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diff --git a/old/1375-h/1375-h.htm b/old/1375-h/1375-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ed6ddc --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1375-h/1375-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8340 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + New Chronicles of Rebecca, by Kate Douglas Wiggin + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's New Chronicles of Rebecca, by Kate Douglas Wiggin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: New Chronicles of Rebecca + +Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin + +Release Date: November 9, 2009 [EBook #1375] +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA *** + + + + +Produced by Theresa Armao, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Kate Douglas Wiggin + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> First Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + JACK O'LANTERN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> Second Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + DAUGHTERS OF ZION + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> Third Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + REBECCA'S THOUGHT BOOK + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Fourth Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + A TRAGEDY IN MILLINERY + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> Fifth Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE SAVING OF THE COLORS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> Sixth Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE STATE O' MAINE GIRL + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> Seventh Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE LITTLE PROPHET + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> Eighth Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + ABNER SIMPSON'S NEW LEAF + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> Ninth Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE GREEN ISLE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> Tenth Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + REBECCA'S REMINISCENCES + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> Eleventh Chronicle. </a> + </td> + <td> + ABIJAH THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR EMMAJANE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + First Chronicle. JACK O'LANTERN + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + Miss Miranda Sawyer's old-fashioned garden was the pleasantest spot in + Riverboro on a sunny July morning. The rich color of the brick house + gleamed and glowed through the shade of the elms and maples. Luxuriant + hop-vines clambered up the lightning rods and water spouts, hanging their + delicate clusters here and there in graceful profusion. Woodbine + transformed the old shed and tool house to things of beauty, and the + flower beds themselves were the prettiest and most fragrant in all the + countryside. A row of dahlias ran directly around the garden spot,—dahlias + scarlet, gold, and variegated. In the very centre was a round plot where + the upturned faces of a thousand pansies smiled amid their leaves, and in + the four corners were triangular blocks of sweet phlox over which the + butterflies fluttered unceasingly. In the spaces between ran a riot of + portulaca and nasturtiums, while in the more regular, shell-bordered beds + grew spirea and gillyflowers, mignonette, marigolds, and clove pinks. + </p> + <p> + Back of the barn and encroaching on the edge of the hay field was a grove + of sweet clover whose white feathery tips fairly bent under the assaults + of the bees, while banks of aromatic mint and thyme drank in the sunshine + and sent it out again into the summer air, warm, and deliciously odorous. + </p> + <p> + The hollyhocks were Miss Sawyer's pride, and they grew in a stately line + beneath the four kitchen windows, their tapering tips set thickly with gay + satin circlets of pink or lavender or crimson. + </p> + <p> + “They grow something like steeples,” thought little Rebecca Randall, who + was weeding the bed, “and the flat, round flowers are like rosettes; but + steeples wouldn't be studded with rosettes, so if you were writing about + them in a composition you'd have to give up one or the other, and I think + I'll give up the steeples:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gay little hollyhock + Lifting your head, + Sweetly rosetted + Out from your bed. +</pre> + <p> + It's a pity the hollyhock isn't really little, instead of steepling up to + the window top, but I can't say, 'Gay TALL hollyhock.'... I might have it + 'Lines to a Hollyhock in May,' for then it would be small; but oh, no! I + forgot; in May it wouldn't be blooming, and it's so pretty to say that its + head is 'sweetly rosetted'... I wish the teacher wasn't away; she would + like 'sweetly rosetted,' and she would like to hear me recite 'Roll on, + thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!' that I learned out of Aunt Jane's + Byron; the rolls come booming out of it just like the waves at the + beach.... I could make nice compositions now, everything is blooming so, + and it's so warm and sunny and happy outdoors. Miss Dearborn told me to + write something in my thought book every single day, and I'll begin this + very night when I go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca Rowena Randall, the little niece of the brick-house ladies, and at + present sojourning there for purposes of board, lodging, education, and + incidentally such discipline and chastening as might ultimately produce + moral excellence,—Rebecca Randall had a passion for the rhyme and + rhythm of poetry. From her earliest childhood words had always been to her + what dolls and toys are to other children, and now at twelve she amused + herself with phrases and sentences and images as her schoolmates played + with the pieces of their dissected puzzles. If the heroine of a story took + a “cursory glance” about her “apartment,” Rebecca would shortly ask her + Aunt Jane to take a “cursory glance” at her oversewing or hemming; if the + villain “aided and abetted” someone in committing a crime, she would + before long request the pleasure of “aiding and abetting” in dishwashing + or bedmaking. Sometimes she used the borrowed phrases unconsciously; + sometimes she brought them into the conversation with an intense sense of + pleasure in their harmony or appropriateness; for a beautiful word or + sentence had the same effect upon her imagination as a fragrant nosegay, a + strain of music, or a brilliant sunset. + </p> + <p> + “How are you gettin' on, Rebecca Rowena?” called a peremptory voice from + within. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good, Aunt Miranda; only I wish flowers would ever come up as + thick as this pigweed and plantain and sorrel. What MAKES weeds be thick + and flowers be thin?—I just happened to be stopping to think a + minute when you looked out.” + </p> + <p> + “You think considerable more than you weed, I guess, by appearances. How + many times have you peeked into that humming bird's nest? Why don't you + work all to once and play all to once, like other folks?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” the child answered, confounded by the question, and still + more by the apparent logic back of it. “I don't know, Aunt Miranda, but + when I'm working outdoors such a Saturday morning as this, the whole + creation just screams to me to stop it and come and play.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you needn't go if it does!” responded her aunt sharply. “It don't + scream to me when I'm rollin' out these doughnuts, and it wouldn't to you + if your mind was on your duty.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Rebecca's little brown hands flew in and out among the weeds as she +thought rebelliously: “Creation WOULDN'T scream to Aunt Miranda; it +would know she wouldn't come.” + + Scream on, thou bright and gay creation, scream! + 'Tis not Miranda that will hear thy cry! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oh, such funny, nice things come into my head out here by myself, I do +wish I could run up and put them down in my thought book before I forget +them, but Aunt Miranda wouldn't like me to leave off weeding:— + + Rebecca was weeding the hollyhock bed + When wonderful thoughts came into her head. + Her aunt was occupied with the rolling pin + And the thoughts of her mind were common and thin. +</pre> + <p> + That wouldn't do because it's mean to Aunt Miranda, and anyway it isn't + good. I MUST crawl under the syringa shade a minute, it's so hot, and + anybody has to stop working once in a while, just to get their breath, + even if they weren't making poetry. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was weeding the hollyhock bed When marvelous thoughts came into + her head. Miranda was wielding the rolling pin And thoughts at such times + seemed to her as a sin. + </p> + <p> + How pretty the hollyhock rosettes look from down here on the sweet, smelly + ground! + </p> + <p> + “Let me see what would go with rosetting. AIDING AND ABETTING, PETTING, + HEN-SETTING, FRETTING,—there's nothing very nice, but I can make + fretting' do. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Cheered by Rowena's petting, + The flowers are rosetting, + But Aunt Miranda's fretting + Doth somewhat cloud the day.” + </pre> + <p> + Suddenly the sound of wagon wheels broke the silence and then a voice + called out—a voice that could not wait until the feet that belonged + to it reached the spot: “Miss Saw-YER! Father's got to drive over to North + Riverboro on an errand, and please can Rebecca go, too, as it's Saturday + morning and vacation besides?” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca sprang out from under the syringa bush, eyes flashing with delight + as only Rebecca's eyes COULD flash, her face one luminous circle of joyous + anticipation. She clapped her grubby hands, and dancing up and down, + cried: “May I, Aunt Miranda—can I, Aunt Jane—can I, Aunt + Miranda-Jane? I'm more than half through the bed.” + </p> + <p> + “If you finish your weeding tonight before sundown I s'pose you can go, so + long as Mr. Perkins has been good enough to ask you,” responded Miss + Sawyer reluctantly. “Take off that gingham apron and wash your hands clean + at the pump. You ain't be'n out o' bed but two hours an' your head looks + as rough as if you'd slep' in it. That comes from layin' on the ground + same as a caterpillar. Smooth your hair down with your hands an' p'r'aps + Emma Jane can braid it as you go along the road. Run up and get your + second-best hair ribbon out o' your upper drawer and put on your shade + hat. No, you can't wear your coral chain—jewelry ain't appropriate + in the morning. How long do you cal'late to be gone, Emma Jane?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Father's just been sent for to see about a sick woman over + to North Riverboro. She's got to go to the poor farm.” + </p> + <p> + This fragment of news speedily brought Miss Sawyer, and her sister Jane as + well, to the door, which commanded a view of Mr. Perkins and his wagon. + Mr. Perkins, the father of Rebecca's bosom friend, was primarily a + blacksmith, and secondarily a selectman and an overseer of the poor, a man + therefore possessed of wide and varied information. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it that's sick?” inquired Miranda. + </p> + <p> + “A woman over to North Riverboro.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't say.” + </p> + <p> + “Stranger?' + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and no; she's that wild daughter of old Nate Perry that used to live + up towards Moderation. You remember she ran away to work in the factory at + Milltown and married a do—nothin' fellow by the name o' John + Winslow?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; well, where is he? Why don't he take care of her?” + </p> + <p> + “They ain't worked well in double harness. They've been rovin' round the + country, livin' a month here and a month there wherever they could get + work and house-room. They quarreled a couple o' weeks ago and he left her. + She and the little boy kind o' camped out in an old loggin' cabin back in + the woods and she took in washin' for a spell; then she got terrible sick + and ain't expected to live.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's been nursing her?” inquired Miss Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Lizy Ann Dennett, that lives nearest neighbor to the cabin; but I guess + she's tired out bein' good Samaritan. Anyways, she sent word this mornin' + that nobody can't seem to find John Winslow; that there ain't no + relations, and the town's got to be responsible, so I'm goin' over to see + how the land lays. Climb in, Rebecca. You an' Emmy Jane crowd back on the + cushion an' I'll set forrard. That's the trick! Now we're off!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear, dear!” sighed Jane Sawyer as the sisters walked back into the brick + house. “I remember once seeing Sally Perry at meeting. She was a handsome + girl, and I'm sorry she's come to grief.” + </p> + <p> + “If she'd kep' on goin' to meetin' an' hadn't looked at the men folks she + might a' be'n earnin' an honest livin' this minute,” said Miranda. “Men + folks are at the bottom of everything wrong in this world,” she continued, + unconsciously reversing the verdict of history. + </p> + <p> + “Then we ought to be a happy and contented community here in Riverboro,” + replied Jane, “as there's six women to one man.” + </p> + <p> + “If 't was sixteen to one we'd be all the safer,” responded Miranda + grimly, putting the doughnuts in a brown crock in the cellar-way and + slamming the door. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The Perkins horse and wagon rumbled along over the dusty country road, and + after a discreet silence, maintained as long as human flesh could endure, + Rebecca remarked sedately: + </p> + <p> + “It's a sad errand for such a shiny morning, isn't it, Mr. Perkins?” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty o' trouble in the world, Rebecky, shiny mornin's an' all,” that + good man replied. “If you want a bed to lay on, a roof over your head, an' + food to eat, you've got to work for em. If I hadn't a' labored early an' + late, learned my trade, an' denied myself when I was young, I might a' + be'n a pauper layin' sick in a loggin' cabin, stead o' bein' an overseer + o' the poor an' selectman drivin' along to take the pauper to the poor + farm.” + </p> + <p> + “People that are mortgaged don't have to go to the poor farm, do they, Mr. + Perkins?” asked Rebecca, with a shiver of fear as she remembered her home + farm at Sunnybrook and the debt upon it; a debt which had lain like a + shadow over her childhood. + </p> + <p> + “Bless your soul, no; not unless they fail to pay up; but Sal Perry an' + her husband hadn't got fur enough along in life to BE mortgaged. You have + to own something before you can mortgage it.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca's heart bounded as she learned that a mortgage represented a + certain stage in worldly prosperity. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, sniffing in the fragrance of the new-mown hay and + growing hopeful as she did so; “maybe the sick woman will be better such a + beautiful day, and maybe the husband will come back to make it up and say + he's sorry, and sweet content will reign in the humble habitation that was + once the scene of poverty, grief, and despair. That's how it came out in a + story I'm reading.” + </p> + <p> + “I hain't noticed that life comes out like stories very much,” responded + the pessimistic blacksmith, who, as Rebecca privately thought, had read + less than half a dozen books in his long and prosperous career. + </p> + <p> + A drive of three or four miles brought the party to a patch of woodland + where many of the tall pines had been hewn the previous winter. The roof + of a ramshackle hut was outlined against a background of young birches, + and a rough path made in hauling the logs to the main road led directly to + its door. + </p> + <p> + As they drew near the figure of a woman approached—Mrs. Lizy Ann + Dennett, in a gingham dress, with a calico apron over her head. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mr. Perkins,” said the woman, who looked tired and + irritable. “I'm real glad you come right over, for she took worse after I + sent you word, and she's dead.” + </p> + <p> + Dead! The word struck heavily and mysteriously on the children's ears. + Dead! And their young lives, just begun, stretched on and on, all decked, + like hope, in living green. Dead! And all the rest of the world reveling + in strength. Dead! With all the daisies and buttercups waving in the + fields and the men heaping the mown grass into fragrant cocks or tossing + it into heavily laden carts. Dead! With the brooks tinkling after the + summer showers, with the potatoes and corn blossoming, the birds singing + for joy, and every little insect humming and chirping, adding its note to + the blithe chorus of warm, throbbing life. + </p> + <p> + “I was all alone with her. She passed away suddenly jest about break o' + day,” said Lizy Ann Dennett. + </p> + <p> + “Her soul passed upward to its God Just at the break of day.” + </p> + <p> + These words came suddenly into Rebecca's mind from a tiny chamber where + such things were wont to lie quietly until something brought them to the + surface. She could not remember whether she had heard them at a funeral or + read them in the hymn book or made them up “out of her own head,” but she + was so thrilled with the idea of dying just as the dawn was breaking that + she scarcely heard Mrs. Dennett's conversation. + </p> + <p> + “I sent for Aunt Beulah Day, an' she's be'n here an' laid her out,” + continued the long suffering Lizy Ann. “She ain't got any folks, an' John + Winslow ain't never had any as far back as I can remember. She belongs to + your town and you'll have to bury her and take care of Jacky—that's + the boy. He's seventeen months old, a bright little feller, the image o' + John, but I can't keep him another day. I'm all wore out; my own baby's + sick, mother's rheumatiz is extry bad, and my husband's comin' home + tonight from his week's work. If he finds a child o' John Winslow's under + his roof I can't say what would happen; you'll have to take him back with + you to the poor farm.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't take him up there this afternoon,” objected Mr. Perkins. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, keep him over Sunday yourself; he's good as a kitten. John + Winslow'll hear o' Sal's death sooner or later, unless he's gone out of + the state altogether, an' when he knows the boy's at the poor farm, I kind + o' think he'll come and claim him. Could you drive me over to the village + to see about the coffin, and would you children be afraid to stay here + alone for a spell?” she asked, turning to the girls. + </p> + <p> + “Afraid?” they both echoed uncomprehendingly. + </p> + <p> + Lizy Ann and Mr. Perkins, perceiving that the fear of a dead presence had + not entered the minds of Rebecca or Emma Jane, said nothing, but drove off + together, counseling them not to stray far away from the cabin and + promising to be back in an hour. + </p> + <p> + There was not a house within sight, either looking up or down the shady + road, and the two girls stood hand in hand, watching the wagon out of + sight; then they sat down quietly under a tree, feeling all at once a + nameless depression hanging over their gay summer-morning spirits. + </p> + <p> + It was very still in the woods; just the chirp of a grasshopper now and + then, or the note of a bird, or the click of a far-distant mowing machine. + </p> + <p> + “We're WATCHING!” whispered Emma Jane. “They watched with Gran'pa Perkins, + and there was a great funeral and two ministers. He left two thousand + dollars in the bank and a store full of goods, and a paper thing you could + cut tickets off of twice a year, and they were just like money.” + </p> + <p> + “They watched with my little sister Mira, too,” said Rebecca. “You + remember when she died, and I went home to Sunnybrook Farm? It was winter + time, but she was covered with evergreen and white pinks, and there was + singing.” + </p> + <p> + “There won't be any funeral or ministers or singing here, will there? + Isn't that awful?” + </p> + <p> + “I s'pose not; and oh, Emma Jane, no flowers either. We might get those + for her if there's nobody else to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you dare put them on to her?” asked Emma Jane, in a hushed voice. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; I can't tell; it makes me shiver, but, of course, we COULD + do it if we were the only friends she had. Let's look into the cabin first + and be perfectly sure that there aren't any. Are you afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “N-no; I guess not. I looked at Gran'pa Perkins, and he was just the same + as ever.” + </p> + <p> + At the door of the hut Emma Jane's courage suddenly departed. She held + back shuddering and refused either to enter or look in. Rebecca shuddered + too, but kept on, drawn by an insatiable curiosity about life and death, + an overmastering desire to know and feel and understand the mysteries of + existence, a hunger for knowledge and experience at all hazards and at any + cost. + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane hurried softly away from the felt terrors of the cabin, and + after two or three minutes of utter silence Rebecca issued from the open + door, her sensitive face pale and woe-begone, the ever-ready tears raining + down her cheeks. She ran toward the edge of the wood, sinking down by Emma + Jane's side, and covering her eyes, sobbed with excitement: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Emma Jane, she hasn't got a flower, and she's so tired and + sad-looking, as if she'd been hurt and hurt and never had any good times, + and there's a weeny, weeny baby side of her. Oh, I wish I hadn't gone in!” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane blenched for an instant. “Mrs. Dennett never said THERE WAS TWO + DEAD ONES! ISN'T THAT DREADFUL? But,” she continued, her practical common + sense coming to the rescue, “you've been in once and it's all over; it + won't be so bad when you take in the flowers because you'll be used to it. + The goldenrod hasn't begun to bud, so there's nothing to pick but daisies. + Shall I make a long rope of them, as I did for the schoolroom?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Rebecca, wiping her eyes and still sobbing. “Yes, that's the + prettiest, and if we put it all round her like a frame, the undertaker + couldn't be so cruel as to throw it away, even if she is a pauper, because + it will look so beautiful. From what the Sunday school lessons say, she's + only asleep now, and when she wakes up she'll be in heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “THERE'S ANOTHER PLACE,” said Emma Jane, in an orthodox and sepulchral + whisper, as she took her ever-present ball of crochet cotton from her + pocket and began to twine the whiteweed blossoms into a rope. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” Rebecca replied with the easy theology that belonged to her + temperament. “They simply couldn't send her DOWN THERE with that little + weeny baby. Who'd take care of it? You know page six of the catechism says + the only companions of the wicked after death are their father the devil + and all the other evil angels; it wouldn't be any place to bring up a + baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Whenever and wherever she wakes up, I hope she won't know that the big + baby is going to the poor farm. I wonder where he is?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps over to Mrs. Dennett's house. She didn't seem sorry a bit, did + she?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I suppose she's tired sitting up and nursing a stranger. Mother + wasn't sorry when Gran'pa Perkins died; she couldn't be, for he was cross + all the time and had to be fed like a child. Why ARE you crying again, + Rebecca?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know, I can't tell, Emma Jane! Only I don't want to die and + have no funeral or singing and nobody sorry for me! I just couldn't bear + it!” + </p> + <p> + “Neither could I,” Emma Jane responded sympathetically; “but p'r'aps if + we're real good and die young before we have to be fed, they will be + sorry. I do wish you could write some poetry for her as you did for Alice + Robinson's canary bird, only still better, of course, like that you read + me out of your thought book.” + </p> + <p> + “I could, easy enough,” exclaimed Rebecca, somewhat consoled by the idea + that her rhyming faculty could be of any use in such an emergency. “Though + I don't know but it would be kind of bold to do it. I'm all puzzled about + how people get to heaven after they're buried. I can't understand it a + bit; but if the poetry is on her, what if that should go, too? And how + could I write anything good enough to be read out loud in heaven?” + </p> + <p> + “A little piece of paper couldn't get to heaven; it just couldn't,” + asserted Emma Jane decisively. “It would be all blown to pieces and dried + up. And nobody knows that the angels can read writing, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “They must be as educated as we are, and more so, too,” agreed Rebecca. + “They must be more than just dead people, or else why should they have + wings? But I'll go off and write something while you finish the rope; it's + lucky you brought your crochet cotton and I my lead pencil.” + </p> + <p> + In fifteen or twenty minutes she returned with some lines written on a + scrap of brown wrapping paper. Standing soberly by Emma Jane, she said, + preparing to read them aloud: “They're not good; I was afraid your + father'd come back before I finished, and the first verse sounds exactly + like the funeral hymns in the church book. I couldn't call her Sally + Winslow; it didn't seem nice when I didn't know her and she is dead, so I + thought if I said friend' it would show she had somebody to be sorry. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “This friend of ours has died and gone + From us to heaven to live. + If she has sinned against Thee, Lord, + We pray Thee, Lord, forgive. + + “Her husband runneth far away + And knoweth not she's dead. + Oh, bring him back—ere tis too late— + To mourn beside her bed. + + “And if perchance it can't be so, + Be to the children kind; + The weeny one that goes with her, + The other left behind.” + </pre> + <p> + “I think that's perfectly elegant!” exclaimed Emma Jane, kissing Rebecca + fervently. “You are the smartest girl in the whole State of Maine, and it + sounds like a minister's prayer. I wish we could save up and buy a + printing machine. Then I could learn to print what you write and we'd be + partners like father and Bill Moses. Shall you sign it with your name like + we do our school compositions?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Rebecca soberly. “I certainly shan't sign it, not knowing where + it's going or who'll read it. I shall just hide it in the flowers, and + whoever finds it will guess that there wasn't any minister or singing, or + gravestone, or anything, so somebody just did the best they could.” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + The tired mother with the “weeny baby” on her arm lay on a long + carpenter's bench, her earthly journey over, and when Rebecca stole in and + placed the flowery garland all along the edge of the rude bier, death + suddenly took on a more gracious and benign aspect. It was only a child's + sympathy and intuition that softened the rigors of the sad moment, but + poor, wild Sal Winslow, in her frame of daisies, looked as if she were + missed a little by an unfriendly world; while the weeny baby, whose heart + had fallen asleep almost as soon as it had learned to beat, the weeny + baby, with Emma Jane's nosegay of buttercups in its tiny wrinkled hand, + smiled as if it might have been loved and longed for and mourned. + </p> + <p> + “We've done all we can now without a minister,” whispered Rebecca. “We + could sing, God is ever good' out of the Sunday school song book, but I'm + afraid somebody would hear us and think we were gay and happy. What's + that?” + </p> + <p> + A strange sound broke the stillness; a gurgle, a yawn, a merry little + call. The two girls ran in the direction from which it came, and there, on + an old coat, in a clump of goldenrod bushes, lay a child just waking from + a refreshing nap. + </p> + <p> + “It's the other baby that Lizy Ann Dennett told about!” cried Emma Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he beautiful!” exclaimed Rebecca. “Come straight to me!” and she + stretched out her arms. + </p> + <p> + The child struggled to its feet, and tottered, wavering, toward the warm + welcome of the voice and eyes. Rebecca was all mother, and her maternal + instincts had been well developed in the large family in which she was + next to the eldest. She had always confessed that there were perhaps a + trifle too many babies at Sunnybrook Farm, but, nevertheless, had she ever + heard it, she would have stood loyally by the Japanese proverb: “Whether + brought forth upon the mountain or in the field, it matters nothing; more + than a treasure of one thousand ryo a baby precious is.” + </p> + <p> + “You darling thing!” she crooned, as she caught and lifted the child. “You + look just like a Jack-o'-lantern.” + </p> + <p> + The boy was clad in a yellow cotton dress, very full and stiff. His hair + was of such a bright gold, and so sleek and shiny, that he looked like a + fair, smooth little pumpkin. He had wide blue eyes full of laughter, a + neat little vertical nose, a neat little horizontal mouth with his few + neat little teeth showing very plainly, and on the whole Rebecca's figure + of speech was not so wide of the mark. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Emma Jane! Isn't he too lovely to go to the poor farm? If only we + were married we could keep him and say nothing and nobody would know the + difference! Now that the Simpsons have gone away there isn't a single baby + in Riverboro, and only one in Edgewood. It's a perfect shame, but I can't + do anything; you remember Aunt Miranda wouldn't let me have the Simpson + baby when I wanted to borrow her just for one rainy Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother won't keep him, so it's no use to ask her; she says most every + day she's glad we're grown up, and she thanks the Lord there wasn't but + two of us.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mrs. Peter Meserve is too nervous,” Rebecca went on, taking the + village houses in turn; “and Mrs. Robinson is too neat.” + </p> + <p> + “People don't seem to like any but their own babies,” observed Emma Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can't understand it,” Rebecca answered. “A baby's a baby, I + should think, whose ever it is! Miss Dearborn is coming back Monday; I + wonder if she'd like it? She has nothing to do out of school, and we could + borrow it all the time!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it would seem very genteel for a young lady like Miss + Dearborn, who 'boards round,' to take a baby from place to place,” + objected Emma Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not,” agreed Rebecca despondently, “but I think if we haven't got + any—any—PRIVATE babies in Riverboro we ought to have one for + the town, and all have a share in it. We've got a town hall and a town + lamp post and a town watering trough. Things are so uneven! One house like + mine at Sunnybrook, brimful of children, and the very next one empty! The + only way to fix them right would be to let all the babies that ever are + belong to all the grown-up people that ever are,—just divide them + up, you know, if they'd go round. Oh, I have a thought! Don't you believe + Aunt Sarah Cobb would keep him? She carries flowers to the graveyard every + little while, and once she took me with her. There's a marble cross, and + it says: SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF SARAH ELLEN, BELOVED CHILD OF SARAH AND + JEREMIAH COBB, AGED 17 MONTHS. Why, that's another reason; Mrs. Dennett + says this one is seventeen months. There's five of us left at the farm + without me, but if we were only nearer to Riverboro, how quick mother + would let in one more!” + </p> + <p> + “We might see what father thinks, and that would settle it,” said Emma + Jane. “Father doesn't think very sudden, but he thinks awful strong. If we + don't bother him, and find a place ourselves for the baby, perhaps he'll + be willing. He's coming now; I hear the wheels.” + </p> + <p> + Lizy Ann Dennett volunteered to stay and perform the last rites with the + undertaker, and Jack-o'-lantern, with his slender wardrobe tied in a + bandanna handkerchief, was lifted into the wagon by the reluctant Mr. + Perkins, and jubilantly held by Rebecca in her lap. Mr. Perkins drove off + as speedily as possible, being heartily sick of the whole affair, and + thinking wisely that the little girls had already seen and heard more than + enough of the seamy side of life that morning. + </p> + <p> + Discussion concerning Jack-o'-lantern's future was prudently deferred for + a quarter of an hour, and then Mr. Perkins was mercilessly pelted with + arguments against the choice of the poor farm as a place of residence for + a baby. + </p> + <p> + “His father is sure to come back some time, Mr. Perkins,” urged Rebecca. + “He couldn't leave this beautiful thing forever; and if Emma Jane and I + can persuade Mrs. Cobb to keep him a little while, would you care?” + </p> + <p> + No; on reflection Mr. Perkins did not care. He merely wanted a quiet life + and enough time left over from the public service to attend to his + blacksmith's shop; so instead of going home over the same road by which + they came he crossed the bridge into Edgewood and dropped the children at + the long lane which led to the Cobb house. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cobb, “Aunt Sarah” to the whole village, sat by the window looking + for Uncle Jerry, who would soon be seen driving the noon stage to the post + office over the hill. She always had an eye out for Rebecca, too, for ever + since the child had been a passenger on Mr. Cobb's stagecoach, making the + eventful trip from her home farm to the brick house in Riverboro in his + company, she had been a constant visitor and the joy of the quiet + household. Emma Jane, too, was a well-known figure in the lane, but the + strange baby was in the nature of a surprise—a surprise somewhat + modified by the fact that Rebecca was a dramatic personage and more liable + to appear in conjunction with curious outriders, comrades, and retainers + than the ordinary Riverboro child. She had run away from the too stern + discipline of the brick house on one occasion, and had been persuaded to + return by Uncle Jerry. She had escorted a wandering organ grinder to their + door and begged a lodging for him on a rainy night; so on the whole there + was nothing amazing about the coming procession. + </p> + <p> + The little party toiled up to the hospitable door, and Mrs. Cobb came out + to meet them. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was spokesman. Emma Jane's talent did not lie in eloquent speech, + but it would have been a valiant and a fluent child indeed who could have + usurped Rebecca's privileges and tendencies in this direction, language + being her native element, and words of assorted sizes springing + spontaneously to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Sarah, dear,” she said, plumping Jack-o'-lantern down on the grass + as she pulled his dress over his feet and smoothed his hair becomingly, + “will you please not say a word till I get through—as it's very + important you should know everything before you answer yes or no? This is + a baby named Jacky Winslow, and I think he looks like a Jack-o'-lantern. + His mother has just died over to North Riverboro, all alone, excepting for + Mrs. Lizy Ann Dennett, and there was another little weeny baby that died + with her, and Emma Jane and I put flowers around them and did the best we + could. The father—that's John Winslow—quarreled with the + mother—that was Sal Perry on the Moderation Road—and ran away + and left her. So he doesn't know his wife and the weeny baby are dead. And + the town has got to bury them because they can't find the father right off + quick, and Jacky has got to go to the poor farm this afternoon. And it + seems an awful shame to take him up to that lonesome place with those old + people that can't amuse him, and if Emma Jane and Alice Robinson and I + take most all the care of him we thought perhaps you and Uncle Jerry would + keep him just for a little while. You've got a cow and a turn-up bedstead, + you know,” she hurried on insinuatingly, “and there's hardly any pleasure + as cheap as more babies where there's ever been any before, for baby + carriages and trundle beds and cradles don't wear out, and there's always + clothes left over from the old baby to begin the new one on. Of course, we + can collect enough things to start Jacky, so he won't be much trouble or + expense; and anyway, he's past the most troublesome age and you won't have + to be up nights with him, and he isn't afraid of anybody or anything, as + you can see by his just sitting there laughing and sucking his thumb, + though he doesn't know what's going to become of him. And he's just + seventeen months old like dear little Sarah Ellen in the graveyard, and we + thought we ought to give you the refusal of him before he goes to the poor + farm, and what do you think about it? Because it's near my dinner time and + Aunt Miranda will keep me in the whole afternoon if I'm late, and I've got + to finish weeding the hollyhock bed before sundown.” + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cobb had enjoyed a considerable period of reflection during this + monologue, and Jacky had not used the time unwisely, offering several + unconscious arguments and suggestions to the matter under discussion; + lurching over on the greensward and righting himself with a chuckle, + kicking his bare feet about in delight at the sunshine and groping for his + toes with arms too short to reach them, the movement involving an entire + upsetting of equilibrium followed by more chuckles. + </p> + <p> + Coming down the last of the stone steps, Sarah Ellen's mother regarded the + baby with interest and sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little mite!” she said; “that doesn't know what he's lost and what's + going to happen to him. Seems to me we might keep him a spell till we're + sure his father's deserted him for good. Want to come to Aunt Sarah, + baby?” + </p> + <p> + Jack-o'-lantern turned from Rebecca and Emma Jane and regarded the kind + face gravely; then he held out both his hands and Mrs. Cobb, stooping, + gathered him like a harvest. Being lifted into her arms, he at once tore + her spectacles from her nose and laughed aloud. Taking them from him + gently, she put them on again, and set him in the cushioned rocking chair + under the lilac bushes beside the steps. Then she took one of his soft + hands in hers and patted it, and fluttered her fingers like birds before + his eyes, and snapped them like castanets, remembering all the arts she + had lavished upon “Sarah Ellen, aged seventeen months,” years and years + ago. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Motherless baby and babyless mother, + Bring them together to love one another. +</pre> + <p> + Rebecca knew nothing of this couplet, but she saw clearly enough that her + case was won. + </p> + <p> + “The boy must be hungry; when was he fed last?” asked Mrs. Cobb. “Just + stay a second longer while I get him some morning's milk; then you run + home to your dinners and I'll speak to Mr. Cobb this afternoon. Of course, + we can keep the baby for a week or two till we see what happens. Land! He + ain't goin' to be any more trouble than a wax doll! I guess he ain't been + used to much attention, and that kind's always the easiest to take care + of.” + </p> + <p> + At six o'clock that evening Rebecca and Emma Jane flew up the hill and + down the lane again, waving their hands to the dear old couple who were + waiting for them in the usual place, the back piazza where they had sat so + many summers in a blessed companionship never marred by an unloving word. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Jacky?” called Rebecca breathlessly, her voice always outrunning + her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Go up to my chamber, both of you, if you want to see,” smiled Mrs. Cobb, + “only don't wake him up.” + </p> + <p> + The girls went softly up the stairs into Aunt Sarah's room. There, in the + turn-up bedstead that had been so long empty, slept Jack-o'-lantern, in + blissful unconsciousness of the doom he had so lately escaped. His + nightgown and pillow case were clean and fragrant with lavender, but they + were both as yellow as saffron, for they had belonged to Sarah Ellen. + </p> + <p> + “I wish his mother could see him!” whispered Emma Jane. + </p> + <p> + “You can't tell; it's all puzzly about heaven, and perhaps she does,” said + Rebecca, as they turned reluctantly from the fascinating scene and stole + down to the piazza. + </p> + <p> + It was a beautiful and a happy summer that year, and every day it was + filled with blissful plays and still more blissful duties. On the Monday + after Jack-o'-lantern's arrival in Edgewood Rebecca founded the Riverboro + Aunts Association. The Aunts were Rebecca, Emma Jane, Alice Robinson, and + Minnie Smellie, and each of the first three promised to labor for and + amuse the visiting baby for two days a week, Minnie Smellie, who lived at + some distance from the Cobbs, making herself responsible for Saturday + afternoons. + </p> + <p> + Minnie Smellie was not a general favorite among the Riverboro girls, and + it was only in an unprecedented burst of magnanimity that they admitted + her into the rites of fellowship, Rebecca hugging herself secretly at the + thought, that as Minnie gave only the leisure time of one day a week, she + could not be called a “full” Aunt. There had been long and bitter feuds + between the two children during Rebecca's first summer in Riverboro, but + since Mrs. Smellie had told her daughter that one more quarrel would + invite a punishment so terrible that it could only be hinted at vaguely, + and Miss Miranda Sawyer had remarked that any niece of hers who couldn't + get along peaceable with the neighbors had better go back to the seclusion + of a farm where there weren't any, hostilities had been veiled, and a + suave and diplomatic relationship had replaced the former one, which had + been wholly primitive, direct, and barbaric. Still, whenever Minnie + Smellie, flaxen-haired, pink-nosed, and ferret-eyed, indulged in fluent + conversation, Rebecca, remembering the old fairy story, could always see + toads hopping out of her mouth. It was really very unpleasant, because + Minnie could never see them herself; and what was more amazing, Emma Jane + perceived nothing of the sort, being almost as blind, too, to the diamonds + that fell continually from Rebecca's lips; but Emma Jane's strong point + was not her imagination. + </p> + <p> + A shaky perambulator was found in Mrs. Perkins's wonderful attic; shoes + and stockings were furnished by Mrs. Robinson; Miss Jane Sawyer knitted a + blanket and some shirts; Thirza Meserve, though too young for an aunt, + coaxed from her mother some dresses and nightgowns, and was presented with + a green paper certificate allowing her to wheel Jacky up and down the road + for an hour under the superintendence of a full Aunt. Each girl, under the + constitution of the association, could call Jacky “hers” for two days in + the week, and great, though friendly, was the rivalry between them, as + they washed, ironed, and sewed for their adored nephew. + </p> + <p> + If Mrs. Cobb had not been the most amiable woman in the world she might + have had difficulty in managing the aunts, but she always had Jacky to + herself the earlier part of the day and after dusk at night. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Jack-o'-lantern grew healthier and heartier and jollier as the + weeks slipped away. Uncle Jerry joined the little company of worshipers + and slaves, and one fear alone stirred in all their hearts; not, as a + sensible and practical person might imagine, the fear that the recreant + father might never return to claim his child, but, on the contrary, that + he MIGHT do so! + </p> + <p> + October came at length with its cheery days and frosty nights, its glory + of crimson leaves and its golden harvest of pumpkins and ripened corn. + Rebecca had been down by the Edgewood side of the river and had come up + across the pastures for a good-night play with Jacky. Her literary labors + had been somewhat interrupted by the joys and responsibilities of + vice-motherhood, and the thought book was less frequently drawn from its + hiding place under the old haymow in the barn chamber. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cobb stood behind the screen door with her face pressed against the + wire netting, and Rebecca could see that she was wiping her eyes. + </p> + <p> + All at once the child's heart gave one prophetic throb and then stood + still. She was like a harp that vibrated with every wind of emotion, + whether from another's grief or her own. + </p> + <p> + She looked down the lane, around the curve of the stone wall, red with + woodbine, the lane that would meet the stage road to the station. There, + just mounting the crown of the hill and about to disappear on the other + side, strode a stranger man, big and tall, with a crop of reddish curly + hair showing from under his straw hat. A woman walked by his side, and + perched on his shoulder, wearing his most radiant and triumphant mien, as + joyous in leaving Edgewood as he had been during every hour of his sojourn + there—rode Jack-o'-lantern! + </p> + <p> + Rebecca gave a cry in which maternal longing and helpless, hopeless + jealousy strove for supremacy. Then, with an impetuous movement she + started to run after the disappearing trio. