"Shut the door tightly," whispered Lucia, and Rebecca carefully obeyed, and then tiptoed toward the bed.

For a moment the two girls looked at each other, and then Lucia whispered: "What will become of us, Rebecca? Mr. O'Brien told Mother that the men were determined to find out who pushed the liberty tree afloat, and that no mercy would be shown the guilty. That's just what he said, Rebby, for I heard him," and Lucia began to cry.

"But the tree is found and brought back," said Rebecca, "and how can anyone ever find out that we did it? No one will know unless we tell; and you wouldn't tell, would you, Lucia?"

Lucia listened eagerly, and gradually Rebecca grew more courageous, and declared that she was not at all afraid; that is, if Lucia would solemnly promise never to tell of their creeping down to the sh.o.r.e and cutting the rope that held the tree to the stake.

"Of course I never would tell," said Lucia, who was now out of bed and dressing as rapidly as possible. "I wasn't ill; but I stayed up-stairs because I was afraid you might tell," she confessed; and then Rebecca owned that she had felt much the same. "But I had to take a big bowlful of bitter thoroughwort tea," she added, making a little face at the remembrance.

"Well, you are a better medicine than thoroughwort tea," said Lucia; and Mrs. Horton opened the door just in time to hear this.

"Why, it is indeed so," she said, looking in surprise at her little daughter, who seemed quite as well as usual. "Your father has just pa.s.sed, Rebecca, and I asked his permission for you to stay to dinner with us, and he kindly agreed. I think now I must have a little celebration that Lucia has recovered so quickly," and with a smiling nod she left the two girls.

"I know what that means," declared Lucia, for the moment forgetting the danger of discovery. "It means that we shall have rice cooked with raisins, and perhaps guava jelly or sugared nuts."

Rebecca looked at her friend as if she could hardly believe her own ears; for the dainties that Lucia named so carelessly were seldom enjoyed in the remote settlement; and although Captain Horton took care that his own pantry was well supplied it was not generally known among his neighbors how many luxuries his family enjoyed.

"Surely you are but making believe," said Rebecca.

"No, truly, Rebby; we will likely have all those things to-day, since Mother said 'twould be a celebration; and I am glad indeed that you are here. You do not have things like that at your house, do you?" said Lucia.

Rebecca could feel her cheeks flush, but she did not know why she felt angry at what Lucia had said. It was true that the Westons, like most of their neighbors, had only the plainest food, but she wished herself at home to share the corn bread and baked fish that would be her mother's noonday meal. She was silent so long that Lucia looked at her questioningly; and when Mrs. Horton called them to dinner they went down-stairs very quietly.

The table was set with plates of shining pewter. There was a loaf of white bread, now but seldom seen in the settlement, and a fine omelet; and, even as Lucia had said, there was boiled rice with raisins in it, and guava jelly.

Rebecca was hungry, and here was a treat spread before her such, as Lucia had truly said, she never had at home; but to Mrs. Horton's surprise and Lucia's dismay, Rebecca declared that she must go home; and taking her sunbonnet, with some stammering words of excuse she hastened away.

"A very ill-bred child," declared Mrs. Horton, "and I shall be well pleased if your father can take us away from this forsaken spot on his next trip."

Lucia sat puzzled and half frightened at Rebecca's sudden departure.

Lucia did not for a moment imagine that anything she had said could have sent Rebecca flying from the house.

Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Anna were nearly through dinner when Rebecca appeared, and Mrs. Weston declared herself well pleased that Rebby had come home; there were no questions asked, and it seemed to Rebby that nothing had ever tasted better than the corn bread and the boiled fish; she had not a regretful thought for the Hortons' dainties.

Anna told the story of all that had occurred to her that morning; of taking the rabbits to the parsonage, and of London's exclamation and terror at the "white witches," and last of all of Luretta's anger. "And I didn't even tell Luretta that the rabbits were lost," concluded the little girl, and then, with a deep sigh, she added: "I suppose I will have to go right over and tell her."

"Yes," replied her mother gravely, "you must go at once. And you must tell Luretta how sorry you are for taking the rabbits from the box. And fail not to say to Mrs. Foster that you are ashamed at not keeping your promise."

