It was one of those May evenings that promise that summer is close at hand. The air was soft and warm; there was no wind, and in the clear starlight Rebecca could see the shadows of the tall elm tree near the blacksmith shop, and the silvery line of the softly flowing river. As she stood waiting for Lucia she looked up into the clear skies and traced the stars forming the Big Dipper, nearly over her head. Low down in the west Jupiter shone brightly, and the broad band of shimmering stars that formed the Milky Way stretched like a jeweled necklace across the heavens. The little village slept peacefully along the river’s bank; not a light was to be seen in any of the shadowy houses. A chorus of frogs from the marshes sounded shrilly through the quiet. In years to come, when Rebecca heard the first frogs sounding their call to spring, she was to recall that beautiful night when she stole out to try and save the town, as she believed, from being fired on by a British gunboat.

She had made so early a start that she had to wait what seemed a very long time for Lucia, who approached so quietly that not until she touched Rebby’s arm did Rebby know of her coming.

“I am late, and I nearly had to give up coming because Mother did not get to sleep,” Lucia explained, as the two girls hurried down to the river. “She is so worried about Father,” continued Lucia; “she says that since the Americans defeated the English at Lexington they may drive them out of Boston as well.”

“Of course they will,” declared Rebecca, surprised that anyone could imagine the righteous cause of America defeated. “And if the English gunboat comes in here the Machias men will capture it,” she added.

“Well, I don’t know,” responded Lucia despondently. “But if it destroyed the town there wouldn’t be anyone left to capture it; and that is why we must push that liberty tree offshore.”

The girls were both strong, and Lucia had brought a sharp knife with which to cut the rope holding the tree to a stake on the bank, so it did not take them long to push the tree clear of the shore. They found a long pole near by, and with this they were able to swing the liberty tree out until the current of the river came to their aid and carried it slowly along.

“How slowly it moves,” said Rebecca impatiently, as they stood watching it move steadily downstream.

“But it will be well down the bay before morning,” said Lucia, “and we must get home as quickly as we can. I wish my father could know that there will not be a liberty pole set up in Machias.”

Rebecca stopped short. “No liberty pole, Lucia Horton? Indeed there will be. Why, my father says that all the loyal settlements along the Maine coast are setting up one; and as soon as the old British gunboat is out of sight Machias will put up a liberty tree. Perhaps ’twill even be set up while the gunboat lies in this harbor.”

“Well, come on! We have tried to do what we could to save the town, anyway,” responded Lucia, who began to be sadly puzzled. If a liberty tree was so fine a thing why should her father not wish Machias to have one, she wondered. Lucia did not know that her father was even then bargaining with the British in Boston to bring them a cargo of lumber on his next trip from Machias, in return for permission to load the Polly with provisions to sell to the people of the settlement, and that, exactly as Lucia had heard him predict, an armed British gunboat would accompany the sloops Polly and Unity when they should appear in Machias harbor.

The two friends whispered a hasty “good-night,” and each ran in the direction of home. Rebby pushed the big door open noiselessly, but she did not try to replace the bar. As she crept up the stairs she could hear the even breathing of her father and mother, and she slid into bed without waking Anna, and was too sleepy herself to lie long awake.

The unfastened door puzzled Mr. Weston when he came down-stairs at daybreak the next morning. “I was sure I put the bar up,” he thought, but he had no time to think much about trifles that morning, for, as he stood for a moment in the doorway, he saw Paul Foster running toward the house.

“Mr. Weston, sir, the liberty pole is gone,” gasped the boy, out of breath. “The rope that held it to the stake was cut,” he continued. “Father says ’tis some Tory’s work.”

Mr. Weston did not stop for breakfast. He told Mrs. Weston that he would come up later on, as soon as he had found out more about the missing liberty tree; and with Paul beside him, now talking eagerly of how his father had gone with him to take a look at the pine sapling and found no trace of it, Mr. Weston hurried toward the shore where a number of men were now gathered.

Anna had hard work to awaken Rebby that morning, and when she came slowly down-stairs she felt cross and tired; but her mother’s first words made her forget everything else.

“We will eat our porridge without your father,” Mrs. Weston said gravely. “A terrible thing has happened. Some traitor has made way with the liberty tree that your father and Paul selected yesterday.”

“Traitor?” gasped Rebby, who knew well that such a word meant the lowest and most to be despised person on earth, and could hardly believe that what she had supposed to be a fine and brave action could be a traitor’s deed.

“Who else but a traitor would make way with our liberty pole?” responded Mrs. Weston. “But do not look so frightened, Rebby. Sit up to the table; when your father comes home he will tell us who did the base act. And we may be sure Machias men will deal with him as he deserves.”

But Rebecca could not eat the excellent porridge; and when her mother questioned her anxiously she owned that her head ached, and that she did not feel well.

“I’ll steep up some thoroughwort; a good cup of herb tea will soon send off your headache,” said Mrs. Weston, “and you had best go back to bed. Maybe ’tis because of the birthday cake.”

Rebecca made no response; she was glad to go back to her room, where she buried her face in the pillow, hardly daring to think what would become of her. Supposing Lucia should tell, she thought despairingly, saying over and over to herself, “Traitor! Traitor!” So that when Anna came softly into the room a little later she found her sister with flushed face and tear-stained eyes, and ran back to the kitchen to tell her mother that Rebby was very ill.

