Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm

by

Kate Douglas Wiggin

TO MY MOTHER

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

 Wordsworth. 

CONTENTS

 I. "WE ARE SEVEN" II. REBECCA'S RELATIONS III. A DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS IV. REBECCA'S POINT OF VIEW V. WISDOM'S WAYS VI. SUNSHINE IN A SHADY PLACE VII. RIVERBORO SECRETS VIII. COLOR OF ROSE IX. ASHES OF ROSES X. RAINBOW BRIDGES XI. "THE STIRRING OF THE POWERS" XII. "SEE THE PALE MARTYR" XIII. SNOW-WHITE; ROSE-RED XIV. MR. ALADDIN XV. THE BANQUET LAMP XVI. SEASONS OF GROWTH XVII. GRAY DAYS AND GOLD XVIII. REBECCA REPRESENTS THE FAMILY XIX. DEACON ISRAEL'S SUCCESSOR XX. A CHANGE OF HEART XXI. THE SKY LINE WIDENS XXII. CLOVER BLOSSOMS AND SUNFLOWERS XXIII. THE HILL DIFFICULTY XXIV. ALADDIN RUBS HIS LAMP XXV. ROSES OF JOY XXVI. OVER THE TEACUPS XXVII. "THE VISION SPLENDID" XXVIII. "TH' INEVITABLE YOKE" XXIX. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER XXX. "GOOD-BY, SUNNYBROOK!" XXXI. AUNT MIRANDA'S APOLOGY

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM

I

"WE ARE SEVEN"

The old stage coach was rumbling along the dusty road that runs fromMaplewood to Riverboro. The day was as warm as midsummer, though it wasonly the middle of May, and Mr. Jeremiah Cobb was favoring the horsesas much as possible, yet never losing sight of the fact that he carriedthe mail. The hills were many, and the reins lay loosely in his handsas he lolled back in his seat and extended one foot and leg luxuriouslyover the dashboard. His brimmed hat of worn felt was well pulled overhis eyes, and he revolved a quid of tobacco in his left cheek. 

There was one passenger in the coach, --a small dark-haired person in aglossy buff calico dress. She was so slender and so stiffly starchedthat she slid from space to space on the leather cushions, though shebraced herself against the middle seat with her feet and extended hercotton-gloved hands on each side, in order to maintain some sort ofbalance. Whenever the wheels sank farther than usual into a rut, orjolted suddenly over a stone, she bounded involuntarily into the air, came down again, pushed back her funny little straw hat, and picked upor settled more firmly a small pink sun shade, which seemed to be herchief responsibility, --unless we except a bead purse, into which shelooked whenever the condition of the roads would permit, finding greatapparent satisfaction in that its precious contents neither disappearednor grew less. Mr. Cobb guessed nothing of these harassing details oftravel, his business being to carry people to their destinations, not, necessarily, to make them comfortable on the way. Indeed he hadforgotten the very existence of this one unnoteworthy little passenger. 

When he was about to leave the post-office in Maplewood that morning, awoman had alighted from a wagon, and coming up to him, inquired whetherthis were the Riverboro stage, and if he were Mr. Cobb. Being answeredin the affirmative, she nodded to a child who was eagerly waiting forthe answer, and who ran towards her as if she feared to be a moment toolate. The child might have been ten or eleven years old perhaps, butwhatever the number of her summers, she had an air of being small forher age. Her mother helped her into the stage coach, deposited a bundleand a bouquet of lilacs beside her, superintended the "roping on"behind of an old hair trunk, and finally paid the fare, counting outthe silver with great care. 

"I want you should take her to my sisters' in Riverboro, " she said. "Doyou know Mirandy and Jane Sawyer? They live in the brick house. "

Lord bless your soul, he knew 'em as well as if he'd made 'em!

"Well, she's going there, and they're expecting her. Will you keep aneye on her, please? If she can get out anywhere and get with folks, orget anybody in to keep her company, she'll do it. Good-by, Rebecca; trynot to get into any mischief, and sit quiet, so you'll look neat an'nice when you get there. Don't be any trouble to Mr. Cobb. --You see, she's kind of excited. --We came on the cars from Temperance yesterday, slept all night at my cousin's, and drove from her house--eight milesit is--this morning. "

"Good-by, mother, don't worry; you know it isn't as if I hadn'ttraveled before. "

The woman gave a short sardonic laugh and said in an explanatory way toMr. Cobb, "She's been to Wareham and stayed over night; that isn't muchto be journey-proud on!"

"It WAS TRAVELING, mother, " said the child eagerly and willfully. "Itwas leaving the farm, and putting up lunch in a basket, and a littleriding and a little steam cars, and we carried our nightgowns. "

"Don't tell the whole village about it, if we did, " said the mother, interrupting the reminiscences of this experienced voyager. "Haven't Itold you before, " she whispered, in a last attempt at discipline, "thatyou shouldn't talk about night gowns and stockings and--things likethat, in a loud tone of voice, and especially when there's men folksround?"

"I know, mother, I know, and I won't. All I want to say is"--here Mr. Cobb gave a cluck, slapped the reins, and the horses started sedatelyon their daily task--"all I want to say is that it is a journeywhen"--the stage was really under way now and Rebecca had to put herhead out of the window over the door in order to finish hersentence--"it IS a journey when you carry a nightgown!"

The objectionable word, uttered in a high treble, floated back to theoffended ears of Mrs. Randall, who watched the stage out of sight, gathered up her packages from the bench at the store door, and steppedinto the wagon that had been standing at the hitching-post. As sheturned the horse's head towards home she rose to her feet for a moment, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked at a cloud of dust in thedim distance. 

"Mirandy'll have her hands full, I guess, " she said to herself; "but Ishouldn't wonder if it would be the making of Rebecca. "

All this had been half an hour ago, and the sun, the heat, the dust, the contemplation of errands to be done in the great metropolis ofMilltown, had lulled Mr. Cobb's never active mind into completeoblivion as to his promise of keeping an eye on Rebecca. 

Suddenly he heard a small voice above the rattle and rumble of thewheels and the creaking of the harness. At first he thought it was acricket, a tree toad, or a bird, but having determined the directionfrom which it came, he turned his head over his shoulder and saw asmall shape hanging as far out of the window as safety would allow. Along black braid of hair swung with the motion of the coach; the childheld her hat in one hand and with the other made ineffectual attemptsto stab the driver with her microscopic sunshade. 

"Please let me speak!" she called. 

Mr. Cobb drew up the horses obediently. 

"Does it cost any more to ride up there with you?" she asked. "It's soslippery and shiny down here, and the stage is so much too big for me, that I rattle round in it till I'm 'most black and blue. And thewindows are so small I can only see pieces of things, and I've 'mostbroken my neck stretching round to find out whether my trunk has fallenoff the back. It's my mother's trunk, and she's very choice of it. "

Mr. Cobb waited until this flow of conversation, or more properlyspeaking this flood of criticism, had ceased, and then said jocularly:--

"You can come up if you want to; there ain't no extry charge to sitside o' me. " Whereupon he helped her out, "boosted" her up to the frontseat, and resumed his own place. 

Rebecca sat down carefully, smoothing her dress under her withpainstaking precision, and putting her sunshade under its extendedfolds between the driver and herself. This done she pushed back herhat, pulled up her darned white cotton gloves, and said delightedly:--

"Oh! this is better! This is like traveling! I am a real passenger now, and down there I felt like our setting hen when we shut her up in acoop. I hope we have a long, long ways to go?"

"Oh! we've only just started on it, " Mr. Cobb responded genially; "it'smore 'n two hours. "

"Only two hours, " she sighed "That will be half past one; mother willbe at cousin Ann's, the children at home will have had their dinner, and Hannah cleared all away. I have some lunch, because mother said itwould be a bad beginning to get to the brick house hungry and have auntMirandy have to get me something to eat the first thing. --It's a goodgrowing day, isn't it?"

"It is, certain; too hot, most. Why don't you put up your parasol?"

She extended her dress still farther over the article in question asshe said, "Oh dear no! I never put it up when the sun shines; pinkfades awfully, you know, and I only carry it to meetin' cloudy Sundays;sometimes the sun comes out all of a sudden, and I have a dreadful timecovering it up; it's the dearest thing in life to me, but it's an awfulcare. "

At this moment the thought gradually permeated Mr. Jeremiah Cobb'sslow-moving mind that the bird perched by his side was a bird of verydifferent feather from those to which he was accustomed in his dailydrives. He put the whip back in its socket, took his foot from thedashboard, pushed his hat back, blew his quid of tobacco into the road, and having thus cleared his mental decks for action, he took his firstgood look at the passenger, a look which she met with a grave, childlike stare of friendly curiosity. 

The buff calico was faded, but scrupulously clean, and starched withinan inch of its life. From the little standing ruffle at the neck thechild's slender throat rose very brown and thin, and the head lookedsmall to bear the weight of dark hair that hung in a thick braid to herwaist. She wore an odd little vizored cap of white leghorn, which mayeither have been the latest thing in children's hats, or some bit ofancient finery furbished up for the occasion. It was trimmed with atwist of buff ribbon and a cluster of black and orange porcupinequills, which hung or bristled stiffly over one ear, giving her thequaintest and most unusual appearance. Her face was without color andsharp in outline. As to features, she must have had the usual number, though Mr. Cobb's attention never proceeded so far as nose, forehead, or chin, being caught on the way and held fast by the eyes. Rebecca'seyes were like faith, --"the substance of things hoped for, the evidenceof things not seen. " Under her delicately etched brows they glowed liketwo stars, their dancing lights half hidden in lustrous darkness. Theirglance was eager and full of interest, yet never satisfied; theirsteadfast gaze was brilliant and mysterious, and had the effect oflooking directly through the obvious to something beyond, in theobject, in the landscape, in you. They had never been accounted for, Rebecca's eyes. The school teacher and the minister at Temperance hadtried and failed; the young artist who came for the summer to sketchthe red barn, the ruined mill, and the bridge ended by giving up allthese local beauties and devoting herself to the face of a child, --asmall, plain face illuminated by a pair of eyes carrying such messages, such suggestions, such hints of sleeping power and insight, that onenever tired of looking into their shining depths, nor of fancying thatwhat one saw there was the reflection of one's own thought. 

Mr. Cobb made none of these generalizations; his remark to his wifethat night was simply to the effect that whenever the child looked athim she knocked him galley-west. 

"Miss Ross, a lady that paints, gave me the sunshade, " said Rebecca, when she had exchanged looks with Mr. Cobb and learned his face byheart. "Did you notice the pinked double ruffle and the white tip andhandle? They're ivory. The handle is scarred, you see. That's becauseFanny sucked and chewed it in meeting when I wasn't looking. I've neverfelt the same to Fanny since. "

"Is Fanny your sister?"

"She's one of them. "

"How many are there of you?"

"Seven. There's verses written about seven children:--

 "'Quick was the little Maid's reply, O master! we are seven!'

I learned it to speak in school, but the scholars were hateful andlaughed. Hannah is the oldest, I come next, then John, then Jenny, thenMark, then Fanny, then Mira. "

"Well, that IS a big family!"

"Far too big, everybody says, " replied Rebecca with an unexpected andthoroughly grown-up candor that induced Mr. Cobb to murmur, "I swan!"and insert more tobacco in his left cheek. 

"They're dear, but such a bother, and cost so much to feed, you see, "she rippled on. "Hannah and I haven't done anything but put babies tobed at night and take them up in the morning for years and years. Butit's finished, that's one comfort, and we'll have a lovely time whenwe're all grown up and the mortgage is paid off. "

"All finished? Oh, you mean you've come away?"

"No, I mean they're all over and done with; our family 's finished. Mother says so, and she always keeps her promises. There hasn't beenany since Mira, and she's three. She was born the day father died. AuntMiranda wanted Hannah to come to Riverboro instead of me, but mothercouldn't spare her; she takes hold of housework better than I do, Hannah does. I told mother last night if there was likely to be anymore children while I was away I'd have to be sent for, for whenthere's a baby it always takes Hannah and me both, for mother has thecooking and the farm. "

"Oh, you live on a farm, do ye? Where is it?--near to where you got on?"

"Near? Why, it must be thousands of miles! We came from Temperance inthe cars. Then we drove a long ways to cousin Ann's and went to bed. Then we got up and drove ever so far to Maplewood, where the stage was. Our farm is away off from everywheres, but our school and meeting houseis at Temperance, and that's only two miles. Sitting up here with youis most as good as climbing the meeting-house steeple. I know a boywho's been up on our steeple. He said the people and cows looked likeflies. We haven't met any people yet, but I'm KIND of disappointed inthe cows;--they don't look so little as I hoped they would; still(brightening) they don't look quite as big as if we were down side ofthem, do they? Boys always do the nice splendid things, and girls canonly do the nasty dull ones that get left over. They can't climb sohigh, or go so far, or stay out so late, or run so fast, or anything. "

Mr. Cobb wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and gasped. He had afeeling that he was being hurried from peak to peak of a mountain rangewithout time to take a good breath in between. 

"I can't seem to locate your farm, " he said, "though I've been toTemperance and used to live up that way. What's your folks' name?"

"Randall. My mother's name is Aurelia Randall; our names are HannahLucy Randall, Rebecca Rowena Randall, John Halifax Randall, Jenny LindRandall, Marquis Randall, Fanny Ellsler Randall, and Miranda Randall. Mother named half of us and father the other half, but we didn't comeout even, so they both thought it would be nice to name Mira after auntMiranda in Riverboro; they hoped it might do some good, but it didn't, and now we call her Mira. We are all named after somebody inparticular. Hannah is Hannah at the Window Binding Shoes, and I amtaken out of Ivanhoe; John Halifax was a gentleman in a book; Mark isafter his uncle Marquis de Lafayette that died a twin. (Twins veryoften don't live to grow up, and triplets almost never--did you knowthat, Mr. Cobb?) We don't call him Marquis, only Mark. Jenny is namedfor a singer and Fanny for a beautiful dancer, but mother says they'reboth misfits, for Jenny can't carry a tune and Fanny's kind ofstiff-legged. Mother would like to call them Jane and Frances and giveup their middle names, but she says it wouldn't be fair to father. Shesays we must always stand up for father, because everything was againsthim, and he wouldn't have died if he hadn't had such bad luck. I thinkthat's all there is to tell about us, " she finished seriously. 

"Land o' Liberty! I should think it was enough, " ejaculated Mr. Cobb. "There wa'n't many names left when your mother got through choosin'!You've got a powerful good memory! I guess it ain't no trouble for youto learn your lessons, is it?"

"Not much; the trouble is to get the shoes to go and learn 'em. Theseare spandy new I've got on, and they have to last six months. Motheralways says to save my shoes. There don't seem to be any way of savingshoes but taking 'em off and going barefoot; but I can't do that inRiverboro without shaming aunt Mirandy. I'm going to school right alongnow when I'm living with aunt Mirandy, and in two years I'm going tothe seminary at Wareham; mother says it ought to be the making of me!I'm going to be a painter like Miss Ross when I get through school. Atany rate, that's what _I_ think I'm going to be. Mother thinks I'dbetter teach. "

"Your farm ain't the old Hobbs place, is it?"

"No, it's just Randall's Farm. At least that's what mother calls it. Icall it Sunnybrook Farm. "

"I guess it don't make no difference what you call it so long as youknow where it is, " remarked Mr. Cobb sententiously. 

Rebecca turned the full light of her eyes upon him reproachfully, almost severely, as she answered:--

"Oh! don't say that, and be like all the rest! It does make adifference what you call things. When I say Randall's Farm, do you seehow it looks?"

"No, I can't say I do, " responded Mr. Cobb uneasily. 

"Now when I say Sunnybrook Farm, what does it make you think of?"

Mr. Cobb felt like a fish removed from his native element and leftpanting on the sand; there was no evading the awful responsibility of areply, for Rebecca's eyes were searchlights, that pierced the fictionof his brain and perceived the bald spot on the back of his head. 

"I s'pose there's a brook somewheres near it, " he said timorously. 

Rebecca looked disappointed but not quite dis-heartened. "That's prettygood, " she said encouragingly. "You're warm but not hot; there's abrook, but not a common brook. It has young trees and baby bushes oneach side of it, and it's a shallow chattering little brook with awhite sandy bottom and lots of little shiny pebbles. Whenever there's abit of sunshine the brook catches it, and it's always full of sparklesthe livelong day. Don't your stomach feel hollow? Mine doest I was so'fraid I'd miss the stage I couldn't eat any breakfast. "

"You'd better have your lunch, then. I don't eat nothin' till I get toMilltown; then I get a piece o' pie and cup o' coffee. "

"I wish I could see Milltown. I suppose it's bigger and grander eventhan Wareham; more like Paris? Miss Ross told me about Paris; shebought my pink sunshade there and my bead purse. You see how it openswith a snap? I've twenty cents in it, and it's got to last threemonths, for stamps and paper and ink. Mother says aunt Mirandy won'twant to buy things like those when she's feeding and clothing me andpaying for my school books. "

"Paris ain't no great, " said Mr. Cobb disparagingly. "It's the dullestplace in the State o' Maine. I've druv there many a time. "

Again Rebecca was obliged to reprove Mr. Cobb, tacitly and quietly, butnone the less surely, though the reproof was dealt with one glance, quickly sent and as quickly withdrawn. 

"Paris is the capital of France, and you have to go to it on a boat, "she said instructively. "It's in my geography, and it says: 'The Frenchare a gay and polite people, fond of dancing and light wines. ' I askedthe teacher what light wines were, and he thought it was something likenew cider, or maybe ginger pop. I can see Paris as plain as day by justshutting my eyes. The beautiful ladies are always gayly dancing aroundwith pink sunshades and bead purses, and the grand gentlemen arepolitely dancing and drinking ginger pop. But you can see Milltown mostevery day with your eyes wide open, " Rebecca said wistfully. 

"Milltown ain't no great, neither, " replied Mr. Cobb, with the air ofhaving visited all the cities of the earth and found them as naught. "Now you watch me heave this newspaper right onto Mis' Brown'sdoorstep. "

Piff! and the packet landed exactly as it was intended, on the cornhusk mat in front of the screen door. 

"Oh, how splendid that was!" cried Rebecca with enthusiasm. "Just likethe knife thrower Mark saw at the circus. I wish there was a long, longrow of houses each with a corn husk mat and a screen door in themiddle, and a newspaper to throw on every one!"

"I might fail on some of 'em, you know, " said Mr. Cobb, beaming withmodest pride. "If your aunt Mirandy'll let you, I'll take you down toMilltown some day this summer when the stage ain't full. "

A thrill of delicious excitement ran through Rebecca's frame, from hernew shoes up, up to the leghorn cap and down the black braid. Shepressed Mr. Cobb's knee ardently and said in a voice choking with tearsof joy and astonishment, "Oh, it can't be true, it can't; to think Ishould see Milltown. It's like having a fairy godmother who asks youyour wish and then gives it to you! Did you ever read Cinderella, orThe Yellow Dwarf, or The Enchanted Frog, or The Fair One with GoldenLocks?"

"No, " said Mr. Cobb cautiously, after a moment's reflection. "I don'tseem to think I ever did read jest those partic'lar ones. Where'd youget a chance at so much readin'?"

"Oh, I've read lots of books, " answered Rebecca casually. "Father's andMiss Ross's and all the dif'rent school teachers', and all in theSunday-school library. I've read The Lamplighter, and Scottish Chiefs, and Ivanhoe, and The Heir of Redclyffe, and Cora, the Doctor's Wife, and David Copperfield, and The Gold of Chickaree, and Plutarch's Lives, and Thaddeus of Warsaw, and Pilgrim's Progress, and lots more. --Whathave you read?"

"I've never happened to read those partic'lar books; but land! I'veread a sight in my time! Nowadays I'm so drove I get along with theAlmanac, the Weekly Argus, and the Maine State Agriculturist. --There'sthe river again; this is the last long hill, and when we get to the topof it we'll see the chimbleys of Riverboro in the distance. 'T ain'tfur. I live 'bout half a mile beyond the brick house myself. "

Rebecca's hand stirred nervously in her lap and she moved in her seat. "I didn't think I was going to be afraid, " she said almost under herbreath; "but I guess I am, just a little mite--when you say it's comingso near. "

"Would you go back?" asked Mr. Cobb curiously. 

She flashed him an intrepid look and then said proudly, "I'd never goback--I might be frightened, but I'd be ashamed to run. Going to auntMirandy's is like going down cellar in the dark. There might be ogresand giants under the stairs, --but, as I tell Hannah, there MIGHT beelves and fairies and enchanted frogs!--Is there a main street to thevillage, like that in Wareham?"

"I s'pose you might call it a main street, an' your aunt Sawyer liveson it, but there ain't no stores nor mills, an' it's an awful one-horsevillage! You have to go 'cross the river an' get on to our side if youwant to see anything goin' on. "

"I'm almost sorry, " she sighed, "because it would be so grand to drivedown a real main street, sitting high up like this behind two splendidhorses, with my pink sunshade up, and everybody in town wondering whothe bunch of lilacs and the hair trunk belongs to. It would be justlike the beautiful lady in the parade. Last summer the circus came toTemperance, and they had a procession in the morning. Mother let us allwalk in and wheel Mira in the baby carriage, because we couldn't affordto go to the circus in the afternoon. And there were lovely horses andanimals in cages, and clowns on horseback; and at the very end came alittle red and gold chariot drawn by two ponies, and in it, sitting ona velvet cushion, was the snake charmer, all dressed in satin andspangles. She was so beautiful beyond compare, Mr. Cobb, that you hadto swallow lumps in your throat when you looked at her, and little coldfeelings crept up and down your back. Don't you know how I mean? Didn'tyou ever see anybody that made you feel like that?"

Mr. Cobb was more distinctly uncomfortable at this moment than he hadbeen at any one time during the eventful morning, but he evaded thepoint dexterously by saying, "There ain't no harm, as I can see, in ourmakin' the grand entry in the biggest style we can. I'll take the whipout, set up straight, an' drive fast; you hold your bo'quet in yourlap, an' open your little red parasol, an' we'll jest make the nativesstare!"

The child's face was radiant for a moment, but the glow faded just asquickly as she said, "I forgot--mother put me inside, and maybe she'dwant me to be there when I got to aunt Mirandy's. Maybe I'd be moregenteel inside, and then I wouldn't have to be jumped down and myclothes fly up, but could open the door and step down like a ladypassenger. Would you please stop a minute, Mr. Cobb, and let me change?"

The stage driver good-naturedly pulled up his horses, lifted theexcited little creature down, opened the door, and helped her in, putting the lilacs and the pink sunshade beside her. 

"We've had a great trip, " he said, "and we've got real well acquainted, haven't we?--You won't forget about Milltown?"

"Never!" she exclaimed fervently; "and you're sure you won't, either?"

"Never! Cross my heart!" vowed Mr. Cobb solemnly, as he remounted hisperch; and as the stage rumbled down the village street between thegreen maples, those who looked from their windows saw a little brownelf in buff calico sitting primly on the back seat holding a greatbouquet tightly in one hand and a pink parasol in the other. Had theybeen farsighted enough they might have seen, when the stage turned intothe side dooryard of the old brick house, a calico yoke rising andfalling tempestuously over the beating heart beneath, the red colorcoming and going in two pale cheeks, and a mist of tears swimming intwo brilliant dark eyes. 

Rebecca's journey had ended. 

"There's the stage turnin' into the Sawyer girls' dooryard, " said Mrs. Perkins to her husband. "That must be the niece from up Temperance way. It seems they wrote to Aurelia and invited Hannah, the oldest, butAurelia said she could spare Rebecca better, if 't was all the same toMirandy 'n' Jane; so it's Rebecca that's come. She'll be good comp'nyfor our Emma Jane, but I don't believe they'll keep her three months!She looks black as an Injun what I can see of her; black and kind ofup-an-comin'. They used to say that one o' the Randalls married aSpanish woman, somebody that was teachin' music and languages at aboardin' school. Lorenzo was dark complected, you remember, and thischild is, too. Well, I don't know as Spanish blood is any realdisgrace, not if it's a good ways back and the woman was respectable. "

II

REBECCA'S RELATIONS

They had been called the Sawyer girls when Miranda at eighteen, Jane attwelve, and Aurelia at eight participated in the various activities ofvillage life; and when Riverboro fell into a habit of thought orspeech, it saw no reason for falling out of it, at any rate in the samecentury. So although Miranda and Jane were between fifty and sixty atthe time this story opens, Riverboro still called them the Sawyergirls. They were spinsters; but Aurelia, the youngest, had made whatshe called a romantic marriage and what her sisters termed a mightypoor speculation. "There's worse things than bein' old maids, " theysaid; whether they thought so is quite another matter. 

The element of romance in Aurelia's marriage existed chiefly in thefact that Mr. L. D. M. Randall had a soul above farming or trading andwas a votary of the Muses. He taught the weekly singing-school (then afeature of village life) in half a dozen neighboring towns, he playedthe violin and "called off" at dances, or evoked rich harmonies fromchurch melodeons on Sundays. He taught certain uncouth lads, when theywere of an age to enter society, the intricacies of contra dances, orthe steps of the schottische and mazurka, and he was a marked figure inall social assemblies, though conspicuously absent from town-meetingsand the purely masculine gatherings at the store or tavern or bridge. 

His hair was a little longer, his hands a little whiter, his shoes alittle thinner, his manner a trifle more polished, than that of hissoberer mates; indeed the only department of life in which he failed toshine was the making of sufficient money to live upon. Luckily he hadno responsibilities; his father and his twin brother had died when hewas yet a boy, and his mother, whose only noteworthy achievement hadbeen the naming of her twin sons Marquis de Lafayette and Lorenzo deMedici Randall, had supported herself and educated her child by makingcoats up to the very day of her death. She was wont to say plaintively, "I'm afraid the faculties was too much divided up between my twins. L. D. M. Is awful talented, but I guess M. D. L. Would 'a' ben thepractical one if he'd 'a' lived. "

"L. D. M. Was practical enough to get the richest girl in the village, "replied Mrs. Robinson. 

"Yes, " sighed his mother, "there it is again; if the twins could 'a'married Aurelia Sawyer, 't would 'a' been all right. L. D. M. Wastalented 'nough to GET Reely's money, but M. D. L. Would 'a' benpractical 'nough to have KEP' it. "

Aurelia's share of the modest Sawyer property had been put into onething after another by the handsome and luckless Lorenzo de Medici. Hehad a graceful and poetic way of making an investment for each new sonand daughter that blessed their union. "A birthday present for ourchild, Aurelia, " he would say, --"a little nest-egg for the future;" butAurelia once remarked in a moment of bitterness that the hen neverlived that could sit on those eggs and hatch anything out of them. 

Miranda and Jane had virtually washed their hands of Aurelia when shemarried Lorenzo de Medici Randall. Having exhausted the resources ofRiverboro and its immediate vicinity, the unfortunate couple had movedon and on in a steadily decreasing scale of prosperity until they hadreached Temperance, where they had settled down and invited fate to doits worst, an invitation which was promptly accepted. The maidensisters at home wrote to Aurelia two or three times a year, and sentmodest but serviceable presents to the children at Christmas, butrefused to assist L. D. M. With the regular expenses of his rapidlygrowing family. His last investment, made shortly before the birth ofMiranda (named in a lively hope of favors which never came), was asmall farm two miles from Temperance. Aurelia managed this herself, andso it proved a home at least, and a place for the unsuccessful Lorenzoto die and to be buried from, a duty somewhat too long deferred, manythought, which he performed on the day of Mira's birth. 

It was in this happy-go-lucky household that Rebecca had grown up. Itwas just an ordinary family; two or three of the children were handsomeand the rest plain, three of them rather clever, two industrious, andtwo commonplace and dull. Rebecca had her father's facility and hadbeen his aptest pupil. She "carried" the alto by ear, danced withoutbeing taught, played the melodeon without knowing the notes. Her loveof books she inherited chiefly from her mother, who found it hard tosweep or cook or sew when there was a novel in the house. Fortunatelybooks were scarce, or the children might sometimes have gone ragged andhungry. 

