Amanda nodded; some way it seemed very hard to say that Anne had pushed her down and slapped her.
“And run off with my basket,” she repeated, “and next week she goes to Brewster, and by carriage to Boston.”
“Well, that’s no reason why she should turn so upon you,” declared Mrs. Cary. “What made trouble between you?”
“I think it was because of this journey,” replied Amanda. “She is so set up by it, and she went off with the basket.”
“Never mind about the basket, child; but it’s a sad thing for Anne to so lose her temper. You did quite right to come home, dear child; now brush your hair neatly, and bathe your face, and then come with me to Mistress Stoddard; though I like not our errand,” concluded Mrs. Cary, rolling up the stocking she was knitting.
Amanda looked at her mother pleadingly. “Why must I go to Mistress Stoddard’s?” she questioned. “I have run all the way home, and you know she will not blame Anne; it will be me she will question and blame. Oh, dear!” and Amanda, sure that her evil plan would be discovered, began to sob bitterly.
“There, there! I did but think you could tell Mrs. Stoddard of Anne’s mischief. You need not go, child. Get you a ginger cake from the stone jar in the cellar-way. I’ll tell of the way Anne pushed you about, and made off with the basket, and you sit here by the door. There’s a sweet breeze coming over the marshes,” and, patting Amanda’s ruffled locks, Mrs. Cary took down her sunbonnet from its hook behind the door, and prepared to set forth.
“I’ll not be long away,” she called back, as she passed down the sandy path.
From the pleasant doorway Amanda watched her with a gloomy face. Her plan was going on successfully, but Amanda did not feel happy. She was dreading the time when Amos would return, and his sharp questioning, she knew, would be a very different matter from her mother’s acceptance of her story.
“Everybody always thinks that Anne is right,” she said aloud.