From ec1a95a344941e84f09e609f0f0de3efb096223f Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Roger Frank Date: Wed, 15 Oct 2025 04:51:23 -0700 Subject: initial commit of ebook 17560 --- 17560-h/17560-h.htm | 1948 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 1 file changed, 1948 insertions(+) create mode 100644 17560-h/17560-h.htm (limited to '17560-h') diff --git a/17560-h/17560-h.htm b/17560-h/17560-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b223063 --- /dev/null +++ b/17560-h/17560-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1948 @@ + + + + +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Adventures of Ann + + + + +

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+Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Ann, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
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+Title: The Adventures of Ann
+       Stories of Colonial Times
+
+Author: Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
+
+Release Date: January 21, 2006 [EBook #17560]
+
+Language: English
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+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF ANN ***
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+Produced by Jeff Kaylin and Andrew Sly
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+ +

THE ADVENTURES OF ANN

STORIES OF COLONIAL TIMES

BY
+Mary E. Wilkins

FROM ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS AND
+FAMILY TRADITIONS

+ +

BOSTON
+D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY
+FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS

+ +

+ + +

CONTENTS.

The Bound Girl
Deacon Thomas Wales' Will
The Adopted Daughter
The “Horse-House” Deed

+ +

STORIES OF COLONIAL TIMES

I

The Bound Girl

+ +

This Indenture Wittnesseth, That I Margaret Burjust of Boston, +in the County of Suffolk and Province of the Massachusetts Bay in +New England. Have placed, and by these presents do place and bind +out my only Daughter whose name is Ann Ginnins to be an Apprentice +unto Samuel Wales and his wife of Braintree in the County +afores:^d, Blacksmith. To them and their +Heirs and with them the s:^d Samuel Wales, +his wife and their Heirs, after the manner of an apprentice to +dwell and Serve from the day of the date hereof for and during the +full and Just Term of Sixteen years, three months and twenty-three +day's next ensueing and fully to be Compleat, during all which term +the s:^d apprentice her +s:^d Master and Mistress faithfully Shall +Serve, Their Secrets keep close, and Lawful and reasonable Command +everywhere gladly do and perform.

Damage to her s:^d Master and Mistress +she shall not willingly do. Her s:^d +Master's goods she shall not waste, Embezel, purloin or lend unto +Others nor suffer the same to be wasted or purloined. But to her +power Shall discover the Same to her s:^d +Master. Taverns or Ailhouss she Shall not frequent, at any unlawful +game She Shall not play, Matrimony she Shall not Contract with any +persons during s:^d Term. From her +master's Service She Shall not at any time unlawfully absent +herself. But in all things as a good honest and faithful Servant +and apprentice Shall bear and behave herself, During the full term +afores:^d Commencing from the third day of +November Anno Dom: One Thousand, Seven Hundred fifty and three. And +the s:^d Master for himself, wife, and +Heir's, Doth Covenant Promise Grant and Agree unto and with the +s:^d apprentice and the +s:^d Margaret Burjust, in manner and form +following. That is to say, That they will teach the +s:^d apprentice or Cause her to be taught +in the Art of good housewifery, and also to read and write well. +And will find and provide for and give unto +s:^d apprentice good and sufficient Meat +Drink washing and lodging both in Sickness and in health, and at +the Expiration of S:^d term to Dismiss +s:^d apprentice with two Good Suits of +Apparrel both of woolen and linnin for all parts of her body (viz) +One for Lord-days and one for working days Suitable to her Quality. +In Testimony whereof I Samuel Wales and Margaret Burjust Have +Interchangably Sett their hands and Seals this Third day November +Anno Dom: 1753, and in the twenty Seventh year of the Reign of our +Soveraig'n Lord George the Second of great Britain the King.
+ Signed Sealed & Delivered.
+  In presence of
+  Sam +Vaughan                Margaret +Burgis
+  Mary +Vaughan                  her +X mark.”

This quaint document was carefully locked up, with some old +deeds and other valuable papers, in his desk, by the +“s:^d Samuel Wales,” one +hundred and thirty years ago. The desk was a rude, unpainted pine +affair, and it reared itself on its four stilt-like legs in a +corner of his kitchen, in his house in the South Precinct of +Braintree. The sharp eyes of the little +“s:^d apprentice” had noted it +oftener and more enviously than any other article of furniture in +the house. On the night of her arrival, after her journey of +fourteen miles from Boston, over a rough bridle-road, on a jolting +horse, clinging tremblingly to her new “Master,” she +peered through her little red fingers at the desk swallowing up +those precious papers which Samuel Wales drew from his pocket with +an important air. She was hardly five years old, but she was an +acute child; and she watched her master draw forth the papers, show +them to his wife, Polly, and lock them up in the desk, with the +full understanding that they had something to do with her coming to +this strange place; and, already, a shadowy purpose began to form +itself in her mind.

She sat on a cunning little wooden stool, close to the +fireplace, and kept her small chapped hands persistently over her +face; she was scared, and grieved, and, withal, a trifle sulky. +Mrs. Polly Wales cooked some Indian meal mush for supper in an iron +pot swinging from its trammel over the blazing logs, and cast +scrutinizing glances at the little stranger. She had welcomed her +kindly, taken off her outer garments, and established her on the +little stool in the warmest corner, but the child had given a very +ungracious response. She would not answer a word to Mrs. Wales' +coaxing questions, but twitched herself away with all her small +might, and kept her hands tightly over her eyes, only peering +between her fingers when she thought no one was noticing.

She had behaved after the same fashion all the way from Boston, +as Mr. Wales told his wife in a whisper. The two were a little +dismayed, at the whole appearance of the small apprentice; to tell +the truth, she was not in the least what they had expected. They +had been revolving this scheme of taking “a bound girl” +for some time in their minds; and, Samuel Wales' gossip in Boston, +Sam Vaughan, had been requested to keep a lookout for a suitable +person.

So, when word came that one had been found, Mr. Wales had +started at once for the city. When he saw the child, he was +dismayed. He had expected to see a girl of ten; this one was hardly +five, and she had anything but the demure and decorous air which +his Puritan mind esteemed becoming and appropriate in a little +maiden. Her hair was black and curled tightly, instead of being +brown and straight parted in the middle, and combed smoothly over +her ears as his taste regulated; her eyes were black and flashing, +instead of being blue, and downcast. The minute he saw the child, +he felt a disapproval of her rise in his heart, and also something +akin to terror. He dreaded to take this odd-looking child home to +his wife Polly; he foresaw contention and mischief in their quiet +household. But he felt as if his word was rather pledged to his +gossip, and there was the mother, waiting and expectant. She was a +red-cheeked English girl, who had been in Sam Vaughan's employ; she +had recently married one Burjust, and he was unwilling to support +the first husband's child, so this chance to bind her out and +secure a good home for her had been eagerly caught at.

The small Ann seemed rather at Samuel Wales' mercy, and he had +not the courage to disappoint his friend or her mother; so the +necessary papers were made out, Sam Vaughan's and wife's signatures +affixed, and Margaret Burjust's mark, and he set out on his +homeward journey with the child.

The mother was coarse and illiterate, but she had some natural +affection; she “took on” sadly when the little girl was +about to leave her, and Ann clung to her frantically. It was a +pitiful scene, and Samuel Wales, who was a very tender-hearted man, +was glad when it was over, and he jogging along the +bridle-path.

But he had had other troubles to encounter. All at once, as he +rode through Boston streets, with his little charge behind him, +after leaving his friend's house, he felt a vicious little twitch +at his hair, which he wore in a queue tied with a black ribbon +after the fashion of the period. Twitch, twitch, twitch! The water +came into Samuel Wales' eyes, and the blood to his cheeks, while +the passers-by began to hoot and laugh. His horse became alarmed at +the hubbub, and started up. For a few minutes the poor man could do +nothing to free himself. It was wonderful what strength the little +creature had; she clinched her tiny fingers in the braid, and +pulled, and pulled. Then, all at once, her grasp slackened, and off +flew her master's steeple-crowned hat into the dust, and the neat +black ribbon on the end of the queue followed it. Samuel Wales +reined up his horse with a jerk then, and turned round, and +administered a sounding box on each of his apprentice's ears. Then +he dismounted, amid shouts of laughter from the spectators, and got +a man to hold the horse while he went back and picked up his hat +and ribbon.

He had no further trouble. The boxes seemed to have subdued Ann +effectually. But he pondered uneasily all the way home on the small +vessel of wrath which was perched up behind him, and there was a +tingling sensation at the roots of his queue. He wondered what +Polly would say. The first glance at her face, when he lifted Ann +off the horse at his own door, confirmed his fears. She expressed +her mind, in a womanly way, by whispering in his ear at the first +opportunity, “She's as black as an Injun.”

After Ann had eaten her supper, and had been tucked away between +some tow sheets and homespun blankets in a trundle-bed, she heard +the whole story, and lifted up her hands with horror. Then the good +couple read a chapter, and prayed, solemnly vowing to do their duty +by this child which they had taken under their roof, and imploring +Divine assistance.

As time wore on, it became evident that they stood in sore need +of it. They had never had any children of their own, and Ann +Ginnins was the first child who had ever lived with them. But she +seemed to have the freaks of a dozen or more in herself, and they +bade fair to have the experience of bringing up a whole troop with +this one. They tried faithfully to do their duty by her, but they +were not used to children, and she was a very hard child to manage. +A whole legion of mischievous spirits seemed to dwell in her at +times, and she became in a small and comparatively innocent way, +the scandal of the staid Puritan neighborhood in which she lived. +Yet, withal, she was so affectionate, and seemed to be actuated by +so little real malice in any of her pranks, that people could not +help having a sort of liking for the child, in spite of them.

