carriage to Boston."

"Well, that's no reason why she should turn so upon you," declared Mrs.
Cary. "What made trouble between you?"

"I think it was because of this journey," replied Amanda. "She is so set
up by it, and she went off with the basket."

"Never mind about the basket, child; but it's a sad thing for Anne to so
lose her temper. You did quite right to come home, dear child; now brush
your hair neatly, and bathe your face, and then come with me to Mistress
Stoddard; though I like not our errand," concluded Mrs. Cary, rolling up
the stocking she was knitting.

Amanda looked at her mother pleadingly. "Why must I go to Mistress
Stoddard's?" she questioned. "I have run all the way home, and you know
she will not blame Anne; it will be me she will question and blame. Oh,
dear!" and Amanda, sure that her evil plan would be discovered, began to
sob bitterly.

"There, there! I did but think you could tell Mrs. Stoddard of Anne's
mischief. You need not go, child. Get you a ginger cake from the stone
jar in the cellar-way. I'll tell of the way Anne pushed you about, and
made off with the basket, and you sit here by the door. There's a sweet
breeze coming over the marshes," and, patting Amanda's ruffled locks,
Mrs. Cary took down her sunbonnet from its hook behind the door, and
prepared to set forth.

"I'll not be long away," she called back, as she passed down the sandy
path.

From the pleasant doorway Amanda watched her with a gloomy face. Her
plan was going on successfully, but Amanda did not feel happy. She was
dreading the time when Amos would return, and his sharp questioning, she
knew, would be a very different matter from her mother's acceptance of
her story.

"Everybody always thinks that Anne is right," she said aloud.

"Well, isn't she?" said a voice directly behind her, so near that Amanda
jumped up in surprise.

"How did you get into the house, Amos Cary!" she exclaimed angrily.

"Phew, Carrot-top! What's the matter?" responded Amos teasingly. "Say,
Sis, don't cry," he added. "I won't call you 'Carrot-top' again. You
know my hair's exactly the same color as yours, anyway; so it's just
like calling myself names."

But Amanda kept on sobbing. "It's Anne," she whimpered. "She--she--she's
run off with my basket."

"Anne!" exclaimed the boy in surprise. "Oh, well, she was only fooling.
She'll bring it back. You know Anne wouldn't do a mean thing."

"She would, too. She's going to Boston, and to