“All the better, for what I want you to do will teach you to write as neatly as possible. I want you to write a book.”
“A book!” Anne’s voice expressed so much surprise and even terror that Rose laughed aloud, but answered:
“Why, yes, and you must call it ‘Anne Nelson’s Book,’ and you must begin it by telling what Amanda Cary did to you, and how you believed that Mrs. Stoddard would be glad if you went away. And then you can write all your journey, about the Indians, the house in the woods, Aunt Anne Rose, and all that you see and do in Boston.”
“I haven’t any paper,” said Anne, as if that settled the question.
“I have a fine blank book, every page ruled, that will be just the thing,” responded Rose, “and I will help you write it. I can draw a little, and I have a box of water-colors. I will make little pictures here and there so that Mrs. Stoddard can see the places.”
“Oh, Rose! That will be fine. Shall we begin the book to-morrow?”
Anne was soon in bed, but there were so many wonderful things to think of that she lay long awake.
The Freeman household rose at an early hour. After breakfast Mrs. Freeman said: “Now, Anne, we will make believe that you are my own little girl, and I will tell you what to do to help me, just as I do Rose. You see,” she added with a little laugh, “that I am like Frederick. I like to play that all sorts of pleasant things are really true.”
Anne smiled back. “I like to make-believe, too,” she said.