“Look, look, Aunt Hetty. Here are some Indians coming up the path, and I do believe that they have a little white boy and girl with them,” and Rose Freeman drew her aunt to the open window that looked down over a smooth green lawn to an elm-shaded village street.

Aunt Hetty’s well-starched dress rustled pleasantly as she hurried to join Rose.

“It’s old Nakanit and her daughter,” she said. “My mother taught her a good deal, and she often comes to see me. Those are surely white children. I wonder what the trouble is. Old Nakanit knows that the Sabbath is not a day for idle visits, and indeed, Rose, it does not become us to be stretching our heads out of the window. There, they are on the porch now. Why, Rose!” For with a quick exclamation the girl had run from the room and when Mrs. Freeman followed she found her with an arm about a little moccasined dark-eyed girl, saying: “Why, it is Anne; it is dear little Anne Nelson.”

“I declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Freeman. “And did you fetch the child, Nakanit? Sit down and I will have Hepsibah bring you some cool milk and cake.”

Nakanit grunted appreciatively, and while the Indians were eating Anne told Rose all the story of her journey.

“I do not know why Aunt Martha shut me up and said that I could not visit you, Rose,” said Anne; “if I had been disobedient or careless I do not know it.”

Amos listened, looking very flushed and unhappy, for he knew that it was Amanda’s story that had caused Anne’s punishment and made her a runaway. But he had promised his sister that he would not betray her, and now that Anne had reached Brewster in safety he resolved to keep silent. “But Amanda shall tell Mrs. Stoddard; indeed she shall,” the boy said to himself.

The Indians soon rose from the porch steps to depart, and as Anne said good-bye to them she felt that she was parting from friends, and tried to tell them so.

“And you are going home to Province Town, and will tell Aunt Martha that I am safe,” she said to Amos. “You were real good to come after me, Amos, and you tell Amanda not to be sorry she slapped me; that it’s all right.”

Amos wriggled about uneasily at Anne’s message. He was almost resolved not to go home at all.

“I reckon I’ll stay with the Mashpees a while,” he answered. “There’s an Indian boy who talks English and he’s told me lots of things: how to set traps for foxes and woodchucks, and how to make fish-spears, and he can stay under water longer than I can. He’s fine. You ought to hear him tell stories. Last night he told me of a tribe of Indians who sent six of their bravest warriors out to sea in a canoe, without food or paddles, so as to prove to other tribes that their braves could not be harmed anywhere. And they were carried by the winds and waves to a wonderful island where there were friendly Indians; and they hunted wild deer, and made bows and arrows, and paddles, and caught wild birds, and when another summer came back they came to Cape Cod with many canoes, and skins, and much deer-meat, so that their tribe made them all great chiefs. And this boy who told me is one of the descendants of the very bravest chief, and he wants me to stay and be his brother,” and Amos looked as if he would like nothing better than to be adopted into the Mashpee tribe.

“What’s the Indian boy’s name?” questioned Anne.

“I don’t think much of his name,” said Amos, a little regretfully; “it’s ’Shining Fish.’”

“But you won’t stay with the Indians, Amos, will you?” pleaded Anne.

“I s’pose I’ll have to go home,” agreed Amos. “I wonder what Jimmie Starkweather will say when I tell him about living with Indians,” and Amos looked more cheerful at the thought of Jimmie’s surprise and envy when he should describe his adventures. “Nothing ever happens to Jimmie,” he added, in a satisfied tone.

After Amos and the Indians had started on their way back to the Indian village Rose and Anne followed Mrs. Freeman into the square comfortable house. Mrs. Freeman had heard all about Anne, and now, as she noticed the torn and soiled dress, the untidy hair and moccasin-covered feet, she whispered to Rose: “Take the child right up-stairs. I don’t want your uncle to see her looking so like a wild child of the woods.”

Rose nodded laughingly. Aunt Hetty Freeman was known as one of the best housekeepers in Brewster, and no one had ever seen her looking other than “spick and span,” as her husband often admiringly declared. Rose always said that she could tell just what part of the big house Aunt Hetty was in because she could hear her starched skirts rattle; and she realized that Anne’s untidy appearance was a real trouble to her kind-hearted aunt.

