“Yes,” said Captain Enos, “and he said that he might find a chance to send some word to thy father that you were a good and happy child. Then I told him, Anne, that you planned to write a letter, and he said he’d take it to Boston, and then ’twould soon reach thy father.”
“I wish I could hear the sailorman speak of my father,” said Anne, “and tell me of his little girls in England.”
“Mayhap you can, child. He comes ashore after water each day. A stout man he is, with reddish hair and good honest blue eyes. He tells me his name is William Trull. If you see such a man you may speak to him.”
“Uncle Enos! That is the sailorman who saved me from the Indian women, and brought me safe home,” exclaimed Anne. “Do you not remember?”
“Indeed I do, Anne. And I thought the name would mean something to you,” replied Captain Enos.
Anne smiled happily. It was good news to hear from the sailorman, and to know that he was a friend of her father’s.
“What are you making, Uncle Enos?” asked Anne, as the captain put down one smooth bit of wood and picked up another.
Captain Enos pointed to Anne’s wooden doll and whispered, “I’m afraid Martha Stoddard Nelson will hear. Put her down behind your chair and come over here, and I’ll tell you.”
Anne set the doll down carefully, with its head turned away from Captain Enos, and tiptoed across the little space between them.
“I’m making a chair for Martha Stoddard Nelson,” whispered Captain Enos, “for a surprise. And you mustn’t tell her a word about it till it is all ready for her to sit in.”