ANNE'S BOOK
"Rose," said Anne, as soon as they left the little shop, "I know what I
shall buy for Aunt Martha; I shall buy her one of those fine pewter
dishes."
"So you can! It will be sure to please her," replied Rose, looking
kindly down at her little friend. "You are always thinking of giving
people things, aren't you, Anne? My Grandmother Freeman, who lived in
Wellfleet, used to say that it was a sign that a child would grow up
prosperous and happy if it had the spirit to give instead of to take."
When the girls went up the brick walk to the Freeman house they saw
Frederick and a number of small boys in the yard. Frederick was standing
on a box with a paper in his hand, from which he was reading, and he and
his companions were so interested that they did not notice the girls.
"He's playing that he's Colonel Crafts reading the Declaration," Rose
whispered to Anne, as they opened the front door, and entered the house.
"Fred has made believe everything that has happened here in Boston for
the last two years."
"It's warm weather for candy-making," said Mrs. Freeman, as the family
gathered at the supper table in the cool pleasant dining-room, "but
Caroline is going to see her mother this evening, so you children can
have the kitchen, and you will not have another opportunity for a long
time to send Aunt Anne Rose any remembrance."
The children all declared that it was not too warm for candy-making, and
as soon as Caroline, a young woman who helped Mrs. Freeman and Rose with
the household work, gave them permission Rose, Anne, Millicent and
Frederick went into the kitchen. Rose opened a deep drawer in a chest
which stood in one corner of the room.
"Look, Anne," she said, and Anne peered in, exclaiming:
"Why, it's filled with little boxes!"
"Yes," said Rose, picking up one shaped like a heart; "stormy days,
and sometimes in winter evenings, when I do not feel like knitting or
sewing, I make boxes out of heavy paper or cardboard, and cover them
with any bits of pretty paper or cloth that I can get. Frederick helps
me. He can make even better ones than I can, and Millicent helps too,"
and she smiled down at the little sister who stood close beside Anne.
"Let's send Aunt Anne Rose the heart-shaped box," said Anne.
"And fill it with heart-shaped taffy," added Frederick, running toward a
shelf filled with pans and kettles of various shapes and sizes, and
taking down a box. "See, we have little shapes for candy," and he opened
the box and took out some tiny heart-shaped pans, and dishes shaped in
rounds and stars and crescents.
"My!" exclaimed Anne, "and can you make the candies in these?"
"No!" and Frederick's voice was a little scornful. "We have to boil it
in a kettle, of course; then we grease the inside of these little pans
with butter and turn the candy into them, and when it cools we tip them
out, and there they are. Fine as any you can buy, aren't they, Rose?"
"Yes, indeed, and Frederick knows just how to take them out without
breaking the candy. He is more careful than I am," said Rose, who lost
no opportunity of praising her little brother and sister, and who never
seemed to see any fault in them.
"Molasses taffy is the best," declared Frederick, "but you can make some
sugared raisins, can't you, Rose?"
"We'll have to be very careful in putting the candy in the boxes so that
it will not melt," said Rose.
Before it was time to pack the candy Mrs. Freeman came into the kitchen
and untied a bundle to show the children what it contained.
"It's lovely, mother!" exclaimed Rose, lifting up a little fleecy
shoulder cape of lavender wool. "Why, it's the one you knit for
yourself!" and she looked at her mother questioningly.
"It seemed all I had that was pretty enough to send Mrs. Pierce,"
replied Mrs. Freeman.
"But she lives way off in that lonesome place where she never sees
pretty things. She'd be pleased with anything," said Rose, who almost
wished that her mother would keep the pretty shawl.
"That's why I want to send this to her," responded Mrs. Freeman. "If she
had all sorts of nice things I wouldn't do it; I'd just send her a cake
with my love."
"Send the cake, too," said Mr. Freeman, who had followed his wife. "Send
the cake with my love."
"Why, so I will," said Mrs. Freeman. "Caroline made two excellent loaves
of spice cake this very day and we can well spare one of them. But you
children must trot off to bed. It's been a very exciting day."
Little Millicent was quite ready for bed, but neither Anne nor Rose was
sleepy, and Rose followed her little friend into her room.
"See how clear the night is, Anne," she said, looking out of the window
toward the harbor. "The water looks like a mirror."
Anne came and stood beside her. Her thoughts traveled across the smooth
waters to the little house in Province Town. "I shouldn't wonder if Aunt
Martha were looking out at the water and thinking about me," she said,
drawing a little nearer to the tall girl beside her. "I wish she knew
how good everybody is to me."
Rose put her arm about the little girl. "She expects everybody to be
good to you, Anne," she responded; "but I have thought of something that
you can do for Mrs. Stoddard that I am sure will please her, and will be
something that she will always like to keep."
"What is it, Rose?" and Anne's voice was very eager.
