A Little Maid of Old Maine Part 13

Anna had gathered an armful of dry wood and was just starting back when a queer little frightened cry made her stop suddenly and look quickly around. In a moment the noise was repeated, and she realized that it came from a pile of logs near the river bank. Anna put down the wood, and tiptoed carefully in the direction of the sound.

As she came near the logs she could see a little gray creature struggling to get loose from a coil of string in which its hind legs were entangled.

"Oh! It's a rabbit!" Anna exclaimed. "Perhaps it is Trit," and she ran quickly forward. But the little creature was evidently more alarmed at her approach than at the trap that held him, and with a frantic leap he was off, the string trailing behind him; but his hind feet were still hampered by the twisting string, and he came to a sudden halt.

"Poor Trit! Poor Trit!" called the little girl pityingly, as she ran after him. Just as she was near enough to touch him another bound carried him beyond her reach. On leaped the rabbit, and on followed Anna until they were some distance below the mill and near the river's sloping bank, over which the rabbit plunged and Anna after him. A small boat lay close to the sh.o.r.e, and Bunny's plunge carried him directly into the boat, where, twisted in the string, he lay struggling and helpless.

Anna climbed into the boat and picked up "Trit," as she called the rabbit, and patiently and tenderly untied the string from the frightened, panting little captive, talking gently as she did so, until he lay quiet in her hands.

The little girl was so wholly absorbed in her task that she did not notice that the boat was not fastened, or that her spring into it had sent it clear from the sh.o.r.e. Not until Trit was free from the string did she look up, and then the little boat was several feet from the sh.o.r.e, and moving rapidly downstream.

If Anna had stepped overboard then she could easily have waded ash.o.r.e and made her way back to the mill; but she was so surprised that such a course did not come into her thoughts, and in a few moments the boat was in deep water and moving with the current downstream.

On each side of the river the woods grew down to the sh.o.r.e, and now and then the wide branches of overhanging trees stretched for some distance over the stream. A blue heron rose from the river, making its loud call that drowned Anna's voice as she cried: "Father! Father!" Even had Mr.

Weston been near at hand he could hardly have distinguished Anna's voice. But Anna was now too far downstream for any call to reach her father or Rebby and Paul, who were all anxiously searching for her.

At first the little girl was not at all frightened. The river ran to Machias, and, had it not been that she was sure her father and sister would be worried and sadly troubled by her disappearance, Anna would have thought it a fine adventure to go sailing down the stream with her captured rabbit. Even as it was, she had a gleeful thought of Luretta's surprise and of Melvina's admiration when she should tell them the story.

She soon discovered that the boat leaked, and, holding the rabbit tightly in one hand, she took off her round cap and began to bail out the water, which had now risen to her ankles. Very soon the little cap was soggy and dripping; and now Anna began to wonder how long the leaky little craft could keep afloat.

Both Anna and Rebby could swim; their father had taught them when they were very little girls, and Anna knew that if she would leave the rabbit to drown that she could reach the sh.o.r.e safely; but this seemed hardly to be thought of. She now resolved to clutch at the first branch within reach, hoping in that way to scramble to safety with Trit. But the boat was being carried steadily along by the current, although the water came in constantly about her feet.

"I mustn't get frightened," Anna said aloud, remembering how often her father had told her that to be afraid was to lose the battle.

The boat swayed a little, and then Anna found that the board seat was wabbling.

"I never thought of the seat," she whispered, slipping down to her knees and pulling the seat from the loose support on which it rested. It was hard work to use the board as a paddle with only one hand, but Anna was strong and resolute, and managed to swing the boat a little toward the sh.o.r.e, so when a turn of the river came, bringing the boat close toward a little point of land, she quickly realized that this was her opportunity, and holding Trit close she sprang into the shallow water and in a moment was safe on sh.o.r.e.

The old boat, now half-filled with water, moved slowly on, and Anna knew that it would not be long afloat. She looked about her landing-place with wondering eyes. Behind the little gra.s.sy point where she stood the forest stretched close and dark; the curve of the river shut away the course by which she had come, but she could look down the smooth flowing current, and toward the wooded sh.o.r.es opposite.

The rabbit moved uneasily in her hands, and the little girl smoothed him tenderly. "I don't know who will ever find me here, unless it should be Indians," she said aloud, remembering the canoe that she and Rebby had noticed as they sat on the big rock.

Anna felt a little choking feeling in her throat at the remembrance. It seemed so long ago since she had seen Rebby and her father. "And it's all your fault, Trit," she told the rabbit; "but you could not help it,"

she added quickly, and remembered that the rabbit must be hungry and thirsty, and for a little while busied herself in finding tender leaves and buds for Trit to eat, and in holding him close to the water's edge so that he could drink. Then she wandered about the little clearing and to the edge of the dark forest. She began to feel hungry, and knew by the sun that it was well past noon.