She was quick to learn, and smart to work, too, when she chose. +Sometimes she flew about with such alacrity that it seemed as if +her little limbs were hung on wires, and no little girl in the +neighborhood could do her daily tasks in the time she could, and +they were no inconsiderable tasks, either.

Very soon after her arrival she was set to “winding +quills,” so many every day. Seated at Mrs. Polly's side, in +her little homespun gown, winding quills through sunny +forenoons—how she hated it! She liked feeding the hens and +pigs better, and when she got promoted to driving the cows, a +couple of years later, she was in her element. There were charming +possibilities of nuts and checkerberries and sassafras and sweet +flag all the way between the house and the pasture, and the chance +to loiter, and have a romp.

She rarely showed any unwillingness to go for the cows; but +once, when there was a quilting at her mistress's house, she +demurred. It was right in the midst of the festivities; they were +just preparing for supper, in fact. Ann knew all about the good +things in the pantry, she was wild with delight at the unwonted +stir, and anxious not to lose a minute of it. She thought some one +else might go for the cows that night. She cried and sulked, but +there was no help for it. Go she had to. So she tucked up her +gown—it was her best Sunday one—took her stick, and +trudged along. When she came to the pasture, there were her +master's cows waiting at the bars. So were Neighbor Belcher's cows +also, in the adjoining pasture. Ann had her hand on the topmost of +her own bars, when she happened to glance over at Neighbor +Belcher's, and a thought struck her. She burst into a peal of +laughter, and took a step towards the other bars. Then she went +back to her own. Finally, she let down the Belcher bars, and the +Belcher cows crowded out, to the great astonishment of the Wales +cows, who stared over their high rails and mooed uneasily.

Ann drove the Belcher cows home and ushered them into Samuel +Wales' barnyard with speed. Then she went demurely into the house. +The table looked beautiful. Ann was beginning to quake inwardly, +though she still was hugging herself, so to speak, in secret +enjoyment of her own mischief. She had one hope—that supper +would be eaten before her master milked. But the hope was vain. +When she saw Mr. Wales come in, glance her way, and then call his +wife out, she knew at once what had happened, and begun to +tremble—she knew perfectly what Mr. Wales was saying out +there. It was this: “That little limb has driven home all +Neighbor Belcher's cows instead of ours; what's going to be done +with her?”

She knew what the answer would be, too. Mrs. Polly was a +peremptory woman.

Back Ann had to go with the Belcher cows, fasten them safely in +their pasture again, and drive her master's home. She was hustled +off to bed, then, without any of that beautiful supper. But she had +just crept into her bed in the small unfinished room up stairs +where she slept, and was lying there sobbing, when she heard a +slow, fumbling step on the stairs. Then the door opened, and Mrs. +Deacon Thomas Wales, Samuel Wales' mother, came in. She was a good +old lady, and had always taken a great fancy to her son's bound +girl; and Ann, on her part, minded her better than any one else. +She hid her face in the tow sheet, when she saw grandma. The old +lady had on a long black silk apron. She held something concealed +under it, when she came in. Presently she displayed it.

“There—child,” said she, “here's a piece +of sweet cake and a couple of simballs, that I managed to save out +for you. Jest set right up and eat 'em, and don't ever be so +dretful naughty again, or I don't know what will become of +you.”

This reproof, tempered with sweetness, had a salutary effect on +Ann. She sat up, and ate her sweet cake and simballs, and sobbed +out her contrition to grandma, and there was a marked improvement +in her conduct for some days.

Mrs. Polly was a born driver. She worked hard herself, and she +expected everybody about her to. The tasks which Ann had set her +did not seem as much out of proportion, then, as they would now. +Still, her mistress, even then, allowed her less time for play than +was usual, though it was all done in good faith, and not from any +intentional severity. As time went on, she grew really quite fond +of the child, and she was honestly desirous of doing her whole duty +by her. If she had had a daughter of her own, it is doubtful if her +treatment of her would have been much different.

Still, Ann was too young to understand all this, and, sometimes, +though she was strong and healthy, and not naturally averse to +work, she would rebel, when her mistress set her stints so long, +and kept her at work when other children were playing.

Once in a while she would confide in grandma, when Mrs. Polly +sent her over there on an errand and she had felt unusually +aggrieved because she had had to wind quills, or hetchel, instead +of going berrying, or some like pleasant amusement.

“Poor little cosset,” grandma would say, pityingly. +Then she would give her a simball, and tell her she must “be +a good girl, and not mind if she couldn't play jest like the +others, for she'd got to airn her own livin', when she grew up, and +she must learn to work.”

Ann would go away comforted, but grandma would be privately +indignant. She was, as is apt to be the case, rather critical with +her sons' wives, and she thought “Sam'l's kept that poor +little gal too stiddy at work,” and wished and wished she +could shelter her under her own grandmotherly wing, and feed her +with simballs to her heart's content. She was too wise to say +anything to influence the child against her mistress, however. She +was always cautious about that, even while pitying her. Once in a +while she would speak her mind to her son, but he was easy +enough—Ann would not have found him a hard task-master.

Still, Ann did not have to work hard enough to hurt her. The +worst consequences were that such a rigid rein on such a frisky +little colt perhaps had more to do with her “cutting +up,” as her mistress phrased it, than she dreamed of. +Moreover the thought of the indentures, securely locked up in Mr. +Wales' tall wooden desk, was forever in Ann's mind. Half by dint of +questioning various people, half by her own natural logic she had +settled it within herself, that at any time the possession of these +papers would set her free, and she could go back to her own mother, +whom she dimly remembered as being loud-voiced, but merry, and very +indulgent. However, Ann never meditated in earnest, taking the +indentures; indeed, the desk was always locked—it held other +documents more valuable than hers—and Samuel Wales carried +the key in his waistcoat-pocket.

She went to a dame's school, three months every year. Samuel +Wales carted half a cord of wood to pay for her schooling, and she +learned to write and read in the New England Primer. +Next to her, on the split log bench, sat a little girl named Hannah +French. The two became fast friends. Hannah was an only child, +pretty and delicate, and very much petted by her parents. No long +hard tasks were set those soft little fingers, even in those old +days when children worked as well as their elders. Ann admired and +loved Hannah, because she had what she, herself, had not; and +Hannah loved and pitied Ann because she had not what she had. It +was a sweet little friendship, and would not have been, if Ann had +not been free from envy and Hannah humble and pitying.

When Ann told her what a long stint she had to do before school, +Hannah would shed sympathizing tears.

Ann, after a solemn promise of secrecy, told her about the +indentures one day. Hannah listened with round, serious eyes; her +brown hair was combed smoothly down over her ears. She was a +veritable little Puritan damsel herself.

“If I could only get the papers, I wouldn't have to mind +her, and work so hard,” said Ann.

Hannah's eyes grew rounder. “Why, it would be sinful to +take them!” said she.

Ann's cheeks blazed under her wondering gaze, and she said no +more.

When she was about eleven years old, one icy January day, Hannah +wanted her to go out and play on the ice after school. They had no +skates, but it was rare fun to slide. Ann went home and asked Mrs. +Polly's permission with a beating heart; she promised to do a +double stint next day, if she would let her go. But her mistress +was inexorable—work before play, she said, always; and Ann +must not forget that she was to be brought up to work; it was +different with her from what it was with Hannah French. Even this +she meant kindly enough, but Ann saw Hannah go away, and sat down +to her spinning with more fierce defiance in her heart than had +ever been there before. She had been unusually good, too, lately. +She always was, during the three months' schooling, with sober, +gentle little Hannah French.

She had been spinning sulkily a while, and it was almost dark, +when a messenger came for her master and mistress to go to Deacon +Thomas Wales', who had been suddenly taken very ill.

Ann would have felt sorry if she had not been so angry. Deacon +Wales was almost as much of a favorite of hers as his wife. As it +was, the principal thing she thought of, after Mr. Wales and his +wife had gone, was that the key was in the desk. However +it had happened, there it was. She hesitated a moment. She was all +alone in the kitchen, and her heart was in a tumult of anger, but +she had learned her lessons from the Bible and the New +England Primer and she was afraid of the sin. But, +at last, she opened the desk, found the indentures, and hid them in +the little pocket which she wore tied about her waist, under her +petticoat.

Then she threw her blanket over her head, and got her poppet out +of the chest. The poppet was a little doll manufactured from a +corn-cob, dressed in an indigo-colored gown. Grandma had made it +for her, and it was her chief treasure. She clasped it tight to her +bosom and ran across lots to Hannah French's.

Hannah saw her coming, and met her at the door.

“I've brought you my poppet,” whispered Ann, all +breathless, “and you must keep her always, and not let her +work too hard. I'm going away!”

Hannah's eyes looked like two solemn moons. “Where are you +going, Ann?”

“I'm going to Boston to find my own mother.” She +said nothing about the indentures to Hannah—somehow she could +not.

Hannah could not say much, she was so astonished, but as soon as +Ann had gone, scudding across the fields, she went in with the +poppet and told her mother.

Deacon Thomas Wales was very sick. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel remained +at his house all night, but Ann was not left alone, for Mr. Wales +had an apprentice who slept in the house.

