Once in a while she would speak her mind to her son, but
he was easy enough--Ann would not have found him a hard task-master.
Still, Ann did not have to work hard enough to hurt her. The worst
consequences were that such a rigid rein on such a frisky little colt
perhaps had more to do with her "cutting up," as her mistress phrased
it, than she dreamed of. Moreover the thought of the indentures,
securely locked up in Mr. Wales' tall wooden desk, was forever in
Ann's mind. Half by dint of questioning various people, half by her
own natural logic she had settled it within herself, that at any time
the possession of these papers would set her free, and she could
go back to her own mother, whom she dimly remembered as being
loud-voiced, but merry, and very indulgent. However, Ann never
meditated in earnest, taking the indentures; indeed, the desk was
always locked--it held other documents more valuable than hers--and
Samuel Wales carried the key in his waistcoat-pocket.
She went to a dame's school three months every year. Samuel Wales
carted half a cord of wood to pay for her schooling, and she learned
to write and read in the New England Primer. Next to her, on the split
log bench, sat a little girl named Hannah French. The two became fast
friends. Hannah was an only child, pretty and delicate, and very much
petted by her parents.
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