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cobb opened the door hastily, calling after her, “Rebecca, Rebecca, + come back here! You mustn't follow where you haven't any right to go. If + there'd been anything to say or do, I'd a' done it.” + </p> + <p> + “He's mine! He's mine!” stormed Rebecca. “At least he's yours and mine!” + </p> + <p> + “He's his father's first of all,” faltered Mrs. Cobb; “don't let's forget + that; and we'd ought to be glad and grateful that John Winslow's come to + his senses an' remembers he's brought a child into the world and ought to + take care of it. Our loss is his gain and it may make a man of him. Come + in, and we'll put things away all neat before your Uncle Jerry gets home.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca sank in a pitiful little heap on Mrs. Cobb's bedroom floor and + sobbed her heart out. “Oh, Aunt Sarah, where shall we get another + Jack-o'-lantern, and how shall I break it to Emma Jane? What if his father + doesn't love him, and what if he forgets to strain the milk or lets him go + without his nap? That's the worst of babies that aren't private—you + have to part with them sooner or later!” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes you have to part with your own, too,” said Mrs. Cobb sadly; and + though there were lines of sadness in her face there was neither rebellion + nor repining, as she folded up the sides of the turn-up bedstead + preparatory to banishing it a second time to the attic. “I shall miss + Sarah Ellen now more'n ever. Still, Rebecca, we mustn't feel to complain. + It's the Lord that giveth and the Lord that taketh away: Blessed be the + name of the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Second Chronicle. DAUGHTERS OF ZION + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + Abijah Flagg was driving over to Wareham on an errand for old Squire + Winship, whose general chore-boy and farmer's assistant he had been for + some years. + </p> + <p> + He passed Emma Jane Perkins's house slowly, as he always did. She was only + a little girl of thirteen and he a boy of fifteen or sixteen, but somehow, + for no particular reason, he liked to see the sun shine on her thick + braids of reddish-brown hair. He admired her china-blue eyes too, and her + amiable, friendly expression. He was quite alone in the world, and he + always thought that if he had anybody belonging to him he would rather + have a sister like Emma Jane Perkins than anything else within the power + of Providence to bestow. When she herself suggested this relationship a + few years later he cast it aside with scorn, having changed his mind in + the interval—but that story belongs to another time and place. + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane was not to be seen in garden, field, or at the window, and + Abijah turned his gaze to the large brick house that came next on the + other side of the quiet village street. It might have been closed for a + funeral. Neither Miss Miranda nor Miss Jane Sawyer sat at their respective + windows knitting, nor was Rebecca Randall's gypsy face to be discerned. + Ordinarily that will-o'-the wispish little person could be seen, heard, or + felt wherever she was. + </p> + <p> + “The village must be abed, I guess,” mused Abijah, as he neared the + Robinsons' yellow cottage, where all the blinds were closed and no sign of + life showed on porch or in shed. “No, 't aint, neither,” he thought again, + as his horse crept cautiously down the hill, for from the direction of the + Robinsons' barn chamber there floated out into the air certain burning + sentiments set to the tune of “Antioch.” The words, to a lad brought up in + the orthodox faith, were quite distinguishable: + </p> + <p> + “Daughter of Zion, from the dust, Exalt thy fallen head!” + </p> + <p> + Even the most religious youth is stronger on first lines than others, but + Abijah pulled up his horse and waited till he caught another familiar + verse, beginning: + </p> + <p> + “Rebuild thy walls, thy bounds enlarge, And send thy heralds forth.” + </p> + <p> + “That's Rebecca carrying the air, and I can hear Emma Jane's alto.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Say to the North, + Give up thy charge, + And hold not back, O South, + And hold not back, O South,” etc. +</pre> + <p> + “Land! ain't they smart, seesawin' up and down in that part they learnt in + singin' school! I wonder what they're actin' out, singin' hymn-tunes up in + the barn chamber? Some o' Rebecca's doins, I'll be bound! Git dap, Aleck!” + </p> + <p> + Aleck pursued his serene and steady trot up the hills on the Edgewood side + of the river, till at length he approached the green Common where the old + Tory Hill meeting-house stood, its white paint and green blinds showing + fair and pleasant in the afternoon sun. Both doors were open, and as + Abijah turned into the Wareham road the church melodeon pealed out the + opening bars of the Missionary Hymn, and presently a score of voices sent + the good old tune from the choir-loft out to the dusty road: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Shall we whose souls are lighted + With Wisdom from on high, + Shall we to men benighted + The lamp of life deny?” + </pre> + <p> + “Land!” exclaimed Abijah under his breath. “They're at it up here, too! + That explains it all. There's a missionary meeting at the church, and the + girls wa'n't allowed to come so they held one of their own, and I bate ye + it's the liveliest of the two.” + </p> + <p> + Abijah Flagg's shrewd Yankee guesses were not far from the truth, though + he was not in possession of all the facts. It will be remembered by those + who have been in the way of hearing Rebecca's experiences in Riverboro, + that the Rev. and Mrs. Burch, returned missionaries from the Far East, + together with some of their children, “all born under Syrian skies,” as + they always explained to interested inquirers, spent a day or two at the + brick house, and gave parlor meetings in native costume. + </p> + <p> + These visitors, coming straight from foreign lands to the little Maine + village, brought with them a nameless enchantment to the children, and + especially to Rebecca, whose imagination always kindled easily. The + romance of that visit had never died in her heart, and among the many + careers that dazzled her youthful vision was that of converting such + Syrian heathen as might continue in idol worship after the Burches' + efforts in their behalf had ceased. She thought at the age of eighteen she + might be suitably equipped for storming some minor citadel of + Mohammedanism; and Mrs. Burch had encouraged her in the idea, not, it is + to be feared, because Rebecca showed any surplus of virtue or Christian + grace, but because her gift of language, her tact and sympathy, and her + musical talent seemed to fit her for the work. + </p> + <p> + It chanced that the quarterly meeting of the Maine Missionary Society had + been appointed just at the time when a letter from Mrs. Burch to Miss Jane + Sawyer suggested that Rebecca should form a children's branch in + Riverboro. Mrs. Burch's real idea was that the young people should save + their pennies and divert a gentle stream of financial aid into the parent + fund, thus learning early in life to be useful in such work, either at + home or abroad. + </p> + <p> + The girls themselves, however, read into her letter no such modest + participation in the conversion of the world, and wishing to effect an + organization without delay, they chose an afternoon when every house in + the village was vacant, and seized upon the Robinsons' barn chamber as the + place of meeting. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca, Alice Robinson, Emma Jane Perkins, Candace Milliken, and Persis + Watson, each with her hymn book, had climbed the ladder leading to the + haymow a half hour before Abijah Flagg had heard the strains of “Daughters + of Zion” floating out to the road. Rebecca, being an executive person, had + carried, besides her hymn book, a silver call-bell and pencil and paper. + An animated discussion regarding one of two names for the society, The + Junior Heralds or The Daughters of Zion, had resulted in a unanimous vote + for the latter, and Rebecca had been elected president at an early stage + of the meeting. She had modestly suggested that Alice Robinson, as the + granddaughter of a missionary to China, would be much more eligible. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Alice, with entire good nature, “whoever is ELECTED president, + you WILL be, Rebecca—you're that kind—so you might as well + have the honor; I'd just as lieves be secretary, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “If you should want me to be treasurer, I could be, as well as not,” said + Persis Watson suggestively; “for you know my father keeps china banks at + his store—ones that will hold as much as two dollars if you will let + them. I think he'd give us one if I happen to be treasurer.” + </p> + <p> + The three principal officers were thus elected at one fell swoop and with + an entire absence of that red tape which commonly renders organization so + tiresome, Candace Milliken suggesting that perhaps she'd better be + vice-president, as Emma Jane Perkins was always so bashful. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to have more members,” she reminded the other girls, “but if we + had invited them the first day they'd have all wanted to be officers, + especially Minnie Smellie, so it's just as well not to ask them till + another time. Is Thirza Meserve too little to join?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't think why anybody named Meserve should have called a baby + Thirza,” said Rebecca, somewhat out of order, though the meeting was + carried on with small recognition of parliamentary laws. “It always makes + me want to say: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thirza Meserver + Heaven preserve her! + Thirza Meserver + Do we deserve her? +</pre> + <p> + She's little, but she's sweet, and absolutely without guile. I think we + ought to have her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is 'guile' the same as 'guilt?” inquired Emma Jane Perkins. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the president answered; “exactly the same, except one is written + and the other spoken language.” (Rebecca was rather good at imbibing + information, and a master hand at imparting it!) “Written language is for + poems and graduations and occasions like this—kind of like a best + Sunday-go-to-meeting dress that you wouldn't like to go blueberrying in + for fear of getting it spotted.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd just as 'lieves get 'guile' spotted as not,” affirmed the + unimaginative Emma Jane. “I think it's an awful foolish word; but now + we're all named and our officers elected, what do we do first? It's easy + enough for Mary and Martha Burch; they just play at missionarying because + their folks work at it, same as Living and I used to make believe be + blacksmiths when we were little.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be nicer missionarying in those foreign places,” said Persis, + “because on 'Afric's shores and India's plains and other spots where Satan + reigns' (that's father's favorite hymn) there's always a heathen bowing + down to wood and stone. You can take away his idols if he'll let you and + give him a bible and the beginning's all made. But who'll we begin on? + Jethro Small?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's entirely too dirty, and foolish besides!” exclaimed Candace. + “Why not Ethan Hunt? He swears dreadfully.” + </p> + <p> + “He lives on nuts and is a hermit, and it's a mile to his camp through the + thick woods; my mother'll never let me go there,” objected Alice. “There's + Uncle Tut Judson.” + </p> + <p> + “He's too old; he's most a hundred and deaf as a post,” complained Emma + Jane. “Besides, his married daughter is a Sabbath-school teacher—why + doesn't she teach him to behave? I can't think of anybody just right to + start on!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk like that, Emma Jane,” and Rebecca's tone had a tinge of + reproof in it. “We are a copperated body named the Daughters of Zion, and, + of course, we've got to find something to do. Foreigners are the easiest; + there's a Scotch family at North Riverboro, an English one in Edgewood, + and one Cuban man at Millkin's Mills.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't foreigners got any religion of their own?” inquired Persis + curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, I s'pose so; kind of a one; but foreigners' religions are never + right—ours is the only good one.” This was from Candace, the + deacon's daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I do think it must be dreadful, being born with a religion and growing up + with it, and then finding out it's no use and all your time wasted!” Here + Rebecca sighed, chewed a straw, and looked troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's your punishment for being a heathen,” retorted Candace, who + had been brought up strictly. + </p> + <p> + “But I can't for the life of me see how you can help being a heathen if + you're born in Africa,” persisted Persis, who was well named. + </p> + <p> + “You can't.” Rebecca was clear on this point. “I had that all out with + Mrs. Burch when she was visiting Aunt Miranda. She says they can't help + being heathen, but if there's a single mission station in the whole of + Africa, they're accountable if they don't go there and get saved.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there plenty of stages and railroads?” asked Alice; “because there + must be dreadfully long distances, and what if they couldn't pay the + fare?” + </p> + <p> + “That part of it is so dreadfully puzzly we mustn't talk about it, + please,” said Rebecca, her sensitive face quivering with the force of the + problem. Poor little soul! She did not realize that her superiors in age + and intellect had spent many a sleepless night over that same + “accountability of the heathen.” + </p> + <p> + “It's too bad the Simpsons have moved away,” said Candace. “It's so seldom + you can find a real big wicked family like that to save, with only Clara + Belle and Susan good in it.” + </p> + <p> + “And numbers count for so much,” continued Alice. “My grandmother says if + missionaries can't convert about so many in a year the Board advises them + to come back to America and take up some other work.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” Rebecca corroborated; “and it's the same with revivalists. At + the Centennial picnic at North Riverboro, a revivalist sat opposite to Mr. + Ladd and Aunt Jane and me, and he was telling about his wonderful success + in Bangor last winter. He'd converted a hundred and thirty in a month, he + said, or about four and a third a day. I had just finished fractions, so I + asked Mr. Ladd how the third of a man could be converted. He laughed and + said it was just the other way; that the man was a third converted. Then + he explained that if you were trying to convince a person of his sin on a + Monday, and couldn't quite finish by sundown, perhaps you wouldn't want to + sit up all night with him, and perhaps he wouldn't want you to; so you'd + begin again on Tuesday, and you couldn't say just which day he was + converted, because it would be two thirds on Monday and one third on + Tuesday.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ladd is always making fun, and the Board couldn't expect any great + things of us girls, new beginners,” suggested Emma Jane, who was being + constantly warned against tautology by her teacher. “I think it's awful + rude, anyway, to go right out and try to convert your neighbors; but if + you borrow a horse and go to Edgewood Lower Corner, or Milliken's Mills, I + s'pose that makes it Foreign Missions.” + </p> + <p> + “Would we each go alone or wait upon them with a committee, as they did + when they asked Deacon Tuttle for a contribution for the new hearse?” + asked Persis. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! We must go alone,” decided Rebecca; “it would be much more refined + and delicate. Aunt Miranda says that one man alone could never get a + subscription from Deacon Tuttle, and that's the reason they sent a + committee. But it seems to me Mrs. Burch couldn't mean for us to try and + convert people when we're none of us even church members, except Candace. + I think all we can do is to persuade them to go to meeting and Sabbath + school, or give money for the hearse, or the new horse sheds. Now let's + all think quietly for a minute or two who's the very most heathenish and + reperrehensiblest person in Riverboro.” + </p> + <p> + After a very brief period of silence the words “Jacob Moody” fell from all + lips with entire accord. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“You are right,” said the president tersely; “and after singing hymn +number two hundred seventy four, to be found on the sixty-sixth page, +we will take up the question of persuading Mr. Moody to attend divine +service or the minister's Bible class, he not having been in the +meeting-house for lo! these many years. + + 'Daughter of Zion, the power that hath saved thee + Extolled with the harp and the timbrel should be.' +</pre> + <p> + “Sing without reading, if you please, omitting the second stanza. Hymn two + seventy four, to be found on the sixty-sixth page of the new hymn book or + on page thirty two of Emma Jane Perkins's old one.” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + It is doubtful if the Rev. Mr. Burch had ever found in Syria a person more + difficult to persuade than the already “gospel-hardened” Jacob Moody of + Riverboro. + </p> + <p> + Tall, gaunt, swarthy, black-bearded—his masses of grizzled, uncombed + hair and the red scar across his nose and cheek added to his sinister + appearance. His tumble-down house stood on a rocky bit of land back of the + Sawyer pasture, and the acres of his farm stretched out on all sides of + it. He lived alone, ate alone, plowed, planted, sowed, harvested alone, + and was more than willing to die alone, “unwept, unhonored, and unsung.” + The road that bordered upon his fields was comparatively little used by + any one, and notwithstanding the fact that it was thickly set with + chokecherry trees and blackberry bushes it had been for years practically + deserted by the children. Jacob's Red Astrakhan and Granny Garland trees + hung thick with apples, but no Riverboro or Edgewood boy stole them; for + terrifying accounts of the fate that had overtaken one urchin in times + agone had been handed along from boy to boy, protecting the Moody fruit + far better than any police patrol. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps no circumstances could have extenuated the old man's surly manners + or his lack of all citizenly graces and virtues; but his neighbors + commonly rebuked his present way of living and forgot the troubled past + that had brought it about: the sharp-tongued wife, the unloving and + disloyal sons, the daughter's hapless fate, and all the other sorry tricks + that fortune had played upon him—at least that was the way in which + he had always regarded his disappointments and griefs. + </p> + <p> + This, then, was the personage whose moral rehabilitation was to be + accomplished by the Daughters of Zion. But how? + </p> + <p> + “Who will volunteer to visit Mr. Moody?” blandly asked the president. + </p> + <p> + VISIT MR. MOODY! It was a wonder the roof of the barn chamber did not + fall; it did, indeed echo the words and in some way make them sound more + grim and satirical. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody'll volunteer, Rebecca Rowena Randall, and you know it,” said Emma + Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't we draw lots, when none of us wants to speak to him and yet one + of us must?” + </p> + <p> + This suggestion fell from Persis Watson, who had been pale and thoughtful + ever since the first mention of Jacob Moody. (She was fond of Granny + Garlands; she had once met Jacob; and, as to what befell, well, we all + have our secret tragedies!) + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it be wicked to settle it that way?” + </p> + <p> + “It's gamblers that draw lots.” + </p> + <p> + “People did it in the Bible ever so often.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't seem nice for a missionary meeting.” + </p> + <p> + These remarks fell all together upon the president's bewildered ear the + while (as she always said in compositions)—“the while” she was + trying to adjust the ethics of this unexpected and difficult dilemma. + </p> + <p> + “It is a very puzzly question,” she said thoughtfully. “I could ask Aunt + Jane if we had time, but I suppose we haven't. It doesn't seem nice to + draw lots, and yet how can we settle it without? We know we mean right, + and perhaps it will be. Alice, take this paper and tear off five narrow + pieces, all different lengths.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a voice from a distance floated up to the haymow—a + voice saying plaintively: “Will you let me play with you, girls? Huldah + has gone to ride, and I'm all alone.” + </p> + <p> + It was the voice of the absolutely-without-guile Thirza Meserve, and it + came at an opportune moment. + </p> + <p> + “If she is going to be a member,” said Persis, “why not let her come up + and hold the lots? She'd be real honest and not favor anybody.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed an excellent idea, and was followed up so quickly that scarcely + three minutes ensued before the guileless one was holding the five scraps + in her hot little palm, laboriously changing their places again and again + until they looked exactly alike and all rather soiled and wilted. + </p> + <p> + “Come, girls, draw!” commanded the president. “Thirza, you mustn't chew + gum at a missionary meeting, it isn't polite nor holy. Take it out and + stick it somewhere till the exercises are over.” + </p> + <p> + The five Daughters of Zion approached the spot so charged with fate, and + extended their trembling hands one by one. Then after a moment's silent + clutch of their papers they drew nearer to one another and compared them. + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane Perkins had drawn the short one, becoming thus the destined + instrument for Jacob Moody's conversion to a more seemly manner of life! + </p> + <p> + She looked about her despairingly, as if to seek some painless and + respectable method of self-destruction. + </p> + <p> + “Do let's draw over again,” she pleaded. “I'm the worst of all of us. I'm + sure to make a mess of it till I kind o' get trained in.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca's heart sank at this frank confession, which only corroborated her + own fears. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Emmy, dear,” she said, “but our only excuse for drawing lots + at all would be to have it sacred. We must think of it as a kind of a + sign, almost like God speaking to Moses in the burning bush.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I WISH there was a burning bush right here!” cried the distracted and + recalcitrant missionary. “How quick I'd step into it without even stopping + to take off my garnet ring!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be such a scare-cat, Emma Jane!” exclaimed Candace bracingly. + “Jacob Moody can't kill you, even if he has an awful temper. Trot right + along now before you get more frightened. Shall we go cross lots with her, + Rebecca, and wait at the pasture gate? Then whatever happens Alice can put + it down in the minutes of the meeting.” + </p> + <p> + In these terrible crises of life time gallops with such incredible + velocity that it seemed to Emma Jane only a breath before she was being + dragged through the fields by the other Daughters of Zion, the guileless + little Thirza panting in the rear. + </p> + <p> + At the entrance to the pasture Rebecca gave her an impassioned embrace, + and whispering, “WHATEVER YOU DO, BE CAREFUL HOW YOU LEAD UP,” lifted off + the top rail and pushed her through the bars. Then the girls turned their + backs reluctantly on the pathetic figure, and each sought a tree under + whose friendly shade she could watch, and perhaps pray, until the + missionary should return from her field of labor. + </p> + <p> + Alice Robinson, whose compositions were always marked 96 or 97,—100 + symbolizing such perfection as could be attained in the mortal world of + Riverboro,—Alice, not only Daughter, but Scribe of Zion, sharpened + her pencil and wrote a few well-chosen words of introduction, to be used + when the records of the afternoon had been made by Emma Jane Perkins and + Jacob Moody. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca's heart beat tumultuously under her gingham dress. She felt that a + drama was being enacted, and though unfortunately she was not the central + figure, she had at least a modest part in it. The short lot had not fallen + to the properest Daughter, that she quite realized; yet would any one of + them succeed in winning Jacob Moody's attention, in engaging him in + pleasant conversation, and finally in bringing him to a realization of his + mistaken way of life? She doubted, but at the same moment her spirits rose + at the thought of the difficulties involved in the undertaking. + </p> + <p> + Difficulties always spurred Rebecca on, but they daunted poor Emma Jane, + who had no little thrills of excitement and wonder and fear and longing to + sustain her lagging soul. That her interview was to be entered as + “minutes” by a secretary seemed to her the last straw. Her blue eyes + looked lighter than usual and had the glaze of china saucers; her usually + pink cheeks were pale, but she pressed on, determined to be a faithful + Daughter of Zion, and above all to be worthy of Rebecca's admiration and + respect. + </p> + <p> + “Rebecca can do anything,” she thought, with enthusiastic loyalty, “and I + mustn't be any stupider than I can help, or she'll choose one of the other + girls for her most intimate friend.” So, mustering all her courage, she + turned into Jacob Moody's dooryard, where he was chopping wood. + </p> + <p> + “It's a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Moody,” she said in a polite but hoarse + whisper, Rebecca's words, “LEAD UP! LEAD UP!” ringing in clarion tones + through her brain. + </p> + <p> + Jacob Moody looked at her curiously. “Good enough, I guess,” he growled; + “but I don't never have time to look at afternoons.” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane seated herself timorously on the end of a large log near the + chopping block, supposing that Jacob, like other hosts, would pause in his + tasks and chat. + </p> + <p> + “The block is kind of like an idol,” she thought; “I wish I could take it + away from him, and then perhaps he'd talk.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Jacob raised his axe and came down on the block with such a + stunning blow that Emma Jane fairly leaped into the air. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better look out, Sissy, or you'll git chips in the eye!” said + Moody, grimly going on with his work. + </p> + <p> + The Daughter of Zion sent up a silent prayer for inspiration, but none + came, and she sat silent, giving nervous jumps in spite of herself + whenever the axe fell upon the log Jacob was cutting. + </p> + <p> + Finally, the host became tired of his dumb visitor, and leaning on his axe + he said, “Look here, Sis, what have you come for? What's your errant? Do + you want apples? Or cider? Or what? Speak out, or GIT out, one or + t'other.” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane, who had wrung her handkerchief into a clammy ball, gave it a + last despairing wrench, and faltered: “Wouldn't you like—hadn't you + better—don't you think you'd ought to be more constant at meeting + and Sabbath school?” + </p> + <p> + Jacob's axe almost dropped from his nerveless hand, and he regarded the + Daughter of Zion with unspeakable rage and disdain. Then, the blood + mounting in his face, he gathered himself together, and shouted: “You take + yourself off that log and out o' this dooryard double-quick, you imperdent + sanct'omus young one! You just let me ketch Bill Perkins' child trying to + teach me where I shall go, at my age! Scuttle, I tell ye! And if I see + your pious cantin' little mug inside my fence ag'in on sech a business + I'll chase ye down the hill or set the dog on ye! SCOOT, I TELL YE!” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane obeyed orders summarily, taking herself off the log, out the + dooryard, and otherwise scuttling and scooting down the hill at a pace + never contemplated even by Jacob Moody, who stood regarding her flying + heels with a sardonic grin. + </p> + <p> + Down she stumbled, the tears coursing over her cheeks and mingling with + the dust of her flight; blighted hope, shame, fear, rage, all tearing her + bosom in turn, till with a hysterical shriek she fell over the bars and + into Rebecca's arms outstretched to receive her. The other Daughters wiped + her eyes and supported her almost fainting form, while Thirza, thoroughly + frightened, burst into sympathetic tears, and refused to be comforted. + </p> + <p> + No questions were asked, for it was felt by all parties that Emma Jane's + demeanor was answering them before they could be framed. + </p> + <p> + “He threatened to set the dog on me!” she wailed presently, when, as they + neared the Sawyer pasture, she was able to control her voice. “He called + me a pious, cantin' young one, and said he'd chase me out o' the dooryard + if I ever came again! And he'll tell my father—I know he will, for + he hates him like poison.” + </p> + <p> + All at once the adult point of view dawned upon Rebecca. She never saw it + until it was too obvious to be ignored. Had they done wrong in + interviewing Jacob Moody? Would Aunt Miranda be angry, as well as Mr. + Perkins? + </p> + <p> + “Why was he so dreadful, Emmy?” she questioned tenderly. “What did you say + first? How did you lead up to it?” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane sobbed more convulsively, and wiped her nose and eyes + impartially as she tried to think. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I never led up at all; not a mite. I didn't know what you meant. + I was sent on an errant, and I went and done it the best I could! (Emma + Jane's grammar always lapsed in moments of excitement.) And then Jake + roared at me like Squire Winship's bull.... And he called my face a + mug.... You shut up that secretary book, Alice Robinson! If you write down + a single word I'll never speak to you again.... And I don't want to be a + member' another minute for fear of drawing another short lot. I've got + enough of the Daughters or Zion to last me the rest o' my life! I don't + care who goes to meetin' and who don't.” + </p> + <p> + The girls were at the Perkins's gate by this time, and Emma Jane went + sadly into the empty house to remove all traces of the tragedy from her + person before her mother should come home from the church. + </p> + <p> + The others wended their way slowly down the street, feeling that their + promising missionary branch had died almost as soon as it had budded. + </p> + <p> + “Goodby,” said Rebecca, swallowing lumps of disappointment and chagrin as + she saw the whole inspiring plan break and vanish into thin air like an + iridescent bubble. “It's all over and we won't ever try it again. I'm + going in to do overcasting as hard as I can, because I hate that the + worst. Aunt Jane must write to Mrs. Burch that we don't want to be home + missionaries. Perhaps we're not big enough, anyway. I'm perfectly certain + it's nicer to convert people when they're yellow or brown or any color but + white; and I believe it must be easier to save their souls than it is to + make them go to meeting.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Third Chronicle. REBECCA'S THOUGHT BOOK + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + The “Sawyer girls'” barn still had its haymow in Rebecca's time, although + the hay was a dozen years old or more, and, in the opinion of the + occasional visiting horse, sadly juiceless and wanting in flavor. It still + sheltered, too, old Deacon Israel Sawyer's carryall and mowing-machine, + with his pung, his sleigh, and a dozen other survivals of an earlier era, + when the broad acres of the brick house went to make one of the finest + farms in Riverboro. + </p> + <p> + There were no horses or cows in the stalls nowadays; no pig grunting + comfortably of future spare ribs in the sty; no hens to peck the plants in + the cherished garden patch. The Sawyer girls were getting on in years, + and, mindful that care once killed a cat, they ordered their lives with + the view of escaping that particular doom, at least, and succeeded fairly + well until Rebecca's advent made existence a trifle more sensational. + </p> + <p> + Once a month for years upon years, Miss Miranda and Miss Jane had put + towels over their heads and made a solemn visit to the barn, taking off + the enameled cloth coverings (occasionally called “emmanuel covers” in + Riverboro), dusting the ancient implements, and sometimes sweeping the + heaviest of the cobwebs from the corners, or giving a brush to the floor. + </p> + <p> + Deacon Israel's tottering ladder still stood in its accustomed place, + propped against the haymow, and the heavenly stairway leading to eternal + glory scarcely looked fairer to Jacob of old than this to Rebecca. By + means of its dusty rounds she mounted, mounted, mounted far away from time + and care and maiden aunts, far away from childish tasks and childish + troubles, to the barn chamber, a place so full of golden dreams, happy + reveries, and vague longings, that, as her little brown hands clung to the + sides of the ladder and her feet trod the rounds cautiously in her ascent, + her heart almost stopped beating in the sheer joy of anticipation. + </p> + <p> + Once having gained the heights, the next thing was to unlatch the heavy + doors and give them a gentle swing outward. Then, oh, ever new Paradise! + Then, oh, ever lovely green and growing world! For Rebecca had that + something in her soul that + </p> + <p> + “Gives to seas and sunset skies The unspent beauty of surprise.” + </p> + <p> + At the top of Guide Board hill she could see Alice Robinson's barn with + its shining weather vane, a huge burnished fish that swam with the wind + and foretold the day to all Riverboro. The meadow, with its sunny slopes + stretching up to the pine woods, was sometimes a flowing sheet of + shimmering grass, sometimes—when daisies and buttercups were + blooming—a vision of white and gold. Sometimes the shorn stubble + would be dotted with “the happy hills of hay,” and a little later the rock + maple on the edge of the pines would stand out like a golden ball against + the green; its neighbor, the sugar maple, glowing beside it, brave in + scarlet. + </p> + <p> + It was on one of these autumn days with a wintry nip in the air that Adam + Ladd (Rebecca's favorite “Mr. Aladdin”), after searching for her in field + and garden, suddenly noticed the open doors of the barn chamber, and + called to her. At the sound of his vice she dropped her precious diary, + and flew to the edge of the haymow. He never forgot the vision of the + startled little poetess, book in one mittened hand, pencil in the other, + dark hair all ruffled, with the picturesque addition of an occasional + glade of straw, her cheeks crimson, her eyes shining. + </p> + <p> + “A Sappho in mittens!” he cried laughingly, and at her eager question told + her to look up the unknown lady in the school encyclopedia, when she was + admitted to the Female Seminary at Wareham. + </p> + <p> + Now, all being ready, Rebecca went to a corner of the haymow, and withdrew + a thick blank-book with mottled covers. Out of her gingham apron pocket + came a pencil, a bit of rubber, and some pieces of brown paper; then she + seated herself gravely on the floor, and drew an inverted soapbox nearer + to her for a table. + </p> + <p> + The book was reverently opened, and there was a serious reading of the + extracts already carefully copied therein. Most of them were apparently to + the writer's liking, for dimples of pleasure showed themselves now and + then, and smiles of obvious delight played about her face; but once in a + while there was a knitting of the brows and a sigh of discouragement, + showing that the artist in the child was not wholly satisfied. + </p> + <p> + Then came the crucial moment when the budding author was supposedly to be + racked with the throes of composition; but seemingly there were no throes. + Other girls could wield the darning or crochet or knitting needle, and + send the tatting shuttle through loops of the finest cotton; hemstitch, + oversew, braid hair in thirteen strands, but the pencil was never obedient + in their fingers, and the pen and ink-pot were a horror from early + childhood to the end of time. + </p> + <p> + Not so with Rebecca; her pencil moved as easily as her tongue, and no more + striking simile could possibly be used. Her handwriting was not + Spencerian; she had neither time, nor patience, it is to be feared, for + copybook methods, and her unformed characters were frequently the despair + of her teachers; but write she could, write she would, write she must and + did, in season and out; from the time she made pothooks at six, till now, + writing was the easiest of all possible tasks; to be indulged in as solace + and balm when the terrors of examples in least common multiple threatened + to dethrone the reason, or the rules of grammar loomed huge and + unconquerable in the near horizon. + </p> + <p> + As to spelling, it came to her in the main by free grace, and not by + training, and though she slipped at times from the beaten path, her + extraordinary ear and good visual memory kept her from many or flagrant + mistakes. It was her intention, especially when saying her prayers at + night, to look up all doubtful words in her small dictionary, before + copying her Thoughts into the sacred book for the inspiration of + posterity; but when genius burned with a brilliant flame, and particularly + when she was in the barn and the dictionary in the house, impulse as usual + carried the day. + </p> + <p> + There sits Rebecca, then, in the open door of the Sawyers barn chamber—the + sunset door. How many a time had her grandfather, the good deacon, sat + just underneath in his tipped-back chair, when Mrs. Israel's temper was + uncertain, and the serenity of the barn was in comforting contrast to his + own fireside! + </p> + <p> + The open doors swinging out to the peaceful landscape, the solace of the + pipe, not allowed in the “settin'-room”—how beautifully these simple + agents have ministered to the family peace in days agone! “If I hadn't had + my barn and my store BOTH, I couldn't never have lived in holy matrimony + with Maryliza!” once said Mr. Watson feelingly. + </p> + <p> + But the deacon, looking on his waving grass fields, his tasseling corn and + his timber lands, bright and honest as were his eyes, never saw such + visions as Rebecca. The child, transplanted from her home farm at + Sunnybrook, from the care of the overworked but easy-going mother, and the + companionship of the scantily fed, scantily clothed, happy-go-lucky + brothers and sisters—she had indeed fallen on shady days in + Riverboro. The blinds were closed in every room of the house but two, and + the same might have been said of Miss Miranda's mind and heart, though + Miss Jane had a few windows opening to the sun, and Rebecca already had + her unconscious hand on several others. Brickhouse rules were rigid and + many for a little creature so full of life, but Rebecca's gay spirit could + not be pinioned in a strait jacket for long at a time; it escaped somehow + and winged its merry way into the sunshine and free air; if she were not + allowed to sing in the orchard, like the wild bird she was, she could + still sing in the cage, like the canary. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + If you had opened the carefully guarded volume with the mottled covers, + you would first have seen a wonderful title page, constructed apparently + on the same lines as an obituary, or the inscription on a tombstone, save + for the quantity and variety of information contained in it. Much of the + matter would seem to the captious critic better adapted to the body of the + book than to the title page, but Rebecca was apparently anxious that the + principal personages in her chronicle should be well described at the + outset. + </p> + <p> + She seems to have had a conviction that heredity plays its part in the + evolution of genius, and her belief that the world will be inspired by the + possession of her Thoughts is too artless to be offensive. She evidently + has respect for rich material confided to her teacher, and one can imagine + Miss Dearborn's woe had she been confronted by Rebecca's chosen literary + executor and bidden to deliver certain “Valuable Poetry and Thoughts,” the + property of posterity “unless carelessly destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + THOUGHT BOOK of Rebecca Rowena Randall Really of Sunnybrook Farm But + temporily of The Brick House Riverboro. Own niece of Miss Miranda and Jane + Sawyer Second of seven children of her father, Mr. L. D. M. Randall (Now + at rest in Temperance cemmetary and there will be a monument as soon as we + pay off the mortgage on the farm) Also of her mother Mrs. Aurelia Randall + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In case of Death the best of these Thoughts + May be printed in my Remerniscences + For the Sunday School Library at Temperance, Maine + Which needs more books fearfully + And I hereby + Will and Testament them to Mr. Adam Ladd + Who bought 300 cakes of soap from me + And thus secured a premium + A Greatly Needed Banquet Lamp + For my friends the Simpsons. + He is the only one that incourages + My writing Remerniscences and + My teacher Miss Dearborn will + Have much valuable Poetry and Thoughts + To give him unless carelessly destroyed. + + The pictures are by the same hand that + Wrote the Thoughts. +</pre> + <p> + IT IS NOT NOW DECIDED WHETHER REBECCA ROWENA RANDALL WILL BE A PAINTER OR + AN AUTHOR, BUT AFTER HER DEATH IT WILL BE KNOWN WHICH SHE HAS BEEN, IF + ANY. + </p> + <p> + FINIS + </p> + <p> + From the title page, with its wealth of detail, and its unnecessary and + irrelevant information, the book ripples on like a brook, and to the weary + reader of problem novels it may have something of the brook's refreshing + quality. + </p> + <p> + OUR DIARIES May, 187— + </p> + <p> + All the girls are keeping a diary because Miss Dearborn was very much + ashamed when the school trustees told her that most of the girls' and all + of the boys' compositions were disgraceful, and must be improved upon next + term. She asked the boys to write letters to her once a week instead of + keeping a diary, which they thought was girlish like playing with dolls. + The boys thought it was dreadful to have to write letters every seven + days, but she told them it was not half as bad for them as it was for her + who had to read them. + </p> + <p> + To make my diary a little different I am going to call it a THOUGHT Book + (written just like that, with capitals). I have thoughts that I never can + use unless I write them down, for Aunt Miranda always says, Keep your + thoughts to yourself. Aunt Jane lets me tell her some, but does not like + my queer ones and my true thoughts are mostly queer. Emma Jane does not + mind hearing them now and then, and that is my only chance. + </p> + <p> + If Miss Dearborn does not like the name Thought Book I will call it + Remerniscences (written just like that with a capital R). Remerniscences + are things you remember about yourself and write down in case you should + die. Aunt Jane doesn't like to read any other kind of books but just lives + of interesting dead people and she says that is what Longfellow (who was + born in the state of Maine and we should be very proud of it and try to + write like him) meant in his poem: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Lives of great men all remind us + We should make our lives sublime, + And departing, leave behind us + Footprints on the sands of time.” + </pre> + <p> + I know what this means because when Emma Jane and I went to the beach with + Uncle Jerry Cobb we ran along the wet sand and looked at the shapes our + boots made, just as if they were stamped in wax. Emma Jane turns in her + left foot (splayfoot the boys call it, which is not polite) and Seth + Strout had just patched one of my shoes and it all came out in the sand + pictures. When I learned The Psalm of Life for Friday afternoon speaking I + thought I shouldn't like to leave a patched footprint, nor have Emma + Jane's look crooked on the sands of time, and right away I thought Oh! + What a splendid thought for my Thought Book when Aunt Jane buys me a + fifteen-cent one over to Watson's store. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + REMERNISCENCES + </p> + <p> + June, 187— + </p> + <p> + I told Aunt Jane I was going to begin my Remerniscences, and she says I am + full young, but I reminded her that Candace Milliken's sister died when + she was ten, leaving no footprints whatever, and if I should die suddenly + who would write down my Remerniscences? Aunt Miranda says the sun and moon + would rise and set just the same, and it was no matter if they didn't get + written down, and to go up attic and find her piece-bag; but I said it + would, as there was only one of everybody in the world, and nobody else + could do their remerniscensing for them. If I should die tonight I know + now who would describe me right. Miss Dearborn would say one thing and + brother John another. Emma Jane would try to do me justice, but has no + words; and I am glad Aunt Miranda never takes the pen in hand. + </p> + <p> + My dictionary is so small it has not many genteel words in it, and I + cannot find how to spell Remerniscences, but I remember from the cover of + Aunt Jane's book that there was an “s” and a “c” close together in the + middle of it, which I thought foolish and not needful. + </p> + <p> + All the girls like their dairies very much, but Minnie Smellie got Alice + Robinson's where she had hid it under the school wood pile and read it all + through. She said it was no worse than reading anybody's composition, but + we told her it was just like peeking through a keyhole, or listening at a + window, or opening a bureau drawer. She said she didn't look at it that + way, and I told her that unless her eyes got unscealed she would never + leave any kind of a sublime footprint on the sands of time. I told her a + diary was very sacred as you generally poured your deepest feelings into + it expecting nobody to look at it but yourself and your indulgent heavenly + Father who seeeth all things. + </p> + <p> + Of course it would not hurt Persis Watson to show her diary because she + has not a sacred plan and this is the way it goes, for she reads it out + loud to us: + </p> + <p> + “Arose at six this morning—(you always arise in a diary but you say + get up when you talk about it). Ate breakfast at half past six. Had soda + biscuits, coffee, fish hash and doughnuts. Wiped the dishes, fed the hens + and made my bed before school. Had a good arithmetic lesson, but went down + two in spelling. At half past four played hide and coop in the Sawyer + pasture. Fed hens and went to bed at eight.” + </p> + <p> + She says she can't put in what doesn't happen, but as I don't think her + diary is interesting she will ask her mother to have meat hash instead of + fish, with pie when the doughnuts give out, and she will feed the hens + before breakfast to make a change. We are all going now to try and make + something happen every single day so the diaries won't be so dull and the + footprints so common. