A Little Maid of Massachusetts Colony, Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  A NEW FRIEND

  "It's morning!" And Anne sat up and looked about with surprised eyes.Little flecks of sunshine came through the sheltering branches of thetall pine, squirrels ran up and down its trunk, and there were chirpingsand calls of birds among the near-by trees. "And I'm not half-way to thetop," continued Anne, shaking off the feeling of drowsiness, andspringing up from the soft moss. She picked up her bundle and "MarthaStoddard" and started on. "'Tis about the time that Aunt Martha andUncle Enos are eating porridge," she thought longingly, and thenremembered that on the hillside, not far from the top, there was aspring of cool water, and she hurried on. She could hear the littletinkling sound of the water before she came in sight of the tiny streamwhich ran down the slope from the bubbling spring; and laying down herdoll and the bundle she ran forward, eager for a drink. She knelt downand drank, and then turned to pick up her belongings, but the bundle anddoll had disappeared. Anne looked about as if she could not believe hereyes. "They must be here!" she exclaimed aloud, and at that moment"Martha Stoddard" peered at her astonished owner from behind a tree. Thelittle wooden doll appeared to walk. Then it bowed very low, andvanished. Anne ran to the tree, but Martha was not there; but the doll'shead could be seen behind a small bush, almost within Anne's reach; butnow Anne stopped, remembering that dolls, even dolls like Martha, couldnot play hide-and-seek. She felt bewildered, and, although Martha bowedand even tried to dance, Anne did not approach a step nearer. She couldsee that a small brown hand was keeping a tight grasp on Martha, and asshe watched this hand a brown face peered out at her over Martha'shead--the brown smiling face of an Indian girl, probably several yearsolder than Anne. After looking at Anne for a few seconds she came outfrom behind the cluster of bushes. "She's as tall as Rose Freeman," wasAnne's first thought.

  "Where is my bundle?" she demanded, for although the Indian girl heldMartha Stoddard in plain sight the bundle was not visible.

  The Indian girl shook her head smilingly, and Anne repeated, "Bundle!Bundle!" and then exclaimed, "Oh, dear, she doesn't know what I say."

  The girl now came a step or two nearer, holding out the doll for Anne totake. Her hair was very black and thick, and braided in one heavy plait.There was a band of bright feathers about her head, and she wore a loosetunic of finely dressed deerskin which came to her knees, and waswithout sleeves. Her arms and feet were bare, and as she stood smilingat Anne she made a very pretty picture.

  Anne reached out her hand for the doll, and as she did so the Indiangirl grasped it firmly, but in so gentle a manner that Anne did not drawback. The girl drew her along, smiling and saying strange sounding wordsin her own language, of which Anne could understand but one--"Mashpee."This was the name of a tribe of Cape Cod Indians who owned land, and whowere always kind and friendly toward the white settlers; Anne was quitesure that the girl was telling her that she belonged to that nation.

  The Indian girl circled around the big tree near the spring, and therelay--spread out on the moss--Anne's pretty blue cape, her white muslindress, and her shoes and stockings and the bright coral beads. TheIndian girl knelt down and picking up the beads fastened them about herown neck; she then threw the cape over her own shoulders, and, pickingup the shoes and stockings, placed them in front of Anne, and put themuslin dress beside them.

  It needed no words to explain this; she had selected what she wantedfrom the bundle and Anne could have the things that the Indian girl didnot want.

  Anne's face must have expressed what she felt, for the smile faded fromher companion's lips, and the dark eyes grew unfriendly. She snatchedthe doll from Anne, and turned as if to run away.

  "Nakanit!"

  Both the girls gave a little jump, for they had been too much engrossedin each other to notice that an Indian squaw had come along the path,and had stopped a short distance from them. As she spoke the Indian girlstarted toward her, and began to talk rapidly. Anne stood waiting, andwondering what would happen now, and heartily wished herself safely backin the Stoddards' snug little house.

  As the Indian woman listened Anne could see that she was angry and whenNakanit, for that was the Indian girl's name, had finished the squawsnatched the cape from the girl's shoulders, and, pointing to the beads,evidently bade her unfasten them. As the Indian girl obeyed the squawgave her a sharp slap on the cheek, and Nakanit, without a look towardAnne, fled into the forest.

  "Here, white child," said the woman, "here are your things. What are youdoing so far from the settlement?"

  "I am going to Brewster," replied Anne.

  The Indian woman eyed her sharply.

  "You have run away from your mother and father," she said sharply.

  "My mother is dead, and my father is at sea," Anne replied, feeling herface growing red under the sharp eyes of the squaw, and a little ashamedthat she did not own that she was running away from Aunt MarthaStoddard. But she felt that Aunt Martha had been very unfair toward her.

  The Indian woman's face softened. "And you journey alone to findfriends in Brewster?" she asked.

  "Yes, indeed; I am to go to Rose Freeman, and ride with her and herfather in their chaise to Boston, and wait at their house for myfather."

