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.