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + AN UNCOMMON THOUGHT + </p> + <p> + July 187— + </p> + <p> + We dug up our rosecakes today, and that gave me a good Remerniscence. The + way you make rose cakes is, you take the leaves of full blown roses and + mix them with a little cinnamon and as much brown sugar as they will give + you, which is never half enough except Persis Watson, whose affectionate + parents let her go to the barrel in their store. Then you do up little + bits like sedlitz powders, first in soft paper and then in brown, and bury + them in the ground and let them stay as long as you possibly can hold out; + then dig them up and eat them. Emma Jane and I stick up little signs over + the holes in the ground with the date we buried them and when they'll be + done enough to dig up, but we can never wait. When Aunt Jane saw us she + said it was the first thing for children to learn,—not to be + impatient,—so when I went to the barn chamber I made a poem. + </p> + <p> + IMPATIENCE + </p> + <p> + We dug our rose cakes up oh! all too soon. Twas in the orchard just at + noon. Twas in a bright July forenoon. Twas in the sunny afternoon. Twas + underneath the harvest moon. + </p> + <p> + It was not that way at all; it was a foggy morning before school, and I + should think poets could never possibly get to heaven, for it is so hard + to stick to the truth when you are writing poetry. Emma Jane thinks it is + nobody's business when we dug the rosecakes up. I like the line about the + harvest moon best, but it would give a wrong idea of our lives and + characters to the people that read my Thoughts, for they would think we + were up late nights, so I have fixed it like this: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IMPATIENCE + + We dug our rose cakes up oh! all too soon, + We thought their sweetness would be such a boon. + We ne'er suspicioned they would not be done + After three days of autumn wind and sun. + Why did we from the earth our treasures draw? + Twas not for fear that rat or mole might naw, + An aged aunt doth say impatience was the reason, + She says that youth is ever out of season. +</pre> + <p> + That is just as Aunt Jane said it, and it gave me the thought for the poem + which is rather uncommon. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A DREADFUL QUESTION + </p> + <p> + September, 187— + </p> + <p> + WHICH HAS BEEN THE MOST BENEFERCENT INFLUENCE ON CHARACTER—PUNISHMENT + OR REWARD? + </p> + <p> + This truly dreadful question was given us by Dr. Moses when he visited + school today. He is a School Committee; not a whole one but I do not know + the singular number of him. He told us we could ask our families what they + thought, though he would rather we wouldn't, but we must write our own + words and he would hear them next week. + </p> + <p> + After he went out and shut the door the scholars were all plunged in gloom + and you could have heard a pin drop. Alice Robinson cried and borrowed my + handkerchief, and the boys looked as if the schoolhouse had been struck by + lightning. The worst of all was poor Miss Dearborn, who will lose her + place if she does not make us better scholars soon, for Dr. Moses has a + daughter all ready to put right in to the school and she can board at home + and save all her wages. Libby Moses is her name. + </p> + <p> + Miss Dearborn stared out the window, and her mouth and chin shook like + Alice Robinson's, for she knew, ah! all to well, what the coming week + would bring forth. + </p> + <p> + Then I raised my hand for permission to speak, and stood up and said: + “Miss Dearborn, don't you mind! Just explain to us what benefercent' means + and we'll write something real interesting; for all of us know what + punishment is, and have seen others get rewards, and it is not so bad a + subject as some.” And Dick Carter whispered, “GOOD ON YOUR HEAD, REBECCA!” + which mean he was sorry for her too, and would try his best, but has no + words. + </p> + <p> + Then teacher smiled and said benefercent meant good or healthy for + anybody, and would all rise who thought punishment made the best scholars + and men and women; and everybody sat stock still. + </p> + <p> + And then she asked all to stand who believed that rewards produced the + finest results, and there was a mighty sound like unto the rushing of + waters, but really was our feet scraping the floor, and the scholars stood + up, and it looked like an army, though it was only nineteen, because of + the strong belief that was in them. Then Miss Dearborn laughed and said + she was thankful for every whipping she had when she was a child, and + Living Perkins said perhaps we hadn't got to the thankful age, or perhaps + her father hadn't used a strap, and she said oh! no, it was her mother + with the open hand; and Dick Carter said he wouldn't call that punishment, + and Sam Simpson said so too. + </p> + <p> + I am going to write about the subject in my Thought Book first, and when I + make it into a composition, I can leave out anything about the family or + not genteel, as there is much to relate about punishment not pleasant or + nice and hardly polite. + </p> + <p> + * * * * * * * * * * * * * PUNISHMENT + </p> + <p> + Punishment is a very puzzly thing, but I believe in it when really + deserved, only when I punish myself it does not always turn out well. When + I leaned over the new bridge, and got my dress all paint, and Aunt Sarah + Cobb couldn't get it out, I had to wear it spotted for six months which + hurt my pride, but was right. I stayed at home from Alice Robinson's + birthday party for a punishment, and went to the circus next day instead, + but Alice's parties are very cold and stiff, as Mrs. Robinson makes the + boys stand on newspapers if they come inside the door, and the blinds are + always shut, and Mrs. Robinson tells me how bad her liver complaint is + this year. So I thought, to pay for the circus and a few other things, I + ought to get more punishment, and I threw my pink parasol down the well, + as the mothers in the missionary books throw their infants to the + crocodiles in the Ganges river. But it got stuck in the chain that holds + the bucket, and Aunt Miranda had to get Abijah Flagg to take out all the + broken bits before we could ring up water. + </p> + <p> + I punished myself this way because Aunt Miranda said that unless I + improved I would be nothing but a Burden and a Blight. + </p> + <p> + There was an old man used to go by our farm carrying a lot of broken + chairs to bottom, and mother used to say—“Poor man! His back is too + weak for such a burden!” and I used to take him out a doughnut, and this + is the part I want to go into the Remerniscences. Once I told him we were + sorry the chairs were so heavy, and he said THEY DIDN'T SEEM SO HEAVY WHEN + HE HAD ET THE DOUGHNUT. This does not mean that the doughnut was heavier + than the chairs which is what brother John said, but it is a beautiful + thought and shows how the human race should have sympathy, and help bear + burdens. + </p> + <p> + I know about a Blight, for there was a dreadful east wind over at our farm + that destroyed all the little young crops just out of the ground, and the + farmers called it the Blight. And I would rather be hail, sleet, frost, or + snow than a Blight, which is mean and secret, and which is the reason I + threw away the dearest thing on earth to me, the pink parasol that Miss + Ross brought me from Paris, France. I have also wrapped up my bead purse + in three papers and put it away marked not to be opened till after my + death unless needed for a party. + </p> + <p> + I must not be Burden, I must not be Blight, The angels in heaven would + weep at the sight. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + REWARDS + </p> + <p> + A good way to find out which has the most benefercent effect would be to + try rewards on myself this next week and write my composition the very + last day, when I see how my character is. It is hard to find rewards for + yourself, but perhaps Aunt Jane and some of the girls would each give me + one to help out. I could carry my bead purse to school every day, or wear + my coral chain a little while before I go to sleep at night. I could read + Cora or the Sorrows of a Doctor's Wife a little oftener, but that's all + the rewards I can think of. I fear Aunt Miranda would say they are wicked + but oh! if they should turn out benefercent how glad and joyful life would + be to me! A sweet and beautiful character, beloved by my teacher and + schoolmates, admired and petted by my aunts and neighbors, yet carrying my + bead purse constantly, with perhaps my best hat on Wednesday afternoons, + as well as Sundays! + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A GREAT SHOCK + </p> + <p> + The reason why Alice Robinson could not play was, she was being punished + for breaking her mother's blue platter. Just before supper my story being + finished I went up Guide Board hill to see how she was bearing up and she + spoke to me from her window. She said she did not mind being punished + because she hadn't been for a long time, and she hoped it would help her + with her composition. She thought it would give her thoughts, and + tomorrow's the last day for her to have any. This gave me a good idea and + I told her to call her father up and beg him to beat her violently. It + would hurt, I said, but perhaps none of the other girls would have a + punishment like that, and her composition would be all different and + splendid. I would borrow Aunt Miranda's witchhayzel and pour it on her + wounds like the Samaritan in the Bible. + </p> + <p> + I went up again after supper with Dick Carter to see how it turned out. + Alice came to the window and Dick threw up a note tied to a stick. I had + written: “DEMAND YOUR PUNISHMENT TO THE FULL. BE BRAVE LIKE DOLORES' + MOTHER IN THE Martyrs of Spain.” + </p> + <p> + She threw down an answer, and it was: “YOU JUST BE LIKE DOLORES' MOTHER + YOURSELF IF YOU'RE SO SMART!” Then she stamped away from the window and my + feelings were hurt, but Dick said perhaps she was hungry, and that made + her cross. And as Dick and I turned to go out of the yard we looked back + and I saw something I can never forget. (The Great Shock) Mrs. Robinson + was out behind the barn feeding the turkies. Mr. Robinson came softly out + of the side door in the orchard and looking everywheres around he stepped + to the wire closet and took out a saucer of cold beans with a pickled beet + on top, and a big piece of blueberry pie. Then he crept up the back stairs + and we could see Alice open her door and take in the supper. + </p> + <p> + Oh! What will become of her composition, and how can she tell anything of + the benefercent effects of punishment, when she is locked up by one + parent, and fed by the other? I have forgiven her for the way she snapped + me up for, of course, you couldn't beg your father to beat you when he was + bringing you blueberry pie. Mrs. Robinson makes a kind that leaks out a + thick purple juice into the plate and needs a spoon and blacks your mouth, + but is heavenly. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A DREAM + </p> + <p> + The week is almost up and very soon Dr. Moses will drive up to the school + house like Elijah in the chariot and come in to hear us read. There is a + good deal of sickness among us. Some of the boys are not able to come to + school just now, but hope to be about again by Monday, when Dr. Moses goes + away to a convention. It is a very hard composition to write, somehow. + Last night I dreamed that the river was ink and I kept dipping into it and + writing with a penstalk made of a young pine tree. I sliced great slabs of + marble off the side of one of the White Mountains, the one you see when + going to meeting, and wrote on those. Then I threw them all into the + falls, not being good enough for Dr. Moses. + </p> + <p> + Dick Carter had a splendid boy to stay over Sunday. He makes the real + newspaper named The Pilot published by the boys at Wareham Academy. He + says when he talks about himself in writing he calls himself “we,” and it + sounds much more like print, besides conscealing him more. + </p> + <p> + Example: Our hair was measured this morning and has grown two inches since + last time.... We have a loose tooth that troubles us very much... Our + inkspot that we made by negligence on our only white petticoat we have + been able to remove with lemon and milk. Some of our petticoat came out + with the spot. + </p> + <p> + I shall try it in my composition sometime, for of course I shall write for + the Pilot when I go to Wareham Seminary. Uncle Jerry Cobb says that I + shall, and thinks that in four years I might rise to be editor if they + ever have girls. + </p> + <p> + I have never been more good than since I have been rewarding myself + steady, even to asking Aunt Miranda kindly to offer me a company jelly + tart, not because I was hungry, but for an experement I was trying, and + would explain to her sometime. + </p> + <p> + She said she never thought it was wise to experement with your stomach, + and I said, with a queer thrilling look, it was not my stomach but my + soul, that was being tried. Then she gave me the tart and walked away all + puzzled and nervous. + </p> + <p> + The new minister has asked me to come and see him any Saturday afternoon + as he writes poetry himself, but I would rather not ask him about this + composition. + </p> + <p> + Ministers never believe in rewards, and it is useless to hope that they + will. We had the wrath of God four times in sermons this last summer, but + God cannot be angry all the time,—nobody could, especially in + summer; Mr. Baxter is different and calls his wife dear which is lovely + and the first time I ever heard it in Riverboro. Mrs. Baxter is another + kind of people too, from those that live in Temperance. I like to watch + her in meeting and see her listen to her husband who is young and handsome + for a minister; it gives me very queer and uncommon feelings, when they + look at each other, which they always do when not otherwise engaged. + </p> + <p> + She has different clothes from anybody else. Aunt Miranda says you must + think only of two things: will your dress keep you warm and will it wear + well and there is nobody in the world to know how I love pink and red and + how I hate drab and green and how I never wear my hat with the black and + yellow porkupine quills without wishing it would blow into the river. + </p> + <p> + Whene'er I take my walks abroad How many quills I see. But as they are not + porkupines They never come to me. + </p> + <p> + COMPOSITION + </p> + <p> + WHICH HAS THE MOST BENEFERCENT EFFECT ON THE CHARACTER, PUNISHMENT OR + REWARD? + </p> + <p> + By Rebecca Rowena Randall + </p> + <p> + (This copy not corrected by Miss Dearborn yet.) + </p> + <p> + We find ourselves very puzzled in approaching this truly great and + national question though we have tried very ernestly to understand it, so + as to show how wisely and wonderfully our dear teacher guides the youthful + mind, it being her wish that our composition class shall long be + remembered in Riverboro Centre. + </p> + <p> + We would say first of all that punishment seems more benefercently needed + by boys than girls. Boys' sins are very violent, like stealing fruit, + profane language, playing truant, fighting, breaking windows, and killing + innocent little flies and bugs. If these were not taken out of them early + in life it would be impossible for them to become like our martyred + president, Abraham Lincoln. + </p> + <p> + Although we have asked everybody on our street, they think boys' sins can + only be whipped out of them with a switch or strap, which makes us feel + very sad, as boys when not sinning the dreadful sins mentioned above seem + just as good as girls, and never cry when switched, and say it does not + hurt much. + </p> + <p> + We now approach girls, which we know better, being one. Girls seem better + than boys because their sins are not so noisy and showy. They can disobey + their parents and aunts, whisper in silent hour, cheat in lessons, say + angry things to their schoolmates, tell lies, be sulky and lazy, but all + these can be conducted quite ladylike and genteel, and nobody wants to + strap girls because their skins are tender and get black and blue very + easily. + </p> + <p> + Punishments make one very unhappy and rewards very happy, and one would + think when one is happy one would behave the best. We were acquainted with + a girl who gave herself rewards every day for a week, and it seemed to + make her as lovely a character as one could wish; but perhaps if one went + on for years giving rewards to onesself one would become selfish. One + cannot tell, one can only fear. + </p> + <p> + If a dog kills a sheep we should whip him straight away, and on the very + spot where he can see the sheep, or he will not know what we mean, and may + forget and kill another. The same is true of the human race. We must be + firm and patient in punishing, no matter how much we love the one who has + done wrong, and how hungry she is. It does no good to whip a person with + one hand and offer her a pickled beet with the other. This confuses her + mind, and she may grow up not knowing right from wrong. (The striking + example of the pickled beet was removed from the essay by the refined but + ruthless Miss Dearborn, who strove patiently, but vainly, to keep such + vulgar images out of her pupils' literary efforts.) + </p> + <p> + We now respectfully approach the Holy Bible and the people in the Bible + were punished the whole time, and that would seem to make it right. + Everybody says Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth; but we think ourself, + that the Lord is a better punisher than we are, and knows better how and + when to do it having attended to it ever since the year B.C. while the + human race could not know about it till 1492 A.D., which is when Columbus + discovered America. + </p> + <p> + We do not believe we can find out all about this truly great and national + subject till we get to heaven, where the human race, strapped and + unstrapped, if any, can meet together and laying down their harps discuss + how they got there. + </p> + <p> + And we would gently advise boys to be more quiet and genteel in conduct + and try rewards to see how they would work. Rewards are not all like the + little rosebud merit cards we receive on Fridays, and which boys sometimes + tear up and fling scornfully to the breeze when they get outside, but + girls preserve carefully in an envelope. + </p> + <p> + Some rewards are great and glorious, for boys can get to be governor or + school trustee or road commissioner or president, while girls can only be + wife and mother. But all of us can have the ornament of a meek and lowly + spirit, especially girls, who have more use for it than boys. + </p> + <p> + R.R.R. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + STORIES AND PEOPLE + </p> + <p> + October, 187— + </p> + <p> + There are people in books and people in Riverboro, and they are not the + same kind. They never talk of chargers and palfreys in the village, nor + say How oft and Methinks, and if a Scotchman out of Rob Roy should come to + Riverboro and want to marry one of us girls we could not understand him + unless he made motions; though Huldah Meserve says if a nobleman of high + degree should ask her to be his,—one of vast estates with serfs at + his bidding,—she would be able to guess his meaning in any language. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Jerry Cobb thinks that Riverboro people would not make a story, but + I know that some of them would. + </p> + <p> + Jack-o'-lantern, though only a baby, was just like a real story if anybody + had written a piece about him: How his mother was dead and his father ran + away and Emma Jane and I got Aunt Sarah Cobb to keep him so Mr. Perkins + wouldn't take him to the poor farm; and about our lovely times with him + that summer, and our dreadful loss when his father remembered him in the + fall and came to take him away; and how Aunt Sarah carried the trundle bed + up attic again and Emma Jane and I heard her crying and stole away. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peter Meserve says Grandpa Sawyer was a wonderful hand at stories + before his spirit was broken by grandmother. She says he was the life of + the store and tavern when he was a young man, though generally sober, and + she thinks I take after him, because I like compositions better than all + the other lessons; but mother says I take after father, who always could + say everything nicely whether he had anything to say or not; so methinks I + should be grateful to both of them. They are what is called ancestors and + much depends upon whether you have them or not. The Simpsons have not any + at all. Aunt Miranda says the reason everybody is so prosperous around + here is because their ancestors were all first settlers and raised on + burnt ground. This should make us very proud. + </p> + <p> + Methinks and methought are splendid words for compositions. Miss Dearborn + likes them very much, but Alice and I never bring them in to suit her. + Methought means the same as I thought, but sounds better. Example: If you + are telling a dream you had about your aged aunt: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Methought I heard her say + My child you have so useful been + You need not sew today. +</pre> + <p> + This is a good example one way, but too unlikely, woe is me! + </p> + <p> + This afternoon I was walking over to the store to buy molasses, and as I + came off the bridge and turned up the hill, I saw lots and lots of + heelprints in the side of the road, heelprints with little spike holes in + them. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! The river drivers have come from up country,” I thought, “and they'll + be breaking the jam at our falls tomorrow.” I looked everywhere about and + not a man did I see, but still I knew I was not mistaken for the + heelprints could not lie. All the way over and back I thought about it, + though unfortunately forgetting the molasses, and Alice Robinson not being + able to come out, I took playtime to write a story. It is the first + grown-up one I ever did, and is intended to be like Cora the Doctor's + Wife, not like a school composition. It is written for Mr. Adam Ladd, and + people like him who live in Boston, and is the printed kind you get money + for, to pay off a mortgage. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + LANCELOT OR THE PARTED LOVERS + </p> + <p> + A beautiful village maiden was betrothed to a stallwart river driver, but + they had high and bitter words and parted, he to weep into the crystal + stream as he drove his logs, and she to sigh and moan as she went about + her round of household tasks. + </p> + <p> + At eventide the maiden was wont to lean over the bridge and her tears also + fell into the foaming stream; so, though the two unhappy lovers did not + know it, the river was their friend, the only one to whom they told their + secrets and wept into. + </p> + <p> + The months crept on and it was the next July when the maiden was passing + over the bridge and up the hill. Suddenly she spied footprints on the + sands of time. + </p> + <p> + “The river drivers have come again!” she cried, putting her hand to her + side for she had a slight heart trouble like Cora and Mrs. Peter Meserve, + that doesn't kill. + </p> + <p> + “They HAVE come indeed; ESPECIALLY ONE YOU KNOW,” said a voice, and out + from the alder bushes sprung Lancelot Littlefield, for that was the + lover's name and it was none other than he. His hair was curly and like + living gold. His shirt, white of flannel, was new and dry, and of a + handsome color, and as the maiden looked at him she could think of nought + but a fairy prince. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive,” she mermered, stretching out her waisted hands. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sweet,” he replied. “'Tis I should say that to you,” and bending + gracefully on one knee he kissed the hem of her dress. It was a rich pink + gingham check, ellaborately ornamented with white tape trimming. + </p> + <p> + Clasping each other to the heart like Cora and the Doctor, they stood + there for a long while, till they heard the rumble of wheels on the bridge + and knew they must disentangle. + </p> + <p> + The wheels came nearer and verily! it was the maiden's father. + </p> + <p> + “Can I wed with your fair daughter this very moon,” asked Lancelot, who + will not be called his whole name again in this story. + </p> + <p> + “You may,” said the father, “for lo! she has been ready and waiting for + many months.” This he said not noting how he was shaming the maiden, whose + name was Linda Rowenetta. + </p> + <p> + Then and there the nuptial day was appointed and when it came, the + marriage knot was tied upon the river bank where first they met; the river + bank where they had parted in anger, and where they had again scealeld + their vows and clasped each other to the heart. And it was very low water + that summer, and the river always thought it was because no tears dropped + into it but so many smiles that like sunshine they dried it up. + </p> + <p> + R.R.R. + </p> + <p> + Finis + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + CAREERS + </p> + <p> + November, 187— + </p> + <p> + Long ago when I used to watch Miss Ross painting the old mill at + Sunnybrook I thought I would be a painter, for Miss Ross went to Paris + France where she bought my bead purse and pink parasol and I thought I + would like to see a street with beautiful bright-colored things sparkling + and hanging in the store windows. + </p> + <p> + Then when the missionaries from Syria came to stay at the brick house Mrs. + Burch said that after I had experienced religion I must learn music and + train my voice and go out to heathen lands and save souls, so I thought + that would be my career. But we girls tried to have a branch and be home + missionaries and it did not work well. Emma Jane's father would not let + her have her birthday party when he found out what she had done and Aunt + Jane sent me up to Jake Moody's to tell him we did not mean to be rude + when we asked him to go to meeting more often. He said all right, but just + let him catch that little dough-faced Perkins young one in his yard once + more and she'd have reason to remember the call, which was just as rude + and impolite as our trying to lead him to a purer and a better life. + </p> + <p> + Then Uncle Jerry and Mr. Aladdin and Miss Dearborn liked my compositions, + and I thought I'd better be a writer, for I must be something the minute + I'm seventeen, or how shall we ever get the mortgage off the farm? But + even that hope is taken away from me now, for Uncle Jerry made fun of my + story Lancelot Or The Parted Lovers and I have decided to be a teacher + like Miss Dearborn. + </p> + <p> + The pathetic announcement of a change in the career and life purposes of + Rebecca was brought about by her reading the grown-up story to Mr. and + Mrs. Jeremiah Cobb after supper in the orchard. Uncle Jerry was the person + who had maintained all along that Riverboro people would not make a story; + and Lancelot or The Parted Lovers was intended to refute that assertion at + once and forever; an assertion which Rebecca regarded (quite truly) as + untenable, though why she certainly never could have explained. + Unfortunately Lancelot was a poor missionary, quite unfitted for the high + achievements to which he was destined by the youthful novelist, and Uncle + Jerry, though a stage-driver and no reading man, at once perceived the + flabbiness and transparency of the Parted Lovers the moment they were held + up to his inspection. + </p> + <p> + “You see Riverboro people WILL make a story!” asserted Rebecca + triumphantly as she finished her reading and folded the paper. “And it all + came from my noticing the river drivers' tracks by the roadside, and + wondering about them; and wondering always makes stories; the minister + says so.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es,” allowed Uncle Jerry reflectively, tipping his chair back against + the apple tree and forcing his slow mind to violent and instantaneous + action, for Rebecca was his pride and joy; a person, in his opinion, of + superhuman talent, one therefore to be “whittled into shape” if occasion + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “It's a Riverboro story, sure enough, because you've got the river and the + bridge and the hill and the drivers all right there in it; but there's + something awful queer bout it; the folks don't act Riverboro, and don't + talk Riverboro, cordin' to my notions. I call it a reg'lar book story.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” objected Rebecca, “the people in Cinderella didn't act like us, and + you thought that was a beautiful story when I told it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” replied Uncle Jerry, gaining eloquence in the heat of argument. + “They didn't act like us, but 't any rate they acted like 'emselves! + Somehow they was all of a piece. Cinderella was a little too good, mebbe, + and the sisters was most too thunderin' bad to live on the face o' the + earth, and that fayry old lady that kep' the punkin' coach up her sleeve—well, + anyhow, you jest believe that punkin' coach, rats, mice, and all, when + you're hearin' bout it, fore ever you stop to think it ain't so. + </p> + <p> + “I don' know how tis, but the folks in that Cinderella story seem to match + together somehow; they're all pow'ful onlikely—the prince feller + with the glass slipper, and the hull bunch; but jest the same you kind o' + gulp em all down in a lump. But land, Rebecky, nobody'd swaller that there + village maiden o' your'n, and as for what's-his-name Littlefield, that + come out o' them bushes, such a feller never 'd a' be'n IN bushes! No, + Rebecky, you're the smartest little critter there is in this township, and + you beat your Uncle Jerry all holler when it comes to usin' a lead pencil, + but I say that ain't no true Riverboro story! Look at the way they talk! + What was that' bout being BETROTHED'?” + </p> + <p> + “Betrothed is a genteel word for engaged to be married,” explained the + crushed and chastened author; and it was fortunate the doting old man did + not notice her eyes in the twilight, or he might have known that tears + were not far away. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's all right, then; I'm as ignorant as Cooper's cow when it + comes to the dictionary. How about what's-his-name callin' the girl + 'Naysweet'?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought myself that sounded foolish,:” confessed Rebecca; “but it's + what the Doctor calls Cora when he tries to persuade her not to quarrel + with his mother who comes to live with them. I know they don't say it in + Riverboro or Temperance, but I thought perhaps it was Boston talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it ain't!” asserted Mr. Cobb decisively. “I've druv Boston men up + in the stage from Milltown many's the time, and none of em ever said + Naysweet to me, nor nothin'like it. They talked like folks, every mother's + son of em! If I'd a' had that what's-his-name on the harricane deck' o' + the stage and he tried any naysweetin' on me, I'd a' pitched him into the + cornfield, side o' the road. I guess you ain't growed up enough for that + kind of a story, Rebecky, for your poetry can't be beat in York County, + that's sure, and your compositions are good enough to read out loud in + town meetin' any day!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca brightened up a little and bade the old couple her usual + affectionate good night, but she descended the hill in a saddened mood. + When she reached the bridge the sun, a ball of red fire, was setting + behind Squire Bean's woods. As she looked, it shone full on the broad, + still bosom of the river, and for one perfect instant the trees on the + shores were reflected, all swimming in a sea of pink. Leaning over the + rail, she watched the light fade from crimson to carmine, from carmine to + rose, from rose to amber, and from amber to gray. Then withdrawing + Lancelot or the Parted Lovers from her apron pocket, she tore the pages + into bits and dropped them into the water below with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jerry never said a word about the ending!” she thought; “and that + was so nice!” + </p> + <p> + And she was right; but while Uncle Jerry was an illuminating critic when + it came to the actions and language of his Riverboro neighbors, he had no + power to direct the young mariner when she “followed the gleam,” and used + her imagination. + </p> + <p> + OUR SECRET SOCIETY + </p> + <p> + November, 187— + </p> + <p> + Our Secret society has just had a splendid picnic in Candace Milliken's + barn. + </p> + <p> + Our name is the B.O.S.S., and not a single boy in the village has been + able to guess it. It means Braid Over Shoulder Society, and that is the + sign. All the members wear one of their braids over the right shoulder in + front; the president's tied with red ribbon (I am the president) and all + the rest tied with blue. + </p> + <p> + To attract the attention of another member when in company or at a public + place we take the braid between the thumb and little finger and stand + carelessly on one leg. This is the Secret Signal and the password is Sobb + (B.O.S.S. spelled backwards) which was my idea and is thought rather + uncommon. + </p> + <p> + One of the rules of the B.O.S.S. is that any member may be required to + tell her besetting sin at any meeting, if asked to do so by a majority of + the members. + </p> + <p> + This was Candace Milliken's idea and much opposed by everybody, but when + it came to a vote so many of the girls were afraid of offending Candace + that they agreed because there was nobody else's father and mother who + would let us picnic in their barn and use their plow, harrow, grindstone, + sleigh, carryall, pung, sled, and wheelbarrow, which we did and injured + hardly anything. + </p> + <p> + They asked me to tell my besetting sin at the very first meeting, and it + nearly killed me to do it because it is such a common greedy one. It is + that I can't bear to call the other girls when I have found a thick spot + when we are out berrying in the summer time. + </p> + <p> + After I confessed, which made me dreadfully ashamed, every one of the + girls seemed surprised and said they had never noticed that one but had + each thought of something very different that I would be sure to think was + my besetting sin. Then Emma Jane said that rather than tell hers she would + resign from the Society and miss the picnic. So it made so much trouble + that Candace gave up. We struck out the rule from the constitution and I + had told my sin for nothing. + </p> + <p> + The reason we named ourselves the B.O.S.S. is that Minnie Smellie has had + her head shaved after scarlet fever and has no braid, so she can't be a + member. + </p> + <p> + I don't want her for a member but I can't be happy thinking she will feel + slighted, and it takes away half the pleasure of belonging to the Society + myself and being president. + </p> + <p> + That, I think, is the principal trouble about doing mean and unkind + things; that you can't do wrong and feel right, or be bad and feel good. + If you only could you could do anything that came into your mind yet + always be happy. + </p> + <p> + Minnie Smellie spoils everything she comes into but I suppose we other + girls must either have our hair shaved and call ourselves The Baldheadians + or let her be some kind of a special officer in the B.O.S.S. + </p> + <p> + She might be the B.I.T.U.D. member (Braid in the Upper Drawer), for there + is where Mrs. Smellie keeps it now that it is cut off. + </p> + <p> + WINTER THOUGHTS + </p> + <p> + March, 187— + </p> + <p> + It is not such a cold day for March and I am up in the barn chamber with + my coat and hood on and Aunt Jane's waterproof and my mittens. + </p> + <p> + After I do three pages I am going to hide away this book in the haymow + till spring. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps they get made into icicles on the way but I do not seem to have + any thoughts in the winter time. The barn chamber is full of thoughts in + warm weather. The sky gives them to me, and the trees and flowers, and the + birds, and the river; but now it is always gray and nipping, the branches + are bare and the river is frozen. + </p> + <p> + It is too cold to write in my bedroom but while we still kept an open fire + I had a few thoughts, but now there is an air-tight stove in the dining + room where we sit, and we seem so close together, Aunt Miranda, Aunt Jane + and I that I don't like to write in my book for fear they will ask me to + read out loud my secret thoughts. + </p> + <p> + I have just read over the first part of my Thought Book and I have + outgrown it all, just exactly as I have outgrown my last year's drab + cashmere. + </p> + <p> + It is very queer how anybody can change so fast in a few months, but I + remember that Emma Jane's cat had kittens the day my book was bought at + Watson's store. Mrs. Perkins kept the prettiest white one, Abijah Flagg + drowning all the others. + </p> + <p> + It seems strange to me that cats will go on having kittens when they know + what becomes of them! We were very sad about it, but Mrs. Perkins said it + was the way of the world and how things had to be. + </p> + <p> + I cannot help being glad that they do not do the same with children, or + John and Jenny Mira Mark and me would all have had stones tied to our + necks and been dropped into the deepest part of Sunny Brook, for Hannah + and Fanny are the only truly handsome ones in the family. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Perkins says I dress up well, but never being dressed up it does not + matter much. At least they didn't wait to dress up the kittens to see how + they would improve, before drowning them, but decided right away. + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane's kitten that was born the same day this book was is now quite + an old cat who knows the way of the world herself, and how things have to + be, for she has had one batch of kittens drowned already. + </p> + <p> + So perhaps it is not strange that my Thought Book seems so babyish and + foolish to me when I think of all I have gone through and the millions of + things I have learned, and how much better I spell than I did ten months + ago. + </p> + <p> + My fingers are cold through the mittens, so good-bye dear Thought Book, + friend of my childhood, now so far far behind me! + </p> + <p> + I will hide you in the haymow where you'll be warm and cosy all the long + winter and where nobody can find you again in the summer time but your + affectionate author, + </p> + <p> + Rebecca Rowena Randall. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Fourth Chronicle. A TRAGEDY IN MILLINERY + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane Perkins's new winter dress was a blue and green Scotch plaid + poplin, trimmed with narrow green velvet-ribbon and steel nail-heads. She + had a gray jacket of thick furry cloth with large steel buttons up the + front, a pair of green kid gloves, and a gray felt hat with an encircling + band of bright green feathers. The band began in front with a bird's head + and ended behind with a bird's tail, and angels could have desired no more + beautiful toilette. That was her opinion, and it was shared to the full by + Rebecca. + </p> + <p> + But Emma Jane, as Rebecca had once described her to Mr. Adam Ladd, was a + rich blacksmith's daughter, and she, Rebecca, was a little half-orphan + from a mortgaged farm “up Temperance way,” dependent upon her spinster + aunts for board, clothes, and schooling. Scotch plaid poplins were + manifestly not for her, but dark-colored woolen stuffs were, and mittens, + and last winter's coats and furs. + </p> + <p> + And how about hats? Was there hope in store for her there? she wondered, + as she walked home from the Perkins house, full of admiration for Emma + Jane's winter outfit, and loyally trying to keep that admiration free from + wicked envy. Her red-winged black hat was her second best, and although it + was shabby she still liked it, but it would never do for church, even in + Aunt Miranda's strange and never-to-be-comprehended views of suitable + raiment. + </p> + <p> + There was a brown felt turban in existence, if one could call it existence + when it had been rained on, snowed on, and hailed on for two seasons; but + the trimmings had at any rate perished quite off the face of the earth, + that was one comfort! + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane had said, rather indiscreetly, that at the village milliner's at + Milliken's Mills there was a perfectly elegant pink breast to be had, a + breast that began in a perfectly elegant solferino and terminated in a + perfectly elegant magenta; two colors much in vogue at that time. If the + old brown hat was to be her portion yet another winter, would Aunt Miranda + conceal its deficiencies from a carping world beneath the shaded solferino + breast? WOULD she, that was the question? + </p> + <p> + Filled with these perplexing thoughts, Rebecca entered the brick house, + hung up her hood in the entry, and went into the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + Miss Jane was not there, but Aunt Miranda sat by the window with her lap + full of sewing things, and a chair piled with pasteboard boxes by her + side. In one hand was the ancient, battered, brown felt turban, and in the + other were the orange and black porcupine quills from Rebecca's last + summer's hat; from the hat of the summer before that, and the summer + before that, and so on back to prehistoric ages of which her childish + memory kept no specific record, though she was sure that Temperance and + Riverboro society did. Truly a sight to chill the blood of any eager young + dreamer who had been looking at gayer plumage! + </p> + <p> + Miss Sawyer glanced up for a second with a satisfied expression and then + bent her eyes again upon her work. + </p> + <p> + “If I was going to buy a hat trimming,” she said, “I couldn't select + anything better or more economical than these quills! Your mother had them + when she was married, and you wore them the day you come to the brick + house from the farm; and I said to myself then that they looked kind of + outlandish, but I've grown to like em now I've got used to em. You've been + here for goin' on two years and they've hardly be'n out o'wear, summer or + winter, more'n a month to a time! I declare they do beat all for service! + It don't seem as if your mother could a' chose em,—Aurelia was + always such a poor buyer! The black spills are bout as good as new, but + the orange ones are gittin' a little mite faded and shabby. I wonder if I + couldn't dip all of em in shoe blackin'? It seems real queer to put a + porcupine into hat trimmin', though I declare I don't know jest what the + animiles are like, it's be'n so long sence I looked at the pictures of em + in a geography. I always thought their quills stood out straight and + angry, but these kind o' curls round some at the ends, and that makes em + stand the wind better. How do you like em on the brown felt?” she asked, + inclining her head in a discriminating attitude and poising them awkwardly + on the hat with her work-stained hand. + </p> + <p> + How did she like them on the brown felt indeed? + </p> + <p> + Miss Sawyer had not been looking at Rebecca, but the child's eyes were + flashing, her bosom heaving, and her cheeks glowing with sudden rage and + despair. All at once something happened. She forgot that she was speaking + to an older person; forgot that she was dependent; forgot everything but + her disappointment at losing the solferino breast, remembering nothing but + the enchanting, dazzling beauty of Emma Jane Perkins's winter outfit; and + suddenly, quite without warning, she burst into a torrent of protest. + </p> + <p> + “I will NOT wear those hateful porcupine quills again this winter! I will + not! It's wicked, WICKED to expect me to! Oh! How I wish there never had + been any porcupines in the world, or that all of them had died before + silly, hateful people ever thought of trimming hat with them! They curl + round and tickle my ear! They blow against my cheek and sting it like + needles! They do look outlandish, you said so yourself a minute ago. + Nobody ever had any but only just me! The only porcupine was made into the + only quills for me and nobody else! I wish instead of sticking OUT of the + nasty beasts, that they stuck INTO them, same as they do into my cheek! I + suffer, suffer, suffer, wearing them and hating them, and they will last + forever and forever, and when I'm dead and can't help myself, somebody'll + rip them out of my last year's hat and stick them on my head, and I'll be + buried in them! Well, when I am buried THEY will be, that's one good + thing! Oh, if I ever have a child I'll let her choose her own feathers and + not make her wear ugly things like pigs' bristles and porcupine quills!” + </p> + <p> + With this lengthy tirade Rebecca vanished like a meteor, through the door + and down the street, while Miranda Sawyer gasped for breath, and prayed to + Heaven to help her understand such human whirlwinds as this Randall niece + of hers. + </p> + <p> + This was at three o'clock, and at half-past three Rebecca was kneeling on + the rag carpet with her head in her aunt's apron, sobbing her contrition. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Aunt Miranda, do forgive me if you can. It's the only time I've been + bad for months! You know it is! You know you said last week I hadn't been + any trouble lately. Something broke inside of me and came tumbling out of + my mouth in ugly words! The porcupine quills make me feel just as a bull + does when he sees a red cloth; nobody understands how I suffer with them!” + </p> + <p> + Miranda Sawyer had learned a few lessons in the last two years, lessons + which were making her (at least on her “good days”) a trifle kinder, and + at any rate a juster woman than she used to be. When she alighted on the + wrong side of her four-poster in the morning, or felt an extra touch of + rheumatism, she was still grim and unyielding; but sometimes a curious + sort of melting process seemed to go on within her, when her whole bony + structure softened, and her eyes grew less vitreous. At such moments + Rebecca used to feel as if a superincumbent iron pot had been lifted off + her head, allowing her to breath freely and enjoy the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said finally, after staring first at Rebecca and then at the + porcupine quills, as if to gain some insight into the situation, “well, I + never, sence I was born int' the world, heerd such a speech as you've + spoke, an' I guess there probably never was one. You'd better tell the + minister what you said and see what he thinks of his prize Sunday-school + scholar. But I'm too old and tired to scold and fuss, and try to train you + same as I did at first. You can punish yourself this time, like you used + to. Go fire something down the well, same as you did your pink parasol! + You've apologized and we won't say no more about it today, but I expect + you to show by extry good conduct how sorry you be! You care altogether + too much about your looks and your clothes for a child, and you've got a + temper that'll certainly land you in state's prison some o' these days!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca wiped her eyes and laughed aloud. “No, no, Aunt Miranda, it won't, + really! That wasn't temper; I don't get angry with PEOPLE; but only, once + in a long while, with things; like those,—cover them up quick before + I begin again! I'm all right! Shower's over, sun's out!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Miranda looked at her searchingly and uncomprehendingly. Rebecca's + state of mind came perilously near to disease, she thought. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen me buyin' any new bunnits, or your Aunt Jane?” she asked + cuttingly. “Is there any particular reason why you should dress better + than your elders? You might as well know that we're short of cash just + now, your Aunt Jane and me, and have no intention of riggin' you out like + a Milltown fact'ry girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh-h!” cried Rebecca, the quick tears starting again to her eyes and the + color fading out of her cheeks, as she scrambled up from her knees to a + seat on the sofa beside her aunt. “Oh-h! How ashamed I am! Quick, sew + those quills on to the brown turban while I'm good! If I can't stand them + I'll make a neat little gingham bag and slip over them!” + </p> + <p> + And so the matter ended, not as it customarily did, with cold words on + Miss Miranda's part and bitter feelings on Rebecca's, but with a gleam of + mutual understanding. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cobb, who was a master hand at coloring, dipped the offending quills + in brown dye and left them to soak in it all night, not only making them a + nice warm color, but somewhat weakening their rocky spines, so that they + were not quite as rampantly hideous as before, in Rebecca's opinion. + </p> + <p> + Then Mrs. Perkins went to her bandbox in the attic and gave Miss Dearborn + some pale blue velvet, with which she bound the brim of the brown turban + and made a wonderful rosette, out of which the porcupine's defensive armor + sprang, buoyantly and gallantly, like the plume of Henry of Navarre. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was resigned, if not greatly comforted, but she had grace enough + to conceal her feelings, now that she knew economy was at the root of some + of her aunt's decrees in matters of dress; and she managed to forget the + solferino breast, save in sleep, where a vision of it had a way of + appearing to her, dangling from the ceiling, and dazzling her so with its + rich color that she used to hope the milliner would sell it that she might + never be tempted with it when she passed the shop window. + </p> + <p> + One day, not long afterward, Miss Miranda borrowed Mr. Perkins's horse and + wagon and took Rebecca with her on a drive to Union, to see about some + sausage meat and head cheese. She intended to call on Mrs. Cobb, order a + load of pine wood from Mr. Strout on the way, and leave some rags for a + rug with old Mrs. Pease, so that the journey could be made as profitable + as possible, consistent with the loss of time and the wear and tear on her + second-best black dress. + </p> + <p> + The red-winged black hat was forcibly removed from Rebecca's head just + before starting, and the nightmare turban substituted. + </p> + <p> + “You might as well begin to wear it first as last,” remarked Miranda, + while Jane stood in the side door and sympathized secretly with Rebecca. + </p> + <p> + “I will!” said Rebecca, ramming the stiff turban down on her head with a + vindictive grimace, and snapping the elastic under her long braids; “but + it makes me think of what Mr. Robinson said when the minister told him his + mother-in-law would ride in the same buggy with him at his wife's + funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't see how any speech of Mr. Robinson's, made years an' years ago, + can have anything to do with wearin' your turban down to Union,” said + Miranda, settling the lap robe over her knees. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it can; because he said: Have it that way, then, but it'll spile + the hull blamed trip for me!'” + </p> + <p> + Jane closed the door suddenly, partly because she experienced a desire to + smile (a desire she had not felt for years before Rebecca came to the + brick house to live), and partly because she had no wish to overhear what + her sister would say when she took in the full significance of Rebecca's + anecdote, which was a favorite one with Mr. Perkins. + </p> + <p> + It was a cold blustering day with a high wind that promised to bring an + early fall of snow. The trees were stripped bare of leaves, the ground was + hard, and the wagon wheels rattled noisily over the thank-you-ma'ams. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad I wore my Paisley shawl over my cloak,” said Miranda. “Be you + warm enough, Rebecca? Tie that white rigolette tighter round your neck. + The wind fairly blows through my bones. I most wish t we'd waited till a + pleasanter day, for this Union road is all up hill or down, and we shan't + get over the ground fast, it's so rough. Don't forget, when you go into + Scott's, to say I want all the trimmin's when they send me the pork, for + mebbe I can try out a little mite o' lard. The last load o' pine's gone + turrible quick; I must see if “Bijah Flagg can't get us some cut-rounds at + the mills, when he hauls for Squire Bean next time. Keep your mind on your + drivin', Rebecca, and don't look at the trees and the sky so much. It's + the same sky and same trees that have been here right along. Go awful slow + down this hill and walk the hoss over Cook's Brook bridge, for I always + suspicion it's goin' to break down under me, an' I shouldn't want to be + dropped into that fast runnin' water this cold day. It'll be froze stiff + by this time next week. Hadn't you better get out and lead”— + </p> + <p> + The rest of the sentence was very possibly not vital, but at any rate it + was never completed, for in the middle of the bridge a fierce gale of wind + took Miss Miranda's Paisley shawl and blew it over her head. The long + heavy ends whirled in opposite directions and wrapped themselves tightly + about her wavering bonnet. Rebecca had the whip and the reins, and in + trying to rescue her struggling aunt could not steady her own hat, which + was suddenly torn from her head and tossed against the bridge rail, where + it trembled and flapped for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “My hat! Oh! Aunt Miranda, my hateful hat!” cried Rebecca, never + remembering at the instant how often she had prayed that the “fretful + porcupine” might some time vanish in this violent manner, since it refused + to die a natural death. + </p> + <p> + She had already stopped the horse, so, giving her aunt's shawl one last + desperate twitch, she slipped out between the wagon wheels, and darted in + the direction of the hated object, the loss of which had dignified it with + a temporary value and importance. + </p> + <p> + The stiff brown turban rose in the air, then dropped and flew along the + bridge; Rebecca pursued; it danced along and stuck between two of the + railings; Rebecca flew after it, her long braids floating in the wind. + </p> + <p> + “Come back! Come back! Don't leave me alone with the team. I won't have + it! Come back, and leave your hat!” + </p> + <p> + Miranda had at length extricated herself from the submerging shawl, but + she was so blinded by the wind, and so confused that she did not measure + the financial loss involved in her commands. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca heard, but her spirit being in arms, she made one more mad + scramble for the vagrant hat, which now seemed possessed with an evil + spirit, for it flew back and forth, and bounded here and there, like a + living thing, finally distinguishing itself by blowing between the horse's + front and hind legs, Rebecca trying to circumvent it by going around the + wagon, and meeting it on the other side. + </p> + <p> + It was no use; as she darted from behind the wheels the wind gave the hat + an extra whirl, and scurrying in the opposite direction it soared above + the bridge rail and disappeared into the rapid water below. + </p> + <p> + “Get in again!” cried Miranda, holding on her bonnet. “You done your best + and it can't be helped, I only wish't I'd let you wear your black hat as + you wanted to; and I wish't we'd never come such a day! The shawl has + broke the stems of the velvet geraniums in my bonnet, and the wind has + blowed away my shawl pin and my back comb. I'd like to give up and turn + right back this minute, but I don't like to borrer Perkins's hoss again + this month. When we get up in the woods you can smooth your hair down and + tie the rigolette over your head and settle what's left of my bonnet; + it'll be an expensive errant, this will!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + It was not till next morning that Rebecca's heart really began its song of + thanksgiving. Her Aunt Miranda announced at breakfast, that as Mrs. + Perkins was going to Milliken's Mills, Rebecca might go too, and buy a + serviceable hat. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't pay over two dollars and a half, and you mustn't get the pink + bird without Mrs. Perkins says, and the milliner says, that it won't fade + nor moult. Don't buy a light-colored felt because you'll get sick of it in + two or three years same as you did the brown one. I always liked the shape + of the brown one, and you'll never get another trimmin' that'll wear like + them quills.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not!” thought Rebecca. + </p> + <p> + “If you had put your elastic under your chin, same as you used to, and not + worn it behind because you think it's more grown-up an' fash'onable, the + wind never'd a' took the hat off your head, and you wouldn't a' lost it; + but the mischief's done and you can go right over to Mis' Perkins now, so + you won't miss her nor keep her waitin'. The two dollars and a half is in + an envelope side o' the clock.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca swallowed the last spoonful of picked-up codfish on her plate, + wiped her lips, and rose from her chair happier than the seraphs in + Paradise. + </p> + <p> + The porcupine quills had disappeared from her life, and without any fault + or violence on her part. She was wholly innocent and virtuous, but + nevertheless she was going to have a new hat with the solferino breast, + should the adored object prove, under rigorous examination, to be + practically indestructible. + </p> + <p> + “Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many hats I'll see; But if they're + trimmed with hedgehog quills They'll not belong to me!” + </p> + <p> + So she improvised, secretly and ecstatically, as she went towards the side + entry. + </p> + <p> + “There's 'Bijah Flagg drivin' in,” said Miss Miranda, going to the window. + “Step out and see what he's got, Jane; some passel from the Squire, I + guess. It's a paper bag and it may be a punkin, though he wouldn't wrop up + a punkin, come to think of it! Shet the dinin' room door, Jane; it's + turrible drafty. Make haste, for the Squire's hoss never stan's still a + minute cept when he's goin'!” + </p> + <p> + Abijah Flagg alighted and approached the side door with a grin. + </p> + <p> + “Guess what I've got for ye, Rebecky?” + </p> + <p> + No throb of prophetic soul warned Rebecca of her approaching doom. + </p> + <p> + “Nodhead apples?” she sparkled, looking as bright and rosy and + satin-skinned as an apple herself. + </p> + <p> + “No; guess again.” + </p> + <p> + “A flowering geranium?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess again!” + </p> + <p> + “Nuts? Oh! I can't, Bijah; I'm just going to Milliken's Mills on an + errand, and I'm afraid of missing Mrs. Perkins. Show me quick! Is it + really for me, or for Aunt Miranda?” + </p> + <p> + “Reely for you, I guess!” and he opened the large brown paper bag and drew + from it the remains of a water-soaked hat! + </p> + <p> + They WERE remains, but there was no doubt of their nature and substance. + They had clearly been a hat in the past, and one could even suppose that, + when resuscitated, they might again assume their original form in some + near and happy future. + </p> + <p> + Miss Miranda, full of curiosity, joined the group in the side entry at + this dramatic moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “Where, and how under the canopy, did you + ever?” + </p> + <p> + “I was working on the dam at Union Falls yesterday,” chuckled Abijah, with + a pleased glance at each of the trio in turn, “an' I seen this little + bunnit skippin' over the water jest as Becky does over the road. It's + shaped kind o' like a boat, an' gorry, ef it wa'nt sailin' jest like a + boat! Where hev I seen that kind of a bristlin' plume?' thinks I.” + </p> + <p> + (“Where indeed!” thought Rebecca stormily.) + </p> + <p> + “Then it come to me that I'd drove that plume to school and drove it to + meetin' and drove it to the Fair an'drove it most everywheres on Becky. So + I reached out a pole an' ketched it fore it got in amongst the logs an' + come to any damage, an' here it is! The hat's passed in its checks, I + guess; looks kind as if a wet elephant had stepped on it; but the plume's + bout's good as new! I reely fetched the hat beck for the sake o' the + plume.” + </p> + <p> + “It was real good of you, 'Bijah, an' we're all of us obliged to you,” + said Miranda, as she poised the hat on one hand and turned it slowly with + the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do say,” she exclaimed, “and I guess I've said it before, that of + all the wearing' plumes that ever I see, that one's the wearin'est! Seems + though it just wouldn't give up. Look at the way it's held Mis' Cobb's + dye; it's about as brown's when it went int' the water.” + </p> + <p> + “Dyed, but not a mite dead,” grinned Abijah, who was somewhat celebrated + for his puns. + </p> + <p> + “And I declare,” Miranda continued, “when you think o' the fuss they make + about ostriches, killin' em off by hundreds for the sake o' their feathers + that'll string out and spoil in one hard rainstorm,—an' all the time + lettin' useful porcupines run round with their quills on, why I can't + hardly understand it, without milliners have found out jest how good they + do last, an' so they won't use em for trimmin'. 'Bijah's right; the hat + ain't no more use, Rebecca, but you can buy you another this mornin'—any + color or shape you fancy—an' have Miss Morton sew these brown quills + on to it with some kind of a buckle or a bow, jest to hide the roots. Then + you'll be fixed for another season, thanks to 'Bijah.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Jerry and Aunt Sarah Cobb were made acquainted before very long with + the part that destiny, or Abijah Flagg, had played in Rebecca's affairs, + for, accompanied by the teacher, she walked to the old stage driver's that + same afternoon. Taking off her new hat with the venerable trimming, she + laid it somewhat ostentatiously upside down on the kitchen table and left + the room, dimpling a little more than usual. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Jerry rose from his seat, and, crossing the room, looked curiously + into the hat and found that a circular paper lining was neatly pinned in + the crown, and that it bore these lines, which were read aloud with great + effect by Miss Dearborn, and with her approval were copied in the Thought + Book for the benefit of posterity: + </p> + <p> + “It was the bristling porcupine, As he stood on his native heath, He said, + 'I'll pluck me some immortelles And make me up a wreath. For tho' I may + not live myself To more than a hundred and ten, My quills will last till + crack of doom, And maybe after then. They can be colored blue or green Or + orange, brown, or red, But often as they may be dyed They never will be + dead.' And so the bristling porcupine As he stood on his native heath, + Said, I think I'll pluck me some immmortelles And make me up a wreath.' + </p> + <p> + “R.R.R.” <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Fifth Chronicle. THE SAVING OF THE COLORS + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + Even when Rebecca had left school, having attained the great age of + seventeen and therefore able to look back over a past incredibly long and + full, she still reckoned time not by years, but by certain important + occurrences. + </p> + <p> + There was the year her father died; the year she left Sunnybrook Farm to + come to her aunts in Riverboro; the year Sister Hannah became engaged; the + year little Mira died; the year Abijah Flagg ceased to be Squire Bean's + chore-boy, and astounded Riverboro by departing for Limerick Academy in + search of an education; and finally the year of her graduation, which, to + the mind of seventeen, seems rather the culmination than the beginning of + existence. + </p> + <p> + Between these epoch-making events certain other happenings stood out in + bold relief against the gray of dull daily life. + </p> + <p> + There was the day she first met her friend of friends, “Mr. Aladdin,” and + the later, even more radiant one when he gave her the coral necklace. + There was the day the Simpson family moved away from Riverboro under a + cloud, and she kissed Clara Belle fervently at the cross-roads, telling + her that she would always be faithful. There was the visit of the Syrian + missionaries to the brick house. That was a bright, romantic memory, as + strange and brilliant as the wonderful little birds' wings and breasts + that the strangers brought from the Far East. She remembered the moment + they asked her to choose some for herself, and the rapture with which she + stroked the beautiful things as they lay on the black haircloth sofa. Then + there was the coming of the new minister, for though many were tried only + one was chosen; and finally there was the flag-raising, a festivity that + thrilled Riverboro and Edgewood society from centre to circumference, a + festivity that took place just before she entered the Female Seminary at + Wareham and said good-by to kind Miss Dearborn and the village school. + </p> + <p> + There must have been other flag-raisings in history,—even the + persons most interested in this particular one would grudgingly have + allowed that much,—but it would have seemed to them improbable that + any such flag-raising as theirs, either in magnitude of conception or + brilliancy of actual performance, could twice glorify the same century. Of + some pageants it is tacitly admitted that there can be no duplicates, and + the flag-raising at Riverboro Centre was one of these; so that it is small + wonder if Rebecca chose it as one of the important dates in her personal + almanac. + </p> + <p> + The new minister's wife was the being, under Providence, who had conceived + the germinal idea of the flag. + </p> + <p> + At this time the parish had almost settled down to the trembling belief + that they were united on a pastor. In the earlier time a minister was + chosen for life, and if he had faults, which was a probably enough + contingency, and if his congregation had any, which is within the bounds + of possibility, each bore with the other (not quite without friction), as + old-fashioned husbands and wives once did, before the easy way out of the + difficulty was discovered, or at least before it was popularized. + </p> + <p> + The faithful old parson had died after thirty years' preaching, and + perhaps the newer methods had begun to creep in, for it seemed impossible + to suit the two communities most interested in the choice. + </p> + <p> + The Rev. Mr. Davis, for example, was a spirited preacher, but persisted in + keeping two horses in the parsonage stable, and in exchanging them + whenever he could get faster ones. As a parochial visitor he was + incomparable, dashing from house to house with such speed that he could + cover the parish in a single afternoon. This sporting tendency, which + would never have been remarked in a British parson, was frowned upon in a + New England village, and Deacon Milliken told Mr. Davis, when giving him + what he alluded to as his “walking papers,” that they didn't want the + Edgewood church run by hoss power! + </p> + <p> + The next candidate pleased Edgewood, where morning preaching was held, but + the other parish, which had afternoon service, declined to accept him + because he wore a wig—an ill-matched, crookedly applied wig. + </p> + <p> + Number three was eloquent but given to gesticulation, and Mrs. Jere + Burbank, the president of the Dorcas Society, who sat in a front pew, said + she couldn't bear to see a preacher scramble round the pulpit hot Sundays. + </p> + <p> + Number four, a genial, handsome man, gifted in prayer, was found to be a + Democrat. The congregation was overwhelmingly Republican in its politics, + and perceived something ludicrous, if not positively blasphemous, in a + Democrat preaching the gospel. (“Ananias and Beelzebub'll be candidatin' + here, first thing we know!” exclaimed the outraged Republican nominee for + district attorney.) + </p> + <p> + Number five had a feeble-minded child, which the hiring committee + prophesied, would always be standing in the parsonage front yard, making + talk for the other denominations. + </p> + <p> + Number six was the Rev. Judson Baxter, the present incumbent; and he was + voted to be as near perfection as a minister can be in this finite world. + His young wife had a small income of her own, a distinct and unusual + advantage, and the subscription committee hoped that they might not be + eternally driving over the country to get somebody's fifty cents that had + been over-due for eight months, but might take their onerous duties a + little more easily. + </p> + <p> + “It does seem as if our ministers were the poorest lot!” complained Mrs. + Robinson. “If their salary is two months behindhand they begin to be + nervous! Seems as though they might lay up a little before they come here, + and not live from hand to mouth so! The Baxters seem quite different, and + I only hope they won't get wasteful and run into debt. They say she keeps + the parlor blinds open bout half the time, and the room is lit up so often + evenin's that the neighbors think her and Mr. Baxter must set in there. It + don't seem hardly as if it could be so, but Mrs. Buzzell says tis, and she + says we might as well say good-by to the parlor carpet, which is church + property, for the Baxters are living all over it!” + </p> + <p> + This criticism was the only discordant note in the chorus of praise, and + the people gradually grew accustomed to the open blinds and the overused + parlor carpet, which was just completing its twenty-fifth year of honest + service. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baxter communicated her patriotic idea of a new flag to the Dorcas + Society, proposing that the women should cut and make it themselves. + </p> + <p> + “It may not be quite as good as those manufactured in the large cities,” + she said, “but we shall be proud to see our home-made flag flying in the + breeze, and it will mean all the more to the young voters growing up, to + remember that their mothers made it with their own hands.” + </p> + <p> + “How would it do to let some of the girls help?” modestly asked Miss + Dearborn, the Riverboro teacher. “We might choose the best sewers and let + them put in at least a few stitches, so that they can feel they have a + share in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Just the thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Baxter. “We can cut the stripes and sew + them together, and after we have basted on the white stars the girls can + apply them to the blue ground. We must have it ready for the campaign + rally, and we couldn't christen it at a better time than in this + presidential year.” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + In this way the great enterprise was started, and day by day the + preparations went forward in the two villages. + </p> + <p> + The boys, as future voters and fighters, demanded an active share in the + proceedings, and were organized by Squire Bean into a fife and drum corps, + so that by day and night martial but most inharmonious music woke the + echoes, and deafened mothers felt their patriotism oozing out at the soles + of their shoes. + </p> + <p> + Dick Carter was made captain, for his grandfather had a gold medal given + him by Queen Victoria for rescuing three hundred and twenty-six passengers + from a sinking British vessel. Riverboro thought it high time to pay some + graceful tribute to Great Britain in return for her handsome conduct to + Captain Nahum Carter, and human imagination could contrive nothing more + impressive than a vicarious share in the flag raising. + </p> + <p> + Living Perkins tried to be happy in the ranks, for he was offered no + official position, principally, Mrs. Smellie observed, because “his + father's war record wa'nt clean.” “Oh, yes! Jim Perkins went to the war,” + she continued. “He hid out behind the hencoop when they was draftin', but + they found him and took him along. He got into one battle, too, somehow or + nother, but he run away from it. He was allers cautious, Jim was; if he + ever see trouble of any kind comin' towards him, he was out o' sight fore + it got a chance to light. He said eight dollars a month, without bounty, + wouldn't pay HIM to stop bullets for. He wouldn't fight a skeeter, Jim + wouldn't, but land! we ain't to war all the time, and he's a good neighbor + and a good blacksmith.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Dearborn was to be Columbia and the older girls of the two schools + were to be the States. Such trade in muslins and red, white, and blue + ribbons had never been known since “Watson kep' store,” and the number of + brief white petticoats hanging out to bleach would have caused the passing + stranger to imagine Riverboro a continual dancing school. + </p> + <p> + Juvenile virtue, both male and female, reached an almost impossible + height, for parents had only to lift a finger and say, “you shan't go to + the flag raising!” and the refractory spirit at once armed itself for new + struggles toward the perfect life. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jeremiah Cobb had consented to impersonate Uncle Sam, and was to drive + Columbia and the States to the “raising” on the top of his own stage. + Meantime the boys were drilling, the ladies were cutting and basting and + stitching, and the girls were sewing on stars; for the starry part of the + spangled banner was to remain with each of them in turn until she had + performed her share of the work. + </p> + <p> + It was felt by one and all a fine and splendid service indeed to help in + the making of the flag, and if Rebecca was proud to be of the chosen ones, + so was her Aunt Jane Sawyer, who had taught her all her delicate stitches. + </p> + <p> + On a long-looked-for afternoon in August the minister's wife drove up to + the brick house door, and handed out the great piece of bunting to + Rebecca, who received it in her arms with as much solemnity as if it had + been a child awaiting baptismal rites. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad!” she sighed happily. “I thought it would never come my + turn!” + </p> + <p> + “You should have had it a week ago, but Huldah Meserve upset the ink + bottle over her star, and we had to baste on another one. You are the + last, though, and then we shall sew the stars and stripes together, and + Seth Strout will get the top ready for hanging. Just think, it won't be + many days before you children will be pulling the rope with all your + strength, the band will be playing, the men will be cheering, and the new + flag will go higher and higher, till the red, white, and blue shows + against the sky!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca's eyes fairly blazed. “Shall I fell on' my star, or buttonhole + it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Look at all the others and make the most beautiful stitches you can, + that's all. It is your star, you know, and you can even imagine it is your + state, and try and have it the best of all. If everybody else is trying to + do the same thing with her state, that will make a great country, won't + it?” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca's eyes spoke glad confirmation of the idea. “My star, my state!” + she repeated joyously. “Oh, Mrs. Baxter, I'll make such fine stitches + you'll think the white grew out of the blue!” + </p> + <p> + The new minister's wife looked pleased to see her spark kindle a flame in + the young heart. “You can sew so much of yourself into your star,” she + went on in the glad voice that made her so winsome, “that when you are an + old lady you can put on your specs and find it among all the others. + Good-by! Come up to the parsonage Saturday afternoon; Mr. Baxter wants to + see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Judson, help that dear little genius of a Rebecca all you can!” she said + that night, when they were cosily talking in their parlor and living “all + over” the parish carpet. “I don't know what she may, or may not, come to, + some day; I only wish she were ours! If you could have seen her clasp the + flag tight in her arms and put her cheek against it, and watched the tears + of feeling start in her eyes when I told her that her star was her state! + I kept whispering to myself, Covet not thy neighbor's child!'” + </p> + <p> + Daily at four o'clock Rebecca scrubbed her hands almost to the bone, + brushed her hair, and otherwise prepared herself in body, mind, and spirit + for the consecrated labor of sewing on her star. All the time that her + needle cautiously, conscientiously formed the tiny stitches she was making + rhymes “in her head,” her favorite achievement being this: + </p> + <p> + “Your star, my star, all our stars together, They make the dear old banner + proud To float in the bright fall weather.” + </p> + <p> + There was much discussion as to which of the girls should impersonate the + State of Maine, for that was felt to be the highest honor in the gift of + the committee. + </p> + <p> + Alice Robinson was the prettiest child in the village, but she was very + shy and by no means a general favorite. + </p> + <p> + Minnie Smellie possessed the handsomest dress and a pair of white slippers + and open-work stockings that nearly carried the day. Still, as Miss Delia + Weeks well said, she was so stupid that if she should suck her thumb in + the very middle of the exercises nobody'd be a dite surprised! + </p> + <p> + Huldah Meserve was next voted upon, and the fact that if she were not + chosen her father might withdraw his subscription to the brass band fund + was a matter for grave consideration. + </p> + <p> + “I kind o' hate to have such a giggler for the State of Maine; let her be + the Goddess of Liberty,” proposed Mrs. Burbank, whose patriotism was more + local than national. + </p> + <p> + “How would Rebecca Randall do for Maine, and let her speak some of her + verses?” suggested the new minister's wife, who, could she have had her + way, would have given all the prominent parts to Rebecca, from Uncle Sam + down. + </p> + <p> + So, beauty, fashion, and wealth having been tried and found wanting, the + committee discussed the claims of talent, and it transpired that to the + awe-stricken Rebecca fell the chief plum in the pudding. It was a tribute + to her gifts that there was no jealousy or envy among the other girls; + they readily conceded her special fitness for the role. + </p> + <p> + Her life had not been pressed down full to the brim of pleasures, and she + had a sort of distrust of joy in the bud. Not until she saw it in full + radiance of bloom did she dare embrace it. She had never read any verse + but Byron, Felicia Hemans, bits of “Paradise Lost,” and the selections in + the school readers, but she would have agreed heartily with the poet who + said: + </p> + <p> + “Not by appointment do we meet delight And joy; they heed not our + expectancy; But round some corner in the streets of life They on a sudden + clasp us with a smile.” + </p> + <p> + For many nights before the raising, when she went to her bed she said to + herself, after she had finished her prayers: “It can't be true that I'm + chosen for the State of Maine! It just CAN'T be true! Nobody could be good + ENOUGH, but oh, I'll try to be as good as I can! To be going to Wareham + Seminary next week and to be the State of Maine too! Oh! I must pray HARD + to God to keep me meek and humble!” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + The flag was to be raised on a Tuesday, and on the previous Sunday it + became known to the children that Clara Belle Simpson was coming back from + Acreville, coming to live with Mrs. Fogg and take care of the baby, called + by the neighborhood boys “the Fogg horn,” on account of his excellent + voice production. + </p> + <p> + Clara Belle was one of Miss Dearborn's original flock, and if she were + left wholly out of the festivities she would be the only girl of suitable + age to be thus slighted; it seemed clear to the juvenile mind, therefore, + that neither she nor her descendants would ever recover from such a blow. + But, under all the circumstances, would she be allowed to join in the + procession? Even Rebecca, the optimistic, feared not, and the committee + confirmed her fears by saying that Abner Simpson's daughter certainly + could not take any prominent part in the ceremony, but they hoped that + Mrs. Fogg would allow her to witness it. + </p> + <p> + When Abner Simpson, urged by the town authorities, took his wife and seven + children away from Riverboro to Acreville, just over the border in the + next county, Riverboro went to bed leaving its barn and shed doors + unfastened, and drew long breaths of gratitude to Providence. + </p> + <p> + Of most winning disposition and genial manners, Mr. Simpson had not that + instinctive comprehension of property rights which renders a man a + valuable citizen. + </p> + <p> + Squire Bean was his nearest neighbor, and he conceived the novel idea of + paying Simpson five dollars a year not to steal from him, a method + occasionally used in the Highlands in the early days. + </p> + <p> + The bargain was struck, and adhered to religiously for a twelve-month, but + on the second of January Mr. Simpson announced the verbal contract as + formally broken. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know what I was doin' when I made it, Squire,” he urged. “In the + first place, it's a slur on my reputation and an injury to my + self-respect. Secondly, it's a nervous strain on me; and thirdly, five + dollars don't pay me!” + </p> + <p> + Squire Bean was so struck with the unique and convincing nature of these + arguments that he could scarcely restrain his admiration, and he confessed + to himself afterward, that unless Simpson's mental attitude could be + changed he was perhaps a fitter subject for medical science than the state + prison. + </p> + <p> + Abner was a most unusual thief, and conducted his operations with a tact + and neighborly consideration none too common in the profession. He would + never steal a man's scythe in haying-time, nor his fur lap-robe in the + coldest of the winter. The picking of a lock offered no attractions to + him; “he wa'n't no burglar,” he would have scornfully asserted. A strange + horse and wagon hitched by the roadside was the most flagrant of his + thefts; but it was the small things—the hatchet or axe on the + chopping-block, the tin pans sunning at the side door, a stray garment + bleaching on the grass, a hoe, rake, shovel, or a bag of early potatoes, + that tempted him most sorely; and these appealed to him not so much for + their intrinsic value as because they were so excellently adapted to + swapping. The swapping was really the enjoyable part of the procedure, the + theft was only a sad but necessary preliminary; for if Abner himself had + been a man of sufficient property to carry on his business operations + independently, it is doubtful if he would have helped himself so freely to + his neighbor's goods. + </p> + <p> + Riverboro regretted the loss of Mrs. Simpson, who was useful in scrubbing, + cleaning, and washing, and was thought to exercise some influence over her + predatory spouse. There was a story of their early married life, when they + had a farm; a story to the effect that Mrs. Simpson always rode on every + load of hay that her husband took to Milltown, with the view of keeping + him sober through the day. After he turned out of the country road and + approached the metropolis, it was said that he used to bury the docile + lady in the load. He would then drive on to the scales, have the weight of + the hay entered in the buyer's book, take his horses to the stable for + feed and water, and when a favorable opportunity offered he would assist + the hot and panting Mrs. Simpson out of the side or back of the rack, and + gallantly brush the straw from her person. For this reason it was always + asserted that Abner Simpson sold his wife every time he went to Milltown, + but the story was never fully substantiated, and at all events it was the + only suspected blot on meek Mrs. Simpson's personal reputation. + </p> + <p> + As for the Simpson children, they were missed chiefly as familiar figures + by the roadside; but Rebecca honestly loved Clara Belle, notwithstanding + her Aunt Miranda's opposition to the intimacy. Rebecca's “taste for low + company” was a source of continual anxiety to her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Anything that's human flesh is good enough for her!” Miranda groaned to + Jane. “She'll ride with the rag-sack-and-bottle peddler just as quick as + she would with the minister; she always sets beside the St. Vitus' dance + young one at Sabbath school; and she's forever riggin' and onriggin' that + dirty Simpson baby! She reminds me of a puppy that'll always go to + everybody that'll have him!” + </p> + <p> + It was thought very creditable to Mrs. Fogg that she sent for Clara Belle + to live with her and go to school part of the year. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be useful” said Mrs. Fogg, “and she'll be out of her father's way, + and so keep honest; though she's no awful hombly I've no fears for her. A + girl with her red hair, freckles, and cross-eyes can't fall into no kind + of sin, I don't believe.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fogg requested that Clara Belle should be started on her journey from + Acreville by train and come the rest of the way by stage, and she was + disturbed to receive word on Sunday that Mr. Simpson had borrowed a “good + roader” from a new acquaintance, and would himself drive the girl from + Acreville to Riverboro, a distance of thirty-five miles. That he would + arrive in their vicinity on the very night before the flag-raising was + thought by Riverboro to be a public misfortune, and several residents + hastily determined to deny themselves a sight of the festivities and + remain watchfully on their own premises. + </p> + <p> + On Monday afternoon the children were rehearsing their songs at the + meeting-house. As Rebecca came out on the broad wooden steps she watched + Mrs. Peter Meserve's buggy out of sight, for in front, wrapped in a cotton + sheet, lay the previous flag. After a few chattering good-bys and weather + prophecies with the other girls, she started on her homeward walk, + dropping in at the parsonage to read her verses to the minister. + </p> + <p> + He welcomed her gladly as she removed her white cotton gloves (hastily + slipped on outside the door, for ceremony) and pushed back the funny hat + with the yellow and black porcupine quills—the hat with which she + made her first appearance in Riverboro society. + </p> + <p> + “You've heard the beginning, Mr. Baxter; now will you please tell me if + you like the last verse?” she asked, taking out her paper. “I've only read + it to Alice Robinson, and I think perhaps she can never be a poet, though + she's a splendid writer. Last year when she was twelve she wrote a + birthday poem to herself, and she made natal' rhyme with Milton,.' which, + of course, it wouldn't. I remember every verse ended: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'This is my day so natal + And I will follow Milton.' +</pre> + <p> + Another one of hers was written just because she couldn't help it, she + said. This was it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Let me to the hills away, + Give me pen and paper; + I'll write until the earth will sway + The story of my Maker.'” + </pre> + <p> + The minister could scarcely refrain from smiling, but he controlled + himself that he might lose none of Rebecca's quaint observations. When she + was perfectly at ease, unwatched and uncriticised, she was a marvelous + companion. + </p> + <p> + “The name of the poem is going to be My Star,'” she continued, “and Mrs. + Baxter gave me all the ideas, but somehow there's a kind of magicness when + they get into poetry, don't you think so?” (Rebecca always talked to grown + people as if she were their age, or, a more subtle and truer distinction, + as if they were hers.) + </p> + <p> + “It has often been so remarked, in different words,” agreed the minister. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Mrs. Baxter said that each star was a state, and if each state did its +best we should have a splendid country. Then once she said that we ought +to be glad the war is over and the States are all at peace together; and +I thought Columbia must be glad, too, for Miss Dearborn says she's +the mother of all the States. So I'm going to have it end like this: I +didn't write it, I just sewed it while I was working on my star: + + For it's your star, my star, all the stars together, + That make our country's flag so proud + To float in the bright fall weather. + Northern stars, Southern stars, stars of the East and West, + Side by side they lie at peace + On the dear flag's mother-breast.” + </pre> + <p> + “'Oh! many are the poets that are sown by nature,'” thought the minister, + quoting Wordsworth to himself. “And I wonder what becomes of them! That's + a pretty idea, little Rebecca, and I don't know whether you or my wife + ought to have the more praise. What made you think of the stars lying on + the flag's mother-breast'? Where did you get that word?” + </p> + <p> + “Why” (and the young poet looked rather puzzled), “that's the way it is; + the flag is the whole country—the mother—and the stars are the + states. The stars had to lie somewhere: 'LAP' nor 'ARMS' wouldn't sound + well with West,' so, of course, I said 'BREAST,'” Rebecca answered, with + some surprise at the question; and the minister put his hand under her + chin and kissed her softly on the forehead when he said good-by at the + door. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Rebecca walked rapidly along in the gathering twilight, thinking of the + eventful morrow. + </p> + <p> + As she approached the turning on the left called the old Milltown road, + she saw a white horse and wagon, driven by a man with a rakish, flapping, + Panama hat, come rapidly around the turn and disappear over the long hills + leading down to the falls. There was no mistaking him; there never was + another Abner Simpson, with his lean height, his bushy reddish hair, the + gay cock of his hat, and the long piratical, upturned mustaches, which the + boys used to say were used as hat-racks by the Simpson children at night.. + The old Milltown road ran past Mrs. Fogg's house, so he must have left + Clara Belle there, and Rebecca's heart glowed to think that her poor + little friend need not miss the raising. + </p> + <p> + She began to run now, fearful of being late for supper, and covered the + ground to the falls in a brief time. As she crossed the bridge she again + saw Abner Simpson's team, drawn up at the watering trough. + </p> + <p> + Coming a little nearer, with the view of inquiring for the family, her + quick eye caught sight of something unexpected. A gust of wind blew up a + corner of a linen lap-robe in the back of the wagon, and underneath it she + distinctly saw the white-sheeted bundle that held the flag; the bundle + with a tiny, tiny spot of red bunting peeping out at one corner. It is + true she had eaten, slept, dreamed red, white, and blue for weeks, but + there was no mistaking the evidence of her senses; the idolized flag, + longed for, worked for, sewed for, that flag was in the back of Abner + Simpson's wagon, and if so, what would become of the raising? + </p> + <p> + Acting on blind impulse, she ran toward the watering-trough, calling out + in her clear treble: “Mr. Simpson! Oh, Mr. Simpson, will you let me ride a + piece with you and hear all about Clara Belle? I'm going part way over to + the Centre on an errand.” (So she was; a most important errand,—to + recover the flag of her country at present in the hands of the foe!) + </p> + <p> + Mr. Simpson turned round in his seat and cried heartily, “Certain sure I + will!” for he liked the fair sex, young and old, and Rebecca had always + been a prime favorite with him. “Climb right in! How's everybody? Glad to + see ye! The folks talk bout ye from sun-up to sun-down, and Clara Belle + can't hardly wait for a sight of ye!