HOME AGAIN
"Scotchie's" warning growl turned to a joyful greeting as Faith spoke
his name.
"Great Caesar! Faith!" exclaimed her uncle, drawing her into the
kitchen. "What on earth are you doing out-of-doors at this time of
night?"
"You locked the door," whimpered Faith.
"But why did you not call out? We thought you went straight to bed,"
said her uncle.
"I went down to the shore----" began Faith, and then stopped suddenly.
"Well, go straight to bed, and tell your aunt about it in the morning.
She is fast asleep now."
Faith was glad to obey. She was too tired and sleepy to be greatly
troubled by what would happen in the morning. She had resolved that if
Aunt Prissy questioned her she would tell the truth. But she hoped
earnestly that in some way the secret could be kept even from her
aunt and uncle, until Mr. Phelps should tell them.
When she came down to breakfast it appeared that her uncle had only
told Aunt Prissy that Faith had run out after supper, and, instead of
calling and knocking until some one opened the door, had waited until
"Scotchie's" bark had brought him to the door.
Aunt Prissy was more surprised and alarmed at this news than Faith had
expected. She cautioned Faith never to go out without telling some one
of the family.
"Why, some wolf or wildcat might have been about; or a party of
Indians might have happened along and taken you off," she said. "And
we should never have known what had become of you."
Faith promised never again to leave the house without her aunt's
permission, and was glad indeed that she had escaped without telling
of her journey to the fort.
"Aunt Prissy! Do you know what day this is?" she asked, so soberly
that her aunt looked at her a little anxiously. "It is the very last
day of March; it has been a warm and pleasant month, and my father has
not come for me."
"And are you so anxious to say good-bye to us, Faithie? You know that
instead of your making a visit home your father has decided it is best
for you to stay; not come back unless for a visit, until another
autumn," responded Aunt Prissy.
"Yes, I know. But why does he not come?" persisted Faith.
"Perhaps to-day will bring him," Aunt Prissy answered hopefully.
Faith came and stood close beside Aunt Prissy's chair. She wanted to
say that she loved her cousins and uncle and Aunt Prissy very dearly;
to tell her that she had been happy; and that it had been a beautiful
visit; but that now she wanted to see her own dear mother more than
anything else. But how could she say all this so that Aunt Prissy
would understand?
Aunt Prissy put down her knitting and drew the little girl into her
lap.
"There! Now tell me all about it, dear," she said, resting her face
against Faith's yellow curls.
And Faith told her all that she had been thinking; all that she had
thought would be so difficult. And Aunt Prissy listened, saying, "Of
course," and "Yes, indeed," from time to time, and understanding even
more than Faith found words to tell.
"Why, Aunt Prissy, it's almost like having two homes," concluded
Faith.
Before Aunt Prissy could answer there was the sound of voices in the
kitchen, and Donald, closely followed by Mr. Carew, came into the
room.
"It's the very last day of March!" Faith reminded him.
"And I came near not getting here to-day," her father replied, as
Faith drew him to the big chair near the window, and climbed to a seat
on his knees. "I was held up on the trail by a tall fellow, from
Connecticut, as it proved. He was bound to make me own up that I was
an English spy. I told him my name, and my errand, and when I spoke
Faith's name, why, he was at once my best friend, told me of his visit
at this house, and could not say enough in praise of my little
daughter," responded Mr. Carew.
"The Americans seem to be gaining courage," said Aunt Prissy. "The men
of the Wilderness do not mean to let the other Colonies do all the
fighting, I'm sure."
"Indeed we'll do our part, Priscilla," her brother assured her.
Faith told her father of the disappearance of Mr. Trent and Louise; of
the quilting party, and of all the happenings since his November
visit. But she did not tell him of guiding the Connecticut man to the
pathway up the cliff to Fort Ticonderoga.
It was evident that Mr. Phelps had kept the secret for some purpose of
his own; so, much as she wanted her father to know, Faith resolved
that she would not tell him. This secret did not worry and trouble her
as the others had done. "I guess it's because this secret means
helping somebody, and the others were just--well, just mean secrets,"
Faith decided, as she thought it over.