But other forces had been at work in Rebecca, and the traits of unknownforbears had been wrought into her fibre. Lorenzo de Medici was flabbyand boneless; Rebecca was a thing of fire and spirit: he lacked energyand courage; Rebecca was plucky at two and dauntless at five. Mrs. Randall and Hannah had no sense of humor; Rebecca possessed and showedit as soon as she could walk and talk. 

She had not been able, however, to borrow her parents' virtues andthose of other generous ancestors and escape all the weaknesses in thecalendar. She had not her sister Hannah's patience or her brotherJohn's sturdy staying power. Her will was sometimes willfulness, andthe ease with which she did most things led her to be impatient of hardtasks or long ones. But whatever else there was or was not, there wasfreedom at Randall's farm. The children grew, worked, fought, ate whatand slept where they could; loved one another and their parents prettywell, but with no tropical passion; and educated themselves for ninemonths of the year, each one in his own way. 

As a result of this method Hannah, who could only have been developedby forces applied from without, was painstaking, humdrum, and limited;while Rebecca, who apparently needed nothing but space to develop in, and a knowledge of terms in which to express herself, grew and grew andgrew, always from within outward. Her forces of one sort and anotherhad seemingly been set in motion when she was born; they needed nodaily spur, but moved of their own accord--towards what no one knew, least of all Rebecca herself. The field for the exhibition of hercreative instinct was painfully small, and the only use she had made ofit as yet was to leave eggs out of the corn bread one day and milkanother, to see how it would turn out; to part Fanny's hair sometimesin the middle, sometimes on the right, and sometimes on the left side;and to play all sorts of fantastic pranks with the children, occasionally bringing them to the table as fictitious or historicalcharacters found in her favorite books. Rebecca amused her mother andher family generally, but she never was counted of serious importance, and though considered "smart" and old for her age, she was neverthought superior in any way. Aurelia's experience of genius, asexemplified in the deceased Lorenzo de Medici led her into a greateradmiration of plain, every-day common sense, a quality in whichRebecca, it must be confessed, seemed sometimes painfully deficient. 

Hannah was her mother's favorite, so far as Aurelia could indulgeherself in such recreations as partiality. The parent who is obliged tofeed and clothe seven children on an income of fifteen dollars a monthseldom has time to discriminate carefully between the various membersof her brood, but Hannah at fourteen was at once companion and partnerin all her mother's problems. She it was who kept the house whileAurelia busied herself in barn and field. Rebecca was capable ofcertain set tasks, such as keeping the small children from killingthemselves and one another, feeding the poultry, picking up chips, hulling strawberries, wiping dishes; but she was thought irresponsible, and Aurelia, needing somebody to lean on (having never enjoyed thatluxury with the gifted Lorenzo), leaned on Hannah. Hannah showed theresult of this attitude somewhat, being a trifle careworn in face andsharp in manner; but she was a self-contained, well-behaved, dependablechild, and that is the reason her aunts had invited her to Riverboro tobe a member of their family and participate in all the advantages oftheir loftier position in the world. It was several years since Mirandaand Jane had seen the children, but they remembered with pleasure thatHannah had not spoken a word during the interview, and it was for thisreason that they had asked for the pleasure of her company. Rebecca, onthe other hand, had dressed up the dog in John's clothes, and beingrequested to get the three younger children ready for dinner, she hadheld them under the pump and then proceeded to "smack" their hair flatto their heads by vigorous brushing, bringing them to the table in sucha moist and hideous state of shininess that their mother was ashamed oftheir appearance. Rebecca's own black locks were commonly pushedsmoothly off her forehead, but on this occasion she formed what I mustperforce call by its only name, a spit-curl, directly in the centre ofher brow, an ornament which she was allowed to wear a very short time, only in fact till Hannah was able to call her mother's attention to it, when she was sent into the next room to remove it and to come backlooking like a Christian. This command she interpreted somewhat tooliterally perhaps, because she contrived in a space of two minutes anextremely pious style of hairdressing, fully as effective if not asstartling as the first. These antics were solely the result of nervousirritation, a mood born of Miss Miranda Sawyer's stiff, grim, andmartial attitude. The remembrance of Rebecca was so vivid that theirsister Aurelia's letter was something of a shock to the quiet, elderlyspinsters of the brick house; for it said that Hannah could notpossibly be spared for a few years yet, but that Rebecca would come assoon as she could be made ready; that the offer was most thankfullyappreciated, and that the regular schooling and church privileges, aswell as the influence of the Sawyer home, would doubtless be "themaking of Rebecca. "

III

A DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS

"I don' know as I cal'lated to be the makin' of any child, " Miranda hadsaid as she folded Aurelia's letter and laid it in the light-standdrawer. "I s'posed, of course, Aurelia would send us the one we askedfor, but it's just like her to palm off that wild young one on somebodyelse. "

"You remember we said that Rebecca or even Jenny might come, in caseHannah couldn't, " interposed Jane. 

"I know we did, but we hadn't any notion it would turn out that way, "grumbled Miranda. 

"She was a mite of a thing when we saw her three years ago, " venturedJane; "she's had time to improve. "

"And time to grow worse!"

"Won't it be kind of a privilege to put her on the right track?" askedJane timidly. 

"I don' know about the privilege part; it'll be considerable of achore, I guess. If her mother hain't got her on the right track by now, she won't take to it herself all of a sudden. "

This depressed and depressing frame of mind had lasted until theeventful day dawned on which Rebecca was to arrive. 

"If she makes as much work after she comes as she has before, we mightas well give up hope of ever gettin' any rest, " sighed Miranda as shehung the dish towels on the barberry bushes at the side door. 

"But we should have had to clean house, Rebecca or no Rebecca, " urgedJane; "and I can't see why you've scrubbed and washed and baked as youhave for that one child, nor why you've about bought out Watson's stockof dry goods. "

"I know Aurelia if you don't, " responded Miranda. "I've seen her house, and I've seen that batch o' children, wearin' one another's clothes andnever carin' whether they had 'em on right sid' out or not; I know whatthey've had to live and dress on, and so do you. That child will likeas not come here with a passel o' things borrowed from the rest o' thefamily. She'll have Hannah's shoes and John's undershirts and Mark'ssocks most likely. I suppose she never had a thimble on her finger inher life, but she'll know the feelin' o' one before she's ben here manydays. I've bought a piece of unbleached muslin and a piece o' browngingham for her to make up; that'll keep her busy. Of course she won'tpick up anything after herself; she probably never see a duster, andshe'll be as hard to train into our ways as if she was a heathen. "

"She'll make a dif'rence, " acknowledged Jane, "but she may turn outmore biddable 'n we think. "

"She'll mind when she's spoken to, biddable or not, " remarked Mirandawith a shake of the last towel. 

Miranda Sawyer had a heart, of course, but she had never used it forany other purpose than the pumping and circulating of blood. She wasjust, conscientious, economical, industrious; a regular attendant atchurch and Sunday-school, and a member of the State Missionary andBible societies, but in the presence of all these chilly virtues youlonged for one warm little fault, or lacking that, one likable failing, something to make you sure she was thoroughly alive. She had never hadany education other than that of the neighborhood district school, forher desires and ambitions had all pointed to the management of thehouse, the farm, and the dairy. Jane, on the other hand, had gone to anacademy, and also to a boarding-school for young ladies; so hadAurelia; and after all the years that had elapsed there was still aslight difference in language and in manner between the elder and thetwo younger sisters. 

Jane, too, had had the inestimable advantage of a sorrow; not thenatural grief at the loss of her aged father and mother, for she hadbeen content to let them go; but something far deeper. She was engagedto marry young Tom Carter, who had nothing to marry on, it is true, butwho was sure to have, some time or other. Then the war broke out. Tomenlisted at the first call. Up to that time Jane had loved him with aquiet, friendly sort of affection, and had given her country a mildemotion of the same sort. But the strife, the danger, the anxiety ofthe time, set new currents of feeling in motion. Life became somethingother than the three meals a day, the round of cooking, washing, sewing, and church going. Personal gossip vanished from the villageconversation. Big things took the place of trifling ones, --sacredsorrows of wives and mothers, pangs of fathers and husbands, self-denials, sympathies, new desire to bear one another's burdens. Menand women grew fast in those days of the nation's trouble and danger, and Jane awoke from the vague dull dream she had hitherto called lifeto new hopes, new fears, new purposes. Then after a year's anxiety, ayear when one never looked in the newspaper without dread and sicknessof suspense, came the telegram saying that Tom was wounded; and withoutso much as asking Miranda's leave, she packed her trunk and started forthe South. She was in time to hold Tom's hand through hours of pain; toshow him for once the heart of a prim New England girl when it isablaze with love and grief; to put her arms about him so that he couldhave a home to die in, and that was all;--all, but it served. 

It carried her through weary months of nursing--nursing of othersoldiers for Tom's dear sake; it sent her home a better woman; andthough she had never left Riverboro in all the years that lay between, and had grown into the counterfeit presentment of her sister and of allother thin, spare, New England spinsters, it was something of acounterfeit, and underneath was still the faint echo of that wildheart-beat of her girlhood. Having learned the trick of beating andloving and suffering, the poor faithful heart persisted, although itlived on memories and carried on its sentimental operations mostly insecret. 

"You're soft, Jane, " said Miranda once; "you allers was soft, and youallers will be. If 't wa'n't for me keeping you stiffened up, I b'lieveyou'd leak out o' the house into the dooryard. "

It was already past the appointed hour for Mr. Cobb and his coach to belumbering down the street. 

"The stage ought to be here, " said Miranda, glancing nervously at thetall clock for the twentieth time. "I guess everything 's done. I'vetacked up two thick towels back of her washstand and put a mat underher slop-jar; but children are awful hard on furniture. I expect wesha'n't know this house a year from now. "

Jane's frame of mind was naturally depressed and timorous, having beenaffected by Miranda's gloomy presages of evil to come. The onlydifference between the sisters in this matter was that while Mirandaonly wondered how they could endure Rebecca, Jane had flashes ofinspiration in which she wondered how Rebecca would endure them. It wasin one of these flashes that she ran up the back stairs to put a vaseof apple blossoms and a red tomato-pincushion on Rebecca's bureau. 

The stage rumbled to the side door of the brick house, and Mr. Cobbhanded Rebecca out like a real lady passenger. She alighted with greatcircumspection, put the bunch of faded flowers in her aunt Miranda'shand, and received her salute; it could hardly be called a kiss withoutinjuring the fair name of that commodity. 

"You needn't 'a' bothered to bring flowers, " remarked that gracious andtactful lady; "the garden 's always full of 'em here when it comestime. "

Jane then kissed Rebecca, giving a somewhat better imitation of thereal thing than her sister. "Put the trunk in the entry, Jeremiah, andwe'll get it carried upstairs this afternoon, " she said. 

"I'll take it up for ye now, if ye say the word, girls. "

"No, no; don't leave the horses; somebody'll be comin' past, and we cancall 'em in. "

"Well, good-by, Rebecca; good-day, Mirandy 'n' Jane. You've got alively little girl there. I guess she'll be a first-rate companykeeper. "

Miss Sawyer shuddered openly at the adjective "lively" as applied to achild; her belief being that though children might be seen, ifabsolutely necessary, they certainly should never be heard if she couldhelp it. "We're not much used to noise, Jane and me, " she remarkedacidly. 

Mr. Cobb saw that he had taken the wrong tack, but he was too unused toargument to explain himself readily, so he drove away, trying to thinkby what safer word than "lively" he might have described hisinteresting little passenger. 

"I'll take you up and show you your room, Rebecca, " Miss Miranda said. "Shut the mosquito nettin' door tight behind you, so 's to keep theflies out; it ain't flytime yet, but I want you to start right; takeyour passel along with ye and then you won't have to come down for it;always make your head save your heels. Rub your feet on that braidedrug; hang your hat and cape in the entry there as you go past. "

"It's my best hat, " said Rebecca

"Take it upstairs then and put it in the clothes-press; but I shouldn't'a' thought you'd 'a' worn your best hat on the stage. "

"It's my only hat, " explained Rebecca. "My every-day hat wasn't goodenough to bring. Fanny's going to finish it. "

"Lay your parasol in the entry closet. "

"Do you mind if I keep it in my room, please? It always seems safer. "

"There ain't any thieves hereabouts, and if there was, I guess theywouldn't make for your sunshade, but come along. Remember to always goup the back way; we don't use the front stairs on account o' thecarpet; take care o' the turn and don't ketch your foot; look to yourright and go in. When you've washed your face and hands and brushedyour hair you can come down, and by and by we'll unpack your trunk andget you settled before supper. Ain't you got your dress on hind sid'foremost?"

Rebecca drew her chin down and looked at the row of smoked pearlbuttons running up and down the middle of her flat little chest. 

"Hind side foremost? Oh, I see! No, that's all right. If you have sevenchildren you can't keep buttonin' and unbuttonin' 'em all thetime--they have to do themselves. We're always buttoned up in front atour house. Mira's only three, but she's buttoned up in front, too. "

Miranda said nothing as she closed the door, but her looks were at onceequivalent to and more eloquent than words. 

Rebecca stood perfectly still in the centre of the floor and lookedabout her. There was a square of oilcloth in front of each article offurniture and a drawn-in rug beside the single four poster, which wascovered with a fringed white dimity counterpane. 

Everything was as neat as wax, but the ceilings were much higher thanRebecca was accustomed to. It was a north room, and the window, whichwas long and narrow, looked out on the back buildings and the barn. 

It was not the room, which was far more comfortable than Rebecca's ownat the farm, nor the lack of view, nor yet the long journey, for shewas not conscious of weariness; it was not the fear of a strange place, for she loved new places and courted new sensations; it was because ofsome curious blending of uncomprehended emotions that Rebecca stood hersunshade in the corner, tore off her best hat, flung it on the bureauwith the porcupine quills on the under side, and stripping down thedimity spread, precipitated herself into the middle of the bed andpulled the counterpane over her head. 

In a moment the door opened quietly. Knocking was a refinement quiteunknown in Riverboro, and if it had been heard of would never have beenwasted on a child. 

Miss Miranda entered, and as her eye wandered about the vacant room, itfell upon a white and tempestuous ocean of counterpane, an oceanbreaking into strange movements of wave and crest and billow. 

"REBECCA!"

The tone in which the word was voiced gave it all the effect of havingbeen shouted from the housetops. 

A dark ruffled head and two frightened eyes appeared above the dimityspread. 

"What are you layin' on your good bed in the daytime for, messin' upthe feathers, and dirtyin' the pillers with your dusty boots?"

Rebecca rose guiltily. There seemed no excuse to make. Her offense wasbeyond explanation or apology. 

"I'm sorry, aunt Mirandy--something came over me; I don't know what. "

"Well, if it comes over you very soon again we'll have to find out what't is. Spread your bed up smooth this minute, for 'Bijah Flagg 'sbringin' your trunk upstairs, and I wouldn't let him see such acluttered-up room for anything; he'd tell it all over town. "

When Mr. Cobb had put up his horses that night he carried a kitchenchair to the side of his wife, who was sitting on the back porch. 

"I brought a little Randall girl down on the stage from Maplewoodto-day, mother. She's kin to the Sawyer girls an' is goin' to live with'em, " he said, as he sat down and began to whittle. "She's thatAurelia's child, the one that ran away with Susan Randall's son justbefore we come here to live. "

"How old a child?"

"'Bout ten, or somewhere along there, an' small for her age; but land!she might be a hundred to hear her talk! She kep' me jumpin' tryin' toanswer her! Of all the queer children I ever come across she's thequeerest. She ain't no beauty--her face is all eyes; but if she evergrows up to them eyes an' fills out a little she'll make folks stare. Land, mother! I wish 't you could 'a' heard her talk. "

"I don't see what she had to talk about, a child like that, to astranger, " replied Mrs. Cobb. 

"Stranger or no stranger, 't wouldn't make no difference to her. She'dtalk to a pump or a grind-stun; she'd talk to herself ruther 'n keepstill. "

"What did she talk about?"

"Blamed if I can repeat any of it. She kep' me so surprised I didn'thave my wits about me. She had a little pink sunshade--it kind o'looked like a doll's amberill, 'n' she clung to it like a burr to awoolen stockin'. I advised her to open it up--the sun was so hot; butshe said no, 't would fade, an' she tucked it under her dress. 'It'sthe dearest thing in life to me, ' says she, 'but it's a dreadful care. 'Them 's the very words, an' it's all the words I remember. 'It's thedearest thing in life to me, but it's an awful care!' "--here Mr. Cobblaughed aloud as he tipped his chair back against the side of thehouse. "There was another thing, but I can't get it right exactly. Shewas talkin' 'bout the circus parade an' the snake charmer in a goldchariot, an' says she, 'She was so beautiful beyond compare, Mr. Cobb, that it made you have lumps in your throat to look at her. ' She'll becomin' over to see you, mother, an' you can size her up for yourself. Idon' know how she'll git on with Mirandy Sawyer--poor little soul!"

This doubt was more or less openly expressed in Riverboro, which, however, had two opinions on the subject; one that it was a mostgenerous thing in the Sawyer girls to take one of Aurelia's children toeducate, the other that the education would be bought at a price whollyout of proportion to its intrinsic value. 

Rebecca's first letters to her mother would seem to indicate that shecordially coincided with the latter view of the situation. 

IV

REBECCA'S POINT OF VIEW

 Dear Mother, --I am safely here. My dress was not much tumbled and Aunt Jane helped me press it out. I like Mr. Cobb very much. He chews but throws newspapers straight up to the doors. I rode outside a little while, but got inside before I got to Aunt Miranda's house. I did not want to, but thought you would like it better. Miranda is such a long word that I think I will say Aunt M. And Aunt J. In my Sunday letters. Aunt J. Has given me a dictionary to look up all the hard words in. It takes a good deal of time and I am glad people can talk without stoping to spell. It is much eesier to talk than write and much more fun. The brick house looks just the same as you have told us. The parler is splendid and gives you creeps and chills when you look in the door. The furnature is ellergant too, and all the rooms but there are no good sitting-down places exsept in the kitchen. The same cat is here but they do not save kittens when she has them, and the cat is too old to play with. Hannah told me once you ran away with father and I can see it would be nice. If Aunt M. Would run away I think I should like to live with Aunt J. She does not hate me as bad as Aunt M. Does. Tell Mark he can have my paint box, but I should like him to keep the red cake in case I come home again. I hope Hannah and John do not get tired doing my chores. 

 Your afectionate friend

 Rebecca. 

 P. S. Please give the piece of poetry to John because he likes my poetry even when it is not very good. This piece is not very good but it is true but I hope you won't mind what is in it as you ran away. 

 This house is dark and dull and dreer No light doth shine from far or near Its like the tomb. 

 And those of us who live herein Are most as dead as serrafim Though not as good. 

 My gardian angel is asleep At leest he doth no vigil keep

 Ah! woe is me!

 Then give me back my lonely farm Where none alive did wish me harm Dear home of youth!

 P. S. Again. I made the poetry like a piece in a book but could not get it right at first. You see "tomb" and "good" do not sound well together but I wanted to say "tomb" dreadfully and as serrafim are always "good" I couldn't take that out. I have made it over now. It does not say my thoughts as well but think it is more right. Give the best one to John as he keeps them in a box with his birds' eggs. This is the best one. 

 SUNDAY THOUGHTS

 BY

 REBECCA ROWENA RANDALL

 This house is dark and dull and drear No light doth shine from far or near Nor ever could. 

 And those of us who live herein Are most as dead as seraphim Though not as good. 

 My guardian angel is asleep At least he doth no vigil keep But far doth roam. 

 Then give me back my lonely farm Where none alive did wish me harm, Dear childhood home!

 Dear Mother, --I am thrilling with unhappyness this morning. I got that out of Cora The Doctor's Wife whose husband's mother was very cross and unfealing to her like Aunt M. To me. I wish Hannah had come instead of me for it was Hannah that was wanted and she is better than I am and does not answer back so quick. Are there any peaces of my buff calico. Aunt J. Wants enough to make a new waste button behind so I wont look so outlandish. The stiles are quite pretty in Riverboro and those at Meeting quite ellergant more so than in Temperance. 

 This town is stilish, gay and fair, And full of wellthy riches rare, But I would pillow on my arm The thought of my sweet Brookside Farm. 

 School is pretty good. The Teacher can answer more questions than the Temperance one but not so many as I can ask. I am smarter than all the girls but one but not so smart as two boys. Emma Jane can add and subtract in her head like a streek of lightning and knows the speling book right through but has no thoughts of any kind. She is in the Third Reader but does not like stories in books. I am in the Sixth Reader but just because I cannot say the seven multiplication Table Miss Dearborn threttens to put me in the baby primer class with Elijah and Elisha Simpson little twins. 

 Sore is my heart and bent my stubborn pride, With Lijah and with Lisha am I tied, My soul recoyles like Cora Doctor's Wife, Like her I feer I cannot bare this life. 

 I am going to try for the speling prize but fear I cannot get it. I would not care but wrong speling looks dreadful in poetry. Last Sunday when I found seraphim in the dictionary I was ashamed I had made it serrafim but seraphim is not a word you can guess at like another long one outlandish in this letter which spells itself. Miss Dearborn says use the words you CAN spell and if you cant spell seraphim make angel do but angels are not just the same as seraphims. Seraphims are brighter whiter and have bigger wings and I think are older and longer dead than angels which are just freshly dead and after a long time in heaven around the great white throne grow to be seraphims. 

 I sew on brown gingham dresses every afternoon when Emma Jane and the Simpsons are playing house or running on the Logs when their mothers do not know it. Their mothers are afraid they will drown and Aunt M. Is afraid I will wet my clothes so will not let me either. I can play from half past four to supper and after supper a little bit and Saturday afternoons. I am glad our cow has a calf and it is spotted. It is going to be a good year for apples and hay so you and John will be glad and we can pay a little more morgage. Miss Dearborn asked us what is the object of edducation and I said the object of mine was to help pay off the morgage. She told Aunt M. And I had to sew extra for punishment because she says a morgage is disgrace like stealing or smallpox and it will be all over town that we have one on our farm. Emma Jane is not morgaged nor Richard Carter nor Dr. Winship but the Simpsons are. 

 Rise my soul, strain every nerve, Thy morgage to remove, Gain thy mother's heartfelt thanks Thy family's grateful love. 

 Pronounce family QUICK or it won't sound right

 Your loving little friend Rebecca

 Dear John, --You remember when we tide the new dog in the barn how he bit the rope and howled I am just like him only the brick house is the barn and I can not bite Aunt M. Because I must be grateful and edducation is going to be the making of me and help you pay off the morgage when we grow up. Your loving

 Becky. 

V

WISDOM'S WAYS

The day of Rebecca's arrival had been Friday, and on the Mondayfollowing she began her education at the school which was in RiverboroCentre, about a mile distant. Miss Sawyer borrowed a neighbor's horseand wagon and drove her to the schoolhouse, interviewing the teacher, Miss Dearborn, arranging for books, and generally starting the child onthe path that was to lead to boundless knowledge. Miss Dearborn, it maybe said in passing, had had no special preparation in the art ofteaching. It came to her naturally, so her family said, and perhaps forthis reason she, like Tom Tulliver's clergyman tutor, "set about itwith that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances whichdistinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediateteaching of Nature. " You remember the beaver which a naturalist tellsus "busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam in a room upthree pair of stairs in London as if he had been laying his foundationin a lake in Upper Canada. It was his function to build, the absence ofwater or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was notaccountable. " In the same manner did Miss Dearborn lay what she fondlyimagined to be foundations in the infant mind. 

Rebecca walked to school after the first morning. She loved this partof the day's programme. When the dew was not too heavy and the weatherwas fair there was a short cut through the woods. She turned off themain road, crept through uncle Josh Woodman's bars, waved away Mrs. Carter's cows, trod the short grass of the pasture, with its well-wornpath running through gardens of buttercups and white-weed, and grovesof ivory leaves and sweet fern. She descended a little hill, jumpedfrom stone to stone across a woodland brook, startling the drowsyfrogs, who were always winking and blinking in the morning sun. Thencame the "woodsy bit, " with her feet pressing the slippery carpet ofbrown pine needles; the "woodsy bit" so full of dewy morning, surprises, --fungous growths of brilliant orange and crimson springingup around the stumps of dead trees, beautiful things born in a singlenight; and now and then the miracle of a little clump of waxen Indianpipes, seen just quickly enough to be saved from her careless tread. Then she climbed a stile, went through a grassy meadow, slid underanother pair of bars, and came out into the road again having gainednearly half a mile. 

How delicious it all was! Rebecca clasped her Quackenbos's Grammar andGreenleaf's Arithmetic with a joyful sense of knowing her lessons. Herdinner pail swung from her right hand, and she had a blissfulconsciousness of the two soda biscuits spread with butter and syrup, the baked cup-custard, the doughnut, and the square of hardgingerbread. Sometimes she said whatever "piece" she was going to speakon the next Friday afternoon. 

 "A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears. "

How she loved the swing and the sentiment of it! How her young voicequivered whenever she came to the refrain:--

 "But we'll meet no more at Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine. "

It always sounded beautiful in her ears, as she sent her tearful littletreble into the clear morning air. Another early favorite (for we mustremember that Rebecca's only knowledge of the great world of poetryconsisted of the selections in vogue in school readers) was:--

 "Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. "

When Emma Jane Perkins walked through the "short cut" with her, the twochildren used to render this with appropriate dramatic action. EmmaJane always chose to be the woodman because she had nothing to do butraise on high an imaginary axe. On the one occasion when she essayedthe part of the tree's romantic protector, she represented herself asfeeling "so awful foolish" that she refused to undertake it again, muchto the secret delight of Rebecca, who found the woodman's role much tootame for her vaulting ambition. She reveled in the impassioned appealof the poet, and implored the ruthless woodman to be as brutal aspossible with the axe, so that she might properly put greater spiritinto her lines. One morning, feeling more frisky than usual, she fellupon her knees and wept in the woodman's petticoat. Curiously enough, her sense of proportion rejected this as soon as it was done. 

"That wasn't right, it was silly, Emma Jane; but I'll tell you where itmight come in--in Give me Three Grains of Corn. You be the mother, andI'll be the famishing Irish child. For pity's sake put the axe down;you are not the woodman any longer!"

"What'll I do with my hands, then?" asked Emma Jane. 

"Whatever you like, " Rebecca answered wearily; "you're just amother--that's all. What does YOUR mother do with her hands? Now heregoes!

 "'Give me three grains of corn, mother, Only three grains of corn, 'T will keep the little life I have Till the coming of the morn. '"

This sort of thing made Emma Jane nervous and fidgety, but she wasRebecca's slave and hugged her chains, no matter how uncomfortable theymade her. 

At the last pair of bars the two girls were sometimes met by adetachment of the Simpson children, who lived in a black house with ared door and a red barn behind, on the Blueberry Plains road. Rebeccafelt an interest in the Simpsons from the first, because there were somany of them and they were so patched and darned, just like her ownbrood at the home farm. 

The little schoolhouse with its flagpole on top and its two doors infront, one for boys and the other for girls, stood on the crest of ahill, with rolling fields and meadows on one side, a stretch of pinewoods on the other, and the river glinting and sparkling in thedistance. It boasted no attractions within. All was as bare and uglyand uncomfortable as it well could be, for the villages along the riverexpended so much money in repairing and rebuilding bridges that theywere obliged to be very economical in school privileges. The teacher'sdesk and chair stood on a platform in one corner; there was an uncouthstove, never blackened oftener than once a year, a map of the UnitedStates, two black-boards, a ten-quart tin pail of water andlong-handled dipper on a corner shelf, and wooden desks and benches forthe scholars, who only numbered twenty in Rebecca's time. The seatswere higher in the back of the room, and the more advanced andlonger-legged pupils sat there, the position being greatly to beenvied, as they were at once nearer to the windows and farther from theteacher. 

