THE SHOEMAKER'S DAUGHTER
The shoemaker was the smallest man Faith had ever seen. She thought to
herself that she was glad he was not an American. When he stood up to
speak to Mrs. Scott Faith remembered a picture in one of her mother's
books of an orang-outang. For the shoemaker's hair was coarse and
black, and seemed to stand up all over his small head, and his face
was nearly covered by a stubbly black beard. His arms were long, and
he did not stand erect. His eyes were small and did not seem to see
the person to whom he was speaking.
But he greeted his customers pleasantly, and as Faith sat on a little
stool near his bench waiting for her aunt's return, he told her that
he had a little daughter about her own age, but that she was not very
well.
"Perhaps your aunt will let you come and see her some day?" he said.
"I'll ask her," replied Faith, and before they had time for any
further conversation the door opened and a tall man in a scarlet coat,
deerskin trousers and high boots entered the shop.
"Any news?" he asked sharply.
"No, captain. Nothing at all," replied the shoemaker.
"You're not worth your salt, Andy," declared the officer. "I'll wager
this small maid here would have quicker ears for news."
Faith wished that she could run away, but did not dare to move.
"Well, another summer we'll put the old fort in order and have a
garrison that will be worth while. Now, what about my riding boots?"
he added, and after a little talk the officer departed.
It was not long before Mrs. Scott called for her little niece and the
two started for home.
Faith told her aunt what the shoemaker had said about his little girl,
and noticed that Aunt Prissy's face was rather grave and troubled.
"Do I have to go, Aunt Prissy?" she asked.
"We'll see, my dear. But now we must hurry home, and sew on the new
dresses," replied Aunt Prissy, and for a few moments they walked on in
silence.
Faith could hear the musical sound of the falls, and was reminded of
the dancing mill-stream, of the silver fox and of her own dear
"Bounce." Every hour since her arrival at Aunt Prissy's had been so
filled with new and strange happenings that the little girl had not
had time to be lonely.
"What is the name of the shoemaker's little girl, Aunt Prissy?" she
asked, as they came in sight of home, with Donald and Philip, closely
followed by "Scotchie," coming to meet them.
"Her name is Louise Trent, and she is lame. She is older than you,
several years older," answered Aunt Prissy, "and I fear she is a
mischievous child. But the poor girl has not had a mother to care for
her for several years. She and her father live alone."
"Does she look like her father?" questioned Faith, resolving that if
such were the case she would not want Louise for a playmate.
"Oh, no. Louise would be pretty if she were a neat and well-behaved
child. She has soft black hair, black eyes, and is slenderly built.
Too slender, I fear, for health," replied Mrs. Scott, who often
thought of the shoemaker's motherless little girl, whose father
seemed to resent any effort to befriend her.
"Why, that sounds just the way Esther Eldridge looks. Only Esther
isn't lame," responded Faith; and, in answer to her aunt's questions,
Faith described Esther's visit to the cabin, omitting, however, the
fact that she had given Esther the blue beads.
Faith did not think to speak of the red-coated soldier until the
family were gathered about the supper-table that night. Then she
suddenly remembered what he had said, and repeated it to her uncle,
who was asking her about her visit to Mr. Trent's shop.
"So that's their plan. More soldiers to come another summer! 'Twas a
careless thing for an officer to repeat. But they are so sure that
none of us dare lift a hand to protect ourselves that they care not
who knows their plans. I'll see to it that Ethan Allen and the men at
Bennington get word of this," said Mr. Scott, and then asked Faith to
repeat again exactly what the officer had said.
In a few days both of Faith's new dresses were finished; and, greatly
to her delight, Aunt Prissy had made her a pretty cap of blue velvet,
with a partridge's wing on one side. She was trying on the cap before
the mirror in the sitting-room one afternoon when she heard a queer
noise on the porch and then in the front entry. Aunt Prissy was
up-stairs, and the boys were playing outdoors.
"I wonder what it is?" thought Faith, running toward the door. As she
opened it she nearly exclaimed in surprise, for there, leaning on a
crutch, was the queerest little figure she had ever imagined. A little
girl whose black hair straggled over her forehead, and whose big dark
eyes had a half-frightened expression, stood staring in at the
pleasant room. An old ragged shawl was pinned about her shoulders, and
beneath it Faith could see the frayed worn skirt of gray homespun. But
on her feet were a pair of fine leather shoes, well fitting and highly
polished.
