ANNE WINS A FRIEND
"Come, Anne," called Mrs. Stoddard at so early an hour the next morning
that the June sun was just showing itself above the eastern horizon.
"Yes, Mistress Stoddard," answered the little girl promptly, and in a few
minutes she came down the steep stairs from the loft.
"It is early to call you, child," said the good woman kindly, "but the
captain has made an early start for the fishing grounds, and I liked not
to leave you alone in the house in these troublous times; and so eat your
porridge and we'll go and milk Brownie."
Anne hastened to obey; and in a few moments the two were making their way
up the slope through the fragrant bayberry bushes, and breathing in the
sweet morning air. No one else seemed astir in the little settlement. Now
and then a flutter of some wild bird would betray that they had stepped
near some low-nesting bird; and the air was full of the morning songs and
chirrupings of robins, red-winged blackbirds, song sparrows, and of many
sea-loving birds which built their nests among the sand-hills, but found
their food upon the shore.
Anne noticed all these things as they walked along, but her thoughts were
chiefly occupied with other things. There was one question she longed to
ask Mrs. Stoddard, yet almost feared to ask. As they reached the summit of
the hill and turned for a look at the beautiful harbor she gained courage
and spoke:
"Mistress Stoddard, will you please to tell me what a 'spy' is?"
"A spy? and why do you wish to know, Anne?" responded her friend; "who has
been talking to you of spies?"
"Is it an ill-seeming word?" questioned the child anxiously. "The Cary
children did call it after me yesterday when I went to the spring."
"Did they that!" exclaimed Mrs. Stoddard angrily, "and what reply did you
make, Anne?"
The little girl shook her head. "I said nothing. I knew not what they
might mean. Does it mean an orphan child, Mistress Stoddard?" and the
little girl lifted her dark eyes appealingly.
"I will tell you its meaning, Anne, and then you will see that it has
naught to do with little girls. A 'spy' is like this: Suppose some one
should wish to know if I kept my house in order, and what I gave the
captain for dinner, and could not find out, and so she came to you and
said, 'Anne Nelson, if you will tell me about the Stoddard household, and
open the door that I may come in and see for myself, I will give thee a
shilling and a packet of sweets'; then, if you should agree to the
bargain, then you could be called a spy."
"But I would not do such a thing!" declared Anne, a little flash of
resentment in her dark eyes. "Do the Cary children think me like that? I
will throw water on them when next we meet at the spring--aye, and sand."
"Nay, Anne," reproved Mrs. Stoddard, but she was not ill-pleased at the
child's spirit. "Then you would be as bad as they. It does not matter what
they may say; that is neither here nor there. If you be an honest-thinking
child and do well they cannot work harm against you."
As they talked they had walked on and now heard a low "Moo!" from behind a
bunch of wild cherry trees.
"There's Brownie!" exclaimed Anne, "but I do wish she would not 'moo' like
that, Mistress Stoddard. The British might hear her if they come up this
far from shore."
"'Tis only to remind me that it is time she was milked," said Mrs.
Stoddard. "You can play about here, child, till I have finished."
Anne did not wander far. There was something else she wished to know, and
when the bucket was filled with foamy, fragrant milk, of which Mrs.
Stoddard bade the child drink, she said:
"'Tis near a month since my father went. The Cary children also called
after me that my father was a 'traitor'; is that an ill-seeming word?"
"The little oafs!" exclaimed Mrs. Stoddard, "and what else did they say?"
"'Twill not make you dislike me, Mistress Stoddard?" questioned the child.
"I honestly do not know why they should so beset me. But they called me
'beggar' as well, whatever that may be; though I'm sure I am not it, if it
be an ill-seeming word."
Mrs. Stoddard had set down her milking-pail; Brownie was quietly feeding
near by; there was no one to see, and she put her arm about the little
girl and drew her near. It was the first outward show of tenderness that
she had made toward the child, and as Anne felt the kindly pressure of her
arm and looked up into the tender eyes her own face brightened.
