Faith opened the trunk and pulled out the blue dress, which only that morning had been so fresh and dainty. Now it was rumpled, soiled and torn. Faith's tears flowed afresh as she held it out for Louise to see.

"I guess you'd better tell your aunt," Louise said soberly. "Tell her now, this minute," she added quickly; "the sooner the better."

Faith looked at her in surprise. She wondered at herself that she had hidden the dress, or even thought of not telling Aunt Prissy.

"I'll go now," she said, and, still holding the dress, walked out of the room. She no longer felt afraid. As she went down the stairs she thought over all Aunt Prissy's goodness toward her. "I'll tell her that I can wear my other dress for best," she decided.

The boys were already in bed; Mr. Scott was attending to the evening ch.o.r.es, and Aunt Prissy was alone in the sitting-room when Faith appeared in the doorway.

"Aunt Prissy, look! I tore my dress coming home to-day, and I was afraid to tell you! Oh, Aunt Prissy!" for her aunt had taken Faith and the blue dress into her arms, and held the little girl closely as she said:

"Why, dear child! How could you ever be afraid of me? About a dress, indeed! A torn dress is nothing. Nothing at all."

"Louise, you are my very best friend," Faith declared happily, as she came running into the room a few minutes later. "I am so glad you made me tell."

Louise looked at Faith with shining eyes. She wished there was some wonderful thing that she could do for Faith as a return for all the happiness her friendship had brought into her life.

The clouds had lifted. Faith had disposed of one secret, and felt the others would not matter very much. The two little friends snuggled down in the big feather bed and were soon fast asleep.

CHAPTER XIII

LOUISE MAKES A PRESENT

The week following Faith's visit to the fort proved rather a difficult one for her at school. Caroline and Catherine seemed to think they had played a fine joke, and accused her of running home when they were waiting for her. Faith had resolved not to quarrel with them, but apparently the sisters meant to force her into trouble, if sneering words and ridicule could do it.

"You're an American, so you don't dare talk back," sneered Catherine one day when Faith made no reply to the a.s.sertion that Faith had meant to run home from the fort alone.

"Americans are not afraid," replied Faith quickly.

Catherine jumped up and down with delight at having made Faith angry.

"Oh, yes they are. My father says so. Another summer the English soldiers are going to take all the farms, and all you rebels will be our servants," declared Catherine.

"Another summer the Green Mountain Boys will send the English soldiers where they will behave themselves," declared Faith. "Ethan Allen is braver than all the men in that fort."

"I don't care what you say. We're not going to play with you any more, are we, Caroline?" said Catherine. "You play with that horrid little lame girl."

"She isn't horrid. She is much better than you are. She wouldn't say or do the things you do!" responded Faith, now too angry to care what she said, "and she is my very best friend. I wouldn't play with you anyway. You're only Tory children," and Faith walked off with her head lifted very proudly, feeling she had won the battle; as indeed she had, for the sisters looked after her in silent horror.

To be called "only" Tory children was a new point of view, and for several days they let Faith wholly alone. Then one morning they appeared at school with the news that it would be their last appearance there.

"We're going to Albany, and never coming back to this rough common place," Catherine said.

"I am glad of it," Faith replied sharply; "perhaps you will learn to be polite in Albany."

Some of the other children overheard these remarks, and a little t.i.tter of amus.e.m.e.nt and satisfaction followed Faith's words. For the sisters had made no effort to be friendly with their schoolmates, and not one was sorry to see the last of them.

Faith awoke each morning hoping that her father would come that day, but it was toward the last of November before he appeared. There had been several light falls of snow; the ground was frozen and ice formed along the sh.o.r.es of the lake. The days were growing shorter, and Mrs.

Scott had decided that it was best for Faith to come straight home from school at night, instead of stopping in to help Louise with her lessons. But both the little girls were pleased with the new plan that Mrs. Scott suggested, for Louise to come home with Faith on Tuesdays and Fridays and stay all night. Louise was learning a good deal more than to read and write. Mrs. Scott was teaching her to sew neatly, and Faith had taught her to knit. She was always warmly welcomed by Donald and the two younger boys, and these visits were the bright days of the week for Louise.

At last, when Faith had begun to think her father might not come after all, she returned from school one night to find him waiting for her.

It was difficult to tell which of the two, father or daughter, was the happier in the joy of seeing each other. Mr. Carew had arrived in the early afternoon, and Aunt Prissy was now busy preparing the evening meal and Faith and her father had the sitting-room to themselves.

There was so much to say that Faith hardly knew where to begin, after she had listened to all her father had to tell her of her mother.

"I would have come before, but I have been waiting for Kashaqua to come and stay with your mother," said Mr. Carew. "She appeared last night, and will stay until I return. And your mother could have no better protector. Kashaqua is proud enough since we proved our confidence in her by sending you here in her charge."

