“Hold tight, Anne,” whispered Rose.

Anne had succeeded in squeezing through the narrow window space, and Rose, leaning out as far as possible, kept a firm grasp on the little girl’s hands.

“I’m going to let go now,” whispered Rose; “try to drop easily, Anne,” and in an instant Anne’s feet touched the soft earth.

Rose watched her jump up and a moment later vanish in the thick growth of trees. Then she hooked the window securely, and sat down again on the iron chest. Her arms and shoulders felt lame and sore from holding Anne, but after a moment she forgot the ache and her thoughts turned to her father, and to brave little Anne traveling off through the darkness of the summer’s night to bring help to her friends.

The house was so closely surrounded by woods that Anne had to move very carefully. The storm was over, but it was very dark in the shadow of the trees. For a few moments she wandered about, not quite knowing if she were moving in the right direction, but at last she found herself in the rough path up which Lady had made her way from the main road. Once or twice she stumbled and nearly fell over stumps of trees, but at last she reached the junction, and now the moonlight enabled her to see the white line of the sandy road stretching far ahead.

“I can run now,” she whispered to herself, and sped away, her moccasin-covered feet making no sound as she ran. All at once Anne stopped suddenly, for coming down the road toward her were a number of dark figures. They were so near that she could hear the sound of their voices. Anne turned quickly to the roadside and crouched behind a bunch of low-growing shrubs. As the men came nearer one of them said:

“’Twas about here I saw something run into the woods.”

“A fox, maybe,” answered one of his companions.

“Maybe, and maybe not. It’s not the time to take chances of a spy being about with those guns stored at Bill Mains’. I’m going to have a look around here and make sure,” and the man turned straight toward the place where Anne crouched, fairly trembling with fear, for she had heard the man speak of the guns, and was quite sure that these men were Tories, as she supposed Bill Mains to be. She moved unconsciously, and the rustling betrayed her whereabouts, and the man took hold of her shoulder and drew her out into the road.

“Look at this! A little girl! Where’s your father?” he demanded, drawing Anne toward his three companions, who were evidently too surprised to speak. “Where’s your father?” he repeated, giving Anne a little shake.

“He—he’s at sea,” half sobbed Anne, hardly daring to lift her head, and wondering what dreadful fate would befall her if these men should discover that she had just escaped from Bill Mains’ house, and that she knew all about the guns hidden there.

“Don’t be rough with the little maid, Dan,” said one of the men; “it’s early in the evening yet, and no harm in a child being on the road. Like as not she hid there from fear of us. Do you live near here, little one?”

Anne now ventured to look up, but in the dusk could only see that the man who spoke so kindly was bareheaded, while the others wore slouch hats which shaded their faces.

“No, sir,” she answered.

“There’s no house for miles,” declared the man who had discovered Anne, “and there’s some older person about, you may be sure.”

As he spoke Anne said to herself that she would not let them know how she came there. “If I do perhaps they will kill Mr. Freeman,” thought the frightened child. So when they questioned her she would not answer, and the men now had some reason to believe that Anne had older companions who might indeed be spies upon those who sympathized with the Americans.

“Is it safe to go to Mains’ house?” questioned one of the men, and there was a little talk among them over the matter, but they decided to go on; and, holding Anne fast by the hand, the man who had drawn her out from her hiding-place led the way, and Anne had not been away from the shingled house but an hour or two before she found herself again at the front door.

In response to a low whistle the door opened and the men filed into the room. Bill Mains, holding a candle in his hand, stood in the little passageway and as he saw Anne he nearly let the candle fall, and exclaimed in amazement:

“Where did you find that child? I had her double locked up in the brick room.”

“Are you sure of it?” asked the man who kept so tight a grasp on Anne’s arm that the mark of his fingers showed for several days after.

“Of course I’m sure; locked two of them up there before the thunder-storm, and have their father tied up in the kitchen. Tory spies they are.”

