“I don’t know what to do,” Anne whispered to herself, with a little sob, as she looked out of the narrow window in her little room. Captain Stoddard was coming briskly up the path; in a moment he would be directly under the window. “I’ll call to him, and if he answers I shall know that I am awake,” she decided, and leaning out she called softly: “Uncle Enos! Uncle Enos!”

Captain Stoddard looked up, and answered briskly: “Anne Nelson, ahoy!”

“Uncle Enos, listen!” and Anne leaned out still farther. “I went toward the outer beach with Amanda Cary, and she slapped me and ran off. And when I came home Aunt Martha sent me up-stairs. Now what have I done?”

Captain Stoddard chuckled, then he looked very serious indeed, and replied:

“A pretty affair! What have you been doing?”

“Nothing, Uncle Enos; indeed I have done no mischief. Tell Aunt Martha that Amanda slapped me, and that I did not slap back.”

Uncle Enos nodded, and made a motion for Anne to be silent, and Anne drew quickly back into the room.

“Uncle Enos will find out,” she whispered to the little wooden doll, “Martha Stoddard,” that her father had made for her when she was a very small girl, and which was still one of her greatest treasures. But the July afternoon faded into the long twilight and no one called to Anne to come down. She began to feel hungry. “I wish I had eaten my share of that luncheon and not given it to Amos to carry home,” she thought. For on her way home she had met Amos and had given the lunch basket into his charge, telling him to carry it home to Amanda, but saying nothing of Amanda’s anger.

As Anne sat in the loft chamber waiting for the call that did not come, she began to feel that she had been treated very badly. “And Aunt Martha says I shall not visit Rose Freeman, and does not tell me why I shall not go. My father would let me; I know that full well. And I am going; I will walk to Brewster!” Anne’s heart grew lighter as she thought of all the joys that a visit to Rose would mean. “I’ll start to-night,” she decided. “Maybe it will take me a long time, as there are no roads, but I know I can find the way. Oh, I wish it would get dark! I’ll take you, Martha Stoddard, but I guess I’ll change your name, for Aunt Martha doesn’t like me any more,” and the little girl began to feel very lonely and unhappy. The room door swung open at that very moment and there stood Mrs. Stoddard with a mug full of creamy milk and a plate of corn bread.

“Here is your supper, Anne. And I hope you are ready to tell me why you pushed Amanda down and ran off with her basket,” and Mrs. Stoddard looked at Anne with a puzzled expression in her kind eyes.

“I did not——” began Anne.

“There, there, child. Mrs. Cary told me the whole story. Tell me the truth, and I’ll not be hard with you,” and Mrs. Stoddard set down the mug and plate on the light-stand and stood waiting.

“I will not say another word!” declared Anne, who felt that even her dear Aunt Martha had turned against her.

“Then you must stay up here until you are a more obedient child,” said Mrs. Stoddard, and went slowly out of the room. “I don’t see what has possessed the child,” she said to Captain Enos on returning to the kitchen.

“She has always been a truthful child, Martha,” ventured the captain, “so why not believe her now?”

“I would gladly, Enos; but Mrs. Cary came straight to me as soon as Amanda reached home, and ’twas an hour later when Anne returned, and she has no word of excuse. ’Twill do the child no harm to stay in her room until she can tell me the reason for such behavior. And of course this visit to the Freemans’ must be given up. ’Twould not do to let her go after such conduct.”

“A pity,” responded the captain. “’Twould have been a fine journey for the little maid.”

Anne could hear the murmur of their voices as she drank the milk and ate the corn bread. “I wish I had some bread to take with me,” she thought. “I’ll take my blue cape, and my shoes and white stockings, for I’m sure I ought to wear them on the chaise,” and Anne tiptoed about the room gathering up her clothing. It did not make a very large bundle, even when she decided to take the white muslin dress, and the coral beads. She heard Captain Enos and Aunt Martha go to their chamber, and then, holding “Martha Stoddard” and the bundle in her arms, crept down the narrow stairway. The outer door stood ajar to admit the cool fragrant air, and in a moment Anne was running along the sandy track that led through the little settlement. It was still early, but there was not a light to be seen in any of the small gray houses. The summer sky was filled with stars, and as Anne ran she could see her shadow stretching ahead of her, “as if I were running right over it all the time,” she whispered to “Martha Stoddard.”

The beautiful harbor seemed like a shining mirror, it lay so calm and still in the shadow of the land. But Anne did not stop to look at stars or sea; she wanted to reach the pines at the end of the village. Then she meant to go on as fast as she could toward Truro. “There will be nice places to rest under the trees, where nobody will ever look for me; perhaps no one will want to look,” thought the little girl, with a choky sensation in her throat as she remembered the strange happenings of the afternoon.