Ann did not sleep any that night. She got up very early, before +any one was stirring, and dressed herself in her Sunday clothes. +Then she tied up her working clothes in a bundle, crept softly down +stairs, and out doors.

It was bright moonlight and quite cold. She ran along as fast as +she could on the Boston road. Deacon Thomas Wales' house was on the +way. The windows were lit up. She thought of grandma and poor +grandpa, with a sob in her heart, but she sped along. Past the +schoolhouse, and meeting-house, too, she had to go, with big qualms +of grief and remorse. But she kept on. She was a fast +traveller.

She had reached the North Precinct of Braintree by daylight. So +far, she had not encountered a single person. Now, she heard +horse's hoofs behind her. She began to run faster, but it was of no +use. Soon Captain Abraham French loomed up on his big gray horse, a +few paces from her. He was Hannah's father, but he was a +tithing-man, and looked quite stern, and Ann had always stood in +great fear of him.

She ran on as fast as her little heels could fly, with a +thumping heart. But it was not long before she felt herself seized +by a strong arm and swung up behind Captain French on the gray +horse. She was in a panic of terror, and would have cried and +begged for mercy if she had not been in so much awe of her captor. +She thought with awful apprehension of these stolen indentures in +her little pocket. What if he should find that out!

Captain French whipped up his horse, however, and hastened along +without saying a word. His silence, if anything, caused more dread +in Ann than words would have. But his mind was occupied. Deacon +Thomas Wales was dead; he was one of his most beloved and honored +friends, and it was a great shock to him. Hannah had told him about +Ann's premeditated escape, and he had set out on her track, as soon +as he had found that she was really gone, that morning. But the +news, which he had heard on his way, had driven all thoughts of +reprimand which he might have entertained, out of his head. He only +cared to get the child safely back.

So, not a word spoke Captain French, but rode on in grim and +sorrowful silence, with Ann clinging to him, till he reached her +master's door. Then he set her down with a stern and solemn +injunction never to transgress again, and rode away.

Ann went into the kitchen with a quaking heart. It was empty and +still. Its very emptiness and stillness seemed to reproach her. +There stood the desk—she ran across to it, pulled the +indentures from her pocket, put them in their old place, and shut +the lid down. There they staid till the full and just time of her +servitude had expired. She never disturbed them again.

On account of the grief and confusion incident on Deacon Wales' +death, she escaped with very little censure. She never made an +attempt to run away again. Indeed she had no wish to, for after +Deacon Wales' death, grandma was lonely and wanted her, and she +lived, most of the time, with her. And, whether she was in reality, +treated any more kindly or not, she was certainly happier.

+ +

II

Deacon Thomas Wales' Will

+ +

In the Name of God Amen! the Thirteenth Day of September One +Thousand Seven Hundred Fifty & eight, I, Thomas Wales of +Braintree, in the County of Suffolk & Province of the +Massachusetts Bay in New England, Gent—being in good health +of Body and of Sound Disproving mind and Memory, Thanks be given to +God—Calling to mind my mortality, Do therefore in my health +make and ordain this my Last Will and Testament. And First I +Recommend my Soul into the hand of God who gave it—Hoping +through grace to obtain Salvation thro' the merits and Mediation of +Jesus Christ my only Lord and Dear Redeemer, and my body to be +Decently inter^d, at the Discretion of my +Executer, believing at the General Resurection to receive the Same +again by the mighty Power of God—And such worldly estate as +God in his goodness hath graciously given me after Debts, funeral +Expenses &c, are Paid I give & Dispose of the Same as +Followeth—

Imprimis—I Give to my beloved Wife Sarah a good +Sute of mourning apparrel Such as she may Choose—also if she +acquit my estate of Dower and third-therin (as we have agreed) Then +that my Executer return all of Household movables she bought at our +marriage & since that are remaining, also to Pay to her or Her +Heirs That Note of Forty Pound I gave to her, when she acquited my +estate and I hers. Before Division to be made as herin exprest, +also the Southwest fire-Room in my House, a right in my Cellar, +Halfe the Garden, also the Privilege of water at the well & +yard room and to bake in the oven what she hath need of to improve +her Life-time by her.

+After this, followed a division of his property amongst his +children, five sons, and two daughters. The “Homeplace” +was given to his sons Ephraim and Atherton. Ephraim had a good +house of his own, so he took his share of the property in land, and +Atherton went to live in the old homestead. His quarters had been +poor enough; he had not been so successful as his brothers, and had +been unable to live as well. It had been a great cross to his wife, +Dorcas, who was very high spirited. She had compared, bitterly, the +poverty of her household arrangements, with the abundant comfort of +her sisters-in-law.

Now, she seized eagerly at the opportunity of improving her +style of living. The old Wales house was quite a pretentious +edifice for those times. All the drawback to her delight was, that +Grandma should have the southwest fire-room. She wanted to set up +her high-posted bedstead, with its enormous feather-bed in that, +and have it for her fore-room. Properly, it was the fore room, +being right across the entry from the family sitting room. There +was a tall chest of drawers that would fit in so nicely between the +windows, too. Take it altogether, she was chagrined at having to +give up the southwest room; but there was no help for +it—there it was in Deacon Wales' will.

Mrs. Dorcas was the youngest of all the sons' wives, as her +husband was the latest born. She was quite a girl to some of them. +Grandma had never more than half approved of her. Dorcas was +high-strung and flighty, she said. She had her doubts about living +happily with her. But Atherton was anxious for this division of the +property, and he was her youngest darling, so she gave in. She felt +lonely, and out of her element, when everything was arranged, she +established in the southwest fire-room, and Atherton's family +keeping house in the others, though things started pleasantly and +peaceably enough.

It occurred to her that her son Samuel might have her own +“help,” a stout woman, who had worked in her kitchen +for many years, and she take in exchange his little bound girl, Ann +Ginnins. She had always taken a great fancy to the child. There was +a large closet out of the southwest room, where she could sleep, +and she could be made very useful, taking steps, and running +“arrants” for her.

Mr. Samuel and his wife hesitated a little, when this plan was +proposed. In spite of the trouble she gave them, they were attached +to Ann, and did not like to part with her, and Mrs. Polly was just +getting her “larnt” her own ways, as she put it. +Privately, she feared Grandma would undo all the good she had done, +in teaching Ann to be smart and capable. Finally they gave in, with +the understanding that it was not to be considered necessarily a +permanent arrangement, and Ann went to live with the old lady.

Mrs. Dorcas did not relish this any more than she did the +appropriation of the southwest fire-room. She had never liked Ann +very well. Besides she had two little girls of her own, and she +fancied Ann rivaled them in Grandma's affection. So, soon after the +girl was established in the house, she began to show out +in various little ways.

Thirsey, her youngest child, was a mere baby, a round fat +dumpling of a thing. She was sweet, and good-natured, and the pet +of the whole family. Ann was very fond of playing with her, and +tending her, and Mrs. Dorcas began to take advantage of it. The +minute Ann was at liberty she was called upon to take care of +Thirsey. The constant carrying about such a heavy child soon began +to make her shoulders stoop and ache. Then Grandma took up the +cudgels. She was smart and high-spirited, but she was a very +peaceable old lady on her own account, and fully resolved “to +put up with everything from Dorcas, rather than have strife in the +family.” She was not going to see this helpless little girl +imposed on, however. “The little gal ain't goin' to get bent +all over, tendin' that heavy baby, Dorcas,” she proclaimed. +“You can jist make up your mind to it. She didn't come here +to do sech work.”

So Dorcas had to make up her mind to it.

Ann's principal duties were scouring “the brasses” +in Grandma's room, taking steps for her, and spinning her stint +every day. Grandma set smaller stints than Mrs. Polly. As time went +on, she helped about the cooking. She and Grandma cooked their own +victuals, and ate from a little separate table in the common +kitchen. It was a very large room, and might have accommodated +several families, if they could have agreed. There was a big oven, +and a roomy fire-place. Good Deacon Wales had probably seen no +reason at all why his “beloved wife,” should not have +her right therein with the greatest peace and concord.

But it soon came to pass that Mrs. Dorcas' pots and kettles were +all prepared to hang on the trammels when Grandma's were, and an +army of cakes and pies marshalled to go in the oven when Grandma +had proposed to do some baking. Grandma bore it patiently for a +long time; but Ann was with difficulty restrained from freeing her +small mind, and her black eyes snapped more dangerously, at every +new offence.

One morning, Grandma had two loaves of “riz bread,” +and some election cakes, rising, and was intending to bake them in +about an hour, when they should be sufficiently light. What should +Mrs. Dorcas do, but mix up sour milk bread, and some pies with the +greatest speed, and fill up the oven, before Grandma's cookery was +ready!

Grandma sent Ann out into the kitchen to put the loaves in the +oven and lo and behold! the oven was full. Ann stood staring for a +minute, with a loaf of election cake in her hands; that and the +bread would be ruined if they were not baked immediately, as they +were raised enough. Mrs. Dorcas had taken Thirsey and stepped out +somewhere, and there was no one in the kitchen. Ann set the +election cake back on the table. Then, with the aid of the tongs, +she reached into the brick oven and took out every one of Mrs. +Dorcas' pies and loaves. Then she arranged them deliberately in a +pitiful semicircle on the hearth, and put Grandma's cookery in the +oven.

She went back to the southwest room then, and sat quietly down +to her spinning. Grandma asked if she had put the things in, and +she said “Yes, ma'am,” meekly. There was a bright red +spot on each of her dark cheeks.

