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A LITTLE MAID
OF
MASSACHUSETTS
COLONY
BY
ALICE TURNER CURTIS
AUTHOR OF
A LITTLE MAID OF PROVINCE TOWN
A LITTLE MAID OF NARRAGANSETT BAY
ILLUSTRATED BY WUANITA SMITH
THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
1915
COPYRIGHT
1914 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
[Illustration: "A WONDERFUL THING IS GOING TO HAPPEN"]
Introduction
The first Anne Nelson story was "A Little Maid of Province Town," which
told how the little Cape Cod girl's father went away to fight for the
colonies, how she went to live with the Stoddards, how she escaped
perils from Indians and wolves, made an unexpected trip to Boston, and
carried an important message for the colonial army.
The girls and boys who made acquaintance in that book with Anne and with
Amanda and Amos Cary will be glad to read here how Amos won his heart's
desire,--to go a long voyage from the harbor of Province Town; Anne's
journey with the Indians, her imprisonment in the house in the woods,
and her escape; how she and Rose Freeman discovered "Aunt Anne Rose" on
the happy trip in Boston, and how Anne helped to capture an English
privateer, will hold the attention of young readers, and, incidentally,
show them something of the times and history of Revolutionary days in
New England.
Contents
I. AMANDA'S MISTAKE 9
II. ANNE DECIDES 22
III. A NEW FRIEND 32
IV. WITH THE MASHPEES 48
V. AT BREWSTER 61
VI. AMANDA'S CONSCIENCE 75
VII. THE BLACK-BEARDED MAN 88
VIII. THROUGH THE WINDOW 104
IX. LADY DISAPPEARS 117
X. AUNT ANNE ROSE 131
XI. IN BOSTON 140
XII. A WONDERFUL DAY 149
XIII. ANNE'S BOOK 162
XIV. ANNE AND MILLICENT 173
XV. AMOS APPEARS 184
XVI. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 192
XVII. THE STRANGE SCHOONER 204
XVIII. A GREAT ADVENTURE 213
XIX. "HOMEWARD BOUND" 221
Illustrations
PAGE
"A WONDERFUL THING IS GOING TO HAPPEN"
_Frontispiece_
"SIT THERE AND BE QUIET" 42
"YOU CAN GET ON HIS BACK" 132
HE HANDED HER A BALL 177
"YOU ARE THE BRAVEST GIRL IN THE COLONY" 220
A Little Maid of Massachusetts Colony
CHAPTER I
AMANDA'S MISTAKE
"Do you think I might go, Aunt Martha?" There was a pleading note in the
little girl's voice as she stood close by Mrs. Stoddard's chair and
watched her folding the thin blue paper on which Rose Freeman's letter
was written.
"It is a pleasant invitation, surely," replied Mrs. Stoddard, "but the
Freemans have ever been good friends to us; and so Rose is to visit
their kin in Brewster and then journey back to Boston with her father in
his chaise, and she says there will be plenty of room for you. Well!
Well! 'Tis a wonderful journey."
Anne moved uneasily. "But, Aunt Martha, do you forget that she asks if
Uncle Enos cannot bring me to Brewster?"
"Yes, child, I have read the letter, and I doubt not Enos will set you
safe across to Brewster. And your father's vessel will be due in Boston
early in September, and he could bring you safely home to Province Town.
We'll see what Uncle Enos says about sailing across to Brewster," and
Mrs. Stoddard smiled affectionately at Anne's delighted exclamation. It
was two years before that Anne Nelson, whose father's boat had been
seized by an English ship, had come to live with the Stoddards. Her
father had escaped, and, after serving the colonies until after the
battle of Lexington, had returned to Province Town, and was now away on
a fishing cruise. Anne had visited the Freemans the year before, and now
this pleasant invitation for a journey to Boston had been brought by one
of the harbor fishermen, the only way letters came to Province Town. It
was no wonder Anne was eager for permission to go. It would be a three
days' ride from Brewster, and the road would take her through many
pleasant towns and villages. There was not a person in the settlement
who had taken the journey by land. Uncle Enos declared that Province
Town folk who could sail a good boat, with fair winds, to Boston in six
hours were too wise to take such a roundabout route as the land offered.
"But it will be a fine ride for Anne," he agreed. "She will learn much
by the journey, and Squire Freeman will take good care of her. I'll
set her across to Brewster on Tuesday, as Rose says they plan to start
early on Wednesday morning. Well, Anne," and he turned toward the
happy child, "what do you think the Cary children will say when you
tell them that you are to ride to Boston in a fine chaise?"
"I do not know, but I think Amos will say that he would not journey by
land; he is all for big ships; but I'm sure Amanda will think it is a
wonderful thing, and wish to go with me, and indeed I wish she might.
But why do we not have chaises in Province Town?"
