“If I had not run away Aunt Martha would have seen to it that I had things like other girls,” and she said to herself that “always, always, after this I’ll tell Aunt Martha before I do things.”
“To-morrow night we’ll be in Boston, Anne! Think of that,” said Rose happily, when the landlady had shown them to the comfortable chamber that they were to occupy for the night. “Father says we’ll start by sunrise, and give Lady a rest at Scituate. Just think of all I shall have to tell when I get home. And then we’ll go to the shops the very next day. Oh, Anne! I can’t keep the secret another minute,” and Rose came to the window where Anne stood looking out, and putting her arm over the younger girl’s shoulder whispered in her ear: “Captain Stoddard gave me two golden guineas to spend for you, Anne. He said your father left them to buy clothes for you. I planned not to tell you until we were really in the shops and ready to purchase, but I thought it too good news to keep longer,” and Rose smiled down at her little friend.
“Two guineas to buy clothes!” Anne’s voice sounded as if such good fortune was almost beyond belief.
“And I can have a hat, and shoes and stockings, since my own were left behind in the wigwam?” she said questioningly.
“Indeed you can. And mother will go with us, and I doubt not you will have a pretty dress and slippers as well as shoes, and many fine things, for two guineas is a large sum to spend.”
“Perhaps I shall not need to spend it all for clothes,” said Anne; “then I can buy a present for Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos, and perhaps something for Amanda.”
“Amanda!” echoed Rose. “Well, Anne, I would not take her home a gift; she does not deserve one from you.”
Anne was silent, but she was excusing Amanda in her thoughts. As Amos so often said of Jimmie Starkweather that “nothing ever happens to Jimmie,” so did Anne think of Amanda. She somehow felt sorry for Amanda, and had quite forgiven the ugly slaps her playmate had given her.