“I don’t think much of his name,” said Amos, a little regretfully; “it’s ’Shining Fish.’”
“But you won’t stay with the Indians, Amos, will you?” pleaded Anne.
“I s’pose I’ll have to go home,” agreed Amos. “I wonder what Jimmie Starkweather will say when I tell him about living with Indians,” and Amos looked more cheerful at the thought of Jimmie’s surprise and envy when he should describe his adventures. “Nothing ever happens to Jimmie,” he added, in a satisfied tone.
After Amos and the Indians had started on their way back to the Indian village Rose and Anne followed Mrs. Freeman into the square comfortable house. Mrs. Freeman had heard all about Anne, and now, as she noticed the torn and soiled dress, the untidy hair and moccasin-covered feet, she whispered to Rose: “Take the child right up-stairs. I don’t want your uncle to see her looking so like a wild child of the woods.”
Rose nodded laughingly. Aunt Hetty Freeman was known as one of the best housekeepers in Brewster, and no one had ever seen her looking other than “spick and span,” as her husband often admiringly declared. Rose always said that she could tell just what part of the big house Aunt Hetty was in because she could hear her starched skirts rattle; and she realized that Anne’s untidy appearance was a real trouble to her kind-hearted aunt.
Anne looked at the broad stairway admiringly, and exclaimed at the sight of a tall clock on the landing. “It’s better than Boston, isn’t it, Rose?” she said, as Rose took her into the big comfortable room, with its high, curtained bed and chintz curtained windows.
“It’s a dear house,” answered the older girl, who was too loyal to her home to think any other place quite as good. “You are the bravest child I ever heard of,” Rose continued admiringly, drawing Anne down beside her on the broad cushioned window-seat; “to think of your starting out to come all the way alone to Brewster through the wilderness!”
“I guess I should have been lost but for the Indians,” replied Anne; “but when Aunt Martha said I could not come, that she did not want to hear more of any visit to Brewster or Boston, I had to run away. But now I’m sorry,” and Anne began to cry bitterly. Rose, too, looked very unhappy, for she realized that Captain and Mrs. Stoddard would be greatly troubled until they knew of the little girl’s safety. And, besides that, she was sure that her father would not be willing to take a runaway child to Boston. But Rose resolved not to worry about it, and not to tell Anne that she feared that she would be sent home to her Aunt Martha, instead of taking the wonderful journey to Boston.
So she comforted her little guest, and told her not to feel bad—that Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos would be only too happy to know that she was safe.
“And see, Anne, what my good mother sent you,” and Rose opened a small hair-covered trunk that stood near the tall chest of drawers, and took out a pretty dress of spotted percale, and some white stockings. Then there was a dainty white petticoat, and a set of underwear, all trimmed with a pretty crocheted edge.