t when she reached the spot where
Anne had told the wonderful news neither the basket nor Anne was to be
seen.

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

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

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

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

"She's run off with my basket," whimpered Amanda, holding her apron over
her face.

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

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

"And run off with my basket," she repeated, "and next week she goes to
Brewster, and by