A spirit like that knows no obstacles.  Although Hillsboro held up hands of horror, and implored John Sherwin to assert his parental authority and forbid his girl such a rash, unmaidenly, bold undertaking, the end of it was that Hannah got her father’s permission.  He loved his daughters dearly, did John Sherwin, and, although he could not see how the thing was to be managed, he told Hannah she might go if she could.

Now it happened that the wife of one of their neighbors had long coveted the two great feather-beds between which Ann Mary lay sweltering.  Hannah went to her, and said that she could have them if she would loan her son, a sturdy boy of fourteen, and two horses, for the trip to Heath Falls.  The neighbor-woman hesitated; but when Hannah threw in the two pewter candlesticks, which came from her mother’s family, she could resist no longer.  In her own family they had only spike-iron candlesticks, and it was her one chance of acquiring a pair of fine ones.  So she wheedled her husband into agreeing to the bargain; and there was Hannah with her transportation provided.

As soon as it was definitely settled that she was to make the long journey, people began to; take rather a proud interest in her grit.  As everybody liked her, they gave what they could toward helping her get ready—­all but the old women, who were furious that Ann Mary was to be taken away from their care.

There was in town a saddle with a pillion back of it, and this was loaned for Remember Williams, the neighbor’s boy, to ride and carry Ann Mary behind him.  Hannah folded a blanket across her horse’s back, and sat on sideways as best she could.  Behind her was a big bundle of extra clothing, and food, and an iron pot—­or, as she called it, a “kittle”—­for cooking their noonday meals.  Her father brought out all the money he had—­one large four-shilling piece—­and Hannah was sure that so much wealth as that would buy anything in the world.  The old women had prophesied that Ann Mary would not be strong enough to sit upon a horse, even clinging to Remember Williams’s thick waist; but, judging from what grandmother says, I surmise that Ann Mary, without being really aware of it, was a little sick of being sick.  At any rate, she took a great interest in the preparations.  She asked over and over again about the girls the herb-doctor had cured; and when the day for their departure came she was quite pleased and excited, and walked out through the crowd of sympathetic neighbors.  To be sure, she leaned weakly on her father, but there was a little faint color in her cheeks.

“A very bad sign!” the old women whispered.  “She’ll never live the journey out.  If only Hannah were not so headstrong and obstinate!  But then you can’t blame the child for it—­all the Sherwins are that way!”

As for Ann Mary, she sat up quite straight and looked as pretty as possible when the little company rode off.  After all, she had been “declining” only about a month, and people had vigorous constitutions in those days.