IN BOSTON
Mr. Freeman looked a little puzzled when he heard the girls calling Mrs.
Pierce "Aunt Anne Rose," and when Mrs. Pierce told him that was really
her name he thought, as the girls had, that it was almost like
discovering a relative. Mr. Pierce had insisted that they should borrow
the black colt for the remainder of their journey, and they were ready
to start at an early hour the next morning.
Rose was tying the ribbons to her pretty hat, while Anne watched her a
little wistfully, wishing that she had a hat--almost any kind of a hat,
she thought--so that she might not look like "a little wild girl," as
she had overheard some one call her at the Sandwich tavern. Just then
she felt something placed gently on her head and saw two broad brown
ribbons falling each side of her face.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, looking up in wonder.
Mrs. Pierce stood beside her. "There!" she exclaimed. "What kind of a
milliner do you think I should make for the fine ladies in Boston?" and
she lifted the hat from Anne's head, holding it up for the girls to see.
It was a round flat hat, plaited of straw. It had no trimming save a
pretty bow and strings of brown ribbon, but Anne thought it was a
beautiful hat.
"It's one I plaited last year," continued Mrs. Pierce, putting the hat
back on Anne's head, and tying the brown ribbon under her chin. "I did
it evenings, just to keep busy. I do wish I had a prettier ribbon for
it."
"Is it for me?" asked Anne, almost afraid that it was almost too much
good fortune to expect.
"Of course it is. 'Twill serve to remind you of your Aunt Anne," and the
friendly woman smiled down at Anne's happy face.
"We will write you a letter, Aunt Anne Rose," said Rose, as they walked
down the path to where the chaise awaited them, "and you will come and
visit my mother in Boston, will you not?"
"Mr. Pierce has already promised that they will both come," said Mr.
Freeman.
"And, Anne," and Mrs. Pierce patted the little hand she was holding so
closely, "you tell your father that you have found another aunt, and
that he must let you come and stay with me for a long long visit."
Then good-byes were said, and they were again started on their journey.
"No stops this time--except to ask for news of Lady--until I reach my
own house," declared Mr. Freeman. "'Tis a good cool morning and we ought
to get home by midday."
"Perhaps we shall find Lady," suggested Rose. But Mr. Freeman shook his
head.
"I'm afraid it will be a long time before we get any news of her," he
said soberly. "I only hope the thief will not abuse her." The brown
horse had always been petted and made much of, and neither Mr. Freeman
nor Rose could bear to think of her in the hands of people who would not
be kind to her.
Every now and then Anne would take off the plaited straw hat and look at
it with admiring eyes. "I shall not have to buy a hat now, Rose," she
said.
"But you will want a prettier one than that," responded her friend.
"A prettier hat!" Anne's tone seemed to say that she could not imagine
a prettier hat, and she shook her head. "I sha'n't ever want any other
hat," she declared. "I mean to keep this always because Aunt Anne Rose
gave it to me."
The black colt sped along as if it was nothing but play to pull the big
chaise. The girls told Mr. Freeman of all that Aunt Anne Rose had said
about the big farm, and of her own loneliness when her husband and sons
were away. Rose noticed that, although her father listened, his glance
traveled sharply over the pastures as they went along; and that now and
then he leaned out for a clearer view of some horse feeding near the
road, and she realized that he was keeping an outlook for Lady.
But there was no sign of the pretty brown horse, and Mr. Freeman's
inquiries at houses and in villages along the way did not give him any
news of Lady. There was so much for Anne to see and think about that she
hardly realized what a serious loss had befallen her good friends. But
as they drove down Long-acre Street, past Boston Common, and turned into
the street where the Freemans' house stood, she saw that Rose and Mr.
Freeman both looked very downcast.
"What will mother say?" Rose half whispered, as if to herself.
Mrs. Freeman was at the door to welcome them.
"And here is our little maid from Province Town," she said, putting her
arm about Anne. "You are indeed welcome, dear child; and it is a fine
time for a little girl to visit Boston."
Mr. Freeman had expected his wife to ask what had become of Lady, and
was surprised that she did not. He led the colt toward the stable, which
stood in a paved yard back of the house, and Frederick ran ahead to open
the stable door.