Faith told him about Louise, and was surprised to see her father's face grave and troubled. For Mr. Carew had heard of the shoemaker, and was sure that he was an English spy, and feared that his daughter's friendship with Faith might get the Scotts into some trouble.

"She is my dearest friend. I tell her everything," went on Faith.

"I'm afraid her father is not a friend to the settlers about here,"

replied Mr. Carew. "Be careful, dear child, that you do not mention any of the visitors who come to your uncle's house. Your friend would mean no harm, but if she told her father great harm might come of it,"

for Mr. Scott was doing his best to help the Americans. Messengers from Connecticut and Ma.s.sachusetts with news for the settlers came to his house, and Mr. Scott found ways to forward their important communications to the men on the other side of Lake Champlain.

"Aunt Prissy likes Louise; we all do," pleaded Faith; so her father said no more, thinking that perhaps he had been overanxious.

"Your mother sent your blue beads. I expect you would have been scolded a little for being a careless child if you had been at home, for she found them under the settle cushion the very day you left home," said Mr. Carew, handing Faith two small packages. "The larger package is one that came from Esther Eldridge a few weeks ago," he added, in answer to Faith's questioning look.

"I wonder what it can be," said Faith; but before she opened Esther's package she had taken the blue beads from the pretty box and put them around her neck, touching them with loving fingers, and looking down at them with delight. Then she unfastened the wrapping of the second package.

"Here is a letter!" she exclaimed, and began reading it. As she read her face brightened, and at last she laughed with delight. "Oh, father! Read it! Esther says to let you and mother read it. And she has sent me another string of beads!" And now Faith opened the other box, a very pretty little box of shining yellow wood with "Faith" cut on the top, and took out another string of blue beads, so nearly like her own that it was difficult to tell them apart.

Mr. Carew read Esther's letter. She wrote that she had lost Faith's beads, and had been afraid to tell her. "Now I am sending you another string that my father got on purpose. I think you were fine not to say a word to any one about how horrid I was to ask for your beads.

Please let your mother and father read this letter, so they will know how polite you were to company."

"So it was Esther who lost the beads! Well, now what are you going to do with two strings of beads?" said her father smilingly.

When Aunt Prissy came into the room Faith ran to show her Esther's present and the letter, and told her of what had happened when she had so rashly promised to give Esther anything she might ask for. "I am so glad to have my own beads back again. And most of all I am glad not to have the secret," she said, thinking to herself that life was much happier when father and mother and Aunt Prissy could know everything that she knew. Then, suddenly, Faith recalled the fort, and the difficult climb down the cliff. "But that's not my secret. It's something outside. Something that I ought not to tell," she thought, with a little sense of satisfaction.

"But which string of beads did Esther send you? I can't tell them apart," she heard Aunt Prissy say laughingly.

When the time came for Mr. Carew to start for home Faith was sure that she wanted to go home with him. And it was only when her father had promised to come after her early in March, "or as soon as March stirs the fire, and gives a good warm day," he said, that Faith could be reconciled and persuaded to let him go without her. She was glad indeed that it was a Tuesday, and that Louise would come to stay all night. Faith was eager to tell Louise the story of the blue beads, and to show her those Esther had sent, and those that Aunt Prissy had given her. Faith was sure that she herself could tell the beads apart, and equally sure that no one else could do so.

Louise was waiting at the gate when Faith came from school. At the first sight of her Faith was hardly sure that it was Louise; for the little girl at the gate had on a beautiful fur coat. It was made of otter skins, brown and soft. On her head was a cap of the same fur; and, as Faith came close, she saw that Louise wore fur mittens.

"Oh, Louise! Your coat is splendid," she exclaimed. "And you look so pretty in it; and the cap and mittens." And Faith looked at Louise, smiling with delighted admiration.

Louise nodded happily. "My father sent to Albany for them. A man brought them last night," she said. "You do truly like them?" she questioned, a little anxiously.

"Of course! Any girl would think they were beautiful. Aunt Prissy will be just as glad as I am," declared Faith. "What's in that big bundle?"

she added, as Louise lifted a big bundle from beside the gate.

But if Louise heard she made no reply, and when Faith offered to carry the package she shook her head laughingly. Faith thought it might be something that Louise wanted to work on that evening, and was so intent on telling of her father's visit, the blue beads, and the promised visit to her own dear home in March, that she did not really give much thought to the package.

Aunt Prissy was at the window watching for the girls, with the three little boys about her. They all came to the door, and Aunt Prissy exclaimed, just as Faith had done, over the beauty of Louise's new possessions. "But what is in that big bundle, Louise?" she asked, when the little lame girl had taken off coat, cap and mittens, and stood smiling up at her good friend.