back on the Province Town sands where a bareheaded, moccasin-shod little
girl could be as happy as the day was long.

The sun had set, and it was in the cool of the early evening when they
drove through Plymouth's main street. They were all tired and quite
ready for bed. It seemed a very large town to Anne, with its
meeting-houses and stores, but she was glad that it was nearly dark and
hoped that no one would notice that she had no hat or sunbonnet.

"If I had not run away Aunt Martha would have seen to it that I had
things like other girls," and she said to herself that "always, always,
after this I'll tell Aunt Martha before I do things."

"To-morrow night we'll be in Boston, Anne! Think of that," said Rose
happily, when the landlady had shown them to the comfortable chamber
that they were to occupy for the night. "Father says we'll start by
sunrise, and give Lady a rest at Scituate. Just think of all I shall
have to tell when I get home. And then we'll go to the shops the very
next day. Oh, Anne! I can't keep the secret another minute," and Rose
came to the window where Anne stood looking out, and putting her arm
over the younger girl's shoulder whispered in her ear: "Captain Stoddard
gave me two golden guineas to spend for you, Anne. He said your father
left them to buy clothes for you. I planned not to tell you until we
were really in the shops and ready to purchase, but I thought it too
good news to keep longer," and Rose smiled down at her little friend.

"Two guineas to buy clothes!" Anne's voice sounded as if such good
fortune was almost beyond belief.

"And I can have a hat, and shoes and stockings, since my own were left
behind in the wigwam?" she said questioningly.

"Indeed you can. And mother will go with us, and I doubt not you will
have a pretty dress and slippers as well as shoes, and many fine things,
for two guineas is a large sum to spend."

"Perhaps I shall not need to spend it all for clothes," said Anne; "then
I can buy a present for Aunt Martha and Uncle Enos, and perhaps
something for Amanda."

"Amanda!" echoed Rose. "Well, Anne, I would not take her home a gift;
she does not deserve one from you."

Anne was silent, but she was excusing Amanda in her thoughts. As Amos so
often said of Jimmie Starkweather that "nothing ever happens to Jimmie,"
so did Anne think of Amanda. She somehow felt sorry for Amanda, and had
quite forgiven the ugly slaps her playmate had given her.

It took Anne