The playhouse under the pines was almost forgotten as the days grew colder, and the fall rains came, with high winds; and Anne’s scarlet stocking was now long enough for Aunt Martha to “set the heel” and begin to shape the foot. School had begun in Elder Haven’s sitting-room, with fourteen scholars, and Anne was learning to write.

“Master Haven says I write my own name nicely,” she said at the end of the first week, “and that by the time school closes he thinks I can write a letter.”

Captain Enos nodded approvingly. He and Anne were sitting before a bright fire of driftwood in the pleasant kitchen, while Mrs. Stoddard had gone to Mrs. Starkweather’s for more scarlet yarn. Anne was knitting busily; her wooden doll sat on the floor, and the white kitten was curled up close to the little girl’s feet. Captain Enos had several pieces of smooth cedar wood on a stool near his chair, and was at work upon one with his sharp jack-knife.

“Well, well!” he said, looking up from his whittling. “That will please thy father, Anne. And learn as fast as you can, for I see a fair chance of sending a letter to Boston, when one is ready; and then thy father could soon get it.”

“Oh, Uncle Enos!” exclaimed Anne, “if there be a chance to send a letter could you not write for me? It may be when I can write there will be no chance to send a letter.”

Captain Enos nodded. “You are a wise child,” he said. “My writing isn’t the plainest in the world, but I’ll do my best. I have some sheets of good smooth paper in my sea-chest, and a good quill pen, too. Elder Haven fixed the pen for me from the feather of a wild goose I killed on the marshes last spring. But I do not think there is such a thing as ink in the house; but I can make a fair ink with the juice of the elderberry and a fair lot of soot from the chimney. So think up what you wish to tell your father, Anne, and if it storms to-morrow we’ll write the letter.”

“How will you send it, Uncle Enos?” asked Anne, forgetting to knit and turning eager eyes toward the captain.

“Sshh!” said Captain Enos. “’Tis a secret—hardly to be whispered. But there is a good-hearted sailorman on board the British ship. We have had some talk together on the shore, and he told me that he liked thy father; and that he did not blame him for escaping from the ship.”

Anne nodded smilingly, and reached down and picked up her wooden doll.

“Has the sailorman any little girl?” she asked.

“That he has,” said Captain Enos. “He told me that he had two small maids of his own in Plymouth, England, far across the ocean; and he asked if I knew aught of John Nelson’s little girl.”

“That’s me!” said Anne, holding the wooden doll tight.

“Yes,” said Captain Enos, “and he said that he might find a chance to send some word to thy father that you were a good and happy child. Then I told him, Anne, that you planned to write a letter, and he said he’d take it to Boston, and then ’twould soon reach thy father.”

“I wish I could hear the sailorman speak of my father,” said Anne, “and tell me of his little girls in England.”

“Mayhap you can, child. He comes ashore after water each day. A stout man he is, with reddish hair and good honest blue eyes. He tells me his name is William Trull. If you see such a man you may speak to him.”

“Uncle Enos! That is the sailorman who saved me from the Indian women, and brought me safe home,” exclaimed Anne. “Do you not remember?”

“Indeed I do, Anne. And I thought the name would mean something to you,” replied Captain Enos.

Anne smiled happily. It was good news to hear from the sailorman, and to know that he was a friend of her father’s.

“What are you making, Uncle Enos?” asked Anne, as the captain put down one smooth bit of wood and picked up another.

Captain Enos pointed to Anne’s wooden doll and whispered, “I’m afraid Martha Stoddard Nelson will hear. Put her down behind your chair and come over here, and I’ll tell you.”

Anne set the doll down carefully, with its head turned away from Captain Enos, and tiptoed across the little space between them.

“I’m making a chair for Martha Stoddard Nelson,” whispered Captain Enos, “for a surprise. And you mustn’t tell her a word about it till it is all ready for her to sit in.”

Anne laughed. To have a secret with Uncle Enos was about the most delightful thing she could imagine; and to have it mean a fine cedar chair for her doll to sit in was the best kind of a secret.

“You mustn’t let Martha Stoddard Nelson face toward me more than you can help,” went on Uncle Enos. “You don’t think she has noticed what I am doing, do you?”

“No,” whispered Anne. “I’ll be very careful, and let her stay up-stairs a good deal until the chair is finished.”

“That will be a good plan,” said Uncle Enos, “and there comes your Aunt Martha. I hear her at the door.”

Anne ran to open the door and Mrs. Stoddard came in smiling and rosy from her walk in the sharp wind. The white kitten jumped up and came running toward her, and the good woman looked about the cheerful room as if she thought it the finest place in the world.

