r head when she cried out before, and she was held too firmly to
struggle. She could hear the guttural voices of the Indians, and, after
what seemed a long time, she realized that her captors were making a
landing. She was again dropped on sand, and now the blanket was unwound
and Anne stood up. She found herself facing three Indian women. Two of
them frowned at her, but the younger smiled and nodded, and patted Anne's
shoulder.

[Illustration: A BLANKET FELL OVER HER HEAD]

The two elder squaws began to talk rapidly, but the one who stood beside
Anne remained silent. The canoe was lifted from the beach by the two, as
they talked, and carried up toward the rough pasture-land. Anne's
companion took her by the hand and led her after the others.

"I want to go right home," Anne announced. "You must take me right back to
Captain Stoddard's." The young squaw shook her head, still smiling, and
Anne realized that her companion could not understand what she said. The
little girl stopped short, and then the smile faded from the squaw's face;
she gave her an ugly twitch forward, and when Anne still refused to move a
stinging blow on the cheek followed. Anne began to cry bitterly. She was
now thoroughly frightened, and began to wonder what would become of her.

The squaws hid the canoe carefully, covering it up with vines and brush,
and then started along the shore. Anne and her companion now kept close to
the other two. And the three squaws talked together. Now and then they
would stop, and shading their eyes with one hand, look seaward as if
watching for some expected boat, but none appeared. Anne's bare feet began
to ache. She believed they would be blistered, but the women paid no
attention to her. Anne knew that they were very near the Truro beach. She
could see the big waves dashing up in a long curving line, and as they
came round a high cliff of sand they came suddenly upon a big fishing-boat
drawn up on the beach. Two sailors stood by it. In an instant the squaws
had turned to flee, dragging Anne with them. But she screamed, and threw
herself down on the sand. The sailors came running toward them, and the
Indian women fled.

"It's a white child," exclaimed one of the men, picking Anne up, and
wiping her face with a big soft handkerchief. "What were they doing with
you, child?" And leaning against his friendly arm, Anne told her story,
and showed her bruised feet.

"'Tis lucky for you we put ashore," said the man. "We