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca scrambled up, trembling and pale with excitement. She did not in + the least know what was going to happen, but she was sure that the flag, + when in the enemy's country, must be at least a little safer with the + State of Maine sitting on top of it! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Simpson began a long monologue about Acreville, the house he lived in, + the pond in front of it, Mrs. Simpson's health, and various items of news + about the children, varied by reports of his personal misfortunes. He put + no questions, and asked no replies, so this gave the inexperienced soldier + a few seconds to plan a campaign. There were three houses to pass; the + Browns' at the corner, the Millikens', and the Robinsons' on the brow of + the hill. If Mr. Robinson were in the front yard she might tell Mr. + Simpson she wanted to call there and ask Mr. Robinson to hold the horse's + head while she got out of the wagon. Then she might fly to the back before + Mr. Simpson could realize the situation, and dragging out the precious + bundle, sit on it hard, while Mr. Robinson settled the matter of ownership + with Mr. Simpson. + </p> + <p> + This was feasible, but it meant a quarrel between the two men, who held an + ancient grudge against each other, and Mr. Simpson was a valiant fighter + as the various sheriffs who had attempted to arrest him could cordially + testify. It also meant that everybody in the village would hear of the + incident and poor Clara Belle be branded again as the child of a thief. + </p> + <p> + Another idea danced into her excited brain; such a clever one she could + hardly believe it hers. She might call Mr. Robinson to the wagon, and when + he came close to the wheels she might say, “all of a sudden”: “Please take + the flag out of the back of the wagon, Mr. Robinson. We have brought it + here for you to keep overnight.” Mr. Simpson might be so surprised that he + would give up his prize rather than be suspected of stealing. + </p> + <p> + But as they neared the Robinsons' house there was not a sign of life to be + seen; so the last plan, ingenious though it was, was perforce abandoned. + </p> + <p> + The road now lay between thick pine woods with no dwelling in sight. It + was growing dusk and Rebecca was driving along the lonely way with a + person who was generally called Slippery Simpson. + </p> + <p> + Not a thought of fear crossed her mind, save the fear of bungling in her + diplomacy, and so losing the flag. She knew Mr. Simpson well, and a + pleasanter man was seldom to be met. She recalled an afternoon when he + came home and surprised the whole school playing the Revolutionary War in + his helter-skelter dooryard, and the way in which he had joined the + British forces and impersonated General Burgoyne had greatly endeared him + to her. The only difficulty was to find proper words for her delicate + mission, for, of course, if Mr. Simpson's anger were aroused, he would + politely push her out of the wagon and drive away with the flag. Perhaps + if she led the conversation in the right direction an opportunity would + present itself. She well remembered how Emma Jane Perkins had failed to + convert Jacob Moody, simply because she failed to “lead up” to the + delicate question of his manner of life. Clearing her throat nervously, + she began: “Is it likely to be fair tomorrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess so; clear as a bell. What's on foot; a picnic?” + </p> + <p> + “No; we're to have a grand flag-raising!” (“That is,” she thought, “if we + have any flag to raise!”) + </p> + <p> + “That so? Where?” + </p> + <p> + “The three villages are to club together and have a rally, and raise the + flag at the Centre. There'll be a brass band, and speakers, and the Mayor + of Portland, and the man that will be governor if he's elected, and a + dinner in the Grange Hall, and we girls are chosen to raise the flag.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know! That'll be grand, won't it?” (Still not a sign of + consciousness on the part of Abner.) + </p> + <p> + “I hope Mrs. Fogg will take Clara Belle, for it will be splendid to look + at! Mr. Cobb is going to be Uncle Sam and drive us on the stage. Miss + Dearborn—Clara Belle's old teacher, you know—is going to be + Columbia; the girls will be the States of the Union, and oh, Mr. Simpson, + I am the one to be the State of Maine!” (This was not altogether to the + point, but a piece of information impossible to conceal.) + </p> + <p> + Mr. Simpson flourished the whipstock and gave a loud, hearty laugh. Then + he turned in his seat and regarded Rebecca curiously. “You're kind of + small, hain't ye, for so big a state as this one?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Any of us would be too small,” replied Rebecca with dignity, “but the + committee asked me, and I am going to try hard to do well.” + </p> + <p> + The tragic thought that there might be no occasion for anybody to do + anything, well or ill, suddenly overcame her here, and putting her hand on + Mr. Simpson's sleeve, she attacked the subject practically and + courageously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Simpson, dear Mr. Simpson, it's such a mortifying subject I can't + bear to say anything about it, but please give us back our flag! Don't, + DON'T take it over to Acreville, Mr. Simpson! We've worked so long to make + it, and it was so hard getting the money for the bunting! Wait a minute, + please; don't be angry, and don't say no just yet, till I explain more. + It'll be so dreadful for everybody to get there tomorrow morning and find + no flag to raise, and the band and the mayor all disappointed, and the + children crying, with their muslin dresses all bought for nothing! O dear + Mr. Simpson, please don't take our flag away from us!” + </p> + <p> + The apparently astonished Abner pulled his mustaches and exclaimed: “But I + don't know what you're drivin' at! Who's got yer flag? I hain't!” + </p> + <p> + Could duplicity, deceit, and infamy go any further, Rebecca wondered, and + her soul filling with righteous wrath, she cast discretion to the winds + and spoke a little more plainly, bending her great swimming eyes on the + now embarrassed Abner, who looked like an angle-worm, wriggling on a pin. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Simpson, how can you say that, when I saw the flag in the back of + your wagon myself, when you stopped to water the horse? It's wicked of you + to take it, and I cannot bear it!” (Her voice broke now, for a doubt of + Mr. Simpson's yielding suddenly darkened her mind.) “If you keep it, + you'll have to keep me, for I won't be parted from it! I can't fight like + the boys, but I can pinch and scratch, and I WILL scratch, just like a + panther—I'll lie right down on my star and not move, if I starve to + death!” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, hold your hosses n' don't cry till you git something to cry + for!” grumbled the outraged Abner, to whom a clue had just come; and + leaning over the wagon-back he caught hold of a corner of white sheet and + dragged up the bundle, scooping off Rebecca's hat in the process, and + almost burying her in bunting. + </p> + <p> + She caught the treasure passionately to her heart and stifled her sobs in + it, while Abner exclaimed: “I swan to man, if that hain't a flag! Well, in + that case you're good n' welcome to it! Land! I seen that bundle lyin' in + the middle o' the road and I says to myself, that's somebody's washin' and + I'd better pick it up and leave it at the post-office to be claimed; n' + all the time it was a flag!” + </p> + <p> + This was a Simpsonian version of the matter, the fact being that a + white-covered bundle lying on the Meserves' front steps had attracted his + practiced eye, and slipping in at the open gate he had swiftly and deftly + removed it to his wagon on general principles; thinking if it were clean + clothes it would be extremely useful, and in any event there was no good + in passing by something flung into your very arms, so to speak. He had had + no leisure to examine the bundle, and indeed took little interest in it. + Probably he stole it simply from force of habit, and because there was + nothing else in sight to steal, everybody's premises being preternaturally + tidy and empty, almost as if his visit had been expected! + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was a practical child, and it seemed to her almost impossible that + so heavy a bundle should fall out of Mrs. Meserve's buggy and not be + noticed; but she hoped that Mr. Simpson was telling the truth, and she was + too glad and grateful to doubt anyone at the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, thank you ever so much, Mr. Simpson. You're the nicest, + kindest, politest man I ever knew, and the girls will be so pleased you + gave us back the flag, and so will the Dorcas Society; they'll be sure to + write you a letter of thanks; they always do.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell em not to bother bout any thanks,” said Simpson, beaming virtuously. + “But land! I'm glad twas me that happened to see that bundle in the road + and take the trouble to pick it up.” (“Jest to think of it's bein' a + flag!” he thought; “if ever there was a pesky, wuthless thing to trade + off, twould be a great, gormin' flag like that!”) + </p> + <p> + “Can I get out now, please?” asked Rebecca. “I want to go back, for Mrs. + Meserve will be dreadfully nervous when she finds out she dropped the + flag, and she has heart trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you don't,” objected Mr. Simpson gallantly, turning the horse. “Do + you think I'd let a little creeter like you lug that great heavy bundle? I + hain't got time to go back to Meserve's, but I'll take you to the corner + and dump you there, flag n' all, and you can get some o' the men-folks to + carry it the rest o' the way. You'll wear it out, huggin' it so!” + </p> + <p> + “I helped make it and I adore it!” said Rebecca, who was in a high-pitched + and grandiloquent mood. “Why don't YOU like it? It's your country's flag.” + </p> + <p> + Simpson smiled an indulgent smile and looked a trifle bored at these + frequent appeals to his extremely rusty higher feelings. + </p> + <p> + “I don' know's I've got any partic'lar int'rest in the country,” he + remarked languidly. “I know I don't owe nothin' to it, nor own nothin' in + it!” + </p> + <p> + “You own a star on the flag, same as everybody,” argued Rebecca, who had + been feeding on patriotism for a month; “and you own a state, too, like + all of us!” + </p> + <p> + “Land! I wish't I did! or even a quarter section!” sighed Mr. Simpson, + feeling somehow a little more poverty-stricken and discouraged than usual. + </p> + <p> + As they approached the corner and the watering-trough where four + cross-roads met, the whole neighborhood seemed to be in evidence, and Mr. + Simpson suddenly regretted his chivalrous escort of Rebecca; especially + when, as he neared the group, an excited lady, wringing her hands, turned + out to be Mrs. Peter Meserve, accompanied by Huldah, the Browns, Mrs. + Milliken, Abijah Flagg, and Miss Dearborn. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything about the new flag, Rebecca?” shrieked Mrs. Meserve, + too agitated, at the moment, to notice the child's companion. + </p> + <p> + “It's right here in my lap, all safe,” responded Rebecca joyously. + </p> + <p> + “You careless, meddlesome young one, to take it off my steps where I left + it just long enough to go round to the back and hunt up my door-key! + You've given me a fit of sickness with my weak heart, and what business + was it of yours? I believe you think you OWN the flag! Hand it over to me + this minute!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was climbing down during this torrent of language, but as she + turned she flashed one look of knowledge at the false Simpson, a look that + went through him from head to foot, as if it were carried by electricity. + </p> + <p> + He had not deceived her after all, owing to the angry chatter of Mrs. + Meserve. He had been handcuffed twice in his life, but no sheriff had ever + discomfited him so thoroughly as this child. Fury mounted to his brain, + and as soon as she was safely out from between the wheels he stood up in + the wagon and flung the flag out in the road in the midst of the excited + group. + </p> + <p> + “Take it, you pious, passimonious, cheese-parin', hair-splittin', + back-bitin', flag-raisin' crew!” he roared. “Rebecca never took the flag; + I found it in the road, I say!” + </p> + <p> + “You never, no such a thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Meserve. “You found it on the + doorsteps in my garden!” + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe twas your garden, but it was so chock full o' weeks I THOUGHT twas + the road,” retorted Abner. “I vow I wouldn't a' given the old rag back to + one o' YOU, not if you begged me on your bended knees! But Rebecca's a + friend o' my folks and can do with her flag's she's a mind to, and the + rest o' ye can go to thunder—n' stay there, for all I care!” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he made a sharp turn, gave the gaunt white horse a lash and + disappeared in a cloud of dust, before the astonished Mr. Brown, the only + man in the party, had a thought of detaining him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry I spoke so quick, Rebecca,” said Mrs. Meserve, greatly + mortified at the situation. “But don't you believe a word that lyin' + critter said! He did steal it off my doorstep, and how did you come to be + ridin' and consortin' with him! I believe it would kill your Aunt Miranda + if she should hear about it!” + </p> + <p> + The little school-teacher put a sheltering arm round Rebecca as Mr. Brown + picked up the flag and dusted and folded it. + </p> + <p> + “I'm willing she should hear about it,” Rebecca answered. “I didn't do + anything to be ashamed of! I saw the flag in the back of Mr. Simpson's + wagon and I just followed it. There weren't any men or any Dorcases to + take care of it and so it fell to me! You wouldn't have had me let it out + of my sight, would you, and we going to raise it tomorrow morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Rebecca's perfectly right, Mrs. Meserve!” said Miss Dearborn proudly. + “And it's lucky there was somebody quick-witted enough to ride and + consort' with Mr. Simpson! I don't know what the village will think, but + seems to me the town clerk might write down in his book, THIS DAY THE + STATE OF MAINE SAVED THE FLAG!'” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Sixth Chronicle. THE STATE O' MAINE GIRL + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + The foregoing episode, if narrated in a romance, would undoubtedly have + been called “The Saving of the Colors,” but at the nightly conversazione + in Watson's store it was alluded to as the way little Becky Randall got + the flag away from Slippery Simpson. + </p> + <p> + Dramatic as it was, it passed into the limbo of half-forgotten things in + Rebecca's mind, its brief importance submerged in the glories of the next + day. + </p> + <p> + There was a painful prelude to these glories. Alice Robinson came to spend + the night with Rebecca, and when the bedroom door closed upon the two + girls, Alice announced here intention of “doing up” Rebecca's front hair + in leads and rags, and braiding the back in six tight, wetted braids. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca demurred. Alice persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Your hair is so long and thick and dark and straight,” she said, “that + you'll look like an Injun!” + </p> + <p> + “I am the State of Maine; it all belonged to the Indians once,” Rebecca + remarked gloomily, for she was curiously shy about discussing her personal + appearance. + </p> + <p> + “And your wreath of little pine-cones won't set decent without crimps,” + continued Alice. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca glanced in the cracked looking-glass and met what she considered + an accusing lack of beauty, a sight that always either saddened or enraged + her according to circumstances; then she sat down resignedly and began to + help Alice in the philanthropic work of making the State of Maine fit to + be seen at the raising. + </p> + <p> + Neither of the girls was an expert hairdresser, and at the end of an hour, + when the sixth braid was tied, and Rebecca had given one last shuddering + look in the mirror, both were ready to weep with fatigue. + </p> + <p> + The candle was blown out and Alice soon went to sleep, but Rebecca tossed + on her pillow, its goose-feathered softness all dented by the cruel lead + knobs and the knots of twisted rags. She slipped out of bed and walked to + and fro, holding her aching head with both hands. Finally she leaned on + the window-sill, watching the still weather-vane on Alice's barn and + breathing in the fragrance of the ripening apples, until her restlessness + subsided under the clear starry beauty of the night. + </p> + <p> + At six in the morning the girls were out of bed, for Alice could hardly + wait until Rebecca's hair was taken down, she was so eager to see the + result of her labors. + </p> + <p> + The leads and rags were painfully removed, together with much hair, the + operation being punctuated by a series of squeaks, squeals, and shrieks on + the part of Rebecca and a series of warnings from Alice, who wished the + preliminaries to be kept secret from the aunts, that they might the more + fully appreciate the radiant result. + </p> + <p> + Then came the unbraiding, and then—dramatic moment—the + “combing out;” a difficult, not to say impossible process, in which the + hairs that had resisted the earlier stages almost gave up the ghost. + </p> + <p> + The long front strands had been wound up from various angles and by + various methods, so that, when released, they assumed the strangest, most + obstinate, most unexpected attitudes. When the comb was dragged through + the last braid, the wild, tortured, electric hairs following, and then + rebounding from it in a bristling, snarling tangle. Massachusetts gave one + encompassing glance at the State o' Maine's head, and announced her + intention of going home to breakfast! She was deeply grieved at the result + of her attempted beautifying, but she felt that meeting Miss Miranda + Sawyer at the morning meal would not mend matters in the least, so + slipping out of the side door, she ran up Guide Board hill as fast as her + legs could carry her. + </p> + <p> + The State o' Maine, deserted and somewhat unnerved, sat down before the + glass and attacked her hair doggedly and with set lips, working over it + until Miss Jane called her to breakfast; then, with a boldness born of + despair, she entered the dining room, where her aunts were already seated + at table. To “draw fire” she whistled, a forbidden joy, which only + attracted more attention, instead of diverting it. There was a moment of + silence after the grotesque figure was fully taken in; then came a moan + from Jane and a groan from Miranda. + </p> + <p> + “What have you done to yourself?” asked Miranda sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Made an effort to be beautiful and failed!” jauntily replied Rebecca, but + she was too miserable to keep up the fiction. “Oh, Aunt Miranda, don't + scold. I'm so unhappy! Alice and I rolled up my hair to curl it for the + raising. She said it was so straight I looked like an Indian!” + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe you did,” vigorously agreed Miranda, “but 't any rate you looked + like a Christian Injun, 'n' now you look like a heathen Injun; that's all + the difference I can see. What can we do with her, Jane, between this and + nine o'clock?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll all go out to the pump just as soon as we're through breakfast,” + answered Jane soothingly. “We can accomplish consid'rable with water and + force.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca nibbled her corn-cake, her tearful eyes cast on her plate and her + chin quivering. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you cry and red your eyes up,” chided Miranda quite kindly; “the + minute you've eat enough run up and get your brush and comb and meet us at + the back door.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't care myself how bad I looked,” said Rebecca, “but I can't bear + to be so homely that I shame the State of Maine!” + </p> + <p> + Oh, what an hour followed this plaint! Did any aspirant for literary or + dramatic honors ever pass to fame through such an antechamber of horrors? + Did poet of the day ever have his head so maltreated? To be dipped in the + rain-water tub, soused again and again; to be held under the spout and + pumped on; to be rubbed furiously with rough roller towels; to be dried + with hot flannels! And is it not well-nigh incredible that at the close of + such an hour the ends of the long hair should still stand out straight, + the braids having been turned up two inches by Alice, and tied hard in + that position with linen thread? + </p> + <p> + “Get out the skirt-board, Jane,” cried Miranda, to whom opposition served + as a tonic, “and move that flat-iron on to the front o' the stove. + Rebecca, set down in that low chair beside the board, and Jane, you spread + out her hair on it and cover it up with brown paper. Don't cringe, + Rebecca; the worst's over, and you've borne up real good! I'll be careful + not to pull your hair nor scorch you, and oh, HOW I'd like to have Alice + Robinson acrost my knee and a good strip o' shingle in my right hand! + There, you're all ironed out and your Aunt Jane can put on your white + dress and braid your hair up again good and tight. Perhaps you won't be + the hombliest of the states, after all; but when I see you comin' in to + breakfast I said to myself: I guess if Maine looked like that, it wouldn't + never a' been admitted into the Union!'” + </p> + <p> + When Uncle Sam and the stagecoach drew up to the brick house with a grand + swing and a flourish, the goddess of Liberty and most of the States were + already in their places on the “harricane deck.” + </p> + <p> + Words fail to describe the gallant bearing of the horses, their headstalls + gayly trimmed and their harnesses dotted with little flags. The stage + windows were hung in bunting, and from within beamed Columbia, looking out + from the bright frame as if proud of her freight of loyal children. + Patriotic streamers floated from whip, from dash-board and from rumble, + and the effect of the whole was something to stimulate the most phlegmatic + voter. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca came out on the steps and Aunt Jane brought a chair to assist in + the ascent. Miss Dearborn peeped from the window, and gave a despairing + look at her favorite. + </p> + <p> + What had happened to her? Who had dressed her? Had her head been put + through a wringing-machine? Why were her eyes red and swollen? Miss + Dearborn determined to take her behind the trees in the pine grove and + give her some finishing touches; touches that her skillful fingers fairly + itched to bestow. + </p> + <p> + The stage started, and as the roadside pageant grew gayer and gayer, + Rebecca began to brighten and look prettier, for most of her beautifying + came from within. The people, walking, driving, or standing on their + doorsteps, cheered Uncle Sam's coach with its freight of + gossamer-muslined, fluttering-ribboned girls, and just behind, the + gorgeously decorated haycart, driven by Abijah Flagg, bearing the jolly + but inharmonious fife-and-drum corps. + </p> + <p> + Was ever such a golden day! Such crystal air! Such mellow sunshine! Such a + merry Uncle Sam! + </p> + <p> + The stage drew up at an appointed spot near a pine grove, and while the + crowd was gathering, the children waited for the hour to arrive when they + should march to the platform; the hour toward which they seemed to have + been moving since the dawn of creation. + </p> + <p> + As soon as possible Miss Dearborn whispered to Rebecca: “Come behind the + trees with me; I want to make you prettier!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca thought she had suffered enough from that process already during + the last twelve hours, but she put out an obedient hand and the two + withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Now Miss Dearborn was, I fear, a very indifferent teacher. Dr. Moses + always said so, and Libbie Moses, who wanted her school, said it was a + pity she hadn't enjoyed more social advantages in her youth. Libbie + herself had taken music lessons in Portland; and spent a night at the + Profile House in the White Mountains, and had visited her sister in + Lowell, Massachusetts. These experiences gave her, in her own mind, and in + the mind of her intimate friends, a horizon so boundless that her view of + smaller, humbler matters was a trifle distorted. + </p> + <p> + Miss Dearborn's stock in trade was small, her principal virtues being + devotion to children and ability to gain their love, and a power of + evolving a schoolroom order so natural, cheery, serene, and peaceful that + it gave the beholder a certain sense of being in a district heaven. She + was poor in arithmetic and weak in geometry, but if you gave her a rose, a + bit of ribbon, and a seven-by-nine looking-glass she could make herself as + pretty as a pink in two minutes. + </p> + <p> + Safely sheltered behind the pines, Miss Dearborn began to practice + mysterious feminine arts. She flew at Rebecca's tight braids, opened the + strands and rebraided them loosely; bit and tore the red, white, and blue + ribbon in two and tied the braids separately. Then with nimble fingers she + pulled out little tendrils of hair behind the ears and around the nape of + the neck. After a glance of acute disapproval directed at the stiff + balloon skirt she knelt on the ground and gave a strenuous embrace to + Rebecca's knees, murmuring, between her hugs, “Starch must be cheap at the + brick house!” + </p> + <p> + This particular line of beauty attained, there ensued great pinchings of + ruffles, her fingers that could never hold a ferrule nor snap children's + ears being incomparable fluting-irons. + </p> + <p> + Next the sash was scornfully untied and tightened to suggest something + resembling a waist. The chastened bows that had been squat, dowdy, + spiritless, were given tweaks, flirts, bracing little pokes and dabs, + till, acknowledging a master hand, they stood up, piquant, pert, smart, + alert! + </p> + <p> + Pride of bearing was now infused into the flattened lace at the neck, and + a pin (removed at some sacrifice from her own toilette) was darned in at + the back to prevent any cowardly lapsing. The short white cotton gloves + that called attention to the tanned wrist and arms were stripped off and + put in her own pocket. Then the wreath of pine-cones was adjusted at a + heretofore unimagined angle, the hair was pulled softly into a fluffy + frame, and finally, as she met Rebecca's grateful eyes she gave her two + approving, triumphant kisses. In a second the sensitive face lighted into + happiness; pleased dimples appeared in the cheeks, the kissed mouth was as + red as a rose, and the little fright that had walked behind the pine-tree + stepped out on the other side Rebecca the lovely. + </p> + <p> + As to the relative value of Miss Dearborn's accomplishments, the decision + must be left to the gentle reader; but though it is certain that children + should be properly grounded in mathematics, no heart of flesh could bear + to hear Miss Dearborn's methods vilified who had seen her patting, + pulling, squeezing Rebecca from ugliness into beauty. + </p> + <p> + The young superintendent of district schools was a witness of the scene, + and when later he noted the children surrounding Columbia as bees a + honeysuckle, he observed to Dr. Moses: “She may not be much of a teacher, + but I think she'd be considerable of a wife!” and subsequent events proved + that he meant what he said! + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Now all was ready; the moment of fate was absolutely at hand; the + fife-and-drum corps led the way and the States followed; but what actually + happened Rebecca never knew; she lived through the hours in a waking + dream. Every little detail was a facet of light that reflected sparkles, + and among them all she was fairly dazzled. The brass band played inspiring + strains; the mayor spoke eloquently on great themes; the people cheered; + then the rope on which so much depended was put into the children's hands, + they applied superhuman strength to their task, and the flag mounted, + mounted, smoothly and slowly, and slowly unwound and stretched itself + until its splendid size and beauty were revealed against the maples and + pines and blue New England sky. + </p> + <p> + Then after cheers upon cheers and after a patriotic chorus by the church + choirs, the State of Maine mounted the platform, vaguely conscious that + she was to recite a poem, though for the life of her she could not + remember a single word. + </p> + <p> + “Speak up loud and clear, Rebecky,” whispered Uncle Sam in the front row, + but she could scarcely hear her own voice when, tremblingly, she began her + first line. After that she gathered strength and the poem “said itself,” + while the dream went on. + </p> + <p> + She saw Adam Ladd leaning against a tree; Aunt Jane and Aunt Miranda + palpitating with nervousness; Clara Belle Simpson gazing cross-eyed but + adoring from a seat on the side; and in the far, far distance, on the very + outskirts of the crowd, a tall man standing in a wagon—a tall, + loose-jointed man with red upturned mustaches, and a gaunt white horse + headed toward the Acreville road. + </p> + <p> + Loud applause greeted the state of Maine, the slender little white-clad + figure standing on the mossy boulder that had been used as the centre of + the platform. The sun came up from behind a great maple and shone full on + the star-spangled banner, making it more dazzling than ever, so that its + beauty drew all eyes upward. + </p> + <p> + Abner Simpson lifted his vagrant shifting gaze to its softy fluttering + folds and its splendid massing of colors, thinking: + </p> + <p> + “I don't know's anybody'd ought to steal a flag—the thunderin' + idjuts seem to set such store by it, and what is it, anyway? Nothin; but a + sheet o' buntin!” + </p> + <p> + Nothing but a sheet of bunting? He looked curiously at the rapt faces of + the mothers, their babies asleep in their arms; the parted lips and + shining eyes of the white-clad girls; at Cap'n Lord, who had been in Libby + prison, and Nat Strout, who had left an arm at Bull Run; at the friendly, + jostling crowd of farmers, happy, eager, absorbed, their throats ready to + burst with cheers. Then the breeze served, and he heard Rebecca's clear + voice saying: + </p> + <p> + “For it's your star, my star, all the stars together, That make our + country's flag so proud To float in the bright fall weather!” + </p> + <p> + “Talk about stars! She's got a couple of em right in her head,” thought + Simpson.... “If I ever seen a young one like that lyin; on anybody's + doorstep I'd hook her quicker'n a wink, though I've got plenty to home, + the Lord knows! And I wouldn't swap her off neither.... Spunky little + creeter, too; settin; up in the wagon lookin' bout's big as a pint o' + cider, but keepin' right after the goods!... I vow I'm bout sick o' my + job! Never WITH the crowd, allers JEST on the outside, s if I wa'n't as + good's they be! If it paid well, mebbe I wouldn't mind, but they're so + thunderin' stingy round here, they don't leave anything decent out for you + to take from em, yet you're reskin' your liberty n' reputation jest the + same!... Countin' the poor pickin's n' the time I lose in jail I might + most's well be done with it n' work out by the day, as the folks want me + to; I'd make bout's much n' I don't know's it would be any harder!” + </p> + <p> + He could see Rebecca stepping down from the platform, while his own + red-headed little girl stood up on her bench, waving her hat with one + hand, her handkerchief with the other, and stamping with both feet. + </p> + <p> + Now a man sitting beside the mayor rose from his chair and Abner heard him + call: + </p> + <p> + “Three cheers for the women who made the flag!” + </p> + <p> + “HIP, HIP, HURRAH!” + </p> + <p> + “Three cheers for the State of Maine!” + </p> + <p> + “HIP, HIP, HURRAH!” + </p> + <p> + “Three cheers for the girl that saved the flag from the hands of the + enemy!” + </p> + <p> + “HIP, HIP, HURRAH! HIP, HIP, HURRAH!” + </p> + <p> + It was the Edgewood minister, whose full, vibrant voice was of the sort to + move a crowd. His words rang out into the clear air and were carried from + lip to lip. Hands clapped, feet stamped, hats swung, while the loud + huzzahs might almost have wakened the echoes on old Mount Ossipee. + </p> + <p> + The tall, loose-jointed man sat down in the wagon suddenly and took up the + reins. + </p> + <p> + “They're gettin' a little mite personal, and I guess it's bout time for + you to be goin', Simpson!” + </p> + <p> + The tone was jocular, but the red mustaches drooped, and the half-hearted + cut he gave to start the white mare on her homeward journey showed that he + was not in his usual devil-may-care mood. + </p> + <p> + “Durn his skin!” he burst out in a vindictive undertone, as the mare swung + into her long gait. “It's a lie! I thought twas somebody's wash! I hain't + an enemy!” + </p> + <p> + While the crowd at the raising dispersed in happy family groups to their + picnics in the woods; while the Goddess of Liberty, Uncle Sam, Columbia, + and the proud States lunched grandly in the Grange hall with distinguished + guests and scarred veterans of two wars, the lonely man drove, and drove, + and drove through silent woods and dull, sleepy villages, never alighting + to replenish his wardrobe or his stock of swapping material. + </p> + <p> + At dusk he reached a miserable tumble-down house on the edge of a pond. + </p> + <p> + The faithful wife with the sad mouth and the habitual look of anxiety in + her faded eyes came to the door at the sound of wheels and went doggedly + to the horse-shed to help him unharness. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't expect to see me back tonight, did ye?” he asked satirically; + “leastwise not with this same horse? Well, I'm here! You needn't be scairt + to look under the wagon seat, there hain't nothin' there, not even my + supper, so I hope you're suited for once! No, I guess I hain't goin' to be + an angel right away, neither. There wa'n't nothin' but flags layin' roun' + loose down Riverboro way, n' whatever they say, I hain't sech a hound as + to steal a flag!” + </p> + <p> + It was natural that young Riverboro should have red, white, and blue + dreams on the night after the new flag was raised. A stranger thing, + perhaps, is the fact that Abner Simpson should lie down on his hard bed + with the flutter of bunting before his eyes, and a whirl of unaccustomed + words in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “For it's your star, my star, all our stars together.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sick of goin' it alone,” he thought; “I guess I'll try the other road + for a spell;” and with that he fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Seventh Chronicle. THE LITTLE PROPHET + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + “I guess York County will never get red of that Simpson crew!” exclaimed + Miranda Sawyer to Jane. “I thought when the family moved to Acreville we'd + seen the last of em, but we ain't! The big, cross-eyed, stutterin' boy has + got a place at the mills in Maplewood; that's near enough to come over to + Riverboro once in a while of a Sunday mornin' and set in the meetin' house + starin' at Rebecca same as he used to do, only it's reskier now both of em + are older. Then Mrs. Fogg must go and bring back the biggest girl to help + her take care of her baby,—as if there wa'n't plenty of help nearer + home! Now I hear say that the youngest twin has come to stop the summer + with the Cames up to Edgewood Lower Corner.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought two twins were always the same age,” said Rebecca, + reflectively, as she came into the kitchen with the milk pail. + </p> + <p> + “So they be,” snapped Miranda, flushing and correcting herself. “But that + pasty-faced Simpson twin looks younger and is smaller than the other one. + He's meek as Moses and the other one is as bold as a brass kettle; I don't + see how they come to be twins; they ain't a mite alike.” + </p> + <p> + “Elijah was always called the fighting twin' at school,” said Rebecca, + “and Elisha's other name was Nimbi-Pamby; but I think he's a nice little + boy, and I'm glad he has come back. He won't like living with Mr. Came, + but he'll be almost next door to the minister's, and Mrs. Baxter is sure + to let him play in her garden.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why the boy's stayin' with Cassius Came,” said Jane. “To be sure + they haven't got any of their own, but the child's too young to be much + use.” + </p> + <p> + “I know why,” remarked Rebecca promptly, “for I heard all about it over to + Watson's when I was getting the milk. Mr. Came traded something with Mr. + Simpson two years ago and got the best of the bargain, and Uncle Jerry + says he's the only man that ever did, and he ought to have a monument put + up to him. So Mr. Came owes Mr. Simpson money and won't pay it, and Mr. + Simpson said he'd send over a child and board part of it out, and take the + rest in stock—a pig or a calf or something.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all stuff and nonsense,” exclaimed Miranda; “nothin' in the world + but store-talk. You git a clump o' men-folks settin' round Watson's stove, + or out on the bench at the door, an' they'll make up stories as fast as + their tongues can wag. The man don't live that's smart enough to cheat + Abner Simpson in a trade, and who ever heard of anybody's owin' him money? + Tain't supposable that a woman like Mrs. Came would allow her husband to + be in debt to a man like Abner Simpson. It's a sight likelier that she + heard that Mrs. Simpson was ailin' and sent for the boy so as to help the + family along. She always had Mrs. Simpson to wash for her once a month, if + you remember Jane?” + </p> + <p> + There are some facts so shrouded in obscurity that the most skillful and + patient investigator cannot drag them into the light of day. There are + also (but only occasionally) certain motives, acts, speeches, lines of + conduct, that can never be wholly and satisfactorily explained, even in a + village post-office or on the loafers' bench outside the tavern door. + </p> + <p> + Cassius Came was a close man, close of mouth and close of purse; and all + that Riverboro ever knew as to the three months' visit of the Simpson twin + was that it actually occurred. Elisha, otherwise Nimbi-Pamby, came; + Nimbi-Pamby stayed; and Nimbi-Pamby, when he finally rejoined his own + domestic circle, did not go empty-handed (so to speak), for he was + accompanied on his homeward travels by a large, red, bony, somewhat + truculent cow, who was tied on behind the wagon, and who made the journey + a lively and eventful one by her total lack of desire to proceed over the + road from Edgewood to Acreville. But that, the cow's tale, belongs to + another time and place, and the coward's tale must come first; for Elisha + Simpson was held to be sadly lacking in the manly quality of courage. + </p> + <p> + It was the new minister's wife who called Nimbi-Pamby the Little Prophet. + His full name was Elisha Jeremiah Simpson, but one seldom heard it at full + length, since, if he escaped the ignominy of Nimbi-Pamby, Lishe was quite + enough for an urchin just in his first trousers and those assumed somewhat + prematurely. He was “Lishe,” therefore, to the village, but the Little + Prophet to the young minister's wife. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca could see the Cames' brown farmhouse from Mrs. Baxter's + sitting-room window. The little-traveled road with strips of tufted green + between the wheel tracks curled dustily up to the very doorstep, and + inside the screen door of pink mosquito netting was a wonderful drawn-in + rug, shaped like a half pie, with “Welcome” in saffron letters on a green + ground. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca liked Mrs. Cassius Came, who was a friend of her Aunt Miranda's + and one of the few persons who exchanged calls with that somewhat + unsociable lady. The Came farm was not a long walk from the brick house, + for Rebecca could go across the fields when haying-time was over, and her + delight at being sent on an errand in that direction could not be + measured, now that the new minister and his wife had grown to be such a + resource in her life. She liked to see Mrs. Came shake the Welcome rug, + flinging the cheery word out into the summer sunshine like a bright + greeting to the day. She liked to see her go to the screen door a dozen + times in a morning, open it a crack and chase an imaginary fly from the + sacred precincts within. She liked to see her come up the cellar steps + into the side garden, appearing mysteriously as from the bowels of the + earth, carrying a shining pan of milk in both hands, and disappearing + through the beds of hollyhocks and sunflowers to the pig-pen or the + hen-house. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was not fond of Mr. Came, and neither was Mrs. Baxter, nor Elisha, + for that matter; in fact Mr. Came was rather a difficult person to grow + fond of, with his fiery red beard, his freckled skin, and his gruff way of + speaking; for there were no children in the brown house to smooth the + creases from his forehead or the roughness from his voice. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The new minister's wife was sitting under the shade of her great maple + early one morning, when she first saw the Little Prophet. A tiny figure + came down the grass-grown road leading a cow by a rope. If it had been a + small boy and a small cow, a middle-sized boy and an ordinary cow, or a + grown man and a big cow, she might not have noticed them; but it was the + combination of an infinitesimal boy and a huge cow that attracted her + attention. She could not guess the child's years, she only knew that he + was small for his age, whatever it was. + </p> + <p> + The cow was a dark red beast with a crumpled horn, a white star on her + forehead, and a large surprised sort of eye. She had, of course, two eyes, + and both were surprised, but the left one had an added hint of amazement + in it by virtue of a few white hairs lurking accidentally in the centre of + the eyebrow. + </p> + <p> + The boy had a thin sensitive face and curtly brown hair, short trousers + patched on both knees, and a ragged straw hat on the back of his head. He + pattered along behind the cow, sometimes holding the rope with both hands, + and getting over the ground in a jerky way, as the animal left him no time + to think of a smooth path for bare feet. + </p> + <p> + The Came pasture was a good half-mile distant, and the cow seemed in no + hurry to reach it; accordingly she forsook the road now and then, and + rambled in the hollows, where the grass was sweeter to her way of + thinking. She started on one of these exploring expeditions just as she + passed the minister's great maple, and gave Mrs. Baxter time to call out + to the little fellow, “Is that your cow?” + </p> + <p> + Elisha blushed and smiled, and tried to speak modestly, but there was a + quiver of pride in his voice as he answered suggestively: + </p> + <p> + “It's—nearly my cow.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that?” asked Mrs. Baxter. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Came says when I drive her twenty-nine more times to pasture + thout her gettin' her foot over the rope or thout my bein' afraid, she's + goin' to be my truly cow. Are you fraid of cows?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-e-es,” Mrs. Baxter confessed, “I am, just a little. You see, I am + nothing but a woman, and boys can't understand how we feel about cows.” + </p> + <p> + “I can! They're awful big things, aren't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly enormous! I've always thought a cow coming towards you one of + the biggest things in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; me, too. Don't let's think about it. Do they hook people so very + often?” + </p> + <p> + “No indeed, in fact one scarcely ever hears of such a case.” + </p> + <p> + “If they stepped on your bare foot they'd scrunch it, wouldn't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you are the driver; you mustn't let them do that; you are a + free-will boy, and they are nothing but cows.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but p'raps there is free-will cows, and if they just WOULD do it + you couldn't help being scrunched, for you mustn't let go of the rope nor + run, Mr. Came says. + </p> + <p> + “No, of course that would never do.” + </p> + <p> + “Where you used to live did all the cows go down into the boggy places + when you drove em to pasture, or did some walk in the road?” + </p> + <p> + “There weren't any cows or any pastures where I used to live; that's what + makes me so foolish; why does your cow need a rope?” + </p> + <p> + “She don't like to go to pasture, Mr. Came says. Sometimes she'd druther + stay to home, and so when she gets part way she turns round and comes + backwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” thought Mrs. Baxter, “what becomes of this boy-mite if the cow + has a spell of going backwards?