"I brought your shoes," said this untidy visitor, swinging herself a
step forward nearer to Faith, and holding out a bundle. "Father
doesn't know I've come," she added, with a little smile of
satisfaction. "But I wanted to see you."
"Won't you sit down?" said Faith politely, pulling forward a big
cushioned chair.
Louise Trent sat down as if hardly knowing if she dared trust the
chair or not.
"Your aunt didn't let you come to see me, did she? I knew she
wouldn't," continued Louise. "What you got?" she questioned, looking
at the pretty cap with admiring eyes.
"It's new. And I never had one before," answered Faith.
"Well, I've never had one, and I never shall have. You wouldn't let me
try that one on, would you?" said Louise, looking at Faith with such a
longing expression in her dark eyes that Faith did not hesitate for a
moment.
"Of course I will," she answered quickly, and taking off the cap
placed it carefully on Louise's untidy black hair.
"If your hair was brushed back it would look nice on you," declared
Faith. "You wait, and I'll get my brush and fix your hair," and before
Louise could reply Faith was running up the stairs. She was back in a
moment with brush and comb, and Louise submitted to having her hair
put in order, and tied back with one of the new hair ribbons that Aunt
Prissy had given Faith. While Faith was thus occupied Louise looked
about the sitting-room, and asked questions.
"There," said Faith. "Now it looks nice on you. But what makes you
wear that old shawl?"
Louise's face clouded, and she raised her crutch as if to strike
Faith. "Don't you make fun of me. I have to wear it. I don't have
nothing like other girls," she exclaimed, and dropping the crutch, she
turned her face against the arm of the chair and began to sob
bitterly.
For a moment Faith looked at her in amazement, and then she knelt down
beside the big chair and began patting the shoulder under the ragged
shawl.
"Don't cry, Louise. Don't cry. Listen, I'll ask my aunt to make you a
cap just like mine. I know she will."
"No. She wouldn't want me to have a cap like yours," declared Louise.
"Isn't your father good to you?" questioned Faith. And this question
made Louise sit up straight and wipe her eyes on the corner of the old
shawl.
"Good to me! Of course he is. Didn't he make me these fine shoes?" she
answered, pointing to her feet. "But how could he make me a pretty
cap or a dress? And he doesn't want to ask anybody. But you needn't
think he ain't good to me!" she concluded, reaching after the crutch.
"Don't go yet, Louise. See, that's my doll over on the sofa. Her name
is 'Lady Amy,'" and Faith ran to the sofa and brought back her beloved
doll and set it down in Louise's lap.
"I never touched a doll before," said Louise, almost in a whisper.
"You're real good to let me hold her. Are you going to live here?"
"I'm going to school," replied Faith. "I've never been to school."
"Neither have I," said Louise. "I s'pose you know your letters, don't
you?"
"Oh, yes. Of course I do. I can read and write, and do fractions,"
answered Faith.
"I can't read," declared Louise.
Just then Mrs. Scott entered the room. If she was surprised to see the
shoemaker's daughter seated in her easy chair, wearing Faith's new cap
and holding "Lady Amy," she did not let the little girls know it, but
greeted Louise cordially, took Faith's new shoes from their wrapping
and said they were indeed a fine pair of shoes. Then she turned to
Louise, with the pleasant little smile that Faith so admired, and
said: "You are the first little girl who has come to see my little
niece, so I think it would be pleasant if you two girls had a taste of
my fruit cake that I make just for company," and she started toward
the dining-room and soon returned with a tray.
"Just bring the little table from the corner, Faithie, and set it in
front of Louise and 'Lady Amy,'" she said, and Faith hastened to obey.
Aunt Prissy set the tray on the table. "I'll come back in a little
while," she said, and left the girls to themselves.
The tray was very well filled. There was a plate of the rich dark
cake, and beside it two dainty china plates and two fringed napkins.
There was a plate of thin slices of bread and butter, a plate of
cookies, and two glasses filled with creamy milk.
"Isn't this lovely?" exclaimed Faith, drawing a chair near the table.
"It's just like a party, isn't it? I'm just as glad as I can be that
you brought my shoes home, Louise. We'll be real friends now, shan't
we?"