There were classes of a sort, although nobody, broadly speaking, studied the same book with anybody else, or had arrived at the samedegree of proficiency in any one branch of learning. Rebecca inparticular was so difficult to classify that Miss Dearborn at the endof a fortnight gave up the attempt altogether. She read with DickCarter and Living Perkins, who were fitting for the academy; recitedarithmetic with lisping little Thuthan Thimpthon; geography with EmmaJane Perkins, and grammar after school hours to Miss Dearborn alone. Full to the brim as she was of clever thoughts and quaint fancies, shemade at first but a poor hand at composition. The labor of writing andspelling, with the added difficulties of punctuation and capitals, interfered sadly with the free expression of ideas. She took historywith Alice Robinson's class, which was attacking the subject of theRevolution, while Rebecca was bidden to begin with the discovery ofAmerica. In a week she had mastered the course of events up to theRevolution, and in ten days had arrived at Yorktown, where the classhad apparently established summer quarters. Then finding that extraeffort would only result in her reciting with the oldest Simpson boy, she deliberately held herself back, for wisdom's ways were not those ofpleasantness nor her paths those of peace if one were compelled totread them in the company of Seesaw Simpson. Samuel Simpson wasgenerally called Seesaw, because of his difficulty in making up hismind. Whether it were a question of fact, of spelling, or of date, ofgoing swimming or fishing, of choosing a book in the Sunday-schoollibrary or a stick of candy at the village store, he had no soonerdetermined on one plan of action than his wish fondly reverted to theopposite one. Seesaw was pale, flaxen haired, blue eyed, roundshouldered, and given to stammering when nervous. Perhaps because ofhis very weakness Rebecca's decision of character had a fascination forhim, and although she snubbed him to the verge of madness, he couldnever keep his eyes away from her. The force with which she tied hershoe when the lacing came undone, the flirt over shoulder she gave herblack braid when she was excited or warm, her manner of studying, --bookon desk, arms folded, eyes fixed on the opposite wall, --all had anabiding charm for Seesaw Simpson. When, having obtained permission, shewalked to the water pail in the corner and drank from the dipper, unseen forces dragged Seesaw from his seat to go and drink after her. It was not only that there was something akin to association andintimacy in drinking next, but there was the fearful joy of meeting herin transit and receiving a cold and disdainful look from her wonderfuleyes. 

On a certain warm day in summer Rebecca's thirst exceeded the bounds ofpropriety. When she asked a third time for permission to quench it atthe common fountain Miss Dearborn nodded "yes, " but lifted her eyebrowsunpleasantly as Rebecca neared the desk. As she replaced the dipperSeesaw promptly raised his hand, and Miss Dearborn indicated a wearyaffirmative. 

"What is the matter with you, Rebecca?" she asked. 

"I had salt mackerel for breakfast, " answered Rebecca. 

There seemed nothing humorous about this reply, which was merely thestatement of a fact, but an irrepressible titter ran through theschool. Miss Dearborn did not enjoy jokes neither made nor understoodby herself, and her face flushed. 

"I think you had better stand by the pail for five minutes, Rebecca; itmay help you to control your thirst. "

Rebecca's heart fluttered. She to stand in the corner by the water pailand be stared at by all the scholars! She unconsciously made a gestureof angry dissent and moved a step nearer her seat, but was arrested byMiss Dearborn's command in a still firmer voice. 

"Stand by the pail, Rebecca! Samuel, how many times have you asked forwater to-day?"

"This is the f-f-fourth. "

"Don't touch the dipper, please. The school has done nothing but drinkthis afternoon; it has had no time whatever to study. I suppose you hadsomething salt for breakfast, Samuel?" queried Miss Dearborn withsarcasm. 

"I had m-m-mackerel, j-just like Reb-b-becca. " (Irrepressible gigglesby the school. )

"I judged so. Stand by the other side of the pail, Samuel. "

Rebecca's head was bowed with shame and wrath. Life looked too black athing to be endured. The punishment was bad enough, but to be coupledin correction with Seesaw Simpson was beyond human endurance. 

Singing was the last exercise in the afternoon, and Minnie Smelliechose Shall we Gather at the River? It was a baleful choice and seemedto hold some secret and subtle association with the situation andgeneral progress of events; or at any rate there was apparently someobscure reason for the energy and vim with which the scholars shoutedthe choral invitation again and again:--

 "Shall we gather at the river, The beautiful, the beautiful river?"

Miss Dearborn stole a look at Rebecca's bent head and was frightened. The child's face was pale save for two red spots glowing on her cheeks. Tears hung on her lashes; her breath came and went quickly, and thehand that held her pocket handkerchief trembled like a leaf. 

"You may go to your seat, Rebecca, " said Miss Dearborn at the end ofthe first song. "Samuel, stay where you are till the close of school. And let me tell you, scholars, that I asked Rebecca to stand by thepail only to break up this habit of incessant drinking, which isnothing but empty-mindedness and desire to walk to and fro over thefloor. Every time Rebecca has asked for a drink to-day the whole schoolhas gone to the pail one after another. She is really thirsty, and Idare say I ought to have punished you for following her example, nother for setting it. What shall we sing now, Alice?"

"The Old Oaken Bucket, please. "

"Think of something dry, Alice, and change the subject. Yes, The StarSpangled Banner if you like, or anything else. "

Rebecca sank into her seat and pulled the singing book from her desk. Miss Dearborn's public explanation had shifted some of the weight fromher heart, and she felt a trifle raised in her self-esteem. 

Under cover of the general relaxation of singing, votive offerings ofrespectful sympathy began to make their appearance at her shrine. Living Perkins, who could not sing, dropped a piece of maple sugar inher lap as he passed her on his way to the blackboard to draw the mapof Maine. Alice Robinson rolled a perfectly new slate pencil over thefloor with her foot until it reached Rebecca's place, while herseat-mate, Emma Jane, had made up a little mound of paper balls andlabeled them "Bullets for you know who. "

Altogether existence grew brighter, and when she was left alone withthe teacher for her grammar lesson she had nearly recovered herequanimity, which was more than Miss Dearborn had. The last clatteringfoot had echoed through the hall, Seesaw's backward glance of penitencehad been met and answered defiantly by one of cold disdain. 

"Rebecca, I am afraid I punished you more than I meant, " said MissDearborn, who was only eighteen herself, and in her year of teachingcountry schools had never encountered a child like Rebecca. 

"I hadn't missed a question this whole day, nor whispered either, "quavered the culprit; "and I don't think I ought to be shamed just fordrinking. "

"You started all the others, or it seemed as if you did. Whatever youdo they all do, whether you laugh, or miss, or write notes, or ask toleave the room, or drink; and it must be stopped. "

"Sam Simpson is a copycoat!" stormed Rebecca "I wouldn't have mindedstanding in the corner alone--that is, not so very much; but I couldn'tbear standing with him. "

"I saw that you couldn't, and that's the reason I told you to take yourseat, and left him in the corner. Remember that you are a stranger inthe place, and they take more notice of what you do, so you must becareful. Now let's have our conjugations. Give me the verb 'to be, 'potential mood, past perfect tense. "

 "I might have been "We might have been Thou mightst have been You might have been He might have been They might have been. "

"Give me an example, please. "

 "I might have been glad Thou mightst have been glad He, she, or it might have been glad. "

"'He' or 'she' might have been glad because they are masculine andfeminine, but could 'it' have been glad?" asked Miss Dearborn, who wasvery fond of splitting hairs. 

"Why not?" asked Rebecca

"Because 'it' is neuter gender. "

"Couldn't we say, 'The kitten might have been glad if it had known itwas not going to be drowned'?"

"Ye--es, " Miss Dearborn answered hesitatingly, never very sure ofherself under Rebecca's fire; "but though we often speak of a baby, achicken, or a kitten as 'it, ' they are really masculine or femininegender, not neuter. "

Rebecca reflected a long moment and then asked, "Is a hollyhock neuter?"

"Oh yes, of course it is, Rebecca"

"Well, couldn't we say, 'The hollyhock might have been glad to see therain, but there was a weak little hollyhock bud growing out of itsstalk and it was afraid that that might be hurt by the storm; so thebig hollyhock was kind of afraid, instead of being real glad'?"

Miss Dearborn looked puzzled as she answered, "Of course, Rebecca, hollyhocks could not be sorry, or glad, or afraid, really. "

"We can't tell, I s'pose, " replied the child; "but _I_ think they are, anyway. Now what shall I say?"

"The subjunctive mood, past perfect tense of the verb 'to know. '"

 "If I had known "If we had known If thou hadst known If you had known If he had known If they had known. 

"Oh, it is the saddest tense, " sighed Rebecca with a little break inher voice; "nothing but IFS, IFS, IFS! And it makes you feel that ifthey only HAD known, things might have been better!"

Miss Dearborn had not thought of it before, but on reflection shebelieved the subjunctive mood was a "sad" one and "if" rather a sorry"part of speech. "

"Give me some more examples of the subjunctive, Rebecca, and that willdo for this afternoon, " she said. 

"If I had not loved mackerel I should not have been thirsty;" saidRebecca with an April smile, as she closed her grammar. "If thou hadstloved me truly thou wouldst not have stood me up in the corner. IfSamuel had not loved wickedness he would not have followed me to thewater pail. "

"And if Rebecca had loved the rules of the school she would havecontrolled her thirst, " finished Miss Dearborn with a kiss, and the twoparted friends. 

VI

SUNSHINE IN A SHADY PLACE

The little schoolhouse on the hill had its moments of triumph as wellas its scenes of tribulation, but it was fortunate that Rebecca had herbooks and her new acquaintances to keep her interested and occupied, orlife would have gone heavily with her that first summer in Riverboro. She tried to like her aunt Miranda (the idea of loving her had beengiven up at the moment of meeting), but failed ignominiously in theattempt. She was a very faulty and passionately human child, with noaspirations towards being an angel of the house, but she had a sense ofduty and a desire to be good, --respectably, decently good. Whenever shefell below this self-imposed standard she was miserable. She did notlike to be under her aunt's roof, eating bread, wearing clothes, andstudying books provided by her, and dislike her so heartily all thetime. She felt instinctively that this was wrong and mean, and wheneverthe feeling of remorse was strong within her she made a desperateeffort to please her grim and difficult relative. But how could shesucceed when she was never herself in her aunt Miranda's presence? Thesearching look of the eyes, the sharp voice, the hard knotty fingers, the thin straight lips, the long silences, the "front-piece" thatdidn't match her hair, the very obvious "parting" that seemed sewed inwith linen thread on black net, --there was not a single item thatappealed to Rebecca. There are certain narrow, unimaginative, andautocratic old people who seem to call out the most mischievous, andsometimes the worst traits in children. Miss Miranda, had she lived ina populous neighborhood, would have had her doorbell pulled, her gatetied up, or "dirt traps" set in her garden paths. The Simpson twinsstood in such awe of her that they could not be persuaded to come tothe side door even when Miss Jane held gingerbread cookies in heroutstretched hands. 

It is needless to say that Rebecca irritated her aunt with every breathshe drew. She continually forgot and started up the front stairsbecause it was the shortest route to her bedroom; she left the dipperon the kitchen shelf instead of hanging it up over the pail; she sat inthe chair the cat liked best; she was willing to go on errands, butoften forgot what she was sent for; she left the screen doors ajar, sothat flies came in; her tongue was ever in motion; she sang or whistledwhen she was picking up chips; she was always messing with flowers, putting them in vases, pinning them on her dress, and sticking them inher hat; finally she was an everlasting reminder of her foolish, worthless father, whose handsome face and engaging manner had sodeceived Aurelia, and perhaps, if the facts were known, others besidesAurelia. The Randalls were aliens. They had not been born in Riverboronor even in York County. Miranda would have allowed, on compulsion, that in the nature of things a large number of persons must necessarilybe born outside this sacred precinct; but she had her opinion of them, and it was not a flattering one. Now if Hannah had come--Hannah tookafter the other side of the house; she was "all Sawyer. " (Poor Hannah!that was true!) Hannah spoke only when spoken to, instead of first, last, and all the time; Hannah at fourteen was a member of the church;Hannah liked to knit; Hannah was, probably, or would have been, apattern of all the smaller virtues; instead of which here was thisblack-haired gypsy, with eyes as big as cartwheels, installed as amember of the household. 

What sunshine in a shady place was aunt Jane to Rebecca! Aunt Jane withher quiet voice, her understanding eyes, her ready excuses, in thesefirst difficult weeks, when the impulsive little stranger was trying tosettle down into the "brick house ways. " She did learn them, in part, and by degrees, and the constant fitting of herself to these new anddifficult standards of conduct seemed to make her older than ever forher years. 

The child took her sewing and sat beside aunt Jane in the kitchen whileaunt Miranda had the post of observation at the sitting-room window. Sometimes they would work on the side porch where the clematis andwoodbine shaded them from the hot sun. To Rebecca the lengths of browngingham were interminable. She made hard work of sewing, broke thethread, dropped her thimble into the syringa bushes, pricked herfinger, wiped the perspiration from her forehead, could not match thechecks, puckered the seams. She polished her needles to nothing, pushing them in and out of the emery strawberry, but they alwayssqueaked. Still aunt Jane's patience held good, and some small measureof skill was creeping into Rebecca's fingers, fingers that held pencil, paint brush, and pen so cleverly and were so clumsy with the daintylittle needle. 

When the first brown gingham frock was completed, the child seized whatshe thought an opportune moment and asked her aunt Miranda if she mighthave another color for the next one. 

"I bought a whole piece of the brown, " said Miranda laconically. "That'll give you two more dresses, with plenty for new sleeves, and topatch and let down with, an' be more economical. "

"I know. But Mr. Watson says he'll take back part of it, and let ushave pink and blue for the same price. "

"Did you ask him?"

"Yes'm. "

"It was none o' your business. "

"I was helping Emma Jane choose aprons, and didn't think you'd mindwhich color I had. Pink keeps clean just as nice as brown, and Mr. Watson says it'll boil without fading. "

"Mr. Watson 's a splendid judge of washing, I guess. I don't approve ofchildren being rigged out in fancy colors, but I'll see what your auntJane thinks. "

"I think it would be all right to let Rebecca have one pink and oneblue gingham, " said Jane. "A child gets tired of sewing on one color. It's only natural she should long for a change; besides she'd look likea charity child always wearing the same brown with a white apron. Andit's dreadful unbecoming to her!"

"'Handsome is as handsome does, ' say I. Rebecca never'll come to griefalong of her beauty, that's certain, and there's no use in humoring herto think about her looks. I believe she's vain as a peacock now, without anything to be vain of. "

"She's young and attracted to bright things--that's all. I rememberwell enough how I felt at her age. "

"You was considerable of a fool at her age, Jane. "

"Yes, I was, thank the Lord! I only wish I'd known how to take a littleof my foolishness along with me, as some folks do, to brighten mydeclining years. "

There finally was a pink gingham, and when it was nicely finished, auntJane gave Rebecca a delightful surprise. She showed her how to make apretty trimming of narrow white linen tape, by folding it in pointedshapes and sewing it down very flat with neat little stitches. 

"It'll be good fancy work for you, Rebecca; for your aunt Miranda won'tlike to see you always reading in the long winter evenings. Now if youthink you can baste two rows of white tape round the bottom of yourpink skirt and keep it straight by the checks, I'll stitch them on foryou and trim the waist and sleeves with pointed tape-trimming, so thedress'll be real pretty for second best. "

Rebecca's joy knew no bounds. "I'll baste like a house afire!" sheexclaimed. "It's a thousand yards round that skirt, as well I know, having hemmed it; but I could sew pretty trimming on if it was fromhere to Milltown. Oh! do you think aunt Mirandy'll ever let me go toMilltown with Mr. Cobb? He's asked me again, you know; but one SaturdayI had to pick strawberries, and another it rained, and I don't thinkshe really approves of my going. It's TWENTY-NINE minutes past four, aunt Jane, and Alice Robinson has been sitting under the currant bushesfor a long time waiting for me. Can I go and play?"

"Yes, you may go, and you'd better run as far as you can out behind thebarn, so 't your noise won't distract your aunt Mirandy. I see SusanSimpson and the twins and Emma Jane Perkins hiding behind the fence. "

Rebecca leaped off the porch, snatched Alice Robinson from under thecurrant bushes, and, what was much more difficult, succeeded, by meansof a complicated system of signals, in getting Emma Jane away from theSimpson party and giving them the slip altogether. They were much toosmall for certain pleasurable activities planned for that afternoon;but they were not to be despised, for they had the most fascinatingdooryard in the village. In it, in bewildering confusion, were oldsleighs, pungs, horse rakes, hogsheads, settees without backs, bed-steads without heads, in all stages of disability, and never thesame on two consecutive days. Mrs. Simpson was seldom at home, and evenwhen she was, had little concern as to what happened on the premises. Afavorite diversion was to make the house into a fort, gallantly held bya handful of American soldiers against a besieging force of the Britisharmy. Great care was used in apportioning the parts, for there was nodisposition to let anybody win but the Americans. Seesaw Simpson wasusually made commander-in-chief of the British army, and a limp anduncertain one he was, capable, with his contradictory orders and hisfondness for the extreme rear, of leading any regiment to an ingloriousdeath. Sometimes the long-suffering house was a log hut, and the bravesettlers defeated a band of hostile Indians, or occasionally weremassacred by them; but in either case the Simpson house looked, toquote a Riverboro expression, "as if the devil had been having anauction in it. "

Next to this uncommonly interesting playground, as a field of action, came, in the children's opinion, the "secret spot. " There was a velvetystretch of ground in the Sawyer pasture which was full of fascinatinghollows and hillocks, as well as verdant levels, on which to buildhouses. A group of trees concealed it somewhat from view and flung agrateful shade over the dwellings erected there. It had been hardthough sweet labor to take armfuls of "stickins" and "cutrounds" fromthe mill to this secluded spot, and that it had been done mostly aftersupper in the dusk of the evenings gave it a still greater flavor. Herein soap boxes hidden among the trees were stored all their treasures:wee baskets and plates and cups made of burdock balls, bits of brokenchina for parties, dolls, soon to be outgrown, but serving well ascharacters in all sorts of romances enacted there, --deaths, funerals, weddings, christenings. A tall, square house of stickins was to bebuilt round Rebecca this afternoon, and she was to be Charlotte Cordayleaning against the bars of her prison. 

It was a wonderful experience standing inside the building with EmmaJane's apron wound about her hair; wonderful to feel that when sheleaned her head against the bars they seemed to turn to cold iron; thather eyes were no longer Rebecca Randall's but mirrored something ofCharlotte Corday's hapless woe. 

"Ain't it lovely?" sighed the humble twain, who had done most of thelabor, but who generously admired the result. 

"I hate to have to take it down, " said Alice, "it's been such a sightof work. "

"If you think you could move up some stones and just take off the toprows, I could step out over, " suggested Charlotte Corday. "Then leavethe stones, and you two can step down into the prison to-morrow and bethe two little princes in the Tower, and I can murder you. "

"What princes? What tower?" asked Alice and Emma Jane in one breath. "Tell us about them. "

"Not now, it's my supper time. " (Rebecca was a somewhat firmdisciplinarian. )

"It would be elergant being murdered by you, " said Emma Jane loyally, "though you are awful real when you murder; or we could have Elijah andElisha for the princes. "

"They'd yell when they was murdered, " objected Alice; "you know howsilly they are at plays, all except Clara Belle. Besides if we onceshow them this secret place, they'll play in it all the time, andperhaps they'd steal things, like their father. "

"They needn't steal just because their father does, " argued Rebecca;"and don't you ever talk about it before them if you want to be mysecret, partic'lar friends. My mother tells me never to say hard thingsabout people's own folks to their face. She says nobody can bear it, and it's wicked to shame them for what isn't their fault. RememberMinnie Smellie!"

Well, they had no difficulty in recalling that dramatic episode, for ithad occurred only a few days before; and a version of it that wouldhave melted the stoniest heart had been presented to every girl in thevillage by Minnie Smellie herself, who, though it was Rebecca and notshe who came off victorious in the bloody battle of words, nursed herresentment and intended to have revenge. 

VII

RIVERBORO SECRETS

Mr. Simpson spent little time with his family, owing to certain awkwardmethods of horse-trading, or the "swapping" of farm implements andvehicles of various kinds, --operations in which his customers werenever long suited. After every successful trade he generally passed alonger or shorter term in jail; for when a poor man without goods orchattels has the inveterate habit of swapping, it follows naturallythat he must have something to swap; and having nothing of his own, itfollows still more naturally that he must swap something belonging tohis neighbors. 

Mr. Simpson was absent from the home circle for the moment because hehad exchanged the Widow Rideout's sleigh for Joseph Goodwin's plough. Goodwin had lately moved to North Edgewood and had never before met theurbane and persuasive Mr. Simpson. The Goodwin plough Mr. Simpsonspeedily bartered with a man "over Wareham way, " and got in exchangefor it an old horse which his owner did not need, as he was leavingtown to visit his daughter for a year, Simpson fattened the agedanimal, keeping him for several weeks (at early morning or afternightfall) in one neighbor's pasture after another, and then exchangedhim with a Milltown man for a top buggy. It was at this juncture thatthe Widow Rideout missed her sleigh from the old carriage house. Shehad not used it for fifteen years and might not sit in it for anotherfifteen, but it was property, and she did not intend to part with itwithout a struggle. Such is the suspicious nature of the village mindthat the moment she discovered her loss her thought at once reverted toAbner Simpson. So complicated, however, was the nature of thisparticular business transaction, and so tortuous the paths of itsprogress (partly owing to the complete disappearance of the owner ofthe horse, who had gone to the West and left no address), that it tookthe sheriff many weeks to prove Mr. Simpson's guilt to the town's andto the Widow Rideout's satisfaction. Abner himself avowed his completeinnocence, and told the neighbors how a red-haired man with a hare lipand a pepper-and-salt suit of clothes had called him up one morningabout daylight and offered to swap him a good sleigh for an old ciderpress he had layin' out in the dooryard. The bargain was struck, andhe, Abner, had paid the hare-lipped stranger four dollars andseventy-five cents to boot; whereupon the mysterious one set down thesleigh, took the press on his cart, and vanished up the road, never tobe seen or heard from afterwards. 

"If I could once ketch that consarned old thief, " exclaimed Abnerrighteously, "I'd make him dance, --workin' off a stolen sleigh on mean' takin' away my good money an' cider press, to say nothin' o' mycharacter!"

"You'll never ketch him, Ab, " responded the sheriff. "He's cut off thesame piece o' goods as that there cider press and that there characterand that there four-seventy-five o' yourn; nobody ever see any of 'embut you, and you'll never see 'em again!"

Mrs. Simpson, who was decidedly Abner's better half, took in washingand went out to do days' cleaning, and the town helped in the feedingand clothing of the children. George, a lanky boy of fourteen, didchores on neighboring farms, and the others, Samuel, Clara Belle, Susan, Elijah, and Elisha, went to school, when sufficiently clothedand not otherwise more pleasantly engaged. 

There were no secrets in the villages that lay along the banks ofPleasant River. There were many hard-working people among theinhabitants, but life wore away so quietly and slowly that there was agood deal of spare time for conversation, --under the trees at noon inthe hayfield; hanging over the bridge at nightfall; seated about thestove in the village store of an evening. These meeting-placesfurnished ample ground for the discussion of current events as viewedby the masculine eye, while choir rehearsals, sewing societies, readingcircles, church picnics, and the like, gave opportunity for theexpression of feminine opinion. All this was taken very much forgranted, as a rule, but now and then some supersensitive person madeviolent objections to it, as a theory of life. 

Delia Weeks, for example, was a maiden lady who did dressmaking in asmall way; she fell ill, and although attended by all the physicians inthe neighborhood, was sinking slowly into a decline when her cousinCyrus asked her to come and keep house for him in Lewiston. She went, and in a year grew into a robust, hearty, cheerful woman. Returning toRiverboro on a brief visit, she was asked if she meant to end her daysaway from home. 

"I do most certainly, if I can get any other place to stay, " sheresponded candidly. "I was bein' worn to a shadder here, tryin' to keepmy little secrets to myself, an' never succeedin'. First they had it Iwanted to marry the minister, and when he took a wife in Standish I wasknown to be disappointed. Then for five or six years they suspicioned Iwas tryin' for a place to teach school, and when I gave up hope, an'took to dressmakin', they pitied me and sympathized with me for that. When father died I was bound I'd never let anybody know how I was left, for that spites 'em worse than anything else; but there's ways o'findin' out, an' they found out, hard as I fought 'em! Then there wasmy brother James that went to Arizona when he was sixteen. I gave goodnews of him for thirty years runnin', but aunt Achsy Tarbox had aferretin' cousin that went out to Tombstone for her health, and shewrote to a postmaster, or to some kind of a town authority, and foundJim and wrote back aunt Achsy all about him and just how unfortunatehe'd been. They knew when I had my teeth out and a new set made; theyknew when I put on a false front-piece; they knew when the fruitpeddler asked me to be his third wife--I never told 'em, an' you can besure HE never did, but they don't NEED to be told in this village; theyhave nothin' to do but guess, an' they'll guess right every time. I wasall tuckered out tryin' to mislead 'em and deceive 'em and sidetrack'em; but the minute I got where I wa'n't put under a microscope by dayan' a telescope by night and had myself TO myself without sayin' 'Byyour leave, ' I begun to pick up. Cousin Cyrus is an old man an'consid'able trouble, but he thinks my teeth are handsome an' says I'vegot a splendid suit of hair. There ain't a person in Lewiston thatknows about the minister, or father's will, or Jim's doin's, or thefruit peddler; an' if they should find out, they wouldn't care, an'they couldn't remember; for Lewiston 's a busy place, thanks be!"

Miss Delia Weeks may have exaggerated matters somewhat, but it is easyto imagine that Rebecca as well as all the other Riverboro children hadheard the particulars of the Widow Rideout's missing sleigh and AbnerSimpson's supposed connection with it. 

There is not an excess of delicacy or chivalry in the ordinary countryschool, and several choice conundrums and bits of verse dealing withthe Simpson affair were bandied about among the scholars, utteredalways, be it said to their credit, in undertones, and when the Simpsonchildren were not in the group. 

Rebecca Randall was of precisely the same stock, and had had much thesame associations as her schoolmates, so one can hardly say why she sohated mean gossip and so instinctively held herself aloof from it. 

Among the Riverboro girls of her own age was a certain excellentlynamed Minnie Smellie, who was anything but a general favorite. She wasa ferret-eyed, blond-haired, spindle-legged little creature whose mindwas a cross between that of a parrot and a sheep. She was suspected ofcopying answers from other girls' slates, although she had never beencaught in the act. Rebecca and Emma Jane always knew when she hadbrought a tart or a triangle of layer cake with her school luncheon, because on those days she forsook the cheerful society of her mates andsought a safe solitude in the woods, returning after a time with ajocund smile on her smug face. 

After one of these private luncheons Rebecca had been tempted beyondher strength, and when Minnie took her seat among them asked, "Is yourheadache better, Minnie? Let me wipe off that strawberry jam over yourmouth. "

There was no jam there as a matter of fact, but the guilty Minnie'shandkerchief went to her crimson face in a flash. 

Rebecca confessed to Emma Jane that same afternoon that she feltashamed of her prank. "I do hate her ways, " she exclaimed, "but I'msorry I let her know we 'spected her; and so to make up, I gave herthat little piece of broken coral I keep in my bead purse; you know theone?"