“I have more scarlet yarn,” she said, sitting down near Captain Enos, “and I have a present for thee, Anne; something that Mistress Starkweather sent thee with her love,” and Mrs. Stoddard handed Anne a small package.

“It’s a box!” declared the little girl, taking off the paper in which it was wrapped, “and see how sweet it smells.”

“’Tis of sandalwood,” said Captain Enos. “There must be many such in the settlement, for ’twas but a few years ago that some of our men came back from a voyage to Ceylon, and fetched such boxes in their chests.”

“Open it, Anne,” said Mrs. Stoddard, and Anne carefully took off the cover.

“Look, look!” she exclaimed, holding out the box toward Aunt Martha; “what are these shining things; all pink and round?” and she picked up a string of pink coral beads and held them up.

“Coral beads!” said Aunt Martha. “Mistress Starkweather said that she thought when her husband brought them home she would keep them for a little girl of her own; but since she has but six boys, she says she knows of no little girl to whom she would rather give them than to thee, Anne. And you must go down to-morrow before school begins and thank her properly.”

“Coral beads!” repeated Anne, holding up the pink beads and touching them softly. “May I put them around my neck, Aunt Martha?”

“Indeed you may, child. See, here is a clasp of bright gold to hold them,” and Mrs. Stoddard fastened the beads around Anne’s neck.

“’Tis a fine gift,” said Captain Enos admiringly, “and shows a kind heart in Mistress Starkweather.”

“I wish my father could see,” said Anne. “When he knows about my scarlet stockings and leather shoes, and the white kitten, and that I go to school and have coral beads, he will think I am the luckiest girl in the world.”

“We will write him all that,” said Captain Enos.

Just then the wooden latch of the kitchen door rattled and the door swung open.

“It’s Amanda!” exclaimed Anne, and Amanda Cary stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind her.

“See, Amanda!” exclaimed Anne happily, “I have had a fine present. Mistress Starkweather gave me these,” and she touched the pink beads, “and this!” and she pointed to the sweet-smelling box of sandalwood.

Amanda’s thin face brightened. “I’ve got some coral beads just like yours,” she said; “my father got them ’way off across the ocean. When I grow older and times are better, my mother says I shall have a white dress and can wear my coral beads then.”

The two little girls played with the doll and kitten and Captain Enos kept on with his work.

“I wish I had a doll,” he heard Amanda say. “I have asked Amos to make me one, but he is not clever at whittling out things.”

Captain Enos nodded to himself smilingly. Since Anne and Amos and Amanda had been carried down the harbor to House Point Island together, and he had heard how pleasant Amanda had been to Anne, he had liked the Cary children better, and had quite forgiven their old-time teasing ways. After Amanda had started for home he called Anne to him and said, “I have another secret!”

“Yes!” said Anne, with a gay little laugh.

“Would you like to make Amanda Cary a present?” he questioned.

“I could not give her my doll,” answered Anne, her bright face growing sober. “’Tis all I have that my father made.”

“But if I make another doll, a fine wooden doll, as near like yours as I can, would you like to give that to Amanda?” asked Uncle Enos.

“Oh, yes! Yes, indeed,” said Anne, the smiles all coming back again.

“Then ’Tis a secret till I have the doll finished,” said Captain Enos; “then maybe you can make a dress for it, and give it to Amanda, just as she gave you her white kitten.”

Anne was very happy over this secret; it seemed even better than the new wooden chair for Martha Stoddard Nelson.

“I never gave anybody a present,” she said, “but I know it must be the finest thing in the world to give somebody a gift,” and she looked up into Uncle Enos’s kindly face questioningly.

“You are a good child, Anne,” he said, “and I will make the wooden doll as soon as time offers. Now take thy beads and box and Martha Stoddard Nelson to thy room, and I will bring in some wood for Aunt Martha. Then ’twill be time for a bite of supper.”

Anne carried her treasures up-stairs to the little room. There was a stand in the room now, one that had belonged to her father. It had two drawers, and in one of them Anne carefully put the sandalwood box with the pink coral beads.

“I guess I have more lovely things than any little girl,” she said to herself, as she slowly closed the drawer. “There’s my doll, and my white kitten, and my scarlet stockings, which I shall have finished to-morrow, and my leather shoes, and these coral beads and the box!” But Anne gave a little sigh and then whispered, “And if my dear father could only know all about them, and that I am to give a doll to Amanda.” She looked out of the small window toward the beautiful harbor, and wished that she might go sailing over it to Boston, to find her father and bring him safe to Province Town. “I wish King George knew how much trouble he was making with his old war-ships,” Anne whispered to the wooden doll.