take all the farms, and all you rebels will be our servants," declared Catherine.

"Another summer the Green Mountain Boys will send the English soldiers where they will behave themselves," declared Faith. "Ethan Allen is braver than all the men in that fort."

"I don't care what you say. We're not going to play with you any more, are we, Caroline?" said Catherine. "You play with that horrid little lame girl."

"She isn't horrid. She is much better than you are. She wouldn't say or do the things you do!" responded Faith, now too angry to care what she said, "and she is my very best friend. I wouldn't play with you anyway. You're only Tory children," and Faith walked off with her head lifted very proudly, feeling she had won the battle; as indeed she had, for the sisters looked after her in silent horror.

To be called "only" Tory children was a new point of view, and for several days they let Faith wholly alone. Then one morning they appeared at school with the news that it would be their last appearance there.

"We're going to Albany, and never coming back to this rough common place," Catherine said.

"I am glad of it," Faith replied sharply; "perhaps you will learn to be polite in Albany."

Some of the other children overheard these remarks, and a little titter of amusement and satisfaction followed Faith's words. For the sisters had made no effort to be friendly with their schoolmates, and not one was sorry to see the last of them.

Faith awoke each morning hoping that her father would come that day, but it was toward the last of November before he appeared. There had been several light falls of snow; the ground was frozen and ice formed along the shores of the lake. The days were growing shorter, and Mrs. Scott had decided that it was best for Faith to come straight home from school at night, instead of stopping in to help Louise with her lessons. But both the little girls were pleased with the new plan that Mrs. Scott suggested, for Louise to come home with Faith on Tuesdays and Fridays and stay all night. Louise was learning a good deal more than to read and write. Mrs. Scott was teaching her to sew neatly, and Faith had taught her to knit. She was always warmly welcomed by Donald and the two younger boys, and these visits were the bright days of the week for Louise.

At last, when Faith had begun to think her father might not come after all, she returned from school one night to find him waiting for her. It was difficult to tell which of the two, father or daughter, was the happier in the joy of seeing each other. Mr. Carew had arrived in the early afternoon, and Aunt Prissy was now busy preparing the evening meal and Faith and her father had the sitting-room to themselves. There was so much to say that Faith hardly knew where to begin, after she had listened to all her father had to tell her of her mother.

"I would have come before, but I have been waiting for Kashaqua to come and stay with your mother," said Mr. Carew. "She appeared last night, and will stay until I return. And your mother could have no better protector. Kashaqua is proud enough since we proved our confidence in her by sending you here in her charge."

Faith told him about Louise, and was surprised to see her father's face grave and troubled. For Mr. Carew had heard of the shoemaker, and was sure that he was an English spy, and feared that his daughter's friendship with Faith might get the Scotts into some trouble.

"She is my dearest friend. I tell her everything," went on Faith.

"I'm afraid her father is not a friend to the settlers about here," replied Mr. Carew. "Be careful, dear child, that you do not mention any of the visitors who come to your uncle's house. Your friend would mean no harm, but if she told her father great harm might come of it," for Mr. Scott was doing his best to help the Americans. Messengers from Connecticut and Massachusetts with news for the settlers came to his house, and Mr. Scott found ways to forward their important communications to the men on the other side of Lake Champlain.

"Aunt Prissy likes Louise; we all do," pleaded Faith; so her father said no more, thinking that perhaps he had been overanxious.

"Your mother sent your blue beads. I expect you would have been scolded a little for being a careless child if you had been at home, for she found them under the settle cushion the very day you left home," said Mr. Carew, handing Faith two small packages. "The larger package is one that came from Esther Eldridge a few weeks ago," he added, in answer to Faith's questioning look.

"I wonder what it can be," said Faith; but before she opened Esther's package she had taken the blue beads from the pretty box and put them around her neck, touching them with loving fingers, and looking down at them with delight. Then she unfastened the wrapping of the second package.

"Here is a letter!" she exclaimed, and began reading it. As she read her face brightened, and at last she laughed with delight. "Oh, father! Read it! Esther says to let you and mother read it. And she has sent me another string of beads!" And now Faith opened the other box, a very pretty little box of shining yellow wood with "Faith" cut on the top, and took out another string of blue beads, so nearly like her own that it was difficult to tell them apart.

Mr. Carew read Esther's letter. She wrote that she had lost Faith's beads, and had been afraid to tell her. "Now I am sending you another string that my father got on purpose. I think you were fine not to say a word to any one about how horrid I was to ask for your beads. Please let your mother and father read this letter, so they will know how polite you were to company."

"So it was Esther who lost the beads! Well, now what are you going to do with two strings of beads?" said her father smilingly.

When Aunt Prissy came into the room Faith ran to show her Esther's present and the letter, and told her of what had happened when she had so rashly promised to give Esther anything she might ask for. "I am so glad to have my own beads back again. And most of all I am glad not to have the secret," she said, thinking to herself that life was much happier when father and mother and Aunt Prissy could know everything that she knew. Then, suddenly, Faith recalled the fort, and the difficult climb down the cliff. "But that's not my secret. It's something outside. Something that I ought not to tell," she thought, with a little sense of satisfaction.

"But which string of beads did Esther send you? I can't tell them apart," she heard Aunt Prissy say laughingly.

When the time came for Mr. Carew to start for home Faith was sure that she wanted to go home with him. And it was only when her father had promised to come after her early in March, "or as soon as March stirs the fire, and gives a good warm day," he said, that Faith could be reconciled and persuaded to let him go without her. She was glad indeed that it was a Tuesday, and that Louise would come to stay all night. Faith was eager to tell Louise the story of the blue beads, and to show her those Esther had sent, and those that Aunt Prissy had given her. Faith was sure that she herself could tell the beads apart, and equally sure that no one else could do so.

Louise was waiting at the gate when Faith came from school. At the first sight of her Faith was hardly sure that it was Louise; for the little girl at the gate had on a beautiful fur coat. It was made of otter skins, brown and soft. On her head was a cap of the same fur; and, as Faith came close, she saw that Louise wore fur mittens.

