rept softly downstairs, and
out doors.

It was bright moonlight and quite cold. She ran along as fast as she
could on the Boston road. Deacon Thomas Wales's house was on the way.
The windows were lit up. She thought of grandma and poor grandpa, with
a sob in her heart, but she sped along. Past the schoolhouse, and
meeting-house, too, she had to go, with big qualms of grief and
remorse. But she kept on. She was a fast traveler.

She had reached the North Precinct of Braintree by daylight. So far,
she had not encountered a single person. Now she heard horse's hoofs
behind her. She began to run faster, but it was of no use. Soon
Captain Abraham French loomed up on his big gray horse, a few paces
from her. He was Hannah's father, but he was a tithing-man, and looked
quite stern, and Ann had always stood in great fear of him.

She ran on as fast as her little heels could fly, with a thumping
heart. But it was not long before she felt herself seized by a strong
arm and swung up behind Captain French on the gray horse. She was in a
panic of terror, and would have cried and begged for mercy if she
had not been in so much awe of her captor. She thought with awful
apprehension of these stolen indentures in her little pocket. What if
he should find that out!

Captain French whipped up his horse, however, and hastened along
without saying a word. His silence, if anything, caused more dread in
Ann than words would have. But his mind was occupied. Deacon Thomas
Wales was dead; he was one of his most beloved and honored friends,
and it was a great shock to him. Hannah had told him about Ann's
premeditated escape, and he had set out on her track as soon as he had
found that she was really gone, that morning. But the news which he
had heard on his way, had driven all thoughts of reprimand which he
might have entertained, out of his head. He only cared to get the
child safely back.

So not a word spoke Captain French, but rode on in grim and sorrowful
silence, with Ann clinging to him, till he reached her master's door.
Then he set her down with a stern and solemn injunction never to
transgress again, and rode away.

Ann went into the kitchen with a quaking heart. It was empty and
still. Its very emptiness and stillness seemed to reproach her. There
stood the desk--she ran across to it, pulled the indentures from her
pocket, put them in their old place, and shut the lid down. There they
staid till the full and just time of her se