t would be to sleep in a real bed again.

At Mrs. Stoddard's door she stood for a moment wondering if she could not
creep in and up-stairs without waking Uncle Enos and Aunt Martha; she
tried the door softly, but it was bolted, so she rattled the latch and
called, "Aunt Martha! Uncle Enos!" a sudden fear filling her heart that
they might not hear her and that she might have to sleep on the
door-step.

But in an instant she heard steps hurrying across the kitchen floor, the
big bolt was pulled back, the door swung open, and Anne was warmly clasped
in Aunt Martha's arms. Uncle Enos hurried close behind her, and Anne was
drawn into the kitchen with many exclamations of wonder and joy.

"Light a candle that we may look at her," said Aunt Martha, "and start up
a fire. 'Tis a chilly night, and the child must have some warm porridge."

It was not long before the fire was burning brightly, a kettle of hot
water bubbling cheerfully, that Anne might have a warm bath to rest and
soothe her tired limbs, and Anne, sitting on Aunt Martha's lap, was eating
a bowl of hot porridge and telling the story of her adventures.

"House Point Island, eh?" said Uncle Enos; "'Tis lucky there was an island
just there, even so low a one as that. In a hundred years or so the tides
and waves will sweep it away."

Anne told of the brush-covered shelter, of Amos making a fire and cooking
the fish, and of their journey home, while her kind friends listened
eagerly.

"We feared the boat had been carried out to sea and that our little maid
was lost," said Aunt Martha, "and the men have looked for you all about
the shore. The 'Somerset' is in harbor and its crew are doing much
mischief on shore, so that we have had much to disturb us. What a tangle
of hair this is for me to brush out," she added, passing a tender hand
over Anne's dark locks.

How good the warm water felt to Anne's bruised feet; and she was sure that
nothing ever tasted so good as the porridge. The rough hair was brushed
into smooth braids, and it was a very happy little girl who went to sleep
in the upper chamber with her wooden doll beside her, and the white kitten
curled up on the foot of her bed.

"I'm glad I'm not a little Indian girl," was Anne's last thought before
she went to sleep.

It was late the next morning when she awoke. Her soiled and torn clothes
were not to be seen, but a dress of clean cotton and a fresh pinafore lay
on the wooden stool.

"My, it's nice to be