PROMISE

For a second Faith was too frightened to move. Then pulling one of the newly kindled sticks from the fire she hurled it at the big creature and ran for the stairs, up which Esther was already hurrying.

The flaming brand halted the bear for a second only, but the little girls had reached the upper floor before he was well into the kitchen, and, sniffing the molasses, he turned toward the empty jug and the full kettle.

“What shall we do? What shall we do?” sobbed Esther. “He will come up here and eat us. I know he will.”

“We must get out of the window and run to the mill,” whispered Faith. “We mustn’t wait a minute, for mother dear may be on her way to the house. Come,” and she pushed Esther before her toward the window. “Here, just take hold and swing yourself down,” she said.

“I can’t, oh, I can’t,” sobbed Esther.

“You must. I’ll go first, then;” and in a moment Faith was swinging from the windowsill, had dropped to the ground, and was speeding down the path to the mill, while Esther, frightened and helpless, leaned out screaming at the top of her voice.

Mrs. Carew was just leaving the mill when she saw Faith racing toward her. “A bear! A bear in our kitchen,” she called.

“Hugh!” called Mrs. Carew, and Mr. Carew came running from the mill to hear the story.

“It’s lucky I keep a musket at the mill,” he said. “Here, you take Faith into the mill and fasten the door on the inside. I’ll attend to the bear,” and he was off, racing toward the house, while Mrs. Carew hurried Faith into the mill and shut the heavy door.

“I do hope Esther will stay in the chamber until your father gets there,” said Mrs. Carew anxiously. “I do not believe the bear will venture up the stairs.”

“He was after the syrup,” said Faith, “and if he tried the stairs Esther could drop out of the window.”

It was not long before they heard the loud report of the musket.

“Mayn’t we open the door now, mother dear?” asked Faith.

“Not yet, Faithie. We’ll wait a little,” and Faith realized that her mother’s arm trembled as she drew the girl to her side.

There was silence for what seemed a very long time to Mrs. Carew and Faith, and then they heard Mr. Carew calling; “All right, open the door. Here is Esther safe and sound.”

Esther, sobbing and trembling, clung to Mrs. Carew, and Faith held tight to her father’s hand while he told the story. The bear, with his nose in the kettle of syrup, had not even heard Mr. Carew’s approach, and had been an easy mark.

“You’ll find your kitchen in a sad state, Lucy,” said Mr. Carew, as he finished. “I have dragged the bear outside, and he will furnish us some fine steaks, and a good skin for a rug; but your kettle of syrup is all over the floor.”

“Kettle of syrup?” questioned Mrs. Carew. “Why, there was no kettle of syrup.” Neither of the little girls offered any explanation. Mr. Carew looked about the clearing to see if any other bear was in the neighborhood, but it was evident that the creature had come alone.

“’Tis not often they are so bold,” said Mr. Carew, as they neared the cabin, “although last year an old bear and two cubs came down by the mill, but they were off before I could get a shot at them.”

Mrs. Carew looked about her kitchen with a little feeling of dismay. The kettle had been overturned, and what syrup the bear had not eaten was smeared over the hearth and floor. The little rocking-chair was tipped over and broken, and everything was in disorder.

Esther looked into the kitchen, but Mrs. Carew cautioned her not to enter. “You and Faith go to the front door and go into the sitting-room,” she said. “There is nothing that either of you can do to help;” so Faith led the way and pushed open the heavy door which led directly into a big comfortable room. The lower floor of the cabin was divided into two rooms, the sitting-room and kitchen, and over these were two comfortable chambers. The stairs led up from the kitchen.

Faith thought the sitting-room a very fine place. There was a big fireplace on one side of the room, and the walls were ceiled, or paneled, with pine boards. On one side of the fireplace was a broad wooden settle, covered with a number of fur robes, and several big cushions. Between the two front windows stood a table of dark wood, and on the table were two tall brass candlesticks. A small narrow gilt-framed mirror hung over the table.

There were several strongly-made comfortable wooden chairs with cushions. The floor was of pine, like the ceiled walls, and was now a golden brown in color. There were several bearskin rugs on the floor, for Mr. Carew, like all the men of the “Wilderness,” was a hunter; and when not busy in his mill or garden was off in the woods after deer, or wild partridge, or larger game, as these fine skins proved.

“What a funny room,” exclaimed Esther, with a little giggle. “Our sitting-room has beautiful paper on the walls, and we have pictures, and a fine carpet on the floor. What are you going to tell your mother about that maple syrup?” she concluded sharply.

“I don’t know,” responded Faith.

“Well, don’t tell her anything,” suggested Esther.

“I guess that I shall have to tell her,” said Faith.

“You mean about me? That I teased you to make candy? Well, if you do that I’ll get my father to take me home with him instead of staying until he comes next month,” declared Esther.

“I shan’t tell anything about you,” answered Faith.

Esther looked at her a little doubtfully.

“Of course I shan’t,” repeated Faith. “You are my company. No matter what you did I wouldn’t talk about it. Why, even the Indians treat visitors politely, and give them the best they have, and that’s what I shall do,” and Faith stood very straight and looked at Esther very seriously.

“Truly? Truly? What is the ‘best’ you have? And when will you give it to me?” demanded Esther, coming close to her and clasping her arm. “Is it beads? Oh! I do hope it is beads! And you can’t back out after what you have said,” and Esther jumped up and down in delight at the thought of a possible string of fine beads.

For a moment it seemed as if Faith would burst into tears. She had meant to tell Esther that she would do her best to be kind and polite to her because Esther was a guest, and now Esther was demanding that Faith should do exactly as she had promised and give her “the best she had.” And it happened that Faith’s dearest possession was a string of fine beads. Aunt Priscilla Scott, who lived in Ticonderoga, had brought them as a gift on her last visit. They were beautiful blue beads,—like the sky on a June day,—and Faith wore them only on Sundays. They were in a pretty little wooden box in the sitting-room closet.

Suddenly Esther let go of Faith’s arm. “I knew you didn’t mean it,” she said scornfully.

Faith made no reply. She walked across the room and pushed a brass knob set in one of the panels. The panel opened, and there was a closet. The little wooden box that held the beads was on the middle shelf. Faith took it up, closed the door, and turned toward Esther.

“Here! This is the best thing I have in all the world, the prettiest and the dearest. And it is beads. Take them,” and she thrust the box into Esther’s eager hands and ran out of the room. She forgot the dead bear, the wasted syrup, the danger and fright of so short