Rebecca of Sunnybrook farm

RIVERSIDE-BOOKSHELF'RE B E C C AOF SUNNYBROOK" FARM•KATE- DOUGLAS -WIGGIN«

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MR. COBB HANDED REBECCA OUT LIKE A REAL LADY PASSENGER

^JV^}{R I V E RSIDE BOOKSHELF~~]j^^^REBECCAOF SUNNYBROOK FARMBYKATE DOUGLAS WIGGINWITH ILLUSTRATIONS BYHELEN MASON GROSEBOSTON AND NEW YORKHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY KATE DOUGLAS RIGGSCOPYRIGHT, 1925, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANYALL RIGHTS RESERVLDTwenty -fourth PrintingrCAMBRIDGE • MASSACHUSETTSPRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

TOMY MOTHER

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ;Like TwilighVs, too, her dusky hair;But all things else about her draicnFrom May-time and the cheerful Dawn;A dancing Shape, an Image gay.To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.Wordsworth

11"vetCONTENTSI. 'We are Seven' 1II. Rebecca's Relations 22III. A Difference in Hearts 31IV. Rebecca's Point of View 44V. Wisdom's Ways 51VI. Sui^sHiNE IN A Shady Place 66VII. Riverboro Secrets 77VIII. Color of Rose 88IX. Ashes of Roses 96X. Rainbow Bridges 107XI. 'The Stirring of the Powers' 117XII. 'See the Pale Martyr' 127XIII. Snow-White; Rose-Red 141XIV. Mr. Aladdin 150

viCONTENTSXV. The Banquet Lamp 161XVI. Seasons of Growth 172XVII. Gray Days and Gold 185XVIII. Rebecca Represents the Family 195XIX. Deacon Israel's Successor 207XX. A Change of Heart 218XXI. The Skyline Widens 229XXII. Clover Blossoms and Sunflowers 243XXIII. The Hill Difficulty 259XXIV. Aladdin Rubs his Lamp 268XXV. Roses of Joy 280XXVI. 'Over the Teacups' 295XXVII. 'The Vision Splendid' 306XXVIII. ' Th' Inevitable Yoke' 318XXIX. Mother and Daughter 332XXX. Good-bye, Sunnybrook! 342XXXI. Aunt Miranda's Apology 350

ILLUSTRATIONSMr. Cobb handed Rebecca out like a real ladyPASSENGERColored frontispieceRebecca and Doorway of Quillcote, the Author'sHouse at Hollis, MaineTitle-Page'Please let me speak!' 7The Brick House 23Rebecca . looked at the row of smoked pearl, .buttons running up and down the middle of herflat little chest 39Sunday Thoughts 47Rebecca's head was bowed with shame and wrath 61'Pink keeps clean just as nice as brown' {in color) 70The Simpsons' Dooryard 73'Minnie Smellie, if ever — I — catch — you'The Schoolhouse 89'Now I'm the oldest, Jane, an' I intend to have mysay out' 97'You will take me to Maplewood, won't you, Mr.Cobb?' 109'It isthe cat, the chips, and the milk pail that Idon't like' 123She stood there dreaming (in color) 128Gave one unresigned shudder, and flung the parasolDOWNWARD WITH ALL HER FORCE 139Emma Jane practiced it on Rebecca, and RebeccaON Emma Jane 14585

viiiILLUSTRATIONS'Oh! I MUST KNOW THAT SOAP,' SAID THE GENTLEMANgenially 153The lamp seemed to be having the party 167'I'm sorry, aunt Jane!' {in color) 176Uncle Jerry's House 179Fancied, where it used to be deepest, she couldhear a faint, tinkling sound 193The Meeting-House 197*I stood right up in meeting' 211She opened the kitchen door and stared vaguelyabout her 223Wareham Seminary 231Rebecca started at the sound 253*0h, what a sweet, sweet, flowery face!' she whisperedSOFTLY (in color) 256The Saco River 261'Don't be kind, Mr. Aladdin' 275The poise of her head under the apple-blossomCANOPY 289A small and SELECT PARTY 297'I can't TELL WHETHER I'm GLAD OR SORRY ' {in Color) 310Rebecca drove 313'Come in,' she said; 'I ain't dead yet' 325'Mother, mother, don't talk so, don't think so!' 339'The time has come!' she thought. 'I am sayinggood-bye to Sunnybrook* 345Every mile of the way was as familiar to RebeccaAS TO Uncle Jerry 351

REBECCAOF SUNNYBROOK FARM

REBECCAOF SUNNYBROOK FARM•WE ARE SEVEN'The old stage coach was rumbling along the dustyroad that runs from Maplewood to Riverboro. Theday was as warm as midsummer, though it wasonly the middle of May, and Mr. Jeremiah Cobbwas favoring the horses as much as possible, yetnever losing sight of the fact that he carried themail. The hills were many, and the reins layloosely in his hands as he lolled back in his seatand extended one foot and leg luxuriously overthe dashboard.His brimmed hat of worn felt waswell pulled over his eyes, and he revolved a quidof tobacco in his left cheek.There was one passenger in the coach,— asmall dark-haired person in a glossybuff calicodress. She was so slender and so stiffly starchedthat she slid from space to space on the leathercushions, though she braced herself against themiddle seat with her feet and extended her cottonglovedhands on each side, in order to maintainsome sort of balance. Whenever the wheels sankfarther than usual into a rut, or jolted suddenly

2 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMover a stone, she bounded involuntarily into theair, came down again, pushed back her funnylittlestraw hat, and picked up or settled morefirmly a small pink sunshade, which seemed to beher chief responsibility,— unless we except a beadpurse,into which she looked whenever the conditionof the roads would permit, finding greatapparent satisfaction in that its precious contentsneither disappeared nor grew less. Mr. Cobbguessed nothing of these harassingdetails oftravel, his business being to carry people to theirdestinations, not, necessarily, to make them comfortableon the way. Indeed he had forgottenthe very existence of this one unnoteworthy littlepassenger.When he was about to leave the post-office inMaplewood that morning, a woman had alightedfrom a wagon, and coming up to him, inquiredwhether this were the Riverboro stage, and if hewere Mr. Cobb. Being answered in the affirmative,she nodded to a child who was eagerly waitingshefor the answer, and who ran towards her as iffeared to be a moment too late. The child mighthave been ten or eleven years old perhaps, butwhatever the number of her summers, she had anair of being small for her age. Her mother helpedher into the stage coach, deposited a bundle anda bouquet of lilacs beside her, superintended the"roping on ' behind of an old hair trunk, and finally

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 3paid the fare, counting out the silver with greatcare.'I want you should take her to my sisters' inRiverboro,' she said. 'Do you know Mirandy andJane Sawyer.^^They live in the brick house.'Lord bless your soul, he knew 'em as well as ifhe'd made 'em!'Well, she's going there, and they're expectingher. Will you keep an eye on her, please? If shecan get out anywhere and get with folks,or getanybody in to keep her company, she'll do it.Good-bye, Rebecca; try not to get into any mischief,and sit quiet, so you'll look neat an' nicewhen you get there. Don't be any trouble to INIr.Cobb. — You see, she's kind of excited. — Wecame on the cars from Temperance yesterday,slept all night at my cousin's, and drove fromher house — eight miles it is— this morning.''Good-bye, mother,don't worry; you know itisn't as if I hadn't traveled before.'The woman gave a short sardonic laugh and saidinan explanatory way to Mr. Cobb, 'She's beento Wareham and stayed over night; that isn'tmuch to be journey-proud on!''It ivas traveling, mother,' said the child eagerlyand willfully.'It was leaving the farm, and puttingup lunch in a basket, and a little riding anda little steam cars, and we carried our nightgowns.'

4 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*Don't tell the whole village about it, if we did,'said the mother, interruptingthe reminiscences ofthis experienced voyager. 'Haven't I told youbefore,' sh-e whispered, in a last attemptat discipline,'that you shouldn't talk about nightgownsand stockings and — things like that, in aloud tone of voice, and especially when there'smen folks round?''I know, mother, I know, and I won't. All Iwant to —say is ' here Mr. Cobb gave a cluck,slapped the reins, and the horses started sedatelyon their daily task — 'all I want to say is that itis a journey when' — the stage was really underway now and Rebecca had to put her head out ofthe window over the door in order to finish hersentence — 'it is a journey when you carry a'nightgown !The objectionable word, uttered in a high treble,floated back to the offended ears of Mrs. Randall,who watched the stage out of sight, gathered upher packages from the bench at the store door,and stepped into the wagon that had been standingat the hitching-post. As she turned the horse'shead towards home she rose to her feet for a moment,and shading her eyes with her hand, lookedat a cloud of dust in the dim distance.']Mirandy'll have her hands full, I guess,' shesaid to herself; 'but I shouldn't wonder if it wouldbe the making of Rebecca.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 5All this had been half an hour ago, and the sun,the heat, the dust, the contemplationof errandsto be done in tlie great metropolis of Milltown,had lulled Mr. Cobb's never active mind into completeoblivion as to his promise of keeping an eyeon Rebecca.Suddenly he heard a small voice above therattle and rumble of the wheels and the creakingof the harness. At first he thought it was a cricket,a tree toad, or a bird, but having determined thedirection from which itover hiscame, he turned his headshoulder and saw a small shape hangingas far out of the window as safety would allow.A long black braid of hair swung with the motionof the coach; the child held her hat in one handand with the other made ineffectual attempts tostab the driver with her microscopic sunshade.'Please let me speak!' she called.Mr. Cobb drew up the horses obediently.'Does it cost any more to ride up there withyou.f^' she asked. 'It's so slippery and shiny downhere, and the stage is so much too big for me,that I rattle round in it till I'm 'most black andblue. And the windows are so small I can onlysee pieces of things, and I've 'most broken myneck stretching round to find out whether mytrunk has fallen off the back. It's my mother'strunk, and she's very choice of it.'Mr. Cobb waited until this flow of conversation.

6 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMor more properly speaking thisflood of criticism,had ceased, and then said jocularly:'You can come up if you want to; there ain^tno extry charge to sit side o' me.' Whereupon hehelped her out, 'boosted' her up to the front seat,and resumed his own place.Rebecca sat down carefully, smoothing her dressunder her with painstaking precision, and puttingher sunshade under its extended folds between thedriver and herself.This done she pushed back herhat, pulled up her darned white cotton gloves,and said delightedly:'Oh! this is better! This is like traveling! Iam a real passenger now, and down there I feltlike our setting hen when we shut her up in acoop.I hope we have a long, long ways to go?'*0h! we've only just started on it,' Mr. Cobbresponded genially;'it's more'n two hours.''Only two hours,' she sighed. 'That will behalf past one; mother will be at cousin Ann's,the children at home will have had their dinner,and Hannah cleared all away. I have some lunch,because mother said it would be a bad beginningto get to the brick house hungry and have auntMirandy have to get me something to eat the— first thing. It's a good growing day, isn't it?''It is, certain; too hot, most. Why don't youput up your parasol?'She extended her dress still farther over the

KWG'PLEASE LET ME SPEAK !'

8 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMarticle in question as she said, 'Oh dear no! Inever put it up when the sun shines; pink fadesawfully, you know, and I only carry itto meetin'cloudy Sundays; sometimes the sun comes out allof a sudden, and I have a dreadful time coveringitup; it's the dearest thing in life to me, but it'san awful care.'At this moment the thought gradually permeatedMr. Jeremiah Cobb's slow-moving mind thatthe bird perched by his side was a bird of verydifferent feather from those to which he was accustomedin his daily drives. He put the whip backin its socket, took his foot from the dashboard,pushed his hat back, blew his quid of tobaccointo the road, and having thus cleared his mentaldecks for action, he took his first goodlook at thepassenger, a look which she met with a grave,childlike stare of friendly curiosity.The buff calico was faded, but scrupulouslyclean, and starched within an inch of its life.From the little standing ruffle at the neck thechild's slender throat rose very brown and thin,and the head looked small to bear the weight ofdark hair that hungShe wore an odd littlein a thick braid to her waist.vizored cap of white leghorn,which may either have been the latest thingin children's hats, or some bit of ancient fineryfurbished up for the occasion. It was trimmedwith a twist of buff ribbon and a cluster of black

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 9and orange porcupine quills, which hung or bristledstiffly over one ear, giving her the quaintest andmost unusual appearance. Her face was withoutcolor and sharp in outline. As to features, shemust have had the usual number, though Mr.Cobb's attention never proceeded so far as nose,forehead, or chin, being caught on the way andheld fast by the eyes. Rebecca's eyes were like—faith, 'the substance of things hoped for, theevidence of things not seen.' Under her delicatelyetched brows they glowed like two stars, theirdancing lights half hidden in lustrous darkness.Their glance was eager and full of interest, yetnever satisfied; their steadfast gaze was brilliantand mysterious, and had the effect of lookingdirectly through the obvious to something beyond,in the object, in the landscape, in you. They hadnever been accounted for, Rebecca's eyes. Theschool teacher and the minister at Temperancehad tried and failed; the young artist who camefor the summer to sketch the red barn, the ruinedmill, and the bridge ended by giving uplocalall thesebeauties and devoting herself to the face ofa child,— a small, plain face illuminated by apair of eyes carrying such messages, such suggestions,such hints of sleeping power and insight,that one never tired of looking into their shiningdepths, nor of fancying that what one saw therewas the reflection of one's own thought.

10 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMMr. Cobb made none of these generalizations;his remark to his wife that night was simpl}^ tothat whenever the child looked at himthe effectshe knocked him galley-west.'Miss Ross, a ladj^ that paints, gave me thesunshade,' said Rebecca, when she had exchangedlooks with Mr. Cobb and learned his face by heart.'Did you notice the pinked double ruffle and thewhite tip and handle? They're ivory. The handleis scarred, you see. That's because Fanny suckedand chewed it in meeting when I wasn't looking.I've never felt the same to Fanny since.''Is Fanny your sister.^''She's one of them.''How many are there of you?''Seven. There's verses written about sevenchildren :'"Quick was the little Maid's reply,O master! we are seven!"I learned it to speak in school, but the scholarswere hateful and laughed. Hannah is the oldest,I come next, then John, then Jenny, then Mark,then Fanny,'then Mira.'Well, that is a big family!'Far too big, everybody says,' replied Rebeccawith an unexpected and thoroughly grown-up candorthat induced Mr. Cobb to murmur, 'I swan!'and insert more tobacco in his left cheek.'They're dear, but such a bother, and cost so'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 11much to feed, you see,* she rippled on. * Hannahand I haven't done anything but put babies to bedat night and take them up in the morning foryears and years. But it's finished, that's one comfort,and we'll have a lovely time when we're allgrown up and the mortgage ispaid off.'*A11 finished.'^ Oh, you mean you've come away?''No, I mean they're all over and done with;our family's finished. Mother says so, and she alwayskeeps her promises. There hasn't been anysince Mira, and she's three. She was born theday father died. Aunt Miranda wanted Hannahto come to Riverboro mstead of me, but mothercouldn't spare her; she takes hold of houseworkbetter than I do, Hannah does.I told mother lastnight if there was likely to be any more childrenwhile I was away I'd have to be sent for, for whenthere's a baby it always takes Hannah and meboth, for mother has the cooking and the farm.'*0h, you live on a farm, do ye.^^ Where is it?— near to where you got on?'*Near? Why, it must be thousands of miles!We came from Temperance in the cars. Then wedrove a long ways to cousin Ann's and went tobed. Then we got up and drove ever so far toMaplewood, where the stage was. Our farm isaway off from everywheres, but our school andmeeting-house is at Temperance, and that's onlytwo miles. Sitting up here with you is most as

12 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMgood as climbing the meeting-house steeple. Iknow a boy who's been up on our steeple. Hesaid the people and cows looked like flies. Wehaven't met any people yet,but I'm Jcind of disappointedin the cows;— they don't look so littleas I hoped they would; still (brightening) theydon't look quite as big as if we were down side ofthem, do they.'^ Boys always do the nice splendidthings, and girls can only do the nasty dull onesthat get left over. They can't climb so high, orgo so far, or stay out so late, or run so fast, oranything.'Mr. Cobb wiped his mouth on the back of hishand and gasped. He had a feeling that he wasbeing hurried from peak to peakrange without time to take a goodbetween.of a mountainbreath in*I can't seem to locate your farm,' he said,and used to livethough I've been to Temperance*up that way. What's your folks' name?'Randall. My mother's name is Aurelia Randall;*our names are Hannah Lucy Randall,RebeccaRowena Randall, John Halifax Randall,Jenny Lind Randall, Marquis Randall, FannyEllsler Randall, and Miranda Randall. Mothernamed half of us and father the other half, butwe didn't come out even, so they both thought itwould be nice to name Mira after aunt Mirandain Riverboro; they hoped it might do some good,

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 13but it didn't, and now we call her Mira. We areall named after somebody in particular. Hannahis Hannah at the Window Binding Shoes, and Iam taken out of Ivanhoe; John Halifax was agentleman in a book; Mark is after his uncleMarquis de Lafayette that died a twin. (Twinsvery often don't live to grow up, and tripletsalmost never — did you know that, Mr. Cobb.'')We don't call him Marquis, only Mark. Jenny isnamed for a singer and Fanny for a beautifuldancer, but mother says they're both misfits,forJenny can't carry a tune and Fanny's kind of stifflegged.Mother would like to call them Jane andFrances and give up their middle names, but shesays it wouldn't be fair to father. She says wemust always stand up for father, because everythingwas against him, and he wouldn't have diedif he hadn't had such bad luck. I think that's allthere isto tell about us,' she finished seriously.'Land o' Liberty! I should think it was enough,'ejaculated Mr. Cobb. 'There wa'n't many namesleft when your mother got through choosin'!You've got a powerful good memory! I guess itain't no trouble for you to learn your lessons,is it?''Not much; the trouble isto get the shoes to goand learn 'em. These are spandy new I've goton, and they have to last six months. Motheralways says to save my shoes. There don't seem

14 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'em offto be any way of saving shoes but takingand going barefoot; but I can't do that in Riverborowithout shaming aunt Mirandy. I'm goingto school right along now when I'm living withaunt Mirandy, and in two years I'm going to theseminary at Wareham; mother says it ought tobe the making of me! I'm going to be a painterlike Miss Ross when I get throughschool. Atany rate, that's what I think I'm going to be.Mother thinks I'd better teach.''Your farm ain't the old Hobbs place,is it.^'*No, it's justRandall's Farm. At least that'swhat mother calls it. I call it Sunnybrook Farm.''I guess it don't make no difference what youcall it so long as you know where it is,' remarkedMr. Cobb sententiouslv.Rebecca turned the full light of her eyes uponhim reproachfully, almost severely, as she answered:'Oh! don't say that, and be like all the rest!It does make a difference what you call things.When I say Randall's Farm, do you see how itlooks?''No, I can't say I do,' responded Mr. Cobb uneasily.'Now when I say Sunnybrook Farm, what doesit make you think of.^'Mr. Cobb felt like a fish removed from hisnative element and left panting on the sajid;

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 15there was no evading the awful responsibility ofa reply, for Rebecca's eyes were searchlights,that pierced the fiction of his brain and perceivedthe bald spot on the back of his head.'I s'pose there's a brook somewheres near it,'he said timorously.Rebecca looked disappointed but not quite disheartened.'That's pretty good,' she said encouragingly,'You're warm but not hot; there'sa brook, but not a common brook. It has youngtrees and baby bushes on each side of it,and it'sa shallow chattering little brook with a whitesandy bottom and lots of little shiny pebbles.Whenever there's a bit of sunshine the brookcatches it, and it's always full of sparkles the livelongday. Don't your stomach feel hollow.^ Minedoes! I was so 'fraid I'd miss the stage I couldn'teat any breakfast.''You'd better have your lunch, then. I don'teat nothin' till I get to Milltown; then I get apiece o' pie and cup o' coffee.''I wish I could see Milltown. I suppose it'sbigger and grander even than Wareham; morelike Paris .^ Miss Ross told me about Paris; shebought my pink sunshade there and my beadpurse. You see how itopens with a snap.^ I'vetwenty cents in it, and it's got to last three months,for stamps and paper and ink. Mother says auntMirandy won't want to buy things like those when

16 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMshe's feeding and clothing me and paying for myschool-books.''Paris ain't no great,' said Mr. Cobb disparagingly.'It's the dullest placeMaine.I've druv there many a time.'in the State o'Again Rebecca was obliged to reprove Mr. Cobb,tacitly and quietly, but none the less surely, thoughthe reproof was dealt with one glance, quicklysent and as quickly withdrawn.'Paris is the capital of France, and you haveto go to it on a boat,' she said instructively.in my geography, and it'It'ssays: "The French are agay and polite people, fond of dancing and lightwines." I asked the teacher what light wines were,and he thought it was something like new cider,or maybe ginger pop.I can see Paris as plain asday by just shutting my eyes. The beautifulladies are always gayly dancing around with pinksunshades and bead purses, and the grand gentlemenare politely dancing and drinking ginger pop.But you can see Milltown most every day withyour eyes wide open,' Rebecca said wistfully.'Milltown ain't no great, neither,' replied Mr.the citiesCobb, with the air of having visited allof the earth and found them as naught. 'Nowyou watch me heave this newspaper right ontoMis' Brown's doorstep.'Piff! and the packet landed exactly as it wasintended, on the corn husk mat in front of thescreen door.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 17'Oh, how splendid that was!' cried Rebeccawith enthusiasm. 'Just hke the knife throwerMark saw at the circus. I wish there was a long,long row of houses each with a corn husk mat anda screen door in the middle, and a newspaper tothrow on every one !''I might fail on some of 'em, you know,' saidMr. Cobb, beaming with modest pride.'If youraunt Mirandy'll let you, I'll take you down toMilltown some day this summer when the stageain't full.'A thrill of delicious excitement ran throughRebecca's frame, from her new shoes up, up to theleghorn cap and down the black braid. Shepressed Mr. Cobb's knee ardently and said in avoice choking with tears of joy and astonishment,'Oh, it can't be true, it can't; to think I should seeMilltown. It's like having a fairy godmother whoasks you your wish and then gives it to you!Did you ever read Cinderella, or The YellowDwarf, or The Enchanted Frog, or The Fair Onewith Golden Locks .^''No,' said Mr. Cobb cautiously, after a moment'sreflection. 'I don't seem to think I everdid read jest those partic'lar ones. Where'd youget a chance at so much readin'?''Oh, I've read lots of books,' answered Rebeccacasually. 'Father's and Miss Ross's and all thedif'rent school teachers', and all in the Sunday-

18 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMschool library. I've read The Lamplighter, andScottish Chiefs, and Ivanhoe, and The Heir ofRedely ffe, and Cora, the Doctor's Wife, and DavidCopperfield, and The Gold of Chickaree, and Plutarch'sLives, and Thaddeus of Warsaw, andPilgrim's Progress, and lots more. — What haveyou read.f^''I've never happened to read those partic'larbooks; but land! I've read a sight in my time!with the Al-Nowadays I'm so drove I get alongmanac, the W'cekly Argus, and the Maine StateAgriculturist. — There's the river again ; this isthe last long hill, and when we get to the top ofitwe'll see the chimbleysof Riverboro in the distance.'Tain't fur. I live 'bout half a mile beyondthe brick house myself.'Rebecca's hand stirred nervously in her lap andshe moved in her seat.'I didn't think I was goingto be afraid,' she said almost under her breath;'but I guess I am, just a little mite — when yousay it's coming'Would you goso near.'back.?' asked Mr. Cobb curiously.She flashed him an intrepid look and then said—proudly, 'I'd never go back I might be frightened,but I'd be ashamed to run. Going to auntMirandy's is like going down cellar in the dark.There might be ogres and giants under the stairs,—but, as I tell Hannah, there might be elves and

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 19fairies and enchanted frogs—! Is there a mainstreet to the village, like that in Wareham?''I s'pose you might call it a main street, an'your aunt Sawyer lives on it, but there ain't nostores nor mills, an' it's an awful one-horse village!You have to go 'cross the river an' get on to ourside ifyou want to see anything goin' on.''I'm almost sorry,' she sighed, 'because itwould be so grandto drive down a real mainstreet, sitting high up like this behind two splendidhorses, with my pink sunshade up, and everybodyin town wondering who the bunch of lilacsand the hair trunk belongs to. It would be justlike the beautiful lady in the parade. Last summerthe circus came to Temperance, and theyhad a procession in the morning. Mother let usall walk in and wheel Mira in the baby carriage,because we couldn't afford to go to the circus inthe afternoon. And there were lovely horses andanimals in cages, and clowns on horseback; andat the very end came a littledrawn by two ponies, and in it,red and gold chariotsitting on a velvetcushion, was the snake charmer, all dressed insatin and spangles. She was so beautiful beyondcompare, Mr. Cobb, that you had to swallowlumps in your throat when you looked at her, andlittle cold feelings crept up and down your back.Don't you know how I mean.f* Didn't you eversee anybody that made you feel like that.?'

20 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMMr. Cobb was more distinctly uncomfortableat this moment than he had been at any one timeduringthe eventful morning,but he evaded thepoint dexterously by saying, 'There ain't noharm, as I can see, in our makin' the grand entryin the biggest style we can. I'll take the whipout, set up straight, an' drive fast; you hold yourbo'quet in your lap, an' open yourlittle redparasol, an' we'll jest make the natives stare!'The child's face was radiant for a moment,but the glow faded just as quickly as she said,— forgot mother put me inside, and maybe she'dwant me to be there when I got to aunt Mirandy's.Maybe I'd be more genteel inside, and then Iwouldn't have to be jumped down and my clothesfly up, but could open the door and step downlike a lady passenger. Would you please stop aminute, Mr. Cobb, and let me change.'^'The stage driver good-naturedly pulled up hishorses, lifted the excited little creature down,opened the door, and helped her in, putting thelilacs and the pink sunshade beside her.'We've had a great trip,' he said, *and we'vegot real well acquainted, haven't we? — Youwon't forget about Milltown?'*Never!' she exclaimed fervently; *and you'resure you won't, either.^''Never! Cross my heart!' vowed Mr. Cobbsolemnly, as he remounted his perch; and as the'I

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 21stage rumbled down the village street betweenthe green maples, those who looked from theirwindows saw a little brown elf in buff calico sittingprimly on the back seat holding a great bouquettightly in one hand and a pink parasol in theother. Had they been farsighted enough theymight have seen, when the stage turned into theside dooryard of the old brick house, a calicoyoke rising and falling tempestuously over thebeating heart beneath, the red color coming andgoing in two pale cheeks, and a mist of tears swimmingin two brilliant dark eyes.Rebecca's journey had ended.'There's the stage turnin' into the Sawyer girls'dooryard,' said Mrs. Perkins to her husband.'That must be the niece from up Temperance way.It seems they wrote to Aurelia and invited Hannah,the oldest, but Aurelia said she could spareRebecca better, if 'twas all the same to Mirandy'n' Jane; so it's Rebecca that's come. She'll begood comp'ny for our Emma Jane, but I don'tbelieve they'll keep her three months! She looksblack as an Injun what I can see of her; black andkind of up-an-comin'. They used to say that oneo' the Randalls married a Spanish woman, somebodythat was teachin' music and languages ata boardin' school. Lorenzo was dark complected,you remember, and this child is, too. Well, I don'tknow as Spanish blood isany real disgrace, not if it'sa good ways back and the woman was respectable.*

IIREBECCA'S RELATIONSThey had been called the Sawyer girls whenMiranda at eighteen, Jane at twelve, and Aureliaat eight participatedin the various activities ofvillage life; and when Riverboro fell into a habitof thought or speech, it saw no reason for fallingout of it, at any rate in the same century. Soalthough Miranda and Jane were between fiftyand sixty at the time this story opens, Riverborostill called them the Sawyer girls. They were spinsters;but Aurelia, the youngest, had made whatshe called a romantic marriage and what her sisterstermed a mighty poor speculation. 'There's worsethings than bein' old maids,' they said; whetherthey thought so is quite another matter.The element of romance in Aurelia's marriageexisted chiefly in the fact that Mr. L. D. M. Randallhad a soul above farming or trading and wasa votary of the Aluses. He taught the weeklysinging-school (then a feature of village life) inhalf a dozen neighboring towns, he played theviolin and 'called off' at dances, or evoked richharmonies from church melodeons on Sundays.He taught certain uncouth lads, when they wereof an age to enter society, the intricacies of contra

THE BRICK HOUSE

24 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMdances, or the steps of the schottische and mazurka,and he was a marked figure in all socialassemblies, though conspicuously absent fromtown-meetings and the purely masculine gatheringsat the store or tavern or bridge.His hair was a little longer, his hands a littlewhiter, his shoes a little thinner, his manner atrifle more polished, than that of his soberermates; indeed the only departmenthe failed to shine was the makingof lifein whichof sufficientmoney to live upon. Luckily he had no responsibilities;his father and his twin brother had diedwhen he was yet a boy, and his mother, whoseonly noteworthy achievement had been the namingof her twin sons Marquis de Lafayette andLorenzo de Medici Randall, had supported herselfand educated her child by making coats upto thevery day of her death. She was wont to sayplaintively, 'I'm afraid the faculties was toomuch divided up between my twins. L. D. M. isawful talented, but I guess M. D. L. would 'a'ben the practical one if he'd 'a' lived.'*L. D. M. was practical enough to get the richestgirl in the village,' replied Mrs. Robinson.*Yes,' sighed his mother, 'there it is again;if the twins could 'a' married Aurelia Sawyer,'twould 'a' been all right. L. D. M. was talented'nough to get Reely's money, but M. D. L. would'a' ben practical 'nough to have kep'it.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 25Aurelia's share of the modest Sawyer propertyhad been put into one thing after another by thehandsome and luckless Lorenzo de Medici. Hehad a graceful and poetic way of making an investmentfor each new son and daughter that blessedtheir union, *A birthday present for our child,Aurelia,' he would say,— 'a little nest-egg forthe future;' but Aurelia once remarked in a momentof bitterness that the hen never lived thatcould sit on those eggs and hatch anything out ofthem.Miranda and Jane had virtually washed theirhands of Aurelia when she married Lorenzo deMedici Randall.Having exhausted the resourcesof Riverboro and its immediate vicinity, the unfortunatecouple had moved on and on in a steadilydecreasing scale of prosperity until they hadreached Temperance, where they had settleddown and invited fate to do its worst, an invitationwhich was promptly accepted. The maidensisters at home wrote to Aurelia two or threetimes a year, and sent modest but serviceablepresents to the children at Christmas, but refusedto assist L. D. M. with the regular expenses of hisrapidly growing family. His last investment,made shortly before the birth of Miranda (namedin a lively hope of favors which never came),was a small farm two miles from Temperance.Aurelia managed this herself, and so it proved

26 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMa home at least,and a place for the imsuccessfulLorenzo to die and to be buried from, a dutysomewhat too long deferred, many thought, whichhe performed on the dayof Mira's birth.It was in this happy-go-luckyhousehold thatRebecca had grown up. It was just an ordinaryfamily; two or three of the children were handsomeand the rest plain, three of them ratherclever, two industrious, and two commonplace anddull. Rebecca had her father's facility and hadbeen his aptest pupil. She 'carried' the alto byear, danced without being taught, played themelodeon without knowing the notes. Her loveof books she inherited chiefly from her mother,who found it hard to sweep or cook or sew whenthere was a novel in the house. Fortunately bookswere scarce, or the children might sometimes havegone ragged and hungry.But other forces had been at work in Rebecca,and the traits of unknown forbears had beenwroughtinto her fibre. Lorenzo de Medici wasflabby and boneless; Rebecca was a thing of fireand spirit: he lacked energy and courage; Rebeccawas plucky at two and dauntless at five. Mrs.Randall and Hannah had no sense of humor;Rebecca possessed and showed it as soon as shecould walk and talk.She had not been able, however, to borrow herparents' virtues and those of other generous ances-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 27tors and escape all the weaknesses in the calendar.She had not her sisterHannah's patience or herbrother John's sturdy staying power. Her willwas sometimes willfulness, and the ease withwhich she did most things led her to be impatientof hard tasks or longthere was or was not,ones. But whatever elsethere was freedom at Randall'sfarm. The children grew, worked, fought,ate what and slept where they could; loved oneanother and their parents pretty well, but withno tropical passion; and educated themselves fornine months of the year, each one in his own way.As a result of this method Hannah, who couldonly have been developed by force applied fromwithout, was painstaking, humdrum, and limited;while Rebecca, who apparently needed nothingbut space to develop in, and a knowledge of termsin which to express herself, grew and grew andgrew, always from within outward. Her forcesof one sort and another had seemingly been set inmotion when she was born; they needed no—dailyspur, but moved of their own accord towardswhat no one knew, least of all Rebecca herself.The field for the exhibition of her creative instinctwas painfully small, and the only use she hadmade of it as yet was to leave eggs out of the cornbread one day and milk another, to see how itwould turn out; to part Fanny's hair sometimesin the middle, sometimes on the right, and some-

28 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMtimes on the left side; and to playall sorts of fantasticpranks with the children, occasionally bringingthem to the table as fictitious or historicalcharacters found in her favorite books. Rebeccaamused her mother and her family generally, butshe never was counted of serious importance, andthough considered ' smart 'and old for her age, shewas never thought superior in any way. Aurelia'sexperience of genius, as exemplifiedin the deceasedLorenzo de Medici, led her into a greateradmiration of plain, every-day common sense, aquality in which Rebecca, it must be confessed,seemed sometimes painfully deficient.Hannah was her mother's favorite, so far asAurelia could indulge herself in such recreationsas partiality. The parent who is obligedto feedand clothe seven children on an income of fifteendollars a month seldom has time to discriminatecarefullv between the various members of herbrood, but Hannah at fourteen was at once companionand partner in all her mother's problems.She it was who kept the house while Aureliabusied herself in barn and field. Rebecca wascapable of certain set tasks, such as keeping thesmall children from killing themselves and oneanother, feeding the poultry, picking up chips,hulling strawberries, wiping dishes; but she wasthought irresponsible, and Aurelia, needing somebodyto lean on (having never enjoyed that luxury

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 29with the gifted Lorenzo), leaned on Hannah.Hannah showed the result of this attitude somewhat,being a trifle careworn in face and sharpin manner; but she was a self-contained, wellbehaved,dependable child, and that isthe reasonher aunts had invited her to Riverboro to be amember of their family and participate in all theadvantages of their loftier position in the world.It was several years since Miranda and Jane hadseen the children, but they remembered withpleasure that Hannah had not spoken a wordduring the interview, and it was for this reasonthat they had asked for the pleasure of her company.Rebecca, on the other hand, had dressedup the dog in John's clothes, and being requestedto get the three younger children ready for dinner,she had held them under the pump and then proceededto 'smack' their hair flat to their headsby vigorous brushing, bringing them to the tablein such a moist and hideous state of shininessthat their mother was ashamed of their appearance.Rebecca's own black locks were commonlypushed smoothly off her forehead, but on thisoccasion she formed what I must perforce call byits only name, a spit-curl, directly in the centreof her brow, an ornament which she was allowedto wear a very short time, only in fact till Hannahwas able to call her mother's attention to it,when she was sent into the next room to remove

30 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMit and to come back looking like a Christian.This command she interpreted somewhat too Hterallyperhaps, because she contrived in a spaceof two minutes an extremely pious style of hairdressing,fully as effective if not as startling asthe first. These antics were solely the result ofnervous irritation, a mood born of Miss MirandaSawyer's stiff, grim, and martial attitude. Theremembrance of Rebecca was so vivid that theirsister Aurelia's letter w^as somethingof a shock tothe quiet, elderly spinsters of the brick house; forit said that Hannah could not possibly be sparedfor a few years yet, but that Rebecca would comeas soon as she could be made ready; that the offerwas most thankfully appreciated, and that theregular schooling and church privileges, as wellas the influence of the Sawyer home, would doubtlessbe 'the making of Rebecca.'

IllA DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS*I don' know as I cal'lated to be the makin' ofany child,'Miranda had said as she folded Aiirelia'sletter and laid it in the light-stand drawer.'I s'posed, of course, Aurelia would send us theone we asked for, but it's just like her to palmoff that wild young one on somebody else.''You remember we said that Rebecca or evenJenny might come, in case Hannah couldn't,' interposedJane.'I know we did, but we hadn't any notion itwould turn out that way,' grumbled Miranda.'She was a mite of a thing when we saw herthree years ago,' ventured Jane; 'she's had timeto improve.''And time to grow worse !''Won't it be kind of a privilege to puther onthe right track.^^' asked Jane timidly.*I don' know about the privilege part;it'll beconsiderable of a chore, I guess. If her motherhain't got her on the right track by now, shewon't take to it herself all of a sudden.'This depressed and depressing frame of mindhad lasted until the eventful day dawned on whichRebecca was to arrive.

32 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*If she makes as much work after she comes asshe has before, we might as well give up hope ofever gettin' any rest,' sighed Miranda as she hungthe dish towels on the barberry bushes at the sidedoor.'But we should have had to clean house, Rebeccaor no Rebecca,' urged Jane; 'and I can't see whyyou've scrubbed and washed and baked as youhave for that one child, nor why you've aboutbought out Watson's stock of dry goods.''I know Aurelia ifyou don't,' responded Miranda.'I've seen her house, and I've seen thatbatch o' children, wearin' one another's clothes andnever carin' whether they had 'em on right sid'out or not; I know what they've had to live anddress on, and so do you. That child will like asnot come here with a passel o' things borrowedfrom the rest o' the family. She'll have Hannah'sshoes and John's undershirts and Mark's socksmost likely. I supposeon her finger in her life,she never had a thimblebut she'll know the feelin'o' one before she's ben here many days. I'vebought a piece of unbleached muslin and a pieceo' brown gingham for her to make up; that'll keepher busy. Of course she won't pick up anythingafter herself; she probably never see a duster, andshe'll be as hard to train into our wayswas a heathen.'as if she'She'll make a dif'rence,' acknowledged Jane,

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 33'but she maynot,'turn out more biddable'n we think.''She'll mind when she's spoken to, biddable orremarked Miranda with a shake of the lasttowel.Miranda Sawyer had a heart, of course, but shehad never used it for any other purpose than thepumping and circulatingof blood. Shewas just,conscientious, economical, industrious; a regularattendant at church and Sunday-school, and amember of the State Missionary and Bible societies,but in the presence of all these chilly virtuesyou longed for one warm little fault, or lackingthat, one likable failing, something to make youShe had never hadsure she was thoroughly alive.any education other than that of the neighborhooddistrict school, for her desires and ambitions hadallpointed to the management of the house, thefarm, and the dairy.Jane, on the other hand, hadgone to an academy, and also to a boarding-schoolfor young ladies; so had Aurelia; and after all theyears that had elapsed there was still a slight differencein language and in manner between theelder and the two younger sisters.Jane, too, had had the inestimable advantage ofa sorrow; not the natural grief at the lossof heraged father and mother, for she had been contentto let them go; but something far deeper. Shewas engaged to marry young Tom Carter, whohad nothing to marry on, it is true, but who was

34 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMsure to have, some time or other. Then the warbroke out. Tom enhsted at the first call. Up tothat time Jane had loved him with a quiet, friendlysort of affection, and had given her country amild emotion of the same sort. But the strife,the danger, the anxiet}" of the time, set new currentsof feeling in motion.Life became somethingother than the three meals a day, the round ofcooking, washing, sewing, and church-going. Personalgossip vanished from the village conversation.Big things took the place of trifling ones,—sacred sorrows of wives and mothers, pangs offathers and husbands, self-denials, sympathies, newdesire to bear one another's burdens. Men andwomen grew fast in those days of the nation'strouble and danger, and Jane awoke from thevague dull dream she had hitherto called life tonew hopes, new fears, new purposes. Then aftera year's anxiety, a year when one never looked inthe newspaper without dread and sickness of suspense,came the telegram saying that Tom waswounded; and without so much as asking Miranda'sleave, she packed her trunk and startedfor the South. She was in time to hold Tom'shand through hours of pain;to show him for oncethe heart of a prim New England girl when it isablaze with love and grief; to put her arms abouthim so that he could have a home to die in, andthat was all;— all, but it served.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 3,5weary months of nursingIt carried her tliroii,h— nursing of other sokliers for Tom's dear sake;itsent her home a better woman; and though shehad never left Riverboro in all the years that laybetween, and had grown into the counterfeit presentmentof her sister and of all other thin, spare.New England spinsters, it was something of acounterfeit, and underneath was still the faintecho of that wild heart-beat of her girlhood.Having learned the trick of beating and lovingand suffering, the poor faithful heart persisted,althoughit lived on memories and carried on itssentimental operations mostlyin secret,'You're soft, Jane,' said Miranda once; *youallers was soft, and youallers will be. If 'twa'n'tfor me keeping you stiffened up, I b'lieve you'dleak out o' the house into the dooryard.'It was already past the appointed hour for Mr.Cobb and his coach to be lumbering down thestreet.'The stage ought to be here,' said Miranda,glancing nervously at the tall clock for the twentiethtime. 'I guess everything's done, I'vetacked up two thick towels back of her washstandand put a mat under her slop-jar; but childrenare awful hard on furniture, I expect we sha'n'tknow this house a year from now,'Jane's frame of mind was naturally depressed

36 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMand timorous, having been affected by Miranda'sgloomy presages of evil to come. The only differencebetween the sisters in this matter was thatwhile Miranda only wondered how they could endureRebecca, Jane had flashes of inspiration inwhich shethem.wondered how Rebecca would endureIt was in one of these flashes that she ranup the back stairs to put a vase of apple blossomsand a red tomato- pincushion on Rebecca's bureau.The stage rumbled to the side door of the brickhouse, and Mr. Cobb handed Rebecca out likereal lady passenger. She alighted with great circumspection,put the bunch of faded flowers in heraunt Miranda's hand, and received her salute; itcould hardly be called a kiss without injuring thefair name of that commodity.'You needn't 'a' bothered to bring flowers,*remarked that gracious and tactful lady; 'the garden'salwavs full of 'em here when it comes time.'Jane then kissed Rebecca, giving a somewhatbetter imitation of the realthing than her sister.'Put the trunk in the entry, Jeremiah, and we'llget it carried upstairs this afternoon,' she said.'I'll take it up for ye now, if ye say the word,girls.''No, no; don't leave the horses; somebody '11be comin' past, and we can call 'em in.'*Well, good-bye, Rebecca; good-day, Mirandya

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 37'n' Jane. You've got a lively little girl there. Iguess she'll be a first-rate company keeper.'Miss Sawyer shuddered openly at the adjective* 'lively as applied to a child her belief;being thatthough children might be seen, if absolutely necessary,they certainly should never be heard if shecould help it. 'We're not much used to noise,Jane and me,' she remarked acidly.Mr. Cobb saw that he had taken the wrong tack,but he was too unused to argument to explainhimself readily, so he drove away, trying to thinkby what safer word than 'lively' he might havedescribed his interesting little passenger.'I'll take you up and show you your room,Rebecca,' Miss Miranda said.'Shut the mosquitothe fliesnettin' door tight behind you, so's to keepout; it ain't fly time yet, but I want you to startright; take your passel along with ye and then youwon't have to come down for it; always makeyour head save your heels. Rub your feet onthat braided rug; hang your hat and cape in theentry there as you go past.''It's my best hat,' said Rebecca.'Take it upstairs then and put itin the clothespress;but I shouldn't 'a' thought you'dyour best hat on the stage.''a' worn'It's my only hat,' explained Rebecca. *MyFan-every-day hat wasn't good enough to bring.ny's going to finish it.'

