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."