Anne looked at the broad stairway admiringly, and exclaimed at the sight of a tall clock on the landing. “It’s better than Boston, isn’t it, Rose?” she said, as Rose took her into the big comfortable room, with its high, curtained bed and chintz curtained windows.

“It’s a dear house,” answered the older girl, who was too loyal to her home to think any other place quite as good. “You are the bravest child I ever heard of,” Rose continued admiringly, drawing Anne down beside her on the broad cushioned window-seat; “to think of your starting out to come all the way alone to Brewster through the wilderness!”

“I guess I should have been lost but for the Indians,” replied Anne; “but when Aunt Martha said I could not come, that she did not want to hear more of any visit to Brewster or Boston, I had to run away. But now I’m sorry,” and Anne began to cry bitterly. Rose, too, looked very unhappy, for she realized that Captain and Mrs. Stoddard would be greatly troubled until they knew of the little girl’s safety. And, besides that, she was sure that her father would not be willing to take a runaway child to Boston. But Rose resolved not to worry about it, and not to tell Anne that she feared that she would be sent home to her Aunt Martha, instead of taking the wonderful journey to Boston.

So she comforted her little guest, and told her not to feel bad—that Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos would be only too happy to know that she was safe.

“And see, Anne, what my good mother sent you,” and Rose opened a small hair-covered trunk that stood near the tall chest of drawers, and took out a pretty dress of spotted percale, and some white stockings. Then there was a dainty white petticoat, and a set of underwear, all trimmed with a pretty crocheted edge.

“And you can wear your moccasins these hot days,” continued Rose, “and you will look very nice indeed.”

Anne was soon dressed in the neat clothing, and, with her hair brushed and smoothly braided, she looked like quite a different child from the little girl who had journeyed with Nakanit.

“I am glad to look nice to go to Boston,” Anne said soberly, as they went down the stairs.

“Oh, dear!” thought the older girl; “how can I tell the poor child that I am almost sure that father will find a way to send her safely back to Province Town?”

Rose’s father and uncle spoke kindly to Anne as she came into the sitting-room, and Aunt Hetty’s skirts rustled briskly as she moved about the room, and then she went out in the shed and came back with a round, low basket in which lay two black kittens, which she placed in Anne’s lap saying: “There, little girls and little kittens always like each other; so you can have Pert and Prim for your own while you stay with us.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Anne delightedly, for the two little kittens began to purr happily as she smoothed their soft fur.

Rose found an opportunity to tell her father all about Anne’s reason for running away.

“She did not know why her Aunt Martha shut her up,” pleaded Rose.

But Mr. Freeman shook his head soberly. “We’ll have to send her home by the first chance to Province Town,” he answered, and Rose went back to her little friend feeling that all her pleasant plans for Anne’s visit must come to an end.

“But she shall have a good time here in Brewster,” resolved the girl.

“Shall we start for Boston on Tuesday or Thursday?” Anne asked the next morning, as she helped Rose put their pleasant chamber in order.

“Father has not decided,” replied Rose, feeling rather cowardly that she did not tell Anne the truth.

“It will be fine to ride in a chaise,” went on Anne happily, “and to stop in taverns, and see towns along the way. Your father is indeed good, Rose, to take me.”

“We must do up the dishes for Aunt Hetty,” said Rose briskly, “and then we can walk down the street, and maybe father will drive us about the town.”

While the girls were busy helping Aunt Hetty, Rose’s father was on his way to the Mashpee village to see Amos Cary and to give him a letter to take to Captain Stoddard. He found the boy just ready to start. Shining Fish had launched his canoe and was to go part of the way with his new friend, greatly to Amos’s delight.

“Anne wasn’t to blame.” Amos repeated this a number of times so earnestly that Mr. Freeman began to realize that the boy knew more than he was willing to tell, and to blame Amos.

“That Amanda,” Amos whispered to himself, as he blushed and stammered and evaded Mr. Freeman’s questions.

“I suppose I can trust you with this letter to Captain Stoddard?” said Mr. Freeman.

Amos lifted his head, and his blue eyes did not falter in meeting the stern look of the man.