38 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*Lay your parasol in the entry closet.''Do you mind if I keep it in my room, please?It always seems safer.''There ain't any thieves hereabouts, and if therewas, I guess they wouldn't make for your sunshade;but come along. Remember to always goup the back way; we don't use the front stairs onaccount o' the carpet; take care o' the turn anddon't ketch j'our foot; look to your right and goin. When you've washed vour face and handsand brushed your hair you can come down, andby and by we'llunpack your trunk and get yousettled before supper. Ain't you got your dresson hind sid' foremost?'Rebecca drew her chin down and looked at therow of smoked pearl buttons running up and downthe middle of her flat little chest.'Hind side foremost? Oh, I see! No, that's allright.If you have seven children you can't keepbuttonin' and unbuttonin' 'em all the time — theyhave to do themselves. We're always buttoned upin front at our house.Mira's only three, but she'sbuttoned up in front, too.'Miranda said nothing as she closed the door,but her looks were at once equivalent to and moreeloquent than words.Rebecca stood perfectly stillfloor and looked about her.in the centre of theThere was a square ofoilcloth in front of each article of furniture and a

It-AVOREBECCA . . . LOOKED AT THE ROW OF SMOKED PEARLBUTTONS RUNNING UP AND DOWN THE MIDDLE OFHER FLAT LITTLE CHEST

40 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMdrawn-in rug beside the single four poster, whichwas covered with a fringed white dimity counterpane.Everything was as neat as wax, but the ceihngswere much higher than Rebecca was accustomedto.It was a north room, and the window, whichwas long and narrow, looked out on the backbuildings and the barn.It was not the room, which was far more comfortablethan Rebecca's own at the farm, nor thelack of view, nor yet the long journey, for she wasnot conscious of weariness;it was not the fear of astrange place, for she loved new places and courtednew sensations; it was because of some curiousblending of uncomprehended emotions that Rebeccastood her sunshade in the corner, tore offher best hat, flung iton the bureau with the porcupinequills on the under side, and strippingdown the dimity spread, precipitated herself intothe middle of the bed and pulled the counterpaneover her head.In a moment the door opened quietly. Knockingwas a refinement quite unknown in Riverboro,and if it had been heard of would never have beenwasted on a child.Miss Miranda entered, and as her eye wanderedabout the vacant room, it fell upon a white andtempestuous ocean of counterpane, an ocean breakinginto strange movements of wave and crest andbillow.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 41*Rebecca!*The tone in which the word was voiced gave itall the effect of having been shouted from thehousetops.A dark ruffled head and two frightened eyes appearedabove the dimity spread.'What are you layin' on your good bed in thedaytime for, messin' up the feathers, and dirty in'the pillers with your dusty boots.^*'Rebecca rose guiltily. There seemed no excuseto make. Her offense was beyond explanation orapology.*I'm sorry, aunt Mirandy — something cameover me; I don't know what.'Well, if it comes over you very soon again we'll'have to find out what 'tis.Spread your bed upsmooth this minute, for 'Bijah Flagg's bringin'your trunk upstairs, and I wouldn't let him seesuch a cluttered-up room for anything; he'd tell itall over town.'When Mr. Cobb had put up his horses thatnight he carried a kitchen chair to the side of hiswife, who was sitting on the back porch.'I brought a little Randall girl down on thestage from Maplewood to-day, mother.She's kinto the Sawyer girls an' is goin' to live with 'em,'he said, as he sat down and began to whittle.'She's that Aurelia's child, the one that ran away

42 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMwith Susan Randall's son just before we come hereto live.''How old a child?'"Bout ten, or somew^here along there, an' smallfor her age; but land! she might be a hundred tohear her talk! She kep' me jumpin' tryin' to answerher! Of all the queer children I ever come—across she's the queerest. She ain't no beautyher face is all eyes; but if she ever grows up tothem eves an' fills out a little she'll make folksstare. Land, mother! I wish't you could 'a' heardher talk.''I don't see what she had to talk about, a childlike that, to a stranger,' replied Mrs. Cobb.'twouldn't make no'Stranger or no stranger,difference to her. She'd talk to a pump or a grindstun;she'd talk to herself ruther'n keep still.''What did she talk about-f^''Blamed if I can repeat any of it. She kep'me so surprised I didn't have my wits about me.She had a little—pink sunshade it kind o' lookedlike a doll's amberill, 'n' she clungto it like aburr to a woolen stockin\ I advised her to openit up — the sun was so hot; but she said no,'twould fade, an' she tucked it under her dress."It's the dearest thing in life to me," says she,"but it's a dreadful care." Them's the very words,an' it's all the words I remember. "It's the dearestthing in life to me, but it's an awful care!"' —

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 43here Mr. Cobb laughed aloud as he tipped hischair back against the side of the house. 'Therewas another thing, but I can't get itright exactly.She was talkin' 'bout the circus parade an' thesnake charmer in a gold chariot, an' says she,"She was so beautiful beyond compare, Mr. Cobb,that it made you have lumps in your throat tolook at her." She'll be comin' over to see you,mother, an' you can size l:kerup for yourself. Idon' know how she'll git on with Mirandy Sawyer—'poor little soul !This doubt was more or lessopenly expressedin Riverboro, which, however, had two opinionson the subject; one that it was a most generousthing in the Sawyer girlsto take one of Aurelia'schildren to educate, the other that the educationwould be bought at a price wholly out of proportionto its intrinsic value.Rebecca's first letters to her mother would seemto indicate that she cordially coincided with thelatter view of the situation.

IVREBECCA'S POINT OF VIEWDear ^Mother,— I am safelv here. Mv dresswas not much tumbled and Aunt Jane helped mepress it out. I like Mr. Cobb very much. Hechews but throws newspapers straight up to thedoors. I rode outside a little while, but got insidebefore I gotto Aunt Miranda's house. I did notwant to, but thought you would like it better.Miranda is such a long word that I think I will sayAunt M. and Aunt J. in my Sunday letters.Aunt J. has given me a dictionary to look up allthe hard words in. It takes a good deal of timeand I am glad people can talk without stoping tospell. It is much eesier to talk than write andmuch more fun. The brick house looks just thesame as you have told us. The parler is splendidand gives you creeps and chills when you look inthe door. The furnature is ellergant too, and allthe rooms but there are no good sitting-downplaces exsept in the kitchen. The same cat is herebut they do not save kittens when she has them,and the cat is too old to play with. Hannah ^oldme once you ran away with father and I can seeit would be nice. If Aunt M. would run away Ithink I should like to live with Aunt J.She does

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 45not hate me as bad as Aunt M. does.he can have my paint box, but I should like himTell Markto keep the red cake in case I come home again.I hope Hannah and John do not get tiredmy chores.Your afectionate frienddoingRebecca.P. S. Please give the piece of poetrj- to John becausehe likes my poetry even when it isnot verygood. This piece is not verj' good but it is truebut I hope you won't mind what is in it as youran away.This house is dark and dull and dreerNo light doth shine from far or nearIts like the tomb.And those of us who live hereinAre most as dead as serrafimThough not as good.My gardian angel is asleepAt leest he doth no vigil keepAh! woe is me!Then give me back my lonely farmWhere none alive did wish me harmDear home of youth !P. S. again. I made the poetry like a piece in abook but could not get it right at first. You see*tomb' and 'good' do not sound well together but

46 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMI wanted to say 'tomb' dreadfully and as serrafimare always 'good' I couldn't take that out. Ihave made it over now. It does not say mythoughts as well but think it is more right. Givethe best one to John as he keeps them in a boxwith his birds' eggs. This is the best one.SUNDAY THOUGHTSBYRebecca Rowena RandallThis house is dark and dull and drearNo light doth shine from far or nearNor ever could.And those of us who live hereinAre most as dead as seraphimThough not as good.My guardian angel is asleepAt least he doth no vigil keepBut far doth roam.Then give me back my lonely farmWhere none alive did wish me harm,Dear childhood home!Dear Mother, — I am thrilling with unhappynessthis morning. I got that out of Cora TheDoctor's Wife whose husband's mother was verycross and unfealing to her like Aunt M. to me. Iwish Hannah had come instead of me for it wasHannah that was wanted and she is better than

SUNDAY THOUGHTS

48 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMI am and does not answer back so quick. Arethere any peaces of my buff calico. Aunt J. wantsenough to make a new waste button behind so Iwont look so outlandish. The stiles are quitepretty in Riverboro and those at Meeting quiteellergant more so than in Temperance.This town is stilish, gay and fair.And full of wellthy riches rare,But I would pillow on my armThe thought of my sweet Brookside Farm.School is pretty good. The Teacher can answermore questions than the Temperance one but notso manyas I can ask. I am smarter than all theEmmagirls but one but not so smart as two boys.Jane can add and subtract in her head like astreek of lightning and knows the speling bookright through but has no thoughts of any kind.She is in the Third Reader but does not like storiesin books. I am in the Sixth Reader but just becauseI cannot say the seven multiplication TableMiss Dearborn threttens to put me in the babyprimer class with Elijah and Elisha Simpson littletwins.Sore is my heart and bent my stubborn pride.With Lijah and with Lisha am I tied,My soul recoyles like Cora Doctor's Wife,Like her I feer I cannot bare this Ufe.I am going to try for the speling prizebut fearI cannot getit.I would not care but wrong spel-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 49ing looks dreadful in poetry. Last Sunday whenI found seraphim in the dictionary I was ashamedI had made it serrafim but seraphim is not a wordyou can guess at like another long one outlandishin this letter which spells itself. Miss Dearbornsays use the words you can spell and if you cantspellseraphim make angel do but angels are notjust the same as seraphims. Seraphims are brighterwhiter and have bigger wings and I think areolder and longer dead than angels which are justfreshly dead and after a long time in heavenaround the great white throne grow to be seraphims.I sew on brown gingham dresses every afternoonwhen Emma Jane and the Simpsons are playinghouse or running on the Logs when their mothersdo not know it. Their mothers are afraid they willdrown and Aunt M. is afraid I will wet my clothesso will not let me either. I can play from halfpast four to supper and after supper a little bitand Saturday afternoons. I am glad our cow hasa calf and it is spotted. It is going to be a goodyear for apples and hay so you and John will beglad and we can pay a little more morgage. MissDearborn asked us what is the object of edducationand I said the object of mine was to helppay off the morgage. She told Aunt M. and Ihad to sew extra for punishment because she saysa morgage is disgrace like stealing or smallpox

50 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMand it will be all over town that we have one onour farm. Emma Jane is not morgaged norRichard Carter nor Dr. Winship but the Simpsonsare.Rise my soul, strain every nerve,Thy morgage to remove.Gain thy mother's heartfelt thanksThy family's grateful love.Pronounce family quick or it won't sound right.Your loving little friendRebecca.Dear John,— You remember when we tide thenew dog in the barn how he bit the rope andhowled.I am just like him only the brick house isthe barn and I can not bite Aunt M. because Imust be grateful and edducation is going to be themaking of me and help you pay off the morgagewhen we grow up. Your lovingBecky.

WISDOM'S WAYSThe day of Rebecca's arrival had been Friday,and on the Monday following she began her educationat the school which was in RiverboroCentre, about a mile distant. Miss Sawyer borroweda neighbor's horse and wagon and droveher to the schoolhouse, interviewing the teacher,Miss Dearborn, arranging for books, and generallystarting the child on the paththat was tolead to boundless knowledge. Miss Dearborn, itmay be said in passing, had had no special preparationin the art of teaching. It came to hernaturally, so her family said, and perhaps for thisreason she, like Tom Tulliver's clergyman tutor,'set about it with that uniformity of method andindependence of circumstances which distinguishthe actions of animals understood to be underthe immediate teaching of Nature.' You rememberthe beaver which a naturalist tellsus 'busiedhimself as earnestly in constructing a dam in aroom up three pair of stairs in London as if he hadbeen laying his foundation in a lake in UpperCanada. It was his function to build, the absenceof water or of possible progeny was an accidentfor which he was not accountable.' In the same

52 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMShe loved this part of the day's programme.manner did Miss Dearborn lay what she fondlyimagined to be foundations in the infant mind.Rebecca walked to school after the first morning.When the dew was not too heavy and the weatherwas fair there was a short cut through the woods.She turned off the main road, crept throughuncle Josh Woodman's bars, waved away Mrs.Carter's cows, trod the short grass of the pasture,with itswell-worn path running through gardensof buttercups and white-weed, and groves of ivoryleaves and sweet fern. She descended a little hill,jumped from stone to stone across a woodlandbrook, startling the drowsy frogs, who were alwayswinking and blinking in the morning sun.Then came the 'woodsy bit,' with her feet pressingthe slippery carpet of brown pine needles;the * woodsy bit' so full of dewy morning sur-— prises, fungous growths of brilliant orange andcrimson springing up around the stumps of deadtrees, beautiful things born in a single night; andnow and then the miracle of a little clump ofwaxen Indian pipes, seen just quickly enough tobe saved from her careless tread. Then sheclimbed a stile, went through a grassy meadow,slid under another pair of bars, and came out intothe road again, having gained nearly half a mile.How delicious it all was! Rebecca clasped herQuackenbos's Grammar and Greenleaf's Arithme-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 53tic with a joyful sense of knowing her lessons.Her dinner pail swung from her right hand, andshe had a blissful consciousness of the two sodabiscuits spread with butter and syrup,the bakedcup-custard, the doughnut, and the square ofhard gingerbread. Sometimes she said whatever'piece' she was going to speak on the next Fridayafternoon.*A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth ofwoman's tears.*How she loved the swing and the sentiment of it!How her young voice quivered whenever she cameto the refrain:'But we'll meet no more at Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine.'It always sounded beautiful in her ears, as shesent her tearful little treble into the clear morningair. Another early favorite (for we must rememberthat Rebecca's only knowledge of the greatworld of poetry consisted of the selections invogue in school readers) was:'Woodman, spare that tree!Touch not a single bough!In youth it sheltered me,And I'll protect it now.'When Emma Jane Perkins walked through the'short cut' with her, the two children used torender this with appropriate dramatic action.

54 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMEmma Jane always chose to be the woodmanbecause she had nothing to do but raise on highan imaginary axe. On the one occasion when sheessaj^ed the part of the tree's romantic protector,she represented herself as feeling 'so awful foolish'that she refused to undertake it again, much tothe secret delight of Rebecca, who found thewoodman's role much too tame for her vaultingambition. She reveled in the impassioned appealof the poet, and implored the ruthless woodmanto be as brutal as possible with the axe, so thatshe might properly put greater spirit into herlines. One morning, feeling more frisky thanusual, she fell upon her knees and wept in thewoodman's petticoat. Curiously enough, her senseof proportion rejected this as soon as it was done.'That wasn't right, it was silly, Emma Jane;but I'll tell you where it might come in — inGive me Three Grains of Corn. You be the mother,and I'll be the famishingpity's sake put the axe down; youwoodman any longer!'Irish child. Forare not the'What'll I do with my hands, then.'^' askedEmma Jane.'Whatever you like,' Rebecca answered wearily;*you're just a mother — that's all. What doesyour mother do with her hands? Now here goes!* " Give me three grains of corn, mother.Only three grains of corn.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 55'Twill keep the little life I haveTill the coming of the morn.'"This sort of thing made Emma Jane nervousand fidgety, but she was Rebecca's slave andhugged her chains,no matter how uncomfortablethey made her.At the last pair of bars the two girls weresometimes met by a detachment of the Simpsonchildren, who lived in a black house with a reddoor and a red barn behind, on the BlueberryPlains road. Rebecca felt an interest in the Simpsonsfrom the first, because there were so manyof them and they were so patched and darned,like her own brood at the home farm.justThe little schoolhouse with its flagpole on topand its two doors in front, one for boys and theother for girls, stood on the crest of a hill, withrolling fields and meadows on one side, a stretchof pine woods on the other, and the river glintingand sparkling in the distance. It boasted noattractions within. All was as bare and ugly anduncomfortable as itwell could be, for the villagesalong the river expended so much money in repairingand rebuilding bridges that they wereobliged to be very economical in school privileges.The teacher's desk and chair stood on a platformin one corner; there was an uncouth stove, neverblackened oftener than once a year, a map ofthe United States, two blackboards, a ten-quart

56 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMtin pail of water and long-handled dipper on acorner shelf, and wooden desks and benches forthe scholars, who only numbered twenty in Rebecca'stime. The seats were higher in the backof the room, and the more advanced and longerleggedpupils sat there, the position being greatlyto be envied, as they were at once nearer to thewindows and farther from the teacher.There were classes of a sort, although nobody,broadly speaking, studied the same book withanybody else, or had arrived at the same degreeof proficiency in any one branch of learning.Rebecca in particular was so difficult to classifythat Miss Dearborn at the end of a fortnightgave up the attempt altogether. She read withDick Carter and Living Perkins, who were fittingfor the academy; recited arithmetic with lispinglittle Thuthan Thimpthon; geography with EmmaJane Perkins, and grammarto Miss Dearborn alone. Full to the brim as sheafter school hourswas of clever thoughts and quaint fancies, shemade at first but a poor hand at composition.The labor of writing and spelling, with the addeddifficulties of punctuation and capitals, interferedsadly with the free expression of ideas. She tookhistory with Alice Robinson's class, which wasattacking the subject of the Revolution, whileRebecca was bidden to begin with the discoveryof America. In a week she had mastered the

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 57course of events up to the Revolution, and inten days had arrived at Yorktown, where theclass had apparently established summer quarters.Then finding that extra effort would only result inher reciting with the oldest Simpson boy, shedeliberately held herself back, for wisdom's wayswere not those of pleasantness nor her paths thoseof peace if one were compelledthe company of Seesaw Simpson.to tread them inSamuel Simpsonwas generally called Seesaw, because of his difficultyin making uphis mind. Whether it were aquestion of fact, of spelling, or of date, of goingswimming or fishing, of choosing a book in theSunday-school library or a stick of candy at thevillage store, he had no sooner determined on oneplan of action than his wish fondly reverted tothe opposite one. Seesaw was pale, flaxen haired,blue eyed, round shouldered, and given to stammeringwhen nervous. Perhaps because of hisvery weakness Rebecca's decision of character hada fascination for him, and although she snubbedhim to the verge of madness, he could never keephis eyes away from her. The force with whichshe tied her shoe when the lacing came undone,the flirt over shoulder she gave her black braidwhen she was excited or warm, her manner of— studying, book on desk, arms folded, eyes fixedon the —opposite wall, all had an abiding charmfor Seesaw Simpson.When, having obtained per-

58 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMmission, she walked to the water pail in the cornerand drank from the dipper, unseen forces draggedSeesaw from his seat to go and drink after her.It was not only that there was something akinto association and intimacy indrinking next, butthere was the fearful joy of meeting her in transitand receiving a cold and disdainful look from herwonderful eyes.On a certain warm day in summer Rebecca'sthirst exceeded the bounds of propriety. Whenshe asked a third time for permission to quench itat the common fountain Miss Dearborn nodded'yes,' but lifted her eyebrows unpleasantly asRebecca neared the desk. As she replaced thedipper Seesaw promptly raised his hand, and MissDearborn indicated a weary affirmative.'What is the matter with vou, Rebecca ? 'she asked.'I had salt mackerel for breakfast,' answeredRebecca.There seemed nothing humorous about this reply,which was merely the statement of a fact, butan irrepressible titter ran through the school. MissDearborn did not enjoy jokes neither made norunderstood by herself, and her face flushed.'I think you had better stand by the pail forfive minutes, Rebecca; it may help youto controlyour thirst.'Rebecca's heart fluttered. She to stand in thecorner by the water pail and be stared at by all

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 59the scholars! She unconsciously made a gestureof angry dissent and moved a step nearer her seat,but was arrested by Miss Dearborn's command ina stillfirmer voice.'Stand by the pail, Rebecca!times have you asked for water to-day?'Samuel, how many'This is the f-f-fourth.''Don't touch the dipper, please. The school hasdone nothing but drink this afternoon; it has hadno time whatever to study. I suppose you hadsomething salt for breakfast, Samuel?' queriedMiss Dearborn with sarcasm.*I had m-m-mackerel, j-justlike Reb-b-becca.'(Irrepressible giggles by the school.)'I judged so. Stand by the other side of the pail,Samuel.'Rebecca's head was bowed with shame andwrath. Life looked too black a thing to be endured.The punishment was bad enough, but to be coupledin correction with Seesaw Simpson was beyondhuman endurance.Singing was the last exercise in the afternoon,and Minnie Smellie chose Shall we Gather at theRiver?It was a baleful choice and seemed to holdsome secret and subtle association with the situationand general progress of events; or at any ratethere was apparently some obscure reason for theenergy and vim with which the scholars shoutedthe choral invitation again and again:

60 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'Shall we gather at the river,The beautiful, the beautiful river?'Miss Dearborn stolea look at Rebecca's benthead and was frightened. The child's face waspale save for two red spots glowing on her cheeks.Tears hung on her lashes; her breath came andwent ciuickly,and the hand that held her pockethandkerchief trembled like a leaf.*You may go to your seat, Rebecca,' said MissDearborn at the end of the first song. 'Samuel,stay where you are till the close of school. Andlet me tell you, scholars, that I asked Rebecca tostand by the pail only to break up this habit ofincessant drinking, which isnothing but emptymindednessand desire to walk to and fro over thefloor.Everytime Rebecca has asked for a drinkto-day the whole school has gone to the pail oneafter another. She is really thirsty, and I dare sayI ought to have punished you for following herexample, not her for settingit. What shall wesing now, Alice?''The Old Oaken Bucket, please.''Think of something dry, Alice, and change thesubject. Yes, The Star Spangled Banner ifyoulike, or anything else.'Rebecca sank into her seat and pulled the singing-bookfrom her desk. Miss Dearborn's publicexplanation had shifted some of the weight from herheart, and she felt a trifle raised in her self-esteem.

Rebecca's head was bowed with shame and wrath

62 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMUnder cover of the general relaxation of singing,votive offerings of respectful sympathy began tomake their appearance at her shrine. Living Perkins,who could not sing, dropped a piece of maplesugar in her lap as he passed her on his way to theblackboard to draw the map of Maine. Alice Robinsonroiled a perfectly new slate pencil over thefloor with her foot until it reached Rebecca's place,while her seat-mate, Emma Jane, had made up alittle mound of paper balls and labeled them 'Bulletsfor you know who.'Altogether existence grew brighter, and whenshe was left alone with the teacher for her grammarlesson she had nearly recovered her equanimitv,which was more than Miss Dearborn had.The last clattering foot had echoed through thehall, Seesaw's backward glance of penitence hadbeen met and answered defiantly by one of colddisdain.'Rebecca, I am afraid I punished you more thanI meant,' said Miss Dearborn, who was only eighteenherself, and in her year of teaching countryschools had never encountered a child like Rebecca.'I hadn't missed a question this whole day, norwhispered either,' quavered the culprit; 'and Idon't think I ought to be shamed just for drinking.''You started all the others, or it seemed as ifyou did. ^Yhatever you do they all do, whether

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 63you laugh, or miss, or write notes, or ask to leavethe room, or drink; and it must be stopped.*'Sam Simpson is a copycoat!' stormed Rebecca.'I wouldn't have minded standing in the corneralone — that is,bear standing with him.'not so very much; but I couldn't'I saw that you couldn't, and that's the reasonI told you to take your seat, and left him in thecorner. Remember that you are a stranger in theplace, and they take more notice of what you do,so you must be careful. Now let's have our conjugations.Give me the verb "to be," potentialmood, past perfect tense.'*I might have been *We might have beenThou mightst have been You might have beenHe might have beenThey might have been.*'Give me an example, please.*'I might have been gladThou mightst have been gladHe, she, or it might have been glad.''"He" or "she" might have been glad becausethey are masculine and feminine, but could "zY"have been glad.^' asked Miss Dearborn, who wasvery fond of splitting hairs.'Why not.^' asked Rebecca.'Because "it" is neuter gender.''Couldn't we say, "The kitten might have beenglad if it had known it was not going to bedrowned"?'

64 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*Ye— es,' Miss Dearborn answered hesitatingly,never very sure of herself under Rebecca's fire;'but though we often speak of a baby, a chicken,or a kitten as *'it," they are really masculine orfeminine gender, not neuter.'Rebecca reflected a long moment and then asked,'Is a hollvhock neuter?''Oh yes, of course it is, Rebecca.*'Well, couldn't we say, "The hollyhock mighthave been glad to see the rain, but there was aweak little hollyhock bud growing out of its stalkand it was afraid that that might be hurt by thestorm; so the big hollyhock was kind of afraid,instead of being real glad"?'Miss Dearborn looked puzzled as she answered,'Of course, Rebecca, hollyhocks could not be sorry,or glad, or afraid, really.''We can't tell, I s'pose,' replied the child; 'but/ think they are, anyway. Now what shall I say?''The subjunctive mood, past perfectthe verb "to know."*'If I had knownIf thou hadst knownIf he had known*If we had knownIf you had knownIf they had known.tense of'Oh, it is the saddest tense,' sighed Rebecca witha little break in her voice; 'nothing but ijs, ifs,ifsl And it makes you feel that if they only hadknown, things might have been better!'Miss Dearborn had not thought of it before, but

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 65on reflection she believed the subjunctive moodwas a 'sad' one and 'if rather a sorry 'part ofspeech.''Give me some more examples of the subjunctive,Rebecca, and that will do for this afternoon,'she said.'If I had not loved mackerel I should not havebeen thirsty;' said Rebecca with an April smile,as she closed her grammar. 'If thou hadst lovedme truly thou wouldst not have stood me up inthe corner. If Samuel had not loved wickednesshe would not have followed me to the water pail.'*And if Rebecca had loved the rules of the schoolshe would have controlled her thirst,' finished MissDearborn with a kiss, and the two parted friends.

VISUNSHINE IN A SHADY PLACEThe little schoolhouse on the hill had its momentsof triumph as well as its scenes of tribulation, butit was fortunate that Rebecca had her books andher new acquaintances to keepher interested andoccupied, or life would have gone heavily with herthat first summer in Riverboro. She tried to likeher aunt Miranda (the idea of loving her had beengiven up at the moment of meeting), but failedignominiously in the attempt. She was a veryfaulty and passionately human child, with no aspirationstowards being an angel of the house, butshe had a sense of duty and a desire to be good,—respectably, decently good. Whenever she fell belowthis self-imposed standard she was miserable.She did not like to be under her aunt's roof, eatingbread, wearing clothes, and studying books providedby her, and dislike her so heartily all thetime. She felt instinctively that this was wrongand mean, and whenever the feeling of remorse wasstrong within her she made a desperate effortplease her grim and difficult relative. But howcould she succeed when she was never herself inher aunt Miranda's presence.^^toThe searching lookof the eyes, the sharp voice, the hard knotty fin-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 67gers, the thin straight Hps, the long silences, the'frontpiece' that didn't match her hair, the veryobvious ' parting ' that seemed sewed in with linenthread on black net,— there was not a single itemthat appealed to Rebecca. There are certain narrow,unimaginative, and autocratic old people whoseem to call out the most mischievous, and sometimesthe worst traits in children. Miss Miranda,had she lived in a populous neighborhood, wouldhave had her doorbell pulled, her gate tied up, or'dirt traps' set in her garden paths. The Simpsontwins stood in such awe of her that they could notbe persuaded to come to the side door even whenMiss Jane held gingerbread cookies in her outstretchedhands.It is needless to say that Rebecca irritated heraunt with every breath she drew. She continuallyforgot and started up the front stairs because itwas the shortest route to her bedroom; she leftthe dipper on the kitchen shelf instead of hangingit up over the pail; she sat in the chair the cat likedbest; she was willing to go on errands, but oftenforgot what she was sent for; she left the screendoors ajar, so that flies came in; her tongue wasever in motion; she sang or whistled when she waspicking up chips; she was always messing withflowers, putting them in vases, pinning them onher dress, and sticking them in her hat; finally shewas an everlasting reminder of her foolish, worth-

68 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMless father, whose handsome face and engagingmanner had so deceived AureHa, and perhaps,ifthe facts were known, others besides AureHa. TheRandalls were aliens. Thev had not been born inRiverboro nor even in York County. Mirandawould have allowed, on compulsion, that in thenature of things a large number of persons mustnecessarily be born outside this sacred precinct;but she had her opinion of them, and it was not aflattering one. Now if Hannah had come — Hannahtook after the other side of the house; she was'all Sawyer.' (Poor Hannah! that was true!) Hannahspoke only when spoken to, instead of first,last, and all the time; Hannah at fourteen was amember of the church; Hannah liked to knit;Hannah was, probabh% or would have been, apattern of all the smaller virtues; instead of whichhere was this black-haired gypsy, with eyes as bigas cartwheels, installed as a member of the household.What sunshine in a shady place was aunt Janeto Rebecca!Aunt Jane with her quiet voice, herunderstanding eyes, her ready excuses, in thesefirst diflScult weeks, when the impulsive littlestranger was trying to settle down into the 'brickhouse ways.' She did learn them, in part, and bydegrees, and the constant fitting of herself to thesenew" and difficult standards of conduct seemed tomake her older than ever for her years.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 69The childJane intook her sewing and sat beside auntthe kitchen while aunt Miranda had thepost of observation at the sitting-room window.Sometimes they would work on the side porchwhere the clematis and woodbine shaded themfrom the hot sun. To Rebecca the lengths ofbrown gingham were interminable. She made hardwork of sewing, broke the thread, dropped herthimble into the syringa bushes, pricked her finger,wiped the perspiration from her forehead, couldnot match the checks, puckered the seams. Shepolished her needles to nothing, pushing them inand out of the emery strawberry, but they alwayssqueaked. Still aunt Jane's patience held good,and some small measure of skill was creeping intoRebecca's fingers, fingers that held pencil, paintbrush, and pen so cleverly and were so clumsy withWhen the firstthe dainty little needle.brown gingham frock was completed,the child seized w^hat she thought an opportunemoment and asked her aunt Miranda ifshe might have another color for the next one.'I bought a whole piece of the brown,' saidMiranda laconically. 'That'll give you two moredresses, with plenty for new sleeves, and to patchand let down with, an' be more economical.''I know. But Mr. Watson says he'll take backpart of it, and let us have pink and blue for thesame price.'

70 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'Did you ask him?''Yes'm.''It was none o' vour business.''Iwas helping Emma Jane choose aprons, anddidn't think you'd mind which color I had. Pinkkeeps clean just as nice as brown, and Mr. Watsonsays it'llboil without fading.'*Mr. Watson's a splendid judge of washing, Iguess. I don't approve of children being riggedout in fancy colors, but I'll see what your auntJane thinks.'*I think it would be all righthave one pink and one blue gingham,'to let Rebeccasaid Jane.'A child gets tired of sewing on one color. It'sonly natural she should long for a change; besidesshe'd look like a charity child always wearing thesame brown with a white apron. And it's dreadfulunbecoming to her!'**'Handsome is as handsome does," say I. Rebeccanever'll come to grief along of her beauty,that's certain, and there's no use in humoring herto think about her looks. I believe she's vain as apeacock now, without anything to be vain of.'—'She's young and attracted to bright thingsthat's all. I remember well enough how I felt ather age.''You was considerable of a fool at her age,Jane.''Yes, I was, thank the Lord! I only wish I'd

'PINK KEEPS CLEAN JUST AS NICE AS BROWN

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 71known how to take a little of my foolishness alongwith me, as some folks do, to brighten my decliningyears.'There finally was a pink gingham, and when itwas nicely finished, aunt Jane gave Rebecca adelightful surprise. She showed her how to makea pretty trimming of narrow white linen tape, byfolding it in pointed shapes and sewing it downvery'It'llflat with neat little stitches.be good fancy work for you, Rebecca; foryour aunt Miranda won't like to see you alwaysreading in the long winter evenings. Now ifyouthink you can baste two rows of white tape roundthe bottom of your pink skirt and keep it straightby the checks, I'll stitch them on for you and trimthe waist and sleeves with pointed tape-trimming,so the dress'll be real prettyfor second best.'Rebecca's joy knew no bounds. 'I'll baste likea house afire!' she exclaimed. 'It's a thousandyards round that skirt, as well I know, havinghemmed it; but I could sew pretty trimming onif it was from here to Milltown. Oh! do you thinkaunt Mirandy'U ever let me go to Milltown withMr. Cobb.f^ He's asked me again, you know; butone Saturday Ihad to pick strawberries, and anotherit rained, and I don't think she really approvesof my going.It's twenty-nine minutes pastfour, aunt Jane, and Alice Robinson has been sittingunder the currant bushes for a long timewaiting for me. Can I go and play?'

72 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*Yes, you may go,and you'd better run as faras you can out behind the barn, so't your noisewon't distract your aunt Mirandy. I see SusanSimpson and the twins and Emma Jane Perkinshiding behind the fence.'Rebecca leaped off the porch, snatched AHceRobinson from under the currant bushes, and,what was much more difficult, succeeded, by meansof a complicated system of signals, in gettingEmma Jane away from the Simpson party andgiving them the slip altogether. They were muchtoo small for certain pleasurable activities plannedfor that afternoon; but they were not to be despised,for they had the most fascinating dooryardin the village. In it, in bewildering confusion,were old sleighs, pungs, horse rakes, hogsheads,settees without backs, bedsteads without heads,in all stages of disability, and never the same ontwo consecutive days.Mrs. Simpson was seldomcon-at home, and even when she was, had littlecern as to what happened on the premises. Afavorite diversion was to make the house into afort, gallantly held by a handful of Americansoldiers against a besieging force of the Britisharmy. Great care was used in apportioning theparts, for there was no disposition to let anybodywin but the Americans. Seesaw Simpson was usuallymade commander-in-chief of the British army,and a limp and uncertain one he was, capable, with

H-M.-GTHE Simpsons' dooryard

74 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMhis contradictoryorders and his fondness for theextreme rear, of leading any regiment to an ingloriousdeath. Sometimes the long-suffering housewas a log hut, and the brave settlers defeated aband of hostile Indians, or occasionally were massacredby them; but in either case the Simpsonhouse looked, to quote a Riverboro expression, 'asifthe devil had been having an auction in it.'Next to this uncommonly interesting playground,as a field of action, came, in the children'sopinion, the 'secret spot.' There was a velvetystretch of ground in the Sawyer pasture which wasfull of fascinating hollows and hillocks, as well asverdant levels, on which to build houses. A groupof trees concealed it somewhat from view and flunga grateful shade over the dwellings erected there.It had been hard though sweet labor to take armfulsof 'stickins' and 'cutrounds' from the mill tothis secluded spot, and that it had been donemostly after supper in the dusk of the eveningsgave it a still greater flavor. Here in soap boxeshidden among the trees were stored all their treasures: wee baskets and plates and cups made of burdockballs,bits of broken china for parties, dolls,soon to be outgrown, but serving well as charactersin all sorts of romances enacted there,— deaths,funerals, weddings, christenings. A tall, squarehouse of stickins was to be built round Rebeccathisafternoon, and she was to be Charlotte Cordayleaning against the bars of her prison.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 75It was a wonderful experience standing insidethe building with Emma Jane's apron wound abouther hair; wonderful to feel that when she leanedher head against the bars they seemed to turn tocold iron; that her eyes were no longer RebeccaRandall's but mirrored something of CharlotteCorday's hapless woe.'Ain't it lovely?' sighed the humble twain, whohad done most of the labor, but who generouslyadmired the result.'I hate to have to take it down,' said Alice,'it's been such a sight of work.''If you think you could move up some stonesand just take off the top rows, I could step outover,' suggested Charlotte Corday. 'Then leavethe stones, and you two can step down into theprisonto-morrow and be the two little princesinthe Tower, and I can murder you.''What princes.'^ What tower .^' asked Alice andEmma Jane in one breath.'Tell us about them.''Not now, it's my supper time.' (Rebecca wasa somewhat firm disciplinarian.)'It would be elergant being murdered by you,'said Emma Jane loyally, 'though you are awfulreal when you murder; or we could have Elijahand Elisha for the princes.''They'd yell when they was murdered,' objectedAlice; 'you know how silly they are at plays, allexcept Clara Belle. Besides if we once show them

76 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMthis secret place, they'll play in it all the time, andperhaps they'd steal things,'They needn't steal justlike their father.'because their fatherdoes,' argued Rebecca; 'and don't you ever talkabout it before them ifyou want to be my secret,partic'lar friends. My mother tells me never tosay hard things about people's own folks to theirface. She says nobody can bear it, and it's wickedto shame them for what isn't their fault.RememberMinnie Smellie!'Well, they had no difficulty in recalling thatdramatic episode, for it had occurred only a fewdays before; and a version of itmelted the stoniestthat would haveheart had been presented toevery girl in the village by Minnie Smellie herself,who, though it was Rebecca and not she who cameoff victorious in the bloody battle of words, nursedher resentment and intended to have revenge.

VIIRIVERBORO SECRETSMr. Simpson spent little time with his family,owingto certain awkward methods of horse-trading,or the 'swapping' of farm implements andvehicles of various kinds,— operations in whichhis customers were never long suited. After everysuccessful trade he generally passed a longer orshorter term in jail; for when a poor man withoutgoods or chattels has the inveterate habit of swapping,it follows naturally that he must have somethingto swap; and having nothing of his own, itfollows still more naturally that he must swapsomething belonging to his neighbors.Mr. Simpson was absent from the home circlefor the moment because he had exchanged theWidow Rideout's sleigh for Joseph Goodwin'splough. Goodwin had lately moved to NorthEdgewood and had never before met the urbaneand persuasive Mr. Simpson. The Goodwin ploughMr. Simpson speedily bartered with a man 'overWareham way,' and got in exchange for it an oldhorse which his owner did not need, as he wasleaving town to visit his daughter for a year.Simpson fattened the aged animal, keeping himfor several weeks (at early morning or after night-

78 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMfall) in one neighbor's pasture after another, andthen exchanged him with a Milltown man for atop buggy. It was at this juncture that the WidowRideout missed her sleigh from the old carriagehouse. She had not used it for fifteen years andmight not sit in it for another fifteen, but it wasproperty, and she did not intend to part with itwithout a struggle. Such is the suspicious natureof the village mind that the moment she discoveredher loss her thought at once reverted to AbnerSimpson. So complicated, however, was the natureof this particular business transaction, and so tortuousthe pathsof its progress(partly owingto thecomplete disappearance of the owner of the horse,who had gone to the West and left no address),that ittook the sheriff many weeks to prove Mr.to the town's and to the WidowSimpson's guiltRideout 's satisfaction. Abner himself avowed hiscomplete innocence, and told the neighbors howa red-haired man with a hare lip and a pepper-andsaltsuit of clothes had called him up one morningabout daylight and offered to swap him a goodsleigh for an old cider press he had layin' out inthe dooryard. The bargain was struck, and he,Abner, had paid the hare-lipped stranger four dollarsand seventy -five cents to boot; whereupon themysterious one set down the sleigh, took the presson his cart, and vanished up the road, never to beseen or heard from afterwards.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 79*If I could once ketch that consarned old thief,'exclaimed Abner righteously, 'I'd make him—dance,workin' off a stolen sleigh on me an' takin'away my good money an' cider press, to say nothin'o' my character!''You'll never ketch him, Ab,' responded thesheriff. 'He's cut off the same piece o' goods asthat there cider press and that there character andthat there four-seventy-five o' yourn; nobody eversee any of'em but you, and you'll never see 'emagamMrs. Simpson, who was decidedly Abner's betterhalf, took in washing and went out to do days'cleaning, and the town helped in the feeding andclothingof the children. George,a lanky boy offourteen, did chores on neighboring farms, and theothers, Samuel, Clara Belle, Susan, Elijah, andElisha, went to school, when sufficiently clothedand not otherwise more pleasantly engaged.There were no secrets in the villages that layalong the banks of Pleasant River. There weremany hard-working people among the inhabitants,but life wore away so quietly and slowly that therewas a good deal of spare time for —conversation,under the trees at noon in the hayfield; hangingover the bridge at nightfall; seated about the stovein the village store of an evening. These meetingplacesfurnished ample ground for the discussion ofcurrent events as viewed by the masculine eye,

80 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMwhile choir rehearsals, sewing societies, reading circles,church picnics, and the like, gave opportunityfor the expression of feminine opinion. All this wasbut nowtaken very much for granted, as a rule,and then some supersensitive person made violentobjections to it, as a theory of life.Delia Weeks, for example, was a maiden ladywho did dressmaking in a small way; she fell ill,and although attended by all the physicians in theneighborhood, was sinking slowly into a declinewhen her cousin Cyrus asked her to come and keephouse for him in Lewiston. She went, and in ayear grew into a robust, hearty, cheerful woman.Returning to Riverboro on a brief visit, she wasasked if she meant to end her days away fromhome.*I do most certainly,if I can get any other placeto stay,' she responded candidly. 'I was bein'worn to a shadder here, tryin' to keep my littlesecrets to myself, an' never succeedin'. First theyhad it I wanted to marry the minister, and whenhe took a wife in Standish I was known to be disappointed.Then for five or six years they suspicionedI was tryin'for a place to teach school,and when I gave up hope, an' took to dressmakin,'they pitied me and sympathized with me for that.When father died I was bound I'd never let anybodyknow how I was left, for that spites 'emworse than anything else; but there's ways o'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 81findin' out, an' they found out, hard as I fought'em ! Then there was my brother James that wentto Arizona when he w^as sixteen. I gave good newsof him for thirty years runnin', but aunt AchsyTarbox had a ferretin' cousin that went out toTombstone for her health, and she wrote to a postmaster,or to some kind of a town authority, andfound Jim and wrote back aunt Achsy all abouthim and just how unfortunate he'd been. Theyknew when I had my teeth out and a new setmade; they knew when I put on a false frontpiece;they knew when the fruit peddler asked meto be his third wife — I never told 'em, an' youcan be sure he never did, but they don't need to betold in this village; they have nothin' to do butguess, an' they'll guess right every time. I was alltuckered out tryin' to mislead 'em and deceive 'emand sidetrack 'em; but the minute Iwa'n't put under a microscope by dayan' a telescopeby night and had myself tosayin' "By your leave," I begun to pick up.got where Imj^self withoutCousinCyrus is an old man an' consid'able trouble, but hethinks my teeth are handsome an' says I've gota splendid suit of hair. There ain't a person inLewiston that knows about the minister, or father'swill, or Jim's doin's, or the fruit peddler;an' ifthey should find out, they wouldn't care,an' they couldn't remember; for Lewiston's a busyplace, thanks be!'

82 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMMiss Delia Weeks may have exaggerated matterssomewhat, but it iseasy to imagine that Rebeccaas well as all the other Riverboro childrenhad heard the particulars of the Widow Rideout'smissing sleigh and Abner Simpson's supposed connectionwith it.There isnot an excess of delicacy or chivalry inthe ordinary country school, and several choiceconundrums and bits of verse dealing with theSimpson affair were bandied about among thescholars, uttered always, be itsaid to their credit,in undertones, and when the Simpson childrenwere not in the group.Rebecca Randall was of precisely the same stock,and had had much the same associationsas herschoolmates, so one can hardly say why she sohated mean gossip and so instinctively held herselfaloof from it.anything but a general favorite.Among the Riverboro girls of her own age was acertain excellently named Minnie Smellie, who wasShe was a ferreteyed,blond-haired, spindle-legged little creaturewhose mind was a cross between that of a parrotand a sheep. She was suspected of copying answersfrom other girls' slates, although she hadnever been caught in the act. Rebecca and EmmaJane always knew when she had brought a tart ora triangle of layer cake with her school luncheon,because on those daysshe forsook the cheerful

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 83society of her mates and sought a safe solitude inthe woods, returning after a time with a jocundsmile on her smug face.After one of these private luncheons Rebeccahad been tempted beyond her strength, and whenMinnie took her seat among them asked, 'Is yourheadache better, Minnie? Let me wipe off thatstrawberry jam over your mouth.'There was no jam there as a matter of fact,but the guilty Minnie's handkerchief went to hercrimson face in a flash.Rebecca confessed to Emma Jane that sameafternoon that she felt ashamed of her prank. 'Ido hate her ways,' she exclaimed, 'but I'm sorryI let her know we 'spected her; and so to make up,I gave her that littlepiece of broken coral I keepin my bead purse; you know the one.f^''It don't hardly seem as if she deserved that, andher so greedy,' remarked Emma Jane.'I know it, but it makes me feel better,' saidRebecca largely; 'and then I've had it two years,and it's broken so it wouldn't ever be any realgood,beautiful as it is to look at.'The coral had partly served its purpose as areconciling bond, when one afternoon Rebecca, whohad stayed after school for her grammar lesson asusual, was returning home by way of the short cut.Far ahead, beyond the bars, she espied the Simpsonchildren just entering the woodsy bit. Seesaw was

84 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMnot with them, so she hastened her steps in orderto secure company on her homeward walk. Theywere speedily lost to view, but when she had almostovertaken them she heard, in the trees beyond,Minnie Smellie's voice lifted high in song, and thesound of a child's sobbing. Clara Belle, Susan, andthe twins were running along the path, and Minniewas dancing up and down, shrieking:'"What made the sleigh love Simpson so?"The eager children cried;"Why Simpson loved the sleigh, you know,"The teacher quick replied.'The last glimpse of the routed Simpson tribe,and the last flutter of their tattered garments, disappearedin the dim distance. The fall of onesmall stone cast by the valiant Elijah, known as'the fighting twin,' did break the stillness of thewoods for a moment, but itdid not come within ahundred yards of Minnie, who shouted 'Jail Birds'at the top of her lungs and then turned, with anagreeable feeling of excitement, to meet Rebecca,standing perfectly stillin the path, with a day ofreckoning plainly set forth in her blazing eyes.Minnie's face was not pleasant to see, for a cowarddetected at the moment of wrongdoing isnotan object of delight.'Minnie Smellie, if ever — I — catch — you—singing — that — to the Simpsons again — do youknow what I'll do?' asked Rebecca in a tone ofconcentrated rage.

i'/^«c^^^ '/A^^^^'"^.^5v ^'^^^^^mw\^Ss^'«*%^^^^>'%.x^^Jtffl>f5--^-^Ut:xW>_vS'Jii: 'wi'iiv I,'I'l...*MINNIE SMELLIE, IF EVER — I— CATCII — YOU'

86 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*I don't know and I don't care/ said Minniejauntily, thoughher looks belied her.'I'll take that piece of coral away from you, andI tJmik I shall slap you besides!''You wouldn't darst,' retorted Minnie. *Ifyou do, I'll tell my mother and the teacher, sothere!''I don't care ifyou tell your mother, my mother,and all your relations, and the president,' said Rebecca,gaining courage as the noble words fell fromher lips. 'I don't care ifyou tell the town, thewhole of York county, the state of Maine and —and the nation!' she finished grandiloquently.'Now you run home and remember what I say.If you do itagain, and especiallyifyou say "JailBirds," if I think it's right and my duty, I shallpunish you somehow.'The next morning at recess Rebecca observedMinnie telling the tale with variations to HuldahMeserve.'She threatened me,' whispered Minnie,'but I never believe a word she says.'The latter remark was spoken with the direct intentionof being overhead, for Minnie had spasmsof bravery, when well surrounded by the machineryof law and order.As Rebecca went back to her seat she askedMiss Dearborn ifshe might pass a note to MinnieSmellie and received permission. This was thenote:

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 87Of all the girls that are so meanThere's none like Minnie Smellie.I'll take away the gift I gaveAnd pound her into jelly.P. S. Now do you believe me ? R. Randall.The effect of this piece of doggerel was entirelyconvincing, and for days afterwards whenever Minniemet the Simpsons even a mile from the brickhouse she shuddered and held her peace.