At the sound of the hated words Anne exclaimed: “Indeed we are not Tory spies. We are not either of those things. Mr. Freeman is a patriot, and his son is with Washington. How dare you say we are Tories and treat us so!” and the little girl quite forgot her fear, and, as the hold on her arm loosened, she took a step away from the man and said: “We were going to Boston, and going to stop at Suet to see Captain Sears, and that man,” and she pointed at Bill Mains, “shut us up because Rose and I peeked under a blanket at some guns.”

As Anne stopped speaking the men looked at one another in surprise. At last the bareheaded man began to laugh, and the others joined in; all but Bill Mains, who looked somewhat ashamed.

“You’ve been a bit too cautious, I reckon, Bill,” said the man who had found Anne. “Mr. Freeman of Boston is known as a loyal man. Did he not tell you who he was?”

“I gave him no chance after I found this little maid looking at the guns I had covered with blankets,” confessed Mains. “I told him I’d gag him if he said one word, and I reckon he thought he had fallen into the hands of a rank Tory. Who are you, little maid?” and he turned kindly toward Anne.

“I am John Nelson’s daughter, who is at sea on the ‘Yankee Hero,’ and I live with Uncle Enos and Aunt Martha Stoddard in Province Town, but now I am going with Rose Freeman for a visit in Boston,” explained Anne, who could hardly realize that these men were now kindly disposed toward her, and that Bill Mains was sadly ashamed to have so ill treated his unexpected guests. “You must let Rose right out of that dark room,” she added hastily.

“I should say so. You shall open the door yourself, little maid,” answered Mains. “You boys go on to the kitchen and get Mr. Freeman’s pardon for me if you can,” and he turned and led Anne toward the room where Rose was locked in.

When Rose saw Anne standing in the doorway she exclaimed: “Oh, Anne, has he brought you back!” in such an unhappy voice that Bill Mains felt very uncomfortable.

“It’s all right, Rose. You are to come right out where your father is. There are some nice men out there,” declared Anne, clasping her hands about Rose’s arm.

“Oh! then you found help,” and there was a world of relief in Rose’s voice as Anne led her out of the room, which Mr. Mains did not forget to lock carefully behind them.

“He thought we were Tory spies; that’s why he locked us up,” Anne explained, in a tone that almost seemed to praise Mr. Mains for such precaution.

“Tory spies, indeed!” said Rose, sending a scornful glance in his direction. “He should have known better. Where is my father?”

“Right this way, miss,” replied Mr. Mains humbly, and the girls followed him to the kitchen where they found Mr. Freeman surrounded by the four men who had brought Anne back to the house.

Rose’s father was as ready to pardon the mistake as Bill Mains was eager to have him.

“It’s worth a little trouble to find we have such good men ready to defend our cause,” he declared, “but I am afraid my girls here are pretty tired, and if you can give them a room without cannon and powder, I’m sure they will sleep well,” as indeed they did in a neat little chamber into which Mr. Mains conducted them, bringing in the little trunk which had been strapped on the back of the chaise.

Mr. Freeman had believed that he was in the hands of the Tories, so that he did not greatly blame his host for being doubtful regarding him.

“It will delay us a little on our journey, but it is no great matter,” he said pleasantly in response to Mains’ repeated apologies. Then Mains explained that this house had been built of brick, and then boarded over and covered with shingles, as a storehouse for supplies for the American army. The four men had just returned from carrying powder to a couple of Yankee boats at Plymouth. These boats were among the many privateers that cruised about during the Revolution, harassing English vessels, and often capturing rich prizes, and helping the American cause. They stayed late in the evening talking with Mr. Freeman, and listening with interest to what he could tell them of affairs in Boston; and when they started off on their way toward Brewster they promised to let his brother know of the mistake, which seemed to them a very good joke on their friend Mains.

Mr. Mains was up at an early hour the next morning, and Mr. Freeman declared the breakfast to be the best that he had ever tasted. There was broiled partridge, hot corn bread, a big dish of freshly picked blueberries, and plenty of good milk; and Anne and Rose thought that nothing could be better, and even decided that Mr. Mains did not look like a pirate after all. “For I don’t believe pirates wear brown gingham aprons, do you, Rose?” said Anne, watching Mr. Mains awkwardly tying his apron strings.

