A Little Maid of Old Maine

by Alice Turner Curtis

For a moment Rebby pretended not to hear. She was filling the cups with cool spring water, and not until her mother called the second time did she start toward the house for her cherished lustre mug. She was ready to cry at the thought of Lucia’s insulting words, and now she must carry the pretty mug to her, and serve her as though she were a welcome guest.

“I won’t let her know that I care; and I must be polite because she is a guest, even if she wasn’t invited,” thought Rebby, as carrying the lustre mug and a birch-bark plate with a square of honeycomb and a brownish crisp “spider-cake” she went toward Lucia.

Neither of the little girls spoke, and Rebby did not look at her former friend who had led her into such sad mischief. Then suddenly there was a crash, a loud cry from Lucia and from Rebby as the lustre mug fell to the ground, and the contents of the frail plate streamed over the delicate yellow muslin of Lucia’s fine dress.

“Oh! She has spoiled my dress! She did it on purpose! She did! She did!” wailed Lucia, while Rebecca stood looking at the pieces of her cherished mug that had been brought from Boston when the Westons moved to Machias.

“She dropped it on purpose,” Rebby said, but no one seemed to think of her mug. Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston were both endeavoring to comfort Lucia, and to repair the harm done to the yellow muslin. But the honey and water were not easily removed from the delicate fabric.

“I am going home. It’s a cheap, foolish party anyway. Honey and water, and corn-bread!” sobbed Lucia angrily, pulling away from the friendly women, and running down the path.

Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston looked after her in amazed disapproval.

“I begin to think there is something in the rumors that Captain Horton and his wife are not trustworthy,” Mrs. Lyon said. “The child is so ill-bred she can be but indulged and spoiled at home,” and Mrs. Weston agreed. But neither of them imagined that Lucia’s mother and father were disloyal to the American cause, and only waiting a profitable opportunity to betray the little settlement to its enemies.

Lucia’s angry words cast but a brief shadow over the gathering, and no one noticed that Rebecca had disappeared. At the moment Lucia started for home Rebby had run toward the house. She hurried up the stairs to the little room under the roof where she and Anna slept, and from the closet she drew out the square wooden box that her father had made for her. Her initials R. F. W. were carved inside a small square on the cover, and it had a lock and key. Rebby was very proud of this box, and in it she kept her most treasured possessions: a handkerchief of fine lawn with a lace edge, a pin made from a silver sixpence, and the prayer-book her Grandmother Weston had given her. When Lucia gave her the silk mitts for a birthday present Rebby had put them carefully away with these other treasures. Now she pulled them out hurriedly, and, without waiting to close the box, she ran down the stairs through the kitchen, keeping carefully out of sight of the group under the elm trees, until she could not be seen from the house. Then she caught a glimpse of Lucia’s yellow dress, and ran faster than before. But she did not call Lucia’s name. She said to herself that she would never speak to Lucia again.

Hearing the hurrying steps behind her Lucia looked over her shoulder, and seeing Rebby she became frightened and ran faster than ever. Lucia did not know why she was afraid, but she remembered that she had not been asked to the party, that she had spoken insultingly to Rebby, and—she had dropped the mug purposely. So it was small wonder that her guilty conscience accused her, and that she was eager to reach home before Rebby could overtake her.