When Mrs. Dorcas entered the kitchen, carrying Thirsey wrapped +up in an old homespun blanket, she nearly dropped as her gaze fell +on the fire-place and the hearth. There sat her bread and pies, in +the most lamentable half-baked, sticky, doughy condition +imaginable. She opened the oven, and peered in. There were +Grandma's loaves, all a lovely brown. Out they came, with a twitch. +Luckily, they were done. Her own went in, but they were +irretrievable failures.

Of course, quite a commotion came from this. Dorcas raised her +shrill voice pretty high, and Grandma, though she had been innocent +of the whole transaction, was so blamed that she gave Dorcas a +piece of her mind at last. Ann surveyed the nice brown loaves, and +listened to the talk in secret satisfaction; but she had to suffer +for it afterward. Grandma punished her for the first time, and she +discovered that that kind old hand was pretty firm and strong. +“No matter what you think or whether you air in the rights +on't, or not, a little gal mustn't ever sass her elders,” +said Grandma.

But if Ann's interference was blamable, it was productive of one +good result—the matter came to Mr. Atherton's ears, and he +had a stern sense of justice when roused, and a great veneration +for his mother. His father's will should be carried out to the +letter, he declared; and it was. Grandma baked and boiled in peace, +outwardly, at least, after that.

Ann was a great comfort to her; she was outgrowing her wild, +mischievous ways, and she was so bright and quick. She promised to +be pretty, too. Grandma compared her favorably with her own +grandchildren, especially, Mrs. Dorcas' eldest daughter Martha, who +was nearly Ann's age. “Marthy's a pretty little gal +enough,” she used to say, “but she ain't got the +snap to her that Ann has, though I wouldn't tell +Atherton's wife so, for the world.”

She promised Ann her gold beads, when she should be done with +them, under strict injunctions not to say anything about it till +the time came; for the others might feel hard as she wasn't her own +flesh and blood. The gold beads were Ann's ideals of beauty, and +richness, though she did not like to hear Grandma talk about being +“done with them.” Grandma always wore them around her +fair, plump old neck; she had never seen her without her string of +beads.

As before said, Ann was now very seldom mischievous enough to +make herself serious trouble; but, once in a while, her natural +propensities would crop out. When they did, Mrs. Dorcas was +exceedingly bitter. Indeed, her dislike of Ann was, at all times, +smouldering, and needed only a slight fanning to break out.

One stormy winter day, Mrs. Dorcas had been working till dark, +making candle-wicks. When she came to get tea, she tied the white +fleecy rolls together, a great bundle of them, and hung them up in +the cellar-way, over the stairs, to be out of the way. They were +extra fine wicks, being made of flax for the company candles. +“I've got a good job done,” said Mrs. Dorcas, surveying +them complacently. Her husband had gone to Boston, and was not +coming home till the next day, so she had had a nice chance to work +at them, without as much interruption as usual.

Ann, going down the cellar-stairs, with a lighted candle, after +some butter for tea, spied the beautiful rolls swinging overhead. +What possessed her to, she could not herself have told—she +certainly had no wish to injure Mrs. Dorcas' wicks—but she +pinched up a little end of the fluffy flax and touched her candle +to it. She thought she would see how that little bit would burn +off. She soon found out. The flame caught, and ran like lightning +through the whole bundle. There was a great puff of fire and smoke, +and poor Mrs. Dorcas' fine candle-wicks were gone. Ann screamed, +and sprang downstairs. She barely escaped the whole blaze coming in +her face.

“What's that!” shrieked Mrs. Dorcas, rushing to the +cellar-door. Words can not describe her feeling when she saw that +her nice candle-wicks, the fruit of her day's toil, were burnt +up.

If ever there was a wretched culprit that night, Ann was. She +had not meant to do wrong, but that, maybe, made it worse for her +in one way. She had not even gratified malice to sustain her. +Grandma blamed her, almost as severely as Mrs. Dorcas. She said she +didn't know what would “become of a little gal, that was so +keerless,” and decreed that she must stay at home from school +and work on candle-wicks till Mrs. Dorcas' loss was made good to +her. Ann listened ruefully. She was scared and sorry, but that did +not seem to help matters any. She did not want any supper, and she +went to bed early and cried herself to sleep.

Somewhere about midnight, a strange sound woke her up. She +called out to Grandma in alarm. The same sound had awakened her. +“Get up, an' light a candle, child,” said she; +“I'm afeard the baby's sick.”

Ann scarcely had the candle lighted, before the door opened, and +Mrs. Dorcas appeared in her nightdress—she was very pale, and +trembling all over. “Oh!” she gasped, “it's the +baby. Thirsey's got the croup, an' Atherton's away, and there ain't +anybody to go for the doctor. O what shall I do, what shall I +do!” She fairly wrung her hands.

“Hev you tried the skunk's oil,” asked +Grandma eagerly, preparing to get up.

“Yes, I have, I have! It's a good hour since she woke up, +an' I've tried everything. It hasn't done any good. I thought I +wouldn't call you, if I could help it, but she's worse—only +hear her! An' Atherton's away! Oh! what shall I do, what shall I +do?”

“Don't take on so, Dorcas,” said Grandma, +tremulously, but cheeringly. “I'll come right along, +an'—why, child, what air you goin' to do?”

Ann had finished dressing herself, and now she was pinning a +heavy homespun blanket over her head, as if she were preparing to +go out doors.

“I'm going after the doctor for Thirsey,” said Ann, +her black eyes flashing with determination.

“Oh, will you, will you!” cried Mrs. Dorcas, +catching at this new help.

“Hush, Dorcas,” said Grandma, sternly. “It's +an awful storm out—jist hear the wind blow! It ain't fit fur +her to go. Her life's jist as precious as Thirsey's.”

Ann said nothing more, but she went into her own little room +with the same determined look in her eyes. There was a door leading +from this room into the kitchen. Ann slipped through it hastily, +lit a lantern which was hanging beside the kitchen chimney, and was +outdoors in a minute.

The storm was one of sharp, driving sleet, which struck her face +like so many needles. The first blast, as she stepped outside the +door, seemed to almost force her back, but her heart did not fail +her. The snow was not so very deep, but it was hard walking. There +was no pretense of a path. The doctor lived half a mile away, and +there was not a house in the whole distance, save the Meeting House +and schoolhouse. It was very dark. Lucky it was that she had taken +the lantern; she could not have found her way without it.

On kept the little slender, erect figure, with the fierce +determination in its heart, through the snow and sleet, holding the +blanket close over its head, and swinging the feeble lantern +bravely.

When she reached the doctor's house, he was gone. He had started +for the North Precinct early in the evening, his good wife said; he +was called down to Captain Isaac Lovejoy's, the house next the +North Precinct Meeting House. She'd been sitting up waiting for +him, it was such an awful storm, and such a lonely road. She was +worried, but she didn't think he'd start for home that night; she +guessed he'd stay at Captain Lovejoy's till morning.

The doctor's wife, holding her door open, as best she could, in +the violent wind, had hardly given this information to the little +snow-bedraggled object standing out there in the inky darkness, +through which the lantern made a faint circle of light, before she +had disappeared.

“She went like a speerit,” said the good woman, +staring out into the blackness in amazement. She never dreamed of +such a thing as Ann's going to the North Precinct after the doctor, +but that was what the daring girl had determined to do. She had +listened to the doctor's wife in dismay, but with never one doubt +as to her own course of proceeding.

Straight along the road to the North Precinct she kept. It would +have been an awful journey that night for a strong man. It seemed +incredible that a little girl could have the strength or courage to +accomplish it. There were four miles to traverse in a black, +howling storm, over a pathless road, through forests, with hardly a +house by the way.

When she reached Captain Isaac Lovejoy's house, next to the +Meeting House in the North Precinct of Braintree, stumbling blindly +into the warm, lighted kitchen, the captain and the doctor could +hardly believe their senses. She told the doctor about Thirsey; +then she almost fainted from cold and exhaustion.

Good wife Lovejoy laid her on the settee, and brewed her some +hot herb tea. She almost forgot her own sick little girl, for a few +minutes, in trying to restore this brave child who had come from +the South Precinct in this dreadful storm to save little Thirsey +Wales' life.

When Ann came to herself a little, her first question was, if +the doctor were ready to go.

“He's gone,” said Mrs. Lovejoy, cheeringly.

Ann felt disappointed. She had thought she was going back with +him. But that would have been impossible. She could not have stood +the journey for the second time that night, even on horseback +behind the doctor, as she had planned.

She drank a second bowlful of herb tea, and went to bed with a +hot stone at her feet, and a great many blankets and coverlids over +her.

The next morning, Captain Lovejoy carried her home. He had a +rough wood sled, and she rode on that, on an old quilt; it was +easier than horseback, and she was pretty lame and tired.

Mrs. Dorcas saw her coming and opened the door. When Ann came up +on the stoop, she just threw her arms around her and kissed +her.

“You needn't make the candle-wicks,” said she. +“It's no matter about them at all. Thirsey's better this +morning, an' I guess you saved her life.”

Grandma was fairly bursting with pride and delight in her little +gal's brave feat, now that she saw her safe. She untied the gold +beads on her neck, and fastened them around Ann's. +“There,” said she, “you may wear them to school +to-day, if you'll be keerful.”