VIIICOLOR OF ROSEOn the very next Friday after this ' dreadfidlestfight that ever was seen,' as Bunyan saysin the littlein Pilgrim'sProgress, there were great doingsschoolhouse on the hill.Friday afternoon was alwaysthe time chosen for dialogues, songs, andrecitations, but it cannot be stated that it was agala day in any true sense of the word. Most ofthe children hated 'speaking pieces;' hated theburden of learning them, dreaded the danger ofbreaking down in them. Miss Dearborn commonlywent home with a headache, and never left herbed during the rest of the afternoon or evening;and the casual female parent who attended theexercises sat on a front bench with beads of coldsweat on her forehead, listening to the all-toofamiliarhalts and stammers. Sometimes a bellow-his verse woulding infant who had clean forgottencast himself bodily on the maternal bosom and beborne out into the open air,where he was sometimeskissed and occasionally spanked; but in anycase the failure added an extra dash of gloom anddread to the occasion. The advent of Rebecca hadsomehow infused a new spirit into these hithertoterrible afternoons. She had taught Elijah andElisha Simpson so that they recited three verses

.;^//#####1ff^^'-li-AVGTHE SCHOOLHOUSE

90 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMof something with such comical effect that theydelighted themselves, the teacher, and the school;while Susan, who lisped, had been provided witha humorous poem in which she impersonated alisping child.Emma Jane and Rebecca had a dialogue,and the sense of companionship buoyed upEmma Jane and gave her self-reliance. In fact.Miss Dearborn announced on this particular Fridaymorning that the exercises promisedto be sointeresting that she had invited the doctor's wife,the minister's wife, two members of the schoolcommittee, and a few mothers. Living Perkins wasasked to decorate one of the blackboards and Rebeccathe other.Living, who was the star artistof the school, chose the map of North America.Rebecca liked better to draw things less realistic,and speedily, before the eyes of the enchanted multitude,there grew under her skillful fingers anAmerican flag done in red, white, and blue chalk,every star in its right place, every stripe flutteringin the breeze. Beside this appeared a figure ofColumbia, copied from the top of the cigar boxthat held the crayons.Miss Dearborn was delighted. *I propose wegive Rebecca a good hand-clappingfor such abeautiful picture — one that the whole school maywell be proud of '!The scholars clapped heartily, and Dick Carter,waving his hand, gave a rousing cheer

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 91Rebecca's heart leaped for joy, and to her confusionshe felt the tears rising in her eyes. Shecould hardly see the way back to her seat, for inher ignorant lonely little life she had never beensingled out for applause, never lauded, nor crowned,as in this wonderful, dazzling moment. If 'noblenessenkindleth nobleness,' so does enthusiasm begetenthusiasm, and so do wit and talent enkindlewit and talent. Alice Robinson proposed that theschool should sing Three Cheers for the Red, White,and Blue! and when they came to the chorus, allpoint to Rebecca's flag. Dick Carter suggestedthat Living Perkins and Rebecca Randall shouldsign their names to their pictures,so that the visitorswould know who drew them.Huldah Meserveasked permission to cover the largest holes in theplastered walls with boughs and fill the water pailwith wild flowers. Rebecca's mood was above andbeyond all practical details. She sat silent, herheart so full of grateful joy that she could hardlyremember the words of her dialogue. At recess shebore herselfmodestly, notwithstanding her greattriumph, while in the general atmosphere of goodwill the Smellie-Randall hatchet was buried andMinnie gathered maple boughs and covered theugly stove with them, under Rebecca's direction.Miss Dearborn dismissed the morning session atquarter to twelve, so that those who lived nearenough could go home for a change of dress. Emma

92 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMJane and Rebecca ran nearly every step of the way,from sheer excitement, only stopping to breatheat the stiles.'Will your aunt ]\Iirandy let you wear your best,or only j^our buff calico?' asked Emma Jane.*I think I'll ask aunt Jane,' Rebecca replied.'Oh! if my pink was only finished! I left auntJane making the buttonholes !'I'm going to ask my mother to let me wear hergarnet ring,'said Emma Jane. 'It'would look perfectlyelergant flashing in the sun when I point tothe flag.I may get a ride.'Good-bye; don't wait for me going back;Rebecca found the side door locked, but sheknew that the key was under the step, and so ofcourse did everybody else in Riverboro, for theyall did about the same thing with it. She unlockedthe door and went into the dining-room to findher lunch laid on the table and a note from auntJane saying that they had gone to Moderation withMrs. Robinson in her carryall. Rebecca swalloweda piece of bread and butter, and flew up the frontstairs to her bedroom. On the bed lay the pinkgingham dress finished by aunt Jane's kind hands.Could she, dare she, wear it without asking.^^ Didthe occasion justify a new costume, or would heraunts think she ought to keepit for the concert.'*'I'll wear it,' thought Rebecca. 'They're nothere to ask, and maybe they wouldn't mind a bit;

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 93it's only gingham after all, and wouldn't be sogrand if it wasn't new, and hadn't tape trimmingon it, and wasn't pink.'She unbraided her two pigtails, combed out thewaves of her hair and tied them back with a ribbon,changed her shoes,pretty frock, managingand then slipped on theto fasten allbut the threemiddle buttons, which she reserved for EmmaJane.Then her eye fell on her cherished pink sunshade,the exact match, and the girls had never seen it.It wasn't quite appropriate for school, but sheneedn't take itinto the room; she would wrap itin a piece of paper, just show it, and carry it cominghome. She glanced in the parlor looking-glassdownstairs and was electrified at the vision. Itseemed almost as ifbeauty of apparel could go nofurther than that heavenly pink gingham dress!The sparkle of her eyes, glow of her cheeks, sheenof her falling hair, passed unnoticed in the all-conqueringcharm of the rose-colored garment. Goodness!it was twenty minutes to one and she wouldbe late. She danced out the side door, pulled a pinkrose from a bush at the gate, and covered the milebetween the brick house and the seat of learningin an incredibly short time, meeting Emma Jane,also breathless and resplendent, at the entrance.'Rebecca Randall!' exclaimed Emma Jane,'you're handsome as a picture!'

94 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'I?' laughed Rebecca. 'Nonsense! it's only thepink gingham.''You're not good looking every day,' insistedEmma Jane; 'but you're different somehow. Seemy garnet ring; mother scrubbed it in soap andwater. How on earth did your aunt Mirandy letyou put on your bran' new dress?''They were both away and I didn't ask,' Rebeccaresponded anxiously. 'Why.? Do you think they'dhave said no?''Miss Mirandy always says no, doesn't she?'asked Emma Jane.'Ye— es; but this afternoon is very special —almost like a Sunday-school concert.''Yes,' assented Emma Jane, 'it is, of course;with your name on the board, and our pointing toyour flag, and our elergant dialogue, and all that.'The afternoon was one succession of solid triumphsfor everybodyconcerned. There were noreal failures at all, no tears, no parents ashamed oftheir offspring.Miss Dearborn heard many admiringremarks passed upon her ability, and wonderedwhether they belonged to her or partly, at least, toRebecca. The child had no more to do than severalothers, but she was somehow in the foreground.It transpired afterwards at various village entertainmentsthat Rebecca couldn't be kept in thebackground; it positively refused to hold her. Herworst enemy could not have called her pushing.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 95She was ready and willing and never shy; but shesought for no chances of display and was, indeed,remarkably lacking in self-consciousness, as well aseager to bring others into whatever fun or entertainmentthere was. If wherever the MacGregorsat was the head of the table, so in the same waywherever Rebecca stood was the centre of thestage. Her clear hightreble soared above all therest in the choruses, and somehow everybodywatched her, took note of her gestures, her wholesouledsinging, her irrepressible enthusiasm.Finally it was all over, and it seemed to Rebeccashe should never be cool and calm again, asas ifshe loitered on the homeward path.There wouldbe no lessons to learn to-night, and the vision ofhelping with the preserveson the morrow had noterrors for her — fears could not draw breath inthe radiance that flooded her soul. There werethick gathering clouds in the sky, but she took nonote of them save to be glad that she could raiseher sunshade. She did not tread the solid groundat all, or have any sense of belonging to the commonhuman family, until she entered the side yardof the brick house and saw her aunt Miranda standingin the open doorway. Then with a rush shecame back to earth.

'There she is,IXASHES OF ROSESover an hour late; a Httle more an'she'd 'a' been caught in a thunder shower, but she'dnever look ahead,' said Miranda to Jane; 'andadded to all her other iniquities, if she ain't riggedout in that new dress, steppin' along with herfather's dancin'-school steps, and swingin' her parasolfor all the world as if she was play-actin'.NowI'm the oldest, Jane, an' I intend to have my sayout; if you don't like it you can go into the kitchentill it's over. Step right in here, Rebecca; I wantto talk to you. What did you put on that goodnew dress for, on a school day, without permission?''I had intended to ask you at noontime, but youweren't at home, so I couldn't,' began Rebecca.'You did no such a thing; you put it on becauseyou was leftalone, though you knew well enoughI wouldn't have let you.''If I'd been certain you wouldn't have let meI'd never have done it,' said Rebecca, trying tobe truthful; 'but I wasn't certain, and it was worthI thought perhaps you might, if you knewrisking.it was almost a real exhibition at school.''Exhibition !'exclaimed Miranda scornfully ;'youare exhibition enough by yourself, I should say.Was you exhibitin' your parasol.^^'

^^^^^^^l-i-Aa-oNOW I M THE OLDEST, JANE, AN I INTEND TO HAVE MYSAY OUT '

98 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'The parasol was silly,' confessed Rebecca, hangingher head; 'but it's the only time in my wholelife when I had anything to match it, and it lookedso beautiful with the pink dress!Emma Jane andI spoke a dialogue about a city girl and a countrygirl, and it came to me just the minute before Istarted how nice it would come in for the city girl;and it did. I haven't hurt my dress a mite, auntMirandy.''It's the craftiness and underhandedness of youractions that's the worst,' said Miranda coldly.'And look at the other things you've done! Itseems as if Satan possessed you! You went up thefront stairs to your room, but you didn't hide yourtracks, for you dropped your handkerchief on theway up. You left the screen out of your bedroomwindow for the flies to come in all over the house.You never cleared away your lunch nor set awaya dish, and you left the side door unlocked from halfpast twelve to three o'clock, so't anybody could 'a'come in and stolen what they liked!'Rebecca sat down heavily in her chair as sheheard the list of her transgressions. How could shehave been so careless? The tears began to flow nowas she attempted to explain sins that never couldbe explained or justified.sorry ! she faltered.' I was trimming'Oh, I'm so 'the schoolroom, and got belated, and ran all theway home. It was hard getting into my dress

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 99alone, and I hadn't time to eat but a mouthful,and just at the last minute, when I honestly — hon-— estly would have thought about clearing awayand locking up, I looked at the clock and knew Icould hardly get back to school in time to form inthe line; and I thought how dreadful it would beto go in late and get my first black mark on a Fridayafternoon, with the minister's wife and thedoctor's wife and the school committee allthere!''Don't wail and carry on now; it's no goodcryin' over spilt milk,' answered Miranda. 'Anounce of good behavior is worth a pound of repentance.Instead of tryin' to see how little troubleyou can make in a house that ain't your own home,it seems as ifyou tried to see how much you couldput us out. Take that rose out o' yourlet me see the spot it's made on your yoke,rusty holes where the wet pin went in.but it's more by luck than forethought.dress andan' theNo, it ain't;I ain't gotany patience with your flowers and frizzled-outhair and furbelows an' airs an' graces, for all theworld like your Miss-Nancy father.'Rebecca lifted her head in a flash.'Look here,aunt Mirandy, I'll be as good as I know how to be.I'll mind quick when I'm spoken to and neverleave the door unlocked again, but I won't havemy father called names. He was a p-perfectlymean1-lovely father, that's what he was, and it'sto call him Miss Nancy!'

100 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'Don't you dare answer me back that imperdentway, Rebecca, tellin' me I'm mean; your fatherwas a vain, foohsh, shiftless man, an' you might aswell hear it from me as anybody else; he spentyour mother's money and left her with seven childrento provide for.''It's s-something to leave s-seven nice children,'sobbed Rebecca.'Not when other folks have to help feed, clothe,and educate 'em,' responded Miranda. 'Now youstep upstairs, put on your nightgown, go to bed,and stay there till to-morrow mornin'. You'll finda bowl o'crackers an' milk on your bureau, an' Idon't want to hear a sound from you till breakfasttime. Jane, run an' take the dish towels off thelineand shut the shed doors; we're goin' to havea turrible shower.''We've had it, I should think,' said Jane quietly,as she went to do her sister's bidding. 'Idon't often speak my mind, Mirandy; but youought not to have said what you did about Lorenzo.He was what he was, and can't be madeany different; but he was Rebecca's father, andAurelia always says he was a good husband.'Miranda had never heard the proverbial phraseabout the only 'good Indian,' but her mind workedin the conventional manner when she said grimly,'Yes, I've noticed that dead husbands are usuallygood ones; but the truth needs an airin' now and

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 101then, and that child will never amount to a hill o'beans till she gets some of her father trounced outof her.I'm glad I said just what I did.'*I daresay you are,' remarked Jane, with whatmight be described as one of her annual bursts ofcourage; 'but all the same, Mirandy,it wasn'tgood manners, and it wasn't good religion!'The clap of thunder that shook the house just atears as Jane's remark made when it fell withthat moment made no such peal in Miranda Sawyer'sa deafening roar on her conscience.Perhaps after all it is just as well to speak onlyonce a year and then speak to the purpose.Rebecca mounted the back stairs wearily, closedthe door of her bedroom, and took off the belovedpink gingham with trembling fingers. Her cottonhandkerchief was rolled into a hard ball, and in theintervals of reaching the more difficult buttons thatlay between her shoulder blades and her belt, shedabbed her wet eyes carefully, so that they shouldnot rain salt water on the finery that had beenworn at such a price. She smoothed it out carefully,pinched up the white ruffle at the neck, andlaid itaway in a drawer with an extra little sob atthe roughness of life. The withered pink rose fellon the floor. Rebecca looked at it and thought toherself, 'Just like my happy day!' Nothing couldshow more clearly the kind of child she was thanthe fact that she instantly perceived the symbolism

102 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMof the rose, and laid it in the drawer with the dressas ifshe were burying the whole episode with allits sad memories. It was a child's poetic instinctwith a dawning hint of woman's sentiment in it.She braided her hair in the two accustomed pigtails,took off her best shoes (which had happilyescaped notice), with all the while a fixed resolvegrowing in her mind, that of leaving the brickhouse and going back to the farm. She would notbe received there with open arms,— there was nohope of that,— but she would help her motherabout the house and send Hannah to Riverboro inher place. 'I hope she'll like it!' she thought in amomentary burst of vindictiveness. She sat by thewindow trying to make some sort of plan, watchingthe lightning play over the hilltop and the streamsof rain chasing each other down the lightning rod.And this was the day that had dawned so joyfully!It had been a red sunrise, and she had leaned onthe window sillstudying her lesson and thinkingwhat a lovely world it was. And what a goldenmorning! The changing of the bare, ugly littleschoolroom into a bower of beauty; Miss Dearborn'spleasure at her success with the Simpsontwins' recitation; the privilege of decorating theblackboard ;the happy thought of drawing Columbiafrom the cigar box; the intoxicating momentwhen the school clapped her!And what an afternoon!How it went on from glory to glory, begin-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 103ning with Emma Jane's telling her, Rebecca Randall,that she was as 'handsome as a picture.'She lived through the exercises again in memory,especially her dialogue with Emma Jane and herinspiration of using the bough-coveredstove as amossy bank where the country girl could sit andwatch her flocks. This gave Emma Jane a feelingof such ease that she never recited better; and howgenerous it was of her to lend the garnet ring to thecity girl, fancying truly how it would flash as shefurled her parasol and approached the aw^e-strickenshepherdess She had thought aunt Miranda !mightbe pleased that the niece invited down from thefarm had succeeded so well at school ;but no, therewas no hope of pleasing her in that or in any otherway. She would go to Maplewood on the stage nextday with Mr. Cobb and get home somehow fromcousin Ann's. On second thoughts her aunts mightnot allow it.Very well, she would slip away nowand see if she could stay all night with the Cobbsand be off next morning before breakfast.Rebecca never stopped long to think, more's thepity, so she put on her oldest dress and hat andjacket, then WTapped her nightdress, comb, andtoothbrush in a bundle and dropped it softly out ofthe window. Her room was in the L and her windowat no very dangerous distance from the ground,though had it been, nothing could have stoppedher at that moment. Somebody who had gone on

104 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMthe roof to clean out the gutters had left a cleatnailed to the side of the house about half-way betweenthe window and the top of the back porch.Rebecca heard the sound of the sewing machine inthe dining-room and the chopping of meat in thekitchen; so knowing the whereabouts of both heraunts, she scrambled out of the window, caughthold of the lightning rod, slid down to the helpfulcleat, jumped to the porch, used the woodbinetrellisfor a ladder, and was flying up the road inthe storm before she had time to arrange any detailsof her future movements.Jeremiah Cobb sat at his lonely supper at thetable bv the kitchen window. 'Mother,' as he withhis old-fashioned habits was in the habit of callinghis wife, was nursing a sick neighbor. Mrs. Cobbwas mother only to a little headstone in thechurchyard, where reposed 'Sarah Ann, beloveddaughter of Jeremiah and Sarah Cobb, aged seventeenmonths;' but the name of mother was betterthan nothing, and served at any rate as a reminderof her woman's crown of blessedness.The rain still fell, and the heavens were dark,though it was scarcely five o'clock. Looking upfrom his 'dish of tea,' the old man saw at the opendoor a very figure of woe. Rebecca's face was soswollen with tears and so sharp with misery thatfor a moment he scarcely recognized her. Then

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 105when he heard her voice asking, 'Please may Icome in, Mr. Cobb?' he cried, 'Well I vow! It'smy little lady passenger! Come to call on old uncleJerry and pass the time o' day, hev ye? Why,you're wet as sops. Draw up to the stove. I madea fire, hot as it was, thinkin' I wanted somethin'warm for my supper, bein' kind o' lonesome withoutmother. She's settin' up with Seth Strout tonight.There, we'll hang your soppy hat on thenail, put your jacket over the chair rail, an' thenyou turn your back to the stove an' dry yourselfgood.'Uncle Jerry had never before said so many wordsat a time, but he had caught sight of the child'sred eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and his big heartwent out to her in her trouble, quite regardless ofany circumstances that might have caused it.Rebecca stood still for a moment until uncleJerry took his seat again at the table, and then,unable to contain herself longer, cried, 'Oh, Mr.Cobb, I've run away from the brick house, and Iwant to go back to the farm. Will you keep me tonightand take me up to Maplewood in the stage?I haven't got any money for my fare, but I'll earnitsomehow afterwards.''Well, I guess we won't quarrel 'bout money,you and me,' said the old man; 'and we've neverhad our ride together, anyway, though we allersmeant to go down river, not up.'

106 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*I shall never see Milltown now!' sobbed Rebecca.'Come over here side o' me an' tell me all aboutit,' coaxed uncle Jerry.'Jest set down on that therewooden cricket an' out with the whole story.*Rebecca leaned her aching head against Mr.Cobb's homespun knee and recounted the historyof her trouble.Tragic as that history seemed toher passionate and undisciplined mind, she told ittruthfully and without exaggeration.

XRAINBOW BRIDGESUncle Jerry coughed and stirred in his chair agood deal during Rebecca's recital, but he carefullyconcealed any undue feeling of sympathy, justmuttering, ' Poor little soul ! We'll see what we can'do for her !'You will take me to Maplewood, won't you, Mr.Cobb?' begged Rebecca piteously.'Don't you fret a mite,' he answered, with acrafty little notion at the back of his mind; 'I'llsee the lady passenger through somehow. Nowtake a bite o' somethin' to eat, child. Spread someo' that tomato preserve on your bread; draw up tothe table. How'd you like to set in mother's placean' pour me out another cup o' hot tea?'Mr. Jeremiah Cobb's mental machinery was sim-and did not move very smoothly save whenple,propelled by his affection or sympathy.present case these were both employedIn theto his advantage,and mourning his stupidity and prayingfor some flash of inspiration to light his path, heblundered along, trusting to Providence.Rebecca, comforted by the old man's tone, andtimidly enjoying the dignity of sitting in Mrs.Cobb's seat and lifting the blue china teapot, smiledfaintly, smoothed her hair, and dried her eyes.

108 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'I suppose your mother'll be tumble gladto seeyou back again?' queried Mr. Cobb.A tiny fear— just a baby thing — in the bottomof Rebecca's heart stirred and grew larger the momentit was touched with a question.'She won't like it that I ran away, I s'pose, andshe'll be sorry that I couldn't please aunt Mirandy;but I'll make her understand, just as I did you.''I s'poseshe was thinkin' o' yourschoolin,' lettin'you come down here; but land! you can go toschool in Temperance, I s'pose?''There's only two months' school now in Temperance,and the farm's too far from allschools.''Oh, well!the otherthere's other things in the world besideedjercation,' responded uncle Jerry, attackinga piece of apple pie.'Ye— es; though mother thought that was goingto be the making of me,' returned Rebecca sadly,giving a dry little sob as she tried to drink her tea.'It'll be nice for you to be all together again atthe farm —'such a house full o' children ! remarkedthe dear old deceiver, who longed for nothingso much as to cuddle and comfort the poor littlecreature.'It's too full— that's the trouble.Hannah come to Riverboro in my place.'But I'll make'S'pose Mirandy 'n' Jane'll have her? I shouldbe 'most afraid they wouldn't. They'll be kind o'

'you will take me to maplewood, won't you,MR. COBB?'

110 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMmad at your goin' home, you know, and you can'thardly blame 'em.'This was quite a new thought,— that the brickhouse might be closed to Hannah, since she,Rebecca,had turned her back upon its cold hospitality.'How is this school down here in Riverboro —almost terrified him.'Oh, it's a splendid school! And Miss Dearbornpretty good.'^' inquired uncle Jerry, whose brainwas w^orking with an altogether unaccustomed rapidity,— so much so that itis a splendid teacher!''You like her, do you? Well, you'd better believeshe returns the compliment. INIother was down tothe store this afternoon buyin' liniment for SethStrout, an' she met Miss Dearborn on the bridge.They got to talkin' 'bout school, for mother hassummer-boarded a lot o' the schoolmarms, an' likes'em. "How does the little Temperance girl gitalong .'*" asks mother. "Oh, she's the best scholarI have!" says Miss Dearborn. "I could teachschool from sun-up to sun-down if scholars was alllike Rebecca Randall," says she.''Oh, Mr. Cobb, did she say that?' glowed Rebecca,her face sparkling and dimpling in an instant.'I've tried hard all the time, but I'll study thecovers right off the books now.''You mean you would ifyou'd ben goin' to stayhere,' interposed uncle Jerry. 'Now ain't it too

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 111bad you've jest got to give it all up on account o*your aunt Mirandy? Well, I can't hardly blameye. She's cranky an' she's sour; I should thinkshe'd ben nussed on bonny-clabber an'green apples.She needs bearin' with; an' I guess you ain'tmuch on patience, be ye.^'*Not very much,' replied Rebecca dolefully.'If I'd had this talk with ye yesterday,' pursuedMr. Cobb, 'I believe I'd have advised ye different.It's too late now, an' I don't feel to say you've benall in the wrong; but if'twas to do over again, I'dsay, well, your aunt Mirandy gives you clothesand board and schoolin' and is goin' to send youto Wareham at a big expense.She's turrible hardto get along with, an' kind o' heaves benefits atyour head, same's she would bricks; but they'rebenefits jest the same, an' mebbe it's your job tokind o' pay for 'em in good behavior. Jane's aleetle bit more easy goin' than Mirandy, ain't she,or isshe jest as hard to please.''''Oh, aunt Jane and Iget along splendidly,' exclaimedRebecca; 'she's just as good and kind asshe can be, and I like her better all the time. Ithink she kind of likes me, too; she smoothed myhair once. I'd let her scold me all day long, forshe understands; but she can't stand up for meagainst aunt Mirandy; she's about as afraid of heras I am.''Jane'U be real sorry to-morrow to find you've

112 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMgone away, I guess; but never mind, it can't behelped.If she has a kind of a dull time with Mirandy,on account o' her bein' so sharp, why ofcourse she'd set great store by your comp'ny.Mother was talkin' with her after prayer meetin'the other night."You wouldn't know the brickhouse, Sarah," says Jane. "I'm keepin' a sewin'school, an' my scholar has made three dresses.What do you think o' that," says she, "for an oldmaid's child.'^I've taken a class in Sunday-school,"says Jane, "an' think o' renewin' my youth an' goin'to the picnic with Rebecca," says she; an' motherdeclares she never see her look so young 'n' happy.'There was a silence that could be felt in the littlekitchen; a silence only broken by the ticking ofthe tallclock and the beating of Rebecca's heart,w^hich, it seemed to her, almost drowned the voiceof the clock. The rain ceased, a sudden rosy lightfilled the room, and through the window a rainbowarch could be seen spanningthe heavens like aradiant bridge. Bridges took one across difficultplaces,thought Rebecca, and uncle Jerry seemedto have built one over her troubles and given herstrength to walk.'The shower's over,' said the old man, fillinghis pipe; 'it's cleared the air, washed the face o'the airth nice an' clean, an' everything to-morrerwill shine like a new pin— when you an' I aredrivin' up river.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 113Rebecca pushed her cup away, rose from thetable, and put on her hat and jacket quietly. 'I'mnot going to drive up river, Mr. Cobb,' she said.'I'm going— to stay here and catch bricks; catch'em without throwing 'em back, too. I don't knowas aunt Mirandy will take me in after I've runaway, but I'm going back now while I have thecourage. You wouldn't be so good as to go withme, would you, Mr. Cobb.'^''You'd better b'lieve your uncle Jerry don't proposeto leave till he gits this thing fixed up,' criedthe old man delightedly.can stan' to-night, poor little'Now you've had all yousoul, without gettin'a fit o' sickness; an' Mirandy'll be sore an' cross an'in no condition for argyment; so my plan is jestthis: to drive you over to the brick house in mytop buggy; to have you set back in the corner, an'I git out an' go to the side door; an' when I git youraunt Mirandy 'n' aunt Jane out int' the shed toplan for a load o' wood I'm goin' to have hauledthere this week, you'll slip out o' the buggy and goupstairs to bed. The front door won't be locked,will it?'•'Not this time of night,' Rebecca answered;'not till aunt Mirandy goes to bed; but oh! what ifit should be.'^''Well, it won't; an' if 'tis, why we'll have to faceit out; though in my opinion there's things thatwon't bear facin' out an' had better be settled

114 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMcomfortable an' quiet. You see you ain't run awayyet; you've only come over here to consult me'bout runnin' away, an' we've concluded it ain'twuth the trouble. The only real sin you've committed,as I figger it out, was in comin' here by thewinder when you'd ben sent to bed. That ain't sovery black, an' you can tellyour aunt Jane 'boutit come Sunday, when she's chock full o' religion,an' she can advise you when you'd better tell youraunt Mirandy. I don't believe in deceivin' folks,but ifyou've hed hard thoughts you ain't obleegedto own 'em up; take 'em to the Lord in prayer, asthe hymn says, and then don't go on hevin' 'em.Now come on; I'm all hitched up to go over tothe post-office;don't forget your bundle; "it's alwaysa journey, mother, when you carry a nightgown;"them's the first words your uncle Jerryever heard you say! He didn't think you'd bebringin' your nightgown over to his house. Stepin an' curl up in the corner; we ain't goin' to letfolks see little runaway gals, 'cause they're goin'back to begin all over ag'in !'When Rebecca crept upstairs, and undressing inthe dark finally found herself in her bed that night,though she was aching and throbbing in everynerve, she felt a kind of peace stealing over her.She had been saved from foolishness and error;kept from troubling her poor mother; preventedfrom angering and mortifying her aunts.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 115Her heart was melted now, and she determinedto win aunt Miranda's approval by some desperatemeans, and to try and forget the one thing thatrankled worst, the scornful mention of her father,of whom she thought with the greatest admiration,and whom she had not yet heard criticised; forsuch sorrows and disappointments as Aurelia Randallhad suffered had never been communicated toher children.It would have been some comfort to the bruised,unhappy little spirit to know that Miranda Sawyerwas passing an uncomfortable night, and that shetacitly regretted her harshness, partly because Janehad taken such a lofty and virtuous position in thematter.She could not endure Jane's disapproval,although she would never have confessed to such aweakness.As uncle Jerry drove homeward under the stars,well content with his attempts at keeping the peace,he thought wistfully of the touch of Rebecca's headon his knee, and the rain of her tears on his hand;of the sweet reasonableness of her mind when shehad the matter put rightly before her; of her quickdecision when she had once seen the path of duty;of the touching hunger for love and understandingthat were so characteristic in her. ' Lord A'mighty!he ejaculated under his breath, 'Lord A'mighty!to hector and abuse a child like that one! 'Tain'tabuse exactly, I know, or 'twouldn't be to some'

116 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMo' your elephant-hided young ones; but to thatHttle tender will-o'-the-wisp a hard word's like alash. Mirandy Sawyer would be a heap betterwoman if she had a little gravestun to remember,same's mother'n' I have.'*I never see a child improve in her work asRebecca has to-day,' remarked Miranda Sawyerto Jane on Saturday evening. 'That settin' down Igave her was probably just what she needed, andI daresay it'lllast for a month.''I'm glad you're pleased,' returned Jane. 'Acringing worm is what you want, not a bright, smilingchild. Rebecca looks to me as if she'd beenthrough the Seven Years' War. When she camedownstairs this morningit seemed to me she'dgrown old in the night.If you follow my advice,which you seldom do, you'll let me take her andEmma Jane down beside the river to-morrow afternoonand bring Emma Jane home to a good Sundaysupper. Then if you'll let her go to Milltown withthe Cobbs on Wednesday, that'll hearten her up alittle and coax back her appetite. Wednesday's aholiday on account of Miss Dearborn's going hometo her sister's wedding, and the Cobbs and Perkinseswant to go down to the Agricultural Fair.'

XI'THE STIRRING OF THE POWERS'Rebecca's visit to Milltown was all that her glowingfancy had painted it, except that recent readingsabout Rome and Venice disposed her to believethat those cities might have an advantage overMilltown in the matter of mere pictorial beauty.So soon does the soul outgrow its mansions thatafter once seeing Milltown her fancy ran out to thefuture sight of Portland; for that, having islandsand a harbor and two public monuments, must befar more beautiful than Milltown, which would,she felt, take its proud place among the cities ofthe earth, by reason of its tremendous businessactivity rather than by any irresistible appeal tothe imagination.It would be impossible for two children to seemore, do more, walk more, talk more, eat more, orask more questions than Rebecca and Emma Janedid on that eventful Wednesday.'She's the best company I ever see in all my life,''said Mrs. Cobb to her husband that evening. Weain't had a dull minute this day. She's well-mannered,too; she didn't ask for anything, and wasDid you watch herthankful for whatever she got.face when we went into that tent where they was

118 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMactin' out Uncle Tom's Cabin? And did you takenotice of the way she told us about the book whenwe sat down to have our ice cream? I tell youHarriet Beecher Stowe herself couldn't 'a' done itbetter justice.''I took it all in,' responded Mr. Cobb, who waspleased that 'mother' agreed with him about Rebecca.'I ain't sure but she's goin' to turn outsomethin' remarkable,— a singer, or a writer, ora lady doctor like that Miss Parks up to Cornish.''Lady doctors are always home'paths, ain'tthey?' asked Mrs. Cobb, who, it is needless to say,was distinctly of the old school in medicine.'Land, no, mother; there ain't no home'path'bout Miss Parks — she drives all over the country.''I can't see Rebecca as a lady doctor, somehow,'mused Mrs. Cobb. 'Her gift o' gab is what's goin'to be the makin' of her; mebbe she'll lecture, orrecite pieces, like that Portland elocutionist thatcome out here to the harvest supper.''I guess she'll be able to write down her ownpieces,' said Mr. Cobb confidently; 'she could make'em up faster 'n she could read 'em out of a book.''It's a pity she's so plain looking,' remarkedMrs. Cobb, blowing out the candle.^Plain looking, mother?' exclaimed her husbandin astonishment.'Look at the eyes of her; look atthe hair of her, an' the smile, an' that there dimple!Look at Alice Robinson, that's called the prettiest

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 119child on the river, an' see how Rebecca shines herri' down out o' sight ! I hope Mirandy'll favor hercomin' over to see us real often, for she'll let offsome of her steam here, an' the brick house'll beconsid'able safer for everybody concerned. We'veknown what it was to hev children, even if 'twasmore'n thirty years ago, an' we can make allowances.'Notwithstanding the encomiums of Mr. and Mrs.Cobb, Rebecca made a poor hand at compositionwriting at this time. Miss Dearborn gave her everysort of subject that she had ever been given herself:Cloud Pictures; Abraham Lincoln; Nature; Philanthropy;Slavery; Intemperance; Joy and Duty;Solitude; but with none of them did Rebecca seemto grapple satisfactorily.'Write as you talk, Rebecca,' insisted poor MissDearborn, who secretly knew that she could nevermanage a good composition herself.'But gracious me. Miss Dearborn!I don't talkabout nature and slavery. I can't write unless Ihave something to say, can I.^*''That is what compositions are for,' returnedMiss Dearborn doubtfully; 'to make you haveNow in your last one, on solitude,things to say.you haven't said anything very interesting, andyou've made it too common and every-day to soundwell. There are too many "yous" and "yours" init; you ought to say "one" now and then, to make

120 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*'One opens a favor-it seem more like good writing.ite book;" "One's thoughts are a great comfort insoHtude," and so on.''I don't know any more about sohtude this weekthan I did about joy and duty last week,' grumbledRebecca.'You tried to be funny about joy and duty,' saidMiss Dearborn reprovingly; 'so of course youdidn't succeed.''Ididn't know you were going to make us readthe things out loud,' said Rebecca with an embarrassedsmile of recollection.'Joy and Duty' had been the inspiring subjectgiven to the older children for a theme to be writtenin five minutes.Rebecca had wrestled, struggled, perspired invain.When her turn came to read she was obligedto confess she had written nothing.'You have at least two lines, Rebecca,' insistedthe teacher, 'for I see them on your slate.''I'd rather not read them, please; they are notgood,' pleaded Rebecca.'Read what you have, good or bad, little ormuch; I am excusing nobody.'Rebecca rose, overcome with secret laughter,dread, and mortification; then in a low voice sheread the couplet:When Joy and Duty clashLet Duty go to smash.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 121Dick Carter's head disappeared under the desk,while Living Perkins choked with laughter.Miss Dearborn laughed too; she w^as littlemorethan a girl, and the training of the young idea seldomappealed to the sense of humor.'You must stay after school and try again, Rebecca,'she said, but she said it smilingly. 'Yourpoetry hasn't a very nice idea in it for a good littlegirl who ought to love duty.''It wasn't my idea,' said Rebecca apologetically.'I had only made the first line when I saw you weregoing to ring the bell and say the time was up. Ihad "clash" written, and I couldn't think of anythingthen but "hash" or "rash" or "smash." I'llchange itto this:When Joy and Duty clash,'Tis Joy must go to smash.'That is better,' Miss Dearborn answered,'though I cannot think "goingto smash" is apretty expression for poetry.'Having been instructed in the use of the indefinitepronoun 'one' as giving a refined and eleganttouch to literary efforts, Rebecca painstakingly rewroteher composition on solitude, giving it all thebenefit of Miss Dearborn's suggestion. It thenappeared in the following form, which hardly satisfiedeither teacher or pupil:

122 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMSOLITUDEIt would be false to sav that one could ever bealone when one has one's lovely thoughts to comfortone. One sits by one's self, it is true, but onethinks; one opens one's favorite book and readsone's favorite story; one speaks to one's aunt orone's brother, fondles one's cat, or looks at one'sphotograph album. There is one's work also: whata joy it is to one, if one happens to like work. Allone's little household tasks keep one from beinglonely. Does one ever feel bereft when one picksup one's chips to light one's fire for one's eveningmeal.'^ Or when one washes one's milk pail beforemilking one's cow? One would fancy not.R. R. R.'It is perfectly dreadful,' sighed Rebecca whenshe read it aloud after school. 'Putting in "one"all the time doesn't make it sound any more like abook, and it looks silly besides.''You say such queer things,' objected MissDearborn. 'I don't see what makes you do it.Why did you put in anything so common as pickingup chips .'^''Because I was talking about "household tasks"in the sentence before, and it is one of my householdtasks.evening meal" is pretty.^^word.^'Don't you think calling supper "one'sand isn't "bereft" a nice

t_1" *- Subject' ^ o I! a Tw ell ehof Soil ri< dc ai'dl'o^vitmaK^Syo.j-tcel.(?"' tA " % Ti A r li it h ^-lii, e tl « c- -:-H-A\:0-IT IS THE CAT, THE CHIPS, AND THE MILK PAIL THATI don't like'

124 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'Yes, that part of it does very well.It is the cat,the chips, and the milk pail that I don't like.''All right!' sighed Rebecca. 'Out they go! Doesthe cow go too.^''Yes, I don't like a cow in a composition,' saidthe difficult Miss Dearborn.The Milltown trip had not been without its tragicconsequences of a small sort; for the next weekMinnie Smellie's mother told Miranda Sawyer thatshe'd better look after Rebecca, for she was givento 'swearing and profane language;' that she hadbeen heard saying something dreadful that veryafternoon, saying itPerkins,before Emma Jane and Livingwho only laughed and got down on allfours and chased her.Rebecca, on being confronted and charged withthe crime, denied itindignantly, and aunt Jane believedher.'Search your memory, Rebecca, and try to thinkwhat Minnie overheard you say,' she pleaded.'Don't be ugly and obstinate, but think real hard.When did they chase you up the road, and whatwere you doing?'A sudden light broke upon Rebecca's darkness.'Oh! I see it now,' she exclaimed. 'It had rainedhard all the morning, you know, and the road wasfull of puddles. Emma Jane, Living, and I werewalking along, and I was ahead,I saw the water

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 125streaming over the road towards the ditch, andit reminded me of Uncle Tom's Cabin at Milltown,when EHza took her babj^ and ran across the Mississippion the ice blocks, pursued by the bloodhounds.We couldn't keep from laughing after we came outof the tent because they were acting on such a smallplatform that Eliza had to run round and round,and part of the time the one dog they had pursuedher, and part of the time she had to pursue the dog.I knew Living would remember, too, so I took offmy waterproof and wrapped it round my books fora baby; then I shouted, ''My God! the river!'' justlike that — the same as Eliza did in the play; thenIleaped from puddle to puddle, and Living andEmma Jane pursued me like the bloodhounds.It'sjust like that stupid Minnie Smellie who doesn'tknow a game when she sees one. And Eliza wasn'tswearing when she said "My God! the river!"was more like praying.''Well, you've got no call to be prayin', any morethan swearin', in the middle of the road,' said Miranda;'but I'm thankful it's no worse. You'reborn to trouble as the sparks fly upward, an' I'mafraid you allers will be till you learn to bridle yourunruly tongue.''I wish sometimes that I could bridle INIinnie's,'murmured Rebecca, as she went to set the table forsupper.'I declare she is the beatin'est child!' said Mi-It

126 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMher spectacles and laying downranda, taking offher mending. 'You don't think she's a leetle mitecrazv, do vou, Jane?''I don't think she's like the rest of us,' respondedJane thoughtfully and with some anxiety in herpleasant face; 'but whether it's for the better orthe worse I can't hardly tell till she grows up.She's got the making of 'most anj^hing in her,Rebecca has; but I feel sometimes as if we were notfitted to cope with her.''Stuff an' nonsense!' said Miranda. 'Speak foryourself. I feel fitted to cope with any child that'ever was born int' the world !*I know you do, Mirandy; but that don't makeyou so,' returned Jane with a smile.The habit of speaking her mind freely was certainlygrowing on Jane to an altogether terrifyingextent.

XII'SEE THE PALE MARTYR'It was about this time that Rebecca, who had beenreading about the Spartan boy,conceived the ideaof some mild form of self-punishment to be appliedon occasions when she was fully convinced in herown mind that it would be salutary. The immediatecause of the decision was a somewhat sadderaccident than was common, even in a career prolificin such things.Clad in her best, Rebecca had gone to take teawith the Cobbs; but while crossing the bridge shewas suddenly overcome by the beauty of the riverand leaned over the newly painted rail to feast hereyes on the dashing torrent of the fall.Resting herelbows on the topmost board, and inclining herlittle figure forward in delicious ease, she stoodthere dreaming.The river above the dam was a glassy lake withall the loveliness of blue heaven and green shorereflected in its surface; the fall was a swirling wonderof water, ever pouring itself over and over inexhaustiblyin luminous golden gushes that lost themselvesin snowy depths of foam. Sparkling in thesunshine, gleaming under the summer moon, coldand gray beneath a November sky, trickling overthe dam in some burning July drought, swollen

128 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMwith turbulent power in some April freshet, howmany young eyes gazed into the mystery andmajesty of the falls along that river, and how manyyoung hearts dreained out their futures leaning overthe bridge rail, seeing 'the vision splendid' reflectedthere and often, too, watching it fade into*the light of common day.'Rebecca never went across the bridge withoutbending over the rail to wonder and to ponder, andat this special moment she was putting the finishingtouches on a poem.Two maidens by a river strayedDown in the state of Maine.The one was called Rebecca,The other Emma Jane.'I would my life were like the stream,'Said her named Emma Jane,*So quiet and so very smooth,So free from every pain.''I'd rather be a little dropIn the great rushing fall!I would not choose the glassy lake,''Twould not suit me at all !(It was the darker maiden spokeThe words I just have stated.The maidens twain were simply friendsAnd not at all related.)But O! alas! we may not haveThe things we hope to gain ;The quiet life may come to me,The rush to Emma Jane!

SHE STOOD THERE DREAMING

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 129'I don't like "the rush to Emma Jane," and Ican't think of anything else.Oh! what a smell ofpaint! Oh! it is on me! Oh! it's all over my bestdress! Oh! what ivill aunt Miranda say!'With tears of self-reproach streaming from hereyes, Rebecca flew up the hill, sure of sympathy,and hoping against hope for help of some sort.Mrs. Cobb took in the situation at a glance, andprofessed herself able to remove almost any stainfrom almost any fabric; and in this she was corroboratedby uncle Jerry, who vowed that mothercould git anything out. Sometimes she took thecloth right along with the spot, but she had a surehand, mother had !The damaged garment was removed and partiallyimmersed in turpentine, while Rebecca gracedthe festal board clad in a blue calico wrapper ofMrs. Cobb's.'Don't let itMrs. Cobb.take your appetite away,' crooned'I've got cream biscuit and honey foryou. If the turpentine don't work, I'll try Frenchchalk, magneshy, and warm suds. If they fail,father shall run over to Strout's and borry some ofthe stuff Marthy gotin Milltown to take the currantpie out of her weddin' dress.''Iain't got to understandin' this paintin' accidentyet,'said uncle Jerry jocosely, as he handedRebecca the honey. 'Bein' as how there's "FreshPaint" signs hung all over the breedge, so't a blind

130 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMasylum couldn't miss 'em, I can't hardly accountfor your gettin' int' the pesky stuff.''I didn't notice the signs,' Rebecca said dolefully.'I suppose I was looking at the falls.''The falls has been there sence the beginnin'o' time, an' I cal'late they'll be there till the endon't; so you needn't 'a'been in sech a brash to gita sight of 'em. Children comes tumble high,mother, but I s'pose we must have 'em!' he said,winking at Mrs. Cobb.When supper was cleared away Rebecca insistedon washing and wiping the dishes, while Mrs. Cobbworked on the dress with an energy that plainlyshowed the gravity of the task. Rebecca kept leavingher post at the sink to bend anxiously over thebasin and watch her progress, while uncle Jerryoffered advice from time to time.'You must 'a^ laid all over the breedge, deary,'said Mrs. Cobb; 'for the paint's not only on yourelbows and yoke and waist, but it about coversyour front breadth.'As the garment began to look a little better Rebecca'sspirits took an upward turn, and at lengthshe left it to dry in the fresh air, and went into thesitting-room.'Have you a piece of paper, please?' asked Rebecca.'I'll copy out the poetry I was makingwhile I was lying in the paint.'Mrs. Cobb sat by her mending basket, and uncle

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 131Jerr}^ took down a gingham bag of strings andoccupied himself in taking the snarls out of them,—a favorite evening amusement with him.Rebecca soon had the lines copiedin her roundschoolgirl hand, making such improvements as occurredto her on sober second thought.THE TWO WISHESBYRebecca RandallTwo maidens by a river strayed,'Twas in the state of Maine.Rebecca was the darker one,The fairer, Emma Jane.The fairer maiden said,'I wouldMy life were as the stream;So peaceful, and so smooth and still,So pleasant and serene.*'I'd rather be a little dropIn the great rushing fall;I'd never choose the quiet lake;'Twould not please me at all.'(It was the darker maiden spokeThe words we just have stated;The maidens twain were simply friends.Not sisters, or related.)But O !alas ! we may not haveThe things we hope to gain.The quiet hfe may come to me.The rush to Emma Jane!She read it aloud, and the Cobbs thought it not onlysurpassingly beautiful, but a marvelous production.

