s whittling. "That will please
thy father, Anne. And learn as fast as you can, for I see a fair chance of
sending a letter to Boston, when one is ready; and then thy father could
soon get it."

"Oh, Uncle Enos!" exclaimed Anne, "if there be a chance to send a letter
could you not write for me? It may be when I can write there will be no
chance to send a letter."

Captain Enos nodded. "You are a wise child," he said. "My writing isn't
the plainest in the world, but I'll do my best. I have some sheets of good
smooth paper in my sea-chest, and a good quill pen, too. Elder Haven fixed
the pen for me from the feather of a wild goose I killed on the marshes
last spring. But I do not think there is such a thing as ink in the house;
but I can make a fair ink with the juice of the elderberry and a fair lot
of soot from the chimney. So think up what you wish to tell your father,
Anne, and if it storms to-morrow we'll write the letter."

"How will you send it, Uncle Enos?" asked Anne, forgetting to knit and
turning eager eyes toward the captain.

"Sshh!" said Captain Enos. "'Tis a secret--hardly to be whispered. But
there is a good-hearted sailorman on board the British ship. We have had
some talk together on the shore, and he told me that he liked thy father;
and that he did not blame him for escaping from the ship."

Anne nodded smilingly, and reached down and picked up her wooden doll.

"Has the sailorman any little girl?" she asked.

"That he has," said Captain Enos. "He told me that he had two small maids
of his own in Plymouth, England, far across the ocean; and he asked if I
knew aught of John Nelson's little girl."

"That's me!" said Anne, holding the wooden doll tight.

"Yes," said Captain Enos, "and he said that he might find a chance to send
some word to thy father that you were a good and happy child. Then I told
him, Anne, that you planned to write a letter, and he said he'd take it to
Boston, and then 'twould soon reach thy father."

"I wish I could hear the sailorman speak of my father," said Anne, "and
tell me of his little girls in England."

"Mayhap you can, child. He comes ashore after water each day. A stout man
he is, with reddish hair and good honest blue eyes. He tells me his name
is William Trull. If you see such a man you may speak to him."

"Uncle Enos! That is the sailorman who saved me from the Indian women, and
brought me safe home," exclaimed Anne. "Do you not remember?"

"Indeed I do, A