A Little Maid of Old Maine | Page 2

his knife; so it might be said that Mr. Foster whistled even at his meals.
"There's Father! There's Father!" Anna called out as they passed a big pile of pine logs and came to where stacks of smooth boards just from the sawmill shut the river from sight.
"Well, Danna, do you and Rebby want your basket filled with golden oranges from sunny Italy and dates from Egypt? Or shall it be with Brazilian nuts and ripe pineapples from South America?"
"Oh, Father! Say some more!" exclaimed Anna, laughing with delight; for she never tired of hearing her father tell of the wonderful fruits of far-off lands that he had seen in his sailor days, before he came to live in the little settlement of Machias, in the Province of Maine, and manage the big sawmill.
"Father, tell us, is the Polly coming up the bay?" Rebecca asked eagerly. She had a particular reason for wanting the sloop to reach harbor as soon as possible, for her birthday was close at hand, and her father had told her that the Polly was bringing her a fine gift; but what it was Rebecca could not imagine. She had guessed everything from a gold ring to a prayer-book; but at every guess her father had only smilingly shook his head.
"No sign of the Polly yet, Rebby," Mr. Weston replied.
Rebecca sighed as her father called her "Rebby," and a little frown showed itself on her forehead. She was nearly fourteen, and she had decided that neither "Rebecca" nor "Rebby" were names that suited her. Her middle name was "Flora," and only that morning Anna had promised not to call her by any other name save Flora in future.
Mr. Weston smiled down at Rebecca's serious face.
"So 'tis not spices from far Arabia, or strings of pink coral, this morning," he continued, taking the basket, "but pine chips. Well, come over here and we will soon fill the basket," and he led the way to where two men were at work with sharp adzes smoothing down a big stick of timber.
In a few minutes the basket was filled, and the little girls were on their way home.
"Would it not be a fine thing, Rebby, if we could really fill our basket with pineapples and sweet-smelling spices?" said Anna, her brown eyes looking off into space, as if she fancied she could see the wonderful things of which her father spoke; "and do you not wish that we were both boys, and could go sailing off to see far lands?"
"Anna! Only this morning you promised to call me 'Flora,' and now it is 'Rebby,' 'Rebby.' And as for 'far lands'--of course I don't want to see them. Have you not heard Father say that there were no more beautiful places in all the world than the shores of this Province?" responded Rebecca reprovingly. She sometimes thought that it would have been far better if Anna had really been a boy instead of a girl; for the younger girl delighted to be called "Dan," and had persuaded her mother to keep her brown curls cut short "like a boy's"; beside this, Anna cared little for dolls, and was completely happy when her father would take her with him for a day's deep-sea fishing, an excursion which Rebecca could never be persuaded to attempt. Anna was also often her father's companion on long tramps in the woods, where he went to mark trees to be cut for timber. She wore moccasins on these trips, made by the friendly Indians who often visited the little settlement, and her mother had made her a short skirt of tanned deerskin, such as little Indian girls sometimes wear, and with her blue blouse of homespun flannel, and round cap with a partridge wing on one side, Anna looked like a real little daughter of the woods as she trotted sturdily along beside her tall father.
As the sisters passed the blacksmith shop they could hear the ringing stroke on the anvil, for Mr. Foster had returned to his work of hammering out forks for pitching hay and grain; these same forks which were fated to be used before many months passed as weapons against the enemies of American liberty.
"To-morrow I am to go with Father to the woods," announced Anna as they came in sight of the comfortable log cabin which stood high above the river, and where they could see their mother standing in the doorway looking for their return. The girls waved and called to their mother as they hurried up the path.
"We have fine chips, Mother," called Rebecca, while Anna in a sing-song tone called out: "Pineapples and sweet-smelling spices! Strings of pink coral and shells from far lands."
Rebecca sighed to herself as she heard Anna's laughing recital of their father's words. She resolved