What would the minister and Mrs. Lyon and Melvina say to her? Perhaps none of them would even speak to her. She had never been so unhappy in her life as she was at that moment. She slipped out of bed; but the moment her feet touched the floor she cried out with pain. For they were bruised and sore.

There was a quick rap at the door, and Mrs. Lyon entered. "Good-morning, Anna. Here are your clothes. I have pressed them. And I suppose these are your shoes and stockings!" and she set down the stout shoes and the knit stockings that Anna had supposed had been swept out to sea.

"When you are dressed come to the kitchen and your breakfast will be ready," said Mrs. Lyon, and left the room before Anna had courage to speak. Anna dressed quickly; but in spite of her endeavors she could not get on her shoes. Her feet hurt her too badly to take off the bandages; she drew her stockings on with some difficulty, and shoes in hand went slowly down the steep stairs.

When she was nearly down she heard Mrs. Lyon's voice: "She is a mischievous child, and her parents encourage her. She looks like a boy, and I do not want Melvina to have aught to do with her."

Anna drew a quick breath. She would not go into the kitchen and face people who thought so unkindly of her. "I will go home," she thought, ready to cry with the pain from her feet, and her unhappy thoughts. The front door was wide open. There was no trace of the storm of the previous night, and Anna made her way softly across the entry and down the steps. Every step hurt, but she hurried along and had reached the church when she gave a little cry of delight, for her father was coming up the path.

"Well, here's my Danna safe and sound," he exclaimed, picking her up in his arms. "And what has happened to her little feet?" he asked, as he carried her on toward home.

And then Anna told all her sad story again, even to the words she had overheard Mrs. Lyon say.

"Don't worry, Danna! I'd rather have my Dan than a dozen of their Melvinas," said Mr. Weston quickly.

When London had come the previous night with the brief message from the minister that Anna was safe at his house and would stay the night there, the Westons had been vexed and troubled, and Mrs. Weston had declared that Anna should be punished for running off in such a tempest to the minister's house. But as Mr. Weston listened to his little daughter's story, and looked at her troubled and tear-stained face, he decided that Anna had had a lesson that she would remember, and needed comforting more than punishment; and a few whispered words to Mrs. Weston, as he set Anna down in the big wooden rocker, made Anna's mother put her arms tenderly about her little daughter and say kindly:

"Mother's glad enough to have her Danna home again. And now let's look at those feet."

Rebby came running with a bowl of hot porridge, and the little girl was made as comfortable as possible. But all that morning she sat in the big chair with her feet on a cushion in a smaller chair, and she told her mother and Rebby all the story of her adventures; and when Rebby laughed at Melvina's not knowing an alder from a pine Danna smiled a little. But Mrs. Weston was very sober, although she said no word of blame. If Melvina Lyon's things had been lost it would be but right that Anna's parents should replace them to the best of their ability, and this would be a serious expense for the little household.

After dinner Rebby went to the Fosters', and came home with the story of Melvina's return home. It seemed that the moment Anna left her she became frightened and had followed her up the slope; and then, while Mr.

Lyon and London were searching for her, she had made her way home, told her story, and had been put to bed. Luretta had carried Melvina's things and Anna's shoes and stockings well up the sh.o.r.e, and had put them under the curving roots of the oak tree; so, although they were well soaked, they were not blown away, and early that morning Luretta had hastened to carry the things to the parsonage.

"You were brave, Dan, to go through all that storm last night to tell the minister," said Rebby, as she drew a footstool near her sister's chair and sat down. Rebby was not so troubled to-day; for her father had postponed his trip to the forest after the liberty tree, and Rebby hoped that perhaps it would not be necessary that one should be set up in Machias. So she was ready to keep her little sister company, and try to make her forget the troubles of her adventures.

"Of course I had to go, Rebby," Anna responded seriously, "but none of it, not even my feet, hurt so bad as what Mrs. Lyon said about me. For I do not think I am what she said," and Anna began to cry.

"Father says you are the bravest child in the settlement; and Mother is proud that you went straight there and took all the blame. And I am sure that no other girl is so dear as my Danna," declared Rebby loyally.

"After all, what harm did you do?"

But Anna was not so easily comforted. "I tried to make fun of Melly for not knowing anything. I tried to show off," she said, "and now probably she will never want to see me again; and oh, Rebby! the worst of it all is that Melvina is just as brave as she can be, and I like her!" And Anna's brown eyes brightened at the remembrance of Melvina's enjoyment of their sport together.

"Don't you worry, Danna; Father will make it all right," Rebecca a.s.sured her; for Rebecca thought that her father could smooth out all the difficult places.

Anna did not speak of the excursion to the forest; she did not even think of it until that evening, when her father came home with a roll of fine birch-bark, soft and smooth as paper, on whose smooth surface she and Rebecca with bits of charcoal could trace crude pictures of trees and Indians, of birds and mice, and sometimes write letters to Lucia Horton or Luretta Foster.

"You must take good care of your feet, Dan, for I must start after the liberty tree in a few days," said Mr. Weston, "and I want your company."

Anna's face brightened, but Rebecca looked troubled.

"Why must we have a liberty pole, Father?" she asked fretfully.

