A Little Maid of Old Maine

								


          XIII. DOWN THE RIVER                       143

           XIV. AN UNINVITED GUEST                   152

            XV. REBBY AND LUCIA                      165

           XVI. REBBY DECIDES                        178

          XVII. A PERILOUS JOURNEY                   189

         XVIII. TRIUMPH                              205
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                             ILLUSTRATIONS



        SHE ADDED WOOD TO THE FIRE             Frontispiece

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        "WE'LL WADE OUT TO FLAT ROCK"                    34

        "BUT WHICH ONE IS TO BE MINE?"                   77

        HOW LONG THE AFTERNOON SEEMED!                  127

        A MAN CAME AROUND THE CORNER OF THE HOUSE       175
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                       A LITTLE MAID OF OLD MAINE



                               CHAPTER I



                             A LIBERTY POLE

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 birch-bark, 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.
But this morning the girls hurried along without a thought for such
pleasant games. They were both anxious to get to the lumber yard as soon
as possible, not only to fill their basket with chips, as their mother
had bidden them, but to hear if there were not some news of the Polly,
the return of which was anxiously awaited; for provisions were getting
scarce in this remote village, and not until the Polly should come
sailing into harbor could there be any sugar cakes, or even bread made
of wheat flour.
As they hurried along they heard the cheerful whistle of Mr. Worden
Foster, the blacksmith, who was just then taking a moment of well-earned
leisure in the door of his shop, and stood looking out across the quiet
waters of the river and harbor. As the girls came near he nodded
pleasantly, but did not stop whistling. People in Machias declared that
the blacksmith woke up in the morning whistling, and never stopped
except to eat. And, indeed, his little daughter Luretta said that when