132 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'I guess if that writer that hved on CongressStreet in Portland could 'a' heard your poetry he'd'a' been astonished,' said Mrs. Cobb. 'If you askme, I say this piece is as good as that one o' his,"Tell me not in mournful numbers;" and consid-'able clearer.''I never could fairly make out what "mournfulnumbers" was,' remarked Mr. Cobb critically.'Then I guess you never studied fractions!'flashed Rebecca. 'See here, uncle Jerrv and auntSarah, would you write another verse, especiallyfor a last one, as they usually do — one with"thoughts" in it — to make a better ending.^^'*If you can grind 'em out jest by turnin' thecrank, why I should say the more the merrier; butI don't hardly see how you could have a betterendin',' observed Mr. Cobb.'It's horrid!' grumbled Rebecca. 'I ought notto have put that "me" in.I'm writing the poetry.Nobody ought to know it is me standing by theriver; it ought to be "Rebecca," or "the darkermaiden;" and "the rush to Emma Jane" is simplydreadful. Sometimes I think I never will try poetry,it's so hard to make it come right; and other timesit just says itself.I wonder if this would be better?But O! alas! we may not gainThe good for which we pray.The quiet hfe may come to oneWho likes it rather gay.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 133I don't know whether that is worse or not. Nowfor a new last verse !'In a few minutes the poetess looked up, flushedand triumphant. 'It was as easy as nothing. Justhear!' And she read slowly, with her pretty, patheticvoice:Then if our lot be bright or sad.Be full of smiles, or tears,The thought that God has plannedShould help us bear the years.it soMr. and Mrs. Cobb exchanged dumb glances ofadmiration ; indeed uncle Jerry was obliged to turnhis face to the window and wipe his eyes furtivelywith the string-bag.'How in the world did you do it.^' Mrs. Cobbexclaimed.'Oh, it's easy,' answered Rebecca; 'the hymnsat meetingare all like that. You see there's aschool newspaper printed at Wareham Academyonce a month. Dick Carter says the editor is alwaysa boy, of course; but he allows girls to tryand write for it, and then chooses the best. Dickthinks I can be in it.''In it!' exclaimed uncle Jerry. 'I shouldn't bea bit surprised if you had to write the whole paper;an' as for any boy editor, you could lick himwritin', I bate ye, with one hand tied behind ye.''Can we have a copy of the poetry to keep in thefamily Bible.^'inquired Mrs. Cobb respectfully.

134 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'Oh! would you like it?' asked Rebecca. *Yesindeed! I'll do a clean, nice one with violet inkand a fine pen. But I must go and look at my poordress.'The old couple followed Rebecca into the kitchen.The frock was quite dry, and in truth it had beenhelped a little by aunt Sarah's ministrations; butthe colors had run in the rubbing, the pattern wasblurred, and there were muddy streaks here andthere. As a last resort, it was carefully smoothedwith a warm iron, and Rebecca was urged to attireherself, that they might see if the spots showed asmuch when it was on.They did, most uncompromisingly, and to thedullest eye. Rebecca gave one searching look, andthen said, as she took her hat from a nail in theentry, 'I think I'll be going. Good-night!got to have a scolding,over.''Poor littleuncle Jerry, as his eyesI want itquick,If I'veand get itonlucky misfortunate thing!' sighedfollowed her down the hill.'I wish she could pay some attention to the groundunder her feet; but I vow, ifshe was ourn I'd lether slop paint all over the house before I couldscold her. Here's her poetry she's left behind.Read it out ag'in, mother. Land!' he continued,chuckling, as he lighted his cob pipe; 'I can justsee the last flap o' that boy-editor's shirt tail as helegs it for the woods, while Rebecky settles down in

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 135his revolvin' cheer!I'm puzzled as to what kind ofa job editin' is, exactly; but she'll find out, Rebeckywill. An' she'll just edit for all she's worth!'"The thought that God has plannedShould help us bear the years."it soLand, mother! that takes right holt, kind o' likethe gospel. How do you suppose she thought thatout?''She couldn't have thought it out at her age,'said Mrs. Cobb; 'she must have just guessed it wasthat way. We know some things without bein' told,Jeremiah.'Rebecca took her scolding (which she richly deserved)like a soldier. Therewas considerable of it,and Miss Miranda remarked, among other things,that so absent-minded a child was sure to grow upinto a driveling idiot. She was bidden to stay awayfrom Alice Robinson's birthday party, and doomedto wear her dress, stained and streaked as it was,until it was worn out. Aunt Jane six months laterspots.mitigated this martyrdom by making her a ruffleddimity pinafore, artfully shaped to conceal all theShe was blessedly ready with these mediationsbetween the poorof her sin.little sinner and the fullconsequencesWhen Rebecca had heard her sentence and goneto the north chamber she began to think. If therewas anything she did not wish to grow into, it was

136 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMan idiot of any sort, particularly a driveling one;and she resolved to punish herself every time sheincurred what she considered to be the righteousdispleasureof her virtuous relative. She didn'tmind staying away from Alice Robinson's. Shehad told Emma Jane it would be like a picnic in agraveyard, the Robinson house being as near anapproach to a tomb as a house can manage to be.Children were commonly brought in at the backdoor, and requested to stand on newspapers whilemaking their call,friends toso that Alice was begged by her'receive' in the shed or barn wheneverpossible. Mrs. Robinson was not only 'turribleneat,' but 'turrible close,' so that the refreshmentswere likely to be peppermint lozenges and glassesof well water.After considering the relative values, as penances,of a piece of haircloth worn next the skin,and a pebble in the shoe, she dismissed them both.The haircloth could not be found, and the pebblewould attract the notice of the Argus-eyed aunt,besides being a foolish bar to the activity of a personwho had to do housework and walk a mile anda half to school.Her first experimental attempt at martyrdomhad not been a distinguished success. She hadstayed at home from the Sunday-school concert, afunction of which, in ignorance of more alluringones, she was extremely fond.As a result of her

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 137desertion, two infants who relied uponher tothe chil-prompt them (she knew the verses of alldren better than they did themselves) broke downignominiously. The class to which she belongedhad to read a difficult chapter of Scripture in rotation,and the various members spent an arduousSabbath afternoon counting out verses accordingto their seats in the pew, and practicing the onesthat would inevitably fall to them.They were tooignorant to realize, when they were called upon,that Rebecca's absence would make everythingcome wrong, and the blow descended with crushingforce when the Jebusites and Amorites, the Girgashites,Hivites, and Perizzites had to be pronouncedby the persons of all others least capableof grappling with them.Self-punishment, then, to be adequate andproper, must begin, like charity, at home, and unlikecharity should end there too. Rebecca lookedabout the room vaguely as she sat by the window.She must give up something, and truth to tell shepossessed little to give, hardly anything but — yes,that would do, the beloved pink parasol. She couldnot hide it in the attic, for in some moment ofweakness she would be sure to take it out again.She feared she had not the moral energy to breakit into bits. Her e^es moved from the parasol tothe apple-trees in the side yard, and then fell tothe well curb. That would do; she would fling her

138 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMdearest possession into the depths of the water.Action followed quickly upon decision, as usual.She slipped down in the darkness, stole out thefront door, approached the place of sacrifice, liftedthe cover of the well, gave one unresigned shudder,and flung the parasol downward with all her force.At the crucial instant of renunciation she wasgreatly helped by the reflection that she closelyresembled the heathen mothers who cast theirbabes to the crocodiles in the Ganges.She slept well and arose refreshed, as a consecratedspirit always should and sometimes does.But there was great difficulty in drawing waterafter breakfast. Rebecca, chastened and uplifted,had gone to school. Abijah Flagg was summoned,lifted the well cover, explored, found the incitingcause of trouble, and with the help of Yankee witsucceeded in removingit. The fact was that theivory hook of the parasol had caught in the chaingear, and when the first attempt at drawing waterwas made, the little offering of a contrite heartwas jerked up, bent, its strong ribs jammed intothe well side, and entangled with a twig root.It isneedless to say that no sleight-of-hand performer,however expert, unless aided by the powers ofdarkness, could have accomplished this feat; buta luckless child in the pursuit of virtue had doneit with a turn of the wrist.We will draw a veil over the scene that occurred

GAVE ONE UNRESIGNED SHUDDER, AND FLUNG THEPARASOL DOWNWARD WITH ALL HER FORCE

140 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMafter Rebecca's return from school.You who readmay be well advanced in years, you may be giftedin rhetoric, ingenious in argument; but even youmight quail at the thought of explaining the tortuousmental processes that led you into throwingyour beloved pink parasol into Miranda Sawyer'sw^ell.Perhaps you feel equal to discussing theefficacy of spiritual self-chastisement with a personwho closes her lips into a thin line and looks at youout of blank, uncomprehending eyes! Commonsense, right, and logic were all arraj'ed on Miranda'sside.When poor Rebecca, driven to the wall, hadto avow the reasons lying behind the sacrificethe sunshade, her aunt said, 'Now see here, Rebecca,you're too big to be whipped, and I shallnever whip you; but when you think you ain'tpunished enough, just tell me, and I'll make out toinvent a little something more. I ain't so smart assome folks, but I can do that much; and whateverit is,it'll be something that won't punish the wholefamily, and make 'em drink ivory dust, wood chips,and pink silk rags with their water.'of

XIIISNOW-WHITE; ROSE-REDJust before Thanksgiving the affairs of the Simpsonsreached what might have been called a crisis,even in their family, which had been born andreared in a state of adventurous poverty and perilousuncertainty.Riverboro was doing its best to return the entiretribe of Simpsonsspeak, thinking rightlyto the land of its fathers,so tothat the town which hadgiven them birth, rather than the town of theiradoption, should feed them and keep a roof overtheir heads until the children were of an age forself-support. There was little to eat in the householdand lessto wear, though Mrs. Simpson did,as always, her poor best. The children managed tosatisfy their appetites by sitting modestly outsidetheir neighbors' kitchen doors when meals wereabout to be served. They were not exactly popularfavorites, but they did receive certain undesirablemorsels from the more charitable housewives.Life was rather dull and dreary, however, and inthe chill and gloom of November weather, with thevision of other people's turkeys bursting with fat,and other people's golden pumpkins and squashesand corn being garnered into barns, the young

142 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMSimpsons groped about for some inexpensive formof excitement, and settled upon the selling of soapto theirfor a premium. They had sold enoughimmediate neighbors during the earlier autumn tosecure a child's handcart, which, though very weakon its pins, could be trundled over the countryroads. With large business sagacity and an executivecapacity which must have been inherited fromtheir father, they now proposed to extend theiroperations to a larger area and distribute soap tocontiguous villages, if these villagescould be inducedto buy. The Excelsior Soap Company paida very small return of any kind to its infantileagents, who were scattered through the state, butit inflamed their imaginations by the issue of circularswith highly colored pictures of the premiumsto be awarded for the sale of a certain number ofcakes. It was at this juncture that Clara Belleand Susan Simpson consulted Rebecca, who threwherself solidly and wholeheartedly into the enterprise,promising her help and that of Emma JanePerkins. The premiums within their possible graspwere three : a bookcase, a plush reclining chair, anda banquet lamp.Of course the Simpsons had nobooks, and casting aside, without thought or pang,the plush chair, which might have been of someuse in a family of seven persons (not counting Mr.Simpson, who ordinarily sat elsewhere at the town'sexpense), they warmed themselves rapturously in

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 143the vision of the banquet lamp, which speedily becameto them more desirable than food, drink, orNeither Emma Jane nor Rebecca per-in the idea of theclothing.ceived anything incongruousSimpsons striving for a banquet lamp.at the picture daily and knew that ifThey lookedthey themselveswere free agents they would toil, suffer, aysweat, for the happy privilege of occupying thesame room with that lamp through the comingwinter evenings.It looked to be about eight feettall in the catalogue, and Emma Jane advised ClaraBelle to measure the height of the Simpson ceilings;but a note in the margin of the circular informedthem that it stood two and a half feet high whenset up in all its dignity and splendor on a propertable, three dollars extra.It was only of polishedbrass, continued the circular, thoughit was invariablymistaken for solid gold, and the shade thataccompanied it (at least it accompaniedit if theagent sold a hundred extra cakes) was of crinkledcrepe paper printed in a dozen delicious hues, fromwhich the joy-dazzled agent might take his choice.Seesaw Simpson was not in the syndicate. ClaraBelle was rather a successful agent, but Susan, whocould only say 'thoap,' never made large returns,and the twins, who were somewhat young to bethoroughly trustworthy, could be given only a halfdozen cakes at a time, and were obliged to carrywith them on their business trips a brief document

144 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMstating the price per cake, dozen, and box. Rebeccaand Emma Jane offered to go two or threemiles in some one direction and see what theycould do in the way of stirring up a popular demandfor the Snow-White and Rose-Red brands, theformer being devoted to laundry purposes and thelatter being intended for the toilet.council in EmmaThere was a great amount of hilarity in the preparationfor this event, and a longJane's attic. They had the soap company's circularfrom which to arrange a proper speech, andthey had, what was still better, the remembranceof a certain patent-medicine vender's discourse atthe Milltown Fair. His method, when once observed,could never be forgotten; nor his manner,nor his vocabulary. Emma Jane practiced it onRebecca, and Rebecca on Emma Jane.'Can I sell you a little soap this afternoon.'' Itiscalled the Snow-White and Rose-Red Soap, sixcakes in an ornamental box, only twenty cents forthe white, twenty-five cents for the red. It is madefrom the purest ingredients, and if desired could beeaten by an invalid with relish and profit.''Oh, Rebecca, don't let's say that!' interposedEmma Jane hysterically. 'It makes me feel like afool.''It takes so little to make you feel like a fool,Emma Jane,' rebuked Rebecca, 'that sometimes Ithink that you must be one.I don't get to feeling

EMMA JANE PRACTICED IT ON REBECCA, AND REBECCAON^ EMMA JANE

146 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMlike a fool so awfully easy; now leave out that eatingpart if you don't like it, and go on.''The Snow-White isprobably the most remarkablelaundry soap every manufactured. Immersethe garments in a tub, lightly rubbing the moresoiled portions with the soap; leave them submergedin water from sunset to sunrise, and thenthe youngest baby can wash them without theslightest effort.''Babe, not baby,' corrected Rebecca from thecircular.'It's just the same thing,' argued Emma Jane.'Of course it's just the same thing; but a baby hasgot to be called babe or infant in a circular, the sameas it is in poetry! Would you rather say infant?''No,' grumbled Emma Jane; 'infant is worseeven than babe. Rebecca, do you think we'd betterdo as the circular says, and let Elijah or Elishatry the soap before we begin selling.'^''I can't imagine a babe doing a family wash withany soap,' answered Rebecca; 'but it must be trueor they would never dare to print it, so don't let'sbother. Oh! won't it be the greatest fun, EmmaJane? At some of the houses — where they can'tpossibly know me — I shan't be frightened, and Ishall reel off the whole rigmarole, invalid, babe, andall. Perhaps I shall say even the last sentence, ifI can remember it: "We sound every chord in thegreat mac-ro-cosm of satisfaction.'"

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 147This conversation took place on a Friday afternoonat Emma Jane's house, where Rebecca, toher unbounded joy, was to stay over Sunday, heraunts having gone to Portland to the funeral of anold friend. Saturday being a holiday, they weregoing to have the old white horse, drive to NorthRiverboro three miles away, eat a twelve o'clockdinner with Emma Jane's cousins, and be back atfour o'clock punctually.When the children asked Mrs. Perkins iftheycould call at just a few houses coming and going,and sell a little soap for the Simpsons, she at firstreplied decidedly in the negative. She was anindulgent parent, however, and really had littleobjection to Emma Jane amusing herself in thisunusual way; it was only for Rebecca, as the nieceof the difficult Miranda Sawyer, that she raisedscruples; but when fully persuaded that the enterprisewas a charitable one, she acquiesced.The girls called at Mr. Watson's store, and arrangedfor several large boxes of soap to be chargedto Clara Belle Simpson's account. These werelifted into the back of the wagon, and a happiercouple never drove along the country road thanRebecca and her companion. It was a gloriousIndian summer day, which suggested nothing ofThanksgiving, near at hand as it was. It was arustly day, a scarlet and buff, yellow and carmine,bronze and crimson day. There were still many

148 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMleaves on the oaks and maples, making a goodlyshow of red and brown and gold. The air was likesparkling cider, and every field had its heaps of j'ellowand russet good things to eat, all ready for thebarns, the mills, and the markets. The horse forgothis twenty years, sniffed the sweet bright air,and trotted like a colt; Nokomis Mountain lookedblue and clear in the distance; Rebecca stood in thewagon, and apostrophized the landscape with suddenjoy of living:'Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,With the wonderful water round you curled.And the wonderful grass upon your breast.World, you are beautifully drest!*Dull Emma Jane had never seemed to Rebeccaso near, so dear, so tried and true; and Rebecca,to Emma Jane's faithful heart, had never been sobrilliant, so bewildering, so fascinating, as in thisvisit together, with its intimacy, its freedom, andthe added delights of an exciting business enterprise.A gorgeous leaf blew into the wagon.'Does color make you sort of dizzy?' askedRebecca.'No,' answered Emma Jane after a long pause;'no, it don't; not a mite.''Perhaps dizzy isn't just the right word, but it'snearest. I'd like to eat color, and drink it, andsleep in it. If you could be a tree, which one wouldyou choose?'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 149Emma Jane had enjoyed considerable experienceof this kind, and Rebecca had succeeded in unstoppingher ears, ungluing her eyes, and loosening hertongue, so that she could 'play the game' after afashion.'I'drather be an apple-tree in blossom,— thatone that blooms pink, by our pig-pen.'Rebecca laughed. There was always somethingunexpected in Emma Jane's replies. 'I'd chooseto be that scarlet maple just on the edge of the pond—there,' and she pointed with the whip. 'Then Icould see so much more than your pink apple-treeby the pig-pen. I could look at all the rest of thewoods, see my scarlet dress in my beautiful looking-glass,and watch all the yellow and brown treesgrowing upside down in the water. When I'm oldenough to earn money, I'm going to have a dresslike this leaf, allruby color — thin, you know,with a sweeping train and ruffly, curly edges; thenI think I'll have a brown sash like the trunk of thetree, and where could I be green.? Do they havegreen petticoats, I wonder.? I'd like a green petticoatcoming out now and then underneath to showwhat my leaves were like before I was a scarletmaple.''I think itJane.would be awful homely,' said Emma'I'm going to have a white satin with a pinksash, pink stockings, bronze slippers, and a spangledfan.'

XIVMR. ALADDINA SINGLE hour's experience of the vicissitudes incidentto a business career clouded the children'sThey did not accompanyspirits just the least bit.each other to the doors of their chosen victims,feeling sure that together they could not approachthe subject seriously; but they parted at the gateof each house, the one holding the horse while theother took the soap samples and interviewed anyone who seemed of a coming-on disposition.EmmaJane had disposed of three single cakes, Rebecca ofthree small boxes; for a difference in their abilityto persuade the public was clearly defined at thestart, thoughneither of them ascribed either successor defeat to anything but the imperious forceof circumstances. Housewives looked at EmmaJane and desired no soap; listened to her descriptionof its merits, and still desired none. Otherstars in their courses governed Rebecca's doings.The people whom she interviewed either rememberedtheir present need of soap,or remindedthemselves that they would need it in tlie future;the notable point in the case being that lucky Rebeccaaccomplished, with almost no effort,resultsthat poor little Emma Jane failed to attain byhard and conscientious labor.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 151*It's your turn, Rebecca, and I'm glad, too,'said Emma Jane, drawing up to a gateway andindicating a house that was set a considerable distancefrom the road. 'I haven't got over tremblingfrom the last place yet.' (A lady had put herhead out of an upstairs window and called, 'Goaway, little girl; whatever you have in your boxwe don't want any.') 'I don't know who lives here,and the blinds are all shut in front. If there'snobody at home you mustn't count it, but take thenext house as vours.'Rebecca walked up the* lane and went to the sidedoor. There was a porch there, and seated in arocking-chair, husking corn, was a good-lookingyoung man, or was he middle aged.'^ Rebeccacould not make up her mind. At all events he hadan air of the city about —him, w^ell-shaven face,well-trimmed mustache, well-fitting clothes. Rebeccawas a trifle shy at this unexpected encounter,but there was nothing to be done but explain herpresence, so she asked, 'Is the lady of the houseat home?''I am the lady of the house at present,' said thestranger, with a whimsical smile.'What can I dofor you?'*Have you ever heard of the — would you like,or I mean — do you need any soap?' queried Rebecca.'Do I look as if I did? 'he responded unexpectedly.

152 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMRebecca dimpled. 'I didn't mean that; I havesome soap to sell; I mean I would like to introduceto you a very remarkable soap, the best nowon the market. It is called the—''Oh! I must know that soap,' said the gentlemangenially. 'Made out of pure vegetable fats, isn'tit?''The very purest,' corroborated Rebecca.'No acid in it?''Not a trace.''And yet a child could do the Monday washingwith it and use no force.''A babe,' corrected Rebecca.'Oh! a babe, eh? That child grows youngerevery year, instead of older — wise child !This was great good fortune, to find a customerwho knew all the virtues of the article in advance.Rebecca dimpled more and more, and at her newfriend's invitation sat down on a stool at his sidenear the edge of the porch. The beauties of theornamental box which held the Rose-Red were disclosed,and the prices of both that and the Snow-White were unfolded. Presently she forgot allabout her silent partner at the gate and was talkingas if she had known this grand personagelife.'all her'I'm keeping house to-day, but I don't live here,'explained the delightful gentleman. 'I'm just onto Portland. Ia visit to my aunt, who has gone

*0H! I MUST KNOW THAT SOAP,' SAID THE GENTLEMANGENIALLY

154 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMused to be here as a boy, and I am very fond of thefarm where one hved when one was a child,'spot.''I don't think anything takes the place of theobservedRebecca, nearly bursting with pride at havingat last successfully used the indefinite pronounin general conversation.The man darted a look at her and put down hisear of corn. 'So you consider your childhood athing of the past, do you, young lady.''''I can still remember it,' answered Rebeccagravely, 'though it seems a long time ago.'*I can remember mine well enough, and a particularlyunpleasant one it was,' said the stranger.'So was mine,' sighed Rebecca. 'What was yourworst trouble?''Lack of food and clothes principally.**Oh !'exclaimed Rebecca sympathetically,—'mine was no shoes and too many babies and notenough books. But you're all right and happy now,aren't you?' she asked doubtfully, for though helooked handsome, well-fed, and prosperous, anychild could see that his eyes were tired and hismouth was sad when he was not speaking.'I'm doing pretty well, thank you,' said the man,with a delightful smile. 'Now tell me, how muchsoap ought I to buy to-day?''How much has your aunt on hand now?' suggestedthe very modest and inexperienced agent;'and how much would she need?'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 155*0h, I don't know about that; soap keeps,doesn't it? ''I'm not certain,'said Rebecca conscientiously,'but I'll look in the circular— it's sure to tell ;'and she drew the document from her pocket.'What are you going to do with the magnificentprofits you get from this business?''We are not selling for our own benefit,' saidRebecca confidentially. 'My friend who is holdingthe horse at the gate is the daughter of a very richblacksmith, and doesn't need any money. I ampoor, but I live with my aunts in a brick house, andof course they wouldn't like me to be a peddler.We are trying to get a premium for some friendsof ours.'Rebecca had never thought of alluding to thecircumstances with her previous customers, but unexpectedlyshe found herself describing Mr. Simpson,Mrs. Simpson, and the Simpson family; theirand their abject need ofpoverty, their joyless life,a banquet lamp to brighten their existence.'You needn't argue that point,' laughed the man,as he stood up to get a glimpseof the 'rich blacksmith'sdaughter' at the gate.'I can see that theyought to have it if they want it, and especiallyifyou want them to have it. I've known what it wasmyself to do without a banquet lamp. Now giveme the circular, and let's do some figuring. Howmuch do the Simpsons lack at this moment?'

156 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'If they sell two hundred more cakes this monthand next, they can have the lamp by Christmas,'Rebecca answered, 'and they can get a shade bysummer time; but I'm afraid I can't help verymuch after to-day, because my aunt Miranda maynot like to have me.''I see. Well, that's all right.I'll take three hundredcakes, and that will give them shade and all.'Rebecca had been seated on a stool very near tothe edge of the porch, and at this remark she madea sudden movement, tipped over, and disappearedinto a clump of lilac bushes. It was a very shortdistance, fortunately, and the amused capitalistjDicked her up, set her on her feet, and brushed heroff. 'You should never seem surprised when youhave taken a large order,' said he; 'you ought tohave replied" Can't you make it three hundred andfifty .'^"way.'instead of capsizingin that unbusinesslike'Oh, I could never say anything like that!' exclaimedRebecca, who was blushing crimson at herawkward fall. 'But it doesn't seem right for youto buy so much. Are you sure you can afford it.^''If I can't, I'll save on something else,' returnedthe jocose philanthropist.'What ifyour aunt shouldn't like the kind ofsoap.^' queried Rebecca nervously.'My aunt always likes what I like,' he returned.'Mine doesn't!' exclaimed Rebecca.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 157'Then there's something wrong with your aunt!''Or with me,' laughed Rebecca.'What is your name, young lady?''Rebecca Rowena Randall, sir.''What.f^' with an amused smile.^Both?Yourmother was generous.''She couldn't bear to give up either of the namesshe says.''Do you want to hear my name.'*''I think I know already,' answered Rebecca,with a bright glance. 'I'm sure you must be Mr.Aladdin in the Arabian Nights.Oh, please, can Irun down and tell Emma Jane.'* She must be sotired waiting, and she will be so glad!'At the man's nod of assent Rebecca sped downthe lane, crying irrepressibly as she neared thewagon, 'Oh, Emma Jane! Emma Jane! we are soldout!'Mr. Aladdin followed smilingly to corroboratethis astonishing, unbelievable statement; lifted alltheir boxes from the back of the wagon, and takingthe circular, promised to write to the ExcelsiorCompany that night concerning the premium.'If you could contrive to —keep a secret, youtwo little girls,— it would be rather a nice surpriseto have the lamp arrive at the Simpsons' onThanksgiving Day, wouldn't it.'*' he asked, as hetuoked the old lap robe cosily over their feet.They gladly assented, and broke into a chorus of

158 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMexcited thanks, during which tears of joystood inRebecca's eyes.'Oh, don't mention it!' laughed Mr, Aladdin,liftinghis hat. 'I was a sort of commercial travelermyself once,— years ago,— and I like tosee the thing well done. Good-bye, Miss RebeccaRowena! Just let me know whenever you haveanything to sell, for I'm certain beforehand I shallwant it.''Good-bye, Mr. Aladdin! I surelywill!' criedRebecca, tossing back her dark braids delightedlyand waving her hand.'Oh, Rebecca!' said Emma Jane in an awestruckwhisper. 'He raised his hat to us, and wenot thirteen! It'll be five years before we're ladies.''Never mind,' answered Rebecca; 'we are thebeginnings of ladies, even now.''He tucked the lap robe round us, too,' continuedEmma Jane, in an ecstasy of reminiscence. 'Oh!isn't he perfectly elergant? And wasn't it lovelyof him to buy us out.^ And just think of havingboth the lamp and the shade for one day's work!Aren't you glad you wore your pink gingham now,even if mother did make you put on flannel underneath?You do look so pretty in pink and red,Rebecca, and so homely in drab and brown!''I — know it,' sighed Rebecca. 'I wish I was likeyou pretty in all colors 'And Rebecca looked!longingly at Emma Jane's fat, rosy cheeks; at her

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 159blue eyes, which said nothing; at her neat nose,which had no character; at her red hps, from betweenwhich no word worth Hstening to had everissued.'Never mind!' said Emma Jane comfortingly.'Everybody says you're awful bright and smart,and mother thinks you'll be better looking all thetime as you grow older. You wouldn't believe it,but I was a dreadful homely baby, and homelyright along tillred hair began to grow dark.man's name.^^'just a year or two ago, when myWhat was the nice'I never thought to ask!' ejaculated Rebecca.'Aunt Miranda would say that was just like me,and it is. But I called him Mr. Aladdin because hegave us a lamp. You know the story of Aladdin andthe wonderful lamp.^^''Oh, Rebecca! how could you call him a nicknamethe very first time you ever saw him.^''Aladdin isn't a nickname exactly; anyway, helaughed and seemed to like it.'By dint of superhuman effort, and putting sucha seal upon their lips as never mortals put before,the two girls succeeded in keeping their wonderfulnews to themselves; although it was obvious to allbeholders that they were in an extraordinary andabnormal state of mind.On Thanksgiving the lamp arrived in a largepacking box, and was taken out and set up by See-

160 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMsaw Simpson, who suddenly began to admire andrespect the business abiUty of his sisters. Rebeccahad heard the news of its arrival, but waited untilnearly dark before asking permission to goto theSimpsons', so that she might see the gorgeoustrophy lighted and sending a blaze of crimson glorythrough its red crepe paper shade.

XVTHE BANQUET LAMPThere had been company at the brick house to thebountiful Thanksgiving dinner which had been pro-whovided at one o'clock,— the Burnham sisters,lived between North Riverboro and Shaker Village,and who for more than a quarter of a century hadcome to pass the holiday with the Sawyers everyyear.Rebecca sat silent with a book after the dinnerdishes were washed, and when it was nearlyfive asked if she might go to the Simpsons'.*What do you want to run after those Simpsonchildren for on a Thanksgiving Day.'^' queried MissMiranda. ' Can't you set still for once and listen tothe improvin' conversation of yourelders.'^ Younever can let well enough alone, but want to be foreveron the move.''The Simpsons have a new lamp, and EmmaJane and I promised to go up and see it lighted, andmake it a kind of a party.''What under the canopy did they want of alamp, and where did they get the money to pay forit.'*If Abner was at home, I should think he'd beenswappin' again,' said Miss Miranda.'The children got it as a prize for selling soap,'replied Rebecca; 'they've been working for a year.

162 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMand you know I told youthat Emma Jane and Ihelped them the Saturday afternoon you were inPortland.''I didn't take notice, I s'pose, for it's the firsttime I ever heard the lamp mentioned.can go for an hour, and no more.Well, youRemember it'sas dark at six as it is at midnight. Would you liketo take along some Baldwin apples? What haveyou got in the pocket of that new dress that makesitsag down so?''It's my nuts and raisins from dinner,' repliedRebecca, who never succeeded in keeping the mostinnocent action a secret from her aunt Miranda;'they're just what you gave me on my plate.*'Why didn't you eat them?''Because I'd had enough dinner, and I thoughtif I saved these, it would make the Simpsons'stammered Rebecca, who hated toparty better,'be scolded and examined before company.'They were your own, Rebecca,' interposed auntJane, ' and ifyou chose to save them to give away,it is all right. We ought never to let this day passwithout giving our neighbors something to bethankful for, instead of taking all the time to thinkof our own mercies.'The Burnham sisters nodded approvingly as Rebeccawent out, and remarked that they had neverseen a child grow and improve so fast in so short atime.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 163'There's plenty of room left for more improvement,as you'd know if she lived in the same housewith you,' answered Miranda. 'She's into everynamable thing in the neighborhood, an' not onlyinto it, but generally at the head an' front of it,especially when it's mischief. Of all the foolishnessI ever heard of, that lamp beats everything; it'sjust like those Simpsons, but I didn't suppose thechildren had brains enough to sell anything.''One of them must have,' said Miss Ellen Burnham,'for the girl that was selling soap at theLadds' in North Riverboro was described by AdamLadd as the most remarkable and winning child heever saw.''It must have been Clara Belle, and I shouldnever call her remarkable,' answered Miss Miranda.'Has Adam been home again.'^''Yes, he's been staying a few days with his aunt.There's no limit to the money he's making, theysay; and he always brings presents for all theneighbors. This time it was a full set of furs forMrs. Ladd; and to think we can remember thetime he was a barefoot boy without two shirts tohis back! It isstrange he hasn't married, with allhis money, and him so fond of children that he alwayshas a pack of them at his heels,''There's hope for him still, though,' said MissJane smilingly; 'for I don't s'pose he's more thanthirty.'

164 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*He could get a wife in Riverboro if he was ahundred and thirty,' remarked Miss Miranda.'Adam's aunt says he was so taken with the Httlegirl that sold the soap (Clara Belle, did you say hername was ?) ,that he declared he was going to bringher a Christmas present,' continued Miss Ellen.'Well, there's no accountin' for tastes,' exclaimedMiss Miranda. 'Clara Belle's got cross-eyes andred hair, but I'd be the last one to grudge her aChristmas present; the more Adam Ladd gives toher the less the town'll have to.''Isn't there another Simpson girLf^' asked MissLydia Burnham; 'for this one couldn't have beencross-eyed; I remember Mrs. Ladd saying Adamremarked about this child's handsome eyes. Hesaid it was her eyes that made him buy the threehundred cakes.shed chamber.'Mrs. Ladd has it stacked upin the'Three hundred cakes!' ejaculated Miranda.'Well, there's one crop that never fails in Riverboro!''What's that.f^'asked Miss Lydia politely.'The fool crop,' responded Miranda tersely, andchanged the subject, much to Jane's gratitude, forshe had been nervous and ill at ease for the last fifteenminutes. What child in Riverboro could bedescribed as remarkable and winning, save Rebecca?What child had wonderful eyes, except thesame Rebecca? and finally, was there ever a child

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 165in the world who could make a man buy soap bythe hundred cakes, save Rebecca?IVIeantime the 'remarkable' child had flown upthe road in the deepening dusk, but she had notgone far before she heard the sound of hurryingfootsteps, and saw a well-known figure coming inher direction. In a moment she and Emma Janemet and exchanged a breathless embrace.'Something awful has happened,' panted EmmaJane.'Don't tell me it's broken,' exclaimed Rebecca.*No! oh, no! not that!It was packed in straw,and every piece came out all right: and I was there,and I never said a single thing about your sellingthe three hundred cakes that got the lamp, so thatwe could be together when you told.''^Our selling the three hundred cakes,' correctedRebecca; 'you did as much as I.''No, I didn't, Rebecca Randall.gate and held the horse.'I just sat at the'Yes, but ivhose horse was it that took us toNorth Riverboro? And besides, it just happenedto be my turn. If you had gone in and found Mr.Aladdin you would have had the wonderful lampgiven to you; but what's the trouble .P''The Simpsons have no kerosene and no wicks.I guess they thought a banquet lamp was somethingthat lighted itself, and burned without anyhelp. Seesaw has gone to the doctor's to tryif he

166 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMcan borrow a wick, and mother let me have a pintof oil, but she says she won't give me any more.We never thought of the expense of keeping upthe lamp, Rebecca.''No, we didn't, but let'snot worry about thattill after the party. I have a handful of nuts andraisins and some apples.'*I have peppermints and maple sugar,' saidEmma Jane. 'They had a real Thanksgiving dinner;the doctor gave them sweet potatoes and cranberriesand turnips; father sent a spare-rib, andMrs. Cobb a chicken and a jar of mince-meat.'At half past five one might have looked in atthe Simpsons' windows, and seen the partyat itsheight. Mrs. Simpson had let the kitchen fire dieout, and had brought the baby to grace the festalscene. The lamp seemed to be having the party,and receiving the guests. The children had takenthe one small table in the house, and it was placedin the far corner of the room to serve as a pedestal.On it stood the sacred, the adored, the long-desiredobject; almost as beautiful, and nearly half aslarge as the advertisement. The brass glistenedlike gold, and the crimson paper shade glowed likea giant ruby. In the wide splash of light that itflung upon the floor sat the Simpsons, in reverentand solemn silence, Einma Jane standing behindthem, hand in hand with Rebecca. There seemedto be no desire for conversation; the occasion was

THE LAMP SEEMED TO BE HAVING THE PARTY

68 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMtoo thrilling and serious for that.The lamp, it wastacitly felt by everybody, was dignifying the party,and providing sufficient entertainment simply byits presence; being fully as satisfactory in its wayas a pianola or a string band.'I wish father could see it,' said Clara Belleloyally.'If he onth thaw it he'd want to thwap it,'murmuredSusan sagaciously.At the appointed hour Rebecca dragged herselfreluctantly away from the enchanting scene.'I'll turn the lamp out the minute I think youand Emma Jane are home,' said Clara Belle. 'And,oh! I'm so glad you both live where you can see itshine from our windows.I wonder how long it willburn without bein' filled if I only keepit lit onehour every night?''You needn't put it out for want o' karosene,'said Seesaw, coming in from the shed, 'for there'sa great kag of it settin' out there. Mr. Tubbsbrought it over from North Riverboro and saidsomebody sent an order by mail for it.'Rebecca squeezed Emma Jane's arm, and EmmaJane gave a rapturous return squeeze. 'It was Mr.Aladdin,' whispered Rebecca, as they ran down thepath to the gate. Seesaw followed them and handsomelyoffered to see them 'a piece' down the road,but Rebecca declined his escort with such decisionthat he did not press the matter, but went to bed

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 169to dream of her instead.In his dreams flashes ofHghtning proceeded from both her eyes,held a flaming sword in either hand.and sheRebecca entered the home dining-room joyously.The Biu'nham sisters had gone and the two auntswere knitting.'It was a heavenly party,' she cried,taking offher hat and cape.'Go back and see ifyou have shut the doortight, and then lock it,' said Miss Miranda, in herusual austere manner.'It was a heavenly party,' reiterated Rebecca,coming in again, much too excited to be easilycrushed, 'and oh! aunt Jane, aunt Miranda, ifyou'll only come into the kitchen and look out ofthe sink window, you can see the banquet lampshining all red, just as if the Simpsons' house wason fire.''And probably it will be before long,' observedMiranda.'I've got no patience with such foolishgoin's-on.'Jane accompanied Rebecca into the kitchen.Although the feeble glimmer which she was ableto see from that distance did not seem to her adazzling exhibition, she tried to be as enthusiasticas possible.'Rebecca, who was it that sold the three hundredcakes of soap to Mr. Ladd in North Riverboro?''Mr. Who? 'exclaimed Rebecca.

170 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*Mr. Ladd, in North Riverboro.*'Is that his real name?' queried Rebecca inastonishment. 'I didn't make a bad guess;' andshe laughed softly to herself.'I asked you who sold the soap to Adam Ladd.'^'resumed Miss Jane.'Adam Ladd! then he's A. Ladd, too; what fun!''Answer me, Rebecca.''excuse me, aunt Jane, I w^as so busy think-Emma Jane and I sold the soap to Mr. Ladd.'ing.Oh !'Did you tease him, or make him buy it?''Now, aunt Jane, how could I make a big grownupman buy anythingif he didn't want to? Heneeded the soap dreadfully as a present for hisaunt.'Miss Jane still looked a little unconvinced,though she only said, 'I hope your aunt Mirandawon't mind, but you know how particular she is,Rebecca, and I really wish you wouldn't do anythingout of the ordinary without asking her first,'Emma Jane sold herfor your actions are very. queer.''There can't be anything wrong this time,' Rebeccaanswered confidently.cakes to her own relations and to uncle Jerry Cobb,and I went first to those new tenements near thelumber mill, and then to the Ladds'. Mr. Laddbought all we had and made us promise to keep thesecret until the premium came, and I've been goingabout ever since as if the banquet lamp was inside

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 171of me all lighted up and burning, for everybody tosee.'Rebecca's hair was loosened and falling over herforehead in ruffled waves; her eyes were brilliant,her cheeks crimson; there was a hint of everythingin the girl's face,— of sensitiveness and delicacy aswell as of ardor; there was the sweetness of themayflower and the strength of the young oak, butone could easily divine that she was one of'The souls by nature pitched too high,By suffering phinged too low,'*That's just the way you look, for all the worldas ifyou did have a lamp burning inside of you,'sighed aunt Jane. 'Rebecca! Rebecca! I wish youcould take things easier, child; I am fearful for you,sometimes.'

XVISEASONS OF GROWTHThe days flew by; as summer had melted into autumnso autumn had given place to winter. Lifein the brick house had gone on more placidly of late,for Rebecca was honestly trying to be more carefulin the performanceof her tasks and duties as wellas more quiet in her plan's, and she was slowly learningthe power of the soft answer in turning awaywrath.Miranda had not had, perhaps, quite as manyopportunities in which to lose her temper, but it isonly just to say that she had not fully availed herselfof all that had offered themselves.There had been one outburst of righteous wrathoccasioned by Rebecca's over-hospitable habits,which were later shown in a still more dramaticand unexpected fashion.On a certain Friday afternoon she asked her auntMiranda if she might take half her bread and milkupstairs to a friend.'What friend have you got up there, for pity'ssake.^' demanded aunt Miranda.'The Simpson baby, come to stay over Sunday;that is,ifyou're willing, Mrs. Simpson says she is.Shall I bring her down and show her.''She's dressed

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 173in an old dress of Emma Jane's and she lookssweet.''You can bring her down, but you can't show herto me ! You can smuggle her out the way you smuggledher in and take her back to her mother. Whereon earth do you get your notions, borrowing ababy for Sunday!''You're so used to a house without a baby youdon't know how dull it is,' sighed Rebecca resignedly,as she moved towards the door; 'but at thefarm there was always a nice fresh one to play withand cuddle.half as bad as none at all.There were too many, but that's notWell, I'll take her back.She'll be dreadfully disappointed and so will Mrs.Simpson. She w^as planning to go to Milltown.''She can un-plan then,' observed Miss Miranda.'Perhaps I can go upthere and take care of thebaby.?^' suggested Rebecca. 'I brought her homeso't I could do my Saturday work just the same.'You've got enough to do right here, without any'borrowed babies to make more steps. Now, noanswering back, just give the child some supper andcarry it home where it belongs.''You don't want me to go down the front way,hadn't I better just come through this room andlet you look at her.'^ She has yellow hair and bigblue eyes! Mrs. Simpson says she takes after herfather.'Miss Miranda smiled acidly as she said she

174 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMcouldn't take after her father, for he'd take anythingthere was before she got there!Aunt Jane was in the Hnen closet upstairs, sortingout the clean sheets and pillow cases for Saturday,and Rebecca sought comfort from her.'I brought the Simpson baby home, aunt Jane,thinking it would help us over a dull Sunday, butaunt Miranda won't let her stay. Emma Jane hasthe promise of her next Sunday and Alice Robinsonthe next.Mrs. Simpson wanted I should have herfirst because I've had so much experience in babies.Come in and look at her sitting up in my bed, auntJane! Isn't she lovely.'' She's the fat, gurgly kind,not thin and fussy like some babies, and I thoughtI was going to have her to undress and dress twiceeach day. Oh dear! I wish I could have a printedbook with everything set down in it that I could do,and then I wouldn't get disappointed so often.''No book could be printed that would fit you,Rebecca,' answered aunt Jane, 'for nobody couldimagine beforehand the things you'd want to do.Are you going to carry that heavy child home inyour arms?''No, I'm going to drag her in the little soapwagon.Come, baby! Take your thumb out ofyour mouth and come to ride with Becky in yourShe stretched out her strong young armsgo-cart.'to the crowing baby,sat down in a chair with thechild, turned her upside down unceremoniously.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 175took from her waistband and scornfully flung awaya crooked pin, walked with her (still in a highlyreversed position) to the bureau, selected a largesafety pin, and proceeded to attach her brief redflannel petticoat to a sort of shirt that she wore.Whether flat on her stomach, or head down, heelsin the air,the Simpson baby knew she was in thehands of an expert, and continued gurgling placidlywhile aunt Jane regarded the pantomime with akind of dazed awe.'Bless my soul, Rebecca,' she ejaculated, 'itbeats all how handy you are with babies !'I ought to be; I've brought up three and a halfof 'em,' Rebecca responded cheerfully, pulling upthe infant Simpson's stockings.'I should think you'd be fonder of dolls thanyou are,'said Jane.*I do like them, but there's never any change ina doll; it'salways the same everlasting old doll,and you have to make believe it'sit loves you, or can't bear you.'cross or sick, orBabies are moretrouble, but nicer.'Miss Jane stretched out a thin hand with a slender,worn band of gold on the finger, and the babycurled her dimpled fingers round it and held it fast.'You wear a ring on your engagement finger,don't you, aunt Jane? Did you ever think aboutgetting married?''Yes, dear, long ago,'

176 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*What happened, aunt Jane?'*He died — just before.''Oh!' And Rebecca's eyes grew misty.*He was a soldier and he died of a gunshotwound, in a hospital, down South.''Oh! aunt Jane!' softly. 'Away from you?*'No, I was with him.''Was he young?''Yes; young and brave and handsome, Rebecca;he was Mr. Carter's brother Tom.''Oh! I'm so glad you were with him! Wasn'the glad, aunt Jane?'Jane looked back across the half -forgotten years,and the vision of Tom's gladness flashed upon her:his haggard smile, the tears in his tired eyes, hisoutstretched arms, his weak voice saying, 'Oh,Jenny! Dear Jenny! I've wanted you so, Jenny!'It was too much! She had never breathed a wordof itbefore to a human creature, for there was noone who would have understood.Now, in a shamefacedway, to hide her brimming eyes, she put herhead down on the young shoulder beside her, saying,''It was hard, Rebecca !The Simpson baby had cuddled down sleepily inRebecca's lap, leaning her head back and suckingher thumb contentedly. Rebecca put her cheekdown until it touched her aunt's gray hair andsoftly patted her, as she said, 'I'm sorry, auntJane !'