"Oh, Louise! Your coat is splendid," she exclaimed. "And you look so pretty in it; and the cap and mittens." And Faith looked at Louise, smiling with delighted admiration.

Louise nodded happily. "My father sent to Albany for them. A man brought them last night," she said. "You do truly like them?" she questioned, a little anxiously.

"Of course! Any girl would think they were beautiful. Aunt Prissy will be just as glad as I am," declared Faith. "What's in that big bundle?" she added, as Louise lifted a big bundle from beside the gate.

But if Louise heard she made no reply, and when Faith offered to carry the package she shook her head laughingly. Faith thought it might be something that Louise wanted to work on that evening, and was so intent on telling of her father's visit, the blue beads, and the promised visit to her own dear home in March, that she did not really give much thought to the package.

Aunt Prissy was at the window watching for the girls, with the three little boys about her. They all came to the door, and Aunt Prissy exclaimed, just as Faith had done, over the beauty of Louise's new possessions. "But what is in that big bundle, Louise?" she asked, when the little lame girl had taken off coat, cap and mittens, and stood smiling up at her good friend.

"Once you said to me that a present was something that any one ought to be very happy to receive," she said.

"Yes, I remember. And I know you are happy over your father's gift," replied Mrs. Scott.

Louise nodded, and began unwrapping the bundle.

"This is my present to Faith," she said, struggling to untie the heavy string.

"Let me, Louise; let me," and Donald was down on his knees and in a moment the bundle was opened, and Donald exclaimed:

"My! It's a coat exactly like Louise's."

"There's a cap too, and mittens," said Louise eagerly. "Do try it on."

Donald stood holding the coat; and Faith, as excited and happy as Louise, slipped on the coat, put the cap on her head and held out her hands for the mittens.

"Oh, Louise! They are lovely. I may keep them, mayn't I, Aunt Prissy?" she asked, turning about for her aunt to see how nicely the coat fitted.

Neither of the little girls noticed that Mrs. Scott looked grave and a little troubled, for she was thinking that this was almost too fine a present for her little niece to accept from the shoemaker's daughter. But she knew that to refuse to let Faith accept it would not only make both the girls very unhappy, but that Mr. Trent would forbid Louise coming to the house, and so stop all her friendly efforts to help Louise; so she added her thanks to those of Faith, and the two little friends were as happy as it is possible to be over giving and receiving a beautiful gift. Faith even forgot her blue beads in the pleasure of possessing the pretty coat and cap.



CHAPTER XIV

A BIRTHDAY

"Can you skate, Cousin Faith?" asked Donald, on their way to school one morning in late December. There had been a week of very cold weather, and the ice of the lake glittered temptingly in the morning sun.

"No, I never had any skates, and there wasn't a very good chance for skating at home," answered Faith regretfully; for many of the school children were eager for the sport, and told her of their good times on the ice.

"Mother has a pair of skates for you; I heard her say so; and father is going to teach you to skate," responded Donald. "I can skate," he added, "and after you learn we'll have a fine time. Nat Beaman comes across the lake on the ice in no time."

It was rather difficult for Faith to pay attention to her studies that day. She wondered when Aunt Prissy would give her the skates, and Uncle Phil teach her how to use them. And when the schoolmaster announced that there would be no school for the remainder of the week Faith felt that everything was planned just right for her. Now, she thought, she could begin the very next day, if only the cold, clear weather would continue.

The sun set clear and red that night, and the stars shone brightly. Faith was sure the next day would be pleasant. Donald found a chance to tell Faith that the skates were a "secret." "But I didn't know it until just a few minutes ago," he explained, adding briefly: "I hate secrets."

Faith agreed heartily. If the skates were a secret who could tell when Aunt Prissy would give them to her? She went to bed a little despondent, thinking to herself that as soon as she was clear of one secret another seemed ready to interfere with her happiness. But she was soon asleep, and woke up to find the sun shining in at her windows, and Aunt Prissy starting the fire with a shovelful of coals from the kitchen hearth. And what were those shining silver-like objects swinging from the bed-post?

"Skates! My skates!" she exclaimed, sitting up in bed. "Oh, Aunt Prissy! I did want them so to-day."

"They are your birthday present from your father and mother," said Aunt Prissy, coming to the side of the bed, and leaning over to kiss her little niece. "Eleven years old to-day! And you had forgotten all about it!"

"Why, so I am! Why, so I did!" said Faith. "Well, I like secrets that end this way. May I go skating right away, Aunt Prissy?"

"Breakfast first!" laughed Aunt Prissy, and was out of the room before Faith had noticed that lying across the foot of her bed was a dress of pretty plaided blue and brown wool. A slip of paper was pinned to it: "For Faith to wear skating," she read.

"Lovely! Lovely!" exclaimed Faith, as she hastened to dress in front of the blazing fire.

"Why, here are new stockings, too," she said, as she discovered a pair of warm knit brown and blue stockings.

She came running into the dining-room, skates in hand, to be met by her uncle and little cousins with birthday greetings. Donald had at last finished the bow and arrows that he had promised her weeks before, and now gave them to her; Hugh had made a "quiver," a little case to hold the arrows, such as the Indians use, of birch bark, and little Philip had a dish filled with molasses candy, which he had helped to make.

It was a beautiful morning for Faith, and the broiled chicken and hot corn cake gave the breakfast an added sense of festivity.

Soon after breakfast Mr. Scott, Donald and Faith were ready to start for the lake. Donald took his sled along. "So we can draw Cousin Faith home, if she gets tired," he explained, with quite an air of being older and stronger than his cousin.

Aunt Prissy watched them start off, thinking to herself that Faith had never looked so pretty as she did in the fur coat and cap, with her skates swinging from her arm, the bright steel catching the rays of sunlight.

