Anne Nelson has everything, but she shall not have my tarts.”

Amanda made her way back very carefully, hoping to get the basket and escape without Anne seeing her. But when she reached the spot where Anne had told the wonderful news neither the basket nor Anne was to be seen.

“She’s run off with my basket. She means to eat all that mother gave me!” Amanda now felt that she had a just grievance against her playmate. “I’ll go home and tell my mother,” she decided, and on the way home a very wicked plan came into the little girl’s mind. She pulled off her gingham sunbonnet and threw it behind a bunch of plum bushes. She then unbraided her neat hair and pulled it all about her face. For a moment she thought of tearing a rent in her stout skirt, but did not. Then she crawled under a wide-branched pine and lay down. “I must wait a time, or my mother will think I am too quickly back,” she decided, “and I do not want to get home while Amos is there;” for Amanda knew well that her brother would not credit the story which Amanda had resolved to tell: that Anne had pushed her over in the sand, slapped her, and run off with the basket of luncheon.

“My mother will go straight to Mistress Stoddard, and there’ll be no journeyings to Brewster to see Rose Freeman, or riding to Boston in a fine chaise,” decided the envious child.

So, while Anne kept on her way to the outer beach, carrying Amanda’s basket very carefully, and expecting every moment that Amanda would come running after her, and that they would make friends, and enjoy the goodies together, Amanda was thinking of all the pleasant things that a journey to Boston would mean, and resolving to herself that if she could not go neither should Anne. So envious was the unhappy child that she tried to remember some unkindness that Anne had shown her, that she might justify her own wrong-doing. But in spite of herself the thought of Anne recalled only pleasant things. “I don’t care,” she resolved; “she shan’t go to Boston with Rose Freeman, and she has run off with the basket.”

“Mercy, child! What has befallen you, and where is Anne?” questioned Mrs. Cary, as Amanda came slowly up to the kitchen door, where her mother sat knitting.

“She’s run off with my basket,” whimpered Amanda, holding her apron over her face.

“And is Anne Nelson to blame for your coming home in this condition?” questioned Mrs. Cary, a little flush coming into her thin cheeks.

Amanda nodded; some way it seemed very hard to say that Anne had pushed her down and slapped her.

“And run off with my basket,” she repeated, “and next week she goes to Brewster, and by carriage to Boston.”

“Well, that’s no reason why she should turn so upon you,” declared Mrs. Cary. “What made trouble between you?”

“I think it was because of this journey,” replied Amanda. “She is so set up by it, and she went off with the basket.”

“Never mind about the basket, child; but it’s a sad thing for Anne to so lose her temper. You did quite right to come home, dear child; now brush your hair neatly, and bathe your face, and then come with me to Mistress Stoddard; though I like not our errand,” concluded Mrs. Cary, rolling up the stocking she was knitting.

Amanda looked at her mother pleadingly. “Why must I go to Mistress Stoddard’s?” she questioned. “I have run all the way home, and you know she will not blame Anne; it will be me she will question and blame. Oh, dear!” and Amanda, sure that her evil plan would be discovered, began to sob bitterly.

“There, there! I did but think you could tell Mrs. Stoddard of Anne’s mischief. You need not go, child. Get you a ginger cake from the stone jar in the cellar-way. I’ll tell of the way Anne pushed you about, and made off with the basket, and you sit here by the door. There’s a sweet breeze coming over the marshes,” and, patting Amanda’s ruffled locks, Mrs. Cary took down her sunbonnet from its hook behind the door, and prepared to set forth.

“I’ll not be long away,” she called back, as she passed down the sandy path.

From the pleasant doorway Amanda watched her with a gloomy face. Her plan was going on successfully, but Amanda did not feel happy. She was dreading the time when Amos would return, and his sharp questioning, she knew, would be a very different matter from her mother’s acceptance of her story.

“Everybody always thinks that Anne is right,” she said aloud.

“Well, isn’t she?” said a voice directly behind her, so near that Amanda jumped up in surprise.

“How did you get into the house, Amos Cary!” she exclaimed angrily.

“Phew, Carrot-top! What’s the matter?” responded Amos teasingly. “Say, Sis, don’t cry,” he added. “I won’t call you ‘Carrot-top’ again. You know my hair’s exactly the same color as yours, anyway; so it’s just like calling myself names.”

But Amanda kept on sobbing. “It’s Anne,” she whimpered. “She—she—she’s run off with my basket.”

“Anne!” exclaimed the boy in surprise. “Oh, well, she was only fooling. She’ll bring it back. You know Anne wouldn’t do a mean thing.”

“She would, too. She’s going to Boston, and to Brewster, with Rose Freeman,” said Amanda.

“O-oh! So that’s the trouble, is it?” said Amos. “Well, she’ll come back, so don’t cry,” and he stepped past her and ran down toward the beach.

At Mrs. Stoddard’s Mrs. Cary was repeating Amanda’s story.

“I cannot understand it,” said Mrs. Stoddard. “You know well, Mistress Cary, that Anne is a pleasant child, and she and Amanda started out as friendly as need be. Did Amanda say what began the trouble?”

Mrs. Cary shook her head. “No, she is at home crying her heart out about it, poor child.”

“I know not what to say,” and Mrs. Stoddard’s usually smiling face was very grave. “Anne is not home yet, but I will question her. You may be sure, Mistress Cary, that I will not let it pass. Her father leaves her in my care when he is away, and perhaps I am too indulgent, for I love the child.”

It was an hour later when Anne came and peered in at the open door. Mrs. Cary had gone home. Mrs. Stoddard looked at the little girl, but not with her usual smile.

“Where is Amanda’s basket?” she asked sharply. “Do not stand there; come in.” Anne obeyed. “Now, tell me why you pushed Amanda down, and slapped her, and ran off with the basket of food? Mrs. Cary has been here and told me all about it. A nice story indeed for me to hear. But like as not it is my fault for indulging you in everything. But I shall be firm now. Go up-stairs and stay until I call you; and as for that visit with Rose Freeman, think no more of it. I shall not let you go. No, indeed, after such a performance as this.”

Anne thought to herself that she must be dreaming. “I shall wake up in a minute,” she said aloud, but Mrs. Stoddard did not hear her.

“Go right up-stairs,” she repeated, and Anne, with a puzzled look over her shoulder, went slowly up the narrow stairs.

CHAPTER II

ANNE DECIDES

“I don’t know what to do,” Anne whispered to herself, with a little sob, as she looked out of the narrow window in her little room. Captain Stoddard was coming briskly up the path; in a moment he would be directly under the window.