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diff --git a/old/1375-h/1375-h.htm b/old/1375-h/1375-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 9ed6ddc..0000000 --- a/old/1375-h/1375-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8340 +0,0 @@ -<?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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