"We'll sit here for a bit and rest, child," said Mrs. Stoddard, "and be
sure I think only well of you. Thou art a dear child, and I will not have
aught harm thee or make thee unhappy."
Anne drew a long breath, and snuggled closely to her good friend's side. A
great load was lifted from her sad little heart, for since she had come to
Province Town she could remember but few kindly words, and to have
Mistress Stoddard treat her with such loving kindness was happiness
indeed. For a moment she forgot the taunts of the Cary children, and sat
silent and smiling, her head resting against Mrs. Stoddard's shoulder.
There was a peaceful little silence between the two, and then Anne spoke.
"I would wish to know what 'traitor' might mean, Mistress Stoddard?"
"Very like to 'spy,'" answered Mrs. Stoddard. "The children meant that
your father had told the British that they could find good harbor and
provisions here. That, like a spy, he had opened the door of a friend's
house for silver."
Anne sprang from the arm that had encircled her, her cheeks flushed and
her eyes blazing. "Now!" she declared, "I _will_ throw water upon them
when I go to the spring! All that the bucket will hold I will splash upon
them," and she made a fierce movement as if casting buckets full of wrath
upon her enemies, "and sand!" she continued; "while they are wet with the
water I will throw sand upon them. 'Tis worse to say things of my father
than of me."
"Come here, child," said Mrs. Stoddard; "we will not let words like the
Cary children speak trouble us. And you will remember, Anne, that I shall
be ill-pleased if I hear of water-throwing at the spring. Come, now, we'll
be going toward home."
Anne made no response, but walked quietly on beside her companion. When
they reached the hilltop they paused again before going down the slope
toward home.
"Look, Anne! Are not the fishing-boats all at anchor? What means it that
the men are not about their fishing? We'd best hurry."
Captain Enos met them at the door. He gave Anne no word of greeting, but
said to his wife, "The British tell us to keep ashore. They'll have no
fishing. They know full well how easy 'tis for a good sloop to carry news
up the harbor. They are well posted as to how such things are done."
"But what can we do if we cannot fish?" exclaimed Mrs. Stoddard. "'Tis
well known that this sandy point is no place for gardens. We can scarce
raise vegetables enough to know what they mean. And as for corn and wheat,
every grain of them worth counting has to be bought from the other
settlements and paid for in fish. If we do not fish how shall we eat?"
The captain shook his head. "Go about your play, child," he said, turning
toward Anne, and the little girl walked slowly away toward a bunch of
scrubby pine trees near which she had established a playhouse. She had
built a cupboard of smooth chips, and here were gathered the shells she
had brought from the beach, a wooden doll which her father had made her,
and the pieces of a broken earthenware plate.
She took the doll from its narrow shelf and regarded it closely. Her
father had made it with no small skill. Its round head was covered with
curls carved in the soft wood; its eyes were colored with paint, and its
mouth was red. The body was more clumsily made, but the arms and legs had
joints, and the doll could sit up as erect as its small mistress. It wore
one garment made of blue and white checked cotton. It was the only toy
Anne Nelson had ever possessed, and it had seemed more her own because she
had kept it in the little playhouse under the pines.
"Now, you can go up to the house and live with me," she said happily, "and
now you shall have a truly name. You shall be Martha Nelson now. I know my
father would want you to be called Martha, if he knew that Mrs. Stoddard
put her arm around me and called me a 'dear child,'" and Anne smiled at
the remembrance.
She did not speak of her father before the Stoddards, but she could not
have explained the reason for her silence. She had wondered much about
him, and often watched the harbor yearningly, thinking that after all the
old sloop might come sailing back, bringing the slender, silent man who
had always smiled upon her, and praised her, and had told her that some
day she should have a Maltese kitten, and a garden with blossoming trees
and smooth paths. Anne did not forget him, and now as she regarded her
wooden doll a great longing for a sight of his dear face made her forget
everything, and she leaned her head against a little pine and cried
silently. But as she cried the remembrance of the taunts of the Cary
children came into her thoughts, and she dried her eyes.