"It don't hardly seem as if she deserved that, and her so greedy, "remarked Emma Jane. 

"I know it, but it makes me feel better, " said Rebecca largely; "andthen I've had it two years, and it's broken so it wouldn't ever be anyreal good, beautiful as it is to look at. "

The coral had partly served its purpose as a reconciling bond, when oneafternoon Rebecca, who had stayed after school for her grammar lessonas usual, was returning home by way of the short cut. Far ahead, beyondthe bars, she espied the Simpson children just entering the woodsy bit. Seesaw was not with them, so she hastened her steps in order to securecompany on her homeward walk. They were speedily lost to view, but whenshe had almost overtaken them she heard, in the trees beyond, MinnieSmellie's voice lifted high in song, and the sound of a child'ssobbing. Clara Belle, Susan, and the twins were running along the path, and Minnie was dancing up and down, shrieking:--

 "'What made the sleigh love Simpson so?' The eager children cried; 'Why Simpson loved the sleigh, you know, ' The teacher quick replied. "

The last glimpse of the routed Simpson tribe, and the last Rutter oftheir tattered garments, disappeared in the dim distance. The fall ofone small stone cast by the valiant Elijah, known as "the fightingtwin, " did break the stillness of the woods for a moment, but it didnot come within a hundred yards of Minnie, who shouted "Jail Birds" atthe top of her lungs and then turned, with an agreeable feeling ofexcitement, to meet Rebecca, standing perfectly still in the path, witha day of reckoning plainly set forth in her blazing eyes. 

Minnie's face was not pleasant to see, for a coward detected at themoment of wrongdoing is not an object of delight. 

"Minnie Smellie, if ever--I--catch--you--singing--that--to the Simpsonsagain--do you know what I'll do?" asked Rebecca in a tone ofconcentrated rage. 

"I don't know and I don't care, " said Minnie jauntily, though her looksbelied her. 

"I'll take that piece of coral away from you, and I THINK I shall slapyou besides!"

"You wouldn't darst, " retorted Minnie. "If you do, I'll tell my motherand the teacher, so there!"

"I don't care if you tell your mother, my mother, and all yourrelations, and the president, " said Rebecca, gaining courage as thenoble words fell from her lips. "I don't care if you tell the town, thewhole of York county, the state of Maine and--and the nation!" shefinished grandiloquently. "Now you run home and remember what I say. Ifyou do it again, and especially if you say 'Jail Birds, ' if I thinkit's right and my duty, I shall punish you somehow. "

The next morning at recess Rebecca observed Minnie telling the talewith variations to Huldah Meserve. "She THREATENED me, " whisperedMinnie, "but I never believe a word she says. "

The latter remark was spoken with the direct intention of beingoverheard, for Minnie had spasms of bravery, when well surrounded bythe machinery of law and order. 

As Rebecca went back to her seat she asked Miss Dearborn if she mightpass a note to Minnie Smellie and received permission. This was thenote:--

 Of all the girls that are so mean There's none like Minnie Smellie. I'll take away the gift I gave And pound her into jelly. 

 _P. S. Now do you believe me?_

 R. Randall. 

The effect of this piece of doggerel was entirely convincing, and fordays afterwards whenever Minnie met the Simpsons even a mile from thebrick house she shuddered and held her peace. 

VIII

COLOR OF ROSE

On the very next Friday after this "dreadfullest fight that ever wasseen, " as Bunyan says in Pilgrim's Progress, there were great doings inthe little schoolhouse on the hill. Friday afternoon was always thetime chosen for dialogues, songs, and recitations, but it cannot bestated that it was a gala day in any true sense of the word. Most ofthe children hated "speaking pieces;" hated the burden of learningthem, dreaded the danger of breaking down in them. Miss Dearborncommonly went home with a headache, and never left her bed during therest of the afternoon or evening; and the casual female parent whoattended the exercises sat on a front bench with beads of cold sweat onher forehead, listening to the all-too-familiar halts and stammers. Sometimes a bellowing infant who had clean forgotten his verse wouldcast himself bodily on the maternal bosom and be borne out into theopen air, where he was sometimes kissed and occasionally spanked; butin any case the failure added an extra dash of gloom and dread to theoccasion. The advent of Rebecca had somehow infused a new spirit intothese hitherto terrible afternoons. She had taught Elijah and ElishaSimpson so that they recited three verses of something with suchcomical effect that they delighted themselves, the teacher, and theschool; while Susan, who lisped, had been provided with a humorous poemin which she impersonated a lisping child. Emma Jane and Rebecca had adialogue, and the sense of companionship buoyed up Emma Jane and gaveher self-reliance. In fact, Miss Dearborn announced on this particularFriday morning that the exercises promised to be so interesting thatshe had invited the doctor's wife, the minister's wife, two members ofthe school committee, and a few mothers. Living Perkins was asked todecorate one of the black-boards and Rebecca the other. Living, who wasthe star artist of the school, chose the map of North America. Rebeccaliked better to draw things less realistic, and speedily, before theeyes of the enchanted multitude, there grew under her skillful fingersan American flag done in red, white, and blue chalk, every star in itsright place, every stripe fluttering in the breeze. Beside thisappeared a figure of Columbia, copied from the top of the cigar boxthat held the crayons. 

Miss Dearborn was delighted. "I propose we give Rebecca a goodhand-clapping for such a beautiful picture--one that the whole schoolmay well be proud of!"

The scholars clapped heartily, and Dick Carter, waving his hand, gave arousing cheer. 

Rebecca's heart leaped for joy, and to her confusion she felt the tearsrising in her eyes. She could hardly see the way back to her seat, forin her ignorant lonely little life she had never been singled out forapplause, never lauded, nor crowned, as in this wonderful, dazzlingmoment. If "nobleness enkindleth nobleness, " so does enthusiasm begetenthusiasm, and so do wit and talent enkindle wit and talent. AliceRobinson proposed that the school should sing Three Cheers for the Red, White, and Blue! and when they came to the chorus, all point toRebecca's flag. Dick Carter suggested that Living Perkins and RebeccaRandall should sign their names to their pictures, so that the visitorswould know who drew them. Huldah Meserve asked permission to cover thelargest holes in the plastered walls with boughs and fill the waterpail with wild flowers. Rebecca's mood was above and beyond allpractical details. She sat silent, her heart so full of grateful joythat she could hardly remember the words of her dialogue. At recess shebore herself modestly, notwithstanding her great triumph, while in thegeneral atmosphere of good will the Smellie-Randall hatchet was buriedand Minnie gathered maple boughs and covered the ugly stove with them, under Rebecca's direction. 

Miss Dearborn dismissed the morning session at quarter to twelve, sothat those who lived near enough could go home for a change of dress. Emma Jane and Rebecca ran nearly every step of the way, from sheerexcitement, only stopping to breathe at the stiles. 

"Will your aunt Mirandy let you wear your best, or only your buffcalico?" asked Emma Jane. 

"I think I'll ask aunt Jane, " Rebecca replied. "Oh! if my pink was onlyfinished! I left aunt Jane making the buttonholes!"

"I'm going to ask my mother to let me wear her garnet ring, " said EmmaJane. "It would look perfectly elergant flashing in the sun when Ipoint to the flag. Good-by; don't wait for me going back; I may get aride. "

Rebecca found the side door locked, but she knew that the key was underthe step, and so of course did everybody else in Riverboro, for theyall did about the same thing with it. She unlocked the door and wentinto the dining-room to find her lunch laid on the table and a notefrom aunt Jane saying that they had gone to Moderation with Mrs. Robinson in her carryall. Rebecca swallowed a piece of bread andbutter, and flew up the front stairs to her bedroom. On the bed lay thepink gingham dress finished by aunt Jane's kind hands. Could she, dareshe, wear it without asking? Did the occasion justify a new costume, orwould her aunts think she ought to keep it for the concert?

"I'll wear it, " thought Rebecca. "They're not here to ask, and maybethey wouldn't mind a bit; it's only gingham after all, and wouldn't beso grand if it wasn't new, and hadn't tape trimming on it, and wasn'tpink. "

She unbraided her two pig-tails, combed out the waves of her hair andtied them back with a ribbon, changed her shoes, and then slipped onthe pretty frock, managing to fasten all but the three middle buttons, which she reserved for Emma Jane. 

Then her eye fell on her cherished pink sunshade, the exact match, andthe girls had never seen it. It wasn't quite appropriate for school, but she needn't take it into the room; she would wrap it in a piece ofpaper, just show it, and carry it coming home. She glanced in theparlor looking-glass downstairs and was electrified at the vision. Itseemed almost as if beauty of apparel could go no further than thatheavenly pink gingham dress! The sparkle of her eyes, glow of hercheeks, sheen of her falling hair, passed unnoticed in theall-conquering charm of the rose-colored garment. Goodness! it wastwenty minutes to one and she would be late. She danced out the sidedoor, pulled a pink rose from a bush at the gate, and covered the milebetween the brick house and the seat of learning in an incredibly shorttime, meeting Emma Jane, also breathless and resplendent, at theentrance. 

"Rebecca Randall!" exclaimed Emma Jane, "you're handsome as a picture!"

"I?" laughed Rebecca "Nonsense! it's only the pink gingham. "

"You're not good looking every day, " insisted Emma Jane; "but you'redifferent somehow. See my garnet ring; mother scrubbed it in soap andwater. How on earth did your aunt Mirandy let you put on your bran' newdress?"

"They were both away and I didn't ask, " Rebecca responded anxiously. "Why? Do you think they'd have said no?"

"Miss Mirandy always says no, doesn't she?" asked Emma Jane. 

"Ye--es; but this afternoon is very special--almost like aSunday-school concert. "

"Yes, " assented Emma Jane, "it is, of course; with your name on theboard, and our pointing to your flag, and our elergant dialogue, andall that. "

The afternoon was one succession of solid triumphs for everybodyconcerned. There were no real failures at all, no tears, no parentsashamed of their offspring. Miss Dearborn heard many admiring remarkspassed upon her ability, and wondered whether they belonged to her orpartly, at least, to Rebecca. The child had no more to do than severalothers, but she was somehow in the foreground. It transpired afterwardsat various village entertainments that Rebecca couldn't be kept in thebackground; it positively refused to hold her. Her worst enemy couldnot have called her pushing. She was ready and willing and never shy;but she sought for no chances of display and was, indeed, remarkablylacking in self-consciousness, as well as eager to bring others intowhatever fun or entertainment there was. If wherever the MacGregor satwas the head of the table, so in the same way wherever Rebecca stoodwas the centre of the stage. Her clear high treble soared above all therest in the choruses, and somehow everybody watched her, took note ofher gestures, her whole-souled singing, her irrepressible enthusiasm. 

Finally it was all over, and it seemed to Rebecca as if she shouldnever be cool and calm again, as she loitered on the homeward path. There would be no lessons to learn to-night, and the vision of helpingwith the preserves on the morrow had no terrors for her--fears couldnot draw breath in the radiance that flooded her soul. There were thickgathering clouds in the sky, but she took no note of them save to beglad that she could raise her sunshade. She did not tread the solidground at all, or have any sense of belonging to the common humanfamily, until she entered the side yard of the brick house and saw heraunt Miranda standing in the open doorway. Then with a rush she cameback to earth. 

IX

ASHES OF ROSES

"There she is, over an hour late; a little more an' she'd 'a' beencaught in a thunder shower, but she'd never look ahead, " said Mirandato Jane; "and added to all her other iniquities, if she ain't riggedout in that new dress, steppin' along with her father's dancin'-schoolsteps, and swingin' her parasol for all the world as if she wasplay-actin'. Now I'm the oldest, Jane, an' I intend to have my say out;if you don't like it you can go into the kitchen till it's over. Stepright in here, Rebecca; I want to talk to you. What did you put on thatgood new dress for, on a school day, without permission?"

"I had intended to ask you at noontime, but you weren't at home, so Icouldn't, " began Rebecca. 

"You did no such a thing; you put it on because you was left alone, though you knew well enough I wouldn't have let you. "

"If I'd been CERTAIN you wouldn't have let me I'd never have done it, "said Rebecca, trying to be truthful; "but I wasn't CERTAIN, and it wasworth risking. I thought perhaps you might, if you knew it was almost areal exhibition at school. "

"Exhibition!" exclaimed Miranda scornfully; "you are exhibition enoughby yourself, I should say. Was you exhibitin' your parasol?"

"The parasol WAS silly, " confessed Rebecca, hanging her head; "but it'sthe only time in my whole life when I had anything to match it, and itlooked so beautiful with the pink dress! Emma Jane and I spoke adialogue about a city girl and a country girl, and it came to me justthe minute before I started how nice it would come in for the citygirl; and it did. I haven't hurt my dress a mite, aunt Mirandy. "

"It's the craftiness and underhandedness of your actions that's theworst, " said Miranda coldly. "And look at the other things you've done!It seems as if Satan possessed you! You went up the front stairs toyour room, but you didn't hide your tracks, for you dropped yourhandkerchief on the way up. You left the screen out of your bedroomwindow for the flies to come in all over the house. You never clearedaway your lunch nor set away a dish, AND YOU LEFT THE SIDE DOORUNLOCKED from half past twelve to three o'clock, so 't anybody could'a' come in and stolen what they liked!"

Rebecca sat down heavily in her chair as she heard the list of hertransgressions. How could she have been so careless? The tears began toflow now as she attempted to explain sins that never could be explainedor justified. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she faltered. "I was trimming the schoolroom, andgot belated, and ran all the way home. It was hard getting into mydress alone, and I hadn't time to eat but a mouthful, and just at thelast minute, when I honestly--HONESTLY--would have thought aboutclearing away and locking up, I looked at the clock and knew I couldhardly get back to school in time to form in the line; and I thoughthow dreadful it would be to go in late and get my first black mark on aFriday afternoon, with the minister's wife and the doctor's wife andthe school committee all there!"

"Don't wail and carry on now; it's no good cryin' over spilt milk, "answered Miranda. "An ounce of good behavior is worth a pound ofrepentance. Instead of tryin' to see how little trouble you can make ina house that ain't your own home, it seems as if you tried to see howmuch you could put us out. Take that rose out o' your dress and let mesee the spot it's made on your yoke, an' the rusty holes where the wetpin went in. No, it ain't; but it's more by luck than forethought. Iain't got any patience with your flowers and frizzled-out hair andfurbelows an' airs an' graces, for all the world like your Miss-Nancyfather. "

Rebecca lifted her head in a flash. "Look here, aunt Mirandy, I'll beas good as I know how to be. I'll mind quick when I'm spoken to andnever leave the door unlocked again, but I won't have my father callednames. He was a p-perfectly l-lovely father, that's what he was, andit's MEAN to call him Miss Nancy!"

"Don't you dare answer me back that imperdent way, Rebecca, tellin' meI'm mean; your father was a vain, foolish, shiftless man, an' you mightas well hear it from me as anybody else; he spent your mother's moneyand left her with seven children to provide for. "

"It's s-something to leave s-seven nice children, " sobbed Rebecca. 

"Not when other folks have to help feed, clothe, and educate 'em, "responded Miranda. "Now you step upstairs, put on your nightgown, go tobed, and stay there till to-morrow mornin'. You'll find a bowl o'crackers an' milk on your bureau, an' I don't want to hear a sound fromyou till breakfast time. Jane, run an' take the dish towels off theline and shut the shed doors; we're goin' to have a turrible shower. "

"We've had it, I should think, " said Jane quietly, as she went to doher sister's bidding. "I don't often speak my mind, Mirandy; but youought not to have said what you did about Lorenzo. He was what he was, and can't be made any different; but he was Rebecca's father, andAurelia always says he was a good husband. "

Miranda had never heard the proverbial phrase about the only "goodIndian, " but her mind worked in the conventional manner when she saidgrimly, "Yes, I've noticed that dead husbands are usually good ones;but the truth needs an airin' now and then, and that child will neveramount to a hill o' beans till she gets some of her father trounced outof her. I'm glad I said just what I did. "

"I daresay you are, " remarked Jane, with what might be described as oneof her annual bursts of courage; "but all the same, Mirandy, it wasn'tgood manners, and it wasn't good religion!"

The clap of thunder that shook the house just at that moment made nosuch peal in Miranda Sawyer's ears as Jane's remark made when it fellwith a deafening roar on her conscience. 

Perhaps after all it is just as well to speak only once a year and thenspeak to the purpose. 

Rebecca mounted the back stairs wearily, closed the door of herbedroom, and took off the beloved pink gingham with trembling fingers. Her cotton handkerchief was rolled into a hard ball, and in theintervals of reaching the more difficult buttons that lay between hershoulder blades and her belt, she dabbed her wet eyes carefully, sothat they should not rain salt water on the finery that had been wornat such a price. She smoothed it out carefully, pinched up the whiteruffle at the neck, and laid it away in a drawer with an extra littlesob at the roughness of life. The withered pink rose fell on the floor. Rebecca looked at it and thought to herself, "Just like my happy day!"Nothing could show more clearly the kind of child she was than the factthat she instantly perceived the symbolism of the rose, and laid it inthe drawer with the dress as if she were burying the whole episode withall its sad memories. It was a child's poetic instinct with a dawninghint of woman's sentiment in it. 

She braided her hair in the two accustomed pig-tails, took off her bestshoes (which had happily escaped notice), with all the while a fixedresolve growing in her mind, that of leaving the brick house and goingback to the farm. She would not be received there with openarms, --there was no hope of that, --but she would help her mother aboutthe house and send Hannah to Riverboro in her place. "I hope she'lllike it!" she thought in a momentary burst of vindictiveness. She satby the window trying to make some sort of plan, watching the lightningplay over the hilltop and the streams of rain chasing each other downthe lightning rod. And this was the day that had dawned so joyfully! Ithad been a red sunrise, and she had leaned on the window sill studyingher lesson and thinking what a lovely world it was. And what a goldenmorning! The changing of the bare, ugly little schoolroom into a bowerof beauty; Miss Dearborn's pleasure at her success with the Simpsontwins' recitation; the privilege of decorating the blackboard; thehappy thought of drawing Columbia from the cigar box; the intoxicatingmoment when the school clapped her! And what an afternoon! How it wenton from glory to glory, beginning with Emma Jane's telling her, RebeccaRandall, that she was as "handsome as a picture. "

She lived through the exercises again in memory, especially herdialogue with Emma Jane and her inspiration of using the bough-coveredstove as a mossy bank where the country girl could sit and watch herflocks. This gave Emma Jane a feeling of such ease that she neverrecited better; and how generous it was of her to lend the garnet ringto the city girl, fancying truly how it would flash as she furled herparasol and approached the awe-stricken shepherdess! She had thoughtaunt Miranda might be pleased that the niece invited down from the farmhad succeeded so well at school; but no, there was no hope of pleasingher in that or in any other way. She would go to Maplewood on the stagenext day with Mr. Cobb and get home somehow from cousin Ann's. Onsecond thoughts her aunts might not allow it. Very well, she would slipaway now and see if she could stay all night with the Cobbs and be offnext morning before breakfast. 

Rebecca never stopped long to think, more 's the pity, so she put onher oldest dress and hat and jacket, then wrapped her nightdress, comb, and toothbrush in a bundle and dropped it softly out of the window. Herroom was in the L and her window at no very dangerous distance from theground, though had it been, nothing could have stopped her at thatmoment. Somebody who had gone on the roof to clean out the gutters hadleft a cleat nailed to the side of the house about halfway between thewindow and the top of the back porch. Rebecca heard the sound of thesewing machine in the dining-room and the chopping of meat in thekitchen; so knowing the whereabouts of both her aunts, she scrambledout of the window, caught hold of the lightning rod, slid down to thehelpful cleat, jumped to the porch, used the woodbine trellis for aladder, and was flying up the road in the storm before she had time toarrange any details of her future movements. 

Jeremiah Cobb sat at his lonely supper at the table by the kitchenwindow. "Mother, " as he with his old-fashioned habits was in the habitof calling his wife, was nursing a sick neighbor. Mrs. Cobb was motheronly to a little headstone in the churchyard, where reposed "Sarah Ann, beloved daughter of Jeremiah and Sarah Cobb, aged seventeen months;"but the name of mother was better than nothing, and served at any rateas a reminder of her woman's crown of blessedness. 

The rain still fell, and the heavens were dark, though it was scarcelyfive o'clock. Looking up from his "dish of tea, " the old man saw at theopen door a very figure of woe. Rebecca's face was so swollen withtears and so sharp with misery that for a moment he scarcely recognizedher. Then when he heard her voice asking, "Please may I come in, Mr. Cobb?" he cried, "Well I vow! It's my little lady passenger! Come tocall on old uncle Jerry and pass the time o' day, hev ye? Why, you'rewet as sops. Draw up to the stove. I made a fire, hot as it was, thinkin' I wanted somethin' warm for my supper, bein' kind o' lonesomewithout mother. She's settin' up with Seth Strout to-night. There, we'll hang your soppy hat on the nail, put your jacket over the chairrail, an' then you turn your back to the stove an' dry yourself good. "

Uncle Jerry had never before said so many words at a time, but he hadcaught sight of the child's red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and hisbig heart went out to her in her trouble, quite regardless of anycircumstances that might have caused it. 

Rebecca stood still for a moment until uncle Jerry took his seat againat the table, and then, unable to contain herself longer, cried, "Oh, Mr. Cobb, I've run away from the brick house, and I want to go back tothe farm. Will you keep me to-night and take me up to Maplewood in thestage? I haven't got any money for my fare, but I'll earn it somehowafterwards. "

"Well, I guess we won't quarrel 'bout money, you and me, " said the oldman; "and we've never had our ride together, anyway, though we allersmeant to go down river, not up. "

"I shall never see Milltown now!" sobbed Rebecca. 

"Come over here side o' me an' tell me all about it, " coaxed uncleJerry. "Jest set down on that there wooden cricket an' out with thewhole story. "

Rebecca leaned her aching head against Mr. Cobb's homespun knee andrecounted the history of her trouble. Tragic as that history seemed toher passionate and undisciplined mind, she told it truthfully andwithout exaggeration. 

X

RAINBOW BRIDGES

Uncle Jerry coughed and stirred in his chair a good deal duringRebecca's recital, but he carefully concealed any undue feeling ofsympathy, just muttering, "Poor little soul! We'll see what we can dofor her!"

"You will take me to Maplewood, won't you, Mr. Cobb?" begged Rebeccapiteously. 

"Don't you fret a mite, " he answered, with a crafty little notion atthe back of his mind; "I'll see the lady passenger through somehow. Nowtake a bite o' somethin' to eat, child. Spread some o' that tomatopreserve on your bread; draw up to the table. How'd you like to set inmother's place an' pour me out another cup o' hot tea?"

Mr. Jeremiah Cobb's mental machinery was simple, and did not move verysmoothly save when propelled by his affection or sympathy. In thepresent case these were both employed to his advantage, and mourninghis stupidity and praying for some flash of inspiration to light hispath, he blundered along, trusting to Providence. 

Rebecca, comforted by the old man's tone, and timidly enjoying thedignity of sitting in Mrs. Cobb's seat and lifting the blue chinateapot, smiled faintly, smoothed her hair, and dried her eyes. 

"I suppose your mother'll be turrible glad to see you back again?"queried Mr. Cobb. 

A tiny fear--just a baby thing--in the bottom of Rebecca's heartstirred and grew larger the moment it was touched with a question. 

"She won't like it that I ran away, I s'pose, and she'll be sorry thatI couldn't please aunt Mirandy; but I'll make her understand, just as Idid you. "

"I s'pose she was thinkin' o' your schoolin', lettin' you come downhere; but land! you can go to school in Temperance, I s'pose?"

"There's only two months' school now in Temperance, and the farm 's toofar from all the other schools. "

"Oh well! there's other things in the world beside edjercation, "responded uncle Jerry, attacking a piece of apple pie. 

"Ye--es; though mother thought that was going to be the making of me, "returned Rebecca sadly, giving a dry little sob as she tried to drinkher tea. 

"It'll be nice for you to be all together again at the farm--such ahouse full o' children!" remarked the dear old deceiver, who longed fornothing so much as to cuddle and comfort the poor little creature. 

"It's too full--that's the trouble. But I'll make Hannah come toRiverboro in my place. "

"S'pose Mirandy 'n' Jane'll have her? I should be 'most afraid theywouldn't. They'll be kind o' mad at your goin' home, you know, and youcan't hardly blame 'em. "

This was quite a new thought, --that the brick house might be closed toHannah, since she, Rebecca, had turned her back upon its coldhospitality. 

"How is this school down here in Riverboro--pretty good?" inquireduncle Jerry, whose brain was working with an altogether unaccustomedrapidity, --so much so that it almost terrified him. 

"Oh, it's a splendid school! And Miss Dearborn is a splendid teacher!"

"You like her, do you? Well, you'd better believe she returns thecompliment. Mother was down to the store this afternoon buyin' linimentfor Seth Strout, an' she met Miss Dearborn on the bridge. They got totalkin' 'bout school, for mother has summer-boarded a lot o' theschoolmarms, an' likes 'em. 'How does the little Temperance girl gitalong?' asks mother. 'Oh, she's the best scholar I have!' says MissDearborn. 'I could teach school from sun-up to sun-down if scholars wasall like Rebecca Randall, ' says she. "

"Oh, Mr. Cobb, DID she say that?" glowed Rebecca, her face sparklingand dimpling in an instant. "I've tried hard all the time, but I'llstudy the covers right off of the books now. "

"You mean you would if you'd ben goin' to stay here, " interposed uncleJerry. "Now ain't it too bad you've jest got to give it all up onaccount o' your aunt Mirandy? Well, I can't hardly blame ye. She'scranky an' she's sour; I should think she'd ben nussed on bonny-clabberan' green apples. She needs bearin' with; an' I guess you ain't much onpatience, be ye?"

"Not very much, " replied Rebecca dolefully. 

"If I'd had this talk with ye yesterday, " pursued Mr. Cobb, "I believeI'd have advised ye different. It's too late now, an' I don't feel tosay you've ben all in the wrong; but if 't was to do over again, I'dsay, well, your aunt Mirandy gives you clothes and board and schoolin'and is goin' to send you to Wareham at a big expense. She's turriblehard to get along with, an' kind o' heaves benefits at your head, same's she would bricks; but they're benefits jest the same, an' mebbe it'syour job to kind o' pay for 'em in good behavior. Jane's a leetle bitmore easy goin' than Mirandy, ain't she, or is she jest as hard toplease?"

"Oh, aunt Jane and I get along splendidly, " exclaimed Rebecca; "she'sjust as good and kind as she can be, and I like her better all thetime. I think she kind of likes me, too; she smoothed my hair once. I'dlet her scold me all day long, for she understands; but she can't standup for me against aunt Mirandy; she's about as afraid of her as I am. "

"Jane'll be real sorry to-morrow to find you've gone away, I guess; butnever mind, it can't be helped. If she has a kind of a dull time withMirandy, on account o' her bein' so sharp, why of course she'd setgreat store by your comp'ny. Mother was talkin' with her after prayermeetin' the other night. 'You wouldn't know the brick house, Sarah, 'says Jane. 'I'm keepin' a sewin' school, an' my scholar has made threedresses. What do you think o' that, ' says she, 'for an old maid'schild? I've taken a class in Sunday-school, ' says Jane, 'an' think o'renewin' my youth an' goin' to the picnic with Rebecca, ' says she; an'mother declares she never see her look so young 'n' happy. "

There was a silence that could be felt in the little kitchen; a silenceonly broken by the ticking of the tall clock and the beating ofRebecca's heart, which, it seemed to her, almost drowned the voice ofthe clock. The rain ceased, a sudden rosy light filled the room, andthrough the window a rainbow arch could be seen spanning the heavenslike a radiant bridge. Bridges took one across difficult places, thought Rebecca, and uncle Jerry seemed to have built one over hertroubles and given her strength to walk. 