“I’ll give it to him,” he replied, and Mr. Freeman felt quite sure that the letter would reach its destination.

When Amos’s boat drew near the landing at Province Town, he saw that his father, Amanda, and the Stoddards were all waiting for him. He felt himself to be almost like the chiefs of whom Shining Fish had told him, and quite expected to be praised and made much of; but as he sprang ashore he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“March yourself straight to the house, young man. I’ll see that you pay for this fool’s errand,” said Mr. Cary.

Amos wriggled away from his father’s grasp. “I’ve got a letter for Captain Enos. Anne’s in Brewster,” he announced.

“Thank heaven!” exclaimed Mrs. Stoddard. “And did you find her, Amos? You are a brave boy! Why, Mr. Cary, there’s not another boy in the village who thought of Anne’s going to Brewster, or man either for that matter,” and Mrs. Stoddard patted the boy’s shoulder affectionately, while Mr. Cary regarded Amos with puzzled eyes, hardly knowing whether to blame or praise him.

While Captain Enos read the letter Amos briefly told the story of his adventures to the little group, saving all that Shining Fish had told him to relate to Jimmy Starkweather as soon as opportunity should occur.

“Well, go home to your mother,” said Mr. Cary in a more gentle voice, and Amanda kept close beside her brother as they turned toward home.

“You’ve got to tell Mrs. Stoddard,” said Amos. “Yes, you have,” he went on, almost fiercely, as Amanda began to whimper. “Everybody’s blaming Anne, and it’s not fair; you’ve got to tell.”

Amanda stopped short and looked at her brother accusingly. “You promised not to tell,” she said.

“Well, I haven’t,” answered the boy, “and I won’t. I’m ashamed to, beside the promise. Anne said, when I told her that you said you were sorry, that I was to tell you ’twas all right. She seemed to feel bad because you were sorry.”

“Well, Amos Cary, I won’t tell Mrs. Stoddard; so now!” declared Amanda angrily. “Anne is all right, and going to Boston in a chaise. You ought to be satisfied. Let them think what they want to, I don’t care. And you’ve got to go to sea. Father’s told Captain Nash that he can have you, and the ‘Sea Gull’ sails next week.”

“Truly, Amanda! Say, that’s great news. I do believe I’m the luckiest boy on the Cape. Are you sure, Amanda?” Amos’s eyes were shining, his shoulders had straightened themselves, and, for the moment, he quite forgot everything except the wonderful news.

“Do you want to go?” and Amanda’s voice was full of disappointment.

“Want to! Why, the ‘Sea Gull’ is bound for the West Indies her next voyage, and maybe the English will try and catch us,” and Amos’s voice expressed his delight. “Are you sure, Amanda?” he questioned eagerly, and turned toward his sister in surprise, for Amanda was crying. It seemed to the unhappy child that everything was going wrong. She did not want Amos to go away, and she had hoped that he would persuade his father to let him remain at home, and here he was rejoicing and triumphant. She was in great fear that Anne would tell the Stoddards the truth, and then Amanda hardly knew what might befall her. She wished that she was a boy and could go with Amos in the “Sea Gull.”

“It is indeed good news to know that our little girl is safe in Brewster,” said Mrs. Stoddard, as she read Mr. Freeman’s letter, “but what shall we do, Enos, about bringing her home? Mr. Freeman truly says that, while Rose is eager to take Anne to Boston, we may feel that it would not be right for her to go. It is indeed a puzzle, is it not? Whatever possessed Anne to turn upon Amanda in such fashion, and then to run off?” and the good woman shook her head dolefully.

“I’ll have to sail to Brewster and fetch her home,” responded the captain, but his face was very sober. He would have been glad if the Freemans had written that they would take Anne to Boston, for he did not want the child disappointed.

“Well, well, we’ll let her see how glad we are to have her safe home, shall we not, Enos? I’ll say no more to her about her naughtiness, and I am sure Mrs. Cary will tell Amanda to forgive Anne and be friends again, and all will go on pleasantly,” but they both felt sorry that it seemed best for the little girl whom they so dearly loved to have to give up the wonderful journey up the Cape to Boston in the Freemans’ fine chaise.