Lady had been well cared for, and was rested and ready for the journey when Mr. Mains led her up to the door for the girls to enter the chaise.

“I’m mighty sorry,” he repeated as he helped the girls in, “sorry, I mean, to have locked you folks up; but real glad to know you,” and he waved them a smiling good-bye, as Mr. Freeman carefully guided Lady along the rough way to the main road.

“Well, Anne, I guess you’ll remember this journey all your life,” said Rose, as they reached the highway and Lady trotted briskly along as if glad to find her feet on good sand again. “Just think, father,” she continued, “of all that has happened to her since she left Province Town, and she’s not in Boston yet.”

“Things happened when I went to Boston before,” said Anne, remembering her brief visit to Newburyport, when she had safely carried a paper of importance to loyal Americans.

“I think all will go smoothly now,” said Mr. Freeman, “but it was a very brave thing for a little girl to start off alone for help, as you did last night, Anne,” and he looked kindly down at the little girl beside him. “Had we indeed been held prisoners by Tories you might have secured help for us, as you thought to do.”

“But she really did help us, father,” said Rose; “it was Anne who made them understand who we really were. I do believe we might be shut up still if Anne had not found a way to help us. Your father will be proud of you, Anne, when I tell him the story.”

It made Anne very happy to have Mr. Freeman and Rose praise her, and she quite forgave the man who had pulled her from behind the bushes, and whose finger marks she could still feel on her arm.

“I hope it won’t rain to-day,” said Mr. Freeman. “We ought to get to Sandwich by noon, and after Lady has rested, we’ll go on as far as we can. Lady seems as anxious to get to Boston as we do,” for the big horse was traveling at a rapid pace, and going as if she enjoyed it.

“You shall go and see Faneuil Hall when you are in Boston, Anne,” promised Rose, “and Mr. Hancock’s fine house. It has terraces and stone steps, and the English officers would well like to take up their quarters there.”

“They seem well satisfied with Vardy for a landlord at the ‘Royal Exchange,’” answered Mr. Freeman smilingly. “Look, there is a wasp’s nest as big as a bucket,” and Mr. Freeman pointed his whip toward a huge gray ball hanging from the branch of a partly decayed tree near the road.

“It’s a beauty,” said Rose, leaning out to see the wonderful ball of gray paper which swung from the branch above them.

Mr. Freeman turned Lady to the further side of the road and said, “If the wasps have deserted their house, as they sometimes do at this season, I’d like to get it to take home to the children. I never saw so large a nest. I can soon find out,” he concluded.

The brown horse stood quietly while Mr. Freeman and the girls got out of the chaise.

“Stay here a moment,” said Mr. Freeman, and he walked back toward the tree and threw a small round stone at the nest. It hit the mark, but no angry wasps appeared. Another stone touched it more forcibly, and, when the third failed to bring a single wasp from the nest, Mr. Freeman declared that he knew it was vacant, and cutting a branch from a slender birch tree with his pocket-knife, which he speedily made into a smooth pole, he managed to secure the nest without damaging it and brought it proudly back to show to Rose and Anne, neither of whom had ever seen one before.

“It’s just like paper,” said Anne admiringly, touching it carefully.

“That’s just what it is,” said Mr. Freeman. “I expect men learned from wasps how to make paper. For wasps go to work in a very business-like way. They chew up dead and crumbling wood and spread it out smoothly, and when it dries and hardens there is a sheet of paper, all ready to be used as one of the layers for this dry warm nest. Men make paper by grinding up wood or linen rags.”

“You can put the nest in our lunch-basket, father,” said Rose. “Frederick and Millicent will think it the most wonderful thing they have ever seen.”

Frederick and Millicent were Rose’s younger brother and sister. Frederick was about Anne’s age, but little Millicent was only six years old.

Lady turned her head as if to ask why they were lingering so far from a good stable; and Rose and Anne stopped a moment before getting in the chaise to rub her soft nose and tell her that she would soon be in Sandwich and should have a good feed of oats for her dinner.