"We must have roads first," replied Aunt Martha smilingly; "but Province
Town has no need of coaches and roads with good boats in harbor. Now we
must see that your clothes are in order, for a week soon goes."
"Anne! Anne!" and before Anne could respond a girl of about her own age
came running into the kitchen. "Can you go with me over to the outer
beach? May she go, Mrs. Stoddard? See! I have enough luncheon for us
both in this basket," and Amanda held up a pretty basket woven of sweet
grass.
"May I, Aunt Martha? And oh, Amanda! A wonderful thing is going to
happen to me. Isn't it wonderful, Uncle Enos?"
Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos both smiled and nodded, and Amanda looked
from one to the other in great surprise.
"Run along with Amanda and tell her all about it," said Mrs. Stoddard,
and the two little girls started happily off.
"I can guess," declared Amanda, "for I know that Captain Starkweather
brought you a letter from Boston, and I can guess who the letter is
from."
Anne shook her head laughingly. "You would guess that it was from my
dear father," she answered.
"And is it not?" questioned Amanda in surprise.
"It is from Rose Freeman," announced Anne. "And oh, Amanda, she asks me
to come to Brewster next week, and go with her in her father's chaise to
Boston!" And Anne turned, smiling happily, toward Amanda. She had
expected Amanda to exclaim with delight over such a wonderful piece of
news, but instead of delight Amanda's face expressed an angry surprise.
She had stopped short, and stood looking at Anne.
"Rose Freeman!" she exclaimed. "Boston in a chaise! I wonder I play with
you at all, Anne Nelson. Why don't you stay in Boston? I shouldn't care
if you did!" and throwing the basket of luncheon on the ground Amanda
turned and ran back toward home.
Anne looked after her in amazement. "That's the way she used to act
before we were friends," she said aloud; "and all that good food thrown
down in the sand," for the basket was overturned, and two round ginger
cakes, two pieces of corn bread, and two three-cornered tarts had rolled
out. Anne knelt down and picked them up carefully, shaking off the sand,
and returned them to the basket.
"Her mother cannot afford to have such good things wasted," said Anne;
for even the children in Province Town in the days of the Revolution
knew how difficult it was to secure supplies. The end of Cape Cod, with
its sandy dunes, scant pasturage or tillage, made the people depend on
their boats, not only to bring in fish, but all other household
necessities. The harbor was unguarded, and its occupation as a
rendezvous by English men-of-war had made it very hard for the people to
get provisions. So it was no wonder that Anne looked at the ginger cakes
and tarts as special delicacies, too precious to lie in the sand.
"I'll go to the outer beach by myself," decided Anne, "but I will not
eat my share of the luncheon. I do not see why Amanda should be angry,"
and the little girl walked on, choosing her way carefully among the
scrubby pine trees or patches of beach-plum bushes.
Amanda ran swiftly, and in a moment or two was almost back in the
Stoddards' dooryard!
"I mustn't go home," she said to herself; "they would question me, and I
would have to tell them all the wonderful news about Anne. And, oh," she
exclaimed aloud, "if I did not throw down the fine treat my mother put
in the basket. I'll go back for it; Anne Nelson has everything, but she
shall not have my tarts."
Amanda made her way back very carefully, hoping to get the basket and
escape without Anne seeing her. But when she reached the spot where
Anne had told the wonderful news neither the basket nor Anne was to be
seen.
"She's run off with my basket. She means to eat all that mother gave
me!" Amanda now felt that she had a just grievance against her playmate.
"I'll go home and tell my mother," she decided, and on the way home a
very wicked plan came into the little girl's mind. She pulled off her
gingham sunbonnet and threw it behind a bunch of plum bushes. She then
unbraided her neat hair and pulled it all about her face. For a moment
she thought of tearing a rent in her stout skirt, but did not. Then she
crawled under a wide-branched pine and lay down. "I must wait a time, or
my mother will think I am too quickly back," she decided, "and I do not
want to get home while Amos is there;" for Amanda knew well that her
brother would not credit the story which Amanda had resolved to tell:
that Anne had pushed her over in the sand, slapped her, and run off with
the basket of luncheon.
"My mother will go straight to Mistress Stoddard, and there'll be no
journeyings to Brewster to see Rose Freeman, or riding to Boston in a
fine chaise," decided the envious child.
So, while Anne kept on her way to the outer beach, carrying Amanda's
basket very carefully, and expecting every moment that Amanda would come
running after her, and that they would make friends, and enjoy the
goodies together, Amanda was thinking of all the pleasant things that a
journey to Boston would mean, and resolving to herself that if she could
not go neither should Anne. So envious was the unhappy child that she
tried to remember some unkindness that Anne had shown her, that she
might justify her own wrong-doing. But in spite of herself the thought
of Anne recalled only pleasant things. "I don't care," she resolved;
"she shan't go to Boston with Rose Freeman, and she has run off with the
basket."