IK -' \

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 177The girl's eyes were soft and tender and theheart within her stretched a httle and grew; grewin sweetness and intuition and depth of feehng. Ithad looked into another heart, felt it beat, andheard it sigh; and that is how all hearts grow.Episodes like these enlivened the quiet course ofevery-day existence, made more quiet by the departureof Dick Carter, Living Perkins, and HuldahMeserve for Wareham, and the small attendance atthe winter school, from which the younger childrenof the place stayed away during the cold weather.Life, however, could never be thoroughly dullor lacking in adventure to a child of Rebecca'stemperament. Her nature was full of adaptability,fluidity, receptivity. She made friends everywhereshe went, and snatched up acquaintances in everycorner.It was she who ran to the shed door to take thedish to the 'meat man' or 'fish man;' she whoknew the family histories of the itinerant fruit vendersand tin peddlers; she who was asked to takesupper or pass — the night with children in neighboringvillages children of whose parents her auntshad never so much as heard. As to the nature ofthese friendships, which seemed so many to theeye of the superficial observer, they were of variouskinds, and while the girl pursued them with enthusiasmand ardor, they left her unsatisfied andheart-hungry; they were never intimacies such as

178 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMare so readily made by shallow natures.She lovedEmma Jane, but it was a friendship born of propinquityand circumstance, not of true affinity. It washer neighbor's amiability, constancy, and devotionthat she loved, and although she rated these qualitiesat their true value, she was always searchingbeyond them for intellectual treasures; searchingand never finding, for although Emma Jane hadthe advantage in years she was still immature.Huldah Meserve had an instinctive love of funwhich appealed to Rebecca; she also had a fascinatingknowledge of the world, from having visitedher married sisters in Milltown and Portland; buton the other hand there was a certainsharpnessand lack of sympathy in Huldah which repelledrather than attracted. With Dick Carter she couldat least talk intelligently about lessons. He was avery ambitious boy, full of plans for his future,which he discussed quite freely with Rebecca, butwhen she broached the subject of her future hisinterest sensibly lessened. Into the world of theideal Emma Jane, Huldah, and Dick alike neverseemed to have peeped, and the consciousness ofthis was always a fixed gulf between them andRebecca.'Uncle Jerry' and 'aunt Sarah' Cobb were dearfriends of quite another sort, a very satisfying andperhaps a somewhat dangerous one. A visit fromRebecca always sent them into a twitter of delight.

UNCLE jerry's HOUSE\

180 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMHer merry conversation and quaint comments onlife in general fairly dazzled the old couple, whohung on her lightest word as if it had been a prophet'sutterance; and Rebecca, though she had had noprevious experience, owned to herself a perilouspleasure in being dazzling, even to a couple of dearlike Mr. and Mrs. Cobb.humdrum old peopleAunt Sarah flew to the pantry or cellar wheneverRebecca's slim little shape first appeared on thecrest of the hill, and a jelly tart or a frosted cakewas sure to be forthcoming. The sight of old uncleJerry's spare figure in its clean white shirt sleeves,whatever the weather, always made Rebecca'sheart warm when she saw him peer longingly fromthe kitchen window. Before the snow came, manywas the time he had come out to sit on a pile ofboards at the gate, to see if by any chance she wasmounting the hill that led to their house. In theautumn Rebecca was often the old man's companionwhile he was digging potatoes or shelling beans,and now in the winter, when a younger man wasdriving the stage, she sometimes stayed with himwhile he did his evening milking. It is safe to saythat he was the only creature in Riverboro whopossessed Rebecca's entire confidence; the onlybeing to whom she poured out her whole heart, withits wealth of hopes, and dreams, and vague ambitions.At the brick house she practiced scales andexercises, but at the Cobb's cabinet organ she sang

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 181like a bird, improvising simple accompanimentsthat seemed to her ignorant auditors nothing shortof marvelous.Here she was happy, here she wasloved, here she was drawn out of herself and admiredand made much of. But, she thought,ifthere were somebody who not only loved but understood;who spoke her language, comprehendedher desires, and responded to her mysterious longings!Perhaps in the big world of Wareham therewould be people who thought and dreamed andwondered as she did.In reality Jane did not understand her niece verymuch better than Miranda; the difference betweenthe sisterswas, that while Jane was puzzled, shewas also attracted, and when she was quite in thedark for an explanation of some quaint or unusualaction she was sympathetic as to its possible motiveand believed the best. A greater change had comeover Jane than over any other person in the brickhouse, but it had been wrought so secretly, andconcealed so religiously, that it scarcely appearedto the ordinary observer. Life had now a motiveutterly lacking before. Breakfast was not eaten inthe kitchen, because it seemed worth while, nowthat there were three persons, to lay the cloth inthe dining-room; it was also a more bountiful mealthan of yore, when there was no child to consider.The morning was made cheerful by Rebecca'sstart for school, the packing of the luncheon basket,

182 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMthe final word about umbrella, waterproof, or rubbers;the parting admonition and the unconsciouswaiting at the window for the last wave of thehand. She found herself taking pride in Rebecca'simproved appearance, her rounder throat andcheeks, and her better color; she was wont to mentionthe length of Rebecca's hair and add a wordas to its remarkable evenness and lustre, at timeswhen Mrs. Perkins grew too diffuse about EmmaJane's complexion. She threw herself wholeheartedlyon her niece's side when it became a questionbetween a crimson or a brown linsey-woolsey dress,and went through a memorable struggle with hersister concerning the purchase of a red bird forRebecca's black felt hat. No one guessed the quietpleasure that lay hidden in her heart when shewatched the girl's dark head bent over her lessonsat night, nor dreamed of her joy in certain quietevenings when Miranda went to prayer meeting;evenings when Rebecca would read aloud Hiawathaor Barbara Frietchie, The Bugle Song, or TheBrook. Her narrow, humdrum existence bloomedunder the dews that fell from thisfresh spirit; herdullness brightened under the kindling touch of theyounger mind, took fire from the 'vital spark ofheavenly flame' that seemed always to radiatefrom Rebecca's presence.Rebecca's idea of being a painter like her friendMiss Ross was gradually receding, owing to the

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 183apparently insuperable difficulties in securing anyinstruction. Her aunt INIiranda saw no wisdom incultivating such a talent, and could not conceivethat any money could ever be earned byits exercise.'Hand painted pictures' were held in littleesteem in Riverboro, where the cheerful chromo orthe dignified steel engraving were respected andvalued. There was a slight, a very slight hope,that Rebecca might be allowed a few music lessonsfrom Miss Morton, who played the church cabinetorgan, but this depended entirely upon whetherMrs. Morton would decide to accept a hayrack- inreturn for a year's instruction from her daughter.She had the matter under advisement, but a doubtas to whether or not she would sell or rent her hayfieldskept her from coming to a conclusion. Music,in common with all other accomplishments, wasviewed by Miss Miranda as a trivial,useless, andfoolish amusement, but she allowed Rebecca anhour a day for practice on the old piano, and a littleextra time for lessons,if Jane could secure themwithout payment of actual cash.The news from Sunnybrook Farm was hopefulrather than otherwise. Cousin Ann's husband haddied, and John, Rebecca's favorite brother, hadgone to be the man of the house to the widowedcousin. He was to have good schooling in return forhis care of the horse and cow and barn, and whatwas still more dazzling, the use of the old doctor's

184 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMmedical library of two or three dozen volumes.John's whole heart was set on becoming a countrydoctor, with Rebecca to keep house for him, andthe vision seemed now so true, so near, that hecould almost imagine his horse ploughing throughsnowdrifts on errands of mercy, or, less dramaticbut none the less attractive, could see a physician'sneat turnout trundling along the shady countryroads, a medicine case between his, Dr. Randall'sand Miss Rebecca Randall sitting in a blackfeet,silk dress by his side.Hannah now wore her hair in a coil and herdresses a trifle below her ankles, these concessionsbeing due to her extreme height. Mark had brokenhis collar bone, but it was healing well. Little Mirawas growing very pretty. There was even a rumorthat the projected railroad from Temperance toPlumville might go near the Randall farm, in whichcase land would rise in value from nothing-at-all anacre to something at least resembling a price.Randall refused toMrs.consider any improvement intheir financial condition as a possibility.Contentto work from sunrise to sunset to gain a meresubsistence for her children, she lived in their future,not in her own present, as a mother iswontto do when her own lot seems hard and cheerless.

XVIIGRAY DAYS AND GOLDWhen Rebecca looked back upon the yearor twothat followed the Simpsons' Thanksgiving party,she could see only certain milestones rising in thequiet pathway of the months.The first milestone was Christmas Day. It wasa fresh, crystal morning, with icicles hanging likedazzling pendants from the trees and a glaze ofpale blue on the surface of the snow. The Simpsons'red barn stood out, a glowing mass of color inthe white landscai)e. Rebecca had been busy forweeks before, trying to make a present for each ofthe seven persons at Sunnybrook Farm, a somewhatdifficult proceeding on an expenditure of fiftycents, hoarded by incredible exertion. Success hadbeen achieved, however, and the precious packethad been sent by post two days previous. MissSawyer had bought her niece a nice gray squirrelmuff and tippet, which was even more unbecoming,if possible, than Rebecca's other articles of wearingapparel; but aunt Jane had made her the loveliestdress of green cashmere, a soft, soft green likethat of a young leaf. It was very simply made, butthe color delighted the eye. Then there was a beautiful'tatting' collar from her mother, some scarlet

186 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMmittens from Mrs. Cobb, and a handkerchief fromEmma Jane.Rebecca herself had fashioned an elaborate teacosywith a letter 'M' in outline stitch, and apretty frilled pincushion marked with a 'J,' for hertwo aunts, so that taken all together the day wouldhave been an unequivocal success had nothing elsehappened; but something else did.There was a knock at the door at breakfast time,and Rebecca, answering it, was asked by a boy ifMiss Rebecca Randall lived there. On being toldthat she did,he handed her a parcel bearing hername, a parcel which she took like one in a dreamand bore into the dining-room.'It's a present; it must be,' she said, looking atit in a dazed sort of way;could be from.''but I can't think who it'A good way to find out would be to open it,'remarked Miss Miranda.The parcel being untied proved to have twosmaller packages within, and. Rebecca opened withtrembling fingersthe one addressed to her. Anybody'sfingers would have trembled.case which, when the cover was lifted,There was adisclosed along chain of delicate—pink coral beads, a chainending in a cross made of coral rosebuds. A cardwith 'Merry Christmas from Mr. Aladdin' layunder the cross.'Of all things!' exclaimed the two old ladies,risingin their seats.'Who sent it?'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 187*Mr. Ladd,' said Rebecca under her breath.'Adam Ladd! Well I never! Don't you rememberEllen Burnham said he was going to sendRebecca a Christmas present? But I never supposedhe'd think of it again ' said Jane. 'What'sthe other package?'It proved to be a silver chain with a blue enamellocket on it, marked for Emma Jane. That addedthe last touch — to have him remember them both !There was a letter also, which ran:Dear Miss Rebecca Rowena, — My idea of aChristmas present is something entirely unnecessaryand useless. I have always noticed when Igive this sort of thing that people love it,so I hopeI have not chosen wrong for you and your friend.You must wear your chain this afternoon, please,and let me see it on your neck, for I am comingover in my new sleigh to take you both to drive.My aunt is delighted with the soap.Sincerely your friend,Adam Ladd.**Well, well!' cried Miss Jane, isn't that kind ofhim? He's very fond of children, Lyddy Burnhamsays. Now eat your breakfast, Rebecca, and afterwe've done the dishes you can run over to Emma'sand give her her chain — What's the matter,chUd?'

188 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMRebecca's emotions seemed always to be stored,as it were, in adjoining compartments, and to becontinually getting mixed. At this moment, thoughher joy was too deep for words, her bread and butteralmost choked her, and at intervals a tear stolefurtively down her cheek.Mr. Ladd called as he promised, and made theacquaintance of the aunts, understanding themboth in five minutes as well as if he had knownthem for years. On a footstool near the open firesat Rebecca, silent and shy, so conscious of her fineapparel and the presence of aunt Miranda that shecould not utter a word. It was one of her 'beautydays.' Happiness, excitement, the color of thegreen dress, and the touch of lovely pink in thecoral necklace had transformed the little brownwren for the time into a bird of plumage, and AdamLadd watched her with evident satisfaction. Thenthere was the sleigh ride, during which she foundher tongue and chattered like any magpie, and soended that glorious Christmas Day; and many andmany a night thereafter did Rebecca go tosleepwith the precious coral chain under her pillow, onehand always upon it to be certain that it was safe.Another milestone was the departure of theSimpsons from Riverboro, bag and baggage, thebanquet lamp being their most conspicuous possession.It was delightful to be rid of Seesaw's hatefulpresence but otherwise the loss of several play-;

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 189mates at one fell swoop made rather a gap in Riverboro's* younger set,' and Rebecca was obliged tomake friends with the Robinson baby, he beingthe only long-clothes child in the village that winter.The faithfid Seesaw had called at the sidedoor of the brick house on the eveningbefore hisdeparture, and when Rebecca answered his knock,stammered solemnly,'Can I k-keep comp'ny withyou when you g-g-row up?' 'Certainly not," repliedRebecca, closing the door somewhat too speedilyupon her precocious swain.Mr. Simpson had come home in time to move hiswife and children back to the town that had giventhem birth, a town by no means waiting with openarms to receive them. The Simpsons' moving waspresided over by the village authorities and somewhatanxiously watched by the entire neighborhood,but in spite of all precautions a pulpit chair,several kerosene lamps, and a small stove disappearedfrom the church and were successfullyswapped in the course of Mr. Simpson's drivingtour from the old home to the new. It gave Rebeccaand Emma Jane some hours ofsorrow tolearn that a certain village in the wake of AbnerSimpson's line of progress had acquired, throughthe medium of an ambitious young minister, a magnificentlamp for its new church parlors. No moneychanged hands in the operation, for the ministersucceeded in getting the lamp in return for an old

190 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMbicycle. The only pleasant feature of the wholeaffair was that Mr. Simpson, wholly unable to consolehis offspring for the loss of the beloved object,mounted the bicycle and rode away on it, not tobe seen or heard of again for many a long day.The year was notable also as being the one inwhich Rebecca shot up like a young tree.She hadseemingly never grown an inch since she was tenyears old, but once started she attended to growingprecisely as she did other things, — with suchenergy, that Miss Jane did nothing for months butlengthen skirts, sleeves, and waists. In spite of allthe arts known to a thrifty New England woman,the limit of letting down and piecing down wasreached at last, and the dresses were sent to SunnybrookFarm to be made over for Jenny.There was another milestone, a sad one, markinga little grave under a willow tree at SunnybrookFarm. Mira, the bal^y of the Randall family, died,and Rebecca went home for a fortnight's visit.The sight of the small still shape that had beenMira, the baby who had been her special chargeever since her birth, woke into being a host of newthoughts and wonderments; for it is sometimes themystery of death that brings one to a consciousnessof life.of the still greater mysteryIt was a sorrowful home-coming for Rebecca.The death of Mira, the absence of John, who hadbeen her special comrade, the sadness of her mother,

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 191the isolation of the little house, and the pinchingeconomies that went on within it, all conspired todepress a child who was so sensitive to beauty andharmony as Rebecca.Hannah seemed to have grown into a womanhad always beenduring Rebecca's absence. Therea strange unchildlike air about Hannah, but in certainways she now appeared older than aunt Jane— soberer, and more settled. She was pretty,though in a colorless fashion; pretty and capable.Rebecca walked through all the old playgroundsand favorite haunts of her early childhood; all herfamiliar, her secret places; some of them known toJohn, some to herself alone. There was the spotwhere the Indian pipes grew; the particular bit ofmarshy ground where the fringed gentians used tobe largest and bluest; the rock maple where shefound the oriole's nest; the hedge where the fieldmice lived; the moss-covered stump where thewhite toadstools were wont to spring up as ifbymagic; the hole at the root of the old pine where anancient and honorable toad made his home; thesewere the landmarks of her childhood, and she lookedat them as across an immeasurable distance. Thedear littlesunny brook, her chief companion afterJohn, was sorry company at this season. Therewas no laughing water sparkling in the sunshine.In summer the merry stream had danced over whitepebbles on its way to deep pools where it could be

192 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMstill and think. Now, like Mira, it was cold andquiet, wrapped in its shroud of snow; but Rebeccaknelt by the brink, and putting her ear to the glazeof ice, fancied, where it used to be deepest, shecould hear a faint, tinkling sound.It was all right!Sunnybrook would sing again in the spring; perhapsMira too would have her singing time somewhere— she wondered where and how. In thecourse of these lonely rambles she was ever thinking,thinking, of one subject. Hannah had neverhad a chance; never been freed from the daily careand work of the farm. She, Rebecca, had enjoyedall the privileges thus far. Life at the brick househad not been by any means a path of roses,butthere had been comfort and the companionship ofother children, as well as chances for study andreading. Riverboro had not been the world itself,but it had been a glimpse of it through a tiny peepholethat was infinitely better than nothing. Rebeccashed more than one quiet tear before shecould trust herself to offer upwhich she so much desired for herself.as a sacrifice thatThen onemorning as her visit neared its end she plungedinto the subject boldly and said, 'Hannah, afterthis term I'm going to stay at home and let you goaway. Aunt Miranda has always wanted you, andit's only fair you should have your turn.'Hannah was darning stockings, and she threadedher needle and snipped off the yarn before she an-

FANCIED, WHEKK IT USED TO BE DEEPEST, SHE COULDHEAR A FAINT, TINKLING SOUND

194 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMswered, *No, thank you, Becky. Mother couldn'tdo without me, and I hate going to school. I canread and write and cipher as well as anybody now,and that's enough for me. I'd die rather than teachschool for a living. The winter'll go fast, for WillMelville isgoing to lend me his mother's sewingmachine, and I'm going to make white petticoatsout of the piece of muslin aunt Jane sent, and have'em just solid with tucks. Then there's going tobe a singing-school and a social circlein Temperanceafter New Year's, and I shall have a real goodtime now I'm grown up. I'm not one to be lonesome,Becky,' Hannah ended with a blush; 'I lovethis place.'Rebecca saw that she was speaking the truth, butshe did not understand the blush till a year or twolater.

XVIIIREBECCxV REPRESENTS THE FAMILYThere was another milestone; itwas more thanthat, it was an 'event;' an event that made a deepimpression in several quarters and left a wake ofsmaller events in its train.This was the coming toRiverboro of the Reverend Amos Burch and wife,returned missionaries from Syria.The Aid Society had called its meeting for a certainWednesday in March of the year in which Rebeccaended her Riverboro school days and beganher studies at Wareham. It was a raw, blusteringday, snow on the ground and a look in the sky ofmore to follow. Both Miranda and Jane had takencold and decided that they could not leave thehouse in such weather, and this deflection from thepath of duty worried Miranda, sinceofficer of the society.she was anAfter making the breakfasttable sufficiently uncomfortable and wishing plaintivelythat Jane wouldn't always insist on beingsick at the same time she was, she decided thatRebecca must go to the meetingin their stead.'You'll be better than nobody, Rebecca,' she saidflatteringly; 'your aunt Jane shall write an excusefrom afternoon school for you; you can wear yourrubber boots and come home by the way of the

196 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMmeetin' house. This Mr. Burch, if I rememberright, used to know your grandfather Sawyer, andstayed here once when he was candidatin'. He'llmebbe look for us there, and you must just go andrepresent the family, an' give him our respects.Be careful how you behave. Bow your head inprayer; sing allthe hymns, but not too loud andbold; ask after Mis' Strout's })()y; tell everybodywhat awful colds we've got;ifyou see a goodchance,take your pocket handkerchief and wipethe dust off the melodeon before the meetin' begins,and get twenty-five cents out of the sittin' roommatch-box in case there should be a collection.'Rebecca willingly assented.Anything interestedher, even a village missionary meeting, and the ideaof representing the family was rather intoxicating.The service was held in the Sundav-school room,and although the Reverend ]\Ir. Burch was on theplatform when Rebecca entered, there were only adozen persons present. Feeling a little shy and considerablytoo young for this assemblage, Rebeccasought the shelter of a friendly face, and seeingMrs. Robinson in one of the side seats near thefront,she walked upthe aisle and sat beside her.'Both my aunts had bad colds,' she said softly,*and sent me to represent the family.''That's Mrs. Burch on the platform with herhusband,' whispered Mrs. Robinson. 'She's awful

THE MEETING-HOUSE

198 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMtanned up, ain't she?If you're goin'to save soulsseems like you hev' to part with your complexion.Eudoxy Morton ain't come yet; I hope to the landshe will, or Mis' Deacon Milliken'll pitch the tuneswhere we can't reach 'em with a ladder; can't youpitch, afore she gits her breath and clears herthroat?'Mrs. Burch was a slim, frail little woman withdark hair, a broad low forehead, and patient mouth.She was dressed in a well-worn black silk, andlooked so tiredher.that Rebecca's heart went out to'They're poor as Job's turkey,' whispered Mrs.Robinson; 'but ifyou give 'em anything they'dturn right round and give it to the heathen. Hiscongregation up to Parsonsfield clubbed togetherand give him that gold watch he carries; I s'posehe'd 'a' handed that over too, only heathens alwaystell time by the sun 'n' don't need watches. Eudoxyain't comin'; now for massy's sake, Rebecca, dogit ahead of Mis' Deacon IMilliken and pitch reallow.'The meeting began with prayer and then theReverend Mr. Burch announced, to the tune ofMendon :'Church of our God! arise and shine.Bright with the beams of truth divine;Then shall thy radiance stream afar.Wide as the heathen nations are.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 199'Gentiles and kings thy light shall view,And shall admire and love thee too;They come, like clouds across the sky.As doves that to their windows fly.''Is there any one present who will assist us at theinstrument?' he asked unexpectedly.Everybody looked at everybody else, and nobodythen there came a voice out of a far cornermoved ;saying informally, 'Rebecca, why don't you?' Itwas Mrs. Cobb. Rebecca could have played Mendonin the dark, so she went to the melodeon anddid so without any ado, no member of her familybeing present to giveher self-consciousness.The talk that ensued was much the usual sort ofthing.Mr. Burch made impassioned appeals forthe spreading of the gospel, and added his entreatiesthat all who were prevented from visiting in personthe peoples who sat in darkness should contributeliberally to the support of others who could. Buthe did more than this. He was a pleasant, earnestspeaker, and he interwove his discourse with storiesof life in a foreign land,— of the manners, the customs,the speech,the point of view; even givingglimpses of the daily round, the common task, ofhis own household, the work of his devoted helpmateand their little group of children, all bornunder Syrian skies.keyRebecca sat entranced, having been given theof another world. Riverborohad faded; the

200 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMSunday-school room, with Mrs. Robinson's redplaid shawl, and Deacon Milliken's wig, on crooked,the bare benches and torn hymn-books, the hangingtexts and inaps, were no longer visible, and shesaw blue skies and burning stars, white turbans andgay colors; Mr. Burch had not said so, but perhapsthere were mosques and temples and minarets anddate-palms. What stories they must know, thosechildren born under Syrian skies! Then she wascalled upon to play 'Jesus shall reign where'er thesun.'The contribution box was passed and Mr. Burchprayed. As he opened his eyes and gave out thelast hymn he looked at the handful of people, at thescattered pennies and dimes in the contributionbox, and reflected that his mission was not only togather funds for the building of his church, but tokeep alive, in all these remote and lonely neighborhoods,that love for the cause which was itshope in the years'to come.onlyIf any of the sisters will provide entertainment,'he said, 'Mrs. Burch and I will remain among youto-night and to-morrow.In that event we couldhold a parlor meeting. My wife and one of mychildren would wear the native costume, we woulddisplay some specimens of Syrian handiwork, andgive an account of our educational methods withthe children. These informal parlor meetings, admittingof questions or conversation, are often the

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 201means of interesting those not commonly found atchurch services; so I repeat, ifany member of thecongregation desires it and offers her hospitahty,we will gladly stay and tell you more of the Lord'swork.'A pall of silence settled over the little assembly.There was some cogent reason why every 'sister'there was disinclined for company. Some had nospare room, some had a larder less well stocked thanusual, some had sickness in the family, some were'unequally yoked together with unbelievers' whodisliked strange ministers. Mrs. Burch's thin handsfingered her black silk nervously. 'Would no one'speak thought Rebecca, her heart !fluttering withsympathy. Mrs. Robinson leaned over and whisperedsignificantly, 'The missionaries always usedto be entertained at the brick house; your grandfathernever would let 'em sleep anywheres elsewhen he was alive.' She meant this for a stab atMiss Miranda's parsimony, remembering the fourspare chambers, closed from January to December;but Rebecca thought it was intended as a suggestion.If it had been a former custom, perhaps heraunts would want her to do the right thing; forwhat else was she representing the .^^family So,delighted that duty lay in so pleasant a direction,she rose from her seat and said in the pretty voiceand with the quaint manner that so separated herfrom all the other young people in the village,'My

202 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMaunts, Miss Miranda and Miss Jane Sawyer, wouldbe very happy to have you visit them at the brickhouse, as the ministers always used to do when theirfather w^as alive. They sent their respects by me.'The ' respects ' might have been the freedom ofthe city, or an equestrian statue, when presented inthis way, and the aunts would have shudderedcould they have foreseen the manner of delivery;but it was vastly impressive to the audience,who concluded that Mirandy Sawyer must bemaking her way uncommonly fast to mansions inthe skies, else what meant this abrupt change ofheart .'^Mr. Burch bowed courteously, accepted the invitation'in the same spirit in which itwas offered,and asked Brother Milliken to lead in prayer.If the Eternal Ear could ever tire it would haveceased long ere this to listen to Deacon Milliken,who had wafted to the throne of grace the sameprayer, with very slight variations, for forty years.IVIrs.Perkins followed; she had several petitions ather command, good sincere ones too,but a littlecut and dried, made of scripture texts laboriouslywoven together. Rebecca wondered why she alwaysended, at the most peaceful seasons, with the form,'Do Thou be with us, God of Battles, while westrive onward like Christian soldiers marching asto war;' but everything sounded real to her to-day;she was in a devout mood, and many things Mr.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 203Burch had said had moved her strangely.As shelifted her head the minister looked directly at herand said,'Will our young sister close the service byleading us in prayer?'Every drop of blood in Rebecca's body seemed toand her heart almost stopped beating.stand still,Mrs. Cobb's excited breathing could be heard distinctlyin the silence. There was nothing extraordinaryin Mr. Burch's request.In his journeyingsamong country congregations he was constantlyin the habit of meeting young members whohad 'experienced religion' and joined the churchRebecca was now thir-when nine or ten years old.teen; she had played the melodeon, led the singing,delivered her aunts' invitation with an air of greatworldly wisdom, and he, concluding that she mustbe a youthful pillar of the church, called upon herwith the utmost simplicity.Rebecca's plight was pathetic.refuse ;howHow could shecould she explain she was not a ' member;'how could she pray before all those elderlywomen! John Rogers at the stake hardly sufferedmore than this poor child for the moment as sherose to her feet,Her mind wasforgetting that ladies prayed sitting,while deacons stood in prayer.a maze of pictures that the Reverend Mr. Burchhad flung on the screen. She knew the conventionalphraseology; of course, what New England child,accustomed to Wednesday evening meetings, does

204 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMnot?But her own secret prayerswere different.However, she began slowly and tremulously:'Our Father who art in .Heaven, Thou art. .God in Syria just the same as in Maine; over. . .there to-day are blue skies and yellowstars andburning suns the great trees are waving in the. . .warm air, while here the snow lies thick under ourfeet, but no distance is too far for God to travel. . .and so He is with us here as He is with themthere, . . . and our thoughtsrise to Him "as dovesthat to their windows fly.". . .'We cannot all be missionaries, teaching peopleto be good,. . . some of us have not learned yethow to be good ourselves, but ifthy kingdom isto come and thy will is to be done on earth as it isin heaven, everybody must try and everybody must.help,. . those who are old and tired and thosewho are young and strong.. . . The little childrenof whom we have heard, those born under Syrianskies,have strange and interesting work to do forThee, and some of us would like to travel in farlands and do wonderful brave things for the heathenand gently take away their idols of wood and stone.But perhaps we have to stay at home and do whatis given us to do sometimes even things we. . .dislike,. . . but that must be what it means in thehymn we sang, when it talked about the sweet perfumethat rises with every morning sacrifice. . . .This is the waythat God teaches us to be meek and

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 205patient, and the thought that He has willed it soshould rob us of our fears and help us bear theyears. Amen.'Poor little ignorant, fantastic child ! Her petitionwas simply a succession of lines from the varioushymns, and images the minister had used inhissermon, but she had her own way of recombiningand applying these things, even of using them in anew connection, so that they had a curious effect ofbelonging to her. The words of some people mightgenerally be written with a minus sign after them,the minus meaning that the personality of thespeaker subtracted from, rather than added to,theirweight; but Rebecca's words might alwayshave borne the plus sign.The 'Amen' said, she sat down, or presumed shesat down, on what she believed to be a bench, andthere was a benediction. In a moment or two,when the room ceased spinning, she went up toMrs. Burch, who kissed her affectionately and said,'My dear, how glad I am that we are going to staywith you. Will half past five be too late for us tocome? It is three now, and we have to go to theWe leftstation for our valise and for our children.them there, being uncertain whether we should goback or stop here.'Rebecca said that half past five was their supperhour, and then accepted an invitation to drive

206 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMhome with Mrs. Cobb. Her face was flushed andher Hp quivered in a way that aunt Sarah hadlearned to know, so the homeward drive was takenalmost in silence. The bleak wind and aunt Sarah'squieting presence brought her back to herself, however,and she entered the brick house cheerily.Being too full of news to wait in the side entry totake off her rubber boots, she carefully lifted abraided rug into the sitting-room and stood on thatwhile she opened her budget.'There are your shoes warming by the fire,'aunt Jane.'Slip them right on while you talk.'said

*XIXDEACON ISRAEL'S SUCCESSORIt was a very small meeting, aunt Miranda,' beganRebecca, ' and the missionary and his wife are lovelypeople, and they are coming here to stay all nightand to-morrow with you. I hope you won't mind.''Coming here!' exclaimed Miranda, letting herknitting fall in her lap, and taking her spectaclesoff, as she always did in moments of extreme excitement.'Did they invite themselves?'*No,' Rebecca answered. 'I had to invite themfor you; but I thought you'd like to have —such interestingcompany. It was this way''Stop your explainin', and tell me first whenbe here. Right away?'they'll'No, not for two hours — about half past five.''Then you can explain,ifyou can, who gave youany authority to invite a passel of strangers to stophere over night, when you know we ain't had anycompany for twenty years, and don't intend to have— any for another twenty, or at any rate while I'mthe head of the house.''Don't blame her, Miranda, tillyou've heardher story,' said Jane. 'It was in my mind rightalong, if we went to the meeting, some such thingmight happen, on account of Mr. Burch knowingfather.'

208 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM''The meeting was a small one,' began Rebecca.I gave all your messages, and everybody was disappointedyou couldn't come, for the presidentwasn't there, and Mrs. Matthews took the chair,which was a pity, for the seat wasn't nearly bigenough for her, and she reminded me of a line in ahymn we sang, "AYide as the heathen nations are,"and she wore that kind of a beaver garden-hat thatalways gets on one side. And Mr. Burch talkedbeautifully about the Syrian heathen, and the singingwent real well, and there looked to be aboutforty cents in the basket that was passed on ourside. And that wouldn't save even a heathen baby,would it? Then Mr. Burch said, ifany sister wouldoffer entertainment, they would pass the night, andhave a parlor meeting in Riverboro to-morrow,with Mrs. Burch in Syrian costume, and lovely foreignthings to show. Then he waited and waited,and nobody said a word. I was so mortified Ididn't know what to do. And then he repeatedwhat he said, and explained why he wanted to stay,and you could see he thought it was his duty. Justthen Mrs. Robinson whispered to me and said themissionaries always used to go to the brick housewhen grandfather was alive, and that he neverwould let them sleep anywhere else. I didn't knowyou had stopped having them, because no travelingministers have been here, except just for a Sundaymorning, since I came to Riverboro. So I thought

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 209I ought to invite them, as youweren't there to doit for yourself, and you told me to represent thefamily.'*What did you do — go up and introduce yourselfas folks was goin' out?'*No; I stood right up in meeting. I had to, forMr. Burch's feelings were getting hurt at nobody'sspeaking. So I " said, My aunts, JNIiss Miranda andMiss Jane Sawyer, would be happy to have youvisit at the brick house, justas the missionariesalways did when their father was alive, and theysent their respects by me." Then I sat down; andMr. Burch prayed for grandfather, and called him aman of God, and thanked our Heavenly Fatherthat his spirit was still alive in his descendants (thatwas you), and that the goodold house where somany of the brethren had been cheered and helped,and from which so many had gone out strengthenedfor the fight, was still hospitably openstranger and wayfarer.'for theSometimes, when the heavenly bodies are in justthe right conjunction, nature seems to be the mostThe word or the deed coming straightperfect art.from the heart, without any thought of effect,seems inspired.A certain gateway in Miranda Sawyer's soul hadbeen closed for years; not all at once had it beendone, but gradually, and without her full knowledge.If Rebecca had plotted for days, and with

210 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMthe utmost cunning, she could not have effected anentrance into that forbidden country, and now,unknown to both of them, the gate swung on itsstiff and rusty hinges, and the favoring wind ofopportunity opened it wider and wider as timewent on. All things had worked together amazinglyfor good. The inemory of old days had been evoked,and the daily life of a pious and venerated fathercalled to mind ;the Sawyer name had been publiclydignified and praised; Rebecca had comported herselfas the granddaughter of Deacon Israel Sawyershould, and showed conclusively that she was not*all Randall,' as had been supposed. Miranda wasrather mollifiedby and pleased with the turn ofevents, although she did not intend to show it,give anybody any reason to expect that this expressionof hospitality was to serve for a precedent onany subsequent occasion.'Well, I see you did only what you was obligedto do, Rebecca,' she said, 'and you worded yourinvitation as nice as anybody could have done. Iwish your aunt Jane and me wasn't both so worthlesswith these colds; but it only shows the good ofhavin' a clean house, with every room in order,whether open or shut, and enough victuals cookedso't you can't be surprised and belittled by anybody,whatever happens. There was half a dozenthere that might have entertained the Burches aseasy as not, if they hadn't 'a' been too mean oror

'I STOOD RIGHT UP IN MEETING 'M-A^G

212 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMlazy. Why didn't your missionaries come rightalong with you?''They had to gotheir children.'to the station for their valise and'Are there children?' groaned Miranda.'Yes, aunt Miranda, all born under Syrian skies.''Syrian grandmother!' ejaculated Miranda (andit was not a fact). 'How many?''I didn't think to ask; but I will get two roomsover I'll take 'em intoready, and if there are anymy bed,' said Rebecca, secretly hoping that thiswould be the case. 'Now, as you're both half sick,couldn't you trust me just once to get ready for thecompany? You can come up when I call. Willyou?''I believe I will,' sighed Miranda reluctantly.'I'll lay down side o' Jane in our bedroom and seeif I can get strength to cook supper.It's half pastthree — don't you let me lay a minute past five.I kep' a goodfire in the kitchen stove. I don'tknow, I'm sure, why I should have baked a pot o'beans in the middle of the week, but they'll come inhandy. Father used to say there was nothing thatwent right to the spot with returned missionarieslike pork'n' beans 'n' brown bread. Fixsouth chambers, Rebecca.'up the twoRebecca, given a free hand for the only time inher life, dashed upstairs like a whirlwind. Everyroom in the brick house was as neat as wax, and

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 213she had only to pull up the shades, goover thefloors with a whisk broom, and dust the furniture.The aunts could hear her scurrying to and fro,beating up pillows and feather beds, flapping towels,jingling crockery, singing meanwhile in herclear voice:'In vain with lavish kindnessThe gifts of God are strown;The heathen in his bhndnessBows down to wood and stone.*She had grown to be a handy little creature, andtasks she was capable of doing at alla flash,she did likeso that when she called her aunts at fiveo'clock to pass judgment, she had accomplishedwonders. There were fresh towels on bureaus andwashstands, the beds were fair and smooth, thepitchers were filled, and soap and matches werelaid out; newspaper, kindling, and wood were in theboxes, and a large stick burned slowly in each airtightstove. *I thought I'd better just take thechill off,' she explained, *as they're right fromSyria; and that reminds me, I must look itup in thegeography before they get here.'There was nothing to disapprove, so the two sisterswent downstairs to make some slight changesin their dress. As they passed the parlor door Mirandathought she heard a crackle and looked in.The shades were up, there was a cheerful blaze inthe open stove in the front parlor, and a firelaid

214 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMon the hearth in the back room. Rebecca's ownlamp, her second Christmas present from Mr. Aladdin,stood on a marble-topped table in the corner,the light that came softly through itsrose-coloredshade transforming the stiff and gloomy ugliness ofthe room into a place where one could sit and loveone's neighbor.'For massy's sake, Rebecca,' called Miss Mirandaup the stairs, 'did youthink we'd betteropen the parlor.^'Rebecca came out on the landing braiding herhair.'We did on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and Ithought this was about as great an occasion,' shesaid.'I moved the wax flowers off the mantelpieceso they wouldn't melt, and put the shells, the coral,and the green stuffed bird on top of the what-not,so the children wouldn't ask to play with them.Brother Milliken's coming over to see ]Mr. Burchabout business, and I shouldn't wonder if Brotherand sister Cobb happened in.Don't go down cellar,I'll be there in a minute to do the running.'Miranda and Jane exchanged glances.'Ain't she the beatin'est creetur that ever wasborn int' the world!' exclaimed Miranda; 'but shecan turn off work when she's got a mind to!'At quarter past five everything was ready, andthe neighbors, those at least who were within sightof the brick house (a prominent object in the land-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 215scape when there were no leaves on the trees), werecurious ahnost to desperation. Shades up in bothparlors! Shades up in the two south bedrooms!And fires— if human vision was to be relied on —fires in about every room.If it had not been for thekind offices of a lady who had been at the meeting,and who charitably called in at one or two housesand explained the reason of all this preparation,there would have been no sleep in many families.The missionary party arrived promptly, andthere were but two children, seven or eight havingbeen left with the brethren in Portland, to diminishtraveling expenses.Jane escorted them all upstairs,while Miranda watched the cooking of the supper;but Rebecca promptly took the two little girls awayfrom their mother, divested them of their wraps,smoothed their hair, and brought them down to,thekitchen to smell the beans.There was a bountiful supper, and the presenceof the young people robbed it of all possible stiffness.Aunt Jane helped clear the table and putaway the food, while IMiranda entertained in theparlor; but Rebecca and the infant Burches washedthe dishes and held high carnival — in the kitchen,doing only trifling damage breaking a cup andplate that had been cracked before, emptying a silverspoon with some dishwater out of the back door(an act never permitted at the brick house), andputting coffee grounds in the sink.All evidences of

216 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMcrime having been removed by Rebecca, and damagesrepaired in all possible cases, the three enteredthe parlor, where Mr. and Mrs. Cobb and Deaconand Mrs. Milliken had already appeared.It was such a pleasant evening! Occasionallythey left the heathen in his blindness bowing downto wood and stone, not for long, but just to givethemselves (and him) time enough to breathe, andthen the Burches told strange, beautiful, marvelousthings. The two smaller children sang together,and Rebecca, at the urgent request of Mrs. Burch,seated herself at the tinkling old piano and gave'Wild roved an Indian girl, bright Alfarata' withconsiderable spirit and style.At eight o'clock she crossed the room, handed apalm-leaf fan to her aunt Miranda, ostensibly thatshe might shade her eyes from the lamplight; butit was a piece of strategy that gave her an opportunityto whisper, 'How about cookies.'*''Do you think it's worth while.'*' sibilated MissMiranda in answer.'The Perkinses always do.'*A11 right. You know where they be.'Rebecca moved quietly towards the door,andthe young Burches cataracted after her as iftheycould not bear a second's separation. In five minutesthey returned, the little ones bearing plates ofthin caraway wafers,— hearts, diamonds, and circlesdaintily sugared, and flecked with caraway

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 217seed raised in the garden behind the house.Thesewere a specialty of Miss Jane's, and Rebecca carrieda tray with six tiny crystal glasses filled with dandelionwine, for which Miss Miranda had been famousin years gone by. Old Deacon Israel had alwayshad it passed, and he had bought the glasses himselfin Boston. Miranda admired them greatly, notonly for their beauty but because they held so little.Before their advent the dandelion wine hadbeen served in sherry glasses.As soon as these refreshments — commonlycalled a ' eolation ' in Riverboro — had been genteellypartaken of, Rebecca looked at the clock,rose from her chair in the children's corner, andsaid cheerfully, 'Come! time for little missionariesto be in bed!'Everybody laughed at this, the big missionariesmost of all, as the young people shook hands anddisappeared with Rebecca.

'That niece of j^ours isXXA CHANGE OF HEARTthe most remarkable girl Ihave seen in years,' said Mr. Burch when the doorclosed.'She seems to be turnin' out smart enough lately,but she's consid'able heedless,' answered Miranda,'an' most too lively.'*We must remember that it is deficient, not excessivevitality, that makes the greatest trouble inthis world,' returned Mr. Burch.'She'd make a wonderful missionary,' said Mrs.Burch; 'with her voice, and her magnetism, and hergift of language.''If I was to say which of the two she was bestadapted for, I'd say she'd make a better heathen,'remarked Miranda curtly.'My sister don't believe in flattering children,'hastily interpolated Jane, glancing toward Mrs.Burch, who seemed somewhat shocked, and wasabout to open her lips to ask if Rebecca was not a'professor.'Mrs. Cobb had been looking for this question allthe evening and dreading some allusion to her favoriteas gifted in prayer. She had taken an instantaneousand illogical dislike to the Reverend Mr.Burch in the afternoon because he called upon Re-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 219becca to 'lead.'She had seen the pallor creep intothe girl's face, the hunted look in her eyes, and thetrembling of the lashes on her cheeks, and realizedthe ordeal through which she was passing. Herprejudice against the minister had relaxed under hisgenial talk and presence, but feeling that Mrs.Burch was about to tread on dangerous ground, shehastily asked her if one had to change cars manytimes going from Riverboro to Syria. She felt thatit was not a particularly appropriate question, butit served her turn.Deacon Milliken, meantime, said to Miss Sawyer,' Mirandy, do you know who Rebecky remindsme oi?^'I can guess pretty well,' she replied.'Then you've noticed it too! I thought at first,seein' she favored her father so on the outside, thatshe was the same alllike your father, Israel Sawyer.'through; but she ain't, she's'I don't see how you make that out,'said Miranda,thoroughly astonished.'It struck me this afternoon when she got up togive yourinvitation in meetin'. It was kind o'cur'ous, but she set in the same seat he used to whenhe was leader o' the Sabbath-school. You know hisold way of holdin' his chin up and throwin' his headback a lee tie when he got up to say anything.'^Well, she done the very same thing; there wasmore'n one spoke of it.'