They crossed the road, and went down the field to the shore. The hard crust gave Faith and Donald a fine coast down the slope, and both the children exclaimed with delight when Mr. Scott, running and sliding, reached the shore almost as soon as they did.

Mr. Scott fastened on Faith's skates, and held up by her uncle on one side and Donald on the other, Faith ventured out on the dark, shining ice. After a few lurches and tumbles, she found that she could stand alone, and in a short time could skate a little.

"Father, are those Indians?" asked Donald, pointing to a number of dark figures coming swiftly down the lake from the direction of the fort.

Mr. Scott looked, and answered quickly: "Yes. They have seen us; so we will skate toward them. They will probably be friendly." But he told Faith to sit down on the sled, and took fast hold of Donald's hand. In a few moments the flying figures of the Indians were close at hand. There were six of them, young braves, and evidently racing either for sport, or bound on some errand of importance, for they sped straight past the little group, with a friendly call of salutation.

"I wonder what that means," said Mr. Scott, turning to watch them. "It may be they are on their way to Albany as messengers from the fort," he added, as if speaking to himself.

"What kind of a message, Uncle Philip?" asked Faith.

"Heaven knows, child. Perhaps for troops enough to crush the American settlers, and drive them from their homes," replied Mr. Scott. For news of the trouble in Boston, the blockade of the port, and the lack of supplies, had reached the men of the Wilderness; and Mr. Scott knew that the English were planning to send a larger body of troops to Fort Ticonderoga and Crown Point, and the sight of these speeding Indians made him wonder if they might not be English messengers.

"Couldn't we stop them, uncle?" asked Faith, so earnestly that her uncle looked down at her in smiling surprise.

"Couldn't we? It will be dreadful to leave our homes," said Faith.

Mr. Scott swung the little girl gently around. "Look!" he said, pointing down the lake. Already the Indians were but dark specks in the distance. "If trouble comes there are brave Americans ready," he said; "and now we had best be going toward home, or you will be too tired to come out this afternoon."

Faith and Donald were surprised to find that it was dinner time. They had a great deal to tell Aunt Prissy of their morning's adventures.

"Could a little girl do anything to help, Aunt Prissy, if the English do try to drive us away?" Faith asked, as she helped her aunt clear the dining-room table.

"Who knows?" responded Mrs. Scott, cheerfully. "A brave girl might be of great service. But I do not believe the Tories will dare go much farther. At all events, we will be ready for them. Run to the door, Faithie; there comes Louise."

Louise was as pleased over Faith's presents as Faith herself, and delighted at the prospect of going to the lake with Faith and Donald that afternoon. Faith and Donald promised to draw her on the sled, and Aunt Prissy was to be their companion.

"Mother can skate like a bird," Donald declared admiringly.

Louise was no longer the sullen, sad-faced child whom Faith had first seen. She knew that she had friends; she was included in all the pleasant happenings with Faith; her father seemed to take pride in her appearance; and best of all, she thought, she was to begin school when the spring term opened. To-day as they started off for the lake she was as full of happiness as any child could be.

There were a number of children and young people on the ice, skating and sliding. A number of boys had built a bonfire on the shore, where they could warm their chilled toes and fingers.

Nathan Beaman was there, circling about in skilful curves, or darting off with long swift strokes, greatly to the admiration of the other children. He was quite ready to take the sled rope and give Louise a fine ride up the lake toward the fort, and back to the fire, and to guide Faith in her clumsy efforts to skate.

Faith and Louise were warming their fingers at the fire when they heard loud voices and a commotion on the ice.

"What is it? Indians?" exclaimed Faith, looking around, for the settlers never knew at what moment the Indians might become mischievous.

"No! Soldiers. Soldiers from the fort," replied Aunt Prissy, drawing the little girls away from the fire. "Perhaps they are only coming to warm their fingers."

Two red-coated soldiers came swinging close to the shore. They were talking loudly, and as they neared the fire they called out: "Clear away from that fire. We'll have no fires built on this shore. 'Tis too good a way to send messages across the lake."

With a couple of stout sticks they beat out the flame, kicking snow over the coals, and extinguishing the last bit of fire.

Mrs. Scott had helped Louise toward the ice, but Faith had lingered a moment. As one of the soldiers turned from the fire he found himself facing a little fur-clad figure with flushed cheeks and angry eyes.

"That was our fire. You had no business to put it out," Faith declared.

"Oh, ho! What's this?" laughed the soldier. "Do you own this lake? Or perhaps you are our new captain?"

"It is a mean thing to spoil our fire," continued Faith; "we wouldn't do you any harm."

"I'm not so sure about that," replied the soldier. "You have a pretty fierce expression," and with another kick at the fire, and a "good-bye, little rebel," to Faith, the two soldiers started back to the fort. The skaters now, troubled and angry by the unfriendly interference, were taking off their skates and starting for home.

"I wish American soldiers were in that fort," said Nat Beaman.

"Why don't you ask Colonel Allen to come and take it?" asked Faith earnestly; she was quite sure that Ethan Allen could do anything he attempted.

"Ask him yourself," responded Nathan laughingly.

"I guess I will," Faith thought to herself, as she followed Aunt Prissy up the field toward home. "Perhaps that would be doing something to help Americans."

The more Faith thought about this the stronger became her resolve to ask Colonel Allen to take possession of Fort Ticonderoga. She was so silent all the way home that her companions were sure she was overtired. Louise had to return to her own home, and soon after supper Faith was ready to go to bed.

"I've got a real secret now; even if I don't like secrets," she thought to herself. For she realized that she could not tell any one of her determination to find some way to ask Ethan Allen to capture Ticonderoga and send the troublesome English soldiers back to their own homes.



CHAPTER XV

NEW ADVENTURES

"It will be a good day to put a quilt in the frame," said Aunt Prissy, the morning after Faith's birthday. "You and Donald can help me with it right after breakfast; then while you children are off to the lake I will mark the pattern."

"Can't I help mark the pattern?" asked Faith, who had sometimes helped her mother, and thought it the most interesting part of the quilting.