  The squaw nodded. The name of Freeman was known to her, and though asixty mile journey seemed a long way for so small a girl as Anne, thewoman only wondered at the unkindness of the white women in letting achild go alone.

  "Come," she said, and Anne, gathering up her shoes and stockings and therumpled white dress, followed her.

  The squaw turned from the path and, as she walked swiftly on, gaveseveral low calls which to Anne sounded like the notes of a bird. Thelast call was answered, and a moment later Nakanit appeared beside them.For a long time they went on in silence, and at last the squaw stoppedsuddenly.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Anne, for directly in front of them was a wigwam, socunningly built in behind a growth of small spruce trees that unless oneknew of its whereabouts it might be easily passed by. The Indian girllaughed at Anne's exclamation, and nodded at her in a friendly manner.

  "Go in," said the squaw. "Did no woman give you food to eat on yourjourney?"

  Anne shook her head.

  "Umph!" grunted the squaw, and turned toward Nakanit, evidently tellingher to bring Anne something to eat.

  The Indian girl opened a basket that stood near the wigwam door and tookout some thin cakes made of corn meal, and handed them to Anne. Anne atethem hungrily; they tasted very sweet and good, and, when she had eatenthe last one, she turned toward the squaw who sat beside her, and said:"Thank you very much. The cakes were good."

  The squaw nodded gravely. Anne looked round the wigwam with curiouseyes. It was evident that Nakanit and her mother were nearly ready for ajourney. The two baskets were near the door, the roll of blankets besidethem, well tied up with stout thongs of deerskin, and the little brushwigwam had nothing else in it.

  The Indian girl stood with her dark eyes fixed on Anne, and the squawtalked rapidly for a few moments, evidently giving the girl informationor directions; then she lifted the smaller of the two baskets, andfastened its deerskin strap over Nakanit's shoulders. The roll ofblankets and the other basket she carried herself.

  "Follow," she said to Anne; "we journey toward Wellfleet and you can gowith us."

  Anne's face brightened, and she began to feel that her troubles wereover. She picked up her own bundle and followed the squaw and the Indiangirl out through the woods and across a meadow where a few cattle werefeeding.

  "This must be Truro," Anne thought to herself as she trudged silently onbeside her new friends.

  It grew very warm and there was no shade, and Anne began to feel tired,but neither Nakanit nor her mother seemed to notice the heat. It waspast noon before they made any stop, and as Anne, who was some distancebehind her companions, saw the squaw turn toward a little wooded hilland begin to lower the basket from her shoulders, she gave a long tiredsigh of relief. Nakanit heard and turned toward her, and reached out herfree h
and to take Anne's bundle. But Anne shook her head, and tightenedher hold on it. This seemed to anger the Indian girl, and with a surlyword she gave Anne a push, sending her over into a clump of wild rosebushes. As Anne reached out to save herself the thorns scratched herhands and arms and she cried out. The squaw turned, and, as she had notseen the push, thought that Anne had stumbled, and began to laugh at herand to mock her cries. This delighted Nakanit, who joined in so loudlythat Anne stopped in terrified amazement, and scrambled out as well asshe could. Her feet ached, and she could hardly walk, but she went onbehind Nakanit into the pleasant shade of the woods, and here hercompanions set down their baskets, and threw themselves down to rest.Anne looked at them a little fearfully; they had not spoken one word toher since leaving the wigwam.

  The squaw opened the basket and gave each of the girls some of the cornbread, which they devoured hungrily. "There are berries over there," shesaid briefly, pointing toward the slope, "and water."

  Nakanit was already running toward the slope, but Anne did not move; shewas still hungry and very thirsty, but too tired to walk, and as shelay on the soft grass she began to dread the moment when the squaw mightstart on again. It was not long before Nakanit returned. She broughtwith her a cunningly made basket of oak leaves pinned together withtwigs, and heaped full of blueberries; the squaw shook her head asNakanit offered her the berries, and pointed toward Anne. Nakanitobeyed, but somewhat sulkily, for she had meant to help Anne with thebundle, and was still angry at Anne's refusal.

  "How good they taste," exclaimed Anne as she helped herself to ahandful, and she smiled up gratefully at Nakanit. The Indian girl's facebrightened, and she smiled back, and sitting down beside Anne held thebasket forward for her to take more. When the berries were finishedNakanit again disappeared.

  After several hours' rest the squaw started on again, and Anne followedafter wondering where Nakanit was. In a short time they came down to asandy beach.

  "Why, look! There's Nakanit!" exclaimed Anne, pointing toward the water,where a bark canoe floated near the shore with Nakanit in it, holdingher paddle ready to send the craft to whatever point on the beach hermother might direct.

  The squaw called, and with a twist of the paddle the girl sent the canoeto the shore. The squaw lifted in the baskets, the roll of blankets andAnne's bundle. "Sit there, and be quiet," she said, and Anne stepped invery carefully and sat down on the bottom of the canoe.