It was an anxious and unhappy morning for Rebby and for her mother, for Mrs. Weston became worried at the sight of her daughter’s flushed cheeks and frightened eyes. She decided that it was best for Rebecca to remain in bed; and, had it not been for the frequent doses of bitter herb tea which her mother insisted on her drinking, Rebby would have been well satisfied to hide herself away from everyone.

Anna helped her mother about the household work, thinking to herself that probably Melvina Lyon was doing the same. After the dishes had been washed and set away Mrs. Weston suggested that Anna should run down to Luretta Foster’s.

“’Twill be best to keep the house quiet this morning, and you can see the rabbits,” she added.

“But, Mother! I am not noisy. Do I not step quietly, and more softly?” pleaded Anna. She was quite ready to run off to her friend’s, but she was sure her mother must notice that she was no longer the noisy girl who ran in and out of the house singing and laughing.

“Well, my dear child, you have been ‘Anna,’ not ‘Dan,’ for a week past. And I know not what has turned you into so quiet and well-behaved a girl,” responded her mother. “But run along, and be sure and inquire if there be any news of the rascal who made way with the liberty tree.”

Anna started off very sedately, measuring her steps and holding her head a little on one side as she had noticed that Melvina sometimes did. She was thinking of Rebby, and what a pity it was to have to stay indoors when the sun was so warm, and when there were so many pleasant things to do. “I will go over on the hill and get her some young checkerberry leaves,” resolved Anna, remembering how Rebby liked their sharp flavor. Then she remembered that the rabbits were to be named that morning; and, forgetting all about Melvina, she ran swiftly along the path, beginning to sing in her old-time manner.

Luretta was watching for her, and smiled happily when she heard Anna’s voice. “Oh! She’s going to stay ‘Danna,’ and not be like that stuck-up Melvina Lyon,” she thought with delight; for Luretta did not think Anna would make a satisfactory playmate if she were going to change into a quiet, well-behaved girl like the minister’s little daughter.

In a few minutes the girls were beside the box that held the captive rabbits, who looked up at them with startled eyes. Paul had brought a basket of fresh grass, and some bits of tender bark and roots on which the little creatures were nibbling.

“I do wish they were not exactly alike,” said Anna.

But Luretta declared that she thought it was much better that way. “Because I should want you to have the prettiest one, and you would want me to have the prettiest one, and how could we ever choose?” she explained; and Anna acknowledged that perhaps it was better that the rabbits should be alike in every way. After much discussion of names they decided that the rabbits must be called as nearly alike as possible; and so the new pets were named “Trit” and “Trot.”

Every little child in the neighborhood enjoyed a visit at Luretta’s home. In the first place because of Mrs. Foster’s pleasant smile and kind welcome, and also because of the wonderful treasures it contained. There was a great round ostrich egg, which Mr. Foster’s brother had brought from far-off Africa. This egg was carefully kept in a wooden box on the high mantel shelf; but Mrs. Foster was never too busy to take it down and let the little visitor gaze at it with admiring eyes. Then there was a model of a water-mill, with its tiny wheels, as complete as if it could begin work at once. This stood on a table in the corner of the sitting-room, where anyone might stand and admire it, and hear Luretta or Paul tell that their father had made every bit of it himself. Besides these treasures Mrs. Foster, with a pair of scissors and a bit of paper, could make the most beautiful paper dolls that any little girl could wish to possess; and whenever Luretta’s friends came for a visit they usually took home a paper doll, or perhaps a bird cut from paper, or a horse. So Anna was ready to leave even the beautiful rabbits and go indoors. But this morning Mrs. Foster did not seem her usual cheerful self.

“This is sad news about our liberty tree; but the men have set out in boats to search for it, and ’twill be a good omen indeed if they find and bring it back,” she said.

“My father says ’twill be a great day for the settlement when ’tis put up,” said Anna, looking longingly toward the box on the high mantel, and hoping she might have a look at the wonderful egg.

“And so it will be. With Boston in the hands of the British, and no safety on land or sea ’tis time each town showed some mark of loyalty,” declared Mrs. Foster. “I will put on my sunbonnet and we will walk to the wharves, and perhaps hear some news of the traitor who made way with it. I said at first maybe ’twas the mischief of some boy who did not realize what the tree stood for; but Paul flared up at once and said there was no boy on the coast of Maine who would do such a thing, unless ’twas a young Tory; and we know of no Tory here.”

As they neared the wharf they heard a loud cheer from a group of men, and could see that a boat, rowed by Mr. Weston and Mr. Foster, was coming rapidly toward the shore and behind it trailed the fine pine sapling.

“And there comes Parson Lyon with his little daughter,” said Mrs. Foster. “He is as good a patriot as General Washington himself,” she added admiringly.

As Mr. Lyon came near the little group he stopped for a moment.

“May I leave my daughter with you?” he asked. “I wish to be one of those who lift that sacred tree to safety.” And he hurried on to the wharf, leaving Melvina, who stood smiling delightedly at this unexpected meeting with Anna.