The next morning Faith and her father were ready to start at an early
hour. Uncle Phil, Aunt Prissy, the boys and "Scotchie" walked with
them to the shore.
"You will come back when summer comes, won't you, Cousin Faith?" said
Donald. "You'll come for a visit even if you don't stay and go to
school."
"I will if I can," Faith promised, "and when Louise comes back give
her the blue beads, Aunt Prissy."
"Yes, indeed, dear child," responded her aunt, wondering to herself if
Louise and her father would ever again be seen in that vicinity. Then
there were messages for Faith's mother, and not until she was in the
canoe were the good-byes really said.
The little group stood on the shore watching the canoe for some
minutes, and then turned back toward the house. They were all very
quiet, but as they reached the road Donald called out: "There's
somebody on our door-step! Why, it is Louise! Yes, it is," and with a
gay call he was off, running swiftly toward the house while the others
hurried after him.
"Where is Faith?" Louise asked eagerly, when Mrs. Scott had welcomed
her, and they were in the big kitchen.
"She's gone home," said Donald, before his mother could answer. But
Mrs. Scott told the little girl of how much Faith had missed her, and
of the string of blue beads that she had left to be given to Louise.
It was evident that Louise was greatly disappointed to find that her
friend had gone. But she fastened the beads about her neck, and
touched them with loving fingers.
"Faith was my very first friend," she said. "My father says that we
have come back to stay," she added, "and perhaps Faith will come in
the summer?" There was such a pleading, questioning look in the girl's
dark eyes that Mrs. Scott felt a new tenderness and sympathy for her,
and put her arm about Louise as she answered:
"Perhaps she will. But you must come often and see me; for we shall
both miss her very much."
"Oh, may I, Mrs. Scott? I was afraid you wouldn't want me to come,"
and Louise's face brightened.
"Why, I am to help you with your studies, and Donald is to call for
you when you begin school. Faith arranged all that," responded Mrs.
Scott smilingly.
Faith was silent as the canoe went swiftly across the lake, and they
had nearly reached the shore before she began asking questions about
"Bounce," whom her father declared to be now a "grown-up cat," and
about all the familiar things about the house and mill.
"Listen, father!" she said, as they landed, and he drew the canoe to
its hiding-place in the alder bushes. "Hear the falls!" and for a
moment the two stood quietly hearkening to the "Chiming Waters."
Then Mr. Carew adjusted the pack, containing Faith's belongings,
picked up his musket, without which no woodsman dared travel in those
days, and they started up the trail.
Everywhere were evidences that spring was near at hand. Many trees
and shrubs were showing the delicate gray green of coming buds; and
now and then the fragrance of the wild arbutus was in the air. Birds
were busy; wood-thrushes and pewees were calling; now and then a
golden-throated warbler sounded his clear note. The air was soft and
warm for the season, and Faith was so happy in the thought of being
really on her way home that she forgot for a time that Mr. Phelps had
said that no American settler's home in the Wilderness could be safe
until Fort Ticonderoga was held by American soldiers.
"It's lovely to be going home, isn't it, father?" she said; and Mr.
Carew smiled down at his little daughter, and agreed with her that
nothing better could be desired.
"We shall see with glad surprise
Lilies spring, and verdure rise;
And soon, amidst the wilds, we'll hear
Murmuring waters falling clear,"--
sang Mr. Carew softly.
"Oh, that is mother's song," exclaimed Faith. "It just means home,
doesn't it?" And again her father was quite ready to agree.
They walked slowly up the rocky trail and when they reached the top of
the first ridge they stopped to rest and eat the excellent lunch that
Aunt Prissy had prepared for them. But Faith declared that she was not
tired. It seemed to her that she could run all the way if her father
would only permit. And when in the early afternoon she first heard the
sound of the mill-stream she did run, until, out of breath, she had to
rest on a moss-grown stump for her father to catch up with her.
And then, in a short time, they were standing on the edge of the
clearing. The brook was dancing and singing as if eager to welcome
Faith; the sun shone warmly down on mill and cabin and running down
the path came Mrs. Carew; while standing near the cabin was Kashaqua,
in her gayest feathers, grunting and smiling.
"Mother dear! Mother dear!" called Faith, as she ran forward and was
held close in her mother's arms.