A Little Maid of Old Maine | Page 4

he questioned; for Rebecca was six years of age and Anna three when their parents came to this far-off place to make their home. Eastern Maine was then a wilderness, and this little village was not connected with the outside world except by the Indian trails or by the sailing craft which plied up and down the coast. But its citizens were soon to write a page of heroism and valor in their country's history.
"Of course Machias is to have a liberty pole," continued Mr. Weston. "It has been so decided by a vote in a town meeting; and Dan and I will start off in good season to-morrow morning to look for the finest pine sapling in the forest. It will be a great day for the village when 'tis set up, with its waving green plume to show that we are pledged to resist England's injustice to her long-suffering colonies."
It was the custom to leave a tuft of verdure at the top of the liberty tree as an emblem, the best they had at command, of the flag they meant to fight for.
Before her father had finished speaking Rebecca had relinquished her grasp on his arm and ran toward the cupboard, and neither her father nor mother gave much thought to her anxious question. The venison was just ready to serve, and Mrs. Weston hurried from the fireplace to the table, on which Rebecca had now placed the dishes, while Mr. Weston and Anna talked happily together over the proposed excursion on the following day.
"I am afraid that we may have to postpone our journey," said Mr. Weston, "for I noticed the gulls were coming in flocks close to the shores, and you know:
"'When sea-birds fly to land A storm is at hand.'"
"But look at Malty," responded Anna quickly, pointing to the fat Maltese cat who was industriously washing her face:
"'If the cat washes her face over the ear 'Tis a sign the weather'll be fine and clear,'"
quoted the little girl; "and you told me 'twas a sure sign, Father; and 'tis what Matty is doing this minute."
"To be sure," laughed Mr. Weston, "both are sure signs, and so we will hope for fair weather."
Rebecca was very silent at dinner, and as the sisters began to clear away the dishes Anna watched her with troubled eyes.
"Perhaps it's because I called her 'Rebby,'" thought the little girl regretfully. "I'll tell her I am sorry," and when their mother left the kitchen Anna whispered:
"Flora, I forgot when I called you 'Rebby.' But I will now surely remember. You are not vexed at me, are you?" and Anna leaned her head against her sister's arm and looked up at her pleadingly.
Rebecca sniffed a little, as if trying to keep back the tears. She wished she could talk over her worries with Anna; but of course that would never do.
"I believe I'd rather be called 'Rebby,'" she managed to say, to the surprise of her younger sister. "Do you suppose they really mean to put up a liberty pole?"
"Of course," responded Anna. "I heard the minister say that it must be done."
Rebby sighed dolefully. She was old enough to understand the talk she heard constantly of His Majesty's ships of war capturing the American fishing sloops, and of the many troubles caused to peaceable Americans all along the coast; and she, like all the American children, knew that their rights must be defended; but Lucia Horton's talk had frightened and confused Rebecca's thoughts. To set up a liberty pole now seemed to her a most dangerous thing to do, and something that would bring only trouble.
She wished with all her heart that she could tell her father all that Lucia had told her. But that she could not do because of her promise. Rebecca knew that a promise was a sacred thing, not to be broken.
"Rebby, will you not go to the bluff with me? 'Twill be pleasant there this afternoon, and we could see the Polly if she chances to come into harbor to-day," said Anna.
"You had best ask Luretta Foster, Danna," she answered quickly. "I am sure Mother will want my help with her quilting this afternoon."
Rebby so often played at being "grown up" that this reply did not surprise Anna, and she ran off to find her mother and ask permission to go to the shore with Luretta Foster, a girl of about her own age. Mrs. Weston gave her consent, and in a few moments the little girl was running along the river path toward the blacksmith shop where a short path led to Luretta's home.
Anna often thought that there could not be another little girl in all the world as pretty as Luretta. Luretta was not as tall or as strongly made as Anna; her eyes were