That day, with the gold beads by way of celebration, began a new +era in Ann's life. There was no more secret animosity between her +and Mrs. Dorcas. The doctor had come that night in the very nick of +time. Thirsey was almost dying. Her mother was fully convinced that +Ann had saved her life, and she never forgot it. She was a woman of +strong feelings, who never did things by halves, and she not only +treated Ann with kindness, but she seemed to smother her grudge +against Grandma for robbing her of the southwest fire-room.

+ +

III

The Adopted Daughter

+ +

The Inventory of the Estate of Samuel Wales Late of Braintree, +Taken by the Subscribers, March the 14th, 1761.

+His Purse in Cash .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   £11-15-01
+His apparrel  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .10-11-00
+His watch     .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 2-13-04
+The Best Bed with two Coverlids, three sheets,
+     two underbeds, two Bolsters, two pillows,
+     Bedstead rope    .   .   .   .   .   .   .   £ 6
+One mill Blanket, two Phlanel sheets, 12 toe
+     Sheets   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   £ 3- 4- 8
+Eleven Towels & table Cloth   .   .   .   .   .   . 0-15- 0
+a pair of mittens & pr. of Gloves .   .   .   .   . 0- 2- 0
+a neck Handkerchief & neckband    .   .   .   .   . 0- 4- 0
+an ovel Tabel—Two other Tabels  .   .   .   .   . 1-12- 0
+A Chist with Draws    .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 2- 8- 0
+Another Low Chist with Draws & three other
+     Chists   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 1-10- 0
+Six best Chears and a great chear .   .   .   .   . 1- 6- 0
+a warming pan—Two Brass Kittles .   .   .   .   . 1- 5- 0
+a Small Looking Glass, five Pewter Basons .   .   . 0- 7- 8
+fifteen other Chears  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 0-15- 0
+fire arms, Sword & bayonet    .   .   .   .   .   . 1- 4- 0
+Six Porringers, four platters, Two Pewter Pots    £ 1- 0- 4
+auger Chisel, Gimlet, a Bible & other Books   .   . 0-15- 0
+A chese press, great spinning-wheel, & spindle    . 0- 9- 4
+a smith's anvil   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 3-12- 0
+the Pillion   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 0- 8- 0
+a Bleu Jacket .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . 0- 0- 3
+     Aaron Whitcomb.
+     Silas White.
+

The foregoing is only a small portion of the original inventory +of Samuel Wales' estate. He was an exceedingly well-to-do man for +these times. He had a good many acres of rich pasture and woodland, +and considerable live stock. Then his home was larger and more +comfortable than was usual then; and his stock of household +utensils plentiful.

He died three years after Ann Ginnins went to live with Grandma, +when she was about thirteen years old. Grandma spared her to Mrs. +Polly for a few weeks after the funeral; there was a great deal to +be done, and she needed some extra help. And, after all, Ann was +legally bound to her, and her lawful servant.

So the day after good Samuel Wales was laid away in the little +Braintree burying-ground, Ann returned to her old quarters for a +little while. She did not really want to go; but she did not object +to the plan at all. She was sincerely sorry for poor Mrs. Polly, +and wanted to help her, if she could. She mourned, herself, for Mr. +Samuel. He had always been very kind to her.

Mrs. Polly had for company, besides Ann, Nabby Porter, Grandma's +old hired woman whom she had made over to her, and a young man who +had been serving as apprentice to Mr. Samuel. His name was Phineas +Adams. He was very shy and silent, but a good workman.

Samuel Wales left a will bequeathing every thing to his widow; +that was solemnly read in the fore-room one afternoon; then the +inventory had to be taken. That on account of the amount of +property was quite an undertaking; but it was carried out with the +greatest formality and precision.

For several days, Mr. Aaron Whitcomb, and Mr. Silas White, were +stalking majestically about the premises, with note-books and pens. +Aaron Whitcomb was a grave portly old man, with a large head of +white hair. Silas White was little and wiry and fussy. He +monopolized the greater part of the business, although he was not +half as well fitted for it as his companion.

They pried into everything with religious exactitude. Mrs. Polly +watched them with beseeming awe and deference, but it was a great +trial to her, and she grew very nervous over it. It seemed dreadful +to have all her husband's little personal effects, down to his +neck-band and mittens, handled over, and their worth in shillings +and pence calculated. She had a price fixed on them already in +higher currency.

Ann found her crying one afternoon sitting on the kitchen +settle, with her apron over her head. When she saw the little +girl's pitying look, she poured out her trouble to her.

“They've just been valuing his mittens and +gloves,” said she, sobbing, “at two-and-sixpence. I +shall be thankful, when they are through.”

“Are there any more of his things?” asked +Ann, her black eyes flashing, with the tears in them.

“I think they've seen about all. There's his blue jacket +he used to milk in, a-hanging behind the shed-door—I guess +they haven't valued that yet.”

“I think it's a shame!” quoth Ann. “I don't +believe there's any need of so much law.”

“Hush, child! You mustn't set yourself up against the +judgment of your elders. Such things have to be done.”

Ann said no more, but the indignant sparkle did not fade out of +her eyes at all. She watched her opportunity, and took down Mr. +Wales' old blue jacket from its peg behind the shed-door, ran with +it up stairs and hid it in her own room behind the bed. +“There,” said she, “Mrs. Wales sha'n't cry over +that!”

That night, at tea time, the work of taking the inventory was +complete. Mr. Whitcomb and Mr. White walked away with their long +lists, satisfied that they had done their duty according to the +law. Every article of Samuel Wales' property, from a warming pan to +a chest of drawers, was set down, with the sole exception of that +old blue jacket which Ann had hidden.

She felt complacent over it at first; then she begun to be +uneasy.

“Nabby,” said she confidentially to the old servant +woman, when they were washing the pewter plates together after +supper, “what would they do, if anybody shouldn't let them +set down all the things—if they hid some of 'em away, I +mean?”

“They'd make a dretful time on't,” said Nabby, +impressively. She was a large, stern-looking old woman. “They +air dretful perticklar 'bout these things. They hev to +be.”

Ann was scared when she heard that. When the dishes were done, +she sat down on the settle and thought it over, and made up her +mind what to do.

The next morning, in the frosty dawning, before the rest of the +family were up, a slim, erect little figure could have been seen +speeding across lots toward Mr. Silas White's. She had the old blue +jacket tucked under her arm. When she reached the house, she spied +Mr. White just coming out of the back door with a milking pail. He +carried a lantern, too, for it was hardly light.

He stopped, and stared, when Ann ran up to him.

“Mr. White,” said she, all breathless, +“here's—something—I guess yer didn't see +yesterday.”

Mr. White set down the milk pail, took the blue jacket which she +handed him, and scrutinized it sharply, by the light of the +lantern.

“I guess we didn't see it,” said he, +finally.

“I will put it down—it's worth about three pence, I +judge. Where”—

“Silas, Silas!” called a shrill voice from the +house. Silas White dropped the jacket and trotted briskly in, his +lantern bobbing agitatedly. He never delayed a moment when his wife +called; important and tyrannical as the little man was abroad, he +had his own tyrant at home.

Ann did not wait for him to return; she snatched up the blue +jacket and fled home, leaping like a little deer over the hoary +fields. She hung up the precious old jacket behind the shed-door +again, and no one ever knew the whole story of its entrance in the +inventory. If she had been questioned, she would have told the +truth boldly, though. But Samuel Wales' Inventory had for its last +item that blue jacket, spelled after Silas White's own individual +method, as was many another word in the long list. Silas White +consulted his own taste with respect to capital letters too.

After a few weeks, Grandma said she must have Ann again; and +back she went. Grandma was very feeble lately, and everybody +humored her. Mrs. Polly was sorry to have the little girl leave +her. She said it was wonderful how much she had improved. But she +would not have admitted that the improvement was owing to the +different influence she had been under; she said Ann had outgrown +her mischievous ways.

Grandma did not live very long after this however. Mrs. Polly +had her bound girl at her own disposal in a year's time. Poor Ann +was sorrowful enough for a long while after Grandma's death. She +wore the beloved gold beads round her neck, and a sad ache in her +heart. The dear old woman had taken the beads off her neck with her +own hands and given them to Ann before she died, that there might +be no mistake about it.

Mrs. Polly said she was glad Ann had them. “You might jist +as well have 'em as Dorcas's girl,” said she; “she set +enough sight more by you.”

Ann could not help growing cheerful again, after a while. +Affairs in Mrs. Polly's house were much brighter for her, in some +ways, than they had ever been before.

Either the hot iron of affliction had smoothed some of the +puckers out of her mistress' disposition, or she was growing, +naturally, less sharp and dictatorial. Anyway, she was becoming as +gentle and loving with Ann as it was in her nature to be, and Ann, +following her impulsive temper, returned all the affection with +vigor, and never bestowed a thought on past unpleasantness.

For the next two years, Ann's position in the family grew to be +more and more that of a daughter. If it had not been for the +indentures lying serenely in that tall wooden desk, she would +almost have forgotten, herself, that she was a bound girl.

One spring afternoon, when Ann was about sixteen years old, her +mistress called her solemnly into the fore-room. “Ann,” +said she, “come here, I want to speak to you.”

Nabby stared wonderingly; and Ann, as she obeyed, felt awed. +There was something unusual in her mistress's tone.