"Oh! If that Indian we saw in the canoe would only come downstream,"

she thought longingly. For Anna well knew that when night came she would be in danger from the wild beasts of the wilderness, but that almost any of the Indians who fished and hunted in that region would take her safely back to her home.

An hour or two dragged slowly by; Anna was very tired. She held Trit close, and sat down not far from the river's edge. "Father will find me some way," she said to herself over and over, and tried not to let thoughts of fear and loneliness find a place in her mind. The little wild rabbit was no longer afraid of its captor, and Anna was sure that it was sorry it had led her into such trouble. But now and then tears came to the little girl's eyes, when suddenly she heard a voice from the river just above the curve singing a familiar air:

"Success to fair America,-- To courage to be free, Success to fair America, Success to Liberty."

"Oh! That is Paul! That is Paul!" cried Anna, jumping up and down with joy; and the next moment a canoe swung round the curve, paddled by a tall boy with a cap ornamented by tall feathers.

Paul nearly dropped his paddle as he saw Anna at the river's edge.

"However did you get here?" he exclaimed, as with a swift stroke of his paddle he sent his canoe to sh.o.r.e.

Anna told him quickly of the capture of Trit, the leaking boat, and her jump to safety, while Paul listened with astonished eyes, and, in his turn, told of the discovery of the honey-tree, and then of the search for Anna.

"Your father and Rebby are sadly frightened," he concluded; "they are well on the way home now, thinking possibly you might have followed the path. Now, get in the canoe, and I'll try my best to get you home by the time they reach the settlement."

Anna sat in the bottom of the canoe, and Paul skilfully wielded the paddle, sending the little craft swiftly down the river.

"That bucket is full of honey," he said, nodding toward the bow of the canoe. But Anna was not greatly interested in the honey; she had even forgotten that she was hungry and thirsty. She could think only of her father and Rebby searching along the path for some trace of her.

It was late in the afternoon when the canoe swept across the river to the same landing where Paul had fastened the liberty tree earlier in the month. And in a few moments Anna was running up the path toward home, followed by Paul with the bucket of honey.

"Why, child! Where are Father and Rebby? and where is your cap?"

questioned Mrs. Weston.

"Oh, Mother!" began Anna, but now the tears could not be kept back, and held close in her mother's arms she sobbed out the story of the capture of Trit, and all that had followed. And then Paul told the story of the honey-tree, and his story was not finished when Anna exclaimed: "Father!

Rebby!" and ran toward the door.

How Mr. Weston's face brightened when he saw Danna safe and sound, and how closely Rebby held her little sister, as Anna again told the story of her journey down the river.

When Paul started for home Mrs. Weston insisted that a generous portion of the bucket of honey should go with him; and Trit, safely fastened in a small basket, was sent to Luretta as a gift from Anna. He promised to be ready the next morning to return to the falls with Mr. Weston in the canoe to bring home the store of honey.

As the Westons gathered about the table for their evening meal they looked at each other with happy faces.

"I couldn't feel happier if the _Polly_ were in port, and America triumphant over her enemies," declared Mr. Weston, as he helped Anna to a liberal portion of honey.

CHAPTER XIV

AN UNINVITED GUEST

Paul and Mr. Weston started off at an early hour the next morning in Paul's canoe to bring home the honey. Beside a tub they took with them a number of buckets, for the old stump had a rich store of honey.

It was a time of leisure for the lumbering settlement. The drives of logs had all come down the river and were safely in the booms. The mills could not run as usual, for the conflict with England made it difficult to send lumber to Boston. The crops were now planted, so Mr. Weston, like other men of the settlement, had time for hunting and fis.h.i.+ng or for improving their simple homes. Some of the men pa.s.sed a good part of each day lounging around the sh.o.r.es and wharves, looking anxiously down the harbor hoping to see Captain Jones' sloops returning with the greatly needed provisions.

Rebecca was up in season to see her father start, but Anna, tired from the adventure of the previous day, had not awakened.

"Is the liberty tree safe?" Rebby asked a little anxiously, as she helped her mother about the household work that morning.

"Why, Rebby dear, what harm could befall it?" questioned her mother.

"The traitor who set it afloat will not dare cut it down. 'Tis a strange thing that, search though they may, no trace can be found of the rascals."

Rebecca's hands trembled, and she dared not look up. It seemed to the little girl that if her mother should look into her eyes she would at once know that she, Rebecca Flora Weston, who had been born in Boston, and whose parents were loyal Americans, had committed the dreadful deed.

She wished with all her heart that she could tell her mother all that Lucia Horton had said; but the promise bound her. She could never tell anyone. Rebecca knew that she could never be happy again. "Not unless I could do some fine thing to help America," she thought, a little hopelessly; for what could a little girl, in a settlement far away from all the strife, do to help the great cause for which unselfish men were sacrificing everything?

Mrs. Weston was troubled about Rebecca. "The child has not really been well since her birthday," she thought, "although I cannot think what the trouble can be."

"Your father says that the honey is really yours, Rebby dear," continued Mrs. Weston, "and that you may decide how it shall be disposed of."