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which Mark had caught in the river. And they had beer, bought with one of the precious shillings, from a sailor on the
Arbella.
But the shillings were not so precious here, Phebe had soon realized—only to those who were returning to England. Here nothing mattered but food.
    It had not occurred to Mark that she might be short of food during his absence, since they had brought barrels of pickled meat, flour, and pease, but already Phebe had seen enough of the conditions to realize the vital importance of conserving supplies as long as possible—in case they stayed long. Always that reservation whispered in her heart.
    But there were wild strawberries in the woods, and mussels and clams at low tide for the picking.
    “You’ll not be frightened to be alone, Phebe?” said Mark suddenly, seeing her pensive. “I’ll be back soon. You know how little I wish to leave you—but I must.”
    “I know dear—” she said gendy, for she saw that he was shaken from the bustle of novelty and action which had made him thoughtless, and that there was anxious awareness of her in his eyes. “No, I won’t be frightened. Why, I can see the ships from our doorway, and then there are all the other folk—so near.”
    “The Lady Arbella—” he said with a curt laugh. “I vow you dote upon her noble ladyship. I never thought to find you so fawning—God’s blood, Phebe—it’s to be rid of such as her, I quitted England!”
    She had been sitting beside him in the bed-roll, and now she rose and walked away from him to the doorway. “It has nothing to do with her rank, Mark.” She spoke with coldness and dignity.
    “What is it then?” he asked in a quieter tone, standing up beside her.
    She could not answer. Never had she found it easy to speak of the secret things in her mind. The Lady Arbella was like a shining silken banner for the humble heart to follow. She was beauty, she was courage, and she was England here on this alien and unfriendly soil. Mark would never understand that, nor need to. He needed no symbol to strengthen him.
    She shook her head. “I cannot say.”
    But Mark was no longer attending; he had forgotten his question in watching the curve of her rosy cheek, and the roundness of her neck and bosom. He picked her up and sat down with her on his knee, where he held her fast, pulled off her cap and tossed it in the corner, rumpled and loosened her smooth brown hair.
    “Not so solemn, sweetheart—” he whispered. “We must be merry in our fine new home.”
    She resisted at first, being still grieved by their difference. But he began to caress her playfully, teasing her with mock anger, kissing away her protests until at last he had her laughing too and as eagerly amorous as he.
     
    The
Arbella
and Governor Winthrop came back in a few days, he having decided to gather up his company and establish a temporary settlement at Charlestown. It was not an ideal site since the peninsula was small and the water supply very scanty, but it would serve as a base for further exploration.
    Phebe had been bitterly disappointed that Mark had not also returned to Salem. He had however sent her a letter which was delivered to her wigwam by a friendly sailor.
    She carried the letter inside her dwelling and stared at it with a mixture of apprehension, embarrassment, and pride. Mark knew—or had he forgotten—that she could not read—that was an accomplishment deemed useless to a yeoman’s daughter. She turned the half-sheet of folded paper, admiring the red seal stamped with a small signet, and guessed that he, never backward in fulfilling his impulses, had borrowed all from one of the great folk on board.
    At last she broke the seal and stared at the lines of cramped and blotted writing:
     
“Swete wife be not vext I linger too finde us setlment. Ther is muche to see but the peple are not so as we ded expect. Ther is good stor of feishe but harde to come bye and not enuf provisseyenes.
Bee stout harted.
Thy lovinge husband
M.