LADY DISAPPEARS
"We shall reach the tavern in good season for dinner," said Mr. Freeman,
as they drove into the village of Sandwich.
It seemed a very wonderful thing to the little maid from Province Town
to drive up to the inn, with its big painted sign swinging from a post
near the road, and she took hold of Rose's hand as if half afraid.
Rose looked down at her little friend with a smiling face.
"Why, Anne," she said laughingly, "you were not a bit afraid to start
off through the woods alone, or to journey with Indians, and here you
are trembling because you are going into this little tavern for dinner."
Anne managed to smile, but she kept a tight clasp on Rose's hand. It was
not that she was frightened, but as she stepped from the chaise she had
heard one of the loiterers about the door exclaim, "Look at the child,
bareheaded and wearing moccasins," and her quick glance had
comprehended the exchange of smiles; and Anne now felt uncomfortable and
realized that she was not suitably dressed to travel in the high chaise.
She looked at Rose, with her pretty dress of blue dimity, and white hat
with its broad ribbon, her neat shoes and stockings, and realized that
there was a great contrast in their appearance. Anne was very silent all
through the meal and ate but little. Even Mr. Freeman began to notice
that she was very silent and grave, and thought to himself that the
little girl might be homesick.
"We can drive to Plymouth this afternoon," he said, as they finished
their dinner. "It is only about twenty miles, and we can get there early
in the evening."
Anne knew all about Plymouth. From the hill in Province Town she had
looked across the water to Plymouth, and Uncle Enos had told her that
many years ago a band of Pilgrims from England had landed at Province
Town, and then sailed on and settled in Plymouth. Uncle Enos had
wondered at it, and had shook his head over a people who would willingly
settle in any other place than Province Town.
The road now followed the shore very closely, and Rose was interested
in watching the boats, and the many flocks of wild sea-birds circling
about in the summer air. But Anne leaned back in the corner of the
chaise silent and troubled. The more she thought about her lack of all
the things that Rose had the more unhappy she became. "They will all be
ashamed of me when I get to Boston," she thought, "and I have no money
to buy things, and it will be three weeks or more before my dear father
will reach Boston. Oh, dear!" And Anne, for the moment, wished herself
back on the Province Town sands where a bareheaded, moccasin-shod little
girl could be as happy as the day was long.
The sun had set, and it was in the cool of the early evening when they
drove through Plymouth's main street. They were all tired and quite
ready for bed. It seemed a very large town to Anne, with its
meeting-houses and stores, but she was glad that it was nearly dark and
hoped that no one would notice that she had no hat or sunbonnet.
"If I had not run away Aunt Martha would have seen to it that I had
things like other girls," and she said to herself that "always, always,
after this I'll tell Aunt Martha before I do things."
"To-morrow night we'll be in Boston, Anne! Think of that," said Rose
happily, when the landlady had shown them to the comfortable chamber
that they were to occupy for the night. "Father says we'll start by
sunrise, and give Lady a rest at Scituate. Just think of all I shall
have to tell when I get home. And then we'll go to the shops the very
next day. Oh, Anne! I can't keep the secret another minute," and Rose
came to the window where Anne stood looking out, and putting her arm
over the younger girl's shoulder whispered in her ear: "Captain Stoddard
gave me two golden guineas to spend for you, Anne. He said your father
left them to buy clothes for you. I planned not to tell you until we
were really in the shops and ready to purchase, but I thought it too
good news to keep longer," and Rose smiled down at her little friend.
"Two guineas to buy clothes!" Anne's voice sounded as if such good
fortune was almost beyond belief.
"And I can have a hat, and shoes and stockings, since my own were left
behind in the wigwam?" she said questioningly.
"Indeed you can. And mother will go with us, and I doubt not you will
have a pretty dress and slippers as well as shoes, and many fine things,
for two guineas is a large sum to spend."
"Perhaps I shall not need to spend it all for clothes," said Anne; "then
I can buy a present for Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos, and perhaps
something for Amanda."
"Amanda!" echoed Rose. "Well, Anne, I would not take her home a gift;
she does not deserve one from you."
Anne was silent, but she was excusing Amanda in her thoughts. As Amos so
often said of Jimmie Starkweather that "nothing ever happens to Jimmie,"
so did Anne think of Amanda. She somehow felt sorry for Amanda, and had
quite forgiven the ugly slaps her playmate had given her.