"Upon my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Freeman, for there in her own comfortable
stall was Lady, munching her noonday meal as if everything was just as
usual.
"The man got here last night with Lady," explained Frederick; "he was in
a great hurry to get a boat, and he told me--for mother was at a
neighbor's--that you'd be coming on to-day. Was he taking a message to
American troops? Mother said that must be his business; that you'd lend
Lady for no other reason," and the boy looked at his father
questioningly.
"I hope that may have been his errand," said Mr. Freeman, "but I fear
he was on other business. The Tories are more anxious than Americans for
boats just now," and he told the boy how Lady had been stolen. "But who
ever it was must have known me and where I live," he concluded; "'tis
not every thief who leaves the horse in its owner's stable."
"But your name is on the little brass plate on Lady's bridle," Frederick
reminded him, "so 'twould be easy if the man were honest."
Mr. Freeman cautioned them not to tell any one but Rose's mother of
their discovery of the shingled house in the woods where Bill Mains had
the hidden stores.
"No one knows just whom to trust these days," he said, "and if such news
was known to those who sympathize with the English they'd soon be after
his guns and powder."
"I think we will have a sewing-bee," Mrs. Freeman said, when Rose had
told her the story of Anne's flight from Province Town, and that the
little girl had no clothing, but had two golden guineas to spend. "You
and Anne will have to be busy with your needles for a part of each day
until she has proper clothes. And early to-morrow morning we will walk
up to Mistress Mason's shop on Cornhill and get her some shoes."
The little room that opened from Rose's chamber had a broad window which
looked toward the harbor. There were white curtains at this window, tied
back with crocheted bands of white cotton. The floor was painted a soft
grayish brown, and there were strips of rag carpet spread beside the
white covered bed, and in front of the mahogany bureau. There was a
looking-glass hung over this bureau. By standing on tiptoe Anne could
see herself in it. In one corner of the room was a wash-stand with a
blue china bowl and pitcher. Near the window was a low table and a
rocking-chair.
It was a very neat and pleasant room, and to Anne it seemed beautiful.
That it opened directly into the big square chamber where Rose slept
made her feel very much at home. She wished that Aunt Martha Stoddard
could see it, and she went to the window and looked off across the blue
waters of the harbor wishing that she could see Aunt Martha and tell her
all the wonderful things that had befallen her.
It was decided that Anne was to have a pair of slippers with straps
fastening around the in-step and a pair of shoes for every-day wear.
Mrs. Freeman had a good store of white stockings which Rose had outgrown
and from these a number were selected for Anne. When she was dressed
ready to go to the shops with Mrs. Freeman and Rose the latter
exclaimed:
"Mother, mayn't I open the parlor shutters so that Anne can see herself
in the long mirror?"
"Why, yes; but be very careful to close them that the sun may not strike
on the carpet," replied Mrs. Freeman, a little reluctantly; for the
Freemans' parlor was a very grand room and opened only when company was
asked to tea, or when some distinguished person came to call.
Rose turned the brass knob, pushed open the white-paneled door and
tiptoed into the shadowy room. "Come in, Anne!" she called, and Anne
followed. She had not seen this room when she had visited the Freemans
with Uncle Enos two years before.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, half fearfully, as her feet sank into the soft
carpet. Then she stood quite still until Rose had opened the paneled
inside shutters at one of the large windows. She looked about her in
wonder. Directly opposite the door was a fireplace with a high white
mantel and over the mantel was the portrait of a very old lady who
seemed to be smiling straight at Anne.
"Come in," Rose repeated, with a little laugh of pleasure at Anne's
evident admiration, and she led her little visitor toward the front of
the room where a long mirror, from ceiling to floor, was fastened
against the wall between the two windows. "Look at yourself, Anne. You
can see the room afterward," she said, and Anne looked into the mirror
and smiled, for she saw a little dark-eyed girl with smoothly braided
hair, wearing a hat of plaited straw with a brown ribbon, and a dress of
brown linen with a pretty frill at the neck. She looked down admiringly
at her white stockings and new shoes, and then twisted her head in the
hope of seeing the back of this neat little girl. She quite forgot the
soft carpet, and the shining tables and cushioned chairs.
"I do wish Amanda could see me," she said; "she'd be real glad I had
these fine things."