220 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMThe callers left before nine, and at that hour (animpossibly dissipated one for the brick house) thefamily retired for the night. As Rebecca carriedMrs. Burch's candle upstairs and found herself thusalone with her for a minute, she said shyly, 'Willyou pleasetell Mr. Burch that I'm not a member ofthe church.'^ I didn't know what to do when heasked me to pray this afternoon.I hadn't the courageto say I had never done it out loud and didn'tknow how. I couldn't think; and I was so frightenedI wanted to sink into the floor.It seemed boldand wicked for me to pray before all those oldchurch members and make believe I was betterthan I really was; but then again, wouldn't Godthink I was wicked not to be willing to pray whena minister asked me to?'The candle light fell on Rebecca's flushed, sensitiveface. Mrs. Burch bent and kissed her goodnight.'Don't be troubled,' she said. 'I'll tell Mr.Burch, and I guess God will understand.'Rebecca waked before six the next morning, sofull of household cares that sleep was impossible.She went to the window and looked out; it wasstilldark, and a blustering, boisterous day.'Aunt Jane told me she should get up at halfpast six and have breakfast at half past seven,' shethought; 'but I daresay they are both sick withtheir colds, and aunt Miranda will be^dgety with

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 221so manyin the house. IbeHeve I'll creep down andstart things for a surprise.'She put on a wadded wrapper and slippers andstole quietly down the tabooed front stairs, carefullyclosed the kitchen door behind her so that nonoise should waken the rest of the household, busiedherself for a half hour with the early morning routineshe knew so well, and then went back to herroom to dress before calling the children.Contrary to expectation. Miss Jane, who theevening before felt better than Miranda, grew worsein the night, and was wholly unable to leave herbed in the morning. Miranda grumbled withoutceasing during the progress of her hasty toilet,blaming everybodyin the universe for the afflictionsshe had borne and was to bear during the day ;she even castigated the Missionary Board that hadsent the Burches to Syria, and gave itas her unbiasedopinion that those who went to foreign landsfor the purpose of saving heathen should stay thereand save 'em, and not go gallivantin' allover theearth with a passel o' children, visitin' folks thatdidn't want 'em and never asked 'em.Jane lay anxiously and restlessly in bed with afeverish headache, wondering how her sister couldmanage without her.Miranda walked stiffly through the dining-room,tying a shawl over her head to keep the draughtsaway, intending to start the breakfast fire and then

222 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMcall Rebecca down, set her to work, and tellher,meanwhile, a few plain facts concerning the properway of representing the family at a missionarymeeting.She opened the kitchen door and stared vaguelyabout her, wondering whether she had strayed intothe wrong house by mistake.The shades were up, and there was a roaring firein the stove; the teakettle was singing and bubblingas it sent out a cloud of steam, and pushedover its capacious nose was a half sheet of notepaper with ' Compliments of Rebecca ' scrawled onit. The coffee pot was scalding, the coffee wasmeasured out in a bowl, and broken eggshells forthe settling process were standing near. The coldpotatoes and corned beef were in the wooden tray,and 'Regards of Rebecca' stuck on the choppingknife. The brown loaf was out, the white loaf wasout, the toast rack was out, the doughnuts were out,the milk was skimmed, the butter had been broughtfrom the dairy.Miranda removed the shawl from her head andsank into the kitchen rocker, ejaculating under herbreath, ' She is the beatin'est child ! I declare she'sall Sawyer!'The day and the evening passed off with creditand honor to everybody concerned, even to Jane,who had the discretion to recover instead of growingworse and acting as a damper to the general

SHE OPENED THE KITCHEN DOOR AND STARED VAGUELYABOUT HER

224 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMenjoyment. The Burches left with Hvely regrets,and the httle missionaries, bathed in tears, sworeeternal friendship with Rebecca, who pressed intotheirbreakfast.hands at parting a poem composed beforeTO MARY AND MARTHA BURCHBorn under Syrian skies,'Neath hotter suns than ours;The children grew and bloomed,Like little tropic flowers.^Vhen they first saw the light,'Twas in a heathen land.Not Greenland's icy mountains,Nor India's coral strand.But some mysterious countryWhere men are nearly blackAnd where of true religion.There is a painful lack.Then let us haste in helpingThe Missionary Board,Seek dark-skinned unbelievers.And teach them of their Lord.Rebecca Rowena Randall.It can readily be seen that this visit of the returnedmissionaries to Riverboro was not withoutsomewhat far-reaching results. Mr. and Mrs. Burchthemselves looked back upon it as one of the rarestpleasures of their half year at home. The neighborhoodextracted considerable eager conversation

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 225from it; argument, rebuttal, suspicion, certainty,retrospect, and prophecy. Deacon Milliken gaveten dollars towards the conversion of Syria to Congregationalism,and Mrs. Milliken had a spell ofsickness over her husband's rash generosity.It would be pleasant to state that INIiranda Sawyerwas an entirely changed woman afterwards, butthat is not the fact. The tree that has been gettinga twist for twenty years cannot be straightened inthe twinkling of an eye.It is certain, however, thatalthough the difference to the outward eye was verysmall, it nevertheless existed, and she was less censoriousin her treatment of Rebecca, less harsh inher judgments, more hopeful of final salvation forher. This had come about largely from her suddenvision that Rebecca, after all,inherited somethingfrom the Sawyer side of the house instead of belonging,mind, body, and soul, to the despised Randallstock. Everything that was interesting in Rebecca,and every evidence of power, capability, or talentafterwards displayed by her, Miranda ascribed tothe brick house training, and this gave her a feelingof honest pride, the pride of a master workman whohas built success out of the most unpromising material;but never, to the very end, even when thewaning of her bodily strength relaxed her iron gripand weakened her power of repression, never oncedid she show that pride or make a single demonstrationof affection.

226 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMPoor misplaced, belittled Lorenzo de Medici Randall,thought ridiculous and good-for-naught by hisassociates, because he resembled them in nothing!If Riverboro could have been suddenly emptied intoa larger community, with different and more flexibleopinions, he was, perhaps, the only personage inthe entire population who would have attracted thesmallest attention.It was fortunate for his daughterthat she had been dowered with a little practicalability from her mother's family, but if Lorenzohave glorifiedhad never done anything else in the world, he mighthimself that he had prevented Rebeccafrom being all Sawyer. Failure as he was,complete and entire, he had generously handeddown to her all that was best in himself, and prudentlyretained all that was unworthy. Few fathersare capable of such delicate discrimination.The brick house did not speedily become a sortof wayside inn, a place of innocent revelry and joyouswelcome; but the missionary company was anentering wedge, and Miranda allowed one sparebed to be made up 'in case anything should happen,'while the crystal glasses were kept on thesecond from the top, instead of the top shelf, in thechina closet.Rebecca had had to stand on a chairto reach them; now she could do itand this is symbolic of the wayby stretching;in which she unconsciouslyscaled the walls of Miss Miranda's dogmatismand prejudice.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 227Miranda went so far as to say that she wouldn'tmind if the Burches came every once in a while,but she was afraid he'd spread abroad the fact ofhis visit, and missionaries' famihes would be underfootthe whole continual time.she gracefully cited the fact that ifAs a case in point,a tramp got agood meal at anybody's back door, 'twas said thathe'd leave some kind of a sign so that all othertramps would know where they were likely to receivethe same treatment.It is to be feared that there is some truth in thishomely illustration,and Miss Miranda's dread asto her future responsibilities had some foundation,though not of the precise sort she had in mind. Thesoul grows into lovely habits as easily as into uglyto blossom intoones, and the moment a life beginsbeautiful words and deeds, that moment a newstandard of conduct is established, and your eagerneighbors look to you for a continuous manifestationof the good cheer, the sympathy, the readywit, the comradeship, or the inspiration, you onceshowed yourself capable of. Bear figs for a seasonor two, and the world outside the orchard isveryunwilling you should bear thistles.The effect of the Burches' visit on Rebecca is noteasily described.Nevertheless, as she looked backupon it from the vantage ground of after years, shefelt that the moment when Mr. Burch asked her to'lead in prayer' marked an epoch in her life.

228 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMIf you have ever observed how courteous andgracious and mannerly you feel when you don abeautiful new frock; ifyou have ever noticed thefeeling of reverence stealing over you when youclose your eyes, clasp your hands, and bow yourhead; ifyou have ever watched your sense of repulsiontoward a fellow creature melt a little underthe exercise of daily politeness, you may understandhow the adoption of the outward and visible signhas some strange influence in developing the inwardand spiritual state of which it is the expression.It isold and dull thatonly when one has grownthe soul is heavy and refuses to rise. The youngsoul is ever winged; a breath stirs it to an upwardflight.Rebecca was asked to bear witness to a stateof mind or feeling of whose existence she had onlythe vaguest consciousness. She obeyed, and as sheuttered words they became true inthe uttering;as she voiced aspirations they settled into realities.As 'dove that to its window flies,' her spiritsoared towards a great light,dimly discovered atfirst, but brighter as she came closer to it. To becomesensible of oneness with the Divine heartbefore any sense of separation has been felt, this issurely the most beautiful wayGod.for the child to find

XXITHE SKYLINE WIDENSThe time so long and eagerly waited for had come,and Rebecca was a student at Wareham. Personswho had enjoj^ed the social bewilderments and advantagesof foreign courts,or had mingled freelyin the intellectual circles of great universities,might not have looked upon Wareham as an extra-was as much of an ad-ordinary experience; but itvance upon Riverboro as that village had been uponSunnybrook Farm. Rebecca's intention was tocomplete the four years' course in three, as it wasfelt by all the parties concerned that when she hadattained the ripe age of seventeen she must beready to earn her own living and help in the educationof the younger children. While she was wonderinghow this could be successfully accomplished,some of the other girls were cogitating as to howthey could meander through the four years andcome out at the end knowing no more than at thebeginning. This would seem a difficult, well-nighan impossible task, but it can be achieved, and hasbeen, at other seats of learning than modest littleWareham.Rebecca was to go to and fro on the cars dailyfrom September to Christmas, and then board in

230 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMWareham during the three coldest months.EmmaJane's parents had always thought that a year ortwo in the Edgewood high school (threemiles fromRiverboro) would serve every purpose for theirdaughter and send her into the world with as fine anintellectual polish as she could well sustain. EmmaJane had hitherto heartily concurred in this opinion,for if there was any one thing that she detested itwas the learning of lessons. One book was as badas another in her eyes, and she could have seen thelibraries of the world sinking into ocean depths andhave eaten her dinner cheerfully the while; but mattersassumed a different complexion when she wassent to Edgewood and Rebecca to Wareham. Shebore it for a week — seven endless days of absencefrom the beloved object, whom she could see onlyin the evenings when both were busy with theirlessons. Sunday offered an opportunity to put thematter before her father, who proved obdurate.He didn't believe in education and thought she hadfull enough already. He never intended to keep up*blacksmithing' for good when he leased his farmand came into Riverboro, but proposed to go backto it presently, and by that time Emma Jane wouldhave finished school and would be ready to help hermother with the dairy work.Another week passed. Emma Jane pined visiblyand audibly. Her color faded, and her appetite (attable) dwindled almost to nothing.

-^^^\H-M-GWAREHAM SEMINARY

232 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMHer mother alluded plaintively to the fact thatthe Perkinses had a habit of going into declines;that she'd always feared that Emma Jane's complexionwas too beautiful to be healthy; that somemen would be proud of having an ambitious daughter,and be glad to give her the best advantages;that she feared the daily journeys to Edgewoodwere going to be too much for her own health, andMr. Perkins would have to hire a boy to driveEmma Jane; and finally that when a girl had sucha passion for learning as Emma Jane, it seemedalmost like wickedness to cross her will.Mr. Perkins bore this for several daysuntil histemper, digestion, and appetite were all sensiblyaffected; then he bowed his head to the inevitable,and Emma Jane flew, like a captive set free, to theloved one's bower.Neither did her courage flag,although it was put to terrific tests when she enteredthe academic groves of Wareham. She passed inonly two subjects, but went cheerfully into thepreparatory department with her five 'conditions,'intending to let the stream of education play gentlyover her mental surfaces and not get any wetterthan she could help.It is not possible to blink thetruth that Emma Jane was dull; but a dogged, unswervingloyalty, and the gift of devoted, unselfishloving, these, after all, are talents of a sort, andmay possibly be of as much value in the world as asense of numbers or a faculty for languages.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 233Warehani was a pretty village with a broad mainstreet shaded by great maples and elms.It had anapothecary, a blacksmith, a plmnber, several shopsof one sort and another, two churches, and manyboarding-houses; but all its interests gatheredabout its seminary and its academy. These seats oflearning were neither better nor worse than othersof their kind, but differed much in efficiency, accordingas the principal who chanced to be at thehead was a man of power and inspiration or thereverse.There were boys and girls gathered fromall parts of the county and state, and they were ofevery kind and degree as to birth, position in theworld, wealth or poverty. There was an opportunityfor a deal of foolish and imprudent behavior,but on the whole surprisingly little advantage wastaken of it.Among the third and fourth year studentsthere was a certain amount of going to andfrom the trains in coui)les; some carrying of heavybooks up the hill by the sterner sex for their feminineschoolmates, and occasional bursts of sillinesson the part of heedless and precocious girls, amongwhom was Huldah Meserve. She was friendlyenough with Emma Jane and Rebecca, but grewless and less intimate as time went on. She wasextremely pretty, with a profusion of auburn hair,and a few very tiny freckles, to which she constantlyalluded, as no one could possibly detect them withoutnoting her porcelain skin and her curling lashes.

234 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMShe had merry eyes, a somewhat too phimp figurefor her years, and was popularly supposed to have afascinating way with her. Riverboro being poorlyfurnished with beaux, she intended to have as gooda time during her four yearsat Wareham as circumstanceswould permit. Her idea of pleasurewas an ever-changing circle of admirers to fetchand carry for her, the more publicly the better;incessant chaff and laughter and vivacious conversation,made eloquent and effective by arch looksand telling glances. She had a habit of confidingher conquests to less fortunate girls and bewailingthe incessant havoc and damage she w^as doing; adamage she avowed herself as innocent of, in intention,as any new-born lamb. It does not take muchof this sort of thing to wreck an ordinary friendship,so before long Rebecca and Emma Jane sat in oneend of the railway train in going to and fromRiverboro, and Huldah occupied the other with hercourt. Sometimes this was brilliant bevond words,including a certain youthful Monte Cristo, who onFridays expended thirty cents on a round tripticket and traveled from Wareham to Riverboromerely to be near Huldah; sometimes, too, the circlewas reduced to the popcorn-and-peanut boy ofwho seemed to serve every purpose inthe train,default of better game.Rebecca was in the normally unconscious statethat belonged to her years; boys were good com-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 235rades, but no more; she liked reciting in the sameclass with them, everything seemed to move better;but from vulgar and precocious flirtations she wasprotected by her ideals. There was little in the ladsshe had met thus far to awaken her fancy, for ithabituallyfed on better meat. Huldah's schoolgirlromances, with their wealth of commonplacedetail, were not the stuff her dreams were made of,when dreams did flutter across the sensitive plateof her mind.Among the teachers at Wareham was one whoinfluenced Rebecca profoundly, Miss Emily Maxwell,with whom she studied English literature andcomposition. Miss Maxwell, as the niece of one ofMaine's ex-governors and the daughter of oneof Bowdoin's professors, was the most remarkablepersonality in Wareham, and that her few years ofteaching happened to be in Rebecca's time was thehappiest of all chances. There was no indecision ordelay in the establishment of their relations; Rebecca'sheart flew like an arrow to its mark, andher mind, meeting its superior,settled at once intoan abiding attitude of respectful homage.It was rumored that Miss Maxwell * wrote,'which word, when uttered ina certain tone, wasunderstood to mean not that a person had commandof penmanship, Spencerian or otherwise, butthat she had appeared in print.*You'll like her; she writes,'whispered Huldah

236 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMto Rebecca the first morning at prayers,where thefaculty sat in an imposing row on the front seats.'She writes; and I call her stuck up.'Nobody seemed possessed of exact informationwith which to satisfy the hungry mind, but therewas believed to be at least one person in existencewho had seen, with his own eyes, an essay by MissMaxwell in a magazine. This height of achievementmade Rebecca somewhat shy of her, but shelooked her admiration; something that most of theclass could never do with the unsatisfactory organsof vision given them by Mother Nature. Miss Maxwell'sglance was always meeting a pair of eagerdark eyes; when she said anything particularlygood, she looked for approval to the corner of thesecond bench, where every shade of feeling shewished to evoke was reflected on a certain sensitiveyoung face.One day, when the firstessayof the class wasunder discussion, she asked each new pupil to bringher some composition written during the year before,that she might judge the work, and know preciselywith what material she had to deal. Rebeccalingered after the others, and approachedshyly.the desk'I haven't any compositions here. Miss Maxwell,but I can find one when I go home on Friday. Theyare packed away in a box in the attic'*Carefully tied with pink and blue ribbons.?'asked Miss Maxwell, with a whimsical smile.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 237*No,' answered Rebecca, shakingher head decidedly;'I wanted to use ribbons, because alltheother girls did, and they looked so pretty, but Iused to tie my essays with twine strings on purpose;and the one on solitude I fastened with anold shoelacing just to show it what I thought ofit!''Solitude!' laughed Miss Maxwell, raising hereyebrows.'Did you choose your own subject?''No; Miss Dearborn thought we were not oldenough to find good ones.''What were some of the others?''Fireside Reveries, Grant as a Soldier, Reflectionson the Life of P. T. Barnum, Buried Cities;I can't remember any more now. They were allbad, and Ican't bear to show them; I can writepoetry easier and better. Miss Maxwell.''Poetry!'she exclaimed. 'Did Miss Dearbornrequire you to do it?''Oh, no; I always did it even at the farm. ShallI bring all I have? It isn't much.'Rebecca took the blank-book in which she keptcopies of her effusions and left it at Miss Maxwell'sdoor, hoping that she might be asked in and thusobtain a private interview ;but a servant answeredher ring, and she could only walk away, disappointed.A few days afterward she saw the black-coveredbook on Miss Maxwell's desk and knew that the

238 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMdreaded moment of criticism had come, so she wasnot surprised to be asked to remain after class.The room was quiet; the red leaves rustled inthe breeze and flew in at the open window, bearingthe first compliments of the season. Miss Maxwellcame and sat by Rebecca's side on the bench.'Did you think these were good.^*' she asked, givingher the verses.'Not so very,' confessed Rebecca; 'but it's hardto tell all by yourself. The Perkinses and the Cobbsalways said they were wonderful, but when Mrs.Cobb told me she thought they were better thanMr. Longfellow's I was worried, because I knewthat couldn't be true.'This ingenuous remark confirmed Miss Maxwell'sopinion of Rebecca as a girl who could hear thetruth and profit by it.'Well, my child,' she said smilingly, 'your friendswere wrong and you were right;judged by theproper tests, they are pretty bad.''Then I must give up all hope of ever being awriter!' sighed Rebecca, who was tasting the bitternessof hemlock and wonderingif she could keepthe tears back until the interview was over.'Don't go so fast,' interrupted Miss Maxwell.'Though they don't amount to anything as poetry,they show a good deal of promise in certain directions.You almost never make a mistake in rhymeor metre, and this shows you have a natural sense

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 239of what is right; a "sense of form," poets wouldcall it. When you grow older, have a little moreexperience, — in fact, when you have something tosay, I think you may write very good verses.Poetry needs knowledge and vision, experience andimagination, Rebecca. You have not the first threeyet, but I rather think you have a touch of the last.'*Must I never try any more poetry, not even toamuse myself.'*''Certainly you may; it will only help you towrite better prose. Now for the first composition.I am going to ask all the new students to write alettergiving some description of the town and ahint of the school life.''Shall I have to be myself.'*' asked Rebecca.'What do you mean?'*A letter from Rebecca Randall to her sisterHannah at Sunnybrook Farm, or to her aunt Janeat the brick house, Riverboro, is so dull and stupid,if it is a real letter; but if I could make believe I wasa different girl altogether, and write to somebodywho would be sure to understand everything I said,I could make itnicer.''Very well; I think that's a delightful plan,' saidMiss Maxwell; 'and whom will you supjjose yourselfto he?''I like heiresses very much,' replied Rebeccacontemplatively.'Of course I never saw one, butinteresting things are always happeningto heir-

240 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMesses, especially to the golden-haired kind. Myheiress wouldn't be vain and haughty like thewicked sisters in Cinderella; she would be nobleand generous. She would give up a grand school inBoston because she wanted to come here where herfather lived when he was a boy, long before he madehis fortune. The father is dead now, and she has aguardian, the best and kindest man in the world;he is rather old of course, and sometimes very quietand grave, but sometimes when he ishappy, he isfull of fun, and then Evelyn is not afraid of him.Yes, the girl shall be called Evelyn Abercrombie,and her guardian's name shall be Mr. Adam Ladd.'*Do you know Mr. Ladd.^^' asked Miss Maxwellin surprise.'Yes, he's my very best friend,'delightedly.'Do you know him too.^'cried Rebeccaknow, and often comes here.'Oh, yes; he is a trustee of these schools, youBut if I let you "suppose"any more, you will tell me your whole letterand then I shall lose a pleasant surprise.'What Rebecca thought of Miss Maxwell wealready know; how the teacher regarded the pupilmay be gathered from the following letter writtentwo or three months later.Wareham, December 1st.My dear Father,— As you well know, I havenot always been an enthusiast on the subject of

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 241teaching.these self-sufficient,The task of cramming knowledge intoinefficient youngstersof bothsexes discourages me at times. The more stupidthey are, the less theyare aware of it. Ifmy departmentwere geography or mathematics, I believeI should feel that I was accomplishing something,for in those branches application and industrywork wonders; but in English literature and compositionone yearns for brains, for appreciation, forimagination!Month after month I toil on, openingoyster after oyster, but seldom finding a pearl.Fancy my joy this term when, without any violenteffort at shell-splitting, I came upon a rare pearl;a black one, but of satin skin and beautiful lustre!Her name is Rebecca, and she looks not unlikeRebekah at the Well in our family Bible; her hairand eyes being so dark as to suggest a strain ofItalian or Spanish blood.She is nobody in particular.Man has done nothing for her; she has nofamily to speak of, no money, no education worthythe name, has had no advantages of any sort; butDame Nature flung herself into the breach andsaid:'This child I to myself will take;She shall be mine and I will makeA Lady of my own.'Blessed Wordsworth! How he makes us understand! And the pearl never heard of him until now!Think of reading Lucy to a class, and when you

242 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMfinish, seeing a fourteen-year-old pair of lips quiveringwith delight, and a pair of eyes brimming withcomprehending tears!You poor darling!You, too, know the discouragementof sowing lovely seed in rocky earth,sand, in water, and (it almost seems sometimes) inmud; knowing that if anything comes up at all itwill be some poor starveling plant. Fancy the joyof finding a real mind; of dropping seed in a soil sowarm, so fertile, that one knows there are sure tobe foliage, blossoms, and fruit all in good time! Iwish I w^ere not so impatient and so greedy ofresults! I am not fit to be a teacher; no one is whois so scornful of stupidity as I am. . . . The pearlwrites quaint countrified little verses, doggerelthey are;but somehow or other she always contrivesto put in one line,that shows you she is,inone thought, one image,quite unconsciouslyto herself,in possession of the secret. . . . Good-by; I'llbring Rebecca home with me some Friday, and letyou and mother see her for yourselves.Your affectionate daughter,Emily.

XXIICLOVER BLOSSOMS AND SUNFLOWERS* 'How d'ye do, girls? said Huldali IVIeserve, peepingin at the door. 'Can you stop studying a minuteand show me your room? Say, I've just been downto the store and bought me these gloves, for I wasbound I wouldn't wear mittens this winter; they'resimply too countrified. It's your first year here, andyou're younger than I am, so I s'pose you don'tmind, but I simply suffer if I don't keep up somekind of style. Say, your room issimply too cute forwords ! I don't believe any of the others can beginto compare with it! I don't know what gives it thatsimply gorgeous look, whether it's the full curtains,or that elegant screen, or Rebecca's lamp; but youcertainly do have a faculty for fixing up.I like apretty room too, but I never have a minute to attendto mine; I'm always so busy on my clothesthat half the time I don't get my bed made uptillnoon; and after all,having no callers but the girls,it don't make much difference. When I graduate,at home so it'll beI'm going to fix up our parlorsimply regal.I've learned decalcomania, and afterI take up lustre painting I shall have it simply stiffwith drapes and tidies and placques and sofa pillows,and make mother let me have a fire, and

244 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMreceive my friends there evenings. INIay I dry myfeet at your register? I can't bear to wear rubbersunless the mud or the slush issimply knee-deep,they make your feet look so awfully big. I had sucha fuss getting this pair of French-heeled boots thatI don't intend to spoil the looks of them with rubbersany oftener than I can help. I believe boysnotice feet quicker than anything. Elmer Websterstepped on one of mine yesterday when I accidentallyhad it out in the aisle, and when he apologizedafter class, he said he wasn't so much to blame, forthe foot was so little he really couldn't see it!he perfectly great?Isn'tOf course that's only his way oftalking, for after all I only wear a number two,but these French heels and pointed toes do certainlymake your foot look smaller, and it's always saida high instep helps, too. I used to think mine wasalmost a deformity, but they say it's a great beauty.Just put your feet beside mine, girls, and look at thedifference; not that I care much, but just for fun.''My feet are very comfortable where they are,'responded Rebecca dryly. 'I can't stop to measureinsteps on algebra days; I've noticed your habit ofkeeping a foot in the aisle ever since you had thosenew shoes, so I don't wonder it was stepped on.''Perhaps I am a little mite conscious of them,because they're not so very comfortable at first, tillyou get them broken in.lot of new things?'Say, haven't you got a

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 245*Our Christmas presents, you mean,' said EmmaJane.*The pillow-cases are from Mrs. Cobb, therug from cousin Mary in North Riverboro, thescrap-basket from Living and Dick. We gave eachother the bureau and cushion covers, and the screenismine from Mr. Ladd.'*Well, you were lucky when you met him!Gracious!I wish I could meet somebody like that.The way he keepsit up, too! It just hides yourbed, doesn't it, and I always say that a bed takesthe style off any room — specially when it's notmade up; though you have an alcove, and it's theonly one in the whole building. I don't see how youmanaged to get this good room when you're suchnew scholars,' she finished discontentedly.'Weshouldn't have, except that Ruth Berry hadto go away suddenly on account of her father'sdeath.This room was empty, and Miss Maxwellasked if we might have it," returned Emma Jane.'The great and only Max is more stiff and standoffishthan ever this year,' said Huldah. *I'vesimply given up trying to please her, for there's nojustice in her; she is good to her favorites, but shedoesn't pay the least attention to anybody else,except to make sarcastic speeches about things thatare none of her business. I wanted to tell her yesterdayit was her place to teach me Latin, notmanners.''I wish you wouldn't talk against Miss Maxwell

246 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMto me,' said Rebecca liotly.*You know how I feel.''I know; but I can't understand liow you canabide her.''I not only abide, I love her !'exclaimed Rebecca.'I wouldn't let the sun shine too hot on her, or thewind blow too cold.I'd like to put a marble platformin her class-room and have her sit in a velvetchair behind a golden tal)le!'*Well, don't have a —fit! because she can sitwhere she likes for all of me; I've got somethingbetter to think of,' and Huldah tossed her head.'Isn't this your study hour?' asked Emma Jane,to stop possible discussion.'Yes, but Ilost my Latin grammar yesterday;I left it in the hall half an hour while I was havinga regular scene with Herbert Dunn. I haven'tspoken to him for a week and gave him back hisclass pin. lie was simply furious. Then when Icame back to the hall, the book was gone. I had togo down town for my gloves and to the principal'soffice to see if the grammar had been handed in,and that's the reason I'm so fine.'Huldah was wearing a w^oolen dress that hadonce been gray, but had been dyed a brilliant blue.She had added three rows of white braid and largewhite pearl buttons to her gray jacket, in order tomake it a little more 'dressy.' Her gray felt hathad a white feather on it, and a white tissue veilwith large black dots made her delicate skin look

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 247brilliant.Rebecca thought how lovely the knot ofred hair looked under the hat behind, and how thecolor of the front had been dulled by incessantfrizzing with curling irons. Her open jacket discloseda galaxy of souvenirs pinned to the backgroundof bright blue,— a small American flag, abutton of the Wareham Rowing Club, and one ortwo society pins. These decorations proved herpopularity incotillionvery much the same way as do thefavors hanging on the bedroom walls ofthe fashionable belle.She had been pinning andunpinning, arranging and disarranging her veilever since she entered the room, in the hope thatthe girls would ask her whose ring she was wearingthis week; but although both had noticed the newornament instantly, wild horses could not havedrawn the question from them; her desire to beasked was too obvious. With her gay plumage, her'nods and becks and wreathed smiles,' and hercheerful cackle, Huldah closely resembled the parrotin Wordsworth's poem:'Arch, volatile, a sportive bird.By social glee inspired;Ambitious to be seen or heard,And pleased to be admired!'*Mr. Morrison thinks the grammar willbe returned,and lent me another,' Huldah continued.*He was rather snippy about my leaving a book inthe hall.There was a perfectly elegant gentleman

248 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMin the office, a stranger to me.I wish he was a newteacher, but there's no such hick. lie was tooyoung to be the father of any of tlie girls, andtoo old to be a brother, but he was handsome asa picture and had on an awful stjdish suit ofclothes.He looked at me about every minute Iwas in the room. It made me so embarrasserl Icouldn't hardly answer Mr. IVIorrison'sstraight.'questions'You'll have to wear a mask pretty soon, ifyou're going to have any comfort,Rebecca.Huldah,' said'Did he offer to lend you his class pin,or has it been so long since he graduated that he'sleft off wearingit? And tell us now whether theprincipal asked for a lock of your hair to putwatch ? 'in hisThis was all said merrily and laughingly, butthere were times when Huldah could scarcely makeup her mind whether Re])eeca was tryingto bewitty, or whether she was jealous; but she generallydecided it was merely the latter feeling, rathernatural in a girl who had little attention.'He wore no jewelry but a cameo scarf pin anda perfectly gorgeous ring,— a queer kind of onethat wound round and round his finger. Oh dear,f'I must run! Where has the hour gone. There's thestudy bell!'Rebecca had pricked up her ears at Huldah'sspeech. She remembered a certain strange ring,

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 249and it belonged to the only personin the world(save Miss Maxwell) who appealed to her imagination,— Mr. Aladdin. Her feeling for him, andthat of Emma Jane, was a mixture of romantic andreverent admiration forthe man himself and theliveliest gratitude for his beautiful gifts. SinceEmma Jane had seen him only twice, butthey first met him not a Christmas had gone bywithout some remembrance for them both; remembranceschosen with the rarest taste and forethought.he had called several times at the brick house, andRebecca had learned to know him better.It wasshe, too, who always wrote the notes of acknowledgmentand thanks, taking infinite pains to makeEmma Jane's quite different from her own. Sometimeshe had written from Boston and asked herthe news of Riverboro, and she had sent him pagesof quaint and childlike gossip, interspersed, on twooccasions, with poetry, which he read and rereadwith infinite relish.If Iluldah's stranger should beMr. Aladdin, would he come to see her, and couldshe and Emma Jane show him their beautiful roomwith so many of his giftsin evidence.'^When the girls had established themselves inWareham as real boarding pupils, it seemed tothem existence was as full of joy as it well couldhold.This first winter was, in fact, the most tranquillyhappy of Rebecca's school —life, a winterlong to be looked back upon. She and Emma Jane

250 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMwere room-mates, and had put their modest possessionstogether to make their surroundings prettyand homehke. The room had, to begin with, a cheerfulred ingrain carpet and a set of maple furniture.As to the rest, Rebecca had furnished the ideasand Emma Jane the materials and labor, a methodof dividing responsibilities that seemed to suitthe circumstances admirably. Mrs. Perkins's fatherhad been a storekeeper, and on his death hadleft the goods of which he was possessedto hisThe molasses, vinegar, and ker-married daughter.osene had lasted the family for five years, and thePerkins attic was still a treasure-house of ginghams,cottons, and 'Yankee notions.' So at Rebecca'sinstigation Mrs. Perkins had made full curtains andlambrequins of unbleached muslin, which she hadtrimmed and looped back with bands of Turkeyred cotton. There were two table covers to match,and each of the girls had her study corner. Rebecca,after much coaxing, had been allowed tobring over her precious lamp, which would havegiven a luxurious air to any apartment, and whenMr. Aladdin's last Christmas presents were added,— the Japanese screen for Emma Jane and thelittle shelf of English Poets for Rebecca,— theydeclared that it was all quite as much fun as beingmarried and going to housekeeping.The day of Huldah's call was Friday, and onFridays from three to half past four Rebecca was

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 251free to take a pleasure to which she looked forwardthe entire week. She always ran down the snowypath through the pine woods at the back of theseminary, and coining out on a quiet village street,went directly to the large white house where MissMaxwell lived. The maid-of-all-work answered herknock; she took off her hat and cape and hungthem in the hall, put her rubber shoes and umbrellacarefully in the corner, and then opened thedoor of paradise. Miss Maxwell's sitting-room waslined on two sides with bookshelves, and Rebeccawas allowed to sit before the fire and browseamong the books to her heart's delight for an houror more. Then Miss Maxwell would come backfrom her class, and there would be a precious halfhourof chat before Rebecca had to meet EmmaJane at the station and take the train for Riverboro,where her Saturdays and Sundays were spent,and where she was washed, ironed, mended, andexamined, approved and reproved, warned and advisedin quite sufficient quantityto last her thesucceeding week.On this Friday she buried her face in the bloominggeraniums on Miss Maxwell's plant-stand, selectedRomola from one of the bookcases, and sankinto a seat by the window with a sigh of infinitecontent.She glanced at the clock now and then,remembering the day on which she had been soimmersed in David Copperfield that the Riverboro

252 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMtrain had no place in her mind. The distractedEmma Jane had refused to leave without her, andhad run from the station to look for her at MissMaxwell's.There was but one later train, and thatwent only to a place three miles the other side ofRiverboro, so that the two girls appeared at theirrespective homes long after dark, having had aweary walk in the snow.When she had read for half an hour she glancedout of the window and saw two figures issuing fromthe path through the woods. The knot of brighthair and the coquettish hat could belong to but oneperson; and her companion, as the couple approached,proved to be none other than Mr. Aladdin.Huldah was lifting her skirts daintily andpicking safe stepping-places for the high-heeledshoes, her cheeks glowing, her eyes sparkling underthe black and white veil.Rebecca slipped from her post by the window tothe rug before the bright fire and leaned her headon the seat of the great easy -chair. She was frightenedat the storm in her heart; at the suddennesswith which it had come on, as well as at the strangenessof an entirely new sensation. She felt all atonce as if she could not bear to give up her share ofMr. Aladdin's friendship to Huldah: Huldah sobright, saucy, and pretty; so gay and ready, andsuch good company! She had always joyfully admittedEmma Jane into the precious partnership,

REBECCA STARTED AT THE SOUNDIil'/il-G

254 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMbut perhaps unconsciously to herself she had realizedthat Emma Jane had never held anything buta secondary place in Mr. Aladdin's regard; yet whowas she herself, after all,first?that she could hope to beSuddenly the door opened softly and somebodylooked in, somebody who said: ']\Iiss Maxwell toldme I should find Miss Rebecca Randall here.'Rebecca started at the sound and sprang to herfeet, saying joyfully, 'jNIr. Aladdin! Oh! I knewyou were in Wareham, and I was afraid youwouldn't have time to come and see us.''Who is " us ".^^The aunts are not here, are they.''Oh, you mean the rich blacksmith's daughter,whose name I can never remember. Is she here?''Yes, and my room-mate,' answered Rebecca,who thought her own knell of doom had sounded,if he had forgotten Emma Jane's name.The light in the room grew softer, the firecrackled cheerily, and they talked of many things,until the old sweet sense of friendliness and familiaritycrept back into Rebecca's heart. Adam hadnot seen her for several months, and there wasmuch to be learned about school matters as viewedfrom her own standpoint; he had already inquiredconcerning her progress from Mr. ^lorrison.'Well, little Miss Rebecca,' he said, rousinghimself at length, 'I must be thinking of my driveto Portland. There is a meeting of railway direc-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 255tors there to-morrow, and I always take this opportunityof visiting the school and giving my valuableadvice concerning its affairs, educational andfinancial.''It seems funny for you to be a school trustee,'said Rebecca contemplatively. *I can't seem tomake it fit.'*You are a remarkably wise young person andI quite agree with you,' he answered; 'the fact is,'he added soberly, 'I accepted the trusteeship inmemory of my poor little mother, whose last happyyears were spent here.''That was a long time ago ! ''Let me see, I am thirty-two; only thirty-two,despite an occasional gray hair. My mother wasmarried a month after she graduated, and she livedonly until I was ten; yes, it is a long way back tomy mother's time here, though the school was fifteenor twenty years old then, I believe. Wouldyou like to see my mother, Miss Rebecca.'^'The girl took the leather case gently and openedit to find an innocent, pink-and-white daisy of aface, so confiding, so sensitive, that it went straightto the heart. It made Rebecca feel old, experienced,and maternal. She longed on the instant to comfortand strengthen such a tender young thing.'Oh, what a sweet, sweet, floweryface!' shewhispered softly.'The flower had to bear all sorts of storms,' said

^56REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMAdam gravely. 'The bitter weather of the worldbent its slender stalk, bowed its head, and draggedit to the earth. I was only a child and could donothing to protect and nourish it, and there was noone else to stand between it and trouble. Now Ihave success and money and power, all that wouldhave kept her alive and happy, and it is too late.She died for lack of love and care, nursing andcherishing, and I can never forgetit. All that hascome to me seems now and then so useless, since Icannot share it with her!'This was a new Mr. Aladdin, and Rebecca's heartgave a throb of sympathy and comprehension.This explained the tired look in his eyes, the lookthat peeped out now and then, under allhis gayspeech and laughter.*I'm so glad I know,' she said, *and so glad Icould see her just as she was when she tied thatwhite muslin hat under her chin and saw her yellowcurls and her sky-blue eyes in the glass. Mustn'tshe have been happy! I wish she could have beenkept so, and had lived to see you grow up strongand good. My mother is always sad and busy, butonce when she looked at John I heard her say, "Hemakes up for everything." That's what yourmother would have thought about you if she had—lived, and perhaps she does as it is.''You are a comforting little person, Rebecca,'said Adam, rising from his chair.

'oil, WHAT A SWEET, SWEET, FLOWERY FACE !SOFTLY'SHE W1I18PEKED

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 257As Rebecca rose, the tears still trembling on herlashes, he looked at her suddenly as with new vision.Good-bye!' he said, taking her slim brown*hands in his, adding, as if he saw her for the firsttime, 'Why, little Rose-Red-Snow-White is makingway for a new girl! Burning the midnight oil anddoing four years' work in three is supposed to dullthe eye and blanch the cheek, yet Rebecca's eyesare bright and she has a rosy color ! Her long braidsare looped one on the other so that they make ablack letter U behind, and they are tied with grandbows at the top She is so tall that she reaches almostto my shoulder. This will never do in ! theworld! How will Mr. Aladdin get on without hiscomforting little friend! He doesn't like grown-upyoung ladies in long trains and wonderful fine'clothes ; they frighten and bore him !'Oh, Mr. Aladdin!' cried Rebecca eagerly, takinghis jest quite seriously; 'I am not fifteen yet,and it will be three years before I'm a young lady;please don't give me up until you have to!''I won't; I promise you that,' said Adam.'Rebecca,' he continued, after a moment's pause,'who is that young girl with a lot of pretty red hairand very citified manners .^^ She escorted me downthe hill; do you know whom I mean.''''It must be Huldah Meserve; she is from Riverboro.'Adam put a finger under Rebecca's chin and

258 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMlooked into her eyes; eyes as soft,as clear, as unconscious,and childlike as they had been when shewas ten. He remembered the other pair of challengingblue ones that had darted coquettishglances through half-dropped lids, shot arrowybeams from under archly lifted brows, and saidgravely, 'Don't form yourself on her, Rebecca;clover blossoms that grow in the fields beside Sunnybrookmustn't be tied in the same bouquet withgaudy sunflowers; they are too sweet and fragrantand wholesome.*

XXIIITHE HILL DIFFICULTYThe first happy year at Wareham, with its widenedskyhne, its larger vision, its greater opportunity,was over and gone. Rebecca had studiedduring the summer vacation, and had passed, onher return in the autumn, certain examinationswhich would enable her, if she carried out the sameprogramme the next season, to complete the coursein three instead of four years. She came off withno flying colors,— that would have been impossiblein consideration of her inadequate training; butshe did wonderfully well in some of the requiredsubjects, and so brilliantly in others that the averagewas respectable. She would never have been aremarka})le scholar under any circumstances, perhaps,and she was easily outstripped in mathematicsand the natural sciences by a dozen girls,but in some inexplicable way she became, as themonths went on, the foremost figure in the school.When she had entirely forgotten the facts whichwould enable her to answer a question fully andconclusively, she commonly had some originaltheory to expound; it was not always correct, butit was generally unique and sometimes amusing.She was only fair in Latin or French grammar, but

260 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMwhen it came to translation, her freedom, her choiceof words, and her sympathetic miderstanding ofthe spirit of the text made her the dehghtteachers and the despair of her rivals.of her'She can be perfectly ignorant of a sul)ject,' saidMiss Maxwell to Adam Ladd, 'but entirely intelli-Most of the othergent the moment she has a clue.girls are full of information and as stupid as sheep.'Rebecca's gifts had not been discovered save bythe few, during the first year, when she was adjust-to the situation. She was dis-ing herself quietlytinctly one of the poorer girls; she had no finedresses to attract attention, no visitors, no friendsin the town. She had more study hours, and lesstime, therefore, for the companionshipgirls,of othergladly as she would have welcomed the gayetyof that side of school life. Still, water will findits own level in some way, and by the spring of thesecond year she had naturally settled into the samesort of leadership which had been hers in the smallercommunity of Riverboro. She was unanimouslyelected assistant editor of the Wareham SchoolPilot, being the first girl to assume that enviable,though somewhat arduous and thankless position,and when her maiden number went to the Cobbs,uncle Jerry and aunt Sarah could hardly eat orsleep for pride.'She'll always get votes,' said Huldah Meserve,when discussing the election, 'for whether she

THE SACO RIVER

262 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMknows anything or not, she looks as if she did, andwhether she's capable of filling an office or not, shelooks as if she was. I only wish I was tall and darkand had the gift of making people believe I wasgreat things, like Rebecca Randall. There's onething: though the boys call her handsome, younotice they don't trouble her with much attention.'It was a fact that Rebecca's attitude towards theopposite sex was still somewhat indifferent and oblivious,even for fifteen and a half! No one couldlook at her and doubt that she had potentialitiesof attraction latent within her somewhere, but thatside of her nature was happily biding its time. Ahuman beingiscapable only of a certain amount ofactivity at a given moment, and it will inevitablysatisfy first its most pressing needs, its most ardentdesires, its chief ambitions. Rebecca was full ofsmall anxieties and fears, for matters were not goingwell at the brick house and were anything but hopefulat the home farm. She was overbusy and overtaxed,and her thoughts were naturally drawntowards the difficult problems of daily living.It had seemed to her during the autumn andwinter of that year as if her aunt Miranda hadnever been, save at the very first, so censorious andso fault-finding. One Saturday Rebecca ran upstairsand, bursting into a flood of tears, exclaimed,'Aunt Jane, it seems as if I never could stand hercontinual scoldings. Nothing I can do suits aunt

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 263Miranda; she's justsaid it willtake me my wholelife to get the Randall out of me, and I'm not con-'vinced that I want it all out, so there we are !Aunt Jane, never demonstrative, cried with Rebeccaas she attempted to soothe her.'You must be patient,' she said, wiping first herown eyes and then Rebecca's. 'I haven't told you,for it isn't fair you should be troubled when you'restudying so hard, but your aunt Miranda isn't well.One Monday morning about a month ago, she hada kind of faint spell; it wasn't bad, but the doctoris afraid it was a shock, and if so, it's the beginningof the end. Seems to me she's failing right along,and that's what makes her so fretful and easy vexed.She has other troubles too, that you don't knowanything about, and ifyou're not kind to youraunt Miranda now, child, you'll be dreadful sorrysome time.'All the temper faded from Rebecca's face, andshe stopped crying to say penitently, ' Oh ! the poordear thing! I won't mind a bit what she says now.She's just asked me for some milk toast and I wasdreading to take it to her, but this will make everythingdifferent. Don't worry yet, aunt Jane, forperhaps it won't be as bad as you think.'So when she carried the toast to her aunt a littlelater, it was in the best gilt-edged china bowl, witha fringed napkin on the tray and a sprig of geraniumlying across the salt cellar.

