AN EXCHANGE OF VISITS
"IT is Mr. Lyon's suggestion," concluded Mrs. Lyon, "and Melvina is
eager to come and live with you, Mrs. Weston, if Anna is ready to come
to me."
Mrs. Lyon, it seemed to Anna, had been talking a long time. She had said
that Melvina was not very strong, and that possibly she was kept too
much indoors; and then had come the astounding suggestion that, on the
very next day, Anna should go and live with the minister and his wife,
and Melvina should come and take her place.
"Oh, do, Anna! Say you will," Melvina whispered, as the two little girls
found a chance to speak together while their mothers discussed the plan.
For Melvina was sure that if she came to live in Anna's home she would
become exactly like Anna; as brave and as independent, and who could
tell but what she might grow to look like her as well!
The same thought came to Anna. Of course, if she lived with Mrs. Lyon
she would learn to behave exactly like Melvina. But to go away from her
father and mother and from Rebby; this seemed hardly to be possible.
"Do you want me to go, Mother?" she asked, half hoping that her mother
might say at once that it was not to be thought of.
"I must talk with your father; 'tis a great opportunity for your good,
and I am sure he will be pleased," replied Mrs. Weston. For had not the
Reverend Mr. Lyon written a book, and, it was rumored, composed music
for hymns; for any little girl to live in his family would be a high
privilege. And this was what Mr. Weston thought when he heard of the
plan.
"Why, it is a wise scheme indeed," he said gravely; "my little Danna is
being too much favored at home, and to be with the minister and his wife
will teach her as much as a term in school."
"But I am not to stay long, Father. I am only to stay for two weeks,"
said Anna, "and you must not learn to think Melvina is your little
girl."
"Mr. Lyon wishes Melvina to run about as freely as we have allowed
Anna," Mrs. Weston explained, "and to have no lessons or tasks of any
kind, and to spend an hour each afternoon at home while Anna does the
same."
"But I am to have lessons, just as if I were Melvina," Anna declared,
and before bedtime it was decided that on the next day Anna should go to
the minister's to remain a fortnight.
Rebecca was the only one who did not think well of the plan. "I do not
want Danna to go," she said over and over; and added that she should not
know how to treat Melvina, or what to say to her. It was Rebecca who
went with Anna to Mr. Lyon, carrying the small package containing Anna's
clothing, and she brought back Melvina's carefully packed basket. Mrs.
Lyon looked worried and anxious as she saw Melvina start off for the
Westons'; but she gave her no cautions or directions, beyond telling her
to be obedient to Mrs. Weston. Then she took Anna's hand and led her
up-stairs to the pleasant room where she and Melvina had played so
happily with the rabbits.
"You can leave your sunbonnet here, Anna, and then come down to the
library. This is the hour for your lesson in English history."
"'English history,'" Anna repeated to herself excitedly. She wondered
what it could mean. But if it was something that Melvina did she was
eager to begin.
Mr. Lyon smiled down at his little visitor as she curtsied in the
doorway. He hoped his own little daughter might return with eyes as
bright and cheeks as glowing.
"This is where Melvina sits for her study hour," he said, pointing to a
small chair near a side window. There was a table in front of the chair,
and on the table was spread a brightly colored map.
"To-day we are to discover something of the English opinion of
Americans," began Mr. Lyon, taking up a small book. "It is always wise
to know the important affairs of the time in which we live, is it not,
Anna?" he said thoughtfully.
"Yes, sir," responded Anna seriously, sitting very straight indeed and
feeling of greater consequence than ever before.
"America's great trouble now, remember, is taxation without
representation," continued the minister; "and now listen carefully to
what an Englishman has to say of it: 'While England contends for the
right of taxing America we are giving up substance for the shadow; we
are exchanging happiness for pride. If we have no regard for America,
let us at least respect the mother country. In a dispute with America
who would we conquer? Ourselves. Everything that injures America is
injurious to Great Britain, and we commit a kind of political suicide
when we endeavor to crush them into obedience.'
"Ah! There is still wisdom in the English council; but I fear it is too
late," said Mr. Lyon, as if speaking his thoughts aloud. "And now, my
child, what is the subject of our lesson?" he questioned, looking kindly
at Anna.
"England and America," she replied promptly.
Mr. Lyon nodded. "And why does America firmly resolve not to be unjustly
taxed?" he asked.
"Because it wouldn't be right," said Anna confidently.
Mr. Lyon was evidently pleased by her direct answers.
"If an Englishman sees the injustice of his government it is small
wonder that every American, even to a little girl, can see that it is
not to be borne," said Mr. Lyon, rising and pacing up and down the
narrow room, his thoughts full of the great conflict that had already
begun between England and her American colonies.
Anna's eyes turned toward the map. There was a long yellow strip marked
"American Colonies," then, lower down, a number of red blots and circles
with "The West Indies" printed across them. Far over on the end of the
map was a queerly shaped green object marked "Asia" and below it a
beautiful blue place called "Europe." Anna was so delighted and
interested in discovering France, and Africa, the Ægean Sea, and the
British Isles, that she quite forgot where she was. But as she looked at
the very small enclosure marked "England," and then at the long line of
America she suddenly exclaimed: "America need not be afraid."
Mr. Lyon had seated himself at his desk, and at the sound of Anna's
voice he looked up in surprise.
"Why, child! You have been so quiet I had forgotten you. Run out to the
sitting-room to Mrs. Lyon," and Anna obeyed, not forgetting to curtsy as
she left the room.
