On the high mantelpiece in the dining-room were great branches of white coral, brought from the South Seas; on each side of the front door were huge pink shells. And in the funny little corner cupboard were delicately tinted pink cups and saucers, and the mahogany table was always set with a tall shining silver teapot, and a little fat pitcher and bowls of silver, and the plates were covered with red flowers and figures of queer people with sunshades. Rose told her that these plates came all the way from China, a country on the other side of the earth.
“When does your father say we shall start for Boston?” Anne asked, as the two girls walked down the shady pleasant street that led to the wharves. Anne was not a dull child, and she noticed that no word had been said of Boston, and began to wonder if Mr. Freeman blamed her for running away. “Perhaps your father thinks I am a wicked girl to have run away,” she added before Rose could answer.
“Oh, Anne, no indeed; nobody would think you wicked,” Rose answered promptly. “But father sent a letter to Captain Enos by Amos, and he expects that the captain will get word to us to-day or to-morrow——”
“To say whether I may go or not?” interrupted Anne. “Oh, Rose!” and there was a pleading note in the little girl’s voice, “I do want to go so much, and I do wonder and wonder why Amanda should have slapped me, and why Aunt Martha should have punished me. I do wish I could hear Aunt Martha say again that I was a good child, as she used often to do.”
Rose clasped the little girl’s hand affectionately. “I believe that Amanda was jealous because you were to have this visit,” said Rose, “and who knows, perhaps by this time she is as sorry as can be, and has told Mrs. Stoddard all about it. Perhaps word may come this very night that your Aunt Martha thinks you are a good child, and forgives you for running away.”
As the girls walked along they met a party of men carrying rifles, and hurrying toward Brewster Common.
“They are going to the training field,” explained Rose, at Anne’s surprised exclamation, “and may have to march to Boston to-morrow. Father is anxious to get home.”
The wharves at Brewster were much larger and better cared for than the Province Town landing places; but there were few boats to be seen. Far out a sloop, coming briskly on before a favoring wind, attracted the girls’ attention.
“Rose, that’s the ‘Morning Star,’ Uncle Enos’s sloop. I know it is,” declared Anne; “and he will never let any one else sail her, so it’s Uncle Enos! Let’s hurry! He’s coming straight for this very wharf.”