It took Anne a good while to go to sleep that night. Blue dimity dresses
and shining slippers danced before her wakeful eyes, and a white ribbon
to tie back her hair. Already she was trying to decide what her present
to Amanda should be; and it seemed to her that she had just gone to
sleep when Rose was shaking her gently and saying: "Time to get up."
The travelers were all in the best of spirits that morning: Rose, happy
to be so near home, Anne delighted at the prospect of having dresses
like the girls who lived in Boston, and Mr. Freeman had had the best of
news from Plymouth friends, who declared that news from Philadelphia had
been received stating that the Congress there was agreed upon declaring
the independence of America.
"'Tis what Mr. Samuel Adams has worked so hard for," Mr. Freeman told
the girls; "and when the Congress has fully determined upon the form of
the declaration word will be sent post-haste to Boston; and I trust,
too, that Mr. Adams may be spared for a visit to his family. He has been
absent from Boston for a year past."
Mr. Freeman had asked the landlord to furnish them with a luncheon, as
he did not know if there would be a suitable place to procure food in
Scituate; and with a bag of oats for Lady fastened on top of the little
trunk, and a basket of luncheon under the seat of the chaise, the
travelers could choose just when and where to stop.
"We'll keep a sharp outlook for a good clear stream of water," said Mr.
Freeman.
"And I hope we can stop near the shore," said Rose; "I'd like to go in
wading."
Anne thought that it would not make much difference where they stopped.
The fragrant summer air, the pleasant shadow of the trees along the
road, and the hope of soon being in Boston so filled her thoughts that
where or what she ate seemed of little consequence.
Several hours after leaving Plymouth they found themselves on a pleasant
stretch of road bordering the water.
"There is the very beach for wading!" exclaimed Rose happily, and even
as she spoke they heard the splash of falling water and just before them
was a rough bridge of logs over a rapid stream of clear water. Lady
nearly stopped, and gave a little whinny as if asking for a drink.
"Just the place!" declared Mr. Freeman; "and here's a good piece of
greensward in the shade for Lady," and he turned into a little grassy
field beyond the bridge where a big beech tree stood, making a grateful
circle of shade.
"Lady must have a couple of hours' rest," said Mr. Freeman, "so you
girls can go down to the beach or do whatever you like until you are
ready for luncheon."
The girls took off their shoes and stockings and ran down to the water's
edge, and were soon wading about enjoying the cool water. After a
little while they tired of wading and went up on the dry warm sand.
Patches of bayberry bushes grew near the shore, and their fragrant
leaves and small gray berries at once attracted Rose's attention. She
had never before seen this shrub, a species of myrtle, and Anne was
delighted to find something that she could tell the elder girl.
"It's bayberry, Rose. Just rub the leaves between your fingers and see
how sweet it smells," she said. "Aunt Martha makes candles of these
little green berries, and likes them better than tallow candles. When
you snuff them out they make all the room smell just like this," and
Anne held the bruised leaves up for Rose to smell.
"I don't see how candles could be made of these little berries," said
Rose.
"And Aunt Martha makes a fine salve from them, too," continued Anne.
"When she makes the candles I gather the berries, quarts and quarts, and
she boils them in a kettle, and then skims off the top, and boils it
again, and then turns it into the molds."
"Come to luncheon, girls!" called Mr. Freeman, and they ran back to the
grassy field and the shade of the beech tree. On one side Lady was
nibbling her oats happily. The lunch basket stood open; Mr. Freeman
handed Rose a small tin drinking cup, and the girls ran down to the
brook for a drink of the clear water.
"Cape Cod twists about Massachusetts Bay like a long arm, doesn't it,
father?" said Rose, as they all seated themselves around the lunch
basket.
Mr. Freeman laughed at Rose's description of the Cape, but nodded his
head in agreement.
"I believe it does, my dear," he answered. "Province Town is the hand
curved in, and Truro the wrist; Chatham must be the elbow, and now we
are getting pretty well up to the shoulder."
After luncheon they all went back to the shore, and picked up many tiny
shells. Some of these were clear white, and others a delicate pink. Mr.
Freeman told them that the Indian women pricked tiny holes, with a small
sharp-pointed awl, in these shells and strung them like beads, and Rose
and Anne thought it would be a fine plan to carry a quantity of shells
to Boston and string them into necklaces.
The time went swiftly, and when Mr. Freeman said that Lady had now had a
good rest and would be quite ready to start on, the girls reluctantly
left the beach and walked slowly toward the chaise.