"We have good reasons, daughter. And to-day tidings have come that the brave men of Lexington and Concord, in Ma.s.sachusetts, drove the British back to Boston on the nineteenth of April. 'Tis great news for all the colonies. I wish some British craft would give Machias men a chance to show their mettle," said Mr. Weston, his face flushing at the thought of the patriotic action of the men of Ma.s.sachusetts.

Rebecca sighed. She, too, wished that her home town might do its part to win a victory for America; but, remembering what Lucia Horton had told her, the very mention of a liberty pole made her tremble.

When Anna hobbled up-stairs that night she was in a much happier frame of mind.

"My father is the best father in all the world, and my mother is the best mother, and my sister is the best sister," she announced to the little group as she said good-night. But the shadow of Mrs. Lyon's disapproval was not forgotten; Anna wondered to herself if there was not some way by which she could win the approval of Mr. and Mrs. Lyon, and so be allowed to become Melvina's friend.

"Mrs. Lyon doesn't like me because my hair is short, for one reason,"

thought Anna. "I'll let it grow; but 'twill take years and years," and with this discouraging thought her eyes closed, and she forgot her troubles in sleep.

CHAPTER V

A BIRTHDAY

In a few days Anna's feet were healed, and, wearing her soft moccasins, she could run about as well as ever. But her father and mother were quick to see that a great change had come over their little daughter.

She no longer wanted to be called "Dan"; she told her mother that she wanted her hair to grow long, and she even asked Rebecca to teach her how to sew more evenly and with tinier st.i.tches.

For Anna had made a firm resolve; she would try in every possible way to be like Melvina Lyon. She gave up so many of her out-of-door games that Mrs. Weston looked at her a little anxiously, fearing that the child might not be well. Every day Anna walked up the path to the church, and lingered about hoping for a glimpse of Melvina; but a week pa.s.sed and the little girls did not meet.

At last the day came when Mr. Weston was ready to start for the forest to select the liberty tree; but, greatly to his surprise, Anna said that she did not wish to go, and he started off without her.

This was the first real sacrifice Anna had made toward becoming like Melvina. She was quite sure that Melvina would not go for a tramp in the forest. "It would spoil her clothes," reflected Anna, and looked regretfully at her own stout gingham dress, wishing it could be changed and become like one of Melvina's dresses of flounced linen.

"I would look more like her if I wore better dresses," she decided.

"Mother, may I not wear my Sunday dress?" she asked eagerly. "I will not play any games, or hurt it. I will only walk as far as the church and back."

For a moment Mrs. Weston hesitated. It seemed a foolish thing to let Anna wear her best dress on a week day; but the little girl had been so quiet and unhappy since the night of her adventure that her mother decided to allow her this privilege; and Anna ran up-stairs, and in a few minutes had put on her Sunday dress. It was a blue muslin with tiny white dots, and the neck and sleeves were edged with tiny white ruffles. It had been Rebecca's best dress for several summers, until she outgrew it, and it was made over for the younger girl, but Anna was very proud of it, and stood on tiptoe to see herself reflected in the narrow mirror between the windows of the sitting-room. Her mother had made a sunbonnet of the same material as the dress, and Anna put this on with satisfaction. Always before this she had despised a sunbonnet, and never had she put it on of her own accord. But to-day she looked at it approvingly. "No one would know but that my hair is long, and braided, just like Melvina's," she thought as she walked slowly toward the kitchen.

"I will only walk to the church and straight back, Mother dear," she said, "and then I will put on my gingham dress, and sew on my patchwork."

"That's a good girl. You look fine enough for a party," responded her mother, and stood at the door watching Anna as she walked soberly down the path.

"I know not what has come over the child," she thought, with a little sigh. "To be sure, she is more like other little girls, and perhaps it is well;" but Mrs. Weston sighed again, as if regretting her noisy, singing "Dan," who seemed to have vanished forever.

When Anna reached the church she stood for a moment looking wistfully toward the parsonage. "If Mrs. Lyon could see me now she would not think me a tomboy," thought Anna; and with the thought came a new inspiration: why should not Mrs. Lyon see her dressed as neatly as Melvina herself, and with the objectionable short hair hidden from sight?

"I will go and call," decided Anna, her old courage returning; "and I will behave so well that Mrs. Lyon will ask me to come often and play with Melvina," and, quite forgetting to walk quietly, she raced along the path in her old-time fashion until she was at the minister's door.

Then she rapped, and stood waiting, a little breathless, but smiling happily, quite sure that a little girl in so pretty a dress and so neat a sunbonnet would receive a warm welcome. Perhaps Mrs. Lyon would come to the door, she thought hopefully.

But it was Melvina herself who opened the door. Melvina, wearing a white dress and a long ap.r.o.n.

For a moment the two little girls stood looking at each other in surprise. Then Melvina smiled radiantly. "Oh! It really is you, Anna!

Come in. I am keeping house this afternoon, and n.o.body will know that you are here."

"But I came to call on your mother. I wanted her to see me," explained Anna.

But Melvina did not seem to notice this explanation. She took Anna's hand and drew her into the house.

"Oh, Dan! wasn't it fun to wade and run on the sh.o.r.e?" said Melvina eagerly, as the two girls entered the big pleasant kitchen. "I didn't mind being wet or frightened or punished. Did you?"