"The shower 's over, " said the old man, filling his pipe; "it's clearedthe air, washed the face o' the airth nice an' clean, an' everythingto-morrer will shine like a new pin--when you an' I are drivin' upriver. "

Rebecca pushed her cup away, rose from the table, and put on her hatand jacket quietly. "I'm not going to drive up river, Mr. Cobb, " shesaid. "I'm going to stay here and--catch bricks; catch 'em withoutthrowing 'em back, too. I don't know as aunt Mirandy will take me inafter I've run away, but I'm going back now while I have the courage. You wouldn't be so good as to go with me, would you, Mr. Cobb?"

"You'd better b'lieve your uncle Jerry don't propose to leave till hegits this thing fixed up, " cried the old man delightedly. "Now you'vehad all you can stan' to-night, poor little soul, without gettin' a fito' sickness; an' Mirandy'll be sore an' cross an' in no condition forargyment; so my plan is jest this: to drive you over to the brick housein my top buggy; to have you set back in the corner, an' I git out an'go to the side door; an' when I git your aunt Mirandy 'n' aunt Jane outint' the shed to plan for a load o' wood I'm goin' to have hauled therethis week, you'll slip out o' the buggy and go upstairs to bed. Thefront door won't be locked, will it?"

"Not this time of night, " Rebecca answered; "not till aunt Mirandy goesto bed; but oh! what if it should be?"

"Well, it won't; an' if 't is, why we'll have to face it out; though inmy opinion there's things that won't bear facin' out an' had better besettled comfortable an' quiet. You see you ain't run away yet; you'veonly come over here to consult me 'bout runnin' away, an' we'veconcluded it ain't wuth the trouble. The only real sin you'vecommitted, as I figger it out, was in comin' here by the winder whenyou'd ben sent to bed. That ain't so very black, an' you can tell youraunt Jane 'bout it come Sunday, when she's chock full o' religion, an'she can advise you when you'd better tell your aunt Mirandy. I don'tbelieve in deceivin' folks, but if you've hed hard thoughts you ain'tobleeged to own 'em up; take 'em to the Lord in prayer, as the hymnsays, and then don't go on hevin' 'em. Now come on; I'm all hitched upto go over to the post-office; don't forget your bundle; 'it's always ajourney, mother, when you carry a nightgown;' them 's the first wordsyour uncle Jerry ever heard you say! He didn't think you'd be bringin'your nightgown over to his house. Step in an' curl up in the corner; weain't goin' to let folks see little runaway gals, 'cause they're goin'back to begin all over ag'in!"

When Rebecca crept upstairs, and undressing in the dark finally foundherself in her bed that night, though she was aching and throbbing inevery nerve, she felt a kind of peace stealing over her. She had beensaved from foolishness and error; kept from troubling her poor mother;prevented from angering and mortifying her aunts. 

Her heart was melted now, and she determined to win aunt Miranda'sapproval by some desperate means, and to try and forget the one thingthat rankled worst, the scornful mention of her father, of whom shethought with the greatest admiration, and whom she had not yet heardcriticised; for such sorrows and disappointments as Aurelia Randall hadsuffered had never been communicated to her children. 

It would have been some comfort to the bruised, unhappy little spiritto know that Miranda Sawyer was passing an uncomfortable night, andthat she tacitly regretted her harshness, partly because Jane had takensuch a lofty and virtuous position in the matter. She could not endureJane's disapproval, although she would never have confessed to such aweakness. 

As uncle Jerry drove homeward under the stars, well content with hisattempts at keeping the peace, he thought wistfully of the touch ofRebecca's head on his knee, and the rain of her tears on his hand; ofthe sweet reasonableness of her mind when she had the matter putrightly before her; of her quick decision when she had once seen thepath of duty; of the touching hunger for love and understanding thatwere so characteristic in her. "Lord A'mighty!" he ejaculated under hisbreath, "Lord A'mighty! to hector and abuse a child like that one! 'Tain't ABUSE exactly, I know, or 't wouldn't be to some o' yourelephant-hided young ones; but to that little tender will-o'-the-wisp ahard word 's like a lash. Mirandy Sawyer would be a heap better womanif she had a little gravestun to remember, same's mother 'n' I have. "

"I never see a child improve in her work as Rebecca has to-day, "remarked Miranda Sawyer to Jane on Saturday evening. "That settin' downI gave her was probably just what she needed, and I daresay it'll lastfor a month. "

"I'm glad you're pleased, " returned Jane. "A cringing worm is what youwant, not a bright, smiling child. Rebecca looks to me as if she'd beenthrough the Seven Years' War. When she came downstairs this morning itseemed to me she'd grown old in the night. If you follow my advice, which you seldom do, you'll let me take her and Emma Jane down besidethe river to-morrow afternoon and bring Emma Jane home to a good Sundaysupper. Then if you'll let her go to Milltown with the Cobbs onWednesday, that'll hearten her up a little and coax back her appetite. Wednesday 's a holiday on account of Miss Dearborn's going home to hersister's wedding, and the Cobbs and Perkinses want to go down to theAgricultural Fair. "

XI

"THE STIRRING OF THE POWERS"

Rebecca's visit to Milltown was all that her glowing fancy had paintedit, except that recent readings about Rome and Venice disposed her tobelieve that those cities might have an advantage over Milltown in thematter of mere pictorial beauty. So soon does the soul outgrow itsmansions that after once seeing Milltown her fancy ran out to thefuture sight of Portland; for that, having islands and a harbor and twopublic monuments, must be far more beautiful than Milltown, whichwould, she felt, take its proud place among the cities of the earth, byreason of its tremendous business activity rather than by anyirresistible appeal to the imagination. 

It would be impossible for two children to see more, do more, walkmore, talk more, eat more, or ask more questions than Rebecca and EmmaJane did on that eventful Wednesday. 

"She's the best company I ever see in all my life, " said Mrs. Cobb toher husband that evening. "We ain't had a dull minute this day. She'swell-mannered, too; she didn't ask for anything, and was thankful forwhatever she got. Did you watch her face when we went into that tentwhere they was actin' out Uncle Tom's Cabin? And did you take notice ofthe way she told us about the book when we sat down to have our icecream? I tell you Harriet Beecher Stowe herself couldn't 'a' done itbetter justice. "

"I took it all in, " responded Mr. Cobb, who was pleased that "mother"agreed with him about Rebecca. "I ain't sure but she's goin' to turnout somethin' remarkable, --a singer, or a writer, or a lady doctor likethat Miss Parks up to Cornish. "

"Lady doctors are always home'paths, ain't they?" asked Mrs. Cobb, who, it is needless to say, was distinctly of the old school in medicine. 

"Land, no, mother; there ain't no home'path 'bout Miss Parks--shedrives all over the country. "

"I can't see Rebecca as a lady doctor, somehow, " mused Mrs. Cobb. "Hergift o' gab is what's goin' to be the makin' of her; mebbe she'lllecture, or recite pieces, like that Portland elocutionist that comeout here to the harvest supper. "

"I guess she'll be able to write down her own pieces, " said Mr. Cobbconfidently; "she could make 'em up faster 'n she could read 'em out ofa book. "

"It's a pity she's so plain looking, " remarked Mrs. Cobb, blowing outthe candle. 

"PLAIN LOOKING, mother?" exclaimed her husband in astonishment. "Lookat the eyes of her; look at the hair of her, an' the smile, an' thatthere dimple! Look at Alice Robinson, that's called the prettiest childon the river, an' see how Rebecca shines her ri' down out o' sight! Ihope Mirandy'll favor her comin' over to see us real often, for she'lllet off some of her steam here, an' the brick house'll be consid'ablesafer for everybody concerned. We've known what it was to hev children, even if 't was more 'n thirty years ago, an' we can make allowances. "

Notwithstanding the encomiums of Mr. And Mrs. Cobb, Rebecca made a poorhand at composition writing at this time. Miss Dearborn gave her everysort of subject that she had ever been given herself: Cloud Pictures;Abraham Lincoln; Nature; Philanthropy; Slavery; Intemperance; Joy andDuty; Solitude; but with none of them did Rebecca seem to grapplesatisfactorily. 

"Write as you talk, Rebecca, " insisted poor Miss Dearborn, who secretlyknew that she could never manage a good composition herself. 

"But gracious me, Miss Dearborn! I don't talk about nature and slavery. I can't write unless I have something to say, can I?"

"That is what compositions are for, " returned Miss Dearborn doubtfully;"to make you have things to say. Now in your last one, on solitude, youhaven't said anything very interesting, and you've made it too commonand every-day to sound well. There are too many 'yous' and 'yours' init; you ought to say 'one' now and then, to make it seem more like goodwriting. 'One opens a favorite book;' 'One's thoughts are a greatcomfort in solitude, ' and so on. "

"I don't know any more about solitude this week than I did about joyand duty last week, " grumbled Rebecca. 

"You tried to be funny about joy and duty, " said Miss Dearbornreprovingly; "so of course you didn't succeed. "

"I didn't know you were going to make us read the things out loud, "said Rebecca with an embarrassed smile of recollection. 

"Joy and Duty" had been the inspiring subject given to the olderchildren for a theme to be written in five minutes. 

Rebecca had wrestled, struggled, perspired in vain. When her turn cameto read she was obliged to confess she had written nothing. 

"You have at least two lines, Rebecca, " insisted the teacher, "for Isee them on your slate. "

"I'd rather not read them, please; they are not good, " pleaded Rebecca. 

"Read what you have, good or bad, little or much; I am excusing nobody. "

Rebecca rose, overcome with secret laughter dread, and mortification;then in a low voice she read the couplet:--

 When Joy and Duty clash Let Duty go to smash. 

Dick Carter's head disappeared under the desk, while Living Perkinschoked with laughter. 

Miss Dearborn laughed too; she was little more than a girl, and thetraining of the young idea seldom appealed to the sense of humor. 

"You must stay after school and try again, Rebecca, " she said, but shesaid it smilingly. "Your poetry hasn't a very nice idea in it for agood little girl who ought to love duty. "

"It wasn't MY idea, " said Rebecca apologetically. "I had only made thefirst line when I saw you were going to ring the bell and say the timewas up. I had 'clash' written, and I couldn't think of anything thenbut 'hash' or 'rash' or 'smash. ' I'll change it to this:--

 When Joy and Duty clash, 'T is Joy must go to smash. "

"That is better, " Miss Dearborn answered, "though I cannot think 'goingto smash' is a pretty expression for poetry. "

Having been instructed in the use of the indefinite pronoun "one" asgiving a refined and elegant touch to literary efforts, Rebeccapainstakingly rewrote her composition on solitude, giving it all thebenefit of Miss Dearborn's suggestion. It then appeared in thefollowing form, which hardly satisfied either teacher or pupil:--

SOLITUDE

It would be false to say that one could ever be alone when one hasone's lovely thoughts to comfort one. One sits by one's self, it istrue, but one thinks; one opens one's favorite book and reads one'sfavorite story; one speaks to one's aunt or one's brother, fondlesone's cat, or looks at one's photograph album. There is one's workalso: what a joy it is to one, if one happens to like work. All one'slittle household tasks keep one from being lonely. Does one ever feelbereft when one picks up one's chips to light one's fire for one'sevening meal? Or when one washes one's milk pail before milking one'scow? One would fancy not. 

R. R. R. 

"It is perfectly dreadful, " sighed Rebecca when she read it aloud afterschool. "Putting in 'one' all the time doesn't make it sound any morelike a book, and it looks silly besides. "

"You say such queer things, " objected Miss Dearborn. "I don't see whatmakes you do it. Why did you put in anything so common as picking upchips?"

"Because I was talking about 'household tasks' in the sentence before, and it IS one of my household tasks. Don't you think calling supper'one's evening meal' is pretty? and isn't 'bereft' a nice word?"

"Yes, that part of it does very well. It is the cat, the chips, and themilk pail that I don't like. "

"All right!" sighed Rebecca. "Out they go; Does the cow go too?"

"Yes, I don't like a cow in a composition, " said the difficult MissDearborn. 

The Milltown trip had not been without its tragic consequences of asmall sort; for the next week Minnie Smellie's mother told MirandaSawyer that she'd better look after Rebecca, for she was given to"swearing and profane language;" that she had been heard sayingsomething dreadful that very afternoon, saying it before Emma Jane andLiving Perkins, who only laughed and got down on all fours and chasedher. 

Rebecca, on being confronted and charged with the crime, denied itindignantly, and aunt Jane believed her. 

"Search your memory, Rebecca, and try to think what Minnie overheardyou say, " she pleaded. "Don't be ugly and obstinate, but think realhard. When did they chase you up the road, and what were you doing?"

A sudden light broke upon Rebecca's darkness. 

"Oh! I see it now, " she exclaimed. "It had rained hard all the morning, you know, and the road was full of puddles. Emma Jane, Living, and Iwere walking along, and I was ahead. I saw the water streaming over theroad towards the ditch, and it reminded me of Uncle Tom's Cabin atMilltown, when Eliza took her baby and ran across the Mississippi onthe ice blocks, pursued by the bloodhounds. We couldn't keep fromlaughing after we came out of the tent because they were acting on sucha small platform that Eliza had to run round and round, and part of thetime the one dog they had pursued her, and part of the time she had topursue the dog. I knew Living would remember, too, so I took off mywaterproof and wrapped it round my books for a baby; then I shouted, 'MY GOD! THE RIVER!' just like that--the same as Eliza did in the play;then I leaped from puddle to puddle, and Living and Emma Jane pursuedme like the bloodhounds. It's just like that stupid Minnie Smellie whodoesn't know a game when she sees one. And Eliza wasn't swearing whenshe said 'My God! the river!' It was more like praying. "

"Well, you've got no call to be prayin', any more than swearin', in themiddle of the road, " said Miranda; "but I'm thankful it's no worse. You're born to trouble as the sparks fly upward, an' I'm afraid youallers will be till you learn to bridle your unruly tongue. "

"I wish sometimes that I could bridle Minnie's, " murmured Rebecca, asshe went to set the table for supper. 

"I declare she IS the beatin'est child!" said Miranda, taking off herspectacles and laying down her mending. "You don't think she's a leetlemite crazy, do you, Jane?"

"I don't think she's like the rest of us, " responded Jane thoughtfullyand with some anxiety in her pleasant face; "but whether it's for thebetter or the worse I can't hardly tell till she grows up. She's gotthe making of 'most anything in her, Rebecca has; but I feel sometimesas if we were not fitted to cope with her. "

"Stuff an' nonsense!" said Miranda "Speak for yourself. I feel fittedto cope with any child that ever was born int' the world!"

"I know you do, Mirandy; but that don't MAKE you so, " returned Janewith a smile. 

The habit of speaking her mind freely was certainly growing on Jane toan altogether terrifying extent. 

XII

"SEE THE PALE MARTYR"

It was about this time that Rebecca, who had been reading about theSpartan boy, conceived the idea of some mild form of self-punishment tobe applied on occasions when she was fully convinced in her own mindthat it would be salutary. The immediate cause of the decision was asomewhat sadder accident than was common, even in a career prolific insuch things. 

Clad in her best, Rebecca had gone to take tea with the Cobbs; butwhile crossing the bridge she was suddenly overcome by the beauty ofthe river and leaned over the newly painted rail to feast her eyes onthe dashing torrent of the fall. Resting her elbows on the topmostboard, and inclining her little figure forward in delicious ease, shestood there dreaming. 

The river above the dam was a glassy lake with all the loveliness ofblue heaven and green shore reflected in its surface; the fall was aswirling wonder of water, ever pouring itself over and overinexhaustibly in luminous golden gushes that lost themselves in snowydepths of foam. Sparkling in the sunshine, gleaming under the summermoon, cold and gray beneath a November sky, trickling over the dam insome burning July drought, swollen with turbulent power in some Aprilfreshet, how many young eyes gazed into the mystery and majesty of thefalls along that river, and how many young hearts dreamed out theirfutures leaning over the bridge rail, seeing "the vision splendid"reflected there and often, too, watching it fade into "the light ofcommon day. "

Rebecca never went across the bridge without bending over the rail towonder and to ponder, and at this special moment she was putting thefinishing touches on a poem. 

 Two maidens by a river strayed Down in the state of Maine. The one was called Rebecca, The other Emma Jane. "I would my life were like the stream, " Said her named Emma Jane, "So quiet and so very smooth, So free from every pain. "

 "I'd rather be a little drop In the great rushing fall! I would not choose the glassy lake, 'T would not suit me at all!" (It was the darker maiden spoke The words I just have stated, The maidens twain were simply friends And not at all related. )

 But O! alas I we may not have The things we hope to gain; The quiet life may come to me, The rush to Emma Jane!

"I don't like 'the rush to Emma Jane, ' and I can't think of anythingelse. Oh! what a smell of paint! Oh! it is ON me! Oh! it's all over mybest dress! Oh I what WILL aunt Miranda say!"

With tears of self-reproach streaming from her eyes, Rebecca flew upthe hill, sure of sympathy, and hoping against hope for help of somesort. 

Mrs. Cobb took in the situation at a glance, and professed herself ableto remove almost any stain from almost any fabric; and in this she wascorroborated by uncle Jerry, who vowed that mother could git anythingout. Sometimes she took the cloth right along with the spot, but shehad a sure hand, mother had!

The damaged garment was removed and partially immersed in turpentine, while Rebecca graced the festal board clad in a blue calico wrapper ofMrs. Cobb's. 

"Don't let it take your appetite away, " crooned Mrs. Cobb. "I've gotcream biscuit and honey for you. If the turpentine don't work, I'll tryFrench chalk, magneshy, and warm suds. If they fail, father shall runover to Strout's and borry some of the stuff Marthy got in Milltown totake the currant pie out of her weddin' dress. "

"I ain't got to understandin' this paintin' accident yet, " said uncleJerry jocosely, as he handed Rebecca the honey. "Bein' as how there's'Fresh Paint' signs hung all over the breedge, so 't a blind asylumcouldn't miss 'em, I can't hardly account for your gettin' int' thepesky stuff. "

"I didn't notice the signs, " Rebecca said dolefully. "I suppose I waslooking at the falls. "

"The falls has been there sence the beginnin' o' time, an' I cal'latethey'll be there till the end on 't; so you needn't 'a' been in sech abrash to git a sight of 'em. Children comes turrible high, mother, butI s'pose we must have 'em!" he said, winking at Mrs. Cobb. 

When supper was cleared away Rebecca insisted on washing and wiping thedishes, while Mrs. Cobb worked on the dress with an energy that plainlyshowed the gravity of the task. Rebecca kept leaving her post at thesink to bend anxiously over the basin and watch her progress, whileuncle Jerry offered advice from time to time. 

"You must 'a' laid all over the breedge, deary, " said Mrs. Cobb; "forthe paint 's not only on your elbows and yoke and waist, but it aboutcovers your front breadth. "

As the garment began to look a little better Rebecca's spirits took anupward turn, and at length she left it to dry in the fresh air, andwent into the sitting-room. 

"Have you a piece of paper, please?" asked Rebecca. "I'll copy out thepoetry I was making while I was lying in the paint. "

Mrs. Cobb sat by her mending basket, and uncle Jerry took down agingham bag of strings and occupied himself in taking the snarls out ofthem, --a favorite evening amusement with him. 

Rebecca soon had the lines copied in her round school-girl hand, makingsuch improvements as occurred to her on sober second thought. 

 THE TWO WISHES BY REBECCA RANDALL

 Two maidens by a river strayed, 'T was in the state of Maine. Rebecca was the darker one, The fairer, Emma Jane. The fairer maiden said, "I would My life were as the stream; So peaceful, and so smooth and still, So pleasant and serene. "

 "I'd rather be a little drop In the great rushing fall; I'd never choose the quiet lake; 'T would not please me at all. " (It was the darker maiden spoke The words we just have stated; The maidens twain were simply friends, Not sisters, or related. )

 But O! alas! we may not have The things we hope to gain. The quiet life may come to me, The rush to Emma Jane!

She read it aloud, and the Cobbs thought it not only surpassinglybeautiful, but a marvelous production. 

"I guess if that writer that lived on Congress Street in Portland could'a' heard your poetry he'd 'a' been astonished, " said Mrs. Cobb. "Ifyou ask me, I say this piece is as good as that one o' his, 'Tell menot in mournful numbers;' and consid'able clearer. "

"I never could fairly make out what 'mournful numbers' was, " remarkedMr. Cobb critically. 

"Then I guess you never studied fractions!" flashed Rebecca. "See here, uncle Jerry and aunt Sarah, would you write another verse, especiallyfor a last one, as they usually do--one with 'thoughts' in it--to makea better ending?"

"If you can grind 'em out jest by turnin' the crank, why I should saythe more the merrier; but I don't hardly see how you could have abetter endin', " observed Mr. Cobb. 

"It is horrid!" grumbled Rebecca. "I ought not to have put that 'me'in. I'm writing the poetry. Nobody ought to know it IS me standing bythe river; it ought to be 'Rebecca, ' or 'the darker maiden;' and 'therush to Emma Jane' is simply dreadful. Sometimes I think I never willtry poetry, it's so hard to make it come right; and other times it justsays itself. I wonder if this would be better?

 But O! alas! we may not gain The good for which we pray The quiet life may come to one Who likes it rather gay, I don't know whether that is worse or not. Now for a new last verse!"

In a few minutes the poetess looked up, flushed and triumphant. "It wasas easy as nothing. Just hear!" And she read slowly, with her pretty, pathetic voice:--

 Then if our lot be bright or sad, Be full of smiles, or tears, The thought that God has planned it so Should help us bear the years. 

Mr. And Mrs. Cobb exchanged dumb glances of admiration; indeed uncleJerry was obliged to turn his face to the window and wipe his eyesfurtively with the string-bag. 

"How in the world did you do it?" Mrs. Cobb exclaimed. 

"Oh, it's easy, " answered Rebecca; "the hymns at meeting are all likethat. You see there's a school newspaper printed at Wareham Academyonce a month. Dick Carter says the editor is always a boy, of course;but he allows girls to try and write for it, and then chooses the best. Dick thinks I can be in it. "

"IN it!" exclaimed uncle Jerry. "I shouldn't be a bit surprised if youhad to write the whole paper; an' as for any boy editor, you could lickhim writin', I bate ye, with one hand tied behind ye. "

"Can we have a copy of the poetry to keep in the family Bible?"inquired Mrs. Cobb respectfully. 

"Oh! would you like it?" asked Rebecca. "Yes indeed! I'll do a clean, nice one with violet ink and a fine pen. But I must go and look at mypoor dress. "

The old couple followed Rebecca into the kitchen. The frock was quitedry, and in truth it had been helped a little by aunt Sarah'sministrations; but the colors had run in the rubbing, the pattern wasblurred, and there were muddy streaks here and there. As a last resort, it was carefully smoothed with a warm iron, and Rebecca was urged toattire herself, that they might see if the spots showed as much when itwas on. 

They did, most uncompromisingly, and to the dullest eye. Rebecca gaveone searching look, and then said, as she took her hat from a nail inthe entry, "I think I'll be going. Good-night! If I've got to have ascolding, I want it quick, and get it over. "

"Poor little onlucky misfortunate thing!" sighed uncle Jerry, as hiseyes followed her down the hill. "I wish she could pay some attentionto the ground under her feet; but I vow, if she was ourn I'd let herslop paint all over the house before I could scold her. Here's herpoetry she's left behind. Read it out ag'in, mother. Land!" hecontinued, chuckling, as he lighted his cob pipe; "I can just see thelast flap o' that boy-editor's shirt tail as he legs it for the woods, while Rebecky settles down in his revolvin' cheer! I'm puzzled as towhat kind of a job editin' is, exactly; but she'll find out, Rebeckywill. An' she'll just edit for all she's worth!

 "'The thought that God has planned it so Should help us bear the years. '

Land, mother! that takes right holt, kind o' like the gospel. How doyou suppose she thought that out?"

"She couldn't have thought it out at her age, " said Mrs. Cobb; "shemust have just guessed it was that way. We know some things withoutbein' told, Jeremiah. "

Rebecca took her scolding (which she richly deserved) like a soldier. There was considerable of it, and Miss Miranda remarked, among otherthings, that so absent-minded a child was sure to grow up into adriveling idiot. She was bidden to stay away from Alice Robinson'sbirthday party, and doomed to wear her dress, stained and streaked asit was, until it was worn out. Aunt Jane six months later mitigatedthis martyrdom by making her a ruffled dimity pinafore, artfully shapedto conceal all the spots. She was blessedly ready with these mediationsbetween the poor little sinner and the full consequences of her sin. 

When Rebecca had heard her sentence and gone to the north chamber shebegan to think. If there was anything she did not wish to grow into, itwas an idiot of any sort, particularly a driveling one; and sheresolved to punish herself every time she incurred what she consideredto be the righteous displeasure of her virtuous relative. She didn'tmind staying away from Alice Robinson's. She had told Emma Jane itwould be like a picnic in a graveyard, the Robinson house being as nearan approach to a tomb as a house can manage to be. Children werecommonly brought in at the back door, and requested to stand onnewspapers while making their call, so that Alice was begged by herfriends to "receive" in the shed or barn whenever possible. Mrs. Robinson was not only "turrible neat, " but "turrible close, " so thatthe refreshments were likely to be peppermint lozenges and glasses ofwell water. 

After considering the relative values, as penances, of a piece ofhaircloth worn next the skin, and a pebble in the shoe, she dismissedthem both. The haircloth could not be found, and the pebble wouldattract the notice of the Argus-eyed aunt, besides being a foolish barto the activity of a person who had to do housework and walk a mile anda half to school. 

Her first experimental attempt at martyrdom had not been adistinguished success. She had stayed at home from the Sunday-schoolconcert, a function of which, in ignorance of more alluring ones, shewas extremely fond. As a result of her desertion, two infants whorelied upon her to prompt them (she knew the verses of all the childrenbetter than they did themselves) broke down ignominiously. The class towhich she belonged had to read a difficult chapter of Scripture inrotation, and the various members spent an arduous Sabbath afternooncounting out verses according to their seats in the pew, and practicingthe ones that would inevitably fall to them. They were too ignorant torealize, when they were called upon, that Rebecca's absence would makeeverything come wrong, and the blow descended with crushing force whenthe Jebusites and Amorites, the Girgashites, Hivites, and Perizziteshad to be pronounced by the persons of all others least capable ofgrappling with them. 

Self-punishment, then, to be adequate and proper, must begin, likecharity, at home, and unlike charity should end there too. Rebeccalooked about the room vaguely as she sat by the window. She must giveup something, and truth to tell she possessed little to give, hardlyanything but--yes, that would do, the beloved pink parasol. She couldnot hide it in the attic, for in some moment of weakness she would besure to take it out again. She feared she had not the moral energy tobreak it into bits. Her eyes moved from the parasol to the apple-treesin the side yard, and then fell to the well curb. That would do; shewould fling her dearest possession into the depths of the water. Actionfollowed quickly upon decision, as usual. She slipped down in thedarkness, stole out the front door, approached the place of sacrifice, lifted the cover of the well, gave one unresigned shudder, and flungthe parasol downward with all her force. At the crucial instant ofrenunciation she was greatly helped by the reflection that she closelyresembled the heathen mothers who cast their babes to the crocodiles inthe Ganges. 

She slept well and arose refreshed, as a consecrated spirit alwaysshould and sometimes does. But there was great difficulty in drawingwater after breakfast. Rebecca, chastened and uplifted, had gone toschool. Abijah Flagg was summoned, lifted the well cover, explored, found the inciting cause of trouble, and with the help of Yankee witsucceeded in removing it. The fact was that the ivory hook of theparasol had caught in the chain gear, and when the first attempt atdrawing water was made, the little offering of a contrite heart wasjerked up, bent, its strong ribs jammed into the well side, andentangled with a twig root. It is needless to say that nosleight-of-hand performer, however expert, unless aided by the powersof darkness, could have accomplished this feat; but a luckless child inthe pursuit of virtue had done it with a turn of the wrist. 

