On raced the two girls along the narrow path. A few men at the wharves watched the flying figures, but no one imagined it more than a game. Very soon the Horton house was in sight. Its front door opening on the street stood open to admit the pleasant spring air. In a moment Lucia was in the house and had slammed and fastened the door behind her.
Rebby stood on the step breathless, the silk mitts clasped in her hand. After a moment she rapped loudly on the door. There was no response. But in a moment an upper window opened, and Mrs. Horton looked down at Rebby.
“Why, Rebecca Flora!” she exclaimed in her pleasant voice. “Lucia has gone to your party.”
“If you please, Mrs. Horton, I have brought back the mitts Lucia gave me for a birthday present,” responded Rebby, her voice faltering a little.
“Oh! Don’t they fit? Why, that is a shame. Well, lay them on the step,” said Mrs. Horton, wondering why Rebby should look so flushed and warm, and why she had not given the mitts to Lucia. Later on, when she heard Lucia’s account of Rebby’s turning honey and water over the pretty yellow muslin, she decided that Rebecca was ashamed to keep a gift after treating Lucia so badly.
Rebby went slowly toward home tired and unhappy. All the pleasure of the party, she said to herself, was spoiled. She was not sorry to give up the mitts, for everything that reminded her of Lucia made her think of the night when they had pushed the liberty tree from its moorings.
When she was nearly home she heard Mr. Foster’s whistle and in a moment they were face to face.
“Well, Rebecca Flora, ’twas a fine party,” he said smilingly, for Mr. Foster had not seen the accident to the mug. “The neighbors are all smiling and cheerful, and we are all the better for meeting in this neighborly fashion,” and Mr. Foster ended his sentence with a whistle like a bird’s note. “You must come with the others to the liberty pole on Sabbath morning,” he added. “Parson Lyon is to preach to us there, and ’twill be a great occasion.”
“Yes, sir,” Rebby responded, and went slowly on up the slope. It began to seem to her that she would never escape from the liberty pole. And now she met Mr. and Mrs. Lyon, with Melvina dancing along in front of them. “More like Danna than Danna is like herself,” thought Rebby, smiling, as she remembered how sedately and quietly Melvina had walked before Danna and Luretta had played their mischievous pranks on the day of the tempest.
The neighbors had all gone when Rebecca reached home, and Mrs. Weston and Anna were in the house, while Mr. Weston and Paul were taking up the seats under the elm trees. The pieces of the broken lustre mug lay on the kitchen table, and Rebby’s face clouded as she stood looking at them.