“Well, don’t tell her anything,” suggested Esther.
“I guess that I shall have to tell her,” said Faith.
“You mean about me? That I teased you to make candy? Well, if you do that I’ll get my father to take me home with him instead of staying until he comes next month,” declared Esther.
“I shan’t tell anything about you,” answered Faith.
Esther looked at her a little doubtfully.
“Of course I shan’t,” repeated Faith. “You are my company. No matter what you did I wouldn’t talk about it. Why, even the Indians treat visitors politely, and give them the best they have, and that’s what I shall do,” and Faith stood very straight and looked at Esther very seriously.
“Truly? Truly? What is the ‘best’ you have? And when will you give it to me?” demanded Esther, coming close to her and clasping her arm. “Is it beads? Oh! I do hope it is beads! And you can’t back out after what you have said,” and Esther jumped up and down in delight at the thought of a possible string of fine beads.
For a moment it seemed as if Faith would burst into tears. She had meant to tell Esther that she would do her best to be kind and polite to her because Esther was a guest, and now Esther was demanding that Faith should do exactly as she had promised and give her “the best she had.” And it happened that Faith’s dearest possession was a string of fine beads. Aunt Priscilla Scott, who lived in Ticonderoga, had brought them as a gift on her last visit. They were beautiful blue beads,—like the sky on a June day,—and Faith wore them only on Sundays. They were in a pretty little wooden box in the sitting-room closet.
Suddenly Esther let go of Faith’s arm. “I knew you didn’t mean it,” she said scornfully.
Faith made no reply. She walked across the room and pushed a brass knob set in one of the panels. The panel opened, and there was a closet. The little wooden box that held the beads was on the middle shelf. Faith took it up, closed the door, and turned toward Esther.