We will draw a veil over the scene that occurred after Rebecca's returnfrom school. You who read may be well advanced in years, you may begifted in rhetoric, ingenious in argument; but even you might quail atthe thought of explaining the tortuous mental processes that led youinto throwing your beloved pink parasol into Miranda Sawyer's well. Perhaps you feel equal to discussing the efficacy of spiritualself-chastisement with a person who closes her lips into a thin lineand looks at you out of blank, uncomprehending eyes! Common sense, right, and logic were all arrayed on Miranda's side. When poor Rebecca, driven to the wall, had to avow the reasons lying behind the sacrificeof the sunshade, her aunt said, "Now see here, Rebecca, you're too bigto be whipped, and I shall never whip you; but when you think you ain'tpunished enough, just tell me, and I'll make out to invent a littlesomething more. I ain't so smart as some folks, but I can do that much;and whatever it is, it'll be something that won't punish the wholefamily, and make 'em drink ivory dust, wood chips, and pink silk ragswith their water. "

XIII

SNOW-WHITE; ROSE-RED

Just before Thanksgiving the affairs of the Simpsons reached what mighthave been called a crisis, even in their family, which had been bornand reared in a state of adventurous poverty and perilous uncertainty. 

Riverboro was doing its best to return the entire tribe of Simpsons tothe land of its fathers, so to speak, thinking rightly that the townwhich had given them birth, rather than the town of their adoption, should feed them and keep a roof over their heads until the childrenwere of an age for self-support. There was little to eat in thehousehold and less to wear, though Mrs. Simpson did, as always, herpoor best. The children managed to satisfy their appetites by sittingmodestly outside their neighbors' kitchen doors when meals were aboutto be served. They were not exactly popular favorites, but they didreceive certain undesirable morsels from the more charitable housewives. 

Life was rather dull and dreary, however, and in the chill and gloom ofNovember weather, with the vision of other people's turkeys burstingwith fat, and other people's golden pumpkins and squashes and cornbeing garnered into barns, the young Simpsons groped about for someinexpensive form of excitement, and settled upon the selling of soapfor a premium. They had sold enough to their immediate neighbors duringthe earlier autumn to secure a child's handcart, which, though veryweak on its pins, could be trundled over the country roads. With largebusiness sagacity and an executive capacity which must have beeninherited from their father, they now proposed to extend theiroperations to a larger area and distribute soap to contiguous villages, if these villages could be induced to buy. The Excelsior Soap Companypaid a very small return of any kind to its infantile agents, who werescattered through the state, but it inflamed their imaginations by theissue of circulars with highly colored pictures of the premiums to beawarded for the sale of a certain number of cakes. It was at thisjuncture that Clara Belle and Susan Simpson consulted Rebecca, whothrew herself solidly and wholeheartedly into the enterprise, promisingher help and that of Emma Jane Perkins. The premiums within theirpossible grasp were three: a bookcase, a plush reclining chair, and abanquet lamp. Of course the Simpsons had no books, and casting aside, without thought or pang, the plush chair, which might have been of someuse in a family of seven persons (not counting Mr. Simpson, whoordinarily sat elsewhere at the town's expense), they warmed themselvesrapturously in the vision of the banquet lamp, which speedily became tothem more desirable than food, drink, or clothing. Neither Emma Janenor Rebecca perceived anything incongruous in the idea of the Simpsonsstriving for a banquet lamp. They looked at the picture daily and knewthat if they themselves were free agents they would toil, suffer, aysweat, for the happy privilege of occupying the same room with thatlamp through the coming winter evenings. It looked to be about eightfeet tall in the catalogue, and Emma Jane advised Clara Belle tomeasure the height of the Simpson ceilings; but a note in the margin ofthe circular informed them that it stood two and a half feet high whenset up in all its dignity and splendor on a proper table, three dollarsextra. It was only of polished brass, continued the circular, though itwas invariably mistaken for solid gold, and the shade that accompaniedit (at least it accompanied it if the agent sold a hundred extra cakes)was of crinkled crepe paper printed in a dozen delicious hues, fromwhich the joy-dazzled agent might take his choice. 

Seesaw Simpson was not in the syndicate. Clara Belle was rather asuccessful agent, but Susan, who could only say "thoap, " never madelarge returns, and the twins, who were somewhat young to be thoroughlytrustworthy, could be given only a half dozen cakes at a time, and wereobliged to carry with them on their business trips a brief documentstating the price per cake, dozen, and box. Rebecca and Emma Janeoffered to go two or three miles in some one direction and see whatthey could do in the way of stirring up a popular demand for theSnow-White and Rose-Red brands, the former being devoted to laundrypurposes and the latter being intended for the toilet. 

There was a great amount of hilarity in the preparation for this event, and a long council in Emma Jane's attic. They had the soap company'scircular from which to arrange a proper speech, and they had, what wasstill better, the remembrance of a certain patent-medicine vender'sdiscourse at the Milltown Fair. His method, when once observed, couldnever be forgotten; nor his manner, nor his vocabulary. Emma Janepracticed it on Rebecca, and Rebecca on Emma Jane. 

"Can I sell you a little soap this afternoon? It is called theSnow-White and Rose-Red Soap, six cakes in an ornamental box, onlytwenty cents for the white, twenty-five cents for the red. It is madefrom the purest ingredients, and if desired could be eaten by aninvalid with relish and profit. "

"Oh, Rebecca, don't let's say that!" interposed Emma Jane hysterically. "It makes me feel like a fool. "

"It takes so little to make you feel like a fool, Emma Jane, " rebukedRebecca, "that sometimes I think that you must BE one I don't get tofeeling like a fool so awfully easy; now leave out that eating part ifyou don't like it, and go on. "

"The Snow-White is probably the most remarkable laundry soap evermanufactured. Immerse the garments in a tub, lightly rubbing the moresoiled portions with the soap; leave them submerged in water fromsunset to sunrise, and then the youngest baby can wash them without theslightest effort. "

"BABE, not baby, " corrected Rebecca from the circular. 

"It's just the same thing, " argued Emma Jane. 

"Of course it's just the same THING; but a baby has got to be calledbabe or infant in a circular, the same as it is in poetry! Would yourather say infant?"

"No, " grumbled Emma Jane; "infant is worse even than babe. Rebecca, doyou think we'd better do as the circular says, and let Elijah or Elishatry the soap before we begin selling?"

"I can't imagine a babe doing a family wash with ANY soap, " answeredRebecca; "but it must be true or they would never dare to print it, sodon't let's bother. Oh! won't it be the greatest fun, Emma Jane? Atsome of the houses--where they can't possibly know me--I shan't befrightened, and I shall reel off the whole rigmarole, invalid, babe, and all. Perhaps I shall say even the last sentence, if I can rememberit: 'We sound every chord in the great mac-ro-cosm of satisfaction. "

This conversation took place on a Friday afternoon at Emma Jane'shouse, where Rebecca, to her unbounded joy, was to stay over Sunday, her aunts having gone to Portland to the funeral of an old friend. Saturday being a holiday, they were going to have the old white horse, drive to North Riverboro three miles away, eat a twelve o'clock dinnerwith Emma Jane's cousins, and be back at four o'clock punctually. 

When the children asked Mrs. Perkins if they could call at just a fewhouses coming and going, and sell a little soap for the Simpsons, sheat first replied decidedly in the negative. She was an indulgentparent, however, and really had little objection to Emma Jane amusingherself in this unusual way; it was only for Rebecca, as the niece ofthe difficult Miranda Sawyer, that she raised scruples; but when fullypersuaded that the enterprise was a charitable one, she acquiesced. 

The girls called at Mr. Watson's store, and arranged for several largeboxes of soap to be charged to Clara Belle Simpson's account. Thesewere lifted into the back of the wagon, and a happier couple neverdrove along the country road than Rebecca and her companion. It was aglorious Indian summer day, which suggested nothing of Thanksgiving, near at hand as it was. It was a rustly day, a scarlet and buff, yellowand carmine, bronze and crimson day. There were still many leaves onthe oaks and maples, making a goodly show of red and brown and gold. The air was like sparkling cider, and every field had its heaps ofyellow and russet good things to eat, all ready for the barns, themills, and the markets. The horse forgot his twenty years, sniffed thesweet bright air, and trotted like a colt; Nokomis Mountain looked blueand clear in the distance; Rebecca stood in the wagon, andapostrophized the landscape with sudden joy of living:--

 "Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast, World, you are beautifully drest!"

Dull Emma Jane had never seemed to Rebecca so near, so dear, so triedand true; and Rebecca, to Emma Jane's faithful heart, had never been sobrilliant, so bewildering, so fascinating, as in this visit together, with its intimacy, its freedom, and the added delights of an excitingbusiness enterprise. 

A gorgeous leaf blew into the wagon. 

"Does color make you sort of dizzy?" asked Rebecca. 

"No, " answered Emma Jane after a long pause; "no, it don't; not a mite. "

"Perhaps dizzy isn't just the right word, but it's nearest. I'd like toeat color, and drink it, and sleep in it. If you could be a tree, whichone would you choose?"

Emma Jane had enjoyed considerable experience of this kind, and Rebeccahad succeeded in unstopping her ears, ungluing her eyes, and looseningher tongue, so that she could "play the game" after a fashion. 

"I'd rather be an apple-tree in blossom, --that one that blooms pink, byour pig-pen. "

Rebecca laughed. There was always something unexpected in Emma Jane'sreplies. "I'd choose to be that scarlet maple just on the edge of thepond there, "--and she pointed with the whip. "Then I could see so muchmore than your pink apple-tree by the pig-pen. I could look at all therest of the woods, see my scarlet dress in my beautiful looking-glass, and watch all the yellow and brown trees growing upside down in thewater. When I'm old enough to earn money, I'm going to have a dresslike this leaf, all ruby color--thin, you know, with a sweeping trainand ruffly, curly edges; then I think I'll have a brown sash like thetrunk of the tree, and where could I be green? Do they have greenpetticoats, I wonder? I'd like a green petticoat coming out now andthen underneath to show what my leaves were like before I was a scarletmaple. "

"I think it would be awful homely, " said Emma Jane. "I'm going to havea white satin with a pink sash, pink stockings, bronze slippers, and aspangled fan. "

XIV

MR. ALADDIN

A single hour's experience of the vicissitudes incident to a businesscareer clouded the children's spirits just the least bit. They did notaccompany each other to the doors of their chosen victims, feeling surethat together they could not approach the subject seriously; but theyparted at the gate of each house, the one holding the horse while theother took the soap samples and interviewed any one who seemed of acoming-on disposition. Emma Jane had disposed of three single cakes, Rebecca of three small boxes; for a difference in their ability topersuade the public was clearly defined at the start, though neither ofthem ascribed either success or defeat to anything but the imperiousforce of circumstances. Housewives looked at Emma Jane and desired nosoap; listened to her description of its merits, and still desirednone. Other stars in their courses governed Rebecca's doings. Thepeople whom she interviewed either remembered their present need ofsoap, or reminded themselves that they would need it in the future; thenotable point in the case being that lucky Rebecca accomplished, withalmost no effort, results that poor little Emma Jane failed to attainby hard and conscientious labor. 

"It's your turn, Rebecca, and I'm glad, too, " said Emma Jane, drawingup to a gateway and indicating a house that was set a considerabledistance from the road. "I haven't got over trembling from the lastplace yet. " (A lady had put her head out of an upstairs window andcalled, "Go away, little girl; whatever you have in your box we don'twant any. ") "I don't know who lives here, and the blinds are all shutin front. If there's nobody at home you mustn't count it, but take thenext house as yours. "

Rebecca walked up the lane and went to the side door. There was a porchthere, and seated in a rocking-chair, husking corn, was a good-lookingyoung man, or was he middle aged? Rebecca could not make up her mind. At all events he had an air of the city about him, --well-shaven face, well-trimmed mustache, well-fitting clothes. Rebecca was a trifle shyat this unexpected encounter, but there was nothing to be done butexplain her presence, so she asked, "Is the lady of the house at home?"

"I am the lady of the house at present, " said the stranger, with awhimsical smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you ever heard of the--would you like, or I mean--do you need anysoap?" queried Rebecca. 

"Do I look as if I did?" he responded unexpectedly. 

Rebecca dimpled. "I didn't mean THAT; I have some soap to sell; I meanI would like to introduce to you a very remarkable soap, the best nowon the market. It is called the"--

"Oh! I must know that soap, " said the gentleman genially. "Made out ofpure vegetable fats, isn't it?"

"The very purest, " corroborated Rebecca. 

"No acid in it?"

"Not a trace. "

"And yet a child could do the Monday washing with it and use no force. "

"A babe, " corrected Rebecca

"Oh! a babe, eh? That child grows younger every year, instead ofolder--wise child!"

This was great good fortune, to find a customer who knew all thevirtues of the article in advance. Rebecca dimpled more and more, andat her new friend's invitation sat down on a stool at his side near theedge of the porch. The beauties of the ornamental box which held theRose-Red were disclosed, and the prices of both that and the Snow-Whitewere unfolded. Presently she forgot all about her silent partner at thegate and was talking as if she had known this grand personage all herlife. 

"I'm keeping house to-day, but I don't live here, " explained thedelightful gentleman. "I'm just on a visit to my aunt, who has gone toPortland. I used to be here as a boy and I am very fond of the spot. "

"I don't think anything takes the place of the farm where one livedwhen one was a child, " observed Rebecca, nearly bursting with pride athaving at last successfully used the indefinite pronoun in generalconversation. 

The man darted a look at her and put down his ear of corn. "So youconsider your childhood a thing of the past, do you, young lady?"

"I can still remember it, " answered Rebecca gravely, "though it seems along time ago. "

"I can remember mine well enough, and a particularly unpleasant one itwas, " said the stranger. 

"So was mine, " sighed Rebecca. "What was your worst trouble?"

"Lack of food and clothes principally. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Rebecca sympathetically, --"mine was no shoes and toomany babies and not enough books. But you're all right and happy now, aren't you?" she asked doubtfully, for though he looked handsome, well-fed, and prosperous, any child could see that his eyes were tiredand his mouth was sad when he was not speaking. 

"I'm doing pretty well, thank you, " said the man, with a delightfulsmile. "Now tell me, how much soap ought I to buy to-day?"

"How much has your aunt on hand now?" suggested the very modest andinexperienced agent; "and how much would she need?"

"Oh, I don't know about that; soap keeps, doesn't it?"

"I'm not certain, " said Rebecca conscientiously, "but I'll look in thecircular--it's sure to tell;" and she drew the document from her pocket. 

"What are you going to do with the magnificent profits you get fromthis business?"

"We are not selling for our own benefit, " said Rebecca confidentially. "My friend who is holding the horse at the gate is the daughter of avery rich blacksmith, and doesn't need any money. I am poor, but I livewith my aunts in a brick house, and of course they wouldn't like me tobe a peddler. We are trying to get a premium for some friends of ours. "

Rebecca had never thought of alluding to the circumstances with herprevious customers, but unexpectedly she found herself describing Mr. Simpson, Mrs. Simpson, and the Simpson family; their poverty, theirjoyless life, and their abject need of a banquet lamp to brighten theirexistence. 

"You needn't argue that point, " laughed the man, as he stood up to geta glimpse of the "rich blacksmith's daughter" at the gate. "I can seethat they ought to have it if they want it, and especially if you wantthem to have it. I've known what it was myself to do without a banquetlamp. Now give me the circular, and let's do some figuring. How much dothe Simpsons lack at this moment?"

"If they sell two hundred more cakes this month and next, they can havethe lamp by Christmas, " Rebecca answered, "and they can get a shade bysummer time; but I'm afraid I can't help very much after to-day, because my aunt Miranda may not like to have me. "

"I see. Well, that's all right. I'll take three hundred cakes, and thatwill give them shade and all. "

Rebecca had been seated on a stool very near to the edge of the porch, and at this remark she made a sudden movement, tipped over, anddisappeared into a clump of lilac bushes. It was a very short distance, fortunately, and the amused capitalist picked her up, set her on herfeet, and brushed her off. "You should never seem surprised when youhave taken a large order, " said he; "you ought to have replied 'Can'tyou make it three hundred and fifty?' instead of capsizing in thatunbusinesslike way. "

"Oh, I could never say anything like that!" exclaimed Rebecca, who wasblushing crimson at her awkward fall. "But it doesn't seem right foryou to buy so much. Are you sure you can afford it?"

"If I can't, I'll save on something else, " returned the jocosephilanthropist. 

"What if your aunt shouldn't like the kind of soap?" queried Rebeccanervously. 

"My aunt always likes what I like, " he returned

"Mine doesn't!" exclaimed Rebecca

"Then there's something wrong with your aunt!"

"Or with me, " laughed Rebecca. 

"What is your name, young lady?"

"Rebecca Rowena Randall, sir. "

"What?" with an amused smile. "BOTH? Your mother was generous. "

"She couldn't bear to give up either of the names she says. "

"Do you want to hear my name?"

"I think I know already, " answered Rebecca, with a bright glance. "I'msure you must be Mr. Aladdin in the Arabian Nights. Oh, please, can Irun down and tell Emma Jane? She must be so tired waiting, and she willbe so glad!"

At the man's nod of assent Rebecca sped down the lane, cryingirrepressibly as she neared the wagon, "Oh, Emma Jane! Emma Jane! weare sold out!"

Mr. Aladdin followed smilingly to corroborate this astonishing, unbelievable statement; lifted all their boxes from the back of thewagon, and taking the circular, promised to write to the ExcelsiorCompany that night concerning the premium. 

"If you could contrive to keep a secret, --you two little girls, --itwould be rather a nice surprise to have the lamp arrive at theSimpsons' on Thanksgiving Day, wouldn't it?" he asked, as he tucked theold lap robe cosily over their feet. 

They gladly assented, and broke into a chorus of excited thanks duringwhich tears of joy stood in Rebecca's eyes. 

"Oh, don't mention it!" laughed Mr. Aladdin, lifting his hat. "I was asort of commercial traveler myself once, --years ago, --and I like to seethe thing well done. Good-by Miss Rebecca Rowena! Just let me knowwhenever you have anything to sell, for I'm certain beforehand I shallwant it. "

"Good-by, Mr. Aladdin! I surely will!" cried Rebecca, tossing back herdark braids delightedly and waving her hand. 

"Oh, Rebecca!" said Emma Jane in an awe-struck whisper. "He raised hishat to us, and we not thirteen! It'll be five years before we'reladies. "

"Never mind, " answered Rebecca; "we are the BEGINNINGS of ladies, evennow. "

"He tucked the lap robe round us, too, " continued Emma Jane, in anecstasy of reminiscence. "Oh! isn't he perfectly elergant? And wasn'tit lovely of him to buy us out? And just think of having both the lampand the shade for one day's work! Aren't you glad you wore your pinkgingham now, even if mother did make you put on flannel underneath? Youdo look so pretty in pink and red, Rebecca, and so homely in drab andbrown!"

"I know it, " sighed Rebecca "I wish I was like you--pretty in allcolors!" And Rebecca looked longingly at Emma Jane's fat, rosy cheeks;at her blue eyes, which said nothing; at her neat nose, which had nocharacter; at her red lips, from between which no word worth listeningto had ever issued. 

"Never mind!" said Emma Jane comfortingly. "Everybody says you're awfulbright and smart, and mother thinks you'll be better looking all thetime as you grow older. You wouldn't believe it, but I was a dreadfulhomely baby, and homely right along till just a year or two ago, whenmy red hair began to grow dark. What was the nice man's name?"

"I never thought to ask!" ejaculated Rebecca. "Aunt Miranda would saythat was just like me, and it is. But I called him Mr. Aladdin becausehe gave us a lamp. You know the story of Aladdin and the wonderfullamp?"

"Oh, Rebecca! how could you call him a nickname the very first time youever saw him?"

"Aladdin isn't a nickname exactly; anyway, he laughed and seemed tolike it. "

By dint of superhuman effort, and putting such a seal upon their lipsas never mortals put before, the two girls succeeded in keeping theirwonderful news to themselves; although it was obvious to all beholdersthat they were in an extraordinary and abnormal state of mind. 

On Thanksgiving the lamp arrived in a large packing box, and was takenout and set up by Seesaw Simpson, who suddenly began to admire andrespect the business ability of his sisters. Rebecca had heard the newsof its arrival, but waited until nearly dark before asking permissionto go to the Simpsons', so that she might see the gorgeous trophylighted and sending a blaze of crimson glory through its red crepepaper shade. 

XV

THE BANQUET LAMP

There had been company at the brick house to the bountiful Thanksgivingdinner which had been provided at one o'clock, --the Burnham sisters, who lived between North Riverboro and Shaker Village, and who for morethan a quarter of a century had come to pass the holiday with theSawyers every year. Rebecca sat silent with a book after the dinnerdishes were washed, and when it was nearly five asked if she might goto the Simpsons'. 

"What do you want to run after those Simpson children for on aThanksgiving Day?" queried Miss Miranda. "Can't you set still for onceand listen to the improvin' conversation of your elders? You never canlet well enough alone, but want to be forever on the move. "

"The Simpsons have a new lamp, and Emma Jane and I promised to go upand see it lighted, and make it a kind of a party. "

"What under the canopy did they want of a lamp, and where did they getthe money to pay for it? If Abner was at home, I should think he'd beenswappin' again, " said Miss Miranda. 

"The children got it as a prize for selling soap, " replied Rebecca;"they've been working for a year, and you know I told you that EmmaJane and I helped them the Saturday afternoon you were in Portland. "

"I didn't take notice, I s'pose, for it's the first time I ever heardthe lamp mentioned. Well, you can go for an hour, and no more. Rememberit's as dark at six as it is at midnight Would you like to take alongsome Baldwin apples? What have you got in the pocket of that new dressthat makes it sag down so?"

"It's my nuts and raisins from dinner, " replied Rebecca, who neversucceeded in keeping the most innocent action a secret from her auntMiranda; "they're just what you gave me on my plate. "

"Why didn't you eat them?"

"Because I'd had enough dinner, and I thought if I saved these, itwould make the Simpsons' party better, " stammered Rebecca, who hated tobe scolded and examined before company. 

"They were your own, Rebecca, " interposed aunt Jane, "and if you choseto save them to give away, it is all right. We ought never to let thisday pass without giving our neighbors something to be thankful for, instead of taking all the time to think of our own mercies. "

The Burnham sisters nodded approvingly as Rebecca went out, andremarked that they had never seen a child grow and improve so fast inso short a time. 

"There's plenty of room left for more improvement, as you'd know if shelived in the same house with you, " answered Miranda. "She's into everynamable thing in the neighborhood, an' not only into it, but generallyat the head an' front of it, especially when it's mischief. Of all thefoolishness I ever heard of, that lamp beats everything; it's just likethose Simpsons, but I didn't suppose the children had brains enough tosell anything. "

"One of them must have, " said Miss Ellen Burnham, "for the girl thatwas selling soap at the Ladds' in North Riverboro was described by AdamLadd as the most remarkable and winning child he ever saw. "

"It must have been Clara Belle, and I should never call herremarkable, " answered Miss Miranda. "Has Adam been home again?"

"Yes, he's been staying a few days with his aunt. There's no limit tothe money he's making, they say; and he always brings presents for allthe neighbors. This time it was a full set of furs for Mrs. Ladd; andto think we can remember the time he was a barefoot boy without twoshirts to his back! It is strange he hasn't married, with all hismoney, and him so fond of children that he always has a pack of them athis heels. "

"There's hope for him still, though, " said Miss Jane smilingly; "for Idon't s'pose he's more than thirty. "

"He could get a wife in Riverboro if he was a hundred and thirty, "remarked Miss Miranda. 

"Adam's aunt says he was so taken with the little girl that sold thesoap (Clara Belle, did you say her name was?), that he declared he wasgoing to bring her a Christmas present, " continued Miss Ellen. 

"Well, there's no accountin' for tastes, " exclaimed Miss Miranda. "Clara Belle's got cross-eyes and red hair, but I'd be the last one togrudge her a Christmas present; the more Adam Ladd gives to her theless the town'll have to. "

"Isn't there another Simpson girl?" asked Miss Lydia Burnham; "for thisone couldn't have been cross-eyed; I remember Mrs. Ladd saying Adamremarked about this child's handsome eyes. He said it was her eyes thatmade him buy the three hundred cakes. Mrs. Ladd has it stacked up inthe shed chamber. "

"Three hundred cakes!" ejaculated Miranda. "Well, there's one crop thatnever fails in Riverboro!"

"What's that?" asked Miss Lydia politely. 

"The fool crop, " responded Miranda tersely, and changed the subject, much to Jane's gratitude, for she had been nervous and ill at ease forthe last fifteen minutes. What child in Riverboro could be described asremarkable and winning, save Rebecca? What child had wonderful eyes, except the same Rebecca? and finally, was there ever a child in theworld who could make a man buy soap by the hundred cakes, save Rebecca?

Meantime the "remarkable" child had flown up the road in the deepeningdusk, but she had not gone far before she heard the sound of hurryingfootsteps, and saw a well-known figure coming in her direction. In amoment she and Emma Jane met and exchanged a breathless embrace. 

"Something awful has happened, " panted Emma Jane. 

"Don't tell me it's broken, " exclaimed Rebecca. 

"No! oh, no! not that! It was packed in straw, and every piece came outall right; and I was there, and I never said a single thing about yourselling the three hundred cakes that got the lamp, so that we could betogether when you told. "

"OUR selling the three hundred cakes, " corrected Rebecca; "you did asmuch as I. "

"No, I didn't, Rebecca Randall. I just sat at the gate and held thehorse. "

"Yes, but WHOSE horse was it that took us to North Riverboro? Andbesides, it just happened to be my turn. If you had gone in and foundMr. Aladdin you would have had the wonderful lamp given to you; butwhat's the trouble?"

"The Simpsons have no kerosene and no wicks. I guess they thought abanquet lamp was something that lighted itself, and burned without anyhelp. Seesaw has gone to the doctor's to try if he can borrow a wick, and mother let me have a pint of oil, but she says she won't give meany more. We never thought of the expense of keeping up the lamp, Rebecca. "

"No, we didn't, but let's not worry about that till after the party. Ihave a handful of nuts and raisins and some apples. "

"I have peppermints and maple sugar, " said Emma Jane. "They had a realThanksgiving dinner; the doctor gave them sweet potatoes andcranberries and turnips; father sent a spare-rib, and Mrs. Cobb achicken and a jar of mince-meat. "

At half past five one might have looked in at the Simpsons' windows, and seen the party at its height. Mrs. Simpson had let the kitchen firedie out, and had brought the baby to grace the festal scene. The lampseemed to be having the party, and receiving the guests. The childrenhad taken the one small table in the house, and it was placed in thefar corner of the room to serve as a pedestal. On it stood the sacred, the adored, the long-desired object; almost as beautiful, and nearlyhalf as large as the advertisement. The brass glistened like gold, andthe crimson paper shade glowed like a giant ruby. In the wide splash oflight that it flung upon the floor sat the Simpsons, in reverent andsolemn silence, Emma Jane standing behind them, hand in hand withRebecca. There seemed to be no desire for conversation; the occasionwas too thrilling and serious for that. The lamp, it was tacitly feltby everybody, was dignifying the party, and providing sufficiententertainment simply by its presence; being fully as satisfactory inits way as a pianola or a string band. 

"I wish father could see it, " said Clara Belle loyally. 

"If he onth thaw it he'd want to thwap it, " murmured Susan sagaciously. 

At the appointed hour Rebecca dragged herself reluctantly away from theenchanting scene. 

"I'll turn the lamp out the minute I think you and Emma Jane are home, "said Clara Belle. "And, oh! I'm so glad you both live where you can seeit shine from our windows. I wonder how long it will burn without bein'filled if I only keep it lit one hour every night?"