Standing there in the fore-room, in the august company of the +best bed, with its high posts and flowered-chintz curtains, the +best chest of drawers, and the best chairs, Ann listened to what +Mrs. Polly had to tell her. It was a plan which almost took her +breath away; for it was this: Mrs. Polly proposed to adopt her, and +change her name to Wales. She would be no longer Ann Ginnins, and a +bound girl; but Ann Wales, and a daughter in her mother's home.

Ann dropped into one of the best chairs, and sat there, her +little dark face very pale. “Should I have +the—papers?” she gasped at length.

“Your papers? Yes, child, you can have them.”

“I don't want them!” cried Ann, “never. I want +them to stay just where they are, till my time is out. If I am +adopted, I don't want the papers!”

Mrs. Polly stared. She had never known how Ann had taken the +indentures with her on her run-away trip years ago; but now Ann +told her the whole story. In her gratitude to her mistress, and her +contrition, she had to.

It was so long ago in Ann's childhood, it did not seem so very +dreadful to Mrs. Polly, probably. But Ann insisted on the +indentures remaining in the desk, even after the papers of adoption +were made out, and she had become “Ann Wales.” It +seemed to go a little way toward satisfying her conscience. This +adoption meant a good deal to Ann; for besides a legal home, and a +mother, it secured to her a right in a comfortable property in the +future. Mrs. Polly Wales was considered very well off. She was a +smart business-woman, and knew how to take care of her property +too. She still hired Phineas Adams to carry on the blacksmith's +business, and kept her farm-work running just as her husband had. +Neither she nor Ann were afraid of work, and Ann Wales used to milk +the cows, and escort them to and from pasture, as faithfully as Ann +Ginnins.

It was along in spring time when Ann was adopted, and Mrs. Polly +fulfilled her part of the contract in the indentures by getting the +Sunday suit therein spoken of.

They often rode on horseback to meeting, but they usually walked +on the fine Sundays in spring. Ann had probably never been so happy +in her life as she was walking by Mrs. Polly's side to meeting that +first Sunday after her adoption. Most of the way was through the +woods; the tender light green boughs met over their heads; the +violets and anemones were springing beside their path. There were +green buds and white blossoms all around; the sky showed blue +between the waving branches, and the birds were singing.

Ann in her pretty petticoat of rose-colored stuff, stepping +daintily over the young grass and the flowers, looked and felt like +a part of it all. Her dark cheeks had a beautiful red glow on them; +her black eyes shone. She was as straight and graceful and stately +as an Indian.

“She's as handsome as a picture,” thought Mrs. Polly +in her secret heart. A good many people said that Ann resembled +Mrs. Polly in her youth, and that may have added force to her +admiration.

Her new gown was very fine for those days; but fine as she was, +and adopted daughter though she was, Ann did not omit her thrifty +ways for once. This identical morning Mrs. Polly and she carried +their best shoes under their arms, and wore their old ones, till +within a short distance from the meeting-house. Then the old shoes +were tucked away under a stone wall for safety, and the best ones +put on. Stone walls, very likely, sheltered a good many well-worn +little shoes, of a Puritan Sabbath, that their prudent owners might +appear in the House of God trimly shod. Ah! these beautiful, new +peaked-toed, high-heeled shoes of Ann's—what would she have +said to walking in them all the way to meeting!

If that Sunday was an eventful one to Ann Wales, so was the week +following. The next Tuesday, right after dinner, she was up in a +little unfinished chamber over the kitchen, where they did such +work when the weather permitted, carding wool. All at once, she +heard voices down below. They had a strange inflection, which gave +her warning at once. She dropped her work and listened: “What +is the matter?” thought she.

Then there was a heavy tramp on the stairs, and Captain Abraham +French stood in the door, his stern weather-beaten face white and +set. Mrs. Polly followed him, looking very pale and excited.

“When did you see anything of our Hannah?” asked +Captain French, controlling as best he could the tremor in his +resolute voice.

Ann rose, gathering up her big blue apron, cards, wool and all. +“Oh,” she cried, “not since last Sabbath, at +meeting! What is it?”

“She's lost,” answered Captain French. “She +started to go up to her Aunt Sarah's Monday forenoon; and Enos has +just been down, and they haven't seen anything of her.” Poor +Captain French gave a deep groan.

Then they all went down into the kitchen together, talking and +lamenting. And then, Captain French was galloping away on his gray +horse to call assistance, and Ann was flying away over the fields, +blue apron, cards, wool and all.

“O, Ann!” Mrs. Polly cried after, “where are +you going?”

“I'm going—to find—Hannah!” Ann +shouted back, in a shrill, desperate voice, and kept on.

She had no definite notion as to where she was going; she had +only one thought—Hannah French, her darling, tender little +Hannah French, her friend whom she loved better than a sister, was +lost.

A good three miles from the Wales home was a large tract of +rough land, half swamp, known as “Bear Swamp.” There +was an opinion, more or less correct, that bears might be found +there. Some had been shot in that vicinity. Why Ann turned her +footsteps in that direction, she could not have told herself. +Possibly the vague impression of conversations she and Hannah had +had, lingering in her mind, had something to do with it. Many a +time the two little girls had remarked to each other with a +shudder, “How awful it would be to get lost in Bear +Swamp.”

Anyway, Ann went straight there, through pasture and woodland, +over ditches and stone walls. She knew every step of the way for a +long distance. When she gradually got into the unfamiliar +wilderness of the swamp, a thought struck her—suppose she got +lost too! It would be easy enough—the unbroken forest +stretched for miles in some directions. She would not find a living +thing but Indians; and, maybe, wild beasts, the whole distance.

If she should get lost she would not find Hannah, and the people +would have to hunt for her too. But Ann had quick wits for an +emergency. She had actually carried those cards, with a big wad of +wool between them all the time, in her gathered-up apron. Now she +began picking off little bits of wool and marking her way with +them, sticking them on the trees and bushes. Every few feet a +fluffy scrap of wool showed the road Ann had gone.

But poor Ann went on, farther and farther—and no sign of +Hannah. She kept calling her, from time to time, hallooing at the +top of her shrill sweet voice: “Hannah! Hannah! Hannah +Fre-nch.”

But never a response got the dauntless little girl, slipping +almost up to her knees, sometimes, in black swamp-mud; and +sometimes stumbling painfully over tree-stumps, and through tangled +undergrowth.

“I'll go till my wool gives out,” said Ann Wales; +then she used it more sparingly.

But it was almost gone before she thought she heard in the +distance a faint little cry in response to her call: “Hannah! +Hannah Fre-nch!” She called again and listened. Yes; she +certainly did hear a little cry off toward the west. Calling from +time to time, she went as nearly as she could in that direction. +The pitiful answering cry grew louder and nearer; finally Ann could +distinguish Hannah's voice.

Wild with joy, she came, at last, upon her sitting on a fallen +hemlock-tree, her pretty face pale, and her sweet blue eyes +strained with terror.

“O, Hannah!” “O, Ann!”

“How did you ever get here, Hannah?”

“I—started for aunt Sarah's—that +morning,” explained Hannah, between sobs. “And—I +got frightened, in the woods, about a mile from father's. I saw +something ahead, I thought was a bear. A great black thing! Then I +ran—and, somehow, the first thing I knew, I was lost. I +walked and walked, and it seems to me I kept coming right back to +the same place. Finally I sat down here, and staid; I thought it +was all the way for me to be found.”

“O, Hannah, what did you do last night?”

“I staid somewhere, under some pine trees,” replied +Hannah, with a shudder, “and I kept hearing things—O +Ann!”

Ann hugged her sympathizingly. “I guess I wouldn't have +slept much if I had known,” said she. “O Hannah, you +haven't had anything to eat! ain't you starved?”

Hannah laughed faintly. “I ate up two whole pumpkin pies I +was carrying to aunt Sarah,” said she.

“O how lucky it was you had them!”

“Yes; mother called me back to get them, after I started. +They were some new ones, made with cream, and she thought aunt +Sarah would like them.”

Pretty soon they started. It was hard work; for the way was very +rough, and poor Hannah weak. But Ann had a good deal of strength in +her lithe young frame, and she half carried Hannah over the worst +places. Still both of the girls were pretty well spent when they +came to the last of the bits of wool on the border of Bear Swamp. +However, they kept on a little farther; then they had to stop and +rest. “I know where I am now,” said Hannah, with a sigh +of delight; “but I don't think I can walk another +step.” She was, in fact, almost exhausted.

Ann looked at her thoughtfully. She hardly knew what to do. She +could not carry Hannah herself—indeed, her own strength began +to fail; and she did not want to leave her to go for +assistance.

All of a sudden, she jumped up. “You stay just where you +are a few minutes, Hannah,” said she. “I'm going +somewhere. I'll be back soon.” Ann was laughing.

Hannah looked up at her pitifully: “O Ann, don't +go!”

“I'm coming right back, and it is the only way. You must +get home. Only think how your father and mother are +worrying!”

Hannah said no more after that mention of her parents, and Ann +started.

She was not gone long. When she came in sight she was laughing, +and Hannah, weak as she was, laughed, too. Ann had torn her blue +apron into strips, and tied it together for a rope, and by it she +was leading a red cow.

Hannah knew the cow, and knew at once what the plan was.

“O Ann! you mean for me to ride Betty!”

“Of course I do. I just happened to think our cows were +in the pasture, down below here. And we've ridden Betty, lots of +times, when we were children, and she's just as gentle now. Whoa, +Betty, good cow.”

It was very hard work to get Hannah on to the broad back of her +novel steed, but it was finally accomplished. Betty had been a +perfect pet from a calf, and was exceedingly gentle. She started +off soberly across the fields, with Hannah sitting on her back, and +Ann leading her by her blue rope.