Mr. Weston did not speak, but Rebecca noticed that he seemed pleased rather than vexed with his little daughter. "That's because Anna always tells everything," thought Rebecca. "But if I should tell what I did last night he would think me too wicked to forgive," and at the thought she put her head on the table and began to cry.

"Why, Rebby, dear! 'Tis my fault in letting you go out this morning,"

exclaimed Mrs. Weston, now quite sure that Rebecca was really ill. But in a few moments her tears ceased, and she was ready to help with washing the dishes and setting the room in order.

"I will walk along with you, Danna," said her father, when Anna was ready to start on the unpleasant errand of owning her fault to Luretta, and they started out together, Anna holding fast to her father's hand.

"I wish I need not go, Father," Anna said as they walked along.

Mr. Weston's clasp on his little daughter's hand tightened. "Let me see; do you not remember the verse from the Bible that 'he who conquers his own spirit is braver than he who taketh a city'?" he questioned gently.

Anna looked up at him wonderingly, and Mr. Weston continued: "It is your courage in owning your fault that makes you a conqueror, and as brave as a brave soldier."

"As brave as Washington?" asked Anna, and when her father smiled down at her she smiled back happily. Probably a little girl could not be as brave as a great soldier, she thought, but if her father was pleased it would not be so hard, after all, to tell Luretta about Trit and Trot.

But Anna again firmly resolved that she would take all the blame herself; Melvina should not be blamed in any way for the loss of the rabbits.

CHAPTER X

AN AFTERNOON WALK

At the turn by the blacksmith shop Mr. Weston said good-bye, and Anna went on alone to Luretta's home. The front door was open, and before she reached the house she heard someone crying, and when she stood on the doorstep she realized that it was Luretta, and that Mrs. Foster was endeavoring to comfort her.

"The rabbits are much happier to be free to run back to the woods.

Perhaps by this time they have found their mother, and are telling all their adventures to their brothers and sisters," she heard Mrs. Foster say.

"But Danna and Melvina may have taken them," sobbed Luretta; and then Anna rapped at the door.

"Come in," called Mrs. Foster, and Anna, a little timidly, entered the sitting-room.

Luretta looked up, but did not speak.

"Come right in, Anna," said Mrs. Foster pleasantly. "Luretta has bad news for you; the rabbits are gone."

Anna did not look up, and there was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then she began her story:

"If you please, Mistress Foster, I am sorry I broke my promise to you this morning. You bade me to wait with Melvina by the big log, and I did not."

"You came and took my rabbits," wailed Luretta, "and I s'pose you gave one to that stuck-up Melvina."

Anna nodded. "Yes, I did take them; but I meant to bring them back, Luretta, truly I did. But they got away."

A fresh wail from Luretta made Anna look pleadingly up at Mrs. Foster, whose eyes rested kindly upon her.

"Luretta, stop thy foolish crying," said Mrs. Foster, "and let Anna tell you all the story of the rabbits." Then she rested her hand on Anna's shoulder and said kindly:

"I am glad, Anna, that you and Luretta are friends, for thou art a brave and honest child. Now, I must attend to my work, and I will leave you,"

and the two little girls found themselves alone in the room.

Luretta was sitting in the big cushioned wooden rocker, with her face hidden against the back. Anna was standing in front of her, trying to think of something to say that would make Luretta forgive her. Then she heard Luretta's half-smothered voice say: "Do you s'pose our rabbits did find their mother?"

"I don't know, Luretta, but I only meant to let Melvina play with them.

We--I took them out and carried them over to Melvina's house and we dressed them up in doll's clothes----"

"Yes? Yes? And what else?" asked Luretta eagerly, now facing about and forgetting all her anger in hearing what Anna had to tell. So Anna went on and described all that had happened, imitating London's cry of terror at the sight of the "white witches." At this Luretta began to laugh, and Anna came nearer to the big chair, and even ventured to rest against its arm.

"Luretta, let's you and I go up the trail toward the forest. Perhaps we might find Trit and Trot," she suggested.