"You needn't put it out for want o' karosene, " said Seesaw, coming infrom the shed, "for there's a great kag of it settin' out there. Mr. Tubbs brought it over from North Riverboro and said somebody sent anorder by mail for it. "

Rebecca squeezed Emma Jane's arm, and Emma Jane gave a rapturous returnsqueeze. "It was Mr. Aladdin, " whispered Rebecca, as they ran down thepath to the gate. Seesaw followed them and handsomely offered to seethem "apiece" down the road, but Rebecca declined his escort with suchdecision that he did not press the matter, but went to bed to dream ofher instead. In his dreams flashes of lightning proceeded from both hereyes, and she held a flaming sword in either hand. 

Rebecca entered the home dining-room joyously. The Burnham sisters hadgone and the two aunts were knitting. 

"It was a heavenly party, " she cried, taking off her hat and cape. 

"Go back and see if you have shut the door tight, and then lock it, "said Miss Miranda, in her usual austere manner. 

"It was a heavenly party, " reiterated Rebecca, coming in again, muchtoo excited to be easily crushed, "and oh! aunt Jane, aunt Miranda, ifyou'll only come into the kitchen and look out of the sink window, youcan see the banquet lamp shining all red, just as if the Simpsons'house was on fire. "

"And probably it will be before long, " observed Miranda. "I've got nopatience with such foolish goin's-on. "

Jane accompanied Rebecca into the kitchen. Although the feeble glimmerwhich she was able to see from that distance did not seem to her adazzling exhibition, she tried to be as enthusiastic as possible. 

"Rebecca, who was it that sold the three hundred cakes of soap to Mr. Ladd in North Riverboro?"

"Mr. WHO?" exclaimed Rebecca. 

"Mr. Ladd, in North Riverboro. "

"Is that his real name?" queried Rebecca in astonishment. "I didn'tmake a bad guess;" and she laughed softly to herself. 

"I asked you who sold the soap to Adam Ladd?" resumed Miss Jane. 

"Adam Ladd! then he's A. Ladd, too; what fun!"

"Answer me, Rebecca. "

"Oh! excuse me, aunt Jane, I was so busy thinking. Emma Jane and I soldthe soap to Mr. Ladd. "

"Did you tease him, or make him buy it?"

"Now, aunt Jane, how could I make a big grown-up man buy anything if hedidn't want to? He needed the soap dreadfully as a present for hisaunt. "

Miss Jane still looked a little unconvinced, though she only said, "Ihope your aunt Miranda won't mind, but you know how particular she is, Rebecca, and I really wish you wouldn't do anything out of the ordinarywithout asking her first, for your actions are very queer. "

"There can't be anything wrong this time, " Rebecca answeredconfidently. "Emma Jane sold her cakes to her own relations and touncle Jerry Cobb, and I went first to those new tenements near thelumber mill, and then to the Ladds'. Mr. Ladd bought all we had andmade us promise to keep the secret until the premium came, and I'vebeen going about ever since as if the banquet lamp was inside of me alllighted up and burning, for everybody to see. "

Rebecca's hair was loosened and falling over her forehead in ruffledwaves; her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks crimson; there was a hint ofeverything in the girl's face, --of sensitiveness and delicacy as wellas of ardor; there was the sweetness of the mayflower and the strengthof the young oak, but one could easily divine that she was one of

 "The souls by nature pitched too high, By suffering plunged too low. "

"That's just the way you look, for all the world as if you did have alamp burning inside of you, " sighed aunt Jane. "Rebecca! Rebecca! Iwish you could take things easier, child; I am fearful for yousometimes. "

XVI

SEASONS OF GROWTH

The days flew by; as summer had melted into autumn so autumn had givenplace to winter. Life in the brick house had gone on more placidly oflate, for Rebecca was honestly trying to be more careful in theperformance of her tasks and duties as well as more quiet in her plays, and she was slowly learning the power of the soft answer in turningaway wrath. 

Miranda had not had, perhaps, quite as many opportunities in which tolose her temper, but it is only just to say that she had not fullyavailed herself of all that had offered themselves. 

There had been one outburst of righteous wrath occasioned by Rebecca'sover-hospitable habits, which were later shown in a still more dramaticand unexpected fashion. 

On a certain Friday afternoon she asked her aunt Miranda if she mighttake half her bread and milk upstairs to a friend. 

"What friend have you got up there, for pity's sake?" demanded auntMiranda. 

"The Simpson baby, come to stay over Sunday; that is, if you'rewilling, Mrs. Simpson says she is. Shall I bring her down and show her?She's dressed in an old dress of Emma Jane's and she looks sweet. "

"You can bring her down, but you can't show her to me! You can smuggleher out the way you smuggled her in and take her back to her mother. Where on earth do you get your notions, borrowing a baby for Sunday!"

"You're so used to a house without a baby you don't know how dull itis, " sighed Rebecca resignedly, as she moved towards the door; "but atthe farm there was always a nice fresh one to play with and cuddle. There were too many, but that's not half as bad as none at all. Well, I'll take her back. She'll be dreadfully disappointed and so will Mrs. Simpson. She was planning to go to Milltown. "

"She can un-plan then, " observed Miss Miranda. 

"Perhaps I can go up there and take care of the baby?" suggestedRebecca. "I brought her home so 't I could do my Saturday work just thesame. "

"You've got enough to do right here, without any borrowed babies tomake more steps. Now, no answering back, just give the child somesupper and carry it home where it belongs. "

"You don't want me to go down the front way, hadn't I better just comethrough this room and let you look at her? She has yellow hair and bigblue eyes! Mrs. Simpson says she takes after her father. "

Miss Miranda smiled acidly as she said she couldn't take after herfather, for he'd take any thing there was before she got there!

Aunt Jane was in the linen closet upstairs, sorting out the cleansheets and pillow cases for Saturday, and Rebecca sought comfort fromher. 

"I brought the Simpson baby home, aunt Jane, thinking it would help usover a dull Sunday, but aunt Miranda won't let her stay. Emma Jane hasthe promise of her next Sunday and Alice Robinson the next. Mrs. Simpson wanted I should have her first because I've had so muchexperience in babies. Come in and look at her sitting up in my bed, aunt Jane! Isn't she lovely? She's the fat, gurgly kind, not thin andfussy like some babies, and I thought I was going to have her toundress and dress twice each day. Oh dear! I wish I could have aprinted book with everything set down in it that I COULD do, and then Iwouldn't get disappointed so often. "

"No book could be printed that would fit you, Rebecca, " answered auntJane, "for nobody could imagine beforehand the things you'd want to do. Are you going to carry that heavy child home in your arms?"

"No, I'm going to drag her in the little soap-wagon. Come, baby! Takeyour thumb out of your mouth and come to ride with Becky in yourgo-cart. " She stretched out her strong young arms to the crowing baby, sat down in a chair with the child, turned her upside downunceremoniously, took from her waistband and scornfully flung away acrooked pin, walked with her (still in a highly reversed position) tothe bureau, selected a large safety pin, and proceeded to attach herbrief red flannel petticoat to a sort of shirt that she wore. Whetherflat on her stomach, or head down, heels in the air, the Simpson babyknew she was in the hands of an expert, and continued gurgling placidlywhile aunt Jane regarded the pantomime with a kind of dazed awe. 

"Bless my soul, Rebecca, " she ejaculated, "it beats all how handy youare with babies!"

"I ought to be; I've brought up three and a half of 'em, " Rebeccaresponded cheerfully, pulling up the infant Simpson's stockings. 

"I should think you'd be fonder of dolls than you are, " said Jane. 

"I do like them, but there's never any change in a doll; it's alwaysthe same everlasting old doll, and you have to make believe it's crossor sick, or it loves you, or can't bear you. Babies are more trouble, but nicer. "

Miss Jane stretched out a thin hand with a slender, worn band of goldon the finger, and the baby curled her dimpled fingers round it andheld it fast. 

"You wear a ring on your engagement finger, don't you, aunt Jane? Didyou ever think about getting married?"

"Yes, dear, long ago. "

"What happened, aunt Jane?"

"He died--just before. "

"Oh!" And Rebecca's eyes grew misty. 

"He was a soldier and he died of a gunshot wound, in a hospital, downSouth. "

"Oh! aunt Jane!" softly. "Away from you?"

"No, I was with him. "

"Was he young?"

"Yes; young and brave and handsome, Rebecca; he was Mr. Carter'sbrother Tom. "

"Oh! I'm so glad you were with him! Wasn't he glad, aunt Jane?"

Jane looked back across the half-forgotten years, and the vision ofTom's gladness flashed upon her: his haggard smile, the tears in histired eyes, his outstretched arms, his weak voice saying, "Oh, Jenny!Dear Jenny! I've wanted you so, Jenny!" It was too much! She had neverbreathed a word of it before to a human creature, for there was no onewho would have understood. Now, in a shamefaced way, to hide herbrimming eyes, she put her head down on the young shoulder beside her, saying, "It was hard, Rebecca!"

The Simpson baby had cuddled down sleepily in Rebecca's lap, leaningher head back and sucking her thumb contentedly. Rebecca put her cheekdown until it touched her aunt's gray hair and softly patted her, asshe said, "I'm sorry, aunt Jane!"

The girl's eyes were soft and tender and the heart within her stretcheda little and grew; grew in sweetness and intuition and depth offeeling. It had looked into another heart, felt it beat, and heard itsigh; and that is how all hearts grow. 

Episodes like these enlivened the quiet course of every-day existence, made more quiet by the departure of Dick Carter, Living Perkins, andHuldah Meserve for Wareham, and the small attendance at the winterschool, from which the younger children of the place stayed away duringthe cold weather. 

Life, however, could never be thoroughly dull or lacking in adventureto a child of Rebecca's temperament. Her nature was full ofadaptability, fluidity, receptivity. She made friends everywhere shewent, and snatched up acquaintances in every corner. 

It was she who ran to the shed door to take the dish to the "meat man"or "fish man;" she who knew the family histories of the itinerant fruitvenders and tin peddlers; she who was asked to take supper or pass thenight with children in neighboring villages--children of whose parentsher aunts had never so much as heard. As to the nature of thesefriendships, which seemed so many to the eye of the superficialobserver, they were of various kinds, and while the girl pursued themwith enthusiasm and ardor, they left her unsatisfied and heart-hungry;they were never intimacies such as are so readily made by shallownatures. She loved Emma Jane, but it was a friendship born ofpropinquity and circumstance, not of true affinity. It was herneighbor's amiability, constancy, and devotion that she loved, andalthough she rated these qualities at their true value, she was alwayssearching beyond them for intellectual treasures; searching and neverfinding, for although Emma Jane had the advantage in years she wasstill immature. Huldah Meserve had an instinctive love of fun whichappealed to Rebecca; she also had a fascinating knowledge of the world, from having visited her married sisters in Milltown and Portland; buton the other hand there was a certain sharpness and lack of sympathy inHuldah which repelled rather than attracted. With Dick Carter she couldat least talk intelligently about lessons. He was a very ambitious boy, full of plans for his future, which he discussed quite freely withRebecca, but when she broached the subject of her future his interestsensibly lessened. Into the world of the ideal Emma Jane, Huldah, andDick alike never seemed to have peeped, and the consciousness of thiswas always a fixed gulf between them and Rebecca. 

"Uncle Jerry" and "aunt Sarah" Cobb were dear friends of quite anothersort, a very satisfying and perhaps a somewhat dangerous one. A visitfrom Rebecca always sent them into a twitter of delight. Her merryconversation and quaint comments on life in general fairly dazzled theold couple, who hung on her lightest word as if it had been a prophet'sutterance; and Rebecca, though she had had no previous experience, owned to herself a perilous pleasure in being dazzling, even to acouple of dear humdrum old people like Mr. And Mrs. Cobb. Aunt Sarahflew to the pantry or cellar whenever Rebecca's slim little shape firstappeared on the crest of the hill, and a jelly tart or a frosted cakewas sure to be forthcoming. The sight of old uncle Jerry's spare figurein its clean white shirt sleeves, whatever the weather, always madeRebecca's heart warm when she saw him peer longingly from the kitchenwindow. Before the snow came, many was the time he had come out to siton a pile of boards at the gate, to see if by any chance she wasmounting the hill that led to their house. In the autumn Rebecca wasoften the old man's companion while he was digging potatoes or shellingbeans, and now in the winter, when a younger man was driving the stage, she sometimes stayed with him while he did his evening milking. It issafe to say that he was the only creature in Riverboro who possessedRebecca's entire confidence; the only being to whom she poured out herwhole heart, with its wealth of hopes, and dreams, and vague ambitions. At the brick house she practiced scales and exercises, but at theCobbs' cabinet organ she sang like a bird, improvising simpleaccompaniments that seemed to her ignorant auditors nothing short ofmarvelous. Here she was happy, here she was loved, here she was drawnout of herself and admired and made much of. But, she thought, if therewere somebody who not only loved but understood; who spoke herlanguage, comprehended her desires, and responded to her mysteriouslongings! Perhaps in the big world of Wareham there would be people whothought and dreamed and wondered as she did. 

In reality Jane did not understand her niece very much better thanMiranda; the difference between the sisters was, that while Jane waspuzzled, she was also attracted, and when she was quite in the dark foran explanation of some quaint or unusual action she was sympathetic asto its possible motive and believed the best. A greater change had comeover Jane than over any other person in the brick house, but it hadbeen wrought so secretly, and concealed so religiously, that itscarcely appeared to the ordinary observer. Life had now a motiveutterly lacking before. Breakfast was not eaten in the kitchen, becauseit seemed worth while, now that there were three persons, to lay thecloth in the dining-room; it was also a more bountiful meal than ofyore, when there was no child to consider. The morning was madecheerful by Rebecca's start for school, the packing of the luncheonbasket, the final word about umbrella, waterproof, or rubbers; theparting admonition and the unconscious waiting at the window for thelast wave of the hand. She found herself taking pride in Rebecca'simproved appearance, her rounder throat and cheeks, and her bettercolor; she was wont to mention the length of Rebecca's hair and add aword as to its remarkable evenness and lustre, at times when Mrs. Perkins grew too diffuse about Emma Jane's complexion. She threwherself wholeheartedly on her niece's side when it became a questionbetween a crimson or a brown linsey-woolsey dress, and went through amemorable struggle with her sister concerning the purchase of a redbird for Rebecca's black felt hat. No one guessed the quiet pleasurethat lay hidden in her heart when she watched the girl's dark head bentover her lessons at night, nor dreamed of her joy it, certain quietevenings when Miranda went to prayer meeting; evenings when Rebeccawould read aloud Hiawatha or Barbara Frietchie, The Bugle Song, or TheBrook. Her narrow, humdrum existence bloomed under the dews that fellfrom this fresh spirit; her dullness brightened under the kindlingtouch of the younger mind, took fire from the "vital spark of heavenlyflame" that seemed always to radiate from Rebecca's presence. 

Rebecca's idea of being a painter like her friend Miss Ross wasgradually receding, owing to the apparently insuperable difficulties insecuring any instruction. Her aunt Miranda saw no wisdom in cultivatingsuch a talent, and could not conceive that any money could ever beearned by its exercise, "Hand painted pictures" were held in littleesteem in Riverboro, where the cheerful chromo or the dignified steelengraving were respected and valued. There was a slight, a very slighthope, that Rebecca might be allowed a few music lessons from MissMorton, who played the church cabinet organ, but this depended entirelyupon whether Mrs. Morton would decide to accept a hayrack in return fora year's instruction from her daughter. She had the matter underadvisement, but a doubt as to whether or not she would sell or rent herhayfields kept her from coming to a conclusion. Music, in common withall other accomplishments, was viewed by Miss Miranda as a trivial, useless, and foolish amusement, but she allowed Rebecca an hour a dayfor practice on the old piano, and a little extra time for lessons, ifJane could secure them without payment of actual cash. 

The news from Sunnybrook Farm was hopeful rather than otherwise. CousinAnn's husband had died, and John, Rebecca's favorite brother, had goneto be the man of the house to the widowed cousin. He was to have goodschooling in return for his care of the horse and cow and barn, andwhat was still more dazzling, the use of the old doctor's medicallibrary of two or three dozen volumes. John's whole heart was set onbecoming a country doctor, with Rebecca to keep house for him, and thevision seemed now so true, so near, that he could almost imagine hishorse ploughing through snowdrifts on errands of mercy, or, lessdramatic but none the less attractive, could see a physician's neatturncut trundling along the shady country roads, a medicine casebetween his, Dr. Randall's, feet, and Miss Rebecca Randall sitting in ablack silk dress by his side. 

Hannah now wore her hair in a coil and her dresses a trifle below herankles, these concessions being due to her extreme height. Mark hadbroken his collar bone, but it was healing well. Little Mira wasgrowing very pretty. There was even a rumor that the projected railroadfrom Temperance to Plumville might go near the Randall farm, in whichcase land would rise in value from nothing-at-all an acre to somethingat least resembling a price. Mrs. Randall refused to consider anyimprovement in their financial condition as a possibility. Content towork from sunrise to sunset to gain a mere subsistence for herchildren, she lived in their future, not in her own present, as amother is wont to do when her own lot seems hard and cheerless. 

XVII

GRAY DAYS AND GOLD

When Rebecca looked back upon the year or two that followed theSimpsons' Thanksgiving party, she could see only certain milestonesrising in the quiet pathway of the months. 

The first milestone was Christmas Day. It was a fresh, crystal morning, with icicles hanging like dazzling pendants from the trees and a glazeof pale blue on the surface of the snow. The Simpsons' red barn stoodout, a glowing mass of color in the white landscape. Rebecca had beenbusy for weeks before, trying to make a present for each of the sevenpersons at Sunnybrook Farm, a somewhat difficult proceeding on anexpenditure of fifty cents, hoarded by incredible exertion. Success hadbeen achieved, however, and the precious packet had been sent by posttwo days previous. Miss Sawyer had bought her niece a nice graysquirrel muff and tippet, which was even more unbecoming if possible, than Rebecca's other articles of wearing apparel; but aunt Jane hadmade her the loveliest dress of green cashmere, a soft, soft green likethat of a young leaf. It was very simply made, but the color delightedthe eye. Then there was a beautiful "tatting" collar from her mother, some scarlet mittens from Mrs. Cobb, and a handkerchief from Emma Jane. 

Rebecca herself had fashioned an elaborate tea-cosy with a letter "M"in outline stitch, and a pretty frilled pincushion marked with a "J, "for her two aunts, so that taken all together the day would have beenan unequivocal success had nothing else happened; but something elsedid. 

There was a knock at the door at breakfast time, and Rebecca, answeringit, was asked by a boy if Miss Rebecca Randall lived there. On beingtold that she did, he handed her a parcel bearing her name, a parcelwhich she took like one in a dream and bore into the dining-room. 

"It's a present; it must be, " she said, looking at it in a dazed sortof way; "but I can't think who it could be from. "

"A good way to find out would be to open it, " remarked Miss Miranda. 

The parcel being untied proved to have two smaller packages within, andRebecca opened with trembling fingers the one addressed to her. Anybody's fingers would have trembled. There was a case which, when thecover was lifted, disclosed a long chain of delicate pink coralbeads, --a chain ending in a cross made of coral rosebuds. A card with"Merry Christmas from Mr. Aladdin" lay under the cross. 

"Of all things!" exclaimed the two old ladies, rising in their seats. "Who sent it?"

"Mr. Ladd, " said Rebecca under her breath. 

"Adam Ladd! Well I never! Don't you remember Ellen Burnham said he wasgoing to send Rebecca a Christmas present? But I never supposed he'dthink of it again, " said Jane. "What's the other package?"

It proved to be a silver chain with a blue enamel locket on it, markedfor Emma Jane. That added the last touch--to have him remember themboth! There was a letter also, which ran:--

 Dear Miss Rebecca Rowena, --My idea of a Christmas present is something entirely unnecessary and useless. I have always noticed when I give this sort of thing that people love it, so I hope I have not chosen wrong for you and your friend. You must wear your chain this afternoon, please, and let me see it on your neck, for I am coming over in my new sleigh to take you both to drive. My aunt is delighted with the soap. 

 Sincerely your friend, Adam Ladd. 

"Well, well!" cried Miss Jane, "isn't that kind of him? He's very fondof children, Lyddy Burnham says. Now eat your breakfast, Rebecca, andafter we've done the dishes you can run over to Emma's and give her herchain--What's the matter, child?"

Rebecca's emotions seemed always to be stored, as it were, in adjoiningcompartments, and to be continually getting mixed. At this moment, though her joy was too deep for words, her bread and butter almostchoked her, and at intervals a tear stole furtively down her cheek. 

Mr. Ladd called as he promised, and made the acquaintance of the aunts, understanding them both in five minutes as well as if he had known themfor years. On a footstool near the open fire sat Rebecca, silent andshy, so conscious of her fine apparel and the presence of aunt Mirandathat she could not utter a word. It was one of her "beauty days. "Happiness, excitement, the color of the green dress, and the touch oflovely pink in the coral necklace had transformed the little brown wrenfor the time into a bird of plumage, and Adam Ladd watched her withevident satisfaction. Then there was the sleigh ride, during which shefound her tongue and chattered like any magpie, and so ended thatglorious Christmas Day; and many and many a night thereafter didRebecca go to sleep with the precious coral chain under her pillow, onehand always upon it to be certain that it was safe. 

Another milestone was the departure of the Simpsons from Riverboro, bagand baggage, the banquet lamp being their most conspicuous possession. It was delightful to be rid of Seesaw's hateful presence; but otherwisethe loss of several playmates at one fell swoop made rather a gap inRiverboro's "younger set, " and Rebecca was obliged to make friends withthe Robinson baby, he being the only long-clothes child in the villagethat winter. The faithful Seesaw had called at the side door of thebrick house on the evening before his departure, and when Rebeccaanswered his knock, stammered solemnly, "Can I k-keep comp'ny with youwhen you g-g-row up?" "Certainly NOT, " replied Rebecca, closing thedoor somewhat too speedily upon her precocious swain. 

Mr. Simpson had come home in time to move his wife and children back tothe town that had given them birth, a town by no means waiting withopen arms to receive them. The Simpsons' moving was presided over bythe village authorities and somewhat anxiously watched by the entireneighborhood, but in spite of all precautions a pulpit chair, severalkerosene lamps, and a small stove disappeared from the church and weresuccessfully swapped in the course of Mr. Simpson's driving tour fromthe old home to the new. It gave Rebecca and Emma Jane some hours ofsorrow to learn that a certain village in the wake of Abner Simpson'sline of progress had acquired, through the medium of an ambitious youngminister, a magnificent lamp for its new church parlors. No moneychanged hands in the operation; for the minister succeeded in gettingthe lamp in return for an old bicycle. The only pleasant feature of thewhole affair was that Mr. Simpson, wholly unable to console hisoffspring for the loss of the beloved object, mounted the bicycle androde away on it, not to be seen or heard of again for many a long day. 

The year was notable also as being the one in which Rebecca shot uplike a young tree. She had seemingly never grown an inch since she wasten years old, but once started she attended to growing precisely asshe did other things, --with such energy, that Miss Jane did nothing formonths but lengthen skirts, sleeves, and waists. In spite of all thearts known to a thrifty New England woman, the limit of letting downand piecing down was reached at last, and the dresses were sent toSunnybrook Farm to be made over for Jenny. 

There was another milestone, a sad one, marking a little grave under awillow tree at Sunnybrook Farm. Mira, the baby of the Randall family, died, and Rebecca went home for a fortnight's visit. The sight of thesmall still shape that had been Mira, the baby who had been her specialcharge ever since her birth, woke into being a host of new thoughts andwonderments; for it is sometimes the mystery of death that brings oneto a consciousness of the still greater mystery of life. 

It was a sorrowful home-coming for Rebecca. The death of Mira, theabsence of John, who had been her special comrade, the sadness of hermother, the isolation of the little house, and the pinching economiesthat went on within it, all conspired to depress a child who was sosensitive to beauty and harmony as Rebecca. 

Hannah seemed to have grown into a woman during Rebecca's absence. There had always been a strange unchildlike air about Hannah, but incertain ways she now appeared older than aunt Jane--soberer, and moresettled. She was pretty, though in a colorless fashion; pretty andcapable. 

Rebecca walked through all the old playgrounds and favorite haunts ofher early childhood; all her familiar, her secret places; some of themknown to John, some to herself alone. There was the spot where theIndian pipes grew; the particular bit of marshy ground where thefringed gentians used to be largest and bluest; the rock maple whereshe found the oriole's nest; the hedge where the field mice lived; themoss-covered stump where the white toadstools were wont to spring up asif by magic; the hole at the root of the old pine where an ancient andhonorable toad made his home; these were the landmarks of herchildhood, and she looked at them as across an immeasurable distance. The dear little sunny brook, her chief companion after John, was sorrycompany at this season. There was no laughing water sparkling in thesunshine. In summer the merry stream had danced over white pebbles onits way to deep pools where it could be still and think. Now, likeMira, it was cold and quiet, wrapped in its shroud of snow; but Rebeccaknelt by the brink, and putting her ear to the glaze of ice, fancied, where it used to be deepest, she could hear a faint, tinkling sound. Itwas all right! Sunnybrook would sing again in the spring; perhaps Miratoo would have her singing time somewhere--she wondered where and how. In the course of these lonely rambles she was ever thinking, thinking, of one subject. Hannah had never had a chance; never been freed fromthe daily care and work of the farm. She, Rebecca, had enjoyed all theprivileges thus far. Life at the brick house had not been by any meansa path of roses, but there had been comfort and the companionship ofother children, as well as chances for study and reading. Riverboro hadnot been the world itself, but it had been a glimpse of it through atiny peephole that was infinitely better than nothing. Rebecca shedmore than one quiet tear before she could trust herself to offer up asa sacrifice that which she so much desired for herself. Then onemorning as her visit neared its end she plunged into the subject boldlyand said, "Hannah, after this term I'm going to stay at home and letyou go away. Aunt Miranda has always wanted you, and it's only fair youshould have your turn. "

Hannah was darning stockings, and she threaded her needle and snippedoff the yarn before she answered, "No, thank you, Becky. Mothercouldn't do without me, and I hate going to school. I can read andwrite and cipher as well as anybody now, and that's enough for me. I'ddie rather than teach school for a living. The winter'll go fast, forWill Melville is going to lend me his mother's sewing machine, and I'mgoing to make white petticoats out of the piece of muslin aunt Janesent, and have 'em just solid with tucks. Then there's going to be asinging-school and a social circle in Temperance after New Year's, andI shall have a real good time now I'm grown up. I'm not one to belonesome, Becky, " Hannah ended with a blush; "I love this place. "

Rebecca saw that she was speaking the truth, but she did not understandthe blush till a year or two later. 

XVIII

REBECCA REPRESENTS THE FAMILY

There was another milestone; it was more than that, it was an "event;"an event that made a deep impression in several quarters and left awake of smaller events in its train. This was the coming to Riverboroof the Reverend Amos Burch and wife, returned missionaries from Syria. 

The Aid Society had called its meeting for a certain Wednesday in Marchof the year in which Rebecca ended her Riverboro school days and beganher studies at Wareham. It was a raw, blustering day, snow on theground and a look in the sky of more to follow. Both Miranda and Janehad taken cold and decided that they could not leave the house in suchweather, and this deflection from the path of duty worried Miranda, since she was an officer of the society. After making the breakfasttable sufficiently uncomfortable and wishing plaintively that Janewouldn't always insist on being sick at the same time she was, shedecided that Rebecca must go to the meeting in their stead. "You'll bebetter than nobody, Rebecca, " she said flatteringly; "your aunt Janeshall write an excuse from afternoon school for you; you can wear yourrubber boots and come home by the way of the meetin' house. This Mr. Burch, if I remember right, used to know your grandfather Sawyer, andstayed here once when he was candidatin'. He'll mebbe look for usthere, and you must just go and represent the family, an' give him ourrespects. Be careful how you behave. Bow your head in prayer; sing allthe hymns, but not too loud and bold; ask after Mis' Strout's boy; telleverybody what awful colds we've got; if you see a good chance, takeyour pocket handkerchief and wipe the dust off the melodeon before themeetin' begins, and get twenty-five cents out of the sittin' roommatch-box in case there should be a collection. "

Rebecca willingly assented. Anything interested her, even a villagemissionary meeting, and the idea of representing the family was ratherintoxicating. 

