New Releases by Alice Curtis

“Wait! Penny Balfour! Wait for me,” called a shrill voice, and Penny stopped halfway up the slope of Bay-berry pasture and looked back.

It was a day in early June, and the air was clear and pleasant, and filled with the fragrance of the wild roses which grew and blossomed all up the rough hillside. From the top of the hill, where grew the hardy bayberry bushes, one could look out across the blue waters of Narragansett Bay, with its many islands and wooded shores. As Penny Balfour stood looking down the slope she could see a little figure in a blue dress and white sun-bonnet coming swiftly up the path.

“Hurry up, Florence!” she called, a little impatiently, and thinking to herself that she wished Florence Dickinson did not always want to follow her. “I don't see why,” thought Penelope. “Florence has dolls, and a pony, and everything a girl could have; and she won't stay at home and enjoy herself. She's always running after Teddie and me.”

Ellie Barlow stood just inside the gate watching for the big coach, on its way to Hartford, which passed her father's house every Thursday morning. She could see the horses when they came over the top of the hill, and then the big yellow coach, with its load of passengers, and with boxes and bundles securely strapped on behind.

The driver of the coach seemed a very fine person to the little girl. He wore a round hat turned up in front. His coat was green, with big shining brass buttons, and he flourished a long whip, the lash of which could reach the leaders of the four horses that brought the coach over the road at such a good pace.

It was usually about eleven o'clock in the morning when the coach passed; and by half-past ten Ellie was at the gate. Mr. Samuel Pettigrew, the driver, always waved his gloved hand to the little girl, and Ellie waved back, and then watched the coach until a distant hill hid it from view. Then she would go slowly back to the house, wishing that she might some day go driving grandly off to Hartford, a passenger in the coach.

But this morning in early June of 1776 Ellie watched the coach with a new delight. “Just think,” she whispered to herself, “when next Thursday comes the coach will stop at this very gate, and the steps will be let down, and I shall get in the coach and be riding off to Hartford.” And at the thought of this wonderful adventure so near at hand, Ellie gave a little jump of delight, and ran back to the house, her black curls dancing in the air and her dark eyes eager with anticipation.