"Let's sit down here on the window-seat, and I'll tell you. You have
learned to write, haven't you, Anne?"
"Not very well," confessed the little girl.
"All the better, for what I want you to do will teach you to write as
neatly as possible. I want you to write a book."
"A book!" Anne's voice expressed so much surprise and even terror that
Rose laughed aloud, but answered:
"Why, yes, and you must call it 'Anne Nelson's Book,' and you must begin
it by telling what Amanda Cary did to you, and how you believed that
Mrs. Stoddard would be glad if you went away. And then you can write all
your journey, about the Indians, the house in the woods, Aunt Anne Rose,
and all that you see and do in Boston."
"I haven't any paper," said Anne, as if that settled the question.
"I have a fine blank book, every page ruled, that will be just the
thing," responded Rose, "and I will help you write it. I can draw a
little, and I have a box of water-colors. I will make little pictures
here and there so that Mrs. Stoddard can see the places."
"Oh, Rose! That will be fine. Shall we begin the book to-morrow?"
Anne was soon in bed, but there were so many wonderful things to think
of that she lay long awake.
The Freeman household rose at an early hour. After breakfast Mrs.
Freeman said: "Now, Anne, we will make believe that you are my own
little girl, and I will tell you what to do to help me, just as I do
Rose. You see," she added with a little laugh, "that I am like
Frederick. I like to play that all sorts of pleasant things are really
true."
Anne smiled back. "I like to make-believe, too," she said.
"Then we'll begin right now. You can help Rose put the chambers in
order, and dust the dining-room. After that Rose can show you the
attic, if you want to see where the children play on stormy days, or you
may do whatever you please."
"The attic will be the very place for Anne to write her book," said
Rose, and told her mother of their plan.
It was a very happy morning for Anne. Rose tied a big white apron around
her neck, gave her a duster of soft cloth, and showed her just how to
make a bed neatly, and put a room in order. Then, when the work was
finished, the girls went up the narrow stairs to the attic, a long
unfinished room running the whole length of the house with windows at
each end. Under one of these windows stood a broad low table. Rose had
brought up the blank book, a number of pens, made from goose-quills, and
a bottle of ink. She put them on the table and drew up a high-backed
wooden chair for Anne. "I'll sit in this rocking-chair at the end of the
table with my knitting," said Rose.
Anne looked about the attic, and thought that the Freeman children had
everything in the world. There was a big wooden rocking-horse, purchased
for Frederick, but now belonging to Millicent. There were boxes of
blocks, a row of dolls beside a trunk, a company of tin soldiers, and
on a tiny table was spread out a little china tea-set. It was rather
hard for Anne to turn away from all these treasures and sit down at the
table. She had never seen so many toys in all her life, and she thought
she would like to bring her own wooden doll, "Martha Stoddard," that her
father had made for her years ago, up to the attic to visit with these
beautiful dolls of china, wax, and kid. But Rose had opened the book and
stood beside the table waiting for Anne to sit down.
"How shall I begin?" questioned the little girl anxiously.
"Why, I'd begin just as if I were writing a letter," said Rose.
So Anne dipped the quill in the ink, and, with her head on one side, and
her lips set very firmly together, carefully wrote: "My dear Aunt
Martha."
Rose looked over her shoulder. "That is written very neatly, Anne," she
said.
"Don't you want to make a picture now, Rose?" said the little girl
hopefully.
Rose laughed at Anne's pleading look, but drew the book toward her end
of the table, and taking a pencil from her box of drawing materials
made a little sketch, directly under Anne's written words, of a little
girl at a table writing, and pushed the book back toward Anne.
"Now I will knit while you write," she said.
So Anne again dipped the quill into the ink, and wrote: "This is a
picture of me beginning to write a book. Rose made it." The attic was
very quiet, the sound of Anne's pen, and of Rose's knitting-needles
could be heard, and for a little time there was no other sound; then
came a clatter of stout shoes on the stairway, and little Millicent
appeared.
"See, I found this in Anne's room!" she exclaimed.
Anne looked around, and saw Millicent holding up her beloved "Martha
Stoddard." With a quick exclamation she sprang up and ran toward her.
"That's my doll," she exclaimed, and would have taken it, but Millicent
held it tightly exclaiming:
"I want it!"
Anne stood looking at the child not knowing what to do. This doll was
the dearest of her possessions. She had given her beautiful coral
beads to the Indian girl, and now Millicent had taken possession of her
doll. She tried to remember that she was a big girl now, ten years old,
and that dolls were for babies like six-year-old Millicent. But "Martha
Stoddard" was something more than a plaything to Anne; she could not
part with it. But how could she take it away from the little girl?
"I want it," repeated Millicent, looking up at Anne with a pretty smile,
as if quite sure that Anne would be glad to give it to her. Anne put her
hands over her face and began to cry.