The service was held in the Sunday-school room, and although the Rev. Mr. Burch was on the platform when Rebecca entered, there were only adozen persons present. Feeling a little shy and considerably too youngfor this assemblage, Rebecca sought the shelter of a friendly face, andseeing Mrs. Robinson in one of the side seats near the front, shewalked up the aisle and sat beside her. 

"Both my aunts had bad colds, " she said softly, "and sent me torepresent the family. "

"That's Mrs. Burch on the platform with her husband, " whispered Mrs. Robinson. "She's awful tanned up, ain't she? If you're goin' to savesouls seems like you hev' to part with your complexion. Eudoxy Mortonain't come yet; I hope to the land she will, or Mis' Deacon Milliken'llpitch the tunes where we can't reach 'em with a ladder; can't youpitch, afore she gits her breath and clears her throat?"

Mrs. Burch was a slim, frail little woman with dark hair, a broad lowforehead, and patient mouth. She was dressed in a well-worn black silk, and looked so tired that Rebecca's heart went out to her. 

"They're poor as Job's turkey, " whispered Mrs. Robinson; "but if yougive 'em anything they'd turn right round and give it to the heathen. His congregation up to Parsonsfield clubbed together and give him thatgold watch he carries; I s'pose he'd 'a' handed that over too, onlyheathens always tell time by the sun 'n' don't need watches. Eudoxyain't comin'; now for massy's sake, Rebecca, do git ahead of Mis'Deacon Milliken and pitch real low. "

The meeting began with prayer and then the Rev. Mr. Burch announced, tothe tune of Mendon:--

 "Church of our God I arise and shine, Bright with the beams of truth divine: Then shall thy radiance stream afar, Wide as the heathen nations are. 

 "Gentiles and kings thy light shall view, And shall admire and love thee too; They come, like clouds across the sky, As doves that to their windows fly. "

"Is there any one present who will assist us at the instrument?" heasked unexpectedly. 

Everybody looked at everybody else, and nobody moved; then there came avoice out of a far corner saying informally, "Rebecca, why don't you?"It was Mrs. Cobb. Rebecca could have played Mendon in the dark, so shewent to the melodeon and did so without any ado, no member of herfamily being present to give her self-consciousness. 

The talk that ensued was much the usual sort of thing. Mr. Burch madeimpassioned appeals for the spreading of the gospel, and added hisentreaties that all who were prevented from visiting in person thepeoples who sat in darkness should contribute liberally to the supportof others who could. But he did more than this. He was a pleasant, earnest speaker, and he interwove his discourse with stories of life ina foreign land, --of the manners, the customs, the speech, the point ofview; even giving glimpses of the daily round, the common task, of hisown household, the work of his devoted helpmate and their little groupof children, all born under Syrian skies. 

Rebecca sat entranced, having been given the key of another world. Riverboro had faded; the Sunday-school room, with Mrs. Robinson's redplaid shawl, and Deacon Milliken's wig, on crooked, the bare benchesand torn hymn-books, the hanging texts and maps, were no longervisible, and she saw blue skies and burning stars, white turbans andgay colors; Mr. Burch had not said so, but perhaps there were mosquesand temples and minarets and date-palms. What stories they must know, those children born under Syrian skies! Then she was called upon toplay "Jesus shall reign where'er the sun. "

The contribution box was passed and Mr. Burch prayed. As he opened hiseyes and gave out the last hymn he looked at the handful of people, atthe scattered pennies and dimes in the contribution box, and reflectedthat his mission was not only to gather funds for the building of hischurch, but to keep alive, in all these remote and lonelyneighborhoods, that love for the cause which was its only hope in theyears to come. 

"If any of the sisters will provide entertainment, " he said, "Mrs. Burch and I will remain among you to-night and to-morrow. In that eventwe could hold a parlor meeting. My wife and one of my children wouldwear the native costume, we would display some specimens of Syrianhandiwork, and give an account of our educational methods with thechildren. These informal parlor meetings, admitting of questions orconversation, are often the means of interesting those not commonlyfound at church services so I repeat, if any member of the congregationdesires it and offers her hospitality, we will gladly stay and tell youmore of the Lord's work. "

A pall of silence settled over the little assembly. There was somecogent reason why every "sister" there was disinclined for company. Some had no spare room, some had a larder less well stocked than usual, some had sickness in the family, some were "unequally yoked togetherwith unbelievers" who disliked strange ministers. Mrs. Burch's thinhands fingered her black silk nervously. "Would no one speak!" thoughtRebecca, her heart fluttering with sympathy. Mrs. Robinson leaned overand whispered significantly, "The missionaries always used to beentertained at the brick house; your grandfather never would let 'emsleep anywheres else when he was alive. " She meant this for a stab atMiss Miranda's parsimony, remembering the four spare chambers, closedfrom January to December; but Rebecca thought it was intended as asuggestion. If it had been a former custom, perhaps her aunts wouldwant her to do the right thing; for what else was she representing thefamily? So, delighted that duty lay in so pleasant a direction, sherose from her seat and said in the pretty voice and with the quaintmanner that so separated her from all the other young people in thevillage, "My aunts, Miss Miranda and Miss Jane Sawyer, would be veryhappy to have you visit them at the brick house, as the ministersalways used to do when their father was alive. They sent their respectsby me. " The "respects" might have been the freedom of the city, or anequestrian statue, when presented in this way, and the aunts would haveshuddered could they have foreseen the manner of delivery; but it wasvastly impressive to the audience, who concluded that Mirandy Sawyermust be making her way uncommonly fast to mansions in the skies, elsewhat meant this abrupt change of heart?

Mr. Burch bowed courteously, accepted the invitation "in the samespirit in which it was offered, " and asked Brother Milliken to lead inprayer. 

If the Eternal Ear could ever tire it would have ceased long ere thisto listen to Deacon Milliken, who had wafted to the throne of grace thesame prayer, with very slight variations, for forty years. Mrs. Perkinsfollowed; she had several petitions at her command, good sincere onestoo, but a little cut and dried, made of scripture texts laboriouslywoven together. Rebecca wondered why she always ended, at the mostpeaceful seasons, with the form, "Do Thou be with us, God of Battles, while we strive onward like Christian soldiers marching as to war;" buteverything sounded real to her to-day, she was in a devout mood, andmany things Mr. Burch had said had moved her strangely. As she liftedher head the minister looked directly at her and said, "Will our youngsister close the service by leading us in prayer?"

Every drop of blood in Rebecca's body seemed to stand still, and herheart almost stopped beating. Mrs. Cobb's excited breathing could beheard distinctly in the silence. There was nothing extraordinary in Mr. Burch's request. In his journeyings among country congregations he wasconstantly in the habit of meeting young members who had "experiencedreligion" and joined the church when nine or ten years old. Rebecca wasnow thirteen; she had played the melodeon, led the singing, deliveredher aunts' invitation with an air of great worldly wisdom, and he, concluding that she must be a youthful pillar of the church, calledupon her with the utmost simplicity. 

Rebecca's plight was pathetic. How could she refuse; how could sheexplain she was not a "member;" how could she pray before all thoseelderly women! John Rogers at the stake hardly suffered more than thispoor child for the moment as she rose to her feet, forgetting thatladies prayed sitting, while deacons stood in prayer. Her mind was amaze of pictures that the Rev. Mr. Burch had flung on the screen. Sheknew the conventional phraseology, of course; what New England child, accustomed to Wednesday evening meetings, does not? But her own secretprayers were different. However, she began slowly and tremulously:--

 "Our Father who art in Heaven, ... Thou art God in Syria just the same as in Maine; ... Over there to-day are blue skies and yellow stars and burning suns . . . The great trees are waving in the warm air, while here the snow lies thick under our feet, ... But no distance is too far for God to travel and so He is with us here as He is with them there, ... And our thoughts rise to Him 'as doves that to their windows fly. ' ... 

 "We cannot all be missionaries, teaching people to be good, ... Some of us have not learned yet how to be good ourselves, but if thy kingdom is to come and thy will is to be done on earth as it is in heaven, everybody must try and everybody must help, ... Those who are old and tired and those who are young and strong.... The little children of whom we have heard, those born under Syrian skies, have strange and interesting work to do for Thee, and some of us would like to travel in far lands and do wonderful brave things for the heathen and gently take away their idols of wood and stone. But perhaps we have to stay at home and do what is given us to do ... Sometimes even things we dislike, ... But that must be what it means in the hymn we sang, when it talked about the sweet perfume that rises with every morning sacrifice.... This is the way that God teaches us to be meek and patient, and the thought that He has willed it so should rob us of our fears and help us bear the years. Amen. "

Poor little ignorant, fantastic child! Her petition was simply asuccession of lines from the various hymns, and images the minister hadused in his sermon, but she had her own way of recombining and applyingthese things, even of using them in a new connection, so that they hada curious effect of belonging to her. The words of some people mightgenerally be written with a minus sign after them, the minus meaningthat the personality of the speaker subtracted from, rather than addedto, their weight; but Rebecca's words might always have borne the plussign. 

The "Amen" said, she sat down, or presumed she sat down, on what shebelieved to be a bench, and there was a benediction. In a moment ortwo, when the room ceased spinning, she went up to Mrs. Burch, whokissed her affectionately and said, "My dear, how glad I am that we aregoing to stay with you. Will half past five be too late for us to come?It is three now, and we have to go to the station for our valise andfor our children. We left them there, being uncertain whether we shouldgo back or stop here. "

Rebecca said that half past five was their supper hour, and thenaccepted an invitation to drive home with Mrs. Cobb. Her face wasflushed and her lip quivered in a way that aunt Sarah had learned toknow, so the homeward drive was taken almost in silence. The bleak windand aunt Sarah's quieting presence brought her back to herself, however, and she entered the brick house cheerily. Being too full ofnews to wait in the side entry to take off her rubber boots, shecarefully lifted a braided rug into the sitting-room and stood on thatwhile she opened her budget. 

"There are your shoes warming by the fire, " said aunt Jane. "Slip themright on while you talk. "

XIX

DEACON ISRAEL'S SUCCESSOR

"It was a very small meeting, aunt Miranda, " began Rebecca, "and themissionary and his wife are lovely people, and they are coming here tostay all night and to-morrow with you. I hope you won't mind. "

"Coming here!" exclaimed Miranda, letting her knitting fall in her lap, and taking her spectacles off, as she always did in moments of extremeexcitement. "Did they invite themselves?"

"No, " Rebecca answered. "I had to invite them for you; but I thoughtyou'd like to have such interesting company. It was this way"--

"Stop your explainin', and tell me first when they'll be here. Rightaway?"

"No, not for two hours--about half past five. "

"Then you can explain, if you can, who gave you any authority to invitea passel of strangers to stop here over night, when you know we ain'thad any company for twenty years, and don't intend to have any foranother twenty, --or at any rate while I'm the head of the house. "

"Don't blame her, Miranda, till you've heard her story, " said Jane. "Itwas in my mind right along, if we went to the meeting, some such thingmight happen, on account of Mr. Burch knowing father. "

"The meeting was a small one, " began Rebecca "I gave all your messages, and everybody was disappointed you couldn't come, for the presidentwasn't there, and Mrs. Matthews took the chair, which was a pity, forthe seat wasn't nearly big enough for her, and she reminded me of aline in a hymn we sang, 'Wide as the heathen nations are, ' and she worethat kind of a beaver garden-hat that always gets on one side. And Mr. Burch talked beautifully about the Syrian heathen, and the singing wentreal well, and there looked to be about forty cents in the basket thatwas passed on our side. And that wouldn't save even a heathen baby, would it? Then Mr. Burch said, if any sister would offer entertainment, they would pass the night, and have a parlor meeting in Riverboroto-morrow, with Mrs. Burch in Syrian costume, and lovely foreign thingsto show. Then he waited and waited, and nobody said a word. I was somortified I didn't know what to do. And then he repeated what he said, an explained why he wanted to stay, and you could see he thought it washis duty. Just then Mrs. Robinson whispered to me and said themissionaries always used to go to the brick house when grandfather wasalive, and that he never would let them sleep anywhere else. I didn'tknow you had stopped having them because no traveling ministers havebeen here, except just for a Sunday morning, since I came to Riverboro. So I thought I ought to invite them, as you weren't there to do it foryourself, and you told me to represent the family. "

"What did you do--go up and introduce yourself as folks was goin' out?"

"No; I stood right up in meeting. I had to, for Mr. Burch's feelingswere getting hurt at nobody's speaking. So I said, 'My aunts, MissMiranda and Miss Jane Sawyer would be happy to have you visit at thebrick house, just as the missionaries always did when their father wasalive, and they sent their respects by me. ' Then I sat down; and Mr. Burch prayed for grandfather, and called him a man of God, and thankedour Heavenly Father that his spirit was still alive in his descendants(that was you), and that the good old house where so many of thebrethren had been cheered and helped, and from which so many had goneout strengthened for the fight, was still hospitably open for thestranger and wayfarer. "

Sometimes, when the heavenly bodies are in just the right conjunction, nature seems to be the most perfect art. The word or the deed comingstraight from the heart, without any thought of effect, seems inspired. 

A certain gateway in Miranda Sawyer's soul had been closed for years;not all at once had it been done, but gradually, and without her fullknowledge. If Rebecca had plotted for days, and with the utmostcunning, she could not have effected an entrance into that forbiddencountry, and now, unknown to both of them, the gate swung on its stiffand rusty hinges, and the favoring wind of opportunity opened it widerand wider as time went on. All things had worked together amazingly forgood. The memory of old days had been evoked, and the daily life of apious and venerated father called to mind; the Sawyer name had beenpublicly dignified and praised; Rebecca had comported herself as thegranddaughter of Deacon Israel Sawyer should, and showed conclusivelythat she was not "all Randall, " as had been supposed. Miranda wasrather mollified by and pleased with the turn of events, although shedid not intend to show it, or give anybody any reason to expect thatthis expression of hospitality was to serve for a precedent on anysubsequent occasion. 

"Well, I see you did only what you was obliged to do, Rebecca, " shesaid, "and you worded your invitation as nice as anybody could havedone. I wish your aunt Jane and me wasn't both so worthless with thesecolds; but it only shows the good of havin' a clean house, with everyroom in order, whether open or shut, and enough victuals cooked so 'tyou can't be surprised and belittled by anybody, whatever happens. There was half a dozen there that might have entertained the Burches aseasy as not, if they hadn't 'a' been too mean or lazy. Why didn't yourmissionaries come right along with you?"

"They had to go to the station for their valise and their children. "

"Are there children?" groaned Miranda. 

"Yes, aunt Miranda, all born under Syrian skies. "

"Syrian grandmother!" ejaculated Miranda (and it was not a fact). "Howmany?"

"I didn't think to ask; but I will get two rooms ready, and if thereare any over I'll take 'em into my bed, " said Rebecca, secretly hopingthat this would be the case. "Now, as you're both half sick, couldn'tyou trust me just once to get ready for the company? You can come upwhen I call. Will you?"

"I believe I will, " sighed Miranda reluctantly. "I'll lay down side o'Jane in our bedroom and see if I can get strength to cook supper. It'shalf past three--don't you let me lay a minute past five. I kep' a goodfire in the kitchen stove. I don't know, I'm sure, why I should havebaked a pot o' beans in the middle of the week, but they'll come inhandy. Father used to say there was nothing that went right to the spotwith returned missionaries like pork 'n' beans 'n' brown bread. Fix upthe two south chambers, Rebecca. "

Rebecca, given a free hand for the only time in her life, dashedupstairs like a whirlwind. Every room in the brick house was as neat aswax, and she had only to pull up the shades, go over the floors with awhisk broom, and dust the furniture. The aunts could hear her scurryingto and fro, beating up pillows and feather beds, flapping towels, jingling crockery, singing meanwhile in her clear voice:--

 "In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown; The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone. "

She had grown to be a handy little creature, and tasks she was capableof doing at all she did like a flash, so that when she called her auntsat five o'clock to pass judgment, she had accomplished wonders. Therewere fresh towels on bureaus and washstands, the beds were fair andsmooth, the pitchers were filled, and soap and matches were laid out;newspaper, kindling, and wood were in the boxes, and a large stickburned slowly in each air-tight stove. "I thought I'd better just takethe chill off, " she explained, "as they're right from Syria; and thatreminds me, I must look it up in the geography before they get here. "

There was nothing to disapprove, so the two sisters went downstairs tomake some slight changes in their dress. As they passed the parlor doorMiranda thought she heard a crackle and looked in. The shades were up, there was a cheerful blaze in the open stove in the front parlor, and afire laid on the hearth in the back room. Rebecca's own lamp, hersecond Christmas present from Mr. Aladdin, stood on a marble-toppedtable in the corner, the light that came softly through itsrose-colored shade transforming the stiff and gloomy ugliness of theroom into a place where one could sit and love one's neighbor. 

"For massy's sake, Rebecca, " called Miss Miranda up the stairs, "didyou think we'd better open the parlor?"

Rebecca came out on the landing braiding her hair. 

"We did on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I thought this was about asgreat an occasion, " she said. "I moved the wax flowers off themantelpiece so they wouldn't melt, and put the shells, the coral, andthe green stuffed bird on top of the what-not, so the children wouldn'task to play with them. Brother Milliken's coming over to see Mr. Burchabout business, and I shouldn't wonder if Brother and Sister Cobbhappened in. Don't go down cellar, I'll be there in a minute to do therunning. "

Miranda and Jane exchanged glances. 

"Ain't she the beatin'est creetur that ever was born int' the world!"exclaimed Miranda; "but she can turn off work when she's got a mind to!"

At quarter past five everything was ready, and the neighbors, those atleast who were within sight of the brick house (a prominent object inthe landscape when there were no leaves on the trees), were curiousalmost to desperation. Shades up in both parlors! Shades up in the twosouth bedrooms! And fires--if human vision was to be relied on--firesin about every room. If it had not been for the kind offices of a ladywho had been at the meeting, and who charitably called in at one or twohouses and explained the reason of all this preparation, there wouldhave been no sleep in many families. 

The missionary party arrived promptly, and there were but two children, seven or eight having been left with the brethren in Portland, todiminish traveling expenses. Jane escorted them all upstairs, whileMiranda watched the cooking of the supper; but Rebecca promptly tookthe two little girls away from their mother, divested them of theirwraps, smoothed their hair, and brought them down to the kitchen tosmell the beans. 

There was a bountiful supper, and the presence of the young peoplerobbed it of all possible stiffness. Aunt Jane helped clear the tableand put away the food, while Miranda entertained in the parlor; butRebecca and the infant Burches washed the dishes and held high carnivalin the kitchen, doing only trifling damage--breaking a cup and platethat had been cracked before, emptying a silver spoon with somedishwater out of the back door (an act never permitted at the brickhouse), and putting coffee grounds in the sink. All evidences of crimehaving been removed by Rebecca, and damages repaired in all possiblecases, the three entered the parlor, where Mr. And Mrs. Cobb and Deaconand Mrs. Milliken had already appeared. 

It was such a pleasant evening! Occasionally they left the heathen inhis blindness bowing down to wood and stone, not for long, but just togive themselves (and him) time enough to breathe, and then the Burchestold strange, beautiful, marvelous things. The two smaller childrensang together, and Rebecca, at the urgent request of Mrs. Burch, seatedherself at the tinkling old piano and gave "Wild roved an Indian girl, bright Alfarata" with considerable spirit and style. 

At eight o'clock she crossed the room, handed a palm-leaf fan to heraunt Miranda, ostensibly that she might shade her eyes from thelamplight; but it was a piece of strategy that gave her an opportunityto whisper, "How about cookies?"

"Do you think it's worth while?" sibilated Miss Miranda in answer. 

"The Perkinses always do. "

"All right. You know where they be. "

Rebecca moved quietly towards the door, and the young Burchescataracted after her as if they could not bear a second's separation. In five minutes they returned, the little ones bearing plates of thincaraway wafers, --hearts, diamonds, and circles daintily sugared, andflecked with caraway seed raised in the garden behind the house. Thesewere a specialty of Miss Jane's, and Rebecca carried a tray with sixtiny crystal glasses filled with dandelion wine, for which Miss Mirandahad been famous in years gone by. Old Deacon Israel had always had itpassed, and he had bought the glasses himself in Boston. Mirandaadmired them greatly, not only for their beauty but because they heldso little. Before their advent the dandelion wine had been served insherry glasses. 

As soon as these refreshments--commonly called a "colation" inRiverboro--had been genteelly partaken of, Rebecca looked at the clock, rose from her chair in the children's corner, and said cheerfully, "Come! time for little missionaries to be in bed!"

Everybody laughed at this, the big missionaries most of all, as theyoung people shook hands and disappeared with Rebecca. 

XX

A CHANGE OF HEART

"That niece of yours is the most remarkable girl I have seen in years, "said Mr. Burch when the door closed. 

"She seems to be turnin' out smart enough lately, but she's consid'ableheedless, " answered Miranda, "an' most too lively. "

"We must remember that it is deficient, not excessive vitality, thatmakes the greatest trouble in this world, " returned Mr. Burch. 

"She'd make a wonderful missionary, " said Mrs. Burch; "with her voice, and her magnetism, and her gift of language. "

"If I was to say which of the two she was best adapted for, I'd sayshe'd make a better heathen, " remarked Miranda curtly. 

"My sister don't believe in flattering children, " hastily interpolatedJane, glancing toward Mrs. Burch, who seemed somewhat shocked, and wasabout to open her lips to ask if Rebecca was not a "professor. "

Mrs. Cobb had been looking for this question all the evening anddreading some allusion to her favorite as gifted in prayer. She hadtaken an instantaneous and illogical dislike to the Rev. Mr. Burch inthe afternoon because he called upon Rebecca to "lead. " She had seenthe pallor creep into the girl's face, the hunted look in her eyes, andthe trembling of the lashes on her cheeks, and realized the ordealthrough which she was passing. Her prejudice against the minister hadrelaxed under his genial talk and presence, but feeling that Mrs. Burchwas about to tread on dangerous ground, she hastily asked her if onehad to change cars many times going from Riverboro to Syria. She feltthat it was not a particularly appropriate question, but it served herturn. 

Deacon Milliken, meantime, said to Miss Sawyer, "Mirandy, do you knowwho Rebecky reminds me of?"

"I can guess pretty well, " she replied. 

"Then you've noticed it too! I thought at first, seein' she favored herfather so on the outside, that she was the same all through; but sheain't, she's like your father, Israel Sawyer. "

"I don't see how you make that out, " said Miranda, thoroughlyastonished. 

"It struck me this afternoon when she got up to give your invitation inmeetin'. It was kind o' cur'ous, but she set in the same seat he usedto when he was leader o' the Sabbath-school. You know his old way ofholdin' his chin up and throwin' his head back a leetle when he got upto say anything? Well, she done the very same thing; there was more'none spoke of it. "

The callers left before nine, and at that hour (an impossiblydissipated one for the brick house) the family retired for the night. As Rebecca carried Mrs. Burch's candle upstairs and found herself thusalone with her for a minute, she said shyly, "Will you please tell Mr. Burch that I'm not a member of the church? I didn't know what to dowhen he asked me to pray this afternoon. I hadn't the courage to say Ihad never done it out loud and didn't know how. I couldn't think; and Iwas so frightened I wanted to sink into the floor. It seemed bold andwicked for me to pray before all those old church members and makebelieve I was better than I really was; but then again, wouldn't Godthink I was wicked not to be willing to pray when a minister asked meto?"

The candle light fell on Rebecca's flushed, sensitive face. Mrs. Burchbent and kissed her good-night. "Don't be troubled, " she said. "I'lltell Mr. Burch, and I guess God will understand. "

Rebecca waked before six the next morning, so full of household caresthat sleep was impossible. She went to the window and looked out; itwas still dark, and a blustering, boisterous day. 

"Aunt Jane told me she should get up at half past six and havebreakfast at half past seven, " she thought; "but I daresay they areboth sick with their colds, and aunt Miranda will be fidgety with somany in the house. I believe I'll creep down and start things for asurprise. "

She put on a wadded wrapper and slippers and stole quietly down thetabooed front stairs, carefully closed the kitchen door behind her sothat no noise should waken the rest of the household, busied herselffor a half hour with the early morning routine she knew so well, andthen went back to her room to dress before calling the children. 

Contrary to expectation, Miss Jane, who the evening before felt betterthan Miranda, grew worse in the night, and was wholly unable to leaveher bed in the morning. Miranda grumbled without ceasing during theprogress of her hasty toilet, blaming everybody in the universe for theafflictions she had borne and was to bear during the day; she evencastigated the Missionary Board that had sent the Burches to Syria, andgave it as her unbiased opinion that those who went to foreign landsfor the purpose of saving heathen should stay there and save 'em, andnot go gallivantin' all over the earth with a passel o' children, visitin' folks that didn't want 'em and never asked 'em. 

Jane lay anxiously and restlessly in bed with a feverish headache, wondering how her sister could manage without her. 

Miranda walked stiffly through the dining-room, tying a shawl over herhead to keep the draughts away, intending to start the breakfast fireand then call Rebecca down, set her to work, and tell her, meanwhile, afew plain facts concerning the proper way of representing the family ata missionary meeting. 

She opened the kitchen door and stared vaguely about her, wonderingwhether she had strayed into the wrong house by mistake. 

The shades were up, and there was a roaring fire in the stove; theteakettle was singing and bubbling as it sent out a cloud of steam, andpushed over its capacious nose was a half sheet of note paper with"Compliments of Rebecca" scrawled on it. The coffee pot was scalding, the coffee was measured out in a bowl, and broken eggshells for thesettling process were standing near. The cold potatoes and corned beefwere in the wooden tray, and "Regards of Rebecca" stuck on the choppingknife. The brown loaf was out, the white loaf was out, the toast rackwas out, the doughnuts were out, the milk was skimmed, the butter hadbeen brought from the dairy. 

Miranda removed the shawl from her head and sank into the kitchenrocker, ejaculating under her breath, "She is the beatin'est child! Ideclare she's all Sawyer!"

The day and the evening passed off with credit and honor to everybodyconcerned, even to Jane, who had the discretion to recover instead ofgrowing worse and acting as a damper to the general enjoyment. TheBurches left with lively regrets, and the little missionaries, bathedin tears, swore eternal friendship with Rebecca, who pressed into theirhands at parting a poem composed before breakfast. 

TO MARY AND MARTHA BURCH

 Born under Syrian skies, 'Neath hotter suns than ours; The children grew and bloomed, Like little tropic flowers. 

 When they first saw the light, 'T was in a heathen land. Not Greenland's icy mountains, Nor India's coral strand, But some mysterious country Where men are nearly black And where of true religion, There is a painful lack. 

 Then let us haste in helping The Missionary Board, Seek dark-skinned unbelievers, And teach them of their Lord. Rebecca Rowena Randall. 

It can readily be seen that this visit of the returned missionaries toRiverboro was not without somewhat far-reaching results. Mr. And Mrs. Burch themselves looked back upon it as one of the rarest pleasures oftheir half year at home. The neighborhood extracted considerable eagerconversation from it; argument, rebuttal, suspicion, certainty, retrospect, and prophecy. Deacon Milliken gave ten