It was a funny cavalcade for Captain Abraham French and a score +of anxious men to meet, when they were nearly in sight of home; but +they were too overjoyed to see much fun in it.

Hannah rode the rest of the way with her father on his gray +horse; and Ann walked joyfully by her side, leading the cow.

Captain French and his friends had, in fact, just started to +search Bear Swamp, well armed with lanterns, for night was coming +on.

It was dark when they got home. Mrs. French was not much more +delighted to see her beloved daughter Hannah safe again, than Mrs. +Polly was to see Ann.

She listened admiringly to the story Ann told.

“Nobody but you would have thought of the wool or of the +cow,” said she.

“I do declare,” cried Ann, at the mention of the +wool, “I have lost the cards!”

“Never mind the cards!” said Mrs. Polly.

+ +

IV

The “Horse House” Deed

+ +

Know all Men By These Presents, that I Seth Towner of Braintree, +in the County of Suffolk & Province of the Massachusetts Bay in +New England, Gent. In Consideration that I may promote & +encourage the worship of God, I have given liberty to Ephriam, and +Atherton Wales, & Th'o:^s Penniman of +Stoughton who attend Publick worship with us to erect a Stable or +Horse House, on my Land near the Meeting House, in the South +Precinct in Braintree afores:^d, to serve +their Horses, while attending the service of God—and to the +intent that the s:^d Ephriam, Atherton +& Thomas, their Heirs or assignes shall and may hereafter So +long as they or any of them incline or Desire to keep up & +maintain a Horse House for the afores:^d +use and Purpose; have s:^d Land whereon +s:^d House Stands without mollestation: I +the said Seth Towner for my Selfe, my Heirs, exec. and admin.: Do +hereby Covenant promise bind & oblige my selfe & them to +warrant & Defend the afores:^d +Privilege of Land. To the s:^d Ephriam +Wales, Atherton Wales, & Tho:^s +Penniman their Heirs or assignes So long as they or any of them +keep a Horse House their, for the +afores:^d use: they keeping +s:^d House in Such repair at all times, as +that I the s:^d Seth Towner, my Heirs or +assignes, may not receive Damage by any Creature Coming through +s:^d House into my Land adjoining. In +Witness Whereof, I the s:^d Seth Towner +have hereunto set my Hand & Seal the first Day of November One +Thous. and Seven Hundred Sixty & four: in the fifth year of his +Majesty's Reign George the third King etc.
+ Signed Sealed and Del:^d
+ presence of Seth Towner, Daniel Linfield, +Simeon Thayer.”

+Ann's two uncles by adoption, and Thomas Penniman of Stoughton, +were well pleased to get this permission to erect a stable, or +Horse-House, as they put it then, to shelter their horses during +divine worship. The want of one had long been a sore inconvenience +to them. The few stables already erected around the meeting-house, +could not accommodate half of the horses congregated there on a +Puritan Sabbath, and every barn, for a quarter of a mile about, was +put into requisition on severe days. After the women had dismounted +from their pillions at the meeting-house door, the men-folks +patiently rode the horses to some place of shelter, and then +trudged back through the snow-drifts, wrestling with the icy +wind.

So this new “Horse-House” was a great benefit to the +Waleses, and to the Pennimans, who lived three miles from them over +the Stoughton line. They were all constant meeting-folks. Hard +indeed was the storm which could keep a Wales or a Penniman away +from meeting.

Mrs. Polly Wales' horses were accommodated in this new stable +also. In the winter time, there were two of them; one which she and +Ann rode, Ann using the pillion, and one for Nabby Porter. Phineas +Adams always walked. Often the sturdy young blacksmith was at the +meeting-house, before the women, and waiting to take their +horses.

One Sunday, the winter after the Horse-House was built, Mrs. +Polly, Ann, Phineas, and Nabby went to meeting as usual. It was a +very cold, bleak day; the wind blew in through the slight wooden +walls of the old meeting-house, and the snow lay in little heaps +here and there. There was no stove in the building, as every one +knows. Some of the women had hot bricks and little foot-stoves, and +that was all. Ann did not care for either. She sat up straight in +the comfortless, high-backed pew. Her cheeks were as red as her +crimson cloak, her black eyes shone like stars. She let Mrs. Polly +and Nabby have the hot stones, but her own agile little feet were +as warm as toast. Little Hannah French, over across the +meeting-house, looked chilled and blue, but somehow Ann never +seemed to be affected much by the cold.

The Wales pew was close to a window on the south side; the side +where the new stable was. Indeed Ann could see it, if she looked +out. She sat next the window because the other women minded the +draught more.

Right across the aisle from Mrs. Polly's pew was Thomas +Penniman's. He was there with his wife, and six stalwart sons. The +two youngest, Levi and John, were crowded out of the pew proper, +and sat in the one directly back.

John sat at the end. He was a tall, handsome young fellow, two +or three years older than Ann. He was well spoken of amongst his +acquaintances for two reasons. First, on account of his own brave, +steady character; and second, on account of his owning one of the +finest horses anywhere about. A good horse was, if anything, a more +important piece of property then than now. This one was a beautiful +bay. They called him “Red Robin.”

To-day, Red Robin was carefully blanketed and fastened in the +new stable. John thought when he tied him there how thankful he was +he had such a good shelter this bitter day. He felt grateful to +Lieutenant Seth Turner, who owned all the land hereabouts and had +given the liberty to build it.

The people all sat quietly listening to the long sermon. Two +hours long it was. When the minister perched up in his beetling +pulpit with the sounding-board over his head, was about half +through his discourse, Ann Wales happened to glance out of the +window at her side. She rarely did such a thing in meeting-time; +indeed she had been better instructed. How she happened to to-day, +she could not have told, but she did.

It was well she did. Just at that moment, a man in a gray cloak +sprang into the Horse-House, and began untying John Penniman's Red +Robin.

Ann gave one glance; then she never hesitated. There was no time +to send whispers along the pew; to tell Phineas Adams to give the +alarm.

Out of the pew darted Ann, like a red robin herself, her read +cloak flying back, crowding nimbly past the others, across the +aisle to John Penniman.

“Somebody's stealing Red Robin, John,” said she in a +clear whisper. They heard it for several pews around. Up sprang the +pewful of staunch Pennimans, father and sons, and made for the door +in a great rush after John, who was out before the whisper had much +more than left Ann's lips.

The alarm spread; other men went too. The minister paused, and +the women waited. Finally the men returned, all but a few who were +detailed to watch the horses through the remainder of the services, +and the meeting proceeded.

Phineas sent the whisper along the pew, that John had got out in +time to save Red Robin; but the robber had escaped. Somehow, he had +taken alarm before John got there. Red Robin was standing in the +stable untied; but the robber had disappeared.

After meeting the people all came and questioned Ann. “He +was a very tall man, in a gray cloak,” said she. “He +turned his face, or I saw it, just for one second, when I looked. +He had black eyes and a dark curling beard.”

It seemed very extraordinary. If it had not been for Red Robin's +being untied, they would almost have doubted if Ann had seen +rightly. The thief had disappeared so suddenly and utterly, it +almost seemed impossible that he could have been there at all.

There was much talk over it after meeting. “Are you +sure you saw him, Ann?” Mrs. Polly asked.

“Yes; I am sure,” Ann would reply. She +began to feel rather uncomfortable over it. She feared people would +think she had been napping and dreaming although Red Robin +was untied.

That night the family were all in bed at nine o'clock, as usual; +but Ann up in her snug feather-bed in her little western chamber, +could not sleep. She kept thinking about the horse-thief, and grew +more and more nervous. Finally she thought of some fine linen cloth +she and Mrs. Polly had left out in the snowy field south of the +house to bleach, and she worried about that. A web of linen cloth +and a horse were very dissimilar booty; but a thief was a thief. +Suppose anything should happen to the linen they had worked so hard +over!

At last, she could not endure it any longer. Up she got, put on +her clothes hurriedly, crept softly down stairs and out doors. +There was a full moon and it was almost as light as day. The snow +looked like a vast sheet of silver stretching far away over the +fields.

Ann was hastening along the path between two high snowbanks when +all of a sudden she stopped, and gave a choked kind of a scream. No +one with nerves could have helped it. Right in the path before her +stood the horse-thief, gray cloak and all.

Ann turned, after her scream and first wild stare, and ran. But +the man caught her before she had taken three steps. “Don't +scream,” he said in a terrible, anxious whisper. “Don't +make a noise, for God's sake! They're after me! Can't you hide +me?”

“No,” said Ann, white and trembling all over but on +her mettle, “I won't. You are a sinful man, and you ought to +be punished. I won't do a thing to help you!”

The man's face bending over her was ghastly in the moonlight. He +went on pleading. “If you will hide me somewhere about your +place, they will not find me,” said he, still in that sharp +agonized whisper. “They are after me—can't you hear +them?”

Ann could, listening, hear distant voices on the night air.

“I was just going to hide in your barn,” said the +thief, “when I met you. O let me in there, now! don't betray +me!”

Great tears were rolling down his bearded cheeks. Ann began to +waver. “They might look in the barn,” said she +hesitatingly.

The man followed up his advantages. “Then hide me in the +house,” said he. “I have a daughter at home, about your +age. She's waiting for me, and it's long she'll wait, and sad news +she'll get at the end of the waiting, if you don't help me. She +hasn't any mother, she's a little tender thing—it'll kill +her!” He groaned as he said it.