2G4REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*Now, aunt Miranda,' she said cheerily, 'I expectyou to smack your hps and say this is good;it's notRandall, but Sawyer milk toast.''You've tried all kinds on me, one time an' another,'Miranda answered. 'This tastes real kindo' good; but I wish youhadn't wasted that nicegeranium.''You can't tell what's wasted,' said Rebeccaphilosophically;'perhaps that geraniumhas beenhoping this long time it could brighten somebody'ssupper, so don't disappoint it by making believe— you don't like it. I've seen geraniums cry, inthe very early morning!'The mysterious trouble to which Jane had alludedwas a very real one, but it was held in profoundsecrecy. Twenty-five hundred dollars of thesmall Sawyer property had been invested in thebusiness of a friend of their father's,and had returnedthem a regular annual income of a hundreddollars. The family friend had been dead for somefive years,but his son had succeeded to his interestsand all went on as formerly. Suddenly therecame a letter saying that the firm had gone intobankruptcy, that the business had been completelywrecked, and that the Sawyer money had beenswept away with everything else.The loss of one hundred dollars a year isa verytrifling matter, but it made all the difterence betweencomfort and self-denial to the two old spin-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM2G5sters. Their manner of life had been so rigid andcareful that itwas difficult to economize any further,and the blow had fallen just when it was mostinconvenient, for Rebecca's school and boardingexpenses, small as they were, had to be paidpromptly and in cash.'Can we possibly go on doing it? Shan't wehave to give up and tell her why?' asked Janetearfullyof the elder sister.'We have put our hand to the plough, and wecan't turn back,' answered Miranda in her grimmesttone; 'we've taken her away from her motherand offered her an education, and we've got to keepour word.come, to my wayShe's Aurelia's only hope for years too' thinkin'.Hannah's beau takesall her time 'n' thought, and when she gits a husbandher mother'll be out o' sight and out o' mind.John, instead of farmin', thinks he must be a doctor,— as if folks wasn't gettin' unhealthy enoughthese days, without turnin' out more young doctorsto help 'em into their graves.No, Jane; we'll skimp'n' do without, 'n' plan to git along on our interestmoney somehow, but we won't break into our principal,whatever happens.''Breaking into the principal' was, in the mindsof most thrifty New England women, a sin onlysecond to arson, theft, or murder; and, though therule was occasionally carried too far for commonsense,— as in this case, where two elderly women

266 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMof sixty might reasonably have drawn somethingfrom their httle hoard in time of special need,— itdoubtless wrought more of good than evil in thecommunity.Rebecca, who knew nothing of their businessaffairs, merely saw her aunts grow more and moresaving, pinching here and there, cutting off thisand that relentlessly. Less meat and fish werebought; the woman who had lately been comingtwo days a w^eek for washing, ironing, and scrubbingwas dismissed; the old bonnets of the seasonbefore were brushed up and retrimmed; there wereno drives to Moderation or trips to Portland.Economy was carried to its very extreme; butthough Miranda was well-nigh as gloomy and uncompromisingin her manner and conversation asa woman could well be, she at least never twittedher niece of being a burden; so Rebecca's share ofthe Sawyers' misfortunes consisted only in wearingher old dresses, hats, and jackets, without anyapparent hope of a change.There was, however, no concealing the state ofthings at Sunnybrook, where chapters of accidentshad unfolded themselves in a sort of serial storythat had run through the year. The potato crophad failed; there were no apples to speak of; thehay had been poor; Aurelia had turns of dizzinessin her head; Mark had broken his ankle. As thiswas his fourth offense, Miranda inquired how many

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 267bones there were in the human body, *so't they'dknow when Mark got through breakin' 'em.' Thetime for paying the interest on the mortgage, thatincubus that had crushed all the joy out of theRandall household, had come and gone, and therewas no possibility, for the first time in fourteenyears, of paying the required forty-eight dollars.The only bright spot in the horizon was Hannah'sengagement to Will Melville,— a young farmerwhose land joined Sunnybrook, who had a goodhouse, was alone in the world, and his own master.Hannah was so satisfied with her own unexpectedlyradiant prospects that she hardlyrealized her mother'sanxieties; for there are natures which flourishin adversity, and deteriorate when exposed to suddenprosperity. She had made a visit of a week atthe brick house; and Miranda's impression, conveyedin privacy to Jane, was that Hannah wasclose as the bark of a tree, and consid'able selfishtoo; that when she'd dim' as fur as she could in theworld, she'd kick the ladder out from under her,everlastin' quick; that, on being sounded as to herability to be of use to the younger children in thefuture, she said she guessed she'd done her sharea'ready, and she wan't goin' to burden Will withher poor relations. 'She's Susan Randall throughand through!' ejaculated Miranda. 'I was glad tosee her face turned towards Temperance. If thatmortgage is ever cleared from the farm, 'twon't beHannah that'll do it; it'll be Rebecca or me!'

XXIVALADDIN RUBS HIS LAMP*YouR esteemed contribution entitled WarehamWildflowers has been accepted for "The Pilot,"Miss Perkins,' said Rebecca, entering the roomwhere Emma Jane was darning the firm's stockings.'I stayed to tea with Miss Maxwell, but came homeearly to tell you.'*You are joking, Becky!' faltered Emma Jane,looking up from her work.'Not a bit; the senior editor read it and thoughtit highly instructive; it appearsin the next issue.''Not in the same number with your poem aboutthe golden gates that close behind us when we leaveschool.'^'— and Emma Jane held her breath as sheawaited the reply.'Even so, Miss Perkins.''Rebecca,' said Emma Jane, with the nearestapproach to tragedy that her nature would permit,'I don't know as I shall be able to bear it, and ifanything happens to me, I ask you solemnly tobury that number of "The Pilot" with me.'Rebecca did not seem to think this the expressionof an exaggerated state of feeling, inasmuch asshe replied, 'I know; that's just the way it seemedto me at first, and even now, whenever I'm alone

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 269and take out "The Pilot" back numbers to readover my contributions, I almost burst with pleasure;and it's not that they are good either, for theylook worse to me every time I read them.''If you would only live with me in some littlehouse when we get older,'mused Emma Jane, aswith her darning needle poised in air she regardedthe opposite wall dreamily, 'I would do the houseworkand cooking, and copy all your poems andstories, and take them to the post-office, and youneedn't do anything but write.It would be perfectlyelergant!''I'd like nothing better, if I hadn't promised tokeep house for John,' replied Rebecca.'He won't have a house for a good many years,will he?''No,' sighed Rebecca ruefully, flinging herselfdown by the table and resting her head on her hand.'Not unless we can contrive to pay off that detestablemortgage. The day grows farther off insteadnow that we haven't paid the interestof nearer,this year.'She pulled a piece of paper towards her, andscribbling idly on it read aloud in a moment or two :'Will you pay a little faster?' said the mortgage to the farm;*I confess I'm very tired of this place.''The weariness is mutual,' Rebecca Randall cried;*I would I'd never gazed upon your face!'*A note has a "face," ' observed Emma Jane, who

270 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMwas gifted in arithmetic. *I didn't know that amortgage had.'*Our mortgage has,'said Rebecca revengefully.'I should know him if I met him in the dark.Waitand I'll draw him for you. It will be good for youto know how he looks, and then when you have ahusband and seven children, you won't allow himto come anywhere within a mile of your farm.'The sketch when completed was of a sort to beshunned by a timid person on the verge of slumber.There was a tiny house on the right, and a weepingfamily gathered in front of The it.mortgage wasdepicted as a cross between a fiend and an ogre,and held an axe uplifted in his red right hand. Afigure with streaming black locks was staying theblow, and this, Rebecca explained complacently,was intended as a likeness of herself, though she wasrather vagueattaining her end.as to the method she should use in'He's terrible,' said Emma Jane, *but awfullywizened and small.''It's only a twelve hundred dollar mortgage,'said Rebecca, 'and that's called a small one. Johnsaw a man once that was mortgaged forthousand.'twelveEmma''Shall you be a writer or an editor.'* askedJane presently, as if one had only to choose andthe thing were done.'I shall have to do what turns up first, I suppose.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 271*Why not go out as a missionary to Syria, as theBurches are always coaxing you to? The Boardwould pay your expenses.'*I can't make up my mind to be a missionary,*Rebecca answered. 'I'm not good enough in thefirst place, and I don't "feel a call," as Mr. Burchsays you must. I would like to do something forsomebody and make things move, somewhere, butI don't want to go thousands of miles away teachingpeople how to live when I haven't learned myself.It isn't as if the heathen really needed me; I'msure they'll come out all rightin the end.'*I can't see how; if all the people who ought togo out to save them stay at home as we do,' arguedEmma Jane.'Why, whatever God is, and wherever He is. Hemust always be there, ready and waiting. He can'tmove about and miss people. It may take theheathen a little longer to find Him, but God willmake allowances, of course. He knows ifthey livein such hot climates it must make them lazy andslow; and the parrots and tigers and snakes andbread-fruit trees distract their minds ;and havingno books, they can't think as well; but they'll findGod somehow, some time.''What ifthey die first.^' asked Emma Jane.*0h, well, they can't be blamed for that; theydon't die on purpose,' said Rebecca, with a comfortabletheology.

272 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMIn thesedays Adam Ladd sometimes went toTemperance on business connected with the proposedbranch of the railroad famiharly known asthe 'York and Yank'em,' and while there he gainedan inkling of Sunnybrook affairs. The building ofthe new road was not yet a certainty, and there wasa difference of opinion as to the best route fromTemperance to Plumville. In one event the waywould lead directly through Sunnybrook, from cornerto corner, and Mrs. Randall would be compensated;in the other, her interests would not beaffected either for good or ill, save as all land in theimmediate neighborhood might rise a little in value.Coming from Temperance to Wareham one day,Adam had a long walk and talk with Rebecca,whom he thought looking pale and thin, thoughshe was holding bravely to her self-imposed hoursof work. She was wearing a black cashmere dressthat had been her aunt Jane's second best. We arefamiliar with the heroine of romance whose foot isso exquisitely shaped that the coarsest shoe cannotconceal its perfections, and one always cherishes adoubt of the statement; yet it is true that Rebecca'speculiar and individual charm seemed wholly independentof accessories. The lines of her figure, therare coloring of skin and hair and eyes, triumphedover shabby clothing, though, had the advantageof artistic apparel been given her, the little worldof Wareham would probably at once have dubbed

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 273her a beauty. The long black braids were now disposedafter a quaint fashion of her own. They werecrossed behind, carried up to the front, and crossedagain, the tapering ends finally brought down andhidden in the thicker part at the neck. Then apurely feminine touch was given to the hair thatwaved back from the face,— a touch that rescuedlittle crests and wavelets from bondage and set themfree to take a new color in the sun.Adam Ladd looked at her in a way that madeher put her hands over her face and laugh through'them shyly as she said : I know what you are thinking,Mr. Aladdin,— that my dress is an inch longerthan last year, and my hair different; but I'm notnearly a young lady yet; truly I'm not. Sixteen isa month off still, and you promised not to give meup till my dress trails. If you don't like me to growold, why don't you grow young? Then we can meetin the halfway house and have nice times. Nowthat I think about it,' she continued, 'that's justwhat you've been doing all along. When youbought the soap, I thought you were grandfatherSawyer's age; when you danced with me at theflag raising,you seemed like my father; but whenyou showed me your mother's picture, I felt asifyou were my John, because I was so sorry foryou.''That will do very well,' smiled Adam; 'unlessyou go so swiftly that you become my grandmother

274 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMbefore I really need one. You are studying toohard, Miss Rebecca Rowena!''Just a little,' she confessed. *But vacationcomes soon, you know.'*And are you going to have a good rest and tryto recover your dimples.^ They are really worthpreserving.'A shadow crept over Rebecca's face and her eyes'Don't be kind, Mr. Aladdin, I can't bearnot one of my dimply days!' andsuffused.it;— it's— it'sshe ran in at the seminary gate, and disappearedwith a farewell wave of her hand.Adam Ladd wended his way to the principal'soffice in a thoughtful mood. He had come to Warehamto unfold a plan that he had been consideringfor several days. This year was the fiftieth anniversaryof the founding of the Wareham schools,and he meant to tell Mr. Morrison that in additionto his gift of a hundred volumes to the referencelibrary, he intended to celebrate it by offering prizesin English composition, a subject in which he wasmuch interested. He wished the boys and girls ofthe two upper classes to compete; the award to bemade to the writers of the two best essays. As tothe nature of the prizes he had not quite made uphis mind, but they would be substantial ones, eitherof money or of books.This interview accomplished, he called upon MissMaxwell, thinking as he took the path through the

'don't be kind, MR. ALADDIN'

276 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMwoods, 'Rose-Red-Snow-White needs tlie help, andsince there is no way of my givingit to her withoutcausing remark, she must earn it, poor httle soul!I wonder if my moneyisalways to be useless wheremost I wish to spend it!'He had scarcely Greeted his hostess when he said:'INIiss ]\Iaxwell, doesn't it strike vou that our friendRebecca looks wretchedly tired?''She does indeed, and I am considering whetherI can take her away with me. I always go Southfor the spring vacation, traveling by sea to OldOld Point Comfort, and rusticating in some quietspot near by. I should like nothing better than tohave Rebecca for a companion.''The very thing!' assented Adam heartily; 'butwhy should you take the whole responsibility?Why not let me help? I am greatly interested inthe child, and have been for some years.''You needn't pretend you discovered her,' interruptedMiss Maxwell warmly, 'for I did thatmyself.''She was an intimate friiend of mine long beforeyou ever caine to Wareham,' laughed Adam, andhe told Miss ^Maxwell the circumstances of his firstmeetingwith Rebecca. 'Fromtried to think of a waythe beginning I'veI could be useful in herdevelopment, but no reasonable solution seemed tooffer itself.''Luckily she attends to her own development,'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 277answered Miss Maxwell. *In a sense she is independentof everything and everybody; she followsher saint without being conscious of it. But sheneeds a hundred practical things that money wouldbuy for her, and alas! I have a slender purse.''Take mine, I beg, and let me act through you,'pleaded Adam. 'I could not bear to see even ayoung tree trying its best to grow without light orair,— how much less a gifted child !I interviewedher aunts a year ago, hoping I might be permittedto give her a musical education.I assured them itwas a most ordinary occurrence, and that I waswilling to be repaid later on ifthey insisted, but itwas no use. The elder Miss Sawyer remarked thatno member of her family ever had lived on charity,and she guessed they wouldn't begin at thislateday.'*I rather like that uncompromising New Englandgrit,' exclaimed Miss Maxwell, 'and so far, Idon't regret one burden that Rebecca has borne orone sorrow that she has shared.Necessity has onlymade her brave; poverty has only made her daringand self-reliant.As to her present needs, there arecertain things only a woman ought to do for a girl,and I should not like to have you do them for Rebecca;I should feel that I was wounding her prideand self-respect, even though she were ignorant;but there isno reason why I may not do them ifnecessary and let you pay her traveling expenses.

278 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMI would accept those for her without the shghtestembarrassment, but I agree that the matter wouldbetter be kept private between us.''You are a real fairy godmother!' exclaimedAdam, shakiiii^ her hand warmly. 'Would it be lesstrouble for you—to invite her room-mate too,the pink-and-white inseparable.^''No, thank you, I prefermj^self,' said ]\Iiss ^Maxwell.to have Rebecca all to*I can understand that,' replied Adam absentmindedly;*I mean, of course, that one child is lesstrouble than two. There she is now.'Here Rebecca appeared in sight, walking downthe quiet street with a lad of sixteen. They were inanimated conversation, and were apparently readingsomething aloud to each other, for the blackhead and the curly brown one were both bent overa sheet of letter paper.Rebecca kept glancing upat her companion, her eyes sparkling with appreciation.'Miss Maxwell,' said Adam, 'Iam a trustee ofthis institution, but upon my word I don't believein coeducation!''I have my own occasional hours of doubt,' sheanswered, ' but surely its disadvantages are reducedto a minimum with — children ! That is a very impressivesight which you are privileged to witness,Mr. Ladd. The folk in Cambridge often gloatedon the spectacle of Longfellow and Lowell arm in

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 279arm. The little school world of Wareham palpitateswith excitement when it sees the senior andthe junior editors of "The Pilot" walking togetherl*

XXVROSES OF JOYThe day before Rebecca started for the South withMiss Maxwell she was in the library with EmmaJane and Huldah, consulting dictionaries and encyclopaedias.As they were leaving they passed thelocked cases containing the library of fiction, opento the teachers and townspeople, but forbidden tothe students.They looked longingly through the glass, gettingsome little comfort from the titles of the volumes,as hungry children imbibe emotional nourishmentfrom the pies and tarts inside a confectioner's window.Rebecca's eyes fell upona new book in thecorner, and she read the name aloud with delight:'"The Rose of Joy." Listen, girls; isn't that lovely.'^"The Rose of Joy." It looks beautiful, and itsounds beautiful. What does it mean, I wonder .f^''I guess everybody has a different rose,' saidHuldah shrewdly. 'I know what mine would be,and I'm not ashamed to own it. I'd like a year ina city,with just as much money as I wanted toclothes and amusementsspend, horses and splendidevery minute of the day; and I'd like above everythingto live with people that wear low necks.'(Poor Huldah never took off her dress without be-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 281wailing the fact that her lot was cast in Riverboro,where her pretty white shoulders could never beseen.)'That would be fun, for a while anyway,' EmmaJane remarked. 'But wouldn't that be pleasuremore than joy? Oh, I've got an idea!''Don't shriek so!' said the startled Iluldah. *Ithought it was a mouse.''I don't have them very often,' apologized EmmaJane,— 'ideas, I mean; this one shook me like astroke of lightning. Rebecca, couldn't it be success.f^''That's good,' mused Rebecca; 'I can see thatsuccess would be a joy, but it doesn't seem to melike a rose, somehow. I was wonderingif it couldbe love?'*I wish we could have a peep at the book! Itmust be perfectly elergant!' said Emma Jane.'But now you say it is love, I think that's the bestguess yet.'All day long the four words haunted and possessedRebecca; she said them over to herself continually.Even the prosaic Emma Jane was affectedby them, for in the evening she said, 'I don't expectyou to believe it, but I have another idea,—that's two in one day; I had it while I was puttingcologne on your head. The rose of joy might behelpfulness.''If it is, then it is always blooming in your dear

282 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMlittle heart, you darlingest, kind Emmie, takingsuch good care of your troublesome Becky !'Don't dare to call yourself— troublesome You're!you're— you're my rose of joy, that's what youare!' And the two girls hugged each other affectionately.In the middle of the night Rebecca touchedEmma Jane on the shoulder softly. 'Are you veryfast asleep, Emmie.''' she whispered.*Not so very,' answered Emma Jane drowsily.*I've thought of something new. If you sang or—painted or wrote, not a little, but beautifully,you know,— wouldn't the doing of it, just as muchas you wanted, give you the rose of joy.^'*It might if it was a real talent,' answered EmmaJane, 'though I don't like it so well as love. If youhave another thought, Becky, keep it till morning.'*I did have one more inspiration,' said Rebeccawhen they were dressing the next morning, 'butI didn't wake you. I wondered if the rose of joycould be sacrifice .f* But I think sacrifice would bea lily, not a rose; don't you?''The journey southward, the first glimpse of theocean, the strange new scenes, the ease and deliciousfreedom, the intimacy with Miss Maxwell,almost intoxicated Rebecca. In three days she wasnot only herself again, she was another self, thrillingwith delight, anticipation, and realization. She

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 283had always had such eager hunger for knowledge,such thirst for love, such passionate longing for themusic, the beauty, the poetry of existence! Shehad always been straining to make the outwardworld conform to her inward dreams, and now lifehad grown all at once rich and sweet, wide and full.She was using all her natural, God-given outlets;and Emily Maxwell marveled daily at the inexhaustibleway in which the girl pouredout andgathered in the treasures of thought and experiencethat belonged to her. She was a lifegiver, alteringthe whole scheme of any picture she made a partof, by contributing new values. Have you neverseen the dull blues and greens of a room changed,transfigured by a burst of sunshine? That seemedto Miss Maxwell the effect of Rebecca on the groupsof people with whom they now and then mingled;but they were commonly alone, reading to eachother and having quiet talks. The prize essay wasvery much on Rebecca's mind. Secretly she thoughtshe could never be happy unless she won it. Shecared nothing for the value of it, and in this casealmost nothing for the honor; she wanted to pleaseMr. Aladdin and justify his belief in her.*If I ever succeed in choosing a subject, I mustask if you think I can write well on it;and then Isuppose I must work in silence and secret, nevereven reading the essay to you, nor talking about it.'Miss Maxwell and Rebecca were sitting by a little

284 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMbrook on a sunny spring day.They had been in astretch of wood by the sea since breakfast, goingevery now and then for a bask on the warm whitesand, and returning to their shady sohtude whentired of the sun's glare.'The subject is very important,' said Miss Maxwell,'but I do not dare choose for you. Have youdecided on anything yet?''No,' Rebecca answered; 'I plan a new essayevery night. I've begun one on What is Failure.'^and another on He and She. That would be a dialoguebetween a boy and girl just as they wereleaving school, and would tell their ideals of life.Then do you remember you said to me one day,"Follow your Saint ".'^I'd love to write about that.I didn't have a single thought in Wareham, andnow I have a new one every minute, so I must tryand write the essay here; think it out, at any rate,while I am so happy and free and rested. Look atthe pebbles in the bottom of the pool, Miss Emily,so round and smooth and shining.''Yes, but where did they get that beautiful polish,that satin skin, that lovely shape, Rebecca.'*Not in the still pool lying on the sands. It wasnever there that their angles were rubbed off andtheir rough surfaces polished, but in the strife andwarfare of running waters. They have jostledagainst other pebbles, dashed against sharp rocks,and now we look at them and call them beautiful.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 285*If Fate had not made somebody a teacher,She might have been, oh ! such a splendid preacher!rhymed Rebecca. 'Oh! if I could onlythink andspeak as you do!' she sighed. 'I am so afraid Ishall never get education enough to make a goodwriter.''You could worry about plenty of other thingsto better advantage,' said Miss Maxwell, a littlescornfully.'Be afraid, for instance, that you won'tunderstand human nature; that you won't realizethe beauty of the outer world; that you may lacksympathy, and thus never be able to read a heart;that your faculty of expression may not keep pacewith your ideas,— a thousand things, every one ofthem more important to the writer than the knowledgethat is found in books. ^Esop was a Greekslave who could not even write down his wonderfulfables; yet all the world reads them.*'I didn't know that,' said Rebecca, with a halfsob. 'I didn't know anything until I met you!''You will only have had a high school course, butthe most famous universities do not always succeedin making men and women. When I long to goabroad and study, I always remember that therewere three great schools in Athens and two in Jerusalem,but the Teacher of allteachers came out ofNazareth, a little village hidden away from thebigger,busier world.''Mr. Ladd says that youWareham,' said Rebecca thoughtfully.are almost wasted on'

286 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*He iswrong; my talent is not a great one, butno talent is wholly wasted unless its owner choosesto hide it in a napkin.Remember that of your owngifts, Rebecca; they may not be praised of men, butthey may cheer, console, inspire, perhaps, when andwhere you least expect. The brimming glass thatoverflows its own rim moistens the earth about it.'*Did you ever hear of The Rose of Joy.'*'Rebecca, after a long silence.asked'Yes, of course; where did you see it?''On the outside of a book in the library.''I saw it on the inside of a book in the library,'smiled Miss Maxwell. 'It is from Emerson, butI'm afraid you haven't quite grown up to it,Rebecca,and it is one of the things impossible toexplain.''Oh, try me, dear Miss Maxwell!' pleaded Rebecca.'Perhaps by thinking hard I can guess alittle bit what it means.'"'In the actual — this painful kingdom of timeand chance — are Care, Canker, and Sorrow ;withthought, with the Ideal, is immortal hilarity— therose of Joy; round it all the Muses sing,"' quotedMiss Maxwell.Rebecca repeatedit over and over again until shehad learned it by heart; then she said, 'I don'twant to be conceited, but I almost believe I do understandit. Miss Maxwell. Not altogether, perhaps,because it is puzzling and difficult; but a little,

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 287enough to go on with. It's as if a splendid shapegalloped past you on horseback; you are so surprisedand your eyes move so slowly you cannothalf see it, but you just catch a glimpse as it whisksby, and you know it is beautiful. It's all settled.My essay is going to be called The Rose of Joy.I've just decided. It hasn't any beginning, nor anymiddle, but there will be a thrilling ending, somethinglike this: let me see; joy, boy, toy, ahoy, decoy,alloy:"Then come what will of weal or woe(Since all gold hath alloy),Thou'lt bloom unwithered in this heart.My Rose of Joy!"Now I'm going to tuck you up ingive youthe fir pillow,the shawl andand while you sleep I amgoing down on the shore and write a fairy story foryou. It's one of our "supposing" kind; it flies far,far into the future, and makes beautiful things happenthat may never really all come to pass; butsome of them will,— you'll see! and then you'lltake out the little fairy story from your desk andremember Rebecca.''I wonder why these young things always choosesubjects that would tax the powers of a great essayist!'thought Miss Maxwell, as she tried to sleep.'Are they dazzled, captivated, taken possession of,by the splendor of the theme, and do they fancythey can write up to it? Poor little innocents,

288 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMhitching their toy wagons to the stars ! How prettythis particular innocent looks under her new sun-'shade !Adam Ladd had been drivingthrough Bostonstreets on a cold spring day when nature and thefashion-mongers were holding out promises whichseemed far from performance. Suddenly his visionwas assailed by the sight of a rose-colored parasolgayly unfurled in a shop window, signaling thepasser-by and setting him to dream of summer sunshine.It reminded Adam of a New England appletreein full bloom, the outer covering of deep pinkshining through the thin white lining, and a fluffy,fringe-like edge of mingled rose and cream droppingover the green handle. All at once he rememberedone of Rebecca's earlv confidences,— the littlepink sunshade that had given her the only peep intothe gay world of fashion that her childhood hadever known; her adoration of the flimsy bit of fineryand its tragic and sacrificial end. He entered theshop, bought the extravagant bauble, and expressedit to Wareham at once, not a single doubt of itsappropriateness crossing the darkness of his masculinemind. He thought only of the joy in Rebecca'seyes; of the poise of her head under the appleblossomcanopy. It was a trifle embarrassing toreturn an hour later and buy a blue parasol forEmma Jane Perkins, but it seemed increasinglydifficult, as the years went on, to remember herexistence at all the proper times and seasons.

THE POISE OF HER HEAD UNDER THEAPPLE-BLOSSOM CANOPY

290 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMThis is Rebecca's fairy story, copied the next dayand given to Emily Maxwell just as she was goingShe read it with tears into her room for the night.her eyes and then sent it to Adam Ladd, thinkinghe had earned a share in it, and that he deserved aglimpse of the girl'sas of her grateful young heart.budding imagination,A FAIRY STORYas wellThere was once a tired and rather povertystrickenPrincess who dwelt in a cottage on thegreat highway between two cities. She was not asunhappy as thousands of others; indeed, she hadmuch to be grateful for, but the life she lived andthe work she did were full hard for one who wasfashioned slenderly.Now the cottage stood by the edge of a greatgreen forest where the wind was always singing inthe branches and the sunshine filtering through theleaves.And one day when the Princess was sitting bythe w^ayside quite spent by her labor in the fields,she saw a golden chariot rolling down the King'sHighway, and in it a person who could be noneother than somebody's Fairy Godmother on herwayto the Court. Thechariot halted at her door,and though the Princess had read of such beneficentpersonages, she never dreamed for an instantthat one of them could ever alight at her cottage.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 291'If you are tired, poor little Princess, why do younot go into the cool green forest and rest?' askedthe Fairy Godmother.*Because I have no time,' she answered. *I mustgo back to my plough.'*Is that your plough leaning by the tree, and isit not too heavy?''It is heavy,' answered the Princess, 'but I loveto turn the hard earth into soft furrows and knowthat I am making good soil wherein my seeds maygrow. When I feel the weight too much, I try tothink of the harvest.'The golden chariot passed on, and the two talkedno more together that day nevertheless the King's;messengers were busy, for they whispered one wordinto the ear of the Fairy Godmother and anotherinto the ear of the Princess, though so faintly thatneither of them realized that the King had spoken.The next morning a strong man knocked at thecottage door, and doffing his hat to the Princesssaid: 'A golden chariot passed me yesterday, andone within itflung me a purse of ducats, saying:" Go out into the King's Highway and search untilyou find a cottage and a heavy plough leaningagainst a tree near by. Enter and say to the Princesswhom you will find there: 'I will guide theplough and you must go and rest, or walk in thecool green forest; for this is the command of yourFairy Godmother.'"*

292 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMAnd the same thing happened every day, andevery day the tired Princess walked in the greenwood. INIany times she caught the ghtter of thechariot and ran into the Highway to give thanksto the Fairy Godmother; but she was never fleetenough to reach the spot. She could only standwith eager eyes and longing heart as the chariotpassed by. Yet she never failed to catch a smile,and sometimes a word or two floated back to her,words that sounded like: 'I would not be thanked.We are all children of the same King, and I amonly his messenger.'Now as the Princess walked daily in the greenforest, hearing the wind singing in the branches andseeing the sunlight filter through the lattice-work ofgreen leaves, there came unto her thoughts that hadlain asleep in the stifling air of the cottage and theAnd by and byweariness of guiding the plough.she took a needle from her girdle and pricked thethoughts on the leaves of the trees and sent theminto the air to float hither and thither. And it cameto pass that people began to pick them up, andholding them against the sun, to read what waswritten on them, and this was because the simplelittle words on the leaves were only, after all, apart of one of the King's messages, such as the FairyGodmother dropped continually from her goldenchariot.But the miracle of the story lies deeper than all this.

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 293Whenever the Princess pricked the words uponthe leaves she added a thought of her Fairy Godmother,and folding it close within, sent the leaf outon the breeze to float hither and thither and fallwhere it would. And many other little Princessesfelt the same impulse and did the same thing. Andas nothing isever lost in the King's Dominion, sothese thoughts and wishes and hopes, being fullof love and gratitude, had no power to die, but tookunto themselves other shapes and lived on forever.They cannot be seen, our vision isheard, our hearing istoo weak; nortoo dull; but they can sometimesbe felt, and we know not what force is stirringour hearts to nobler aims.The end of the story is not come, but it may bethat some day when the Fairy Godmother has amessage to deliver in person straight to the King,he will say: 'Your face I know; your voice, yourthoughts, and your heart. I have heard the rumbleof your chariot wheels on the great Highway,and I knew that you were on the King's business.Here in my hand is a sheaf of messages from everyquarter of my kingdom. They were delivered byweary and footsore travelers, who said that theycould never have reached the gate in safety had itnot been for your help and inspiration. Read them,that you may know when and where and how yousped the King's service.'And when the Fairy Godmother reads them, it

294 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMmay be that sweet odors will rise from the pages,and half-forgotten memories will stir the air; butin the gladness of the moment nothingwill be halfso lovely as the voice of the King when he said:'Read, and know how you sped the King's service.'Rebecca Rowena Randall.

XXVI'OVER THE TEACUPS'The summer term at Wareham had ended, andIliildah Meserve, Dick Carter, and Living Perkinshad finished school, leaving Rebecca and EmmaJane to represent Riverboro inthe yearto come.Delia Weeks was at home from Lewiston on a briefvisit, and Mrs. Robinson was celebrating the occasionby a small and select party, the particular dayhaving been set because strawberries were ripe andthere was a rooster that wanted killing. Mrs. Robinsonexplained this to her husband, and requestedthat he eat his dinner on the carpenter's bench inthe shed, as the party was to be a ladies''All right; itaffair.won't be any loss to me,' said Mr.Robinson. 'Give me beans, that's all I ask. Whena rooster wants to be killed, I want somebody elseto eat him, not me!'Mrs. Robinson had company only once or twicea year, and was generally much prostrated for severaldays afterward, the struggle between prideand parsimony being quite too great a strain uponher. It was necessary, in order to maintain herstanding in the community, to furnish a good 'setout,' yet the extravagance of the proceeding goadedto stir theher from the first moment she began

296 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMmarble cake to the moment when the feast appearedupon tlie table.The rooster had been boiling steadily over a slowfire since morning, but such was his powerof resistancethat his shape was as firm and handsome inthe pot as on the first moment when he was loweredinto it.'He ain't goin' to give up!' said Alice, peeringnervously under the cover, 'and he looks like ascarecrow.''We'll see whether he gives up or not when Itake a sharp knife to him,' her mother answered;'and as to his looks, a platter full o' gravy makes asight o' difference with old roosters, and I'll putdumplings round the aidge; they're turrible fillin',though they don't belong with boiled chicken.'The rooster did indeed make an impressive showing,lying in his border of dumplings, and the dishwas much comi)limented when it was borne in byAlice. This was fortunate, as the chorus of admirationceased abruptly when the ladies beganthe fowl.to eat'I was glad you could git over to Huldy's graduation,Delia,' said Mrs. Meserve, who sat at thefoot of the table and helped the chicken while Mrs.Robinson poured coffee at the other end. She wasa fit mother for Huldah, being much the most stylishperson in Riverboro; ill health and dress were,indeed, her two chief enjoj^ments in life. It was

A SMALL AND SELECT PARTY

298 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMrumored that her elaborately curled 'front piece'had cost five dollars, and that it was sent intoPortland twice a year to be dressed and frizzed;but it is extremely difficult to discover the precisefacts in such cases, and a conscientious historianalways prefersto warn a too credulous readeragainst imbibing as gospel truth something thatmight be the basest perversion of it. As to Mrs.Meserve's appearance, have you ever, in earlieryears, sought the comforting society of the cookand hung over the kitchen table while she rolledout sugar gingerbread? Perhaps then, in someunaccustomed moment of amiability, she madeyou a dough lady, cutting the outline deftly withher pastry knife, and then, at last, placing the humanstamp upon it by sticking in two black currantsfor eyes. Just call to mind the face of thatsugar gingerbread lady and you will have an exactportrait of Huldah's mother,— Mis' Peter Meserve,she was generally called, there being severalothers.'How'd you like Iluldy's dress, Delia?' sheasked, snapping the elastic in her black jet braceletsafter an irritating fashion she had.'I thought it was about the handsomest of any,'answered Delia; 'and her composition was firstrate.It was the only real amusin' one there was,and she read it so loud and clear we didn't miss anyof it; most o' the girls spoke as if they had hastypuddin' in their mouths.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 299'That was the composition she wrote for AdamLadd's prize,*explained Mrs. Meserve, 'and theydo say she'd 'a' come out first, 'stead o' fourth, ifher subject had been dif'rent. There was threeministers and three deacons on the committee, andit was only natural they should choose a seriouspiece; hers was too lively to suit 'em.'Huldah's inspiring theme had been Boys, andshe certainly had a fund of knowledge and experiencethat fitted her to write most intelligently uponit. It was vastly popular with the audience, whoenjoyed the rather cheap jokes and allusions withwhich it coruscated; but judged from a purely literarystandpoint,'Rebecca's piece wan't read out loud, but theit left much to be desired.one that took the boy's prize was; why was that?'asked Mrs. Robinson.'Because she wan't graduatin',' explained Mrs.Cobb, 'and couldn't take part in the exercises;it'll be printed, with Herbert Dunn's, in the schoolpaper.''I'm glad o' that, for I'll never believe it wasbetter'n Huldy's till I read it with my own eyes;it seems as if the prize ought to 'a' gonethe seniors.''Well, no, Marthy,to one ofnot if Ladd offered it to anyof the two upper classes that wanted to try for it,'argued Mrs. Robinson. 'They say they asked himto give out the prizes, and he refused, up and down.

300 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMIt seems odd, his bein' so rich and travehn' aboutall over the country, that he was too modest to gitup on that platform.''My Huld^^ could 'a' done it, and not winked aneyelash,' observed Mrs. Meserve complacently; aremark which there seemed no disposition on thepart of any of the companyto controvert.'It was complete, though, the governor happeningto be there to see his niece graduate,' said DeliaWeeks. 'Land! he looked elegant! They say he'sonly six feet, but he might 'a'been sixteen, and hecertainly did make a fine sj^eech.''Did you notice Rebecca, how white she was,and how she trembled wdien she and Herbert Dunnstood there while the governor was praisin' 'em?He'd read her composition, too, for he wrote theSawyer girls a letter about it.' This remark wasfrom the sympathetic Mrs. Cobb.'I thought 'twas kind o' foolish, his makin' somuch of her when it wan't her graduation,' objectedMrs. Meserve; 'layin'his hand on her head'n' all that, as if he was a Pope pronouncin' benediction.But there! I'm glad the prize come to Riverboro't any rate, and a han'somer one never wasgive out from the Wareham platform.I guess thereain't no end to Adam Ladd's money. The fifty dollarswould 'a' been good enough, but he must needsgo and put it into those elegant purses.'*I set so fur back I couldn't see 'em fairly,'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 301complained Delia, ' and now Rebecca has taken hershome to show her mother.''It was kind of a gold net bag with a chain,' saidMrs. Perkins, 'and there was five ten-dollar goldpieces in it. Herbert Dunn's was putleather wallet.'in a fine' 'How longis Rebecca goin' to stay at the farm ?asked Delia.'Till they get over Hannah's bein' married, andget the house to runnin' without her,' answeredMrs. Perkins. 'It seems as if Hannah might 'a'waited a little longer.Aurelia was set against hergoin' away while Rebecca was at school, but she'sobstinate as a mule, Hannah is, and she just tookher own way in spiteof her mother. She's beendoin' her sewin' for a year; the awfullest coarsecotton cloth she had, but she's nearly blinded herselfwith fine stitchin' and rufflin' and tuckin'. Didyou hear about the quilt she made.'^ It's white, andhas a big bunch o' grapes in the centre, quilted bya thimble top. Then there's a row of circle-borderin'round the grapes, and she done them the sizeof a spool. The next border was done with a sherryglass, and the last with a port glass, an' all outsideo' that was solid stitchin' done in straight rows;she's goin' to exhibit it at the county fair.''She'd better 'a' been takin' in sewin' and earnin'money, 'stead o' blindin' her eyes on such foolishnessas quilted counterpanes,' said Mrs. Cobb.

302 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'The next thing you know that mortgage willforeclosed on Mis' Randall, and she and the childrenwon't have a roof over their heads.''Don't they say there's a good chance of therailroad goin' through her place?' asked Mrs. Robinson.'If it does, she'll git as much as the farm isworth and more. Adam Ladd's one of the stockholders,and everythingisbea success he takes holtof. They're fightin' it in Augusty, but I'd backLadd agin any o' them legislaters if he thought hewas in the right.''Rebecca'll have some new clothes now,' saidDelia, 'and the land knows she needs 'em.Seemsto me the Sawyer girls are gittin''Rebecca won't have any new clothes out o' theturrible near!'prize money,' remarked Mrs. Perkins, 'for she sentit away the next day to pay the interest on thatmortgage.''Poor little girl!' exclaimed Delia Weeks.'She might as well help along her folks as spendit on foolishness,' affirmed Mrs. Robinson. 'I thinkshe was mighty lucky to git itto paythe interestwith, but she's probably like all the Randalls; itwas easy come, easy go, with them.''That's more than could l)esaid of the Sawyerstock,' retorted jNIrs. Perkins; 'seems like theyenjoyed savin' more'n anything in the world, andit's gainin' on Mirandy sence her shock.''I don't believe it was a shock; it stands to

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 303reason she'd never 'a' got up after it and been sosmart as she is now; we had three o' the worstshocks inriver,the doctors.'head wisely.our family that there ever was on thisand I know every symptom of 'em better'nAnd Mrs. Peter Meserve shook her'Mirandy's smart enough,' said Mrs. Cobb,*but you notice she stays right to home, and she'smore close-mouthed than ever she was; never tooka mite o' pride in the prize, as I could see, thoughitpretty nigh drove Jeremiah out o' his senses. Ithought I should 'a' died o' shame when he cried"Hooray!" and swung his straw hat when the governorshook hands with Rebecca. It's lucky hecouldn't get fur into the church and had to standback by the door, for as it was, he made a spectacleof himself.My suspicion is'— and here every lady— 'stopped eating and sat up straight that theSawyer girls have lost money. They don't know athing about business 'n' never did, and Mirandy'stoo secretive and contrairy to ask advice.''The most o' what they've got is in gov'mentbonds, I always heard, and you can't lose moneyon them. Jane had the timber land left her, an'Mirandy had the brick house.She probably tookit awful hard that Rebecca's fifty dollars had to beswallowed up in a mortgage, 'stead of goin' towardsschool expenses. The more I think of it, the moreI think Adam Ladd intended Rebecca should have

304 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMthat prize when he gave it.'The mind of Huldah'smother ran towards the idea that her daughter'srights had been assailed.'Land, Marthy, what fooHshness you talk!' exclaimedMrs. Perkins; 'you don't suppose he couldtell what composition the committee was going tochoose ;and why should he offer another fifty dollarsfor a boy's prize, if he wan't interested in helpin'along the school .^^same present as Rebecca every Christmas for fiveHe's give Emma Jane about theyears; that's the way he does.''Some time he'll forget one of 'em and give tothe other, or drop 'em both and give to some newgirl!'said Delia Weeks, with an experience bornof fifty years of spinsterhood.'Like as not,' assented Mrs. Peter Meserve,'though it's easy to see he ain't the marryin' kind.There's men that would marry once a yearif theirwives would die fast enough, and there's men thatseems to want to live alone.''If Ladd was a Mormon, I guess he could haveevery woman in North Riverboro that's a suitableage, accordin' to what my cousins say,' remarkedMrs. Perkins.''Tain't likely he could be ketched by any NorthRiverboro girl,' demurred Mrs. Robinson; 'notwhen he prob'bly has had the pick o' Boston. Iguess Marthy hit it when she said there's men thatain't the marryin' kind.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 305'I wouldn't trust any of 'em when Miss Rightcomes along!' laughed Mrs. Cobb genially. 'Younever can tell what 'n' who's goin' to please 'em.You know Jeremiah's contrairy horse, Buster? Hewon't let anybody put the bit into his mouth if hecan helpit. He'll fight Jerry, and fight me, till hehas to give in. Rebecca didn't know nothin' abouthis tricks, and the other day she went int' the barnto hitch up. I followed right along, knowing she'dhave trouble with the headstall, and I declare ifshe wan't pattin' Buster's nose and talkin' to him,and when she put her little fingers into his mouthhe opened itso fur I thought he'd swaller her, forsure. He jest smacked his lips over the bit as if'twas a lump o' sugar. "Land, Rebecca," I says,"how'd you persuade him to take the bit.'^" "Ididn't," she says, "he seemed to want it; perhapshe's tired of his stall and wants to get out in thefresh air."'

XXVII•THE VISION SPLENDID'A YEAR had elapsed since Adam Ladd's prize hadbeen discussed over the teacups in Riverboro. Themonths had come and gone, and at length the greatday had dawned for Rebecca,— the day to whichshe had been looking forward for five years, as thefirst goal to be reached on her little journey throughthe world.School-days were ended, and the mysticfunction known to the initiated as 'graduation' wasabout to be celebrated; itwas even now heraldedby the sun dawning in the eastern sky. Rebeccastole softly out of bed, crept to the window, threwopen the blinds, and welcomed the rosy light thatmeant a cloudless morning. Even the sun lookeddifferent somehow,— larger, redder, more importantthan usual; and if it were really so, there wasno member of the graduating class who would havethought it strange or unbecoming, in view of all thecircumstances. Emma Jane stirred on her pillow,woke, and seeing Rebecca at the window, came andknelt on the floor beside her. 'It's going to bepleasant!' she sighed gratefully. 'If it wasn'twicked, I could thank the Lord, I'm so relieved inmind !Did you sleep ? ''Not much; the words of my class poem kept

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 307running through my head, and the accompanimentsof the songs; and worse than anything, MaryQueen of Scots' prayer in Latin;'"Adoro, imploro,Ut liberes me!"it seemed as ifwere burned into my brain.'No one who is unfamihar with hfe in rural neighborhoodscan imagine the gravity, the importance,the solemnity of this last day of school. In thematter of preparation, wealth of detail, and generalexcitement it far surpasses a wedding; for that iscommonly a simple affair in the country, sometimeseven beginning and ending in a visit to the parsonage.Nothing quite equals graduation in the mindsof the graduates themselves, their families, and theyounger students, unless it be the inauguration ofa governor at the State Capitol, Wareham, then,was shaken to its very centre on this day of days.Mothers and fathers of the scholars, as well as relativesto the remotest generation, had been comingon the train and driving into the town since breakfasttime; old pupils, both married and single, withand without families, streamed back to the dearold village. The two livery stables were crowdedwith vehicles of all sorts, and lines of buggies andwagons were drawn up along the sides of the shadyroads, the horses switching their tails in luxuriousidleness. The streets were filled with people wearingtheir best clothes, and the fashions included not

308 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMonly 'the latest thino-,' but the well-preserved relicof a bygone day. There were all sorts and conditionsof men and women, for there were sons anddaughters of storekeepers, lawyers, butchers, doctors,shoemakers, professors, ministers, and farmersat the Wareham schools, either as boarders orday scholars. In the seminary building there wasan excitement so deep and profound that it expresseditself in a kind of hushed silence, a transientsuspension of life, as those most interested approachedthe crucial moment. The feminine graduates-to-bewere seated in their own bedrooms,dressed with a completenessof detail to which alltheir past lives seemed to have been but a prelude.At least, this was the case with their bodies; buttheir heads, owing to the extreme heat of the day,were one and all ornamented with leads, or papers,or dozens of little braids, to issue later in everv sortof curl known to the girl of that period. Rollingthe hair on leads or papers was a favorite methodof attaining the desired result, and though it oftenentailed a sleepless night, there were those whogladly paid the price. Others, in whose veins theblood of martyrs did not flow, substituted rags forleads and pretended that they made a more naturaland less woolly curl.Heat, however, will melt theproudest head and reduce to fiddling strings thefinest product of the waving-pin; so anxious motherswere stationed over their offspring, waving

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 309palm-leaf fans, it having been decided that thesupremeinstant when the town clock struck tensliould be the one chosen for releasing the prisonersfrom their self-imposed tortures.Dotted or plainSwiss muslin was the favoritegarb, though there were those who were steamingin white cashmere or alpaca, because in some casessuch frocks were thought more useful afterwards.Blue and pink waist ribbons were lying over thebacks of chairs, and the girl who had a Romansash was praying that she might be kept from vanityand pride.The way to any graduating dress at all had notseemed clear to Rebecca until a month before.Then, in company with Emma Jane, she visited thePerkins attic, found piece after piece of white butter-muslinor cheesecloth, and decided that, at apinch, it would do. The 'rich blacksmith's daughter'cast the thought of dotted Swiss behind her,and elected to follow Rebecca in cheesecloth as shehad in higher matters; straightway devising costumesthat included such drawing of threads, suchhemstitching and pin-tucking, such insertions offine thread tatting that, in order to be finished,Rebecca's dress was given out in sections,— thesash to Hannah, waist and sleeves to Mrs. Cobb,and skirt to aunt Jane. The stitches that went intothe despised material, worth only three or fourpennies a yard, made the dresses altogether lovely,

310 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMand as for the folds and lines into which they fell,they could have given points to satins and brocades.The two girls were waiting in their room alone,Emma Jane in rather a tearful state of mind. Shekept thinking that it was the last day that theywould be together in this altogether sweet and closeintimacy. The beginning of the end seemed to havedawned, for two positions had been offered Rebeccaby Mr. ]\Iorrison the day before: one inwhich she would play for singing and calisthenics,and superintend the piano practice of the youngergirls in a boarding-school; the other an assistant'splace in the Edgewood High School. Both werevery modest as to salary, but the former includededucational advantages that Miss Maxwell thoughtmight be valuable.Rebecca's mood had passed from that of excitementinto a sort of exaltation, and when the firstbell rang through the corridors announcing that infive minutes the class would proceed in a body tothe church for the exercises,she stood motionlessand speechless at the window with her hand onher heart.'It is coming, Emmie,' she said presently; 'doyou remember in "The Mill on the Floss," whenMaggie Tulliver closed the golden gates of childhoodbehind her.'^ I can almost see them swing;almost hear them clang; and I can't tell whether Iam glad or sorry.'