The track grew more indistinct toward the end of the settlement, and when Anne reached the woods the shadows were dark, and she was obliged to go carefully in order not to lose her way. The border line between Truro and Province Town was marked by the jawbone of a whale set in the ground by the side of a red oak stump. The path up to this landmark was well known to all the village children; the hill was called Cormorant Hill; and Anne had been there many times with Amanda and Amos and the Starkweather children, and was very sure that from that place she could find her way through Truro to Wellfleet. “I’ll not rest until I get to Kexconeoquet,” decided Anne. Kexconeoquet was the Indian name for the hill.

About half-way up the slope Anne stopped to rest under a tall pine tree. There was a bed of soft green moss, and as she sat down she gave a little tired sigh. “Maybe it will be morning before I get to the top of the hill,” she thought, and put “Martha Stoddard” carefully down on the moss. “I suppose I might sleep a minute,” she said drowsily, arranging her bundle for a pillow and resting her head upon it. And a moment later an inquisitive little squirrel noticed that there was a little girl in a brown gingham dress fast asleep under the pine tree.

Mrs. Stoddard awoke early the next morning, and when she and Captain Enos sat down to their simple breakfast she said:

“I hear no sound of Anne, and I’ll let her sleep late this morning; when she wakes she will tell me what happened. I woke up in the night and thought about it, and I feel sure our little maid could not have been all to blame. Amanda is quick to find trouble.”

Uncle Enos nodded approvingly. “’Twill do her no harm to sleep,” he agreed, “and do not make up your mind that she must not go for the visit to Brewster and Boston. I can set her across to Brewster come Tuesday. ’Twill give me a chance to get some canvas for a new jib for the sloop.”

Captain Enos spoke softly, and tiptoed out of the little kitchen, and Aunt Martha moved quietly about the house until the long summer morning was half over; then she went softly up the stairs, and opened the door to Anne’s room. In a moment she realized what had happened: that Anne had run away; and she lost no time in hurrying to the shore, where Captain Enos was salting his yesterday’s catch of fish and spreading them on the “flakes”—long low frames—to dry. Captain Starkweather and Amanda’s father were near by, busy at the same work, and further along the shore were other groups of men taking care of the “catch” of the previous day. For the dried fish were shipped to many distant places, and curing them was a part of the fisherman’s business.

“Anne is gone! She has run away,” called Mrs. Stoddard, and in a moment she was telling Captain Enos that she was sure that the little girl had crept out of the house in the night. Captain Starkweather and Mr. Cary listened in amazement.

“But where could she go?” asked Captain Enos. “There’s something wrong in this. Anne called to me from her window yesterday that she knew not the reason for her being punished. She has run away from us, Martha, because we have been unfair toward her.”

“But where? Stop not to talk, Enos. Is there a boat missing? Like as not Anne has set forth for Boston.” And Mrs. Stoddard looked out over the wide harbor as if expecting to see Anne sailing away.

“It may be your little girl is playing about and will soon return,” suggested Captain Starkweather.

“Is her doll gone?” questioned Captain Enos; “for if it is not you may be sure that Anne is not far away.”

“Indeed, I did not think to look; and you may be right, Captain Starkweather. I’ll step back and see,” and Mrs. Stoddard’s face brightened as she turned toward home, followed by Captain Enos and the two fishermen.

“The doll is gone,” she called down from the little chamber, “and Anne’s cape and beads, and her shoes and stockings.”

In a short time every one in the village knew of Anne’s disappearance, and Amanda heard her father say that he feared Anne had started off in one of the little boats. “If she has there is small chance for the child,” he said soberly, and Amanda began to whimper.

“She gave me Amanda’s basket to bring home yesterday,” said Amos; “’tis in the shed.”

“Yes, she ran off with it yesterday, and ate all the lunch herself,” explained Mrs. Cary, “and slapped Amanda. Your sister came running home crying as if her heart would break.”

“Anne didn’t eat the luncheon. ’Twas all in the basket, and I ate it,” said Amos. “I don’t believe she slapped Amanda, anyway. Or if she did I’ll bet Amanda slapped her first.”

“Amos!” Mr. Cary’s voice was very stern, and the boy said no more.

It was found that a rowboat was missing, and remembering how Anne and the Cary children had once started out to sail to Boston, it was generally believed that Anne had started off in the boat. Nevertheless search-parties went across the narrow strip of land to the outer beach and up and down the shore of the harbor and along the edge of the Truro woods. Several boats started off, for it was felt that the best chance of finding her was the hope that the little boat could not have gone very far. “It may have been swept out to sea,” Mr. Cary said, and at this Amanda set up such a wail that he instantly added: “But Anne will be found; of course she will.”