The voices came nearer. Ann hesitated no longer. +“Come,” said she, “quick!”

Then she fled into the house, the man following. Inside, she +bolted the door, and made her unwelcome guest take off his boots in +the kitchen, and follow her softly up stairs with them in his +hand.

Ann's terror, leading him up, almost overwhelmed her. What if +anybody should wake! Nabby slept near the head of the stairs. +Luckily, she was a little deaf, and Ann counted on that.

She conducted the man across a little entry into a back, +unfurnished chamber, where, among other things, were stored some +chests of grain. The moon shone directly in the window of the +attic-chamber, so it was light enough to distinguish objects quite +plainly.

Ann tiptoed softly from one grain-chest to another. There were +three of them. Two were quite full; the third was nearly empty.

“Get in here,” said Ann. “Don't make any +noise.”

He climbed in obediently, and Ann closed the lid. The chest was +a rickety old affair and full of cracks—there was no danger +but he would have air enough. She heard the voices out in the yard, +as she shut the lid. Back she crept softly into her own room, +undressed and got into bed. She could hear the men out in the yard +quite plainly. “We've lost him again,” she heard one of +them say.

Presently Phineas Adams opened a window, and shouted out, to +know what was the matter.

“Seen anything of the horse-thief?” queried a voice +from the yard.

“No!” said Phineas. “I have been asleep these +three hours. You just waked me up.”

“He was hiding under the meeting-house,” said the +voice, “must have slipped in there this morning, when we +missed him. We went down there and watched to-night, and almost +caught him. But he disappeared a little below here, and we've lost +him again. It's my opinion he's an evil spirit in disguise. He ran +like the wind, in amongst the trees, where we couldn't follow with +the horses. Are you sure he did not skulk in here somewhere? Sim +White thinks he did.”

“I knew I saw him turn the corner of the lane,” +chimed in another voice, “and we've scoured the +woods.”

“I think we'd better search the barn, anyhow,” some +one else said, and a good many murmured assent.

“Wait a minute, I'll be down,” said Phineas, +shutting his window.

How long poor Ann lay there shaking, she never knew. It seemed +hours. She heard Phineas go down stairs, and unlock the door. She +heard them tramp into the barn. “O, if I had hidden him +there!” she thought.

After a while, she heard them out in the yard again. “He +could not have gotten into the house, in any way,” +she heard one man remark speculatively. How she waited for the +response. It came in Phineas Adams' slow, sensible tones: +“How could he? Didn't you hear me unbolt the door when I came +out? The doors are all fastened, I saw to it myself.”

“Well, of course he didn't,” agreed the voice.

At last, Phineas came in, and Ann heard them go. She was so +thankful. However, the future perplexities, which lay before her, +were enough to keep her awake for the rest of the night. In the +morning, a new anxiety beset her. The poor thief must have some +breakfast. She could easily have smuggled some dry bread up to him; +but she did want him to have some of the hot Indian mush, which the +family had. Ann, impulsive in this as everything, now that she had +made up her mind to protect a thief, wanted to do it handsomely. +She did want him to have some of that hot mush; but how could she +manage it?

The family at the breakfast table discussed the matter of the +horse-thief pretty thoroughly. It was a hard ordeal for poor Ann, +who could not take easily to deception. She had unexpected trouble +too with Nabby. Nabby had waked up the preceding +night.

“I didn't see anything,” proclaimed Nabby; +“but I heerd a noise. I think there's mice out in the +grain-chist in the back chamber.”

“I must go up there and look,” said Mrs. Polly. +“They did considerable mischief, last year.”

Ann turned pale; what if she should take it into her head to +look that day!

She watched her chance very narrowly for the hot mush; and after +breakfast she caught a minute, when Phineas had gone to work, and +Mrs. Polly was in the pantry, and Nabby down cellar. She had barely +time to fill a bowl with mush, and scud.

How lightly she stepped over that back chamber floor, and how +gingerly she opened the grain-chest lid. The thief looked piteously +out at her from his bed of Indian corn. He was a handsome man, +somewhere between forty and fifty. Indeed he came of a very good +family in a town not so very far away. Horse-thiefs numbered some +very respectable personages in their clan in those days +sometimes.

They carried on a whispered conversation while he ate. It was +arranged that Ann was to assist him off that night.

What a day poor Ann had, listening and watching in constant +terror every moment, for fear something would betray her. Beside, +her conscience troubled her sadly; she was far from being sure that +she was doing right in hiding a thief from justice. But the poor +man's tears, and the mention of his daughter, had turned the scale +with her; she could not give him up.

Her greatest fear was lest Mrs. Polly should take a notion to +search for mice in the grain-chests. She so hoped Nabby would not +broach the subject again. But there was a peculiarity about +Nabby—she had an exceedingly bitter hatred of rats and mice. +Still there was no danger of her investigating the grain-chests on +her own account, for she was very much afraid. She would not have +lifted one of those lids, with the chance of a rat or mouse being +under it, for the world. If ever a mouse was seen in the kitchen +Nabby took immediate refuge on the settle or the table and left +some one else to do the fighting.

So Nabby, being so constituted, could not be easy on the subject +this time. All day long she heard rats and mice in the +grain-chests; she stopped and listened with her broom, and she +stopped and listened with her mop.

Ann went to look, indeed that was the way she smuggled the +thief's dinner to him, but her report of nothing the matter with +the grain did not satisfy Nabby. She had more confidence in Mrs. +Polly. But Mrs. Polly did not offer to investigate herself until +after supper. They had been very busy that day, washing, and now +there was churning to do. Ann sat at the churn, Mrs. Polly was +cutting up apples for pies; and Nabby was washing dishes, when the +rats and mice smote her deaf ears again.

“I knew I heerd 'em then,” she said; “I don't +believe but what them grain-chists is full of 'em.”

“I am going to look,” quoth Mrs. Polly then, in a +tone of decision, and straightway she rose and got a candle.

Ann's heart beat terribly. “O, I wouldn't go up there +to-night,” said she.

“Yes; I am going. I'm going to satisfy Nabby about the +rats in the grain-chest, if I can.”

She was out the door, at the foot of the stairs, Nabby behind +her, dishcloth and plate in hand, peering fearfully over her +shoulder. Ann was in despair. Only one chance of averting the +discovery suggested itself to her. She tipped over the +churn. “O, oh!” she screamed. Back rushed Mrs. +Polly and Nabby, and that ended the rat-hunt for that night. The +waste of all that beautiful cream was all Mrs. Polly could think +of—prudent housewife that she was.

So in the night, when the moon was up, and the others were sound +asleep, Ann assisted her thief safely out of the grain-chest and +out of the house. “But, first,” said Ann Wales, pausing +bravely, with her hand on the grain-chest lid, speaking in a solemn +whisper, “before I let you out, you must make me a +promise.”

“What?” came back feebly.

“That you will never, never, steal a horse again. If you +don't promise, I will give you up, now.”

“I promise I won't,” said the man, readily.

Let us hope he never did. That, speeding out into the clear +winter night, he did bear with him a better determination in his +heart. At all events, there were no more attempts made to rob the +new Horse-House at the Braintree meeting-house. Many a Sunday after +that, Red Robin stood there peaceful and unmolested. Occasionally, +as the years went by, he was tied, of a Sunday night, in Mrs. Polly +Wales' barn.

For, by and by, his master, good brave young John Penniman, +married Ann Wales. The handsomest couple that ever went into the +meeting-house, people said. Ann's linen-chest was well stocked; and +she had an immense silk bonnet, with a worked white veil, a velvet +cloak, and a flowered damask petticoat for her wedding attire. Even +Hannah French had nothing finer when she was married to Phineas +Adams a year later.

All the drawback to the happiness was that John had taken some +land up in Vermont, and there the young couple went, shortly after +the wedding. It was a great cross to Mrs. Polly; but she bore it +bravely. Not a tear sparkled in her black eyes, watching the pair +start off down the bridle-path, riding Red Robin, Ann on a pillion +behind her husband. But, sitting down beside her lonely hearth when +she entered the house, she cried bitterly. “I did hope I +could keep Ann with me as long as I lived,” she sobbed.

“Don't you take on,” said Nabby, consolingly. +“You take my word for't, they'll be back 'afore +long.”

Nabby proved a true prophet. Red Robin did come trotting back +from the Vermont wilds, bearing his master and mistress before +long. Various considerations induced them to return; and Mrs. Polly +was overjoyed. They came to live with her.

Riding through the wilderness to Vermont on their wedding +journey, Ann had confessed to her husband how she had secreted the +thief who had tried to steal his Red Robin. She had been afraid to +tell; but he had turned on the saddle, and smiled down in her face. +“I am content that the man is safe,” said John +Penniman. “Prithee, why should I wish him evil, whilst I am +riding along with thee, on Red Robin, Ann?”

+ + + + + + + +

+
+
+
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+ + + + -- cgit v1.2.3

THE ADVENTURES OF ANN

STORIES OF COLONIAL TIMES

BY +Mary E. Wilkins

FROM ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS AND +FAMILY TRADITIONS

CONTENTS.

STORIES OF COLONIAL TIMES

I

The Bound Girl

II

Deacon Thomas Wales' Will

III

The Adopted Daughter

IV

The “Horse House” Deed

BY
+Mary E. Wilkins

FROM ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS AND
+FAMILY TRADITIONS