'l can't tell whether I AM GLAD OR SORRY'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 311*I shouldn't care how they swung or clanged/said Emma Jane, 'if only you and I were on thesame side of the gate; but we shan't be, I know weshan't!'Emmie, don't dare to cry, for I'm just on the*brink myself! If only you were graduating withme; that's my only sorrow! There! I hear therumble of the wheels! People will be seeing ourgrand surprise now! Hug me once for luck, dearEmmie; a careful hug, remembering our buttermuslinfrailty'!Ten minutes later, Adam Ladd, who had justarrived from Portland and was wending his way tothe church, came suddenly into the main street andstopped short under a tree by the wayside, rivetedto the spot by a scene of picturesque loveliness suchas his eyes had seldom witnessed before. The classof which Rebecca was president was not likely tofollow accepted customs. Instead of marching twoby two from the seminary to the church, they hadelected to proceed thither by royal chariot. A haycarthad been decked with green vines and bunchesof long-stemmed field daisies, those gay darlings ofNew England meadows. Every inch of the rail,the body, even the spokes, all were twined withyellow and green and white.There were two whitehorses, flower-trimmed reins, and in the floralbower, seated on maple boughs, were the twelvegirls of the class, while the ten boys marched on

312 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMeither side of the vehicle, wearing buttonhole bouquetsof daisies, the class flower.Rebecca drove, seated on a green-covered benchthat looked not unlike a throne. No girl clad inwhite muslin, no happy girl of seventeen, is plain;and the twelve little country maids, from the vantageground of their setting, looked beautiful, asthe June sunlight filtered down on their uncoveredheads, showing their bright eyes, their fresh cheeks,their smiles, and their dimples.Rebecca, iVdam thought, as he took off his hatand saluted the pretty panorama,— Rebecca, withher tallslenderness, her thoughtful brow, the fireof young joy in her face, her fillet of dark braidedhair, might have been a young Muse or Sibyl; andthe flowery hayrack, with itsfreight of bloominggirlhood, might have been painted as an allegoricalpicture of The Morningof Life. Itall passed him,as he stood under the elms in the old village streetwhere his mother had walked half a century ago,and he was turning with the crowd towards thechurch when he heard a little sob.Behind a hedgein the garden near where he was standing was a forlornperson in white, whose neat nose, chestnuthair, and blue eyes he seemed to know. He steppedinside the gate and said, 'What's wrong. MissEmma.f^''Oh, is it you, Mr. Ladd.^^ Rebecca wouldn't letme cry for fear of spoiling my looks, but I must

314 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMhave just one chance before I go in.I can be asNot that I mind that; it's only being separatedhomely as I hke, after all, for I only have to singwith the school; I'm not graduating, I'm just leaving!from Rebecca that I never can stand!'The two walked along together, Adam comfortingthe disconsolate Emma Jane, until they reachedthe old meeting-house where the Commencementexercises were always held.The interior, with itsdecorations of yellow, green, and white, wascrowded, the air hot and breathless, the essays andsongs and recitations precisely like allhave been since the world began.others thatOne always fearsthat the platform may sink under the weight ofyouthful platitudes uttered on such occasions; yetone can never be properly critical, because the sightof the boys and girls themselves, those young andhopeful makers of to-morrow, disarms one's scorn.We yawn desperately at the essays, but our heartsgo out to the essayists, all the same, for ' the visionsplendid' is shining in their eyes, and there is nofear of 'th' inevitable yoke' that the years are sosurely bringing them.Rebecca saw Hannah and her husband in theaudience; dear old John and cousin Ann also, andfelt a pang at the absence of her mother, though shehad known there was no possibility of seeing her;for poor Aurelia was kept at Sunnybrook by caresof children and farm, and lack of moneyeither for

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 315the journey or for suitable dress. The Cobbs shesaw too. No one, indeed, could fail to see uncleJerry ;for he shed tears more than once, and in theintervals between the essays descanted to his neighborsconcerning the marvelous gifts of one of thewhom he had known ever sincegraduating classshe was a child; in fact, had driven her fromMaplewood to Riverboro when she left her home,and he had told mother that same night thatthere wan't nary rung on the ladder o'fame thatthat child wouldn't mount before she got throughwith it.The Cobbs, then, had come, and there were otherRiverboro faces, but where was aunt Jane, in herblack silk made over especially for this occasion?Aunt Miranda had not intended to come, she knew,but where, on this day of days, was her beloved auntJane.'*However, this thought, like all others, came andwent in a flash, for the whole morning was likea series of magic lantern pictures, crossing and recrossingher field of vision. She played, she sang,she recited Queen Mary's Latin prayer, like one ina dream, only brought to consciousness by meetingMr. Aladdin's eyes as she spoke the last line. Thenat the end of the programme came her class poem.Makers of To-morrow; and there, as on many aformer occasion, her personality played so great apart that she seemed to be uttering Miltonic senti-

316 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMments instead of school-girl verse.Her voice, hereyes, her body breathed conviction, earnestness,emotion; and when she left the platformthe audiencefelt that they had listened to a masterpiece.Most of her hearers knew little of Carlvle or Emerson,or they might have remembered that the onesaid, 'We are all poets when we read a poem well,'and the other, ''Tis the good reader makes the goodbook.'It was over! The diplomas had been presented,and each girl, after giving furtive touches to herhair, sly tweaks to her muslin skirts, and caressingpats to her sash, had gone forward to receive theroll of parchment with a bow that had been thesubject of anxious thought for weeks. Rounds ofapplause greeted each graduate at this thrillingmoment, and Jeremiah Cobb's behavior, when Rebeccacame forward, was the talk of Wareham andRiverboro for days. Old ]\Irs. Webb avowed thathe, in the space of two hours, had worn out her pewmore — the carpet, the cushions, and woodwork —than she had by sitting in it forty years. Yes, it wasover, and after the crowd had thinned a little, AdamLadd made his way to the platform.Rebecca turned from speaking to some strangersand met him in the aisle. 'Oh, Mr. Aladdin, I amso glad you could come ! Tell me — ' and she lookedat him half shyly, for his approval was dearer toher, and more difficult to win, than that of the

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 317others —*tellme, Mr. Aladdin,— were you satisfied?''More than satisfied!' he said; 'glad I met thechild, proud I know the girl, longingwoman !'to meet the

XXVIII•TH' INEVITABLE YOKE'Rebecca's heart beat high at this sweet praise fromher hero's hps, but before she had found words tothank him, Mr. and Mrs. Cobb, who had been modestlybiding their time in a corner, approached herand she introduced them to Mr. Ladd.'Where, where is aunt Jane.'^' she cried, holdingaunt Sarah's hand on one side and uncle Jerry'son the other.'I'm sorry, lovey, but we've got bad news foryou.''Is aunt Miranda worse? She is; I can see it byyour looks;' and Rebecca's color faded.'She had a second stroke yesterday morning jestwhen she was helpin' Jane lay out her things tocome here to-day. Jane said you wan't to knowanything about it till the exercises was all over, andwe promised to keep it secret till then.''I will go right home with you, aunt Sarah. Imust just run to tell Miss Maxwell, for after I hadpacked up to-morrow I was going to Brunswick withher. Poor aunt Miranda! And I have been so gayand happy all day, except that I was longing formother and aunt Jane.''There ain't no harm in bein' gay, lovey; that'swhat Jane wanted you to be. And Miranda's got

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 319her speech back, for your aunt has just sent a lettersayin' she's better; and I'm goin' to set up to-night,so you can stay here and have a good sleep, and getyour things together comfortably to-morrow.*'I'llpack your trunk for you, Becky dear, andattend to all our room things,' said Emma Jane,who had come towards the group and heard thesorrowful news from the brick house.They moved into one of the quiet side pews,where Hannah and her husband and John joinedthem. From time to time some straggling acquaintanceor old schoolmate would come up to congratulateRebecca and ask why she had hidden herselfin a corner. Then some member of the class wouldcallto her excitedly, reminding her not to be lateat the picnic luncheon, or begging her to be earlyat the class party in the evening. All this had anair of unrealityto Rebecca.In the midst of theandhappy excitement of the last two days, when ' blushinghonors' had been falling thick upon her,behind the delicious exaltation of the morning, hadbeen the feeling that the condition was a transientone, and that the burden, the struggle, the anxiety,would soon loom again on the horizon. She longedto steal away into the woods with dear old John,grown so manly and handsome, and get some comfortfrom him.Meantime Adam Ladd and Mr. Cobb had beenhaving an animated conversation.

320 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'I s'pose up to Boston, girlslike that one are asthick as blackb'ries?' uncle Jerry said, jerking hishead interrogatively in Rebecca's direction.'They may be,' smiled Adam, takingold man's mood; 'only I don't happen to knowone.'in the*My eyesight bein' poor's the reason she lookedhan'somest of any girl on the platform, I s'pose.'^''There's no failure in my eyes,' responded Adam,'but that was how the thing seemed to me!''What did you think of her voice.'^ Anythingextry about it?''Made the others sound poor and thin, I thought.''Well, I'm glad to hear your opinion, you bein'a traveled man, for mother says I'm foolish 'boutRebecky and hev been sence the fust. Motherscolds me for spoilin' her, but I notice mother ain'tfur behind when it comes to spoilin'. Land! itmade me sick, thinkin' o' them parents travelin'miles to see their young ones graduate, and thenwhen they got here hevin' to compare 'em with Rebecky.Good-bye, Mr. Ladd, drop in some daywhen you come to Riverboro.''I will,' said Adam, shaking the old man's handcordially; 'perhaps to-morrow if I drive Rebeccahome, as I shall offer to do. Do you think MissSawyer's condition is serious?''Well, the doctor don't seem to know; but anyhowshe's paralyzed, and she'll never walk fur

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 321again, poor soul! She ain't lost her speech; that'llbe a comfort to her.'Adam left the church, and in crossing the commoncame upon Miss Maxwell doing the honorsof the institution, as she passed from group togroup of strangers and guests. Knowing that shewas deeply interested in all Rebecca's plans, hetold her, as he drew her aside, that the girl wouldhave to leave Wareham for Riverboro the nextday.'That is almost more than I can bear !'exclaimedMiss Maxwell, sitting down on a bench and stabbingthe greensward with her parasol.me Rebecca never has any respite.'It seems toI had so manyplans for her this next month in fitting her for herposition, and now she will settle down to houseworkagain, and to the nursing of that poor, sick,cross old aunt.''If it had not been for the cross old aunt, Rebeccawould still have been at Sunnybrook; andfrom the standpoint of educational advantages, orindeed advantages of any sort, she might as wellhave been in the backwoods,' returned Adam.'That istrue; I was vexed when I spoke, for Ithought an easier and happier day was dawning formy prodigy and pearl.''Our prodigy and pearl,' corrected Adam.'Oh, yes!' she laughed.'I always forget that itpleases you to pretend you discovered Rebecca.'

322 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM*I believe, though, that happier days are dawningfor her,' continued Adam. 'It must be a secretfor the present, but Mrs. Randall's farm will bebought by the new railroad. We must have rightof way through the land, and the station will bebuilt on her property.She will receive six thousanddollars, which, though not a fortune, will yield herthree or four hundred dollars a year,if she will allowme to invest it for her.There is a mortgage onthe land; that paid, and Rebecca self-supporting,the mother ought to push the education of the oldestboy, who is a fine, ambitious fellow. He shouldbe taken away from farm work and settled at hisstudies.'*We might form ourselves into a Randall ProtectiveAgency, Limited,' mused Miss Maxwell.confess I want Rebecca to have a career.'*I don't,' said Adam promptly.*0f course you don't. Men have no interest inthe careers of women! But I know Rebecca betterthan you.''You understand her mind better, but not necessarilyher heart. You'Iare considering her for themoment as prodigy; I am thinkingpearl.'of her more as*Well,' sighed Miss Maxwell whimsically, 'prodigyor pearl, the Randall Protective Agency maypull Rebecca in opposite directions, but neverthelessshe will follow her saint.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 323*That will content me,' said Adam gravely.*Particularlyif the saint beckons your way.' AndMiss Maxwell looked up and smiled provokingly.Rebecca did not see her aunt Miranda tillhad been at the brick house for several days.sheMirandasteadily refused to have any one but Jane inthe room until her face had regained its naturallook, but her door was always ajar, and Jane fanciedshe liked to hear Rebecca's quick, light step.Her mind was perfectly clear now, and, save thatshe could not move, she was most of the time quitefree from pain, and alert in every nerve to all thatwas going on within or without the house. 'Were thewindfall apples being picked up for sauce; were thepotatoes thick in the hills;was the corn tosselin'out; were they cuttin' the upper field; were theykeepin' fly-paper laid out everywheres; were thereany ants in the dairy; was the kindlin' wood holdin'out; had the bank sent the cowpons.^^'Poor Miranda Sawyer!— Hovering on the vergeof the great beyond, her body ' struck ' and nolonger under control of her iron will,— no divinevisions floated across her tiredbrain; nothing butpetty cares and sordid anxieties. Not all at oncecan the soul talk with God, be He ever so near. Ifthe heavenly language never has been learned,quick as is the spiritual sense in seizing the facts itneeds, then the poor soul must use the words and

324 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMphrases it has Hved on and grown into day by day.Poor Miss Miranda —! held fast within the prisonwalls of her own nature, blind inthe presence ofrevelation because she had never used the spiritualeye, deaf to angelic voices because she had not usedthe spiritual ear.There came a morning when she asked for Rebecca.The door was opened into the dim sickroom,and Rebecca stood there with the sunlightbehind her, her hands full of sweet peas. Miranda'spale, sharp face, framed in its nightcap, looked haggardon the pillow, and her body was pitifully stillunder the counterpane.'Come in,' she said; 'I ain't dead yet. Don'tmess up the bed with them flowers, will ye.^''Oh, no!Rebecca, turningThey're going in a glass pitcher,' saidto the washstand as she tried tocontrol her voice and stop the tears that sprang toher eyes.'Let me look at ye; come closer.What dress areye wearin'.'^' said the old aunt in her cracked, weakvoice.'Myblue calico.*'Is your cashmere holdin' its color .f^''Yes, aunt Miranda.''Do you keep it in a dark closet hung on thewrong side, as I told ye?''Always.''Has your mother made her jelly?*

'come in,' she said; 'i ain't dead yet'

326 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'She hasn't said.''She always had the knack o* writin' letters withnothin' in 'em. What's Mark broke sence I've beensick.?''Nothing at all, aunt Miranda.''Why, what's the matter with him.'^ Gittin' lazy,ain't he.'' How's John turnin' out.''''He's going to be the best of us all.**I hope you don't slight things in the kitchen be-Do you scald the coffee-pot andcause I ain't there.turn itupside down on the winder-sill?''Yes, aunt Miranda.''It'salways "yes" with you, and "yes" w^ithJane,' groaned Miranda, trying to move her stiffenedbody; 'but all the time I lay here knowin'there's things done the way I don't like 'em.'There was a long pause, during which Rebeccasat down by the bedside and timidly touched heraunt's hand, her heart swelling with tender pity atthe gaunt face and closed eyes.*I was dreadful ashamed to have you graduatein cheesecloth, Rebecca, but I couldn't help it nohow.You'll hear the reason some time, and knowI tried to make it up to ye. I'm afraid you was alaughin'-stock!''No,' Rebecca answered. 'Ever so many peoplesaid our dresses were the very prettiest; they lookedlike soft lace. You're not to be anxious about anything.Here I am all grown up and graduated,—

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 327number three in a class of twenty-two, aunt Miranda,— and good positions offered me already.Look at me, big and strong and young, all ready togo into the world and show what you and auntJane have done for me. If you want me near, I'lltake the Edgewood school,so that I can be herenights and Sundays to help; and ifyou get better,then I'll go to Augusta, — for that's a hundreddollars more, with music lessons and other thingsbeside.''You listen to me,' said INIiranda quaveringly.*Take the best place, regardless o' my sickness.I'd like to live long enough to know you'd paid offthat mortgage, but I guess I shan't.'Here she ceased abruptly, having talked morethan she had for weeks; and Rebecca stole out ofthe room, to cry by herself and wonder if old agemust be so grim, so hard, so unchastened and unsweetened,as it slipped into the valley of theshadow.The days went on, and Miranda grew strongerand stronger; her will seemed unassailable, andbefore long she could be moved into a chair by thewindow, her dominant thought being to arrive atsuch a condition of improvement that the doctorneed not call more than once a week, instead ofdaily; thereby diminishing the bill, that was mountingto such a terrifying sum that it haunted herthoughts by day and dreams by night.

328 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMLittle by little hopestole back into Rebecca'syoung heart. Aunt Jane began to 'clear starch'her handkerchiefs and collars and purple muslindress, so that she might be ready to goto Brunswickat any moment when the doctor pronouncedINIiranda well on the road to recovery. Everythingbeautiful was to happen — in Brunswick if she couldbe there by August, everything that heart couldwish or imagination conceive, for she was to beMiss Emily's very own visitor, and sit at table withcollege professors and other great men.At length the day dawned when the few clean,simple dresses were packed in the hair trunk, togetherwith her beloved coral necklace, her cheeseclothgraduating dress, her class pin, aunt Jane'slace cape, and the one new hat, which she tried onevery night before goingto bed.It was of whitechip with a wreath of cheap white roses and greenleaves, and cost between two and three dollars, anunprecedented sum in Rebecca's experience.Theeffect of its glories when worn with her nightdresswas dazzling enough, but if ever itappeared in conjunctionwith the cheesecloth gown, Rebecca feltthat even reverend professors might regard it withrespect.It is probable indeed that any professorialgaze lucky enough to meet a pair of dark eyes shiningunder that white rose garland would never havestopped at respect!Then, when all was ready and Abijah Flagg at

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 329the door, came a telegram from Hannah: *Come atonce. Mother has had bad accident.'In less than an hour Rebecca was started on herway to Sunnybrook, her heart palpitating with fearas to what might be awaiting her at her journey'send.Death, at all events, was not there to meet her;but something that looked at first only too muchlike it. Her mother had been standing on the haymowsuperintending some changes in the barn,had been seized with giddiness, they thought, andThe right knee was fractured and the backslipped.strained and hurt, but she was conscious and in noimmediate danger, so Rebecca wrote, when she hada moment to send aunt Jane the particulars.'I don' know how 'tis,' grumbled Miranda, whowas not able to sit up that day; 'but from a child Icould never lay abed without Aurelia's gettin' sicktoo. I don' know's she could help fallin', thoughit ain't any place for a woman,— a haymow; butif it hadn't been that, 'twould 'a' been somethin'else. Aurelia was born unfortunate. Now she'llprobably be a cripple, and Rebecca'll have to nurseher instead of earning a good income somewhereselse.''Her first duty's to her mother,' said aunt Jane;'I hope she'll always remember that.''Nobody remembers anything they'd ought to,— at seventeen,' responded Miranda. 'Now that

330 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMI'm strong again, there's things I want to considerwith you, Jane, things that are on my mind nightand day. We've talked 'em over before; now we'llsettle 'em. When I'm laid away, do you want totake Aurelia and the children down here to the brickhouse .^^ There's an awful passel of —'em, Aurelia,Jenny, and Fanny; but I won't have Mark. Hannahcan take him ;I won't have a great boy stompin'out the carpets and ruinin' the furniture, thoughI know when I'm dead I can't hinder ye,ifyoumake up your mind to do anything.'*I shouldn't like to go against your feelings,especially in laying out your money, Miranda,' saidJane.'Don't tell Rebecca I've willed her the brickhouse.She won't git it till I'm gone, and I want totake my time 'bout dyin' and not be hurried off bythem that's goin' to profit by it; nor I don't want tobe thanked, neither. I s'pose she'll use the frontstairs as common as the back and like as not havewater brought into the kitchen, but mebbe whenI've been dead a few years I shan't mind. She setssuch store by you, she'll want you to have your homehere as long's you live, but anyway I've wrote itdown that way; though Lawyer Burns's wills don'thold more'n half the time.it comes out jest the same in the end.He's cheaper, but I guessI wan't goin'to have the fust man Rebecca picks up for a husbandturnin' you ou'doors.'

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 331There was a long pause, during which Jane knitsilently, wiping the tears from her eyes from timeto time, as she looked at the pitiful figure lyingweakly on the pillows. Suddenly Miranda saidslowly and feebly:'I don' know after all but you might as well takeMark; I s'pose there's tame boys as well as wildones. There ain't a mite o' sense in havin' so manychildren, but it's a turrible risk splittin' up familiesand farmin' 'em out here 'n' there; they'd nevercome to no good, an' everybody would keep rememberin'their mother was a Sawyer. Now if you'lldraw down the curtin, I'll try to sleep.'

XXIXMOTHER AND DAUGHTERTwo months had gone by,— two months of steady,fagging work; of cooking, washing, ironing; ofmending and caring for the three children, althoughJenny was fast becoming a notable little housewife,quick, ready, and capable. They were months inwhich there had been many a weary night of watchingby Aurelia's bedside; of soothing and bandagingand rubbing; of reading and nursing, even of feedingand bathing. The ceaseless care was growing lessnow, and the family breathed more freely, for themother's sigh of pain no longer came from thebedroom, where, during a hot and humidstiflingAugust, Aurelia had lain, sufl^ering with everybreath she drew. There would be no question ofwalking for many a month to come, but blessingsseemed to multiply when the blinds could be openedand the bed drawn near the window ;when mother,with pillows behind her, could at least sit and watchthe work going on, could smile at the past agonyand forget the weary hours that had led to her presentcomparative ease and comfort.No girl of seventeen can pass through such an ordealand come out unchanged; no girl of Rebecca'stemperament could go through it without some

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 333inward repining and rebellion.She was doing tasksin which she could not be fully happy,— heavywhich perhaps she could neverand trying tasks,do with complete success or satisfaction; and likepromise of nectar to thirsty lips was the vision ofjoys she had had to put aside for the performanceof dull daily duty. How brief, how fleeting, hadbeen those splendid visions when the universeseemed open for her young strength to battle andtriumph in How soon they had faded into the !lightof common day! At first, sympathy and grief wereso keen she thought of nothing but her mother'spain. No consciousness of self interposed betweenher and her filial service; then, as the weeks passed,little blighted hopes began to stir and ache in herbreast; defeated ambitions raised their heads as ifto sting her; unattainable delights teased her bytheir very nearness; by the narrow line of separationthat lay between her and their realization.It iseasy, for the moment, to tread the narrow way,looking neither to the right nor left, upborne by thesense of right doing; but that first joy of self-denial,the joy that is like fire in the blood, dies away; thepath seems drearier and the footsteps falter.Sucha time came to Rebecca, and her bright spiritwas received saying thatflagged when the letterher position in Augusta had been filled.There wasa mutinous leap of the heart then, a beating ofwings against the door of the cage, a longing for the

334 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMfreedom of the big world outside.It was the stirringof the powers within her, though she called itby no such grand name. She felt as if the wind ofdestiny were blowing her flame hither and thither,burning, consuming her, but kindling nothing. Allthis meant one stormy night in her little room atSunnybrook, but the clouds blew over, the sunshone again, a rainbow stretched across the sky,while ' hope clad in April green ' smiled into her upturnedface and beckoned her on, saving:'Grow old along with me,The best is yet to be.'Threads of joy ran in and out of the gray tangledweb of daily living. There was the attempt at oddmoments to make the bare little house less bare bybringing in out-of-doors, taking a leaf from Nature'sbook and noting how she conceals ugliness whereevershe finds it.Then there was the satisfactionof being mistress of the poor domain; of planning,governing, deciding; of bringing order out of chaos;of implanting gayety in the place of inert resignationto the inevitable. Another element of comfortwas the children's love, for thev turned to her asflowers to the sun, drawing confidently on her fundof stories, serene in the conviction that there was nolimit to Rebecca's powerof make-believe. Inthis,and in yet greater things, littleas she realized it,the law of compensation was working in her behalf,for in those anxious days mother and daughter

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 335found and knew each other as never before. A newsense was born in Rebecca as she hung over her mother'sbed of pain and unrest,— a sense that comesonly of ministering, a sense that grows only whenthe strong bend toward the weak. As for Aurelia,words could never have expressed her dumb happinesswhen the real revelation of motherhood wasvouchsafed her. In all the earlier years when herbabies were young, carkingcares and anxietiesdarkened the fireside with their brooding wings.Then Rebecca had gone away, and in the longmonths of absence her mind and soul had grownout of her mother's knowledge, so that now, whenAurelia had time and strength to study her child,she was like some enchanting changeling. Aureliaand Hannah had gone on in the dull round and thecommon task, growing duller and duller; but now,on a certain stage of life's journey, who should appearbut this bewildering being, who gave wings tothoughts that had only crept before; who broughtcolor and grace and harmony into the dun browntexture of existence.You might harness Rebecca to the heaviestplough, and while she had youth on her side, shewould always remember the green earth under herfeet and the blue sky over her head. Her physicaleye saw the cake she was stirring and the loaf shewas kneading; h^r physical ear heard the kitchenfire crackling and the teakettle singing, but ever

336 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMair. Theand anon her fancy mounted on pinions, rested itself,renewed its strength in the upperbare little farmhouse was a fixed fact, but she hadmany a palace into which she now and then withdrew;palaces peopled with stirring and gallant figuresbelonging to the world of romance; palacesnot without their heavenly apparitions too, breathingcelestial counsel. Everytime she retired to hercitadel of dreams she came forth radiant and refreshed,as one who has seen the evening star,heard sweet music, or smelled the rose of joy.Aurelia could have understood the feeling of anarrow-minded and conventional hen who hasbrought a strange, intrepid duckling into the world;but her situation was still more wonderful, for shecould only compare her sensations to those of somequiet brown Dorking who has brooded an ordinaryegg and hatched a bird of paradise. Such an ideahad crossed her mind more than once during thepast fortnight, and it flashed to and fro this mellowOctober morning when Rebecca came into the roomwith her arms full of goldenrod and flaming autumnleaves.'Just a hint of the fallorstyles, mother,' she said,slipping the stem of a gorgeous red and yellow saplingbetween the mattress and the foot of the bed.'This was leaning over the pool, and I was afraidit would be vain if I left it there too long lookingat its beautiful reflection, so I took it away from

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 337danger;isn't it wonderful? How I wish I couldcarry one to poor aunt Miranda to-day!There'snever a flower in the brick house when I'm away.'It was a marvelous morning. The sun hadclimbed into a world that held in remembrance onlya succession of golden days and starlit nights. Theair was fragrant with ripening fruit, and there was amad littlebird on a tree outside the door nearlybursting his throat with joy of living. He had forgottenthat summer was over, that winter must evercome; and who could think of cold winds, bareboughs, or frozen streams on such a .^^day A paintedmoth came in at the open window and settled onthe tuft of brilliant leaves.Aurelia heard the birdand looked from the beauty of the glowing bush toher tall, splendid daughter, standing like youngSpring with golden Autumn in her arms.Then suddenly she covered her eyes and cried,'I can't bear it! Here I lie chained to this bed,interfering with everything you want to do. It's allwasted! All my saving and doing without; all yourhard study; all Mirandy's outlay; everything thatwe thought was going to be the making of you!''Mother, mother, don't talk so, don't think so!'exclaimed Rebecca, sittingdown impetuously onthe floor by the bed and dropping the goldenrod byher side. ' Why, mother, I'm only a little past seventeen! This person in a purple calico apron withflour on her nose isonly the beginnings of me ! Do

338 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMyou remember the young tree that John transplanted?We had a dry summer and a cold winterand it didn't grow a bit, nor show anything of all wedid for it; then there was a good year and it madeup for lost time. Thisis just my little "rooting season,"mother, but don't go and believe my day isover, because it hasn't begun! The old maple bythe well that's in its hundredth year had new leavesthis summer, so there must be hope for me at seventeen!'*You can put a brave face on it,' sobbed Aurelia,*but you can't deceive me. You've lost your place;you'll never see your friends here, and you're nothingbut a drudge!''I look like a drudge,' said Rebecca mysteriously,with laughing eyes,'but I really am a princess; youmustn't tell, but this is only a disguise; I wear it forreasons of state. The king and queen who are atpresent occupying my throne are very old and tottering,and are going to abdicate shortly in my favor.It's rather a small kingdom, I suppose, askingdoms go, so there isn't much strugglefor it inroyal circles, and you mustn't expect to see a goldenthrone set with jewels. It will probably be only ofivory with a nice screen of peacock feathers for abackground; but you shall have a comfortablechair very near it, with quantities of slaves todo what they call in novels your "lightest bidding."*

'mother, mother, don't talk so, don't think so!'

340 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMAurelia smiled in spite of herself, and though notperhaps wholly deceived, she was comforted.'I only hope you won't have to wait too long foryour thrones and your kingdoms, Rebecca,' shesaid, 'and that I shall have a sight of them beforeI die; but life looks very hard and rough to me,what with your aunt Miranda a cripple at the brickhouse, me another here at the farm, youand foot, first with one and then with thetied handother,to say nothing of Jenny and Fanny and Mark!You've got something of your father's happy disposition,or it would weigh on you as it does onme.''Why, mother!' cried Rebecca, clasping her kneeswith her hands; 'why, mother, it's enough joy justto be here in the world on a day like this; to havethe chance of seeing, feeling, doing, becoming!When you were seventeen, mother, wasn't it goodjust to be alive.'' You haven't forgotten?''No,' said Aurelia, 'but I wasn't so much aliveas you are, never in the world.''I often think,' Rebecca continued, walking tothe window and looking out at the trees,— 'I oftenthink how dreadful it would be if I were not hereat all.If Hannah had come, and then, instead ofme, John ;John and Jenny and Fanny and the others,but no Rebecca; never any Rebecca! To bealive makes up for everything; there oughtto befears in my heart, but there aren't; something

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 341stronger sweeps them out, something Hke a wind.Oh, see! There is Will driving up the lane, mother,and he ought to have a letter from the brickhouse.'

XXXGOOD-BYE, SUNNYBROOKWill Melville drove up to the window and,tossing a letter into Rebecca's lap, went off to thebarn on an errand. ' Sister's no w^orse, then,' sighedAurelia gratefully,'or Jane would have telegraphed.See what she says.'Rebecca opened the envelope and read inflash of an eye the whole brief page:oneYour aunt Miranda passed away an hour ago.Come at once, if your mother is out of danger. Ishall not have the funeral tillyou are here. Shedied very suddenly and without any pain.Oh, Rebecca! I long for you so ! Aunt Jane.The force of habit was too strong, and even inthe hour of death Jane had remembered that atelegram was twenty-five cents, and that Aureliawould have to pay half a dollar for its delivery.Rebecca burst into a passion of tears as she cried,'Poor, poor aunt Miranda! She is gone withouttaking a bit of comfort in life, and I couldn't saygood-bye to her Poor lonely aunt Jane ! ! What canI do, mother.'^ I feel torn in two, between you andthe brick house.*

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 343'You must go this very instant,' said Aurelia,starting from her pillows.'If I was to die whileyou were away, I would say the very same thing.Your aunts have done everything in the world foryou, — more than I've ever been able to do,— andit is your turn to payback some o' their kindnessand show your gratitude. The doctor says I'veturned the corner and I feel I have. Jenny canmake out somehow, if Hannah'll come over once aday.''But, mother, I canH go! Who'll turn you inbed.f^' exclaimed Rebecca, walkingwringing her hands distractedly.the floor and'It don't make any difference if I don't getturned,' replied Aurelia stoically.'If a woman ofmy age and the mother of a family hasn't got senseenough not to slip off ha^^mows, she'd ought tosuffer. Go put on your black dress and pack yourbag. I'd give a good deal if I was able to go to mysister's funeral and prove that I've forgotten andforgiven all she said when I was married. Her actswere softer 'n her words, Mirandy's were, and she'smade up to you for all she ever sinned against me 'n'And oh, Rebecca,' she continued withyour father!quivering voice, ' I remember so well when we werelittle girls together and she took such pride incurling my hair; and another time, when we weregrown up, she lent me her best blue muslin : it waswhen your father had asked me to lead the grand

344 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMmarch with him at the Christmas dance, and Ifound out afterwards she thought he'd intended toask her !'Here AureHa broke down and wept bitterly; forthe recollection of the past had softened her heartand brought the comfortingtears even more effectuallythan the news of her sister's death.There was only an hour for preparation. Willwould drive Rebecca to Temperance and sendJenny back from school. He volunteered also toengage a woman to sleep at the farm in case Mrs.Randall should be worse at any time in thenight.Rebecca flew down over the hill to get a last pailof spring water, and as she lifted the bucket fromthe crystal depths and looked out over the glowingbeauty of the autumn landscape, she saw a companyof surveyors with their instruments makingcalculations and laying lines that apparently crossedSunnybrook at the favorite spot where Mirror Poollay clear and placid, the yellow leaves on its surfaceno yellower than its sparkling sands.She caught her breath. 'The time has come!'she thought. 'I am saying good-bye to Sunnybrook,and the golden gates that almost swung togetherthat last day in Wareham will close forevernow. Good-bye, dear brook and hills and meadows;you are going to see life too, so we must be hopefuland say to one another:

'the time has come!' she thought, 'i am sayingGOOD-BYE TO SUNNYBROOK'

346 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM'"Grow old along with me,The best is yet to be.'"Will Melville had seen the surveyors too, andhad heard in the Temperance post-ofRce that morningthe probable sum that Mrs. Randall would receivefrom the railway company. He was in goodspirits at his own improved prospects, for his farmwas so placed that its value could be only increasedby the new road; he was also relieved in mind thathis wife's family would no longer be in dire povertydirectly at his doorstep, so to speak. John couldnow be hurried forward and forced into the positionof head of the family several years sooner than hadbeen anticipated, so Hannah's husband was obligedto exercise great self-control or he would havewhistled while he was driving Rebecca to the Tem-He could not understand her sadperance station.face or the tears that rolled silently down hercheeks from time to time; for Hannah had alwaysrepresented her aunt Miranda as an irascible, parsimoniousold woman, who would be no loss tothe world whenever she should elect to disappearfrom it.''Cheer up, Becky! he said, as he left her at thedepot. 'You'll find your mother sitting up whenyou come back, and the next thing you know thewhole family'11 be moving to some nice little housewherever your work is.Things will never be so badagain as they have been this last year; that's what

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 347Hannah and I think;* and he drove away to tellhis wife the news.Adam Ladd was in the station and came up toRebecca instantly, as she entered the door lookingvery unlike her bright self.*The Princess is sad this morning,' he said, takingher hand. 'Aladdin must rub the magic lamp; thenthe slave will appear, and these tears be dried in atrice.'He spoke lightly, for he thought her trouble wassomething connected with affairs at Sunnybrook,and that he could soon bring the smiles by tellingher that the farm was sold and that her mother wasto receive a handsome price in return. He meant toremind her, too, that though she must leave thehome of her youth, it was too remote a place tobe a proper dwelling either for herselfor for herlonely mother and the three younger children.He could hear her say as plainly as if it were yesterday,' I don't think one ever forgets the spot whereone lived as a child.' He could see the quaint littlefigure sitting on the piazza at North Riverboro andwatch it disappear in the lilac bushes when he gavethe memorable order forthree hundred cakes ofRose-Red and Snow-White soap.A word or two soon told him that her grief wasof another sort, and her mood was so absent, sosensitive and tearful, that he could only assure herof his sympathy and beg that he might come soon

348 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMto the brick house to see with his own eyes how shewas faring.Adam thought, when he had put her on the trainand taken his leave, that Rebecca was, in her saddignity and gravity, more beautiful than he hadever seen her,— all-beautiful and all-womanly.But in that moment's speech with her he hadlooked into her eyes and they were stillthose of achild; there was no knowledge of the world in theirshining depths, no experience of men or women, nopassion, nor comprehension of it. He turned fromthe little country station to walk in the woods bythe wayside until his own train should be leaving,and from time totime he threw himself under atree to think and dream and look at the glory ofthe foliage. He had brought a new copy of 'The'Arabian Nights for Rebecca, wishing to replace thewell-worn old one that had been the delight of hergirlhood; but meeting her at such an inauspiciouswith him.time, he had absently carried it awayHe turned the pages idly until he came to the storyof Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp, and presently,in spite of his thirty -four years, the old taleheld him spellbound as it did in the days when hefirst read it as a boy.But there were certain paragraphsthat especially caught his eye and arrestedhisattention,— paragraphs that he read and reread,findingin them he knew not what secret delightand significance. These were the quaintly

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 349turned phrases describing the effect on the once poorAladdin of his wonderful riches, and those descantingupon the beauty and charm of the Sultan'sdaughter,the Princess Badroulboudour:Not only those who knew Aladdin ivhen he played in thestreets like a vagabond did not know him again; those whohad seen him bnt a little while before hardly knew him, somuch were his features altered; such icere the effects of thelamp, as to procure by degrees to those who possessed it,perfections agreeable to the rank the right use ofit advancedthem to.The Princess urns the most beaidiful brunette in theworld; her eyes were large, lively, and sparklijig; her lookssweet and modest; her nose ivas of a just proportion andwithout a fault; her mouth small, her lips of a vermilionred, and charmingly agreeable symmetry; in a word, all thefeatures of her face were perfectly regular.It is not thereforesurprising that Aladdin, who had never seen, and wasa stranger to, so many charms, was dazzled. With all theseperfections the Princess had so delicate a shape, so majestican air, that the sight of her was sufficient to inspire respect.'Adorable Princess,' said Aladdin to her, accosting her,and saluting her respectfully, 'if I have the misfortune tohave displeased you by my boldness in aspiring to the possessionof so lovely a creature, I must tell you that youought to blame your bright eyes and charms, not me.''Prince,' ansivered the Princess, 'it is enough for me tohave seen you, to tellyou that I obey without reluctance'

XXXIAUNT MIRANDA'S APOLOGYWhen Rebecca alighted from the train at Maplewoodand hurried to the post-office where the stagewas standing, what was her joy to see uncle JerryCobb holding the horses' heads.'The reg'lar driver's sick,' he explained, 'andwhen they sent for me, thinks I to myself, mydrivin' days is over, but Rebecky won't let the grassgrow under her feet when she gits her aunt Jane'sletter, and like as not I'll ketch her to-day; or, ifshe gits delayed, to-morrow for certain.So here Ibe jest as I was more'n six year ago. Will you bea real lady passenger, or will ye sit up in front withme.?'Emotions of various sorts were all strugglingtogether in the old man's face, and the two orthree bystanders were astounded when they sawthe handsome, stately girl fling herself on Mr.Cobb's dusty shoulder crying like a child. 'Oh,uncle Jerry!' she sobbed; 'dear uncle Jerry! It'sall so long ago, and so much has happened, andwe've grown so old, and so much isgoing to happenthat I'm fairly frightened.''There, there, lovey,' the old man whisperedcomfortingly, 'we'll be all alone on the stage, and

IIAVOEVERY MILE OF THE WAY WAS AS FAMILIAR TO REBECCAAS TO UNCLE JERRY

352 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMwe'll talk things over's we go along the road an'mebbe they won't look so bad.'Every mile of the way was as familiar to Rebeccaas to uncle Jerry; every watering-trough, grindstone,red barn, weather-vane, duck-pond, andsandy brook. And all the time she was lookingbackward to the day, seemingly so long ago, whenshe sat on the box seat for the firsttime, her legsdangling in the air, too short to reach the footboard.She could smell the big bouquet of lilacs, see thepink-flounced parasol, feel the stiffness of thestarched buff calico and the hated prick of the blackand yellow porcupine quills. The drive was takenalmost in silence, but it was a sweet, comfortingsilence both to uncle Jerry and the girl.Then came the sight of Abijah Flagg shellingbeans in the barn, and then the Perkins attic windowswith a white cloth fluttering from them. Shecould spell Emma Jane's loving thought and welcomein that little waving flag; a word and a messagesent to her just at the first moment whenRiverboro chimneys rose into view; something towarm her heart till they could meet.The brick house came next, looking just as ofyore; though it seemed to Rebecca as if deathshould have cast some mysterious spell over it.There were the rolling meadows, the stately elms,all yellow and brown now; the glowing maples,the garden-beds bright with asters, and the holly-

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 353hocks, rising tall against the parlor windows; onlyin place of the cheerful pinks and reds of the noddingstalks, with their gay rosettes of bloom, was acrape scarf holding the blinds together, and anotheron the sitting-room side, and another on the brassknocker of the brown-painted door.'Stop, uncle Jerry! Don't turn in at the side;hand me my satchel, please; drop me in the roadand let me run up the path by myself.Then driveaway quickly.'At the noise and rumble of the approachingstage the house door opened from within, just asRebecca closed the gate behind her. Aunt Janecame down the stone steps, a changed woman, frailand broken and white. Rebecca held out her armsand the old aunt crept into them feebly, as she didon that day when she opened the grave of her buriedlove and showed the dead face, just for an instant,to a child. Warmth and strength and life flowedinto the aged frame from the young one.'Rebecca,' she said, raising her head, 'beforeyou go in to look at her, do you feel any bitternessover anything she ever said to you.f^'Rebecca's eyes blazed reproach, almost anger, asshe said chokingly : 'Oh, aunt Jane ! Could you believeit of me? I am going in with a heart brimfulof gratitude!''She was a good woman, Rebecca; she had aquick temper and a sharp tongue, but she wanted

354 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARMto do right, and she did it as near as she could.Shenever said so, but I'm sure she was sorry for everyhard word she spoke to you; she didn't take 'emback in Hfe, but she acted so't you'd know her feelingwhen she was gone.''I told her before I left that she'd been the makingof me, just as mother says,' sobbed Rebecca.'She wasn't that,' said Jane. 'God made you inthe first place, and you've done considerable j^ourselfto help Him along; but she gave you the wherewithalto work with, and that ain't to be despised;specially when anybody gives up her own luxuriesand pleasures to do it. Now let me tell you something,Rebecca. — Your aunt Mirandy's willed allthis to you, the brick house and buildings andfurniture, and the land all round the house, as far'syou can see.'Rebecca threw off her hat and put her hand toher heart, as she alwaysdid in moments of intenseexcitement. After a moment's silence she said:'Let me go in alone; I want to talk to her; I wantto thank her; I feel as if I could make her hear andfeel and understand!'Jane went back into the kitchen to the inexorabletasks that death has no power, even for a day, toblot from existence. He can stalk through dwellingafter dwelling, leaving despair and desolation behindhim, but the table must be laid,washed, the beds made, by somebody.the dishes

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM 355Ten minutes later Rebecca came out from theGreat Presence looking white and spent, but chastenedand glorified. She sat in the quiet doorway,shaded from the little Riverboro world by the overhangingelms. A wide sense of thankfulness andpeace possessed her, as she looked at the autumnlandscape, listened to the rumble of a wagon on thebridge, and heard the call of the river as it dashedto the sea. She put up her hand softly and touchedfirstthe shining brass knocker and then the redbricks, glowing in the October sun.It was home; her roof, her garden, her greenacres, her dear trees; it was shelter for the littlefamily at Sunnybrook; her mother would have oncemore the companionship of her sister and the friendsof her girlhood; the children would have teachersand playmates.And she? Her own future was close-folded still;folded and hidden in beautiful mists; but she leanedher head against the sun-warmed door, and closingher eyes, whispered, just as if she had been a childsaying her prayers: 'God bless aunt Miranda; Godbless the brick house that was; God bless the brickhouse that isto be!'THE END

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