"Mercy, child! What has befallen you, and where is Anne?" questioned
Mrs. Cary, as Amanda came slowly up to the kitchen door, where her
mother sat knitting.
"She's run off with my basket," whimpered Amanda, holding her apron over
her face.
"And is Anne Nelson to blame for your coming home in this condition?"
questioned Mrs. Cary, a little flush coming into her thin cheeks.
Amanda nodded; some way it seemed very hard to say that Anne had pushed
her down and slapped her.
"And run off with my basket," she repeated, "and next week she goes to
Brewster, and by carriage to Boston."
"Well, that's no reason why she should turn so upon you," declared Mrs.
Cary. "What made trouble between you?"
"I think it was because of this journey," replied Amanda. "She is so set
up by it, and she went off with the basket."
"Never mind about the basket, child; but it's a sad thing for Anne to so
lose her temper. You did quite right to come home, dear child; now brush
your hair neatly, and bathe your face, and then come with me to Mistress
Stoddard; though I like not our errand," concluded Mrs. Cary, rolling up
the stocking she was knitting.
Amanda looked at her mother pleadingly. "Why must I go to Mistress
Stoddard's?" she questioned. "I have run all the way home, and you know
she will not blame Anne; it will be me she will question and blame. Oh,
dear!" and Amanda, sure that her evil plan would be discovered, began to
sob bitterly.
"There, there! I did but think you could tell Mrs. Stoddard of Anne's
mischief. You need not go, child. Get you a ginger cake from the stone
jar in the cellar-way. I'll tell of the way Anne pushed you about, and
made off with the basket, and you sit here by the door. There's a sweet
breeze coming over the marshes," and, patting Amanda's ruffled locks,
Mrs. Cary took down her sunbonnet from its hook behind the door, and
prepared to set forth.
"I'll not be long away," she called back, as she passed down the sandy
path.
From the pleasant doorway Amanda watched her with a gloomy face. Her
plan was going on successfully, but Amanda did not feel happy. She was
dreading the time when Amos would return, and his sharp questioning, she
knew, would be a very different matter from her mother's acceptance of
her story.
"Everybody always thinks that Anne is right," she said aloud.
"Well, isn't she?" said a voice directly behind her, so near that Amanda
jumped up in surprise.
"How did you get into the house, Amos Cary!" she exclaimed angrily.
"Phew, Carrot-top! What's the matter?" responded Amos teasingly. "Say,
Sis, don't cry," he added. "I won't call you 'Carrot-top' again. You
know my hair's exactly the same color as yours, anyway; so it's just
like calling myself names."
But Amanda kept on sobbing. "It's Anne," she whimpered. "She--she--she's
run off with my basket."
"Anne!" exclaimed the boy in surprise. "Oh, well, she was only fooling.
She'll bring it back. You know Anne wouldn't do a mean thing."
"She would, too. She's going to Boston, and to Brewster, with Rose
Freeman," said Amanda.
"O-oh! So that's the trouble, is it?" said Amos. "Well, she'll come
back, so don't cry," and he stepped past her and ran down toward the
beach.
At Mrs. Stoddard's Mrs. Cary was repeating Amanda's story.
"I cannot understand it," said Mrs. Stoddard. "You know well, Mistress
Cary, that Anne is a pleasant child, and she and Amanda started out as
friendly as need be. Did Amanda say what began the trouble?"
Mrs. Cary shook her head. "No, she is at home crying her heart out about
it, poor child."
"I know not what to say," and Mrs. Stoddard's usually smiling face was
very grave. "Anne is not home yet, but I will question her. You may be
sure, Mistress Cary, that I will not let it pass. Her father leaves her
in my care when he is away, and perhaps I am too indulgent, for I love
the child."
It was an hour later when Anne came and peered in at the open door. Mrs.
Cary had gone home. Mrs. Stoddard looked at the little girl, but not
with her usual smile.
"Where is Amanda's basket?" she asked sharply. "Do not stand there; come
in." Anne obeyed. "Now, tell me why you pushed Amanda down, and slapped
her, and ran off with the basket of food? Mrs. Cary has been here and
told me all about it. A nice story indeed for me to hear. But like as
not it is my fault for indulging you in everything. But I shall be firm
now. Go up-stairs and stay until I call you; and as for that visit with
Rose Freeman, think no more of it. I shall not let you go. No, indeed,
after such a performance as this."
Anne thought to herself that she must be dreaming. "I shall wake up in a
minute," she said aloud, but Mrs. Stoddard did not hear her.
"Go right up-stairs," she repeated, and Anne, with a puzzled look over
her shoulder, went slowly up the narrow stairs.