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.