  It was now late in the afternoon. The water was very calm, and asNakanit and her mother dipped their paddles and sent the canoe swiftlyalong, Anne looked back toward the wooded shore and was very glad thatshe was not plodding along over the fields and hills. It was much cooleron the water, and the little girl wondered if her Aunt Martha missed herat all. "But perhaps she is glad that I ran away," thought Anne, for shewas sure that she had not given either Amanda or Mrs. Stoddard anyreason to be unkind or to blame her. "Rose Freeman will be glad I came;I know she will," was her comforting thought.

  "SIT THERE AND BE QUIET"]

  The Indians did not speak save for an occasional word of direction fromthe squaw. The sun had set when they turned the canoe toward the shore.Nakanit pulled the canoe upon the sand beyond reach of the tide, andthe squaw led the way to a little opening among the trees, and thereAnne was surprised to find another wigwam, very much like the one theyhad left that morning. The squaw spread the blankets, gave the girls thecorn cakes with strips of dried fish for their supper, and they hadwater from a near-by brook.

  Anne was soon fast asleep, quite forgetful of her strange surroundingsand of the friends in Province Town.

  Meanwhile those friends had now nearly given up the hope of finding her.

  Amanda Cary's jealousy had vanished the moment she heard of Anne'sdisappearance.

  "I do not know what I shall do with the child," Mrs. Cary saidanxiously, when Amanda cried herself to sleep on the night after Anneleft home, and when, on the next morning, she began sobbing bitterly atthe mention of her playmate's name.

  "Amanda's ashamed; that's what's the matter with her," declared Amosboldly.

  Amanda's sobs stopped, and she looked at her brother with startled eyes.What would become of her, she wondered, if the Stoddards should everfind out that she, Amanda, was the one to blame; that Anne had notdeserved any punishment.

  "Amos, don't plague your sister," said Mrs. Cary. "You know she lovesAnne, even if the girl did slap her. Amanda has a good heart, and shedoes not hold resentment," and Mrs. Cary looked at Amanda with lovingeyes.

  At her mother's words Amanda began to cry again. She thought to herselfthat she could never tell the truth, never. "Everybody will hate me if Ido," she thought, and then, remembering Anne and hearing her father sayon the second day after her disappearance that there was now little hopeof finding the runaway, she felt that she must tell Mrs. Stoddard.

  "I'll wager I could find Anne," said Amos as he and Amanda sat on thedoor-step. "She's started for Brewster."

  "Oh, Amos!" Amanda's voice was full of delight. "I shouldn't wonder ifshe had."

  "But Captain Stoddard says he followed the Truro path and no sign ofher; and other people say that wolves would get her if she started towalk."

  Amanda's face had brightened at Amos's assertion that he knew he couldfind Anne, and now she asked eagerly:

  "What makes you think you could find her, Amos?"

  "You won't tell?" and Amos looked at his sister sharply.

  "I promise, hope to die, I won't," answered Amanda.

  "Well, I'll tell you. I think she started for Truro, and will go by themeadows and over the hill instead of the regular path. I know the wayI'd go, and I know I could find her; but father just shakes his head andwon't let me try."

  "Amos, you go," said Amanda. "Promise you'll go. I'll tell you somethingif you won't ever tell. It's something awful!"

  "I won't tell," said the boy.

  "I made Anne run away! Yes, I did. I was angry when she told me aboutgoing to Boston again, and going in a chaise, and I pushed her----"

  "And then you came home and told mother that yarn!" interrupted Amos;"and mother went and told Mrs. Stoddard, and so Anne got punished anddidn't know what for. You're a nice sister to have!" and the boy's faceexpressed his disgust.

  "But, Amos, I didn't s'pose Anne would run away," pleaded Amanda.

  "Hmph!" muttered Amos. "Well, she has, and whatever happens to her willbe your fault."

  "O-ooh--dear," wailed the little girl. "What shall I do?"

  "Nothing," answered Amos relentlessly; "only of course now I've got tofind her."

  "And you won't ever tell about me," pleaded Amanda.

  "I'd be ashamed to let anybody know I had a sister like you," answeredAmos.

  "Amos, you're real good," responded Amanda, somewhat to her brother'ssurprise. "When will you start?"

  "Right off," declared the boy. "I'll put a jug of water and something toeat in my boat, and I'll go round to Truro--Anne must have got thatfar--and I'll keep on until I find her and tell her how ashamed I am ofyou."

  "And say I'm sorry, Amos; promise to tell her I'm sorry," pleadedAmanda.

  "Lots of use being sorry," said the boy. "When they miss me you cantell them just where I've gone and that I'll be home Saturday night,anyway, or let them hear from me if I don't come."

  "I do believe you'll find her, Amos," declared Amanda.

  "Sure!" answered the boy.