A Little Maid of Old Maine

								

she clasped his arm with both hands.

                               CHAPTER II



                            REBECCA'S SECRET

Mr. Weston looked down smilingly at his little daughter. He was
evidently amused at her excitement.
"Is this the little girl who was born in loyal Boston?" he questioned;
for Rebecca was six years of age and Anna three when their parents came
to this far-off place to make their home. Eastern Maine was then a
wilderness, and this little village was not connected with the outside
world except by the Indian trails or by the sailing craft which plied up
and down the coast. But its citizens were soon to write a page of
heroism and valor in their country's history.
"Of course Machias is to have a liberty pole," continued Mr. Weston. "It
has been so decided by a vote in a town meeting; and Dan and I will
start off in good season to-morrow morning to look for the finest pine
sapling in the forest. It will be a great day for the village when 'tis
set up, with its waving green plume to show that we are pledged to
resist England's injustice to her long-suffering colonies."
It was the custom to leave a tuft of verdure at the top of the liberty
tree as an emblem, the best they had at command, of the flag they meant
to fight for.
Before her father had finished speaking Rebecca had relinquished her
grasp on his arm and ran toward the cupboard, and neither her father nor
mother gave much thought to her anxious question. The venison was just
ready to serve, and Mrs. Weston hurried from the fireplace to the table,
on which Rebecca had now placed the dishes, while Mr. Weston and Anna
talked happily together over the proposed excursion on the following
day.
"I am afraid that we may have to postpone our journey," said Mr. Weston,
"for I noticed the gulls were coming in flocks close to the shores, and
you know:



    "'When sea-birds fly to land

    A storm is at hand.'"
"But look at Malty," responded Anna quickly, pointing to the fat Maltese
cat who was industriously washing her face:



    "'If the cat washes her face over the ear

    'Tis a sign the weather'll be fine and clear,'"
quoted the little girl; "and you told me 'twas a sure sign, Father; and
'tis what Matty is doing this minute."
"To be sure," laughed Mr. Weston, "both are sure signs, and so we will
hope for fair weather."
Rebecca was very silent at dinner, and as the sisters began to clear
away the dishes Anna watched her with troubled eyes.
"Perhaps it's because I called her 'Rebby,'" thought the little girl
regretfully. "I'll tell her I am sorry," and when their mother left the
kitchen Anna whispered:
"Flora, I forgot when I called you 'Rebby.' But I will now surely
remember. You are not vexed at me, are you?" and Anna leaned her head
against her sister's arm and looked up at her pleadingly.
Rebecca sniffed a little, as if trying to keep back the tears. She
wished she could talk over her worries with Anna; but of course that