The quilting-frame, four long strips of wood, was brought into the sitting-room and rested on the backs of four stout wooden chairs, forming a square. The frame was held firmly together at the corners by clamps and screws, so that it could be changed and adjusted to fit the quilt.

This quilt was a very pretty one, Faith thought, as she watched Aunt Prissy fasten it to the frame with stout linen thread. It was made of bits of bright woolen cloth. There were pieces of Faith's new dresses, and of the dresses made for Louise, and they were neatly stitched together in a diamond-shaped pattern. Faith had made a good many of these, and so had Louise in the evenings as they sat with Aunt Prissy before the open fire.

First of all Aunt Prissy had fastened the lining for the quilt to the frame. Over this she spread an even layer of soft wool, and then over this the bright patchwork was spread and fastened. And now it was ready to mark the quilting pattern.

Aunt Prissy took a ball of firm twine and rubbed it well with white chalk. The cord was fastened tightly across the surface of the quilt.

"Now," said Aunt Prissy, and Faith took the tight cord up and "snap" it went when her fingers released their hold, leaving a straight white mark across the quilt. Back and forth they stretched the cord and "snapped" the line, until the quilt was marked in a checkerboard pattern of white lines, which the quilters would follow with their neat stitches.

"I believe I'll have a quilting bee to-morrow," said Aunt Prissy. "When you and Donald start out you can go down and ask the minister's wife, and be sure and say that we shall expect Mr. Fairbanks to tea. Then ask Neighbor Willis and her husband, and Mrs. Tuttle. I think that will be a pleasant number."

"May I help quilt?" asked Faith.

"Of course you may. Tell Mrs. Tuttle to bring her daughter. And now, my dear, in what manner will you ask our friends to the quilting party and to tea?" asked Aunt Prissy, looking down at her little niece with her pretty smile.

"I shall rap at the minister's door first, of course; and when Mrs. Fairbanks opens the door I shall make my best curtsy, like this:" and Faith took a bit of her skirt in each hand, and bent in a very pretty curtsy indeed; "and I shall say: 'Good-morning, Mrs. Fairbanks. My Aunt Prissy will be very happy if you and the minister will come to her quilting bee to-morrow afternoon and stay to tea.'"

Aunt Prissy nodded approvingly. "I think that will do very nicely indeed. Now put on your things and run along. Donald is waiting."

Donald and "Scotchie" were at the door when Faith was ready to start. The big dog barked his delight at being allowed to go with the children.

"I'd like to harness him to the sled; he could draw us both," suggested Donald, but Faith was sure that "Scotchie" would upset the sled; so her cousin gave up the project.

"We can go on the lake just below Mrs. Tuttle's house, and skate along the shore home; can't we, Cousin Faith?" asked Donald, after they had stopped at Mrs. Willis' house and that of the clergyman.

"Let's call and get Louise," suggested Faith.

"Oh, there won't be time. Look, there goes an English soldier into the shoemaker's now. The boys all say that the shoemaker is an English spy," answered Donald.

They were nearly in front of Mr. Trent's shop now, and Faith noticed that the soldier was the one who had been on the lake the previous day, and who had called her "a little rebel."

"Come to the back door, Donald. Just a moment, while I speak to Louise. And make 'Scotchie' keep still," said Faith, turning into the path leading to the back door.

"Scotchie" was barking fiercely as if he resented the sight of the redcoat.

The soldier turned quickly. "Stop that dog before I put a bullet into him," he called.

"He's afraid," Donald whispered to Faith, with a word to "Scotchie," and Faith ran up the path and entered the house.

Donald and "Scotchie" stood waiting, the dog growling now and then, whenever the soldier moved about on the door-step. It was evident that the shoemaker was not at home, for no answer came to the raps. In a moment Louise appeared at the door and told the man that her father was not at home.

"Send that boy with the dog about his business," said the soldier.

"'Tis the public road, sir; and 'tis not likely he'd mind what I might say," responded Louise smilingly, as she closed the door.

Donald rested his mittened hand on "Scotchie's" head.

"You needn't be afraid. I won't let him hurt you," Donald called.

The soldier came down the path scowling.

"I've a great mind to kick the beast," he said.

"You'd better not," said Donald.

Evidently the man agreed, for he went past as quickly as possible. Donald watched him with a little scornful smile. The boy was not old enough to realize, as Faith did, the difference between these hired soldiers of England, and the brave Americans who were ready to undertake any sacrifice to secure the freedom of their country, but he was a brave boy, and thought poorly of this soldier's courage.

Louise listened to Faith's hurried account of the proposed quilting party.

"And you must come too, Louise," she concluded, "and come early."

Louise promised. She had never been to a quilting party, and was sure that it would be a great experience. She could not go to the lake, for she must not leave the house until her father returned.

When Faith rejoined Donald he told her of the soldier's evident fear of the dog. "I don't see what made 'Scotchie' growl so," added Donald.

"I'm glad he did," responded Faith. "Come on; let's hurry, or we won't have much time on the ice," so off they went across the field.

But as they reached the shore they looked at each other questioningly. The lake seemed to be in the possession of the redcoats. At least half the garrison of the fort were on the ice; skating, racing, and evidently enjoying themselves.

"We had better go home," said Faith, and Donald made no objections. The two children, disappointed of their morning's sport, went slowly back toward home.

"That's the way they take everything," declared Faith, renewing her promise to herself to try in some way to let Ethan Allen know how easy it would be to drive the English from Ticonderoga.

"I am glad you did not venture on the ice," Aunt Prissy said when Donald and Faith told their story. "The English become less friendly every day. Well, we will not think of them when there is so much to do as we have before us."

"I asked Louise to come to the quilting," said Faith.

"That's right; and I am going to send Donald to ask a number of your schoolmates to come in the evening. The moon will be full to light them home, and you children can have the kitchen to yourselves after supper, and make molasses candy," said Aunt Prissy.