—Do you like to drive her?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “N-no, not erzackly; but you see, it'll be my cow if I drive her + twenty-nine more times thout her gettin' her foot over the rope and thout + my bein' afraid,” and a beaming smile gave a transient brightness to his + harassed little face. “Will she feed in the ditch much longer?” he asked. + “Shall I say Hurrap'? That's what Mr. Came says—HURRAP!' like that, + and it means to hurry up.” + </p> + <p> + It was rather a feeble warning that he sounded and the cow fed on + peacefully. The little fellow looked up at the minister's wife + confidingly, and then glanced back at the farm to see if Cassius Came were + watching the progress of events. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do next?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baxter delighted in that warm, cosy little 'WE;' it took her into the + firm so pleasantly. She was a weak prop indeed when it came to cows, but + all the courage in her soul rose to arms when Elisha said, “What shall WE + do next?” She became alert, ingenious, strong, on the instant. + </p> + <p> + “What is the cow's name?” she asked, sitting up straight in the + swing-chair. + </p> + <p> + “Buttercup; but she don't seem to know it very well. She ain't a mite like + a buttercup.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; you must shout 'Buttercup!' at the top of your voice, and + twitch the rope HARD; then I'll call, 'Hurrap!' with all my might at the + same moment. And if she starts quickly we mustn't run nor seem + frightened!” + </p> + <p> + They did this; it worked to a charm, and Mrs. Baxter looked affectionately + after her Little Prophet as the cow pulled him down Tory Hill. + </p> + <p> + The lovely August days wore on. Rebecca was often at the parsonage and saw + Elisha frequently, but Buttercup was seldom present at their interviews, + as the boy now drove her to the pasture very early in the morning, the + journey thither being one of considerable length and her method of + reaching the goal being exceedingly roundabout. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Came had pointed out the necessity of getting her into the pasture at + least a few minutes before she had to be taken out again at night, and + though Rebecca didn't like Mr. Came, she saw the common sense of this + remark. Sometimes Mrs. Baxter and Rebecca caught a glimpse of the two at + sundown, as they returned from the pasture to the twilight milking, + Buttercup chewing her peaceful cud, her soft white bag of milk hanging + full, her surprised eye rolling in its accustomed “fine frenzy.” The + frenzied roll did not mean anything, they used to assure Elisha; but if it + didn't, it was an awful pity she had to do it, Rebecca thought; and Mrs. + Baxter agreed. To have an expression of eye that meant murder, and yet to + be a perfectly virtuous and well-meaning animal, this was a calamity + indeed. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baxter was looking at the sun one evening as it dropped like a ball + of red fire into Wilkins's woods, when the Little Prophet passed. + </p> + <p> + “It's the twenty-ninth night,” he called joyously. + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad,” she answered, for she had often feared some accident might + prevent his claiming the promised reward. “Then tomorrow Buttercup will be + your own cow?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so. That's what Mr. Came said. He's off to Acreville now, but + he'll be home tonight, and father's going to send my new hat by him. When + Buttercup's my own cow I wish I could change her name and call her Red + Rover, but p'r'aps her mother wouldn't like it. When she b'longs to me, + mebbe I won't be so fraid of gettin' hooked and scrunched, because she'll + know she's mine, and she'll go better. I haven't let her get snarled up in + the rope one single time, and I don't show I'm afraid, do I?” + </p> + <p> + “I should never suspect it for an instant,” said Mrs. Baxter + encouragingly. “I've often envied you your bold, brave look!” + </p> + <p> + Elisha appeared distinctly pleased. “I haven't cried, either, when she's + dragged me over the pasture bars and peeled my legs. Bill Petes's little + brother Charlie says he ain't afraid of anything, not even bears. He says + he would walk right up close and cuff em if they dared to yip; but I ain't + like that! He ain't scared of elephants or tigers or lions either; he says + they're all the same as frogs or chickens to him!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca told her Aunt Miranda that evening that it was the Prophet's + twenty-ninth night, and that the big red cow was to be his on the morrow. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope it'll turn out that way,” she said. “But I ain't a mite sure + that Cassius Came will give up that cow when it comes to the point. It + won't be the first time he's tried to crawl out of a bargain with folks a + good deal bigger than Lisha, for he's terrible close, Cassius is. To be + sure he's stiff in his joints and he's glad enough to have a boy to take + the cow to the pasture in summer time, but he always has hired help when + it comes harvestin'. So Lisha'll be no use from this on; and I dare say + the cow is Abner Simpson's anyway. If you want a walk tonight, I wish + you'd go up there and ask Mis' Came if she'll lend me an' your Aunt Jane + half her yeast-cake. Tell her we'll pay it back when we get ours a + Saturday. Don't you want to take Thirza Meserve with you? She's alone as + usual while Huldy's entertainin' beaux on the side porch. Don't stay too + long at the parsonage!” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was used to this sort of errand, for the whole village of + Riverboro would sometimes be rocked to the very centre of its being by + simultaneous desire for a yeast-cake. As the nearest repository was a mile + and a half distant, as the yeast-cake was valued at two cents and wouldn't + keep, as the demand was uncertain, being dependent entirely on a + fluctuating desire for “riz bread,” the storekeeper refused to order more + than three yeast-cakes a day at his own risk. Sometimes they remained on + his hands a dead loss; sometimes eight or ten persons would “hitch up” and + drive from distant farms for the coveted article, only to be met with the + flat, “No, I'm all out o' yeast-cake; Mis' Simmons took the last; mebbe + you can borry half o' hern, she hain't much of a bread-eater.” + </p> + <p> + So Rebecca climbed the hills to Mrs. Came's, knowing that her daily bread + depended on the successful issue of the call. + </p> + <p> + Thirza was barefooted, and tough as her little feet were, the long walk + over the stubble fields tired her. When they came within sight of the Came + barn, she coaxed Rebecca to take a short cut through the turnips growing + in long, beautifully weeded rows. + </p> + <p> + “You know Mr. Came is awfully cross, Thirza, and can't bear anybody to + tread on his crops or touch a tree or a bush that belongs to him. I'm kind + of afraid, but come along and mind you step softly in between the rows and + hold up your petticoat, so you can't possibly touch the turnip plants. + I'll do the same. Skip along fast, because then we won't leave any deep + footprints.” + </p> + <p> + The children passed safely and noiselessly along, their pleasure a trifle + enhanced by the felt dangers of their progress. Rebecca knew that they + were doing no harm, but that did not prevent her hoping to escape the + gimlet eye of Mr. Came. + </p> + <p> + As they neared the outer edge of the turnip patch they paused suddenly, + petticoats in air. + </p> + <p> + A great clump of elderberry bushes hid them from the barn, but from the + other side of the clump came the sound of conversation: the timid voice of + the Little Prophet and the gruff tones of Cassius Came. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was afraid to interrupt, and too honest to wish to overhear. She + could only hope the man and the boy would pass on to the house as they + talked, so she motioned to the paralyzed Thirza to take two more steps and + stand with her behind the elderberry bushes. But no! In a moment they + heard Mr. Came drag a stool over beside the grindstone as he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, now Elisha Jeremiah, we'll talk about the red cow. You say you've + drove her a month, do ye? And the trade between us was that if you could + drive her a month, without her getting the rope over her foot and without + bein' afraid, you was to have her. That's straight, ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + The Prophet's face burned with excitement, his gingham shirt rose and fell + as if he were breathing hard, but he only nodded assent and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” continued Mr. Came, “have you made out to keep the rope from under + her feet?” + </p> + <p> + “She ain't got t-t-tangled up one s-single time,” said Elisha, stuttering + in his excitement, but looking up with some courage from his bare toes, + with which he was assiduously threading the grass. + </p> + <p> + “So far, so good. Now bout bein' afraid. As you seem so certain of gettin' + the cow, I suppose you hain't been a speck scared, hev you? Honor bright, + now!” + </p> + <p> + “I—I—not but just a little mite. I”— + </p> + <p> + “Hold up a minute. Of course you didn't SAY you was afraid, and didn't + SHOW you was afraid, and nobody knew you WAS afraid, but that ain't the + way we fixed it up. You was to call the cow your'n if you could drive her + to the pasture for a month without BEIN' afraid. Own up square now, hev + you be'n afraid?” + </p> + <p> + A long pause, then a faint, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's your manners?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “How often? If it hain't be'n too many times mebbe I'll let ye off, though + you're a reg'lar girl-boy, and'll be runnin' away from the cat bimeby. Has + it be'n—twice?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” and the Little Prophet's voice was very faint now, and had a + decided tear in it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes what?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Has it be'n four times?” + </p> + <p> + “Y-es, sir.” More heaving of the gingham shirt. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you AIR a thunderin' coward! How many times? Speak up now.” + </p> + <p> + More digging of the bare toes in the earth, and one premonitory tear drop + stealing from under the downcast lids, then,— + </p> + <p> + “A little, most every day, and you can keep the cow,” wailed the Prophet, + as he turned abruptly and fled behind the shed, where he flung himself + into the green depths of a tansy bed, and gave himself up to unmanly sobs. + </p> + <p> + Cassius Came gave a sort of shamefaced guffaw at the abrupt departure of + the boy, and went on into the house, while Rebecca and Thirza made a + stealthy circuit of the barn and a polite and circumspect entrance through + the parsonage front gate. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca told the minister's wife what she could remember of the interview + between Cassius Came and Elisha Simpson, and tender-hearted Mrs. Baxter + longed to seek and comfort her Little Prophet sobbing in the tansy bed, + the brand of coward on his forehead, and what was much worse, the fear in + his heart that he deserved it. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca could hardly be prevented from bearding Mr. Came and openly + espousing the cause of Elisha, for she was an impetuous, reckless, valiant + creature when a weaker vessel was attacked or threatened unjustly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baxter acknowledged that Mr. Came had been true, in a way, to his + word and bargain, but she confessed that she had never heard of so cruel + and hard a bargain since the days of Shylock, and it was all the worse for + being made with a child. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca hurried home, her visit quite spoiled and her errand quite + forgotten till she reached the brick house door, where she told her aunts, + with her customary picturesqueness of speech, that she would rather eat + buttermilk bread till she died than partake of food mixed with one of Mr. + Came's yeast-cakes; that it would choke her, even in the shape of good + raised bread. + </p> + <p> + “That's all very fine, Rebecky,” said her Aunt Miranda, who had a + pin-prick for almost every bubble; “but don't forget there's two other + mouths to feed in this house, and you might at least give your aunt and me + the privilege of chokin' if we feel to want to!” + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baxter finally heard from Mrs. Came, through whom all information was + sure to filter if you gave it time, that her husband despised a coward, + that he considered Elisha a regular mother's-apron-string boy, and that he + was “learnin'” him to be brave. + </p> + <p> + Bill Peters, the hired man, now drove Buttercup to pasture, though + whenever Mr. Came went to Moderation or Bonnie Eagle, as he often did, + Mrs. Baxter noticed that Elisha took the hired man's place. She often + joined him on these anxious expeditions, and, a like terror in both their + souls, they attempted to train the red cow and give her some idea of + obedience. + </p> + <p> + “If she only wouldn't look at us that way we would get along real nicely + with her, wouldn't we?” prattled the Prophet, straggling along by her + side; “and she is a splendid cow; she gives twenty-one quarts a day, and + Mr. Came says it's more'n half cream.” + </p> + <p> + The minister's wife assented to all this, thinking that if Buttercup would + give up her habit of turning completely round in the road to roll her eyes + and elevate her white-tipped eyebrow, she might indeed be an enjoyable + companion; but in her present state of development her society was not + agreeable, even did she give sixty-one quarts of milk a day. Furthermore, + when Mrs. Baxter discovered that she never did any of these reprehensible + things with Bill Peters, she began to believe cows more intelligent + creatures than she had supposed them to be, and she was indignant to think + Buttercup could count so confidently on the weakness of a small boy and a + timid woman. + </p> + <p> + One evening, when Buttercup was more than usually exasperating, Mrs. + Baxter said to the Prophet, who was bracing himself to keep from being + pulled into a wayside brook where Buttercup loved to dabble, “Elisha, do + you know anything about the superiority of mind over matter?” + </p> + <p> + No, he didn't, though it was not a fair time to ask the question, for he + had sat down in the road to get a better purchase on the rope. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it doesn't signify. What I mean is that we can die but once, and it + is a glorious thing to die for a great principle. Give me that rope. I can + pull like an ox in my present frame of mind. You run down on the opposite + side of the brook, take that big stick wade right in—you are + barefooted,—brandish the stick, and, if necessary, do more than + brandish. I would go myself, but it is better she should recognize you as + her master, and I am in as much danger as you are, anyway. She may try to + hook you, of course, but you must keep waving the stick,—die + brandishing, Prophet, that's the idea! She may turn and run for me, in + which case I shall run too; but I shall die running, and the minister can + bury us under our favorite sweet-apple tree!” + </p> + <p> + The Prophet's soul was fired by the lovely lady's eloquence. Their spirits + mounted simultaneously, and they were flushed with a splendid courage in + which death looked a mean and paltry thing compared with vanquishing that + cow. She had already stepped into the pool, but the Prophet waded in + towards her, moving the alder branch menacingly. She looked up with the + familiar roll of the eye that had done her such good service all summer, + but she quailed beneath the stern justice and the new valor of the + Prophet's gaze. + </p> + <p> + In that moment perhaps she felt ashamed of the misery she had caused the + helpless mite. At any rate, actuated by fear, surprise, or remorse, she + turned and walked back into the road without a sign of passion or + indignation, leaving the boy and the lady rather disappointed at their + easy victory. To be prepared for a violent death and receive not even a + scratch made them fear that they might possibly have overestimated the + danger. + </p> + <p> + They were better friends than ever after that, the young minister's wife + and the forlorn little boy from Acreville, sent away from home he knew not + why, unless it were that there was little to eat there and considerably + more at the Cash Cames', as they were called in Edgewood. Cassius was + familiarly known as Uncle Cash, partly because there was a disposition in + Edgewood to abbreviate all Christian names, and partly because the old man + paid cash, and expected to be paid cash, for everything. + </p> + <p> + The late summer grew into autumn, and the minister's great maple flung a + flaming bough of scarlet over Mrs. Baxter's swing-chair. Uncle Cash found + Elisha very useful at picking up potatoes and apples, but the boy was + going back to his family as soon as the harvesting was over. + </p> + <p> + One Friday evening Mrs. Baxter and Rebecca, wrapped in shawls and + “fascinators,” were sitting on Mrs. Came's front steps enjoying the + sunset. Rebecca was in a tremulous state of happiness, for she had come + directly from the Seminary at Wareham to the parsonage, and as the + minister was absent at a church conference, she was to stay the night with + Mrs. Baxter and go with her to Portland next day. + </p> + <p> + They were to go to the Islands, have ice cream for luncheon, ride on a + horse-car, and walk by the Longfellow house, a programme that so unsettled + Rebecca's never very steady mind that she radiated flashes and sparkles of + joy, making Mrs. Baxter wonder if flesh could be translucent, enabling the + spirit-fires within to shine through? + </p> + <p> + Buttercup was being milked on the grassy slope near the shed door. As she + walked to the barn, after giving up her pailfuls of yellow milk, she bent + her neck and snatched a hasty bite from a pile of turnips lying temptingly + near. In her haste she took more of a mouthful than would be considered + good manners even among cows, and as she disappeared in the barn door they + could see a forest of green tops hanging from her mouth, while she + painfully attempted to grind up the mass of stolen material without + allowing a single turnip to escape. + </p> + <p> + It grew dark soon afterward and they went into the house to see Mrs. + Came's new lamp lighted for the first time, to examine her last drawn-in + rug (a wonderful achievement produced entirely from dyed flannel + petticoats), and to hear the doctor's wife play “Oft in the Still Night,” + on the dulcimer. + </p> + <p> + As they closed the sitting-room door opening on the piazza facing the + barn, the women heard the cow coughing and said to one another: “Buttercup + was too greedy, and now she has indigestion.” + </p> + <p> + Elisha always went to bed at sundown, and Uncle Cash had gone to the + doctor's to have his hand dressed, for he had hurt it is some way in the + threshing-machine. Bill Peters, the hired man, came in presently and asked + for him, saying that the cow coughed more and more, and it must be that + something was wrong, but he could not get her to open her mouth wide + enough for him to see anything. “She'd up an' die ruther 'n obleege + anybody, that tarnal, ugly cow would!” he said. + </p> + <p> + When Uncle Cash had driven into the yard, he came in for a lantern, and + went directly out to the barn. After a half-hour or so, in which the + little party had forgotten the whole occurrence, he came in again. + </p> + <p> + “I'm blamed if we ain't goin' to lose that cow,” he said. “Come out, will + ye, Hannah, and hold the lantern? I can't do anything with my right hand + in a sling, and Bill is the stupidest critter in the country.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody went out to the barn accordingly, except the doctor's wife, who + ran over to her house to see if her brother Moses had come home from + Milltown, and could come and take a hand in the exercises. + </p> + <p> + Buttercup was in a bad way; there was no doubt of it. Something, one of + the turnips, presumably, had lodged in her throat, and would move neither + way, despite her attempts to dislodge it. Her breathing was labored, and + her eyes bloodshot from straining and choking. Once or twice they + succeeded in getting her mouth partly open, but before they could fairly + discover the cause of trouble she had wrested her head away. + </p> + <p> + “I can see a little tuft of green sticking straight up in the middle,” + said Uncle Cash, while Bill Peters and Moses held a lantern on each side + of Buttercup's head; “but, land! It's so far down, and such a mite of a + thing, I couldn't git it, even if I could use my right hand. S'pose you + try, Bill.” + </p> + <p> + Bill hemmed and hawed, and confessed he didn't care to try. Buttercup's + grinders were of good size and excellent quality, and he had no fancy for + leaving his hand within her jaws. He said he was no good at that kind of + work, but that he would help Uncle Cash hold the cow's head; that was just + as necessary, and considerable safer. + </p> + <p> + Moses was more inclined to the service of humanity, and did his best, + wrapping his wrist in a cloth, and making desperate but ineffectual dabs + at the slippery green turnip-tops in the reluctantly opened throat. But + the cow tossed her head and stamped her feet and switched her tail and + wriggled from under Bill's hands, so that it seemed altogether impossible + to reach the seat of the trouble. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Cash was in despair, fuming and fretting the more because of his own + crippled hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hitch up, Bill,” he said, “and, Hannah, you drive over to Milliken's + Mills for the horse-doctor. I know we can git out that turnip if we can + hit on the right tools and somebody to manage em right; but we've got to + be quick about it or the critter'll choke to death, sure! Your hand's so + clumsy, Mose, she thinks her time's come when she feels it in her mouth, + and your fingers are so big you can't ketch holt o' that green stuff thout + its slippin'!” + </p> + <p> + “Mine ain't big; let me try,” said a timid voice, and turning round, they + saw little Elisha Simpson, his trousers pulled on over his night-shirt, + his curly hair ruffled, his eyes vague with sleep. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Cash gave a laugh of good-humored derision. “You—that's afraid + to drive a cow to pasture? No, sir; you hain't got sand enough for this + job, I guess!” + </p> + <p> + Buttercup just then gave a worse cough than ever, and her eyes rolled in + her head as if she were giving up the ghost. + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather do it than see her choke to death!” cried the boy, in despair. + </p> + <p> + “Then, by ginger, you can try it, sonny!” said Uncle Cash. “Now this time + we'll tie her head up. Take it slow, and make a good job of it.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly they pried poor Buttercup's jaws open to put a wooden gag + between them, tied her head up, and kept her as still as they could while + the women held the lanterns. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sonny, strip up your sleeve and reach as fur down's you can! Wind + your little fingers in among that green stuff stickin' up there that ain't + hardly big enough to call green stuff, give it a twist, and pull for all + you're worth. Land! What a skinny little pipe stem!” + </p> + <p> + The Little Prophet had stripped up his sleeve. It was a slender thing, his + arm; but he had driven the red cow all summer, borne her tantrums, + protected her from the consequences of her own obstinacy, taking (as he + thought) a future owner's pride in her splendid flow of milk—grown + fond of her, in a word, and now she was choking to death. A skinny little + pipe stem is capable of a deal at such a time, and only a slender hand and + arm could have done the work. + </p> + <p> + Elisha trembled with nervousness, but he made a dexterous and dashing + entrance into the awful cavern of Buttercup's mouth; descended upon the + tiny clump of green spills or spikes, wound his little fingers in among + them as firmly as he could, and then gave a long, steady, determined pull + with all the strength in this body. That was not so much in itself, to be + sure, but he borrowed a good deal more from some reserve quarter, the + location of which nobody knows anything about, but upon which everybody + draws in time of need. + </p> + <p> + Such a valiant pull you would never have expected of the Little Prophet. + Such a pull it was that, to his own utter amazement, he suddenly found + himself lying flat on his back on the barn floor with a very slippery + something in his hand, and a fair-sized but rather dilapidated turnip at + the end of it. + </p> + <p> + “That's the business!” cried Moses. + </p> + <p> + “I could 'a' done it as easy as nothin' if my arm had been a leetle mite + smaller,” said Bill Peters. + </p> + <p> + “You're a trump, sonny!” exclaimed Uncle Cash, as he helped Moses untie + Buttercup's head and took the gag out. + </p> + <p> + “You're a trump, Lisha, and, by ginger, the cow's your'n; only don't you + let your blessed pa drink none of her cream!” + </p> + <p> + The welcome air rushed into Buttercup's lungs and cooled her parched, torn + throat. She was pretty nearly spent, poor thing, and bent her head (rather + gently for her) over the Little Prophet's shoulder as he threw his arms + joyfully about her neck, and whispered, “You're my truly cow now, ain't + you, Buttercup?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Baxter, dear,” said Rebecca, as they walked home to the parsonage + together under the young harvest moon; “there are all sorts of cowards, + aren't there, and don't you think Elisha is one of the best kind.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't quite know what to think about cowards, Rebecca Rowena,” said the + minister's wife hesitatingly. “The Little Prophet is the third coward I + have known in my short life who turned out to be a hero when the real + testing time came. Meanwhile the heroes themselves—or the ones that + were taken for heroes—were always busy doing something, or being + somewhere, else.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Eighth Chronicle. ABNER SIMPSON'S NEW LEAF + </h2> + <p> + Rebecca had now cut the bonds that bound her to the Riverboro district + school, and had been for a week a full-fledged pupil at the Wareham + Seminary, towards which goal she had been speeding ever since the + memorable day when she rode into Riverboro on the top of Uncle Jerry + Cobb's stagecoach, and told him that education was intended to be “the + making of her.” + </p> + <p> + She went to and fro, with Emma Jane and the other Riverboro boys and + girls, on the morning and evening trains that ran between the academy town + and Milliken's Mills. + </p> + <p> + The six days had passed like a dream!—a dream in which she sat in + corners with her eyes cast down; flushed whenever she was addressed; + stammered whenever she answered a question, and nearly died of heart + failure when subjected to an examination of any sort. She delighted the + committee when reading at sight from “King Lear,” but somewhat discouraged + them when she could not tell the capital of the United States. She + admitted that her former teacher, Miss Dearborn, might have mentioned it, + but if so she had not remembered it. + </p> + <p> + In these first weeks among strangers she passed for nothing but an + interesting-looking, timid, innocent, country child, never revealing, even + to the far-seeing Emily Maxwell, a hint of her originality, facility, or + power in any direction. Rebecca was fourteen, but so slight, and under the + paralyzing new conditions so shy, that she would have been mistaken for + twelve had it not been for her general advancement in the school + curriculum. + </p> + <p> + Growing up in the solitude of a remote farm house, transplanted to a tiny + village where she lived with two elderly spinsters, she was still the + veriest child in all but the practical duties and responsibilities of + life; in those she had long been a woman. + </p> + <p> + It was Saturday afternoon; her lessons for Monday were all learned and she + burst into the brick house sitting-room with the flushed face and + embarrassed mien that always foreshadowed a request. Requests were more + commonly answered in the negative than in the affirmative at the brick + house, a fact that accounted for the slight confusion in her demeanor. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Miranda,” she began, “the fishman says that Clara Belle Simpson + wants to see me very much, but Mrs. Fogg can't spare her long at a time, + you know, on account of the baby being no better; but Clara Belle could + walk a mile up, and I a mile down the road, and we could meet at the pink + house half way. Then we could rest and talk an hour or so, and both be + back in time for our suppers. I've fed the cat; she had no appetite, as + it's only two o'clock and she had her dinner at noon, but she'll go back + to her saucer, and it's off my mind. I could go down cellar now and bring + up the cookies and the pie and doughnuts for supper before I start. Aunt + Jane saw no objection; but we thought I'd better ask you so as to run no + risks.” + </p> + <p> + Miranda Sawyer, who had been patiently waiting for the end of this speech, + laid down her knitting and raised her eyes with a half-resigned expression + that meant: Is there anything unusual in heaven or earth or the waters + under the earth that this child does not want to do? Will she ever settle + down to plain, comprehensible Sawyer ways, or will she to the end make + these sudden and radical propositions, suggesting at every turn the + irresponsible Randall ancestry? + </p> + <p> + “You know well enough, Rebecca, that I don't like you to be intimate with + Abner Simpson's young ones,” she said decisively. “They ain't fit company + for anybody that's got Sawyer blood in their veins, if it's ever so + little. I don't know, I'm sure, how you're goin' to turn out! The fish + peddler seems to be your best friend, without it's Abijah Flagg that + you're everlastingly talkin' to lately. I should think you'd rather read + some improvin' book than to be chatterin' with Squire Bean's chore-boy!” + </p> + <p> + “He isn't always going to be a chore-boy,” explained Rebecca, “and that's + what we're considering. It's his career we talk about, and he hasn't got + any father or mother to advise him. Besides, Clara Belle kind of belongs + to the village now that she lives with Mrs. Fogg; and she was always the + best behaved of all the girls, either in school or Sunday-school. Children + can't help having fathers!” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody says Abner is turning over a new leaf, and if so, the family'd + ought to be encouraged every possible way,” said Miss Jane, entering the + room with her mending basket in hand. + </p> + <p> + “If Abner Simpson is turnin' over a leaf, or anythin' else in creation, + it's only to see what's on the under side!” remarked Miss Miranda + promptly. “Don't talk to me about new leaves! You can't change that kind + of a man; he is what he is, and you can't make him no different!” + </p> + <p> + “The grace of God can do consid'rable,” observed Jane piously. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't sayin' but it can if it sets out, but it has to begin early and + stay late on a man like Simpson.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mirandy, Abner ain't more'n forty! I don't know what the average age + for repentance is in men-folks, but when you think of what an awful sight + of em leaves it to their deathbeds, forty seems real kind of young. Not + that I've heard Abner has experienced religion, but everybody's surprised + at the good way he's conductin' this fall.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll be surprised the other way round when they come to miss their + firewood and apples and potatoes again,” affirmed Miranda. + </p> + <p> + “Clara Belle don't seem to have inherited from her father,” Jane ventured + again timidly. “No wonder Mrs. Fogg sets such store by the girl. If it + hadn't been for her, the baby would have been dead by now.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps tryin' to save it was interferin' with the Lord's will,” was + Miranda's retort. + </p> + <p> + “Folks can't stop to figure out just what's the Lord's will when a child + has upset a kettle of scalding water on to himself,” and as she spoke Jane + darned more excitedly. “Mrs. Fogg knows well enough she hadn't ought to + have left that baby alone in the kitchen with the stove, even if she did + see Clara Belle comin' across lots. She'd ought to have waited before + drivin' off; but of course she was afraid of missing the train, and she's + too good a woman to be held accountable.” + </p> + <p> + “The minister's wife says Clara Belle is a real—I can't think of the + word!” chimed in Rebecca. “What's the female of hero? Whatever it is, + that's what Mrs. Baxter called her!” + </p> + <p> + “Clara Belle's the female of Simpson; that's what she is,” Miss Miranda + asserted; “but she's been brought up to use her wits, and I ain't sayin' + but she used em.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say she did!” exclaimed Miss Jane; “to put that screaming, + suffering child in the baby-carriage and run all the way to the doctor's + when there wasn't a soul on hand to advise her! Two or three more such + actions would make the Simpson name sound consid'rable sweeter in this + neighborhood.” + </p> + <p> + “Simpson will always sound like Simpson to me!” vouchsafed the elder + sister, “but we've talked enough about em an' to spare. You can go along, + Rebecca; but remember that a child is known by the company she keeps.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Aunt Miranda; thank you!” cried Rebecca, leaping from the + chair on which she had been twisting nervously for five minutes. “And how + does this strike you? Would you be in favor of my taking Clara Belle a + company-tart?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't Mrs. Fogg feed the young one, now she's taken her right into the + family?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” Rebecca answered, “she has lovely things to eat, and Mrs. Fogg + won't even let her drink skim milk; but I always feel that taking a + present lets the person know you've been thinking about them and are extra + glad to see them. Besides, unless we have company soon, those tarts will + have to be eaten by the family, and a new batch made; you remember the one + I had when I was rewarding myself last week? That was queer—but + nice,” she added hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe you could think of something of your own you could give away + without taking my tarts!” responded Miranda tersely; the joints of her + armor having been pierced by the fatally keen tongue of her niece, who had + insinuated that company-tarts lasted a long time in the brick house. This + was a fact; indeed, the company-tart was so named, not from any idea that + it would ever be eaten by guests, but because it was too good for + every-day use. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca's face crimsoned with shame that she had drifted into an impolite + and, what was worse, an apparently ungrateful speech. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean to say anything not nice, Aunt Miranda,” she stammered. + “Truly the tart was splendid, but not exactly like new, that's all. And + oh! I know what I can take Clara Belle! A few chocolate drops out of the + box Mr. Ladd gave me on my birthday.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“You go down cellar and get that tart, same as I told you,” commanded +Miranda, “and when you fill it don't uncover a new tumbler of jelly; +there's some dried-apple preserves open that'll do. Wear your rubbers +and your thick jacket. After runnin' all the way down there—for your +legs never seem to be rigged for walkin' like other girls'—you'll set +down on some damp stone or other and ketch your death o' cold, an' your +Aunt Jane n' I'll be kep' up nights nursin' you and luggin' your meals +upstairs to you on a waiter.” + + Here Miranda leaned her head against the back of her rocking +chair, dropped her knitting and closed her eyes wearily, for when the +immovable body is opposed by the irresistible force there is a certain +amount of jar and disturbance involved in the operation. +</pre> + <p> + Rebecca moved toward the side door, shooting a questioning glance at Aunt + Jane as she passed. The look was full of mysterious suggestion and was + accompanied by an almost imperceptible gesture. Miss Jane knew that + certain articles were kept in the entry closet, and by this time she had + become sufficiently expert in telegraphy to know that Rebecca's unspoken + query meant: “COULD YOU PERMIT THE HAT WITH THE RED WINGS, IT BEING + SATURDAY, FINE SETTLED WEATHER, AND A PLEASURE EXCURSION?” + </p> + <p> + These confidential requests, though fraught with embarrassment when + Miranda was in the room, gave Jane much secret joy; there was something + about them that stirred her spinster heart—they were so gay, so + appealing, so un-Sawyer-, un-Riverboro-like. The longer Rebecca lived in + the brick house the more her Aunt Jane marveled at the child. What made + her so different from everybody else. Could it be that her graceless + popinjay of a father, Lorenzo de Medici Randall, had bequeathed her some + strange combination of gifts instead of fortune? Her eyes, her brows, the + color of her lips, the shape of her face, as well as her ways and words, + proclaimed her a changeling in the Sawyer tribe; but what an enchanting + changeling; bringing wit and nonsense and color and delight into the gray + monotony of the dragging years! + </p> + <p> + There was frost in the air, but a bright cheery sun, as Rebecca walked + decorously out of the brick house yard. Emma Jane Perkins was away over + Sunday on a visit to a cousin in Moderation; Alice Robinson and Candace + Milliken were having measles, and Riverboro was very quiet. Still, life + was seldom anything but a gay adventure to Rebecca, and she started afresh + every morning to its conquest. She was not exacting; the Asmodean feat of + spinning a sand heap into twine was, poetically speaking, always in her + power, so the mile walk to the pink-house gate, and the tryst with + freckled, red-haired Clara Belle Simpson, whose face Miss Miranda said + looked like a raw pie in a brick oven, these commonplace incidents were + sufficiently exhilarating to brighten her eye and quicken her step. + </p> + <p> + As the great bare horse-chestnut near the pink-house gate loomed into + view, the red linsey-woolsey speck going down the road spied the blue + linsey-woolsey speck coming up, and both specks flew over the intervening + distance and, meeting, embraced each other ardently, somewhat to the + injury of the company-tart. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't it come out splendidly?” exclaimed Rebecca. “I was so afraid the + fishman wouldn't tell you to start exactly at two, or that one of us would + walk faster than the other; but we met at the very spot! It was a very + uncommon idea, wasn't it? Almost romantic!” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think?” asked Clara Belle proudly. “Look at this! Mrs. + Fogg lent me her watch to come home by!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Clara Belle, how wonderful! Mrs. Fogg gets kinder and kinder to you, + doesn't she? You're not homesick any more, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o; not really; only when I remember there's only little Susan to + manage the twins; though they're getting on real well without me. But I + kind of think, Rebecca, that I'm going to be given away to the Foggs for + good.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean adopted?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I think father's going to sign papers. You see we can't tell how + many years it'll be before the poor baby outgrows its burns, and Mrs. + Fogg'll never be the same again, and she must have somebody to help her.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be their real daughter, then, won't you, Clara Belle? And Mr. Fogg + is a deacon, and a selectman, and a road commissioner, and everything + splendid.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'll have board, and clothes, and school, and be named Fogg, and” + (here her voice sank to an awed whisper) “the upper farm if I should ever + get married; Miss Dearborn told me that herself, when she was persuading + me not to mind being given away.” + </p> + <p> + “Clara Belle Simpson!” exclaimed Rebecca in a transport. “Who'd have + thought you'd be a female hero and an heiress besides? It's just like a + book story, and it happened in Riverboro. I'll make Uncle Jerry Cobb allow + there CAN be Riverboro stories, you see if I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I know it's all right,” Clara Belle replied soberly. “I'll have + a good home and father can't keep us all; but it's kind of dreadful to be + given away, like a piano or a horse and carriage!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca's hand went out sympathetically to Clara Belle's freckled paw. + Suddenly her own face clouded and she whispered: + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure, Clara Belle, but I'm given away too—do you s'pose I + am? Poor father left us in debt, you see. I thought I came away from + Sunnybrook to get an education and then help pay off the mortgage; but + mother doesn't say anything about my coming back, and our family's one of + those too-big ones, you know, just like yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Did your mother sign papers to your aunts?' + </p> + <p> + “If she did I never heard anything about it; but there's something pinned + on to the mortgage that mother keeps in the drawer of the bookcase.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd know it if twas adoption papers; I guess you're just lent,” Clara + Belle said cheeringly. “I don't believe anybody'd ever give YOU away! And, + oh! Rebecca, father's getting on so well! He works on Daly's farm where + they raise lots of horses and cattle, too, and he breaks all the young + colts and trains them, and swaps off the poor ones, and drives all over + the country. Daly told Mr. Fogg he was splendid with stock, and father + says it's just like play. He's sent home money three Saturday nights.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad!” exclaimed Rebecca sympathetically. “Now your mother'll have + a good time and a black silk dress, won't she?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” sighed Clara Belle, and her voice was grave. “Ever since I + can remember she's just washed and cried and cried and washed. Miss + Dearborn has been spending her vacation up to Acreville, you know, and she + came yesterday to board next door to Mrs. Fogg's. I heard them talking + last night when I was getting the baby to sleep—I couldn't help it, + they were so close—and Miss Dearborn said mother doesn't like + Acreville; she says nobody takes any notice of her, and they don't give + her any more work. Mrs. Fogg said, well, they were dreadful stiff and + particular up that way and they liked women to have wedding rings.” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't your mother got a wedding ring?” asked Rebecca, astonished. “Why, + I thought everybody HAD to have them, just as they do sofas and a kitchen + stove!” + </p> + <p> + “I never noticed she didn't have one, but when they spoke I remembered + mother's hands washing and wringing, and she doesn't wear one, I know. She + hasn't got any jewelry, not even a breast-pin.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca's tone was somewhat censorious, “your father's been so poor + perhaps he couldn't afford breast-pins, but I should have thought he'd + have given your mother a wedding ring when they were married; that's the + time to do it, right at the very first.” + </p> + <p> + “They didn't have any real church dress-up wedding,” explained Clara Belle + extenuatingly. “You see the first mother, mine, had the big boys and me, + and then she died when we were little. Then after a while this mother came + to housekeep, and she stayed, and by and by she was Mrs. Simpson, and + Susan and the twins and the baby are hers, and she and father didn't have + time for a regular wedding in church. They don't have veils and + bridesmaids and refreshments round here like Miss Dearborn's sister did.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they cost a great deal—wedding rings?” asked Rebecca + thoughtfully. “They're solid gold, so I s'pose they do. If they were cheap + we might buy one. I've got seventy-four cents saved up; how much have + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty-three,” Clara Belle responded, in a depressing tone; “and anyway + there are no stores nearer than Milltown. We'd have to buy it secretly, + for I wouldn't make father angry, or shame his pride, now he's got steady + work; and mother would know I had spent all my savings.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca looked nonplussed. “I declare,” she said, “I think the Acreville + people must be perfectly horrid not to call on your mother only because + she hasn't got any jewelry. You wouldn't dare tell your father what Miss + Dearborn heard, so he'd save up and buy the ring?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I certainly would not!” and Clara Belle's lips closed tightly and + decisively. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca sat quietly for a few moments, then she exclaimed jubilantly: “I + know where we could get it! From Mr. Aladdin, and then I needn't tell him + who it's for! He's coming to stay over tomorrow with his aunt, and I'll + ask him to buy a ring for us in Boston. I won't explain anything, you + know; I'll just say I need a wedding ring.