"I wonder where father and Lady are?" said Rose, and as she spoke Mr.
Freeman came running across the little green field.
"Lady is gone! Stolen, I'm afraid," he called out.
The girls looked at him in amazement.
"She was securely fastened, and even if she got loose would not have
gone far," he continued, "and there is no trace of her." Mr. Freeman's
face was very anxious, and Rose exclaimed:
"But who could take Lady, father? We have not seen a person since we
left Plymouth."
"Some strolling person," answered Mr. Freeman; "perhaps some frightened
Tory from one of the loyal settlements on his way toward a place of
safety."
Anne stood silent, holding up the skirt of her dress filled with the
pretty shells.
"And shall we have to walk to Boston?" asked Rose.
"And leave this good chaise? I think not; though I hardly know how we
can remain here," said Mr. Freeman.
For an hour or more they searched the near-by woods and up and down the
road, but there was no trace to be found of Lady, nor did they find
anything to tell them of how she had vanished.
"Your mother told me that it was no time for a visit so far from home,"
said Mr. Freeman, "and if Lady is indeed stolen I shall have good reason
to wish that I had stayed at home. I hardly dare send you girls along
the road alone, but if I leave this chaise it may disappear as Lady has
done."
"Where could we go, father?"
"We are not far from Scituate, and any of the settlers who have a horse
would come back and get the chaise," he answered. "I do not know of any
harm that could befall you if you keep in the highway."
"Of course we must go," Rose decided quickly, and Anne looked at her
friend admiringly, thinking, as she so often did, that she would like to
be exactly like Rose Freeman.
In the excitement of discovering that Lady had disappeared Rose had
dropped all the pretty shells she had gathered, but Anne was holding
her skirt tightly clasped.
"Put your shells in the lunch basket, Anne," said Mr. Freeman; "I'll
pick up those you have dropped, Rose. We shall reach Boston some time,
and you will be glad of these to remind you of an adventurous journey,"
and his smile made the girls ready to start off with better courage.
"Stop at the first house on the road," directed Mr. Freeman; "tell them
who you are, and what has befallen us, and ask them to come to my
assistance, and for permission to stay at the house until I come for
you."
"Yes, father," replied Rose, and then she and Anne started down the
road. They kept in the shade for some distance, then the road ran up a
long sandy hill where the sun came down fully upon them, and before they
reached the summit they were very warm and tired.
"There's a house!" exclaimed Anne, as they stopped to rest on the top of
the hill.
"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Rose. "And it's a farmhouse. See the big
barns. There are sure to be horses there."
The girls quite forgot the heat, and ran down the sandy hill and
hurried along the road, which now was a smoother and better one than any
over which they had traveled, and in a short time were near the
comfortable farmhouse. A woman was standing in the doorway watching
them.
"Where in the world did you girls come from," she called out as they
opened the gate, "in all this heat? Come right in. I should think your
folks must be crazy to let you walk in the sun. Was that your father who
went galloping by on a brown horse just now?"
As soon as the woman finished speaking Rose told her their story.
"Then that man had stolen your horse! A Tory, I'll wager; and like
enough a spy," said the woman; "and my menfolks all away. There are two
horses in the pasture; if you girls can catch one of 'em and ride it
back to where your father's waiting, why, you're welcome."
Anne and Rose looked at each other almost in dismay. Neither of them had
ever been on the back of a horse, and to go into a pasture and catch a
strange horse seemed to them very much like facing a wild beast.
"We'll try," said Rose with a little smile.
"I thought you would," said the woman approvingly. "I'd go myself, but
I've got bread in the oven, and I must see to it."
The woman led the way to a shed and filling a shallow pan with oats from
a big bin, handed it to Rose, saying: "You go right through those
bars--leave 'em down; I'll put 'em up for you--and shake these oats and
call 'Range, Range,' and the old horse will be sure to come, and the
colt will follow."
Rose took the pan, and Anne pulled back the heavy bars, and they went a
few steps beyond the fence into the pasture and began to call "Range!
Range!"
In a moment there was the thud, thud of hoofs and two black horses came
dashing down the pasture. Their long manes and tails gave them a
terrifying look to the two girls, who, nevertheless, stood their ground,
Rose holding out the pan as the woman had bidden her.
"Oh, Rose! They'll run right over us!" exclaimed Anne, watching the
horses rushing toward them so swiftly.