This seemed a very delightful idea to both Faith and Donald. The thought of making candy reminded Faith of Esther Eldridge, and of the bear's sudden appearance at the kitchen door. Mr. Carew had promised Faith to ask Esther's father to bring her to visit Faith on her return home, and Faith often thought of how much she and Esther would have to tell each other.

That afternoon Faith helped her Aunt Prissy in preparing for the quilting. Aunt Prissy was cooking a ham, and the brick oven held some of the spiced cakes that the children liked so well. Donald cracked a big dish full of hickory-nuts, while Faith rubbed the pewter plates and pitchers until they shone like silver. The two younger boys ran in and out of the kitchen, thinking a quilting party must be a great affair.

Mr. Scott had been cutting wood at the edge of the forest, and did not return until nearly dusk; and when he arrived there was a man with him—evidently a traveler, for there was a pack on his back, and he was tired. Faith heard her Aunt Prissy call the stranger by name, and welcome him.

"Why, it is Esther's father. Of course it is!" she exclaimed suddenly.

Mr. Eldridge told her all about Esther, and promised that his little daughter should again visit the Wilderness cabin. Faith wondered what business it was that took Mr. Eldridge through the Wilderness and up and down the lakes. Long afterward she discovered that he was one of the trusted messengers of the American leaders, and through him the American settlers along the lake shores and through the New Hampshire Grants were kept informed of what the English were doing. She did not know that he underwent constant danger.

The little boys went early to bed that night, but Faith was not sleepy. The firelight in the sitting-room made dancing pictures on the wall, as she sat in a small chair at the end of the sofa. The sound of Aunt Prissy's knitting needles made her think of the silvery tinkle of the mill-stream under the winter ice in her Wilderness home. Mr. Eldridge and her uncle were talking quietly. She heard her uncle say that: "Ticonderoga was the lock to the gate of the country," and Mr. Eldridge respond that until Crown Point and Ticonderoga were taken by the Americans that none of the colonies could be safe.

"If there were any way to get into Fort Ticonderoga," said Mr. Eldridge. "They say there's a secret passageway."

Faith was all attention at this. She quite forgot that she was listening to conversation not intended for her ears, as she heard her uncle answer:

"There is such a door, but no way for an American to find it. If some one could get entrance to the fort in that way, discover just the plan of the place, and escape, it would be of the greatest service to the Americans when the right time came to take the fort."

"Time for bed, Faithie," said Aunt Prissy, and, very reluctantly, the little girl went up-stairs. She was thinking of all that her uncle and Mr. Eldridge had said, and of the unguarded door opening on the cliff at the fort. She wondered if she could make her way up that steep cliff as easily as Nathan had declared he had so often done.

"Perhaps Nathan will help capture the fort," she thought. "Anyway he could show the Green Mountain Boys the way. If I were at home I would put a note in that cave near Lake Dunmore and tell Ethan Allen about Nathan."

Only Ethan Allen and a few of his friends knew of this mountain cave, and it was there messages were left for him by the men of the Wilderness.



CHAPTER XVI

LOUISE DISAPPEARS

The guests for the quilting party arrived at an early hour in the afternoon. All that morning Faith and Aunt Prissy were busy. Dishes filled with red apples were brought up from the cellar; cakes were made ready, and the house in order before dinner time.

Only one little girl, Jane Tuttle, had been asked to come in the early afternoon. Jane was about Faith's age, and at school they were in the same classes. She was not very tall, and was very fat. Jane was one of the children whom Caroline and Catherine Young had taken especial delight in teasing.

"Jane, Jane! Fat and plain; With a button nose and turned-in toes,"

they would call after her, until the little girl dreaded the very sight of them. When Faith had proved that she was not afraid of the sisters Jane Tuttle became her steadfast admirer, and was greatly pleased to come in the afternoon with her mother. But she was surprised to find Louise Trent there before her, and evidently very much at home. However, she was too kind-hearted a child not to be pleasant and polite to the lame girl, and Louise was now as ready to make friends as, before knowing Faith, she had been sullen and unfriendly.

Each of the girls was encouraged to set a few neat stitches in the quilt. Then, on the arrival of Mrs. Fairbanks and Mrs. Lewis, Aunt Prissy told Faith that if she wanted to take the little girls to her own room she might do so.

There was a glowing fire on the hearth, and Faith was pleased for Jane to see her pleasant chamber, and to introduce "Lady Amy."

"I wish I had brought my doll," said Jane, as the little girls gathered in front of the fire. "Mine is one my mother made for me."

"There, Louise! We could make you a doll!" exclaimed Faith, knowing how much her friend had always wished for a doll of her own.

But Louise shook her head. "I guess I am too old for dolls; I'm twelve," she said slowly, "and I don't have time to make dresses for dolls now that I'm learning to read and write. You see," and she turned to Jane, "I keep house for my father."

Jane looked at Louise, wondering to herself why she had ever imagined that Louise Trent was a girl that she could not have for a friend. Why, Louise was really pretty! thought fat little Jane, looking admiringly at the smooth black hair, and the neat and pretty dress. And so nearly grown-up, too. Twelve years old! Jane resolved to go and see Louise, and to ask her to come for a visit.

"I shall always play with dolls," she heard Faith declare. "I'd like to have a regiment of dolls, and play games with them. Wouldn't it be fun to have dolls that we could make up names for, and then have them do all sorts of things?"

Louise and Jane agreed that would be a fine game.

"We could dress up the pillows on your bed for dolls," suggested Louise.

"Yes, and put my dresses on them," responded Faith eagerly, running to the closet and bringing out the blue dress, a skirt and a small shawl. It was not long before two "cushiony" figures, as large as Jane, were seated on the bed.

"Let's put our coats and caps on them, Faith; and when the other girls come this evening we'll make them think the pillows are company," suggested Louise.

Jane jumped about the room with delight as Faith and Louise adjusted the caps and fur coats.

"We'll introduce them as Annie Snow and Mary White," said Faith. "It will be fun to see what the girls will say."

