Captain Enos and the boys returned without having found any trace of the missing cattle, and the villagers felt it to be a loss hardly to be borne that three of their six cows should have disappeared. The men went about their fishing even more soberly than before, and the women and children mourned loudly.
Amanda Cary waited at the spring each day for Anne’s appearance. Sometimes the two little girls did not speak, and again Amanda would make some effort to win Anne’s notice.
“Your father is a soldier,” she declared one morning, and when Anne nodded smilingly, Amanda ventured a step nearer. “You may come up to my house and see my white kittens if you want to,” she said.
There could be no greater temptation to Anne than this. To have a kitten of her own had been one of her dearest wishes, and to see and play with two white kittens, even Amanda’s kittens, was a joy not lightly to be given up. But Anne shook her head, and Amanda, surprised and sulky, went slowly back toward home.
The next morning, as Anne went toward the spring, she met Amanda coming up the hill, carrying a white kitten in her arms.
“I was just going up to your house,” said Amanda. “I was bringing up this white kitten to give to you.”
“Oh, Amanda!” exclaimed Anne, quite forgetting her old dislike of the little girl, and reaching out eager hands for the kitten which Amanda gave to her.
“My mother said that we could not afford to keep two kittens,” Amanda explained, “and I thought right off that I would give one to you.”
“Thank you, Amanda,” and then Anne’s face grew sober, “but maybe my Aunt Martha will not want me to keep it,” she said.
“I guess she will,” ventured Amanda. “I will go with you and find out, and if she be not pleased I’ll find some one to take it.”