Mrs. Pierce stood beside her. “There!” she exclaimed. “What kind of a milliner do you think I should make for the fine ladies in Boston?” and she lifted the hat from Anne’s head, holding it up for the girls to see.
It was a round flat hat, plaited of straw. It had no trimming save a pretty bow and strings of brown ribbon, but Anne thought it was a beautiful hat.
“It’s one I plaited last year,” continued Mrs. Pierce, putting the hat back on Anne’s head, and tying the brown ribbon under her chin. “I did it evenings, just to keep busy. I do wish I had a prettier ribbon for it.”
“Is it for me?” asked Anne, almost afraid that it was almost too much good fortune to expect.
“Of course it is. ’Twill serve to remind you of your Aunt Anne,” and the friendly woman smiled down at Anne’s happy face.
“We will write you a letter, Aunt Anne Rose,” said Rose, as they walked down the path to where the chaise awaited them, “and you will come and visit my mother in Boston, will you not?”
“Mr. Pierce has already promised that they will both come,” said Mr. Freeman.
“And, Anne,” and Mrs. Pierce patted the little hand she was holding so closely, “you tell your father that you have found another aunt, and that he must let you come and stay with me for a long long visit.”
Then good-byes were said, and they were again started on their journey.
“No stops this time—except to ask for news of Lady—until I reach my own house,” declared Mr. Freeman. “’Tis a good cool morning and we ought to get home by midday.”