journey, Anne. And do not say that you have seen me. Keep in your heart all I have told you. I shall come for you when I can. But you are to be happy and not think of me as in danger. A brave man is always quite safe, and I wish you to believe that your father is a brave man, Anne.”

“Am I not to tell Mistress Stoddard?”

“Tell no one, Anne. Remember. Promise me that when they speak of me as drowned you will say no word!”

“I will not speak, father. But if they do say ‘traitor’ or ‘spy’ I am not to bear it. Captain Enos said I need not.”

A little smile came over the man’s face and he nodded silently. Then he kissed his little daughter and again promising that it should not be long before he would come for her, he turned and made his way through the wood, and soon Anne could no longer see him.

For a long time the little girl sat silent and sorrowful where he had left her. She had forgotten all about the little brown cow; her wooden doll lay neglected on the grass beside her. But after a little she remembered the errand on which she had been sent, and, picking Martha up, started off to drive Brownie back to the pasture near home.

Anne was so quiet that day that at night Mrs. Stoddard questioned her anxiously. “Have those Cary children been saying hateful words to you again, child?” she asked.

“No, I have not been to the spring,” answered Anne.

“Has Jimmie Starkweather been telling thee more foolish tales of a big wolf that comes prowling about at night?” continued Mrs. Stoddard.

“Oh, no, Mistress Stoddard. And indeed I do not think Jimmie Starkweather would frighten me. You know his father has seen the wolf. ’Twas near Blackwater Pond.”

“Then, child, I fear you are ill. Your face is flushed and you left your porridge untasted. Would you like it better if I put a spoonful of molasses over it?”

Anne nodded soberly. Molasses was not to be refused, even if she must live without her brave father; and so she ate her porridge, and Mrs. Stoddard patted her on the shoulder, and told her that the beach-plums would soon be ripening and then she should have a pie, sweet and crusty. And if the captain did well at the fishing, and the British ships kept their distance, she should have some barley sugar, a great treat in those days.

“We’ll be getting you some sort of foot-gear before long, too,” promised Mrs. Stoddard. “I have enough wool yarn in the house to knit you a good pair of warm stockings. ’Tis an ugly gray; I wish I could plan some sort of dye for it to make it a prettier color.”

“But I like gray,” said Anne. “Last winter my feet were cold, and ached with the chilblains. My father knew not how to get stockings for me, and cut down his own, but they were hard to wear.”

“I should say so!” said Mrs. Stoddard; “a man is a poor manager when it comes to fending for children’s clothes. ’Tis well I am provided with some warm garments. When the frost comes you shall learn to knit, Anne; and if we be in good fortune you shall do a sampler,” and Anne, comforted and somewhat consoled by all these pleasant plans for her future happiness, went to sleep that night with the wooden doll closely clasped in her arms, wishing her father might know how good Mistress Stoddard was to her.