<p>"Your name is in a song, isn't it?" said Grace Waite, as she and her new playmate, Sylvia Fulton, walked down the pleasant street on their way to school. "Is it? Can you sing the song?" questioned Sylvia eagerly, her blue eyes shining at what promised to be such a delightful discovery. Grace nodded smilingly. She was a year older than Sylvia, nearly eleven years old, and felt that it was quite proper that she should be able to explain to Sylvia more about her name than Sylvia knew herself. "It is something about 'spelling,'" she explained, and then sang, very softly: "'Then to Sylvia let us sing, That Sylvia is spelling.</p>

A Yankee Girl at Fort Sumter

Literature & Fiction

Alice Turner Curtis

Classics

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Anna and Rebecca Weston carrying a big basket between them ran along the path that led from their home to the Machias River It was a pleasant May morning in 1775 and the air was filled with the fragrance of the freshly cut pine logs that had been poled down the river in big rafts to be cut into planks and boards at the big sawmills The river unusually full with the spring rains dashed against its banks as if inviting the little girls to play a game with it Usually Anna and Rebecca were quite ready to linger at the small coves which crept in so near to the footpath and sail boats made of pieces of birchbark with alder twigs for masts and broad oak leaves for sails They named these boats Polly and Unity after the two fine sloops which carried lumber from Machias to Boston and returned with cargoes of provisions for the little settlement

A Little Maid of Old Maine

A Little Maid of Province Town

A Little Maid of Ticonderoga

HERO IS LOST "Where do you suppose Hero can be, Aunt Deborah? He isn't anywhere about the house, or in the shed or the garden," and Ruth Pennell's voice sounded as if she could hardly keep back the tears as she stood in the doorway of the pleasant kitchen where Aunt Deborah was at work. "Do you suppose the British have taken him?" she asked a little fearfully; for it was the spring of 1778, when the British troops were in Philadelphia, and Ruth was quite sure that every English soldier who saw Hero must want him for his own. The dog was her dearest possession. On her tenth birthday, nearly a year before, her father had given her Hero for a birthday present; and now that her father was with Washington's army his gift seemed even more precious to his little daughter. Aunt Deborah looked at Ruth for a moment before she answered, and Ruth became conscious that her brown hair was rough and untidy from running about the garden in the March wind, that her hands were not clean, and that there was an ugly rent in her blue checked apron where it had caught on a nail in the shed. "Was it not yesterday that thee declared Hero was stolen, only to find that he had followed Winifred Merrill home? And on Sunday, thee was sure he had been killed, because he did not appear the first time thee called," responded Aunt Deborah reprovingly. Aunt Deborah was not very large, and her smooth round face under the neat cap, such as Quaker women wear, was usually smiling and friendly; but it always seemed to Ruth that no least bit of dirt or untidiness ever escaped those gray eyes. "Do you suppose he is at Winifred's? I wish she wouldn't let him follow her," and Ruth's tone was troubled. Of course Winifred was her dearest friend, but Ruth was not willing that Hero should divide his loyalty. "Very likely," responded Aunt Deborah, "but thee must smooth thy hair, wash thy hands and change thy apron before thee goes to inquire; and put on thy hat. It is not seemly for a girl to run about the street bareheaded." "Oh, Aunt Deborah! Only to go next door!" pleaded Ruth, but Aunt Deborah only nodded; so Ruth went to her own room and in a few minutes was back tying the broad brown ribbons of her hat under her chin as she ran through the kitchen. "I do hope Mother will come home soon," the little girl thought as she went down the front steps to the street; "Aunt Deborah is so fussy." Mrs. Pennell had been away for a week caring for her sister who lived in Germantown, near Philadelphia, and who was ill; and Aunt Deborah Mary Farleigh had come in from her home at Barren Hill, twelve miles distant, to stay with Ruth during Mrs. Pennell's absence. As Ruth ran up the steps of her friend's house the front door opened, and Winifred appeared. "Oh, Ruthie! Where are you going?" she asked smilingly. Winifred was just a month older than Ruth, and they were very nearly the same size. They both had blue eyes; but Ruth's hair was of a darker brown than Winifred's. They had both attended the same school until Lord Cornwallis with his troops entered Philadelphia; since that time each little girl had been taught at home....

Little Maid Of Old Philadelphia

CHAPTER I AMANDA’S MISTAKE “Do you think I might go, Aunt Martha?” There was a pleading note in the little girl’s voice as she stood close by Mrs. Stoddard’s chair and watched her folding the thin blue paper on which Rose Freeman’s letter was written. “It is a pleasant invitation, surely,” replied Mrs. Stoddard, “but the Freemans have ever been good friends to us; and so Rose is to visit their kin in Brewster and then journey back to Boston with her father in his chaise, and she says there will be plenty of room for you. Well! Well! ’Tis a wonderful journey.” Anne moved uneasily. “But, Aunt Martha, do you forget that she asks if Uncle Enos cannot bring me to Brewster?” “Yes, child, I have read the letter, and I doubt not Enos will set you safe across to Brewster. And your father’s vessel will be due in Boston early in September, and he could bring you safely home to Province Town. We’ll see what Uncle Enos says about sailing across to Brewster,” and Mrs. Stoddard smiled affectionately at Anne’s delighted exclamation. It was two years before that Anne Nelson, whose father’s boat had been seized by an English ship, had come to live with the Stoddards. Her father had escaped, and, after serving the colonies until after the battle of Lexington, had returned to Province Town, and was now away on a fishing cruise. Anne had visited the Freemans the year before, and now this pleasant invitation for a journey to Boston had been brought by one of the harbor fishermen, the only way letters came to Province Town. It was no wonder Anne was eager for permission to go. It would be a three days’ ride from Brewster, and the road would take her through many pleasant towns and villages. There was not a person in the settlement who had taken the journey by land. Uncle Enos declared that Province Town folk who could sail a good boat, with fair winds, to Boston in six hours were too wise to take such a roundabout route as the land offered. “But it will be a fine ride for Anne,” he agreed. “She will learn much by the journey, and Squire Freeman will take good care of her. I’ll set her across to Brewster on Tuesday, as Rose says they plan to start early on Wednesday morning. Well, Anne,” and he turned toward the happy child, “what do you think the Cary children will say when you tell them that you are to ride to Boston in a fine chaise?” “I do not know, but I think Amos will say that he would not journey by land; he is all for big ships; but I’m sure Amanda will think it is a wonderful thing, and wish to go with me, and indeed I wish she might. But why do we not have chaises in Province Town?” “We must have roads first,” replied Aunt Martha smilingly; “but Province Town has no need of coaches and roads with good boats in harbor. Now we must see that your clothes are in order, for a week soon goes.” “Anne! Anne!” and before Anne could respond a girl of about her own age came running into the kitchen. “Can you go with me over to the outer beach? May she go, Mrs. Stoddard? See! I have enough luncheon for us both in this basket,” and Amanda held up a pretty basket woven of sweet grass. “May I, Aunt Martha? And oh, Amanda! A wonderful thing is going to happen to me. Isn’t it wonderful, Uncle Enos?” Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos both smiled and nodded, and Amanda looked from one to the other in great surprise. “Run along with Amanda and tell her all about it,” said Mrs. Stoddard, and the two little girls started happily off. “I can guess,” declared Amanda, “for I know that Captain Starkweather brought you a letter from Boston, and I can guess who the letter is from.” Anne shook her head laughingly....

Little Maid Of Massachusetts Colony

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