[Illustration: HOW LONG THE AFTERNOON SEEMED!]
Mrs. Lyon had a basket piled high with work. There were stockings to be
darned, pillow-cases to be neatly repaired, and an apron of stout
drilling to be hemmed. Anna's task was to darn stockings. She was given
Melvina's thimble to use, a smooth wooden ball to slip into the
stocking, and a needle and skein of cotton.
How long the afternoon seemed! Never before had Anna stayed indoors for
the whole of a May afternoon. She felt tired and sleepy, and did not
want to walk about the garden after supper--as Mrs. Lyon kindly
suggested; and not until Mrs. Lyon said that Melvina, on every pleasant
day, walked about the garden after supper, did Anna go slowly down the
path. But she stood at the gate looking in the direction of her home
with wistful eyes.
"Two weeks," she whispered; it seemed so long a time could never pass.
Then she remembered that the next day she would go home for the daily
visit agreed upon.
If the days passed slowly with Anna, to Melvina they seemed only too
short. She had quickly made friends with Rebecca, and the elder girl was
astonished at the daring spirit of the minister's daughter. Melvina
would balance herself on the very edge of the bluff, when she and Rebby,
often followed by a surprised and unhappy Luretta, went for a morning
walk. Or on their trips to the lumber yard for chips Melvina would climb
to the top of some pile of timber and dance about as if trying to make
Rebby frightened lest she fall. She went wading along the shore, and
brought home queerly shaped rocks and tiny mussel-shells; and, as her
father had hoped, her cheeks grew rosy and her eyes bright.
The day set for the erection of the liberty pole was the last day of the
"exchange visit" of the two little girls, and Anna was now sure that
Mrs. Lyon must think her very much like Melvina, for she had learned her
daily lessons obediently, and moved about the house as quietly as a
mouse.
But when she awoke on the morning of the day upon which she was to
return home she was sure it was the happiest day of her life. Mrs. Lyon
had even called her a "quiet and careful child," and the minister smiled
upon her, and said that she "was a loyal little maid." So she had great
reason for being pleased; and the thought of being home again made her
ready to dance with delight.
The day that the tree of liberty was planted was declared a holiday, and
the inhabitants of the town gathered on the bluff where it was to be
set. Melvina and Anna and Luretta were together, and the other children
of the neighborhood were scattered about.
"Where is Rebby, Mother?" Anna asked, looking about for her sister.
"To be sure! She started off with Lucia Horton, but I do not see them,"
responded Mrs. Weston, smiling happily to think that her own little
Danna would no longer be absent from home.
There was great rejoicing among the people as the tree was raised, and
citizen after citizen stepped forward and made solemn pledges to resist
England's injustice to the American colonies. Then, amid the shouts of
the assembled inhabitants, the discharge of musketry, and the sound of
fife and drum, Machias took its rightful place among the defenders of
American liberty.
But Rebecca Weston and Lucia Horton, sitting in an upper window of the
Horton house, looked out at the inspiring scene without wishing to be
any nearer. Rebecca was ashamed when she remembered her own part in
trying to prevent the erection of a liberty pole, for now she realized
all it stood for; and she was no longer afraid of an attack upon the
town by an English gunboat. To Rebecca it seemed that such an attack
would bring its own punishment. Her thoughts were now filled by a great
desire to do something, something difficult and even dangerous to her
own safety, in order to make up for that evening when she had crept out
in the darkness and helped Lucia send the tree adrift.
But Lucia's mind was filled with entirely different thoughts. She was
ready to cry with disappointment and fear in seeing the liberty pole set
up. She could not forget that her father had said that such a thing
would mean trouble.
"If we had not set it adrift, Lucia, we could be on the bluff now with
the others," Rebby whispered, as they heard the gay notes of the fife.
"Bosh! Who wants to be any nearer? My mother says 'tis a silly and
foolish performance," replied Lucia. "But perhaps 'twill be cut down
before the _Polly_ comes into harbor."
Rebecca jumped up from the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes
shining.
"No one would dare, Lucia Horton. And if it is cut down I'll know you,
or someone in this house, planned it; and I will tell my father just
what you told me and what we did," she exclaimed, starting toward the
door.
"You can't tell, ever, Rebecca Weston! You promised not to," Lucia
called after her, and Rebecca stopped suddenly. Lucia was right. No
matter what happened she could never reveal what Lucia had told her,
because of her promise; and a promise was a sacred thing.
Without a word of good-bye Rebecca went slowly down the stairs. This was
the second time she had left the Horton house in anger. "I won't come
here again," she thought, a little sadly, for she and Lucia had been
"best friends" ever since Captain Horton had brought his family to the
remote settlement.
"There's Rebby," Anna called joyfully, as holding her father's hand, and
with her mother walking close behind, she came along the path toward
home. Rebby was walking slowly along a short distance in front of the
little party, and Anna soon overtook her.
"Oh, Rebby! Was it not a splendid sight to see the liberty tree set up?"
Anna exclaimed eagerly, "and all the men taking off their hats and
cheering?"
"Yes," responded Rebby briefly; and then looking at Anna she said: "Oh,
Danna! I wish, more than anything, that I could do something to protect
the liberty tree."
"Perhaps you can, Rebby, sometime, you and I together," replied Anna
hopefully; "anyway, isn't it lovely that I am home to stay?"
And to this Rebby could agree smilingly, but she kept in her heart the
wish she had just uttered.