"'Tis near the hour when they go to the spring," she said, laying the doll
carefully back in its former resting place. "I will but walk that way that
they may not think me afraid of their ill-seeming words," and with her
dark head more erect than usual, Anne made her way down the path, her
brown feet sinking ankle-deep in the warm sand at every step.
The Cary children, a boy and a girl, both somewhat Anne's seniors, were
already filling their buckets at the spring. Jimmie Starkweather was
there, and a number of younger children ran shouting up and down the
little stream which flowed from the spring across the road.
As Anne came near, Jimmie Starkweather called out: "Oh, Anne Nelson! The
Indians from Truro are camping at Shankpainter's Pond. I've been over
there, near enough to see them at work, this morning. My father says
they'll be gone as soon as they see the British vessels. We'll not have
time to buy moccasins if they go so quickly."
Anne's eyes rested for a moment upon Jimmie, but she did not speak. She
could hear the Carys whispering as they dipped their buckets in the
spring, and as she came nearer, their voices rose loudly: "Daughter of a
spy! Beggar-child! Beggar-child!"
But their taunts vanished in splutterings and pleas for mercy; for at
their first word Anne had sprung upon them like a young tiger. She had
wrenched the bucket of water from the astonished boy and flung it in his
face with such energy that he had toppled over backward, soused and
whimpering; then she had turned upon his sister, sending handful after
handful of sand into the face of that astonished child, until she fled
from her, wailing for mercy.
But Anne pursued her relentlessly, and Captain Enos Stoddard, making his
mournful way toward the shore, could hardly believe his own senses when he
looked upon the scene--the Cary boy prostrate and humble, while his
sister, pursued by Anne, prayed for Anne to stop the deluge of sand that
seemed to fill the air about her.
"I'll not be called ill-seeming names!" shrieked Anne. "If thou sayest
'traitor' or 'spy' to me again I will do worse things to you!"
Captain Stoddard stood still for a moment. Then a slow smile crept over
his weather-beaten face. "Anne!" he called, and at the sound of his voice
the child stopped instantly. "Come here," he said, and she approached
slowly with hanging head. "Give me your hand, child," he said kindly, and
the little girl slipped her slender fingers into the big rough hand.
"So, Jimmie Starkweather, you'll stand by and see my little girl put upon,
will you!" he exclaimed angrily. "I thought better than that of your
father's son, to stand by and let a small girl be taunted with what she
cannot help. It speaks ill for you."
"I had no time, sir," answered the boy sulkily; "she was upon them both in
a second," and Jimmie's face brightened; "it was fine, sir, the way she
sent yon lubber over," and he pointed a scornful finger toward the Cary
boy, who was now slinking after his sister.
"Here, you Cary boy!" called the captain, "come back here and heed what I
say to you. If I know of your opening your mouth with such talk again to
my girl here," and he nodded toward Anne, "I'll deal with you myself. So
look out for yourself."
"I'll see he keeps a civil tongue, sir," volunteered Jimmie, and Captain
Enos nodded approvingly.
"Now, Anne, we'd best step up home," said the captain. "I expect Mistress
Stoddard will not be pleased at this."
Anne clung close to the big hand but said no word.
"I am not angry, child," went on the captain. "I like your spirit. I do
not believe in being put upon."
"But Mistress Stoddard told me I was not to throw water and sand,"
responded Anne, "and I forgot her commands. I fear she will not like me
now," and remorseful tears dropped over the flushed little cheeks.
"There, there! Do not cry, Anne," comforted the captain; "I will tell her
all about it. She will not blame you. You are my little girl now, and
those Cary oafs will not dare open their mouths to plague you."
Mrs. Stoddard, looking toward the shore, could hardly credit what she
saw--the captain, who but yesterday had declared that Anne should not stay
under his roof, leading the child tenderly and smiling upon her!
"Heaven be thanked!" she murmured. "Enos has come to his senses. There'll
be no more trouble about Anne staying."