Four little girls were expected, and several boy friends of Donald's. Aunt Prissy wondered a little at Faith's eagerness to take the girls directly up-stairs on their arrival, but she was greatly pleased to see that Louise, Jane and Faith were evidently having a delightful time.

It was nearly dusk when the little visitors arrived, and Faith's room was rather dim and shadowy. The little girls coming in were rather surprised to find that there were strangers, evidently just arrived, sitting on Faith's bed.

"Girls, these are two of my best friends, Annie Snow and Mary White," said Faith, trying hard not to laugh, as her schoolmates bowed politely and greeted the stout figures on the bed, who, apparently, did not hear the introductions.

Jane, giggling with delight, circled around the newcomers; while Louise seated herself on the bed and began talking to Annie Snow. Faith endeavored to make the newcomers at ease, and it was not long before she had to run down-stairs to help her aunt with the supper, leaving Louise and Jane to carry on the game.

The children were to have their supper in the kitchen. The tables for young and old had been spread before the arrival of any of the guests, so there was but little for Aunt Prissy and Faith to do before calling the guests to supper.

Louise was the last one to enter the kitchen, her face radiant with fun and delight at the success of "Annie Snow" and "Mary White." She found a chance to tell Faith that "Annie" and "Mary" had managed to say that they didn't feel like eating supper, and that the girls had not yet discovered the joke.

"We'll bring them down after supper," Faith whispered.

"Are your friends from the Wilderness?" asked Peggy Tibbetts, the oldest girl of the party, as Faith sat down beside her.

"No," Faith answered slowly. "They are both coming down after supper, and I know you will be surprised when I tell you that they live right in this house."

Peggy Tibbetts was surprised. She looked almost frightened, and lost no time in whispering this information to the other girls; so that when Faith announced that she would run up-stairs and ask "Annie" and "Mary" to come down there was an anxious silence.

Faith asked Jane to go with her, and in a few moments they returned with the two clumsy "girls." In the brightly-lit kitchen the dressed-up figures could no longer be mistaken, and the children were greatly pleased and amused by "Annie" and "Mary," who were established in straight-backed chairs, and urged to share in the supper.

There was so much laughter and merriment in the kitchen that Aunt Prissy looked in for a moment. "Faithie dear, who are the little girls in the corner?" she asked. To Louise and Jane this seemed a triumph indeed, and when Aunt Prissy, entering into the spirit of the affair, insisted upon being introduced to "Annie" and "Mary," and said she was very glad to see them, the children danced about, greatly pleased with this unexpected fun.

When the clock struck nine the grown people and children were all ready to start for home. Louise was to stay all night with Faith. As the children said their good-byes and stepped out into the snow-trodden path they called back messages to "Annie" and "Mary." The full moon shone down so brightly that the path could be plainly seen, and in the distance the dark line of the forest, and the heights of Ticonderoga.

"It's the best time I ever had in all my life," declared Jane, as she trotted off holding fast to her mother's hand.

And Faith said the same as she bade Aunt Prissy good-night. "It's fun to have parties, isn't it, Aunt Prissy," she said, "and all the girls are so pleasant."

"That is what makes the good time, isn't it?" responded her aunt.

"I hope it won't storm to-morrow," Louise said, as the two girls prepared for bed.

"What makes you think of a storm?" questioned Faith.

"There was a ring around the moon," said Louise; "that's one sign, and the air felt like snow."

But Faith was too happy over the evening to think about weather signs. She had, for that night, quite forgotten about the English soldiers and her resolve to send a message to Ethan Allen.

Louise's predictions proved right; for when the morning came snow was falling steadily, and great drifts were heaped up against the walls and fences. A chill east wind came sweeping across the ice-bound lake, and it was plain that there would be no more skating for many days.

For nearly a week trails and roads were impassable. Mr. Trent, knowing that Louise was safe and happy with her friends, made no effort to reach her; and the Scotts were glad to keep indoors, safe from the fierce cold and wind.

Donald and Hugh dug a tunnel to the shop, and Mr. Scott kept a path open to the barn, while indoors Aunt Prissy kept the two girls busy and happy. She declared that she had been hoping for a day to dye some recently woven blankets, and asked Faith what color she thought would be best.

"But how can you make any color you like, Aunt Prissy?" asked Faith.

"Perhaps not 'any color I like,' but I have a good lot of colors to choose from," replied Aunt Prissy. "People who live in the wilderness need only to step outdoors to find almost anywhere some plant that furnishes dye, and I gather my dye-plants and roots every summer, as I am sure your own mother does."

"I know mother always gathers the dogwood roots to make a scarlet dye. Kashaqua told her about that," answered Faith. "The Indians use it for their feathers."

"And I am sure your mother dyed your brown dress with the shells of the hickory-nut," said Aunt Prissy, "and the yellow root is what I used to color the covers on the chair cushions in your room."

This was all new to Louise, and she listened eagerly, thinking to herself that she would color the faded quilts on her own bed; and that another summer she would gather a good supply of the roots and plants of which Mrs. Scott spoke.

"The pokeweed berries will color a good red," continued Mrs. Scott; "but for scarlet we must use the dogwood roots."

Then Mrs. Scott showed the little girls her bundles of dyestuffs, each plant and root tied up and marked carefully with its name and use. A large number of the dogwood roots were put into a huge iron kettle, the kettle filled with water, and hung over the fire. When it had boiled for several hours there would be a good scarlet dye in which the new blankets would be dipped. Then they would be hung to dry in the shed.

The next day the sun came out and shone brightly down on a white and glistening world, and that afternoon Mr. Trent came to take Louise home. He would not come in, but waited at the door until she was ready to go. But he thanked Mrs. Scott for all her kindness to his little daughter.

Faith was quite sure that Mr. Trent must be sorry to be a Tory instead of a loyal American. "But I suppose he can't help it," she decided, and always thought of her friend's father as unfortunate.

Faith and Louise always had so many things to talk about that they seldom spoke of the redcoats; and when they did Louise seemed to dislike them more than Faith herself.

