“Then we’ll begin right now. You can help Rose put the chambers in order, and dust the dining-room. After that Rose can show you the attic, if you want to see where the children play on stormy days, or you may do whatever you please.”
“The attic will be the very place for Anne to write her book,” said Rose, and told her mother of their plan.
It was a very happy morning for Anne. Rose tied a big white apron around her neck, gave her a duster of soft cloth, and showed her just how to make a bed neatly, and put a room in order. Then, when the work was finished, the girls went up the narrow stairs to the attic, a long unfinished room running the whole length of the house with windows at each end. Under one of these windows stood a broad low table. Rose had brought up the blank book, a number of pens, made from goose-quills, and a bottle of ink. She put them on the table and drew up a high-backed wooden chair for Anne. “I’ll sit in this rocking-chair at the end of the table with my knitting,” said Rose.
Anne looked about the attic, and thought that the Freeman children had everything in the world. There was a big wooden rocking-horse, purchased for Frederick, but now belonging to Millicent. There were boxes of blocks, a row of dolls beside a trunk, a company of tin soldiers, and on a tiny table was spread out a little china tea-set. It was rather hard for Anne to turn away from all these treasures and sit down at the table. She had never seen so many toys in all her life, and she thought she would like to bring her own wooden doll, “Martha Stoddard,” that her father had made for her years ago, up to the attic to visit with these beautiful dolls of china, wax, and kid. But Rose had opened the book and stood beside the table waiting for Anne to sit down.
“How shall I begin?” questioned the little girl anxiously.
“Why, I’d begin just as if I were writing a letter,” said Rose.
So Anne dipped the quill in the ink, and, with her head on one side, and her lips set very firmly together, carefully wrote: “My dear Aunt Martha.”
Rose looked over her shoulder. “That is written very neatly, Anne,” she said.
“Don’t you want to make a picture now, Rose?” said the little girl hopefully.