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be perfectly lovely,” replied Clara Belle, a look of hope + dawning in her eyes; “and we can think afterwards how to get it over to + mother. Perhaps you could send it to father instead, but I wouldn't dare + to do it myself. You won't tell anybody, Rebecca?” + </p> + <p> + “Cross my heart!” Rebecca exclaimed dramatically; and then with a + reproachful look, “you know I couldn't repeat a sacred secret like that! + Shall we meet next Saturday afternoon, and I tell you what's happened?—Why, + Clara Belle, isn't that Mr. Ladd watering his horse at the foot of the + hill this very minute? It is; and he's driven up from Milltown stead of + coming on the train from Boston to Edgewood. He's all alone, and I can + ride home with him and ask him about the ring right away!” + </p> + <p> + Clara Belle kissed Rebecca fervently, and started on her homeward walk, + while Rebecca waited at the top of the long hill, fluttering her + handkerchief as a signal. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Aladdin! Mr. Aladdin!” she cried, as the horse and wagon came nearer. + </p> + <p> + Adam Ladd drew up quickly at the sound of the eager young voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well; here is Rebecca Rowena fluttering along the highroad like a + red-winged blackbird! Are you going to fly home, or drive with me?” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca clambered into the carriage, laughing and blushing with delight at + his nonsense and with joy at seeing him again. + </p> + <p> + “Clara Belle and I were just talking about you this minute, and I'm so + glad you came this way, for there's something very important to ask you + about,” she began, rather breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” laughed Adam Ladd, who had become, in the course of his + acquaintance with Rebecca, a sort of high court of appeals; “I hope the + premium banquet lamp doesn't smoke as it grows older?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Aladdin, you WILL not remember nicely. Mr. Simpson swapped off + the banquet lamp when he was moving the family to Acreville; it's not the + lamp at all, but once, when you were here last time, you said you'd make + up your mind what you were going to give me for Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” and “I do remember that much quite nicely.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, is it bought?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never buy Christmas presents before Thanksgiving.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, DEAR Mr. Aladdin, would you buy me something different, something + that I want to give away, and buy it a little sooner than Christmas?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends. I don't relish having my Christmas presents given away. I + like to have them kept forever in little girls' bureau drawers, all + wrapped in pink tissue paper; but explain the matter and perhaps I'll + change my mind. What is it you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I need a wedding ring dreadfully,” said Rebecca, “but it's a sacred + secret.” + </p> + <p> + Adam Ladd's eyes flashed with surprise and he smiled to himself with + pleasure. Had he on his list of acquaintances, he asked himself, a person + of any age or sex so altogether irresistible and unique as this child? + Then he turned to face her with the merry teasing look that made him so + delightful to young people. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was perfectly understood between us,” he said, “that if you + could ever contrive to grow up and I were willing to wait, that I was to + ride up to the brick house on my snow white”— + </p> + <p> + “Coal black,” corrected Rebecca, with a sparkling eye and a warning + finger. + </p> + <p> + “Coal black charger; put a golden circlet on your lily white finger, draw + you up behind me on my pillion”— + </p> + <p> + “And Emma Jane, too,” Rebecca interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “I think I didn't mention Emma Jane,” argued Mr. Aladdin. “Three on a + pillion is very uncomfortable. I think Emma Jane leaps on the back of a + prancing chestnut, and we all go off to my castle in the forest.” + </p> + <p> + “Emma Jane never leaps, and she'd be afraid of a prancing chestnut,” + objected Rebecca. + </p> + <p> + “Then she shall have a gentle cream-colored pony; but now, without any + explanation, you ask me to buy you a wedding ring, which shows plainly + that you are planning to ride off on a snow white—I mean coal black—charger + with somebody else.” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca dimpled and laughed with joy at the nonsense. In her prosaic world + no one but Adam Ladd played the game and answered the fool according to + his folly. Nobody else talked delicious fairy-story twaddle but Mr. + Aladdin. + </p> + <p> + “The ring isn't for ME!” she explained carefully. “You know very well that + Emma Jane nor I can't be married till we're through Quackenbos's Grammar, + Greenleaf's Arithmetic, and big enough to wear long trails and run a + sewing machine. The ring is for a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn't the groom give it to his bride himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he's poor and kind of thoughtless, and anyway she isn't a bride + any more; she has three step and three other kind of children.” + </p> + <p> + Adam Ladd put the whip back in the socket thoughtfully, and then stooped + to tuck in the rug over Rebecca's feet and his own. When he raised his + head again he asked: “Why not tell me a little more, Rebecca? I'm safe!” + </p> + <p> + Rebecca looked at him, feeling his wisdom and strength, and above all his + sympathy. Then she said hesitatingly: “You remember I told you all about + the Simpsons that day on your aunt's porch when you bought the soap + because I told you how the family were always in trouble and how much they + needed a banquet lamp? Mr. Simpson, Clara Belle's father, has always been + very poor, and not always very good,—a little bit THIEVISH, you know—but + oh, so pleasant and nice to talk to! And now he's turning over a new leaf. + And everybody in Riverboro liked Mrs. Simpson when she came here a + stranger, because they were sorry for her and she was so patient, and such + a hard worker, and so kind to the children. But where she lives now, + though they used to know her when she was a girl, they're not polite to + her and don't give her scrubbing and washing; and Clara belle heard our + teacher say to Mrs. Fogg that the Acreville people were stiff, and + despised her because she didn't wear a wedding ring, like all the rest. + And Clara Belle and I thought if they were so mean as that, we'd love to + give her one, and then she'd be happier and have more work; and perhaps + Mr. Simpson if he gets along better will buy her a breast-pin and + earrings, and she'll be fitted out like the others. I know Mrs. Peter + Meserve is looked up to by everybody in Edgewood on account of her gold + bracelets and moss agate necklace.” + </p> + <p> + Adam turned again to meet the luminous, innocent eyes that glowed under + the delicate brows and long lashes, feeling as he had more than once felt + before, as if his worldly-wise, grown-up thoughts had been bathed in some + purifying spring. + </p> + <p> + “How shall you send the ring to Mrs. Simpson?” he asked, with interest. + </p> + <p> + “We haven't settled yet; Clara Belle's afraid to do it, and thinks I could + manage better. Will the ring cost much? Because, of course, if it does, I + must ask Aunt Jane first. There are things I have to ask Aunt Miranda, and + others that belong to Aunt Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “It costs the merest trifle. I'll buy one and bring it to you, and we'll + consult about it; but I think as you're great friends with Mr. Simpson + you'd better send it to him in a letter, letters being your strong point! + It's a present a man ought to give his own wife, but it's worth trying, + Rebecca. You and Clara Belle can manage it between you, and I'll stay in + the background where nobody will see me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Ninth Chronicle. THE GREEN ISLE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Many a green isle needs must be + In the deep sea of misery, + Or the mariner, worn and wan, + Never thus could voyage on + Day and night and night and day, + Drifting on his weary way. + + —Shelley +</pre> + <p> + Meantime in these frosty autumn days life was crowded with events in the + lonely Simpson house at Acreville. + </p> + <p> + The tumble-down dwelling stood on the edge of Pliney's Pond; so called + because old Colonel Richardson left his lands to be divided in five equal + parts, each share to be chosen in turn by one of his five sons, Pliny, the + eldest, having priority of choice. + </p> + <p> + Pliny Richardson, having little taste for farming, and being ardently fond + of fishing, rowing, and swimming, acted up to his reputation of being “a + little mite odd,” and took his whole twenty acres in water—hence + Pliny's Pond. + </p> + <p> + The eldest Simpson boy had been working on a farm in Cumberland County for + two years. Samuel, generally dubbed “see-saw,” had lately found a humble + place in a shingle mill and was partially self-supporting. Clara Belle had + been adopted by the Foggs; thus there were only three mouths to fill, the + capacious ones of Elijah and Elisha, the twin boys, and of lisping, + nine-year-old Susan, the capable houseworker and mother's assistant, for + the baby had died during the summer; died of discouragement at having been + born into a family unprovided with food or money or love or care, or even + with desire for, or appreciation of, babies. + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt that the erratic father of the house had turned over a + new leaf. Exactly when he began, or how, or why, or how long he would + continue the praiseworthy process,—in a word whether there would be + more leaves turned as the months went on,—Mrs. Simpson did not know, + and it is doubtful if any authority lower than that of Mr. Simpson's Maker + could have decided the matter. He had stolen articles for swapping + purposes for a long time, but had often avoided detection, and always + escaped punishment until the last few years. Three fines imposed for small + offenses were followed by several arrests and two imprisonments for brief + periods, and he found himself wholly out of sympathy with the wages of + sin. Sin itself he did not especially mind, but the wages thereof were + decidedly unpleasant and irksome to him. He also minded very much the + isolated position in the community which had lately become his; for he was + a social being and would ALMOST rather not steal from a neighbor than have + him find it out and cease intercourse! This feeling was working in him and + rendering him unaccountably irritable and depressed when he took his + daughter over to Riverboro at the time of the great flag-raising. + </p> + <p> + There are seasons of refreshment, as well as seasons of drought, in the + spiritual, as in the natural world, and in some way or other dews and + rains of grace fell upon Abner Simpson's heart during that brief journey. + Perhaps the giving away of a child that he could not support had made the + soil of his heart a little softer and readier for planting than usual; but + when he stole the new flag off Mrs. Peter Meserve's doorsteps, under the + impression that the cotton-covered bundle contained freshly washed + clothes, he unconsciously set certain forces in operation. + </p> + <p> + It will be remembered that Rebecca saw an inch of red bunting peeping from + the back of his wagon, and asked the pleasure of a drive with him. She was + no daughter of the regiment, but she proposed to follow the flag. When she + diplomatically requested the return of the sacred object which was to be + the glory of the “raising” next day, and he thus discovered his mistake, + he was furious with himself for having slipped into a disagreeable + predicament; and later, when he unexpectedly faced a detachment of + Riverboro society at the cross-roads, and met not only their wrath and + scorn, but the reproachful, disappointed glance of Rebecca's eyes, he felt + degraded as never before. + </p> + <p> + The night at the Centre tavern did not help matters, nor the jolly + patriotic meeting of the three villages at the flag-raising next morning. + He would have enjoyed being at the head and front of the festive + preparations, but as he had cut himself off from all such friendly + gatherings, he intended at any rate to sit in his wagon on the very + outskirts of the assembled crowd and see some of the gayety; for, heaven + knows, he had little enough, he who loved talk, and song, and story, and + laughter, and excitement. + </p> + <p> + The flag was raised, the crowd cheered, the little girl to whom he had + lied, the girl who was impersonating the State of Maine, was on the + platform “speaking her piece,” and he could just distinguish some of the + words she was saying: + </p> + <p> + “For it's your star, my star, all the stars together, That makes our + country's flag so proud To float in the bright fall weather.” + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly there was a clarion voice cleaving the air, and he saw a + tall man standing in the centre of the stage and heard him crying: “THREE + CHEERS FOR THE GIRL THAT SAVED THE FLAG FROM THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY!” + </p> + <p> + He was sore and bitter enough already; lonely, isolated enough; with no + lot nor share in the honest community life; no hand to shake, no + neighbor's meal to share; and this unexpected public arraignment smote him + between the eyes. With resentment newly kindled, pride wounded, vanity + bleeding, he flung a curse at the joyous throng and drove toward home, the + home where he would find his ragged children and meet the timid eyes of a + woman who had been the loyal partner of his poverty and disgraces. + </p> + <p> + It is probable that even then his (extremely light) hand was already on + the “new leaf.” The angels, doubtless, were not especially proud of the + matter and manner of his reformation, but I dare say they were glad to + count him theirs on any terms, so difficult is the reformation of this + blind and foolish world! They must have been; for they immediately flung + into his very lap a profitable, and what is more to the point, an + interesting and agreeable situation where money could be earned by doing + the very things his nature craved. There were feats of daring to be + performed in sight of admiring and applauding stable boys; the horses he + loved were his companions; he was OBLIGED to “swap,” for Daly, his + employer, counted on him to get rid of all undesirable stock; power and + responsibility of a sort were given him freely, for Daly was no Puritan, + and felt himself amply capable of managing any number of Simpsons; so here + were numberless advantages within the man's grasp, and wages besides! + </p> + <p> + Abner positively felt no temptation to steal; his soul expanded with + pride, and the admiration and astonishment with which he regarded his + virtuous present was only equaled by the disgust with which he + contemplated his past; not so much a vicious past, in his own generous + estimation of it, as a “thunderin' foolish” one. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Simpson took the same view of Abner's new leaf as the angels. She was + thankful for even a brief season of honesty coupled with the Saturday + night remittance; and if she still washed and cried and cried and washed, + as Clara Belle had always seen her, it was either because of some hidden + sorrow, or because her poor strength seemed all at once to have deserted + her. + </p> + <p> + Just when employment and good fortune had come to the step-children, and + her own were better fed and clothed than ever before, the pain that had + always lurked, constant but dull, near her tired heart, grew fierce and + triumphantly strong; clutching her in its talons, biting, gnawing, + worrying, leaving her each week with slighter powers of resistance. Still + hope was in the air and a greater content than had ever been hers was in + her eyes; a content that came near to happiness when the doctor ordered + her to keep her bed and sent for Clara Belle. She could not wash any + longer, but there was the ever new miracle of the Saturday night + remittance for household expenses. + </p> + <p> + “Is your pain bad today, mother,” asked Clara Belle, who, only lately + given away, was merely borrowed from Mrs. Fogg for what was thought to be + a brief emergency. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there, I can't hardly tell, Clara Belle,” Mrs. Simpson replied, + with a faint smile. “I can't seem to remember the pain these days without + it's extra bad. The neighbors are so kind; Mrs. Little has sent me canned + mustard greens, and Mrs. Benson chocolate ice cream and mince pie; there's + the doctor's drops to make me sleep, and these blankets and that great box + of eatables from Mr. Ladd; and you here to keep me comp'ny! I declare I'm + kind o' dazed with comforts. I never expected to see sherry wine in this + house. I ain't never drawed the cork; it does me good enough jest to look + at Mr. Ladd's bottle settin' on the mantel-piece with the fire shinin' on + the brown glass.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Simpson had come to see his wife and had met the doctor just as he was + leaving the house. + </p> + <p> + “She looks awful bad to me. Is she goin' to pull through all right, same + as the last time?” he asked the doctor nervously. + </p> + <p> + “She's going to pull right through into the other world,” the doctor + answered bluntly; “and as there don't seem to be anybody else to take the + bull by the horns, I'd advise you, having made the woman's life about as + hard and miserable as you could, to try and help her to die easy!” + </p> + <p> + Abner, surprised and crushed by the weight of this verbal chastisement, + sat down on the doorstep, his head in his hands, and thought a while + solemnly. Thought was not an operation he was wont to indulge in, and when + he opened the gate a few minutes later and walked slowly toward the barn + for his horse, he looked pale and unnerved. It is uncommonly startling, + first to see yourself in another man's scornful eyes, and then, clearly, + in your own. + </p> + <p> + Two days later he came again, and this time it was decreed that he should + find Parson Carll tying his piebald mare at the post. + </p> + <p> + Clara Belle's quick eye had observed the minister as he alighted from his + buggy, and, warning her mother, she hastily smoothed the bedclothes, + arranged the medicine bottles, and swept the hearth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Don't let him in!” wailed Mrs. Simpson, all of a flutter at the + prospect of such a visitor. “Oh, dear! They must think over to the village + that I'm dreadful sick, or the minister wouldn't never think of callin'! + Don't let him in, Clara Belle! I'm afraid he will say hard words to me, or + pray to me; and I ain't never been prayed to since I was a child! Is his + wife with him?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he's alone; but father's just drove up and is hitching at the shed + door.” + </p> + <p> + “That's worse than all!” and Mrs. Simpson raised herself feebly on her + pillows and clasped her hands in despair. “You mustn't let them two meet, + Clara Belle, and you must send Mr. Carll away; your father wouldn't have a + minister in the house, nor speak to one, for a thousand dollars!” + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet, mother! Lie down! It'll be all right! You'll only fret yourself + into a spell! The minister's just a good man; he won't say anything to + frighten you. Father's talking with him real pleasant, and pointing the + way to the front door.” + </p> + <p> + The parson knocked and was admitted by the excited Clara Belle, who + ushered him tremblingly into the sickroom, and then betook herself to the + kitchen with the children, as he gently requested her. + </p> + <p> + Abner Simpson, left alone in the shed, fumbled in his vest pocket and took + out an envelope which held a sheet of paper and a tiny packet wrapped in + tissue paper. The letter had been read once before and ran as follows: + </p> + <p> + Dear Mr. Simpson: + </p> + <p> + This is a secret letter. I heard that the Acreville people weren't nice to + Mrs. Simpson because she didn't have any wedding ring like all the others. + </p> + <p> + I know you've always been poor, dear Mr. Simpson, and troubled with a + large family like ours at the farm; but you really ought to have given + Mrs. Simpson a ring when you were married to her, right at the very first; + for then it would have been over and done with, as they are solid gold and + last forever. And probably she wouldn't feel like asking you for one, + because ladies are just like girls, only grown up, and I know I'd be + ashamed to beg for jewelry when just board and clothes cost so much. So I + send you a nice, new wedding ring to save your buying, thinking you might + get Mrs. Simpson a bracelet or eardrops for Christmas. It did not cost me + anything, as it was a secret present from a friend. + </p> + <p> + I hear Mrs. Simpson is sick, and it would be a great comfort to her while + she is in bed and has so much time to look at it. When I had the measles + Emma Jane Perkins lent me her mother's garnet ring, and it helped me very + much to put my wasted hand outside the bedclothes and see the ring + sparkling. + </p> + <p> + Please don't be angry with me, dear Mr. Simpson, because I like you so + much and am so glad you are happy with the horses and colts; and I believe + now perhaps you DID think the flag was a bundle of washing when you took + it that day; so no more from your Trusted friend, Rebecca Rowena Randall. + </p> + <p> + Simpson tore the letter slowly and quietly into fragments and scattered + the bits on the woodpile, took off his hat, and smoothed his hair; pulled + his mustaches thoughtfully, straightened his shoulders, and then, holding + the tiny packet in the palm of his hand, he went round to the front door, + and having entered the house stood outside the sickroom for an instant, + turned the knob and walked softly in. + </p> + <p> + Then at last the angels might have enjoyed a moment of unmixed joy, for in + that brief walk from shed to house Abner Simpson's conscience waked to + life and attained sufficient strength to prick and sting, to provoke + remorse, to incite penitence, to do all sorts of divine and beautiful + things it was meant for, but had never been allowed to do. + </p> + <p> + Clara Belle went about the kitchen quietly, making preparations for the + children's supper. She had left Riverboro in haste, as the change for the + worse in Mrs. Simpson had been very sudden, but since she had come she had + thought more than once of the wedding ring. She had wondered whether Mr. + Ladd had bought it for Rebecca, and whether Rebecca would find means to + send it to Acreville; but her cares had been so many and varied that the + subject had now finally retired to the background of her mind. + </p> + <p> + The hands of the clock crept on and she kept hushing the strident tones of + Elijah and Elisha, opening and shutting the oven door to look at the corn + bread, advising Susan as to her dishes, and marveling that the minister + stayed so long. + </p> + <p> + At last she heard a door open and close and saw the old parson come out, + wiping his spectacles, and step into the buggy for his drive to the + village. + </p> + <p> + Then there was another period of suspense, during which the house was as + silent as the grave, and presently her father came into the kitchen, + greeted the twins and Susan, and said to Clara Belle: “Don't go in there + yet!” jerking his thumb towards Mrs. Simpson's room; “she's all beat out + and she's just droppin' off to sleep. I'll send some groceries up from the + store as I go along. Is the doctor makin' a second call tonight?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he'll be here pretty soon, now,” Clara Belle answered, looking at + the clock. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll be here again tomorrow, soon as it's light, and if she + ain't picked up any I'll send word back to Daly, and stop here with you + for a spell till she's better.” + </p> + <p> + It was true; Mrs. Simpson was “all beat out.” It had been a time of + excitement and stress, and the poor, fluttered creature was dropping off + into the strangest sleep—a sleep made up of waking dreams. The pain, + that had encompassed her heart like a band of steel, lessened its cruel + pressure, and finally left her so completely that she seemed to see it + floating above her head; only that it looked no longer like a band of + steel, but a golden circle. + </p> + <p> + The frail bark in which she had sailed her life voyage had been rocking on + a rough and tossing ocean, and now it floated, floated slowly into + smoother waters. + </p> + <p> + As long as she could remember, her boat had been flung about in storm and + tempest, lashed by angry winds, borne against rocks, beaten, torn, + buffeted. Now the waves had subsided; the sky was clear; the sea was warm + and tranquil; the sunshine dried the tattered sails; the air was soft and + balmy. + </p> + <p> + And now, for sleep plays strange tricks, the bark disappeared from the + dream, and it was she, herself, who was floating, floating farther and + farther away; whither she neither knew nor cared; it was enough to be at + rest, lulled by the lapping of the cool waves. + </p> + <p> + Then there appeared a green isle rising from the sea; an isle so radiant + and fairy-like that her famished eyes could hardly believe its reality; + but it was real, for she sailed nearer and nearer to its shores, and at + last her feet skimmed the shining sands and she floated through the air as + disembodied spirits float, till she sank softly at the foot of a spreading + tree. + </p> + <p> + Then she saw the green isle was a flowering isle. Every shrub and bush was + blooming; the trees were hung with rosy garlands, and even the earth was + carpeted with tiny flowers. The rare fragrances, the bird songs, soft and + musical, the ravishment of color, all bore down upon her swimming senses + at once, taking them captive so completely that she remembered no past, + was conscious of no present, looked forward to no future. She seemed to + leave the body and the sad, heavy things of the body. The humming in her + ears ceased, the light faded, the birds songs grew fainter and more + distant, the golden circle of pain receded farther and farther until it + was lost to view; even the flowering island gently drifted away, and all + was peace and silence. + </p> + <p> + It was time for the doctor now, and Clara Belle, too anxious to wait + longer, softly turned the knob of her mother's door and entered the room. + The glow of the open fire illumined the darkest side of the poor chamber. + There were no trees near the house, and a full November moon streamed in + at the unblinded, uncurtained windows, lighting up the bare interior—the + unpainted floor, the gray plastered walls, and the white counterpane. + </p> + <p> + Her mother lay quite still, her head turned and drooping a little on the + pillow. Her left hand was folded softly up against her breast, the fingers + of the right partly covering it, as if protecting something precious. + </p> + <p> + Was it the moonlight that made the patient brow so white, and where were + the lines of anxiety and pain? The face of the mother who had washed and + cried and cried and washed was as radiant as if the closed eye were + beholding heavenly visions. + </p> + <p> + “Something must have cured her!” thought Clara Belle, awed and almost + frightened by the whiteness and the silence. + </p> + <p> + She tiptoed across the floor to look more closely at the still, smiling + shape, and bending over it saw, under the shadow of the caressing right + hand, a narrow gold band gleaming on the work-stained finger. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the ring came, after all!” she said in a glad whisper, “and perhaps + it was that that made her better!” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand on her mother's gently. A terrified shiver, a warning + shudder, shook the girl from head to foot at the chilling touch. A dread + presence she had never met before suddenly took shape. It filled the room; + stifled the cry on her lips; froze her steps to the floor, stopped the + beating of her heart. + </p> + <p> + Just then the door opened. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, doctor! Come quick!” she sobbed, stretching out her hand for help, + and then covering her eyes. “Come close! Look at mother! Is she better—or + is she dead?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor put one hand on the shoulder of the shrinking child, and + touched the woman with the other. + </p> + <p> + “She is better!” he said gently, “and she is dead.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Tenth Chronicle. REBECCA'S REMINISCENCES + </h2> + <p> + Rebecca was sitting by the window in her room at the Wareham Female + Seminary. She was alone, as her roommate, Emma Jane Perkins, was reciting + Latin down below in some academic vault of the old brick building. + </p> + <p> + A new and most ardent passion for the classics had been born in Emma + Jane's hitherto unfertile brain, for Abijah Flagg, who was carrying off + all the prizes at Limerick Academy, had written her a letter in Latin, a + letter which she had been unable to translate for herself, even with the + aid of a dictionary, and which she had been apparently unwilling that + Rebecca, her bosom friend, confidant, and roommate, should render into + English. + </p> + <p> + An old-fashioned Female Seminary, with its allotment of one medium-sized + room to two medium sized young females, gave small opportunities for + privacy by night or day, for neither the double washstand, nor the thus + far unimagined bathroom, nor even indeed the humble and serviceable + screen, had been realized, in these dark ages of which I write. + Accordingly, like the irrational ostrich, which defends itself by the + simple process of not looking at its pursuers, Emma Jane had kept her + Latin letter in her closed hand, in her pocket, or in her open book, + flattering herself that no one had noticed her pleased bewilderment at its + only half-imagined contents. + </p> + <p> + All the fairies were not present at Rebecca's cradle. A goodly number of + them telegraphed that they were previously engaged or unavoidably absent + from town. The village of Temperance, Maine, where Rebecca first saw the + light, was hardly a place on its own merits to attract large throngs of + fairies. But one dear old personage who keeps her pocket full of Merry + Leaves from the Laughing Tree, took a fancy to come to the little birthday + party; and seeing so few of her sister-fairies present, she dowered the + sleeping baby more richly than was her wont, because of its apparent lack + of wealth in other directions. So the child grew, and the Merry Leaves + from the Laughing Tree rustled where they hung from the hood of her + cradle, and, being fairy leaves, when the cradle was given up they + festooned themselves on the cribside, and later on blew themselves up to + the ceilings at Sunnybook Farm and dangled there, making fun for + everybody. They never withered, even at the brick house in Riverboro, + where the air was particularly inimical to fairies, for Miss Miranda + Sawyer would have scared any ordinary elf out of her seventeen senses. + They followed Rebecca to Wareham, and during Abijah Flagg's Latin + correspondence with Emma Jane they fluttered about that young person's + head in such a manner that Rebecca was almost afraid that she would + discover them herself, although this is something, as a matter of fact, + that never does happen. + </p> + <p> + A week had gone by since the Latin missive had been taken from the + post-office by Emma Jane, and now, by means of much midnight oil-burning, + by much cautious questioning of Miss Maxwell, by such scrutiny of the + moods and tenses of Latin verbs as wellnigh destroyed her brain tissue, + she had mastered its romantic message. If it was conventional in style, + Emma Jane never suspected it. If some of the similes seemed to have been + culled from the Latin poets, and some of the phrases built up from Latin + exercises, Emma Jane was neither scholar nor critic; the similes, the + phrases, the sentiments, when finally translated and written down in + black-and-white English, made, in her opinion, the most convincing and + heart-melting document ever sent through the mails: + </p> + <p> + Mea cara Emma: + </p> + <p> + Cur audeo scribere ad te epistulam? Es mihi dea! Semper es in mea anima. + Iterum et iterum es cum me in somnis. Saepe video tuas capillos auri, tuos + pulchros oculos similes caelo, tuas genas, quasi rubentes rosas in nive. + Tua vox est dulcior quam cantus avium aut murmur rivuli in montibus. + </p> + <p> + Cur sum ego tam miser et pauper et indignus, et tu tam dulcis et bona et + nobilis? + </p> + <p> + Si cogitabis de me ero beatus. Tu es sola puella quam amo, et semper eris. + Alias puellas non amavi. Forte olim amabis me, sed sum indignus. Sine te + sum miser, cum tu es prope mea vita omni est goddamn. + </p> + <p> + Vale, carissima, carissima puella! + </p> + <p> + De tuo fideli servo A.F. + </p> + <p> + My dear Emma: + </p> + <p> + Why dare I write to you a letter? You are to me a goddess! Always you are + in my heart. Again and again you are with me in dreams. Often I see your + locks of gold, your beautiful eyes like the sky, your cheeks, as red roses + in snow. Your voice is sweeter than the singing of birds or the murmur of + the stream in the mountains. + </p> + <p> + Why am I so wretched and poor and unworthy, and you so sweet and good and + noble? + </p> + <p> + If you will think of me I shall be happy. You are the only girl that I + love and always will be. Other girls I have not loved. Perhaps sometime + you will love me, but I am unworthy. Without you, I am wretched, when you + are near my life is all joy. + </p> + <p> + Farewell, dearest, dearest girl! + </p> + <p> + From your faithful slave A.F. + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane knew the letter by heart in English. She even knew it in Latin, + only a few days before a dead language to her, but now one filled with + life and meaning. From beginning to end the epistle had the effect upon + her as of an intoxicating elixir. Often, at morning prayers, or while + eating her rice pudding at the noon dinner, or when sinking off to sleep + at night, she heard a voice murmuring in her ear, “Vale, carissima, + carissima puella!” As to the effect on her modest, countrified little + heart of the phrases in which Abijah stated she was a goddess and he her + faithful slave, that quite baffles description; for it lifted her bodily + out of the scenes in which she moved, into a new, rosy, ethereal + atmosphere in which even Rebecca had no place. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca did not know this, fortunately; she only suspected, and waited for + the day when Emma Jane would pour out her confidences, as she always did, + and always would until the end of time. At the present moment she was + busily employed in thinking about her own affairs. A shabby composition + book with mottled board covers lay open on the table before her, and + sometimes she wrote in it with feverish haste and absorption, and + sometimes she rested her chin in the cup of her palm, and with the pencil + poised in the other hand looked dreamily out on the village, its huddle of + roofs and steeples all blurred into positive beauty by the fast-falling + snowflakes. + </p> + <p> + It was the middle of December and the friendly sky was softly dropping a + great white mantle of peace and good-will over the little town, making all + ready within and without for the Feast o' the Babe. + </p> + <p> + The main street, that in summer was made dignified by its splendid avenue + of shade trees, now ran quiet and white between rows of stalwart trunks, + whose leafless branches were all hanging heavy under their dazzling + burden. + </p> + <p> + The path leading straight up the hill to the Academy was broken only by + the feet of the hurrying, breathless boys and girls who ran up and down, + carrying piles of books under their arms; books which they remembered so + long as they were within the four walls of the recitation room, and which + they eagerly forgot as soon as they met one another in the living, + laughing world, going up and down the hill. + </p> + <p> + “It's very becoming to the universe, snow is!” thought Rebecca, looking + out of the window dreamily. “Really there's little to choose between the + world and heaven when a snowstorm is going on. I feel as if I ought to + look at it every minute. I wish I could get over being greedy, but it + still seems to me at sixteen as if there weren't waking hours enough in + the day, and as if somehow I were pressed for time and continually losing + something. How well I remember mother's story about me when I was four. It + was at early breakfast on the farm, but I called all meals dinner' then, + and when I had finished I folded up my bib and sighed: O, dear! Only two + more dinners, play a while and go to bed!' This was at six in the morning—lamplight + in the kitchen, snowlight outside! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Powdery, powdery, powdery snow, + Making things lovely wherever you go! + Merciful, merciful, merciful snow, + Masking the ugliness hidden below. +</pre> + <p> + Herbert made me promise to do a poem for the January 'Pilot,' but I + mustn't take the snow as a subject; there has been too great competition + among the older poets!” And with that she turned in her chair and began + writing again in the shabby book, which was already three quarters filled + with childish scribblings, sometimes in pencil, and sometimes in violet + ink with carefully shaded capital letters.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Squire Bean has had a sharp attack of rheumatism and Abijah Flagg came + back from Limerick for a few days to nurse him. One morning the Burnham + sisters from North Riverboro came over to spend the day with Aunt Miranda, + and Abijah went down to put up their horse. (“'Commodatin' 'Bijah” was his + pet name when we were all young.) + </p> + <p> + He scaled the ladder to the barn chamber—the dear old ladder that + used to be my safety valve!—and pitched down the last forkful of + grandfather's hay that will ever be eaten by any visiting horse. They WILL + be delighted to hear that it is all gone; they have grumbled at it for + years and years. + </p> + <p> + What should Abijah find at the bottom of the heap but my Thought Book, + hidden there two or three years ago and forgotten! + </p> + <p> + When I think of what it was to me, the place it filled in my life, the + affection I lavished on it, I wonder that I could forget it, even in all + the excitement of coming to Wareham to school. And that gives me “an + uncommon thought” as I used to say! It is this: that when we finish + building an air castle we seldom live in it after all; we sometimes even + forget that we ever longed to! Perhaps we have gone so far as to begin + another castle on a higher hilltop, and this is so beautiful,—especially + while we are building, and before we live in it!—that the first one + has quite vanished from sight and mind, like the outgrown shell of the + nautilus that he casts off on the shore and never looks at again. (At + least I suppose he doesn't; but perhaps he takes one backward glance, + half-smiling, half-serious, just as I am doing at my old Thought Book, and + says, “WAS THAT MY SHELL! GOODNESS GRACIOUS! HOW DID I EVER SQUEEZE MYSELF + INTO IT!”) + </p> + <p> + That bit about the nautilus sounds like an extract from a school theme, or + a “Pilot” editorial, or a fragment of one of dear Miss Maxwell's lectures, + but I think girls of sixteen are principally imitations of the people and + things they love and admire; and between editing the “Pilot,” writing out + Virgil translations, searching for composition subjects, and studying + rhetorical models, there is very little of the original Rebecca Rowena + about me at the present moment; I am just a member of the graduating class + in good and regular standing. We do our hair alike, dress alike as much as + possible, eat and drink alike, talk alike,—I am not even sure that + we do not think alike; and what will become of the poor world when we are + all let loose upon it on the same day of June? Will life, real life, bring + our true selves back to us? Will love and duty and sorrow and trouble and + work finally wear off the “school stamp” that has been pressed upon all of + us until we look like rows of shining copper cents fresh from the mint? + </p> + <p> + Yet there must be a little difference between us somewhere, or why does + Abijah Flagg write Latin letters to Emma Jane, instead of to me? There is + one example on the other side of the argument,—Abijah Flagg. He + stands out from all the rest of the boys like the Rock of Gibraltar in the + geography pictures. Is it because he never went to school until he was + sixteen? He almost died of longing to go, and the longing seemed to teach + him more than going. He knew his letters, and could read simple things, + but it was I who taught him what books really meant when I was eleven and + he thirteen. We studied while he was husking corn or cutting potatoes for + seed, or shelling beans in the Squire's barn. His beloved Emma Jane didn't + teach him; her father wold not have let her be friends with a chore-boy! + It was I who found him after milking-time, summer nights, suffering, yes + dying, of Least Common Multiple and Greatest Common Divisor; I who struck + the shackles from the slave and told him to skip it all and go on to + something easier, like Fractions, Percentage, and Compound Interest, as I + did myself. Oh! How he used to smell of the cows when I was correcting his + sums on warm evenings, but I don't regret it, for he is now the joy of + Limerick and the pride of Riverboro, and I suppose has forgotten the + proper side on which to approach a cow if you wish to milk her. This now + unserviceable knowledge is neatly inclosed in the outgrown shell he threw + off two or three years ago. His gratitude to me knows no bounds, but—he + writes Latin letters to Emma Jane! But as Mr. Perkins said about drowning + the kittens (I now quote from myself at thirteen), “It is the way of the + world and how things have to be!” + </p> + <p> + Well, I have read the Thought Book all through, and when I want to make + Mr. Aladdin laugh, I shall show him my composition on the relative values + of punishment and reward as builders of character. + </p> + <p> + I am not at all the same Rebecca today at sixteen that I was then, at + twelve and thirteen. I hope, in getting rid of my failings, that I haven't + scrubbed and rubbed so hard that I have taken the gloss off the poor + little virtues that lay just alongside of the faults; for as I read the + foolish doggerel and the funny, funny “Remerniscences,” I see on the whole + a nice, well-meaning, trusting, loving heedless little creature, that + after all I'd rather build on than outgrow altogether, because she is Me; + the Me that was made and born just a little different from all the rest of + the babies in my birthday year. + </p> + <p> + One thing is alike in the child and the girl. They both love to set + thoughts down in black and white; to see how they look, how they sound, + and how they make one feel when one reads them over. + </p> + <p> + They both love the sound of beautiful sentences and the tinkle of rhyming + words, and in fact, of the three great R's of life, they adore Reading and + Riting, as much as they abhor 'Rithmetic. + </p> + <p> + The little girl in the old book is always thinking of what she is “going + to be.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Jerry Cobb spoiled me a good deal in this direction. I remember he + said to everybody when I wrote my verses for the flag-raising: “Nary rung + on the ladder o' fame but that child'll climb if you give her time!”—poor + Uncle Jerry! He will be so disappointed in me as time goes on. And still + he would think I have already climbed two rungs on the ladder, although it + is only a little Wareham ladder, for I am one of the “Pilot” editors, the + first “girl editor”—and I have taken a fifty dollar prize in + composition and paid off the interest on a twelve hundred dollar mortgage + with it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “High is the rank we now possess, + But higher we shall rise; + Though what we shall hereafter be + Is hid from mortal eyes.” + </pre> + <p> + This hymn was sung in meeting the Sunday after my election, and Mr. + Aladdin was there that day and looked across the aisle and smiled at me. + Then he sent me a sheet of paper from Boston the next morning with just + one verse in the middle of it. + </p> + <p> + “She made the cleverest people quite ashamed; And ev'n the good with + inward envy groan, Finding themselves so very much exceeded, In their own + way by all the things that she did.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Maxwell says it is Byron, and I wish I had thought of the last rhyme + before Byron did; my rhymes are always so common. + </p> + <p> + I am too busy doing, nowadays, to give very much thought to being. Mr. + Aladdin was teasing me one day about what he calls my “cast-off careers.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you aim at any mark in particular, Rebecca?” he asked, looking + at Miss Maxwell and laughing. “Women never hit what they aim at, anyway; + but if they shut their eyes and shoot in the air they generally find + themselves in the bull's eye.” + </p> + <p> + I think one reason that I have always dreamed of what I should be, when I + grew up, was, that even before father died mother worried about the + mortgage on the farm, and what would become of us if it were foreclosed. + </p> + <p> + It was hard on children to be brought up on a mortgage that way, but oh! + it was harder still on poor dear mother, who had seven of us then to think + of, and still has three at home to feed and clothe out of the farm. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Jane says I am young for my age, Aunt Miranda is afraid that I will + never really “grow up,” Mr. Aladdin says that I don't know the world any + better than the pearl inside of the oyster. They none of them know the + old, old thoughts I have, some of them going back years and years; for + they are never ones that I can speak about. + </p> + <p> + I remember how we children used to admire father, he was so handsome and + graceful and amusing, never cross like mother, or too busy to play with + us. He never did any work at home because he had to keep his hands nice + for playing the church melodeon, or the violin or piano for dances. + </p> + <p> + Mother used to say: “Hannah and Rebecca, you must hull the strawberries, + your father cannot help.” “John, you must milk next year for I haven't the + time and it would spoil your father's hands.” + </p> + <p> + All the other men in Temperance village wore calico, or flannel shirts, + except on Sundays, but Father never wore any but white ones with starched + bosoms. He was very particular about them and mother used to stitch and + stitch on the pleats, and press and press the bosoms and collar and cuffs, + sometimes late at night. + </p> + <p> + Then she was tired and thin and gray, with no time to sew on new dresses + for herself, and no time to wear them, because she was always taking care + of the babies; and father was happy and well and handsome. But we children + never thought much about it until once, after father had mortgaged the + farm, there was going to be a sociable in Temperance village. Mother could + not go as Jenny had whooping-cough and Mark had just broken his arm, and + when she was tying father's necktie, the last thing before he started, he + said: “I wish, Aurelia, that you cared a little about YOUR appearance and + YOUR dress; it goes a long way with a man like me.” + </p> + <p> + Mother had finished the tie, and her hands dropped suddenly. I looked at + her eyes and mouth while she looked at father and in a minute I was ever + so old, with a grown-up ache in my heart. It has always stayed there, + although I admired my handsome father and was proud of him because he was + so talented; but now that I am older and have thought about things, my + love for mother is different from what it used to be. Father was always + the favorite when we were little, he was so interesting, and I wonder + sometimes if we don't remember interesting people longer and better than + we do those who are just good and patient. If so it seems very cruel. + </p> + <p> + As I look back I see that Miss Ross, the artist who brought me my pink + parasol from Paris, sowed the first seeds in me of ambition to do + something special. Her life seemed so beautiful and so easy to a child. I + had not been to school then, or read George Macdonald, so I did not know + that “Ease is the lovely result of forgotten toil.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ross sat out of doors and painted lovely things, and everybody said + how wonderful they were, and bought them straight away; and she took care + of a blind father and two brothers, and traveled wherever she wished. It + comes back to me now, that summer when I was ten and Miss Ross painted me + sitting by the mill-wheel while she talked to me of foreign countries! + </p> + <p> + The other day Miss Maxwell read something from Browning's poems to the + girls of her literature class. It was about David the shepherd boy who + used to lie in his hollow watching one eagle “wheeling slow as in sleep.” + He used to wonder about the wide world that the eagle beheld, the eagle + that was stretching his wings so far up in the blue, while he, the poor + shepherd boy, could see only the “strip twixt the hill and the sky;” for + he lay in a hollow. + </p> + <p> + I told Mr. Baxter about it the next day, which was the Saturday before I + joined the church. I asked him if it was wicked to long to see as much as + the eagle saw? + </p> + <p> + There was never anybody quite like Mr. Baxter. “Rebecca dear,” he said, + “it may be that you need not always lie in a hollow, as the shepherd boy + did; but wherever you lie, that little strip you see 'twixt the hill and + the sky' is able to hold all of earth and all of heaven, if only you have + the right sort of vision.” + </p> + <p> + I was a long, long time about “experiencing religion.” I remember Sunday + afternoons at the brick house the first winter after I went there; when I + used to sit in the middle of the dining-room as I was bid, silent and + still, with the big family Bible on my knees. Aunt Miranda had Baxter's + “Saints' Rest,” but her seat was by the window, and she at least could + give a glance into the street now and then without being positively + wicked. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Jane used to read the “Pilgrim's Progress.” The fire burned low; the + tall clock ticked, ticked, so slowly and steadily, that the pictures swam + before my eyes and I almost fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + They thought by shutting everything else out that I should see God; but I + didn't, not once. I was so homesick for Sunnybook and John that I could + hardly learn my weekly hymns, especially the sad, long one beginning: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My thoughts on awful subjects roll, + Damnation and the dead.” + </pre> + <p> + It was brother John for whom I was chiefly homesick on Sunday afternoons, + because at Sunnybrook Farm father was dead and mother was always busy, and + Hannah never liked to talk. + </p> + <p> + Then the next year the missionaries from Syria came to Riverboro; and at + the meeting Mr. Burch saw me playing the melodeon, and thought I was grown + up and a church member, and so he asked me to lead in prayer. + </p> + <p> + I didn't dare to refuse, and when I prayed, which was just like thinking + out loud, I found I could talk to God a great deal easier than to Aunt + Miranda or even to Uncle Jerry Cobb. There were things I could say to Him + that I could never say to anybody else, and saying them always made me + happy and contented. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Baxter asked me last year about joining the church, I told him I + was afraid I did not understand God quite well enough to be a real member. + </p> + <p> + “So you don't quite understand God, Rebecca?” he asked, smiling. “Well, + there is something else much more important, which is, that He understands + you! He understands your feeble love, your longings, desires, hopes, + faults, ambitions, crosses; and that, after all, is what counts! Of course + you don't understand Him! You are overshadowed by His love, His power, His + benignity, His wisdom; that is as it should be! Why, Rebecca, dear, if you + could stand erect and unabashed in God's presence, as one who perfectly + comprehended His nature or His purposes, it would be sacrilege! Don't be + puzzled out of your blessed inheritance of faith, my child; accept God + easily and naturally, just as He accepts you!” + </p> + <p> + “God never puzzled me, Mr. Baxter; it isn't that,” I said; “but the + doctrines do worry me dreadfully.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them alone for the present,” Mr Baxter said. “Anyway, Rebecca, you + can never prove God; you can only find Him!” + </p> + <p> + “Then do you think I have really experienced religion, Mr. Baxter?” I + asked. “Am I the beginnings of a Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “You are a dear child of the understanding God!” Mr. Baxter said; “and I + say it over to myself night and morning so that I can never forget it.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The year is nearly over and the next few months will be lived in the rush + and whirlwind of work that comes before graduation. The bell for + philosophy class will ring in ten minutes, and as I have been writing for + nearly two hours, I must learn my lesson going up the Academy hill. It + will not be the first time; it is a grand hill for learning! I suppose + after fifty years or so the very ground has become soaked with knowledge, + and every particle of air in the vicinity is crammed with useful + information. + </p> + <p> + I will put my book into my trunk (having no blessed haymow hereabouts) and + take it out again,—when shall I take it out again? + </p> + <p> + After graduation perhaps I shall be too grown up and too busy to write in + a Thought Book; but oh, if only something would happen worth putting down; + something strange; something unusual; something different from the things + that happen every day in Riverboro and Edgewood! + </p> + <p> + Graduation will surely take me a little out of “the hollow,”—make me + a little more like the soaring eagle, gazing at the whole wide world + beneath him while he wheels “slow as in sleep.” But whether or not, I'll + try not to be a discontented shepherd, but remember what Mr. Baxter said, + that the little strip that I see “twixt the hill and the sky” is able to + hold all of earth and all of heaven, if only I have the eyes to see it. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca Rowena Randall. + </p> + <p> + Wareham Female Seminary, December 187—. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Eleventh Chronicle. ABIJAH THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR EMMAJANE + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A warrior so bold and a maiden so bright + Conversed as they sat on the green. + They gazed at each other in tender delight. + Alonzo the brave was the name of the knight, + And the maid was the fair Imogene. + + “Alas!' said the youth, 'since tomorrow I go + To fight in a far distant land, + Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow, + Some other will court you, and you will bestow + On a wealthier suitor your hand.' + + 'Oh, hush these suspicions!' Fair Imogene said, + “So hurtful to love and to me! + For if you be living, or if you be dead, + I swear by the Virgin that none in your stead + Shall the husband of Imogene be!' +</pre> + <p> + Ever since she was eight years old Rebecca had wished to be eighteen, but + now that she was within a month of that awe-inspiring and long-desired age + she wondered if, after all, it was destined to be a turning point in her + quiet existence. Her eleventh year, for instance, had been a real + turning-point, since it was then that she had left Sunnybrook Farm and + come to her maiden aunts in Riverboro. Aurelia Randall may have been + doubtful as to the effect upon her spinster sisters of the irrepressible + child, but she was hopeful from the first that the larger opportunities of + Riverboro would be the “making” of Rebecca herself. + </p> + <p> + The next turning-point was her fourteenth year, when she left the district + school for the Wareham Female Seminary, then in the hey-day of its local + fame. Graduation (next to marriage, perhaps, the most thrilling episode in + the life of a little country girl) happened at seventeen, and not long + afterward her Aunt Miranda's death, sudden and unexpected, changed not + only all the outward activities and conditions of her life, but played its + own part in her development. + </p> + <p> + The brick house looked very homelike and pleasant on a June morning + nowadays with children's faces smiling at the windows and youthful + footsteps sounding through the halls; and the brass knocker on the + red-painted front door might have remembered Rebecca's prayer of a year + before, when she leaned against its sun-warmed brightness and whispered: + “God bless Aunt Miranda; God bless the brick house that was; God bless the + brick house that's going to be!” + </p> + <p> + All the doors and blinds were open to the sun and air as they had never + been in Miss Miranda Sawyer's time. The hollyhock bed that had been her + chief pride was never neglected, and Rebecca liked to hear the neighbors + say that there was no such row of beautiful plants and no such variety of + beautiful colors in Riverboro as those that climbed up and peeped in at + the kitchen windows where old Miss Miranda used to sit. + </p> + <p> + Now that the place was her very own Rebecca felt a passion of pride in its + smoothly mown fields, its carefully thinned-out woods, its blooming garden + spots, and its well-weeded vegetable patch; felt, too whenever she looked + at any part of it, a passion of gratitude to the stern old aunt who had + looked upon her as the future head of the family, as well as a passion of + desire to be worthy of that trust. + </p> + <p> + It had been a very difficult year for a girl fresh from school: the death + of her aunt, the nursing of Miss Jane, prematurely enfeebled by the shock, + the removal of her own invalid mother and the rest of the little family + from Sunnybrook Farm. But all had gone smoothly; and when once the Randall + fortunes had taken an upward turn nothing seemed able to stop their + intrepid ascent. + </p> + <p> + Aurelia Randall renewed her youth in the companionship of her sister Jane + and the comforts by which her children were surrounded; the mortgage was + no longer a daily terror, for Sunnybrook had been sold to the new + railroad; Hannah, now Mrs. Will Melville, was happily situated; John, at + last, was studying medicine; Mark, the boisterous and unlucky brother, had + broken no bones for several months; while Jenny and Fanny were doing well + at the district school under Miss Libby Moses, Miss Dearborn's successor. + </p> + <p> + “I don't feel very safe,” thought Rebecca, remembering all these + unaccustomed mercies as she sat on the front doorsteps, with her tatting + shuttle flying in and out of the fine cotton like a hummingbird. “It's + just like one of those too beautiful July days that winds up with a + thundershower before night! Still, when you remember that the Randalls + never had anything but thunder and lightning, rain, snow, and hail, in + their family history for twelve or fifteen years, perhaps it is only + natural that they should enjoy a little spell of settled weather. If it + really turns out to BE settled, now that Aunt Jane and mother are strong + again I must be looking up one of what Mr. Aladdin calls my cast-off + careers.”—“There comes Emma Jane Perkins through her front gate; she + will be here in a minute, and I'll tease her!” and Rebecca ran in the door + and seated herself at the old piano that stood between the open windows in + the parlor. + </p> + <p> + Peeping from behind the muslin curtains, she waited until Emma Jane was on + the very threshold and then began singing her version of an old ballad, + made that morning while she was dressing. The ballad was a great favorite + of hers, and she counted on doing telling execution with it in the present + instance by the simple subterfuge of removing the original hero and + heroine, Alonzo and Imogene, and substituting Abijah the Brave and the + Fair Emmajane, leaving the circumstances in the first three verses + unaltered, because in truth they seemed to require no alteration. + </p> + <p> + Her high, clear voice, quivering with merriment, floated through the + windows into the still summer air: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'A warrior so bold and a maiden so bright + Conversed as they sat on the green. + They gazed at each other in tender delight. + Abijah the Brave was the name of the knight, + And the maid was the Fair Emmajane.'” + </pre> + <p> + “Rebecca Randall, stop! Somebody'll hear you!” + </p> + <p> + “No, they won't—they're making jelly in the kitchen, miles away.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Alas!' said the youth, since tomorrow I go + To fight in a far distant land, + Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow, + Some other will court you, and you will bestow + On a wealthier suitor your hand.'” + </pre> + <p> + “Rebecca, you can't THINK how your voice carries! I believe mother can + hear it over to my house!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if she can, I must sing the third verse, just to clear your + reputation from the cloud cast upon it in the second,” laughed her + tormentor, going on with the song: + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, hush these suspicions!' Fair Emmajane said, 'So hurtful to love and + to me! For if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear, my Abijah, that + none in your stead, Shall the husband of Emmajane be!'” + </p> + <p> + After ending the third verse Rebecca wheeled around on the piano stool and + confronted her friend, who was carefully closing the parlor windows:— + </p> + <p> + “Emma Jane Perkins, it is an ordinary Thursday afternoon at four o'clock + and you have on your new blue barege, although there is not even a church + sociable in prospect this evening. What does this mean? Is Abijah the + Brave coming at last?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know certainly, but it will be some time this week.” + </p> + <p> + “And of course you'd rather be dressed up and not seen, than seen when not + dressed up. Right, my Fair Emmajane; so would I. Not that it makes any + difference to poor me, wearing my fourth best black and white calico and + expecting nobody. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, YOU! There's something inside of you that does instead of + pretty dresses,” cried Emma Jane, whose adoration of her friend had never + altered nor lessened since they met at the age of eleven. “You know you + are as different from anybody else in Riverboro as a princess in a fairy + story. Libby Moses says they would notice you in Lowell, Massachusetts!” + </p> + <p> + “Would they? I wonder,” speculated Rebecca, rendered almost speechless by + this tribute to her charms. “Well, if Lowell, Massachusetts, could see me, + or if you could see me, in my new lavender muslin with the violet sash, it + would die of envy, and so would you!” + </p> + <p> + “If I had been going to be envious of you, Rebecca, I should have died + years ago. Come, let's go out on the steps where it's shady and cool.” + </p> + <p> + “And where we can see the Perkins front gate and the road running both + ways,” teased Rebecca, and then, softening her tone, she said: “How is it + getting on, Emmy? Tell me what's happened since I've been in Brunswick.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much,” confessed Emma Jane. “He writes to me, but I don't write + to him, you know. I don't dare to, till he comes to the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Are his letters still in Latin?” asked Rebecca, with a twinkling eye. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! Not now, because—well, because there are things you can't + seem to write in Latin. I saw him at the Masonic picnic in the grove, but + he won't say anything REAL to me till he gets more pay and dares to speak + to mother and father. He IS brave in all other ways, but I ain't sure + he'll ever have the courage for that, he's so afraid of them and always + has been. Just remember what's in his mind all the time, Rebecca, that my + folks know all about what his mother was, and how he was born on the + poor-farm. Not that I care; look how he's educated and worked himself up! + I think he's perfectly elegant, and I shouldn't mind if he had been born + in the bulrushes, like Moses.” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane's every-day vocabulary was pretty much what it had been before + she went to the expensive Wareham Female Seminary. She had acquired a + certain amount of information concerning the art of speech, but in moments + of strong feeling she lapsed into the vernacular. She grew slowly in all + directions, did Emma Jane, and, to use Rebecca's favorite nautilus figure, + she had left comparatively few outgrown shells on the shores of “life's + unresting sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Moses wasn't born in the bulrushes, Emmy dear,” corrected Rebecca + laughingly. “Pharaoh's daughter found him there. It wasn't quite as + romantic a scene—Squire Bean's wife taking little Abijah Flagg from + the poorhouse when his girl-mother died, but, oh, I think Abijah's + splendid! Mr. Ladd says Riverboro'll be proud of him yet, and I shouldn't + wonder, Emmy dear, if you had a three-story house with a cupola on it, + some day; and sitting down at your mahogany desk inlaid with garnets, you + will write notes stating that Mrs. Abijah Flagg requests the pleasure of + Miss Rebecca Randall's company to tea, and that the Hon. Abijah Flagg, + M.C., will call for her on his way from the station with a span of horses + and the turquoise carryall!” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane laughed at the ridiculous prophecy, and answered: “If I ever + write the invitation I shan't be addressing it to Miss Randall, I'm sure + of that; it'll be to Mrs.——-” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” cried Rebecca impetuously, changing color and putting her hand + over Emma Jane's lips. “If you won't I'll stop teasing. I couldn't bear a + name put to anything, I couldn't, Emmy dear! I wouldn't tease you, either, + if it weren't something we've both known ever so long—something that + you have always consulted me about of your own accord, and Abijah too.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't get excited,” replied Emma Jane, “I was only going to say you were + sure to be Mrs. Somebody in course of time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Rebecca with a relieved sigh, her color coming back; “if that's + all you meant, just nonsense; but I thought, I thought—I don't + really know just what I thought!” + </p> + <p> + “I think you thought something you didn't want me to think you thought,” + said Emma Jane with unusual felicity. + </p> + <p> + “No, it's not that; but somehow, today, I have been remembering things. + Perhaps it was because at breakfast Aunt Jane and mother reminded me of my + coming birthday and said that Squire Bean would give me the deed of the + brick house. That made me feel very old and responsible; and when I came + out on the steps this afternoon it was just as if pictures of the old + years were moving up and down the road. Everything is so beautiful today! + Doesn't the sky look as if it had been dyed blue and the fields painted + pink and green and yellow this very minute?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a perfectly elegant day!” responded Emma Jane with a sigh. “If only + my mind was at rest! That's the difference between being young and + grown-up. We never used to think and worry.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed we didn't! Look, Emmy, there's the very spot where Uncle Jerry + Cobb stopped the stage and I stepped out with my pink parasol and my + bouquet of purple lilacs, and you were watching me from your bedroom + window and wondering what I had in mother's little hair trunk strapped on + behind. Poor Aunt Miranda didn't love me at first sight, and oh, how cross + she was the first two years! But now every hard thought I ever had comes + back to me and cuts like a knife!” + </p> + <p> + “She was dreadful hard to get along with, and I used to hate her like + poison,” confessed Emma Jane; “but I am sorry now. She was kinder toward + the last, anyway, and then, you see children know so little! We never + suspected she was sick or that she was worrying over that lost interest + money.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the trouble. People seem hard and unreasonable and unjust, and we + can't help being hurt at the time, but if they die we forget everything + but our own angry speeches; somehow we never remember theirs. And oh, Emma + Jane, there's another such a sweet little picture out there in the road. + The next day after I came to Riverboro, do you remember, I stole out of + the brick house crying, and leaned against the front gate. You pushed your + little fat pink-and-white face through the pickets and said: Don't cry! + I'll kiss you if you will me!'” + </p> + <p> + Lumps rose suddenly in Emma Jane's throat, and she put her arm around + Rebecca's waist as they sat together side by side. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do remember,” she said in a choking voice. “And I can see the two + of us driving over to North Riverboro and selling soap to Mr. Adam Ladd; + and lighting up the premium banquet lamp at the Simpson party; and laying + the daisies round Jacky Winslow's mother when she was dead in the cabin; + and trundling Jacky up and down the street in our old baby carriage!” + </p> + <p> + “And I remember you,” continued Rebecca, “being chased down the hill by + Jacob Moody, when we were being Daughters of Zion and you had been chosen + to convert him!” + </p> + <p> + “And I remember you, getting the flag back from Mr. Simpson; and how you + looked when you spoke your verses at the flag-raising.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you forgotten the week I refused to speak to Abijah Flagg + because he fished my turban with the porcupine quills out of the river + when I hoped at last that I had lost it! Oh, Emma Jane, we had dear good + times together in the little harbor.'” + </p> + <p> + “I always thought that was an elegant composition of yours—that + farewell to the class,” said Emma Jane. + </p> + <p> + “The strong tide bears us on, out of the little harbor of childhood into + the unknown seas,” recalled Rebecca. “It is bearing you almost out of my + sight, Emmy, these last days, when you put on a new dress in the afternoon + and look out of the window instead of coming across the street. Abijah + Flagg never used to be in the little harbor with the rest of us; when did + he first sail in, Emmy?” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane grew a deeper pink and her button-hole of a mouth quivered with + delicious excitement. + </p> + <p> + “It was last year at the seminary, when he wrote me his first Latin letter + from Limerick Academy,” she said in a half whisper. + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” laughed Rebecca. “You suddenly began the study of the dead + languages, and the Latin dictionary took the place of the crochet needle + in your affections. It was cruel of you never to show me that letter, + Emmy!” + </p> + <p> + “I know every word of it by heart,” said the blushing Emma Jane, “and I + think I really ought to say it to you, because it's the only way you will + ever know how perfectly elegant Abijah is. Look the other way, Rebecca. + Shall I have to translate it for you, do you think, because it seems to me + I could not bear to do that!” + </p> + <p> + “It depends upon Abijah's Latin and your pronunciation,” teased Rebecca. + “Go on; I will turn my eyes toward the orchard.” + </p> + <p> + The Fair Emmajane, looking none too old still for the “little harbor,” but + almost too young for the “unknown seas,” gathered up her courage and + recited like a tremulous parrot the boyish love letter that had so fired + her youthful imagination. + </p> + <p> + “Vale, carissima, carissima puella!” repeated Rebecca in her musical + voice. “Oh, how beautiful it sounds! I don't wonder it altered your + feeling for Abijah! Upon my word, Emma Jane,” she cried with a sudden + change of tone, “if I had suspected for an instant that Abijah the Brave + had that Latin letter in him I should have tried to get him to write it to + me; and then it would be I who would sit down at my mahogany desk and ask + Miss Perkins to come to tea with Mrs. Flagg.” + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane paled and shuddered openly. “I speak as a church member, + Rebecca,” she said, “when I tell you I've always thanked the Lord that you + never looked at Abijah Flagg and he never looked at you. If either of you + ever had, there never would have been a chance for me, and I've always + known it!” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The romance alluded to in the foregoing chapter had been going on, so far + as Abijah Flagg's part of it was concerned, for many years, his affection + dating back in his own mind to the first moment that he saw Emma Jane + Perkins at the age of nine. + </p> + <p> + Emma Jane had shown no sign of reciprocating his attachment until the last + three years, when the evolution of the chore-boy into the budding scholar + and man of affairs had inflamed even her somewhat dull imagination. + </p> + <p> + Squire Bean's wife had taken Abijah away from the poorhouse, thinking that + she could make him of some little use in her home. Abbie Flagg, the + mother, was neither wise nor beautiful; it is to be feared that she was + not even good, and her lack of all these desirable qualities, particularly + the last one, had been impressed upon the child ever since he could + remember. People seemed to blame him for being in the world at all; this + world that had not expected him nor desired him, nor made any provision + for him. The great battle-axe of poorhouse opinion was forever leveled at + the mere little atom of innocent transgression, until he grew sad and shy, + clumsy, stiff, and self-conscious. He had an indomitable craving for love + in his heart and had never received a caress in his life. + </p> + <p> + He was more contented when he came to Squire Bean's house. The first year + he could only pick up chips, carry pine wood into the kitchen, go to the + post-office, run errands, drive the cows, and feed the hens, but every day + he grew more and more useful. + </p> + <p> + His only friend was little Jim Watson, the storekeeper's son, and they + were inseparable companions whenever Abijah had time for play. + </p> + <p> + One never-to-be-forgotten July day a new family moved into the white + cottage between Squire Bean's house and the Sawyers'. Mr. Perkins had sold + his farm beyond North Riverboro and had established a blacksmith's shop in + the village, at the Edgewood end of the bridge. This fact was of no + special interest to the nine-year-old Abijah, but what really was of + importance, was the appearance of a pretty little girl of seven in the + front yard; a pretty little fat doll of a girl, with bright fuzzy hair, + pink cheeks, blue eyes, and a smile of almost bewildering continuity. + Another might have criticised it as having the air of being glued on, but + Abijah was already in the toils and never wished it to move. + </p> + <p> + The next day being the glorious Fourth and a holiday, Jimmy Watson came + over like David, to visit his favorite Jonathan. His Jonathan met him at + the top of the hill, pleaded a pressing engagement, curtly sent him home, + and then went back to play with his new idol, with whom he had already + scraped acquaintance, her parents being exceedingly busy settling the new + house. + </p> + <p> + After the noon dinner Jimmy again yearned to resume friendly relations, + and, forgetting his rebuff, again toiled up the hill and appeared + unexpectedly at no great distance from the Perkins premises, wearing the + broad and beaming smile of one who is confident of welcome. + </p> + <p> + His morning call had been officious and unpleasant and unsolicited, but + his afternoon visit could only be regarded as impudent, audacious, and + positively dangerous; for Abijah and Emma Jane were cosily playing house, + the game of all others in which it is particularly desirable to have two + and not three participants. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the nature of Abijah changed, at once and forever. Without + a pang of conscience he flew over the intervening patch of ground between + himself and his dreaded rival, and seizing small stones and larger ones, + as haste and fury demanded, flung them at Jimmy Watson, and flung and + flung, till the bewildered boy ran down the hill howling. Then he made a + “stickin'” door to the play-house, put the awed Emma Jane inside and + strode up and down in front of the edifice like an Indian brave. At such + an early age does woman become a distracting and disturbing influence in + man's career! + </p> + <p> + Time went on, and so did the rivalry between the poorhouse boy and the son + of wealth, but Abijah's chances of friendship with Emma Jane grew fewer + and fewer as they both grew older. He did not go to school, so there was + no meeting-ground there, but sometimes, when he saw the knot of boys and + girls returning in the afternoon, he would invite Elijah and Elisha, the + Simpson twins, to visit him, and take pains to be in Squire Bean's front + yard, doing something that might impress his inamorata as she passed the + premises. + </p> + <p> + As Jimmy Watson was particularly small and fragile, Abijah generally chose + feats of strength and skill for these prearranged performances. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he would throw his hat up into the elm trees as far as he could + and, when it came down, catch it on his head. Sometimes he would walk on + his hands, with his legs wriggling in the air, or turn a double + somersault, or jump incredible distances across the extended arms of the + Simpson twins; and his bosom swelled with pride when the girls exclaimed, + “Isn't he splendid!” although he often heard his rival murmur scornfully, + “SMARTY ALECK!”—a scathing allusion of unknown origin. + </p> + <p> + Squire Bean, although he did not send the boy to school (thinking, as he + was of no possible importance in the universe, it was not worth while + bothering about his education), finally became impressed with his ability, + lent him books, and gave him more time to study. These were all he needed, + books and time, and when there was an especially hard knot to untie, + Rebecca, as the star scholar of the neighborhood, helped him to untie it. + </p> + <p> + When he was sixteen he longed to go away from Riverboro and be something + better than a chore boy. Squire Bean had been giving him small wages for + three or four years, and when the time of parting came presented him with + a ten-dollar bill and a silver watch. + </p> + <p> + Many a time had he discussed his future with Rebecca and asked her + opinion. + </p> + <p> + This was not strange, for there was nothing in human form that she could + not and did not converse with, easily and delightedly. She had ideas on + every conceivable subject, and would have cheerfully advised the minister + if he had asked her. The fishman consulted her when he couldn't endure his + mother-in-law another minute in the house; Uncle Jerry Cobb didn't part + with his river field until he had talked it over with Rebecca; and as for + Aunt Jane, she couldn't decide whether to wear her black merino or her + gray thibet unless Rebecca cast the final vote. + </p> + <p> + Abijah wanted to go far away from Riverboro, as far as Limerick Academy, + which was at least fifteen miles; but although this seemed extreme, + Rebecca agreed, saying pensively: “There IS a kind of magicness about + going far away and then coming back all changed.” + </p> + <p> + This was precisely Abijah's unspoken thought. Limerick knew nothing of + Abbie Flagg's worthlessness, birth, and training, and the awful stigma of + his poorhouse birth, so that he would start fair. He could have gone to + Wareham and thus remained within daily sight of the beloved Emma Jane; but + no, he was not going to permit her to watch him in the process of + “becoming,” but after he had “become” something. He did not propose to + take any risks after all these years of silence and patience. Not he! He + proposed to disappear, like the moon on a dark night, and as he was, at + present, something that Mr. Perkins would by no means have in the family + nor Mrs. Perkins allow in the house, he would neither return to Riverboro + nor ask any favors of them until he had something to offer. Yes, sir. He + was going to be crammed to the eyebrows with learning for one thing,—useless + kinds and all,—going to have good clothes, and a good income. + Everything that was in his power should be right, because there would + always be lurking in the background the things he never could help—the + mother and the poorhouse. + </p> + <p> + So he went away, and, although at Squire Bean's invitation he came back + the first year for two brief visits at Christmas and Easter, he was little + seen in Riverboro, for Mr. Ladd finally found him a place where he could + make his vacations profitable and learn bookkeeping at the same time. + </p> + <p> + The visits in Riverboro were tantalizing rather than pleasant. He was + invited to two parties, but he was all the time conscious of his + shirt-collar, and he was sure that his “pants” were not the proper thing, + for by this time his ideals of dress had attained an almost unrealizable + height. As for his shoes, he felt that he walked on carpets as if they + were furrows and he were propelling a plow or a harrow before him. They + played Drop the Handkerchief and Copenhagen at the parties, but he had not + had the audacity to kiss Emma Jane, which was bad enough, but Jimmy had + and did, which was infinitely worse! The sight of James Watson's unworthy + and over-ambitious lips on Emma Jane's pink cheek almost destroyed his + faith in an overruling Providence. + </p> + <p> + After the parties were over he went back to his old room in Squire Bean's + shed chamber. As he lay in bed his thoughts fluttered about Emma Jane as + swallows circle around the eaves. The terrible sickness of hopeless + handicapped love kept him awake. Once he crawled out of bed in the night, + lighted the lamp, and looked for his mustache, remembering that he had + seen a suspicion of down on his rival's upper lip. He rose again half an + hour later, again lighted the lamp, put a few drops of oil on his hair, + and brushed it violently for several minutes. Then he went back to bed, + and after making up his mind that he would buy a dulcimer and learn to + play on it so that he would be more attractive at parties, and outshine + his rival in society as he had aforetime in athletics, he finally sank + into a troubled slumber. + </p> + <p> + Those days, so full of hope and doubt and torture, seemed mercifully + unreal now, they lay so far back in the past—six or eight years, in + fact, which is a lifetime to the lad of twenty—and meantime he had + conquered many of the adverse circumstances that had threatened to cloud + his career. + </p> + <p> + Abijah Flagg was a true child of his native State. Something of the same + timber that Maine puts into her forests, something of the same strength + and resisting power that she works into her rocks, goes into her sons and + daughters; and at twenty Abijah was going to take his fate in his hand and + ask Mr. Perkins, the rich blacksmith, if, after a suitable period of + probation (during which he would further prepare himself for his exalted + destiny), he might marry the fair Emma Jane, sole heiress of the Perkins + house and fortunes. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + This was boy and girl love, calf love, perhaps, though even that may + develop into something larger, truer, and finer; but not so far away were + other and very different hearts growing and budding, each in its own way. + There was little Miss Dearborn, the pretty school teacher, drifting into a + foolish alliance because she did not agree with her stepmother at home; + there was Herbert Dunn, valedictorian of his class, dazzled by Huldah + Meserve, who like a glowworm “shone afar off bright, but looked at near, + had neither heat nor light.” + </p> + <p> + There was sweet Emily Maxwell, less than thirty still, with most of her + heart bestowed in the wrong quarter. She was toiling on at the Wareham + school, living as unselfish a life as a nun in a convent; lavishing the + mind and soul of her, the heart and body of her, on her chosen work. How + many women give themselves thus, consciously and unconsciously; and, + though they themselves miss the joys and compensations of mothering their + own little twos and threes, God must be grateful to them for their + mothering of the hundreds which make them so precious in His regenerating + purposes. + </p> + <p> + Then there was Adam Ladd, waiting at thirty-five for a girl to grow a + little older, simply because he could not find one already grown who + suited his somewhat fastidious and exacting tastes. + </p> + <p> + “I'll not call Rebecca perfection,” he quoted once, in a letter to Emily + Maxwell,—“I'll not call her perfection, for that's a post, afraid to + move. But she's a dancing sprig of the tree next it.” + </p> + <p> + When first she appeared on his aunt's piazza in North Riverboro and + insisted on selling him a large quantity of very inferior soap in order + that her friends, the Simpsons, might possess a premium in the shape of a + greatly needed banquet lamp, she had riveted his attention. He thought all + the time that he enjoyed talking with her more than with any woman alive, + and he had never changed his opinion. She always caught what he said as if + it were a ball tossed to her, and sometimes her mind, as through it his + thoughts came back to him, seemed like a prism which had dyed them with + deeper colors. + </p> + <p> + Adam Ladd always called Rebecca in his heart his little Spring. His + boyhood had been lonely and unhappy. That was the part of life he had + missed, and although it was the full summer of success and prosperity with + him now, he found his lost youth only in her. + </p> + <p> + She was to him—how shall I describe it? + </p> + <p> + Do you remember an early day in May with budding leaf, warm earth, + tremulous air, and changing, willful sky—how new it seemed? How + fresh and joyous beyond all explaining? + </p> + <p> + Have you lain with half-closed eyes where the flickering of sunlight + through young leaves, the song of birds and brook and the fragrance of + wild flowers combined to charm your senses, and you felt the sweetness and + grace of nature as never before? + </p> + <p> + Rebecca was springtide to Adam's thirsty heart. She was blithe youth + incarnate; she was music—an Aeolian harp that every passing breeze + woke to some whispering little tune; she was a changing, iridescent + joy-bubble; she was the shadow of a leaf dancing across a dusty floor. No + bough of his thought could be so bare but she somehow built a nest in it + and evoked life where none was before. + </p> + <p> + And Rebecca herself? + </p> + <p> + She had been quite unconscious of all this until very lately, and even now + she was but half awakened; searching among her childish instincts and her + girlish dreams for some Ariadne thread that should guide her safely + through the labyrinth of her new sensations. + </p> + <p> + For the moment she was absorbed, or thought she was, in the little love + story of Abijah and Emma Jane, but in reality, had she realized it, that + love story served chiefly as a basis of comparison for a possible one of + her own, later on. + </p> + <p> + She liked and respected Abijah Flagg, and loving Emma Jane was a habit + contracted early in life; but everything that they did or said, or thought + or wrote, or hoped or feared, seemed so inadequate, so painfully short of + what might be done or said, or thought or written, or hoped or feared, + under easily conceivable circumstances, that she almost felt a disposition + to smile gently at the fancy of the ignorant young couple that they had + caught a glimpse of the great vision. + </p> + <p> + She was sitting under the sweet apple tree at twilight. Supper was over; + Mark's restless feet were quiet, Fanny and Jenny were tucked safely in + bed; her aunt and her mother were stemming currants on the side porch. + </p> + <p> + A blue spot at one of the Perkins windows showed that in one vestal bosom + hope was not dead yet, although it was seven o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was the sound of a horse's feet coming up the quiet road; + plainly a steed hired from some metropolis like Milltown or Wareham, as + Riverboro horses when through with their day's work never disported + themselves so gayly. + </p> + <p> + A little open vehicle came in sight, and in it sat Abijah Flagg. The wagon + was so freshly painted and so shiny that Rebecca thought that he must have + alighted at the bridge and given it a last polish. The creases in his + trousers, too, had an air of having been pressed in only a few minutes + before. The whip was new and had a yellow ribbon on it; the gray suit of + clothes was new, and the coat flourished a flower in its button-hole. The + hat was the latest thing in hats, and the intrepid swain wore a seal-ring + on the little finger of his right hand. As Rebecca remembered that she had + guided it in making capital G's in his copy-book, she felt positively + maternal, although she was two years younger than Abijah the Brave. + </p> + <p> + He drove up to the Perkins gate and was so long about hitching the horse + that Rebecca's heart beat tumultuously at the thought of Emma Jane's heart + waiting under the blue barege. Then he brushed an imaginary speck off his + sleeve, then he drew on a pair of buff kid gloves, then he went up the + path, rapped at the knocker, and went in. + </p> + <p> + “Not all the heroes go to the wars,” thought Rebecca. “Abijah has laid the + ghost of his father and redeemed the memory of his mother, for no one will + dare say again that Abbie Flagg's son could never amount to anything!” + </p> + <p> + The minutes went by, and more minutes, and more. The tranquil dusk settled + down over the little village street and the young moon came out just + behind the top of the Perkins pine tree. + </p> + <p> + The Perkins front door opened and Abijah the Brave came out hand in hand + with his Fair Emma Jane. + </p> + <p> + They walked through the orchard, the eyes of the old couple following them + from the window, and just as they disappeared down the green slope that + led to the riverside the gray coat sleeve encircled the blue barege waist. + </p> + <p> + Rebecca, quivering with instant sympathy and comprehension, hid her face + in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Emmy has sailed away and I am all alone in the little harbor,” she + thought. + </p> + <p> + It was as if childhood, like a thing real and visible, were slipping down + the grassy river banks, after Abijah and Emma Jane, and disappearing like + them into the moon-lit shadows of the summer night. + </p> + <p> + “I am all alone in the little harbor,” she repeated; “and oh, I wonder, I + wonder, shall I be afraid to leave it, if anybody ever comes to carry me + out to sea!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's New Chronicles of Rebecca, by Kate Douglas Wiggin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA *** + +***** This file should be named 1375-h.htm or 1375-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/7/1375/ + +Produced by Theresa Armao, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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