Faith and Donald both had snow-shoes, and on their way to school, a few days later, Faith stopped at the shoemaker's door. But there was no response to her knock, and when she tried the door it would not open. She wondered where Louise and her father could be, but not until the next day did she hear that the shoemaker and Louise had left their home, apparently not to return. They had gone with a number of English families, on sledges, down the river, without a good-bye to the kind friends who had grown to love the little lame girl.

"I know Louise couldn't help it," Faith declared, when Aunt Prissy told her the news. "She will write to me, I know she will," but it was a long time before any word came to her from her little friend. And now Faith became more and more eager for March to come, that she might once more see her father and mother, and make some attempt to send a message to Ethan Allen.



CHAPTER XVII

FAITH AGAIN VISITS THE FORT

The night after hearing that Louise had gone Faith felt more nearly homesick than at any time since her arrival at her aunt's house. Everything seemed to remind her of her friend. Even "Lady Amy" made her remember that Louise had never owned a doll of her own.

"And I had meant to give Louise one of my strings of blue beads just as soon as I had asked Aunt Prissy," she thought, regretfully, holding up the pretty beads, and recalling how much Louise had admired them.

"Aunt Prissy," she called, running down the stairs and into the sitting-room, "may I not give Louise one of my bead necklaces?"

Aunt Prissy looked up in amazement.

"But how can you, Faithie, dear? We do not know where she is," she answered.

"We shall know some time. Of course we shall. And when we do, may I? I meant to ask you the day of the quilting," said Faith.

"Of course you may, child. I was sure that you would want to when Esther sent the beads. I only hope you may have a chance to give them to Louise at an early day," responded Aunt Prissy.

This decision proved a comfort to Faith. As the weeks went by, and no news of the shoemaker and his little daughter was received, she would often look at the string of blue beads which she meant to give her friend. "I wish I had given them to her on my birthday," she thought regretfully, "but she shall have them some time," for Faith was quite sure that it could not be very long before Louise would find a way to let them know where she was.

March came, "stirring the fire" vigorously from the day of its arrival. The ice in the lake broke up rapidly, the snow melted, and by the middle of the month Faith began to expect her father. Nathan Beaman, in his clumsy boat, had crossed from Shoreham a number of times. He often teasingly reminded Faith of her plan to ask Ethan Allen to come and take possession of Fort Ticonderoga.

"You'd better hurry. The British will be sending men down from Canada by early summer, and then 'twill be of no use for the Green Mountain Boys to try to capture the fort," he said.

"How do you always know so much about what the English are going to do?" asked Faith.

The children were all in the shop. Nathan was helping Donald in the construction of a small boat, and Faith and the two younger boys had been filling a basket with chips and shavings to carry into the house.

"Can't help knowing," answered Nathan. "I hear the men at the fort talking about all their fine plans to own all this country every time I go there."

"Nathan," and Faith lowered her voice so that the other children would not hear, "you know I promised not to tell about the door at the fort?"

Nathan nodded; he was looking at her sharply, and half feared that she was about to tell him that she had broken the promise.

"Well, of course I shan't tell. But if my telling some American would help send the soldiers away, mayn't I tell then?" and Faith's face was very serious as she waited for his response.

"Yes. I meant you weren't to tell Louise Trent, or those Young girls," said Nathan. "And don't tell any one unless you are sure it will be of some use. You see I may tell, if it comes to that."

Faith drew a long breath. "Thank you, Nathan," she said, in so serious a tone that the boy laughed aloud.

"You are as grave about that old fort as my father and the Shoreham men are. You ought to hear my father tell about the big fight here in 1758. He was a young man then, and the French held the fort, and the English were after it."

Donald had stopped his work, and he and Hugh were listening eagerly. "Tell us, tell us about it," said Donald.

"Father says there'll never be anything like it again. All the Colonies sent men, and Lord Howe brought thousands of English soldiers. England was our friend then," said Nathan. "They had thousands of boats, and rafts to carry their big guns. They had big flags, and music; and they didn't lurk or skulk about. Their boats came right down the lake in fine shape; they landed, and marched toward the fort. But the French were ready for them, and beat them back. However, the next year the English and Americans drove the French out."

"I guess the English are brave," Donald ventured, returning to his work.

"Of course they are. Why, we're all English ourselves," declared Nathan, "and that's why we won't stand being treated so unfairly. We can't stand it."

"I'm not English. I'm an American," said Faith; "and when the Americans take Ticonderoga that will be American too."

"That's the way to talk, little maid," said a gruff voice, and the children turned quickly toward the door.

"I didn't mean to listen," and a tall man, dressed in deerskin jacket and trousers, with moccasins, and wearing a fur cap, stepped into the shop, resting his musket against the wall near the door. "Shouldn't have dared come in if I had not heard I was in good company," he said laughingly, his sharp eyes looking carefully about the shop.

Nathan, with a half-muttered word of good-bye to the children, had started toward the door; but the newcomer's hand grasped his arm.

"Wait a minute!" he said, swinging the boy about. "I'm not so sure about letting you start off so smart. You may head straight for the fort, for all I know. What's your name?"

Nathan stood silent. His face flushed, but he looked the newcomer steadily in the face.

"Let go of Nathan!" said Donald sturdily, clutching at the man's arm, and kicking at his legs. "This isn't your shop. You let go of him."

"I guess I'd better," laughed the man, taking a firm hold of Donald and looking at both his captives in evident amusement. "Well, Philip Scott, what sort of a hornet's nest have you here?" he called out, and Faith turned around to see her Uncle Philip standing in the doorway. "I'll not let go these men until you promise to defend me," continued the stranger.

"You are safe, Phelps," responded Mr. Scott, coming forward and, as Nathan and Donald were released, giving the stranger a cordial welcome. Nathan vanished without a word, but on Mr. Scott's saying that he was the son of Mr. Beaman of Shoreham, the stranger was reassured. It was evident he did not wish his arrival to become known at the fort.

Faith heard the stranger say that he had come from Hartford, and that he would cross to the New Hampshire Grants as soon as he could safely do so.

"I'd like to look in at Fort Ticonderoga if I could without the soldiers knowing it," she heard him say, and her uncle replied that it would be impossible.

Faith was sure that this stranger was on some errand to the Green Mountain Boys, for he spoke of Remember Baker, and Seth Warner.

"I'd like to take Colonel Allen a plan of the fort," she heard him say, as she helped Aunt Prissy prepare an early dinner for their visitor.

Faith wished that she was grown up. Then, she was sure, she would dare to tell this stranger of the way up the cliff to the unguarded entrance. "He could go up this evening, and then he could tell Colonel Allen all about it," she thought, and before dinner was over she had resolved to find a way to tell him. But after a talk with Mr. Scott the visitor had declared he must get a few hours sleep. He said that he had been on the trail since very early that morning, and must be off again soon after sunset.

"Run in the sitting-room, Faithie, and fix a cushion for Mr. Phelps," said Aunt Prissy, and the little girl started obediently.

"I'll tell him now," she resolved, and as the tall man followed her she said quickly: "I know how you can get into the fort and no one see you. It's a secret. I'll show you. But Uncle Phil won't let me if you tell him."

"I'll not tell him. You are a brave child. Tell me quickly," responded the tall stranger.

"There's a canoe under the big willow at the bottom of the field——" began Faith, but he interrupted.

"Yes! Yes! I know. I am to cross the lake in it. But how can I get into the fort?"

"I could show you. I can't tell you," answered Faith.

"Then 'tis of small use. Harm might come to you, child," he answered, stretching himself out on the long settle with a tired sigh.

Faith went slowly back to the kitchen. Here was the very chance she had so long hoped for, and this stranger would not let her attempt it.

All that afternoon Faith was very quiet. She walked across the fields to the shore and looked at the big willow tree where the canoe was concealed. She looked off toward Mount Defiance, and Mount Hope, rising clearly against the sky, as if standing sentinels for Fort Ticonderoga.

"I'll try, anyway," she said to herself, as she turned toward home.

After supper she went early up-stairs. But she did not undress. She knew that her uncle would not go to the lake shore with his visitor, for that might attract the attention of some hunter or fisherman. It would not be long before Mr. Phelps would start. There was no time to lose. She put on her fur cap, and a knit jacket, and then peered out of the window. The sky was clear, and the moon made it almost as light as day. The sound of the falls came clearly through the quiet air.

"He could find his way up the cliff as plainly as if it were daylight," thought Faith, as she turned from the window.

She opened her door and closed it silently behind her. Her cousins were in bed, her uncle and aunt in the sitting-room with their visitor. Faith would have to pass the sitting-room door and go through the kitchen; the slightest noise would betray her. She had put on her moccasins, the ones Kashaqua had given her, and she stepped cautiously, without a sound. In a few moments she was safely out-of-doors and running across the field. She crouched down in the canoe and waited.

Faith did not hear or see the stranger as he came toward the shore—not until he grasped the canoe to push it into the water.

"King of Britain!" he whispered under his breath, when Faith spoke his name. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to show you the way into the fort. Yes! 'Twill take not more than an hour or two. Then you can leave me here. 'Twill do me no harm, and you will tell Colonel Allen about the fort," said Faith, in a whisper.

The man slid the canoe into the water. "You are well-named, Faith," he responded. "Well, 'tis a chance, and no man will harm a little maid," and with a stroke of his paddle he sent the canoe clear of the willows and headed toward the fort.

"Keep close to the shore," whispered Faith, peering anxiously ahead.

Several hours later Faith stepped from the canoe, and said a whispered good-bye to the stranger, and watched the canoe dart off straight toward Shoreham. He had scaled the cliff, while Faith kept the canoe close under the alder bushes, entered the door of the fort, and skilfully made his way about the fortifications, determining the right place for an attack and assuring himself that the fortress contained valuable stores.

As Faith stepped from the canoe the man tried to thank her.

"Some day your Uncle Scott will hear of this, and be proud indeed of so brave a child," he said, "and I shall tell Colonel Allen your name, and of your courage. Be sure of that. You have helped the American cause more than a regiment of soldiers."

Faith said over his words as she made her way across the fields. She recalled her first visit to the fort. "I'm glad those girls ran off that day," she thought, as she gently tried the back door. It was securely fastened. A low warning growl from "Scotchie" made her fear to lift a window. He would arouse the household. She stood on the steps, shivering a little in the sharp March wind. "I must get in without making a noise," she thought. But she could think of no way to accomplish it.

In spite of her silence "Scotchie" realized that some one was outside. He barked, growled, and once or twice threw himself against the door. Then suddenly his growls stopped, and, before Faith had time to move, the kitchen door opened slightly and she heard her uncle say, "Who's there?" and knew that, musket in hand, he was awaiting her answer.



CHAPTER XVIII

HOME AGAIN

"Scotchie's" warning growl turned to a joyful greeting as Faith spoke his name.

"Great Caesar! Faith!" exclaimed her uncle, drawing her into the kitchen. "What on earth are you doing out-of-doors at this time of night?"

"You locked the door," whimpered Faith.

"But why did you not call out? We thought you went straight to bed," said her uncle.

"I went down to the shore——" began Faith, and then stopped suddenly.

"Well, go straight to bed, and tell your aunt about it in the morning. She is fast asleep now."

Faith was glad to obey. She was too tired and sleepy to be greatly troubled by what would happen in the morning. She had resolved that if Aunt Prissy questioned her she would tell the truth. But she hoped earnestly that in some way the secret could be kept even from her aunt and uncle, until Mr. Phelps should tell them.

When she came down to breakfast it appeared that her uncle had only told Aunt Prissy that Faith had run out after supper, and, instead of calling and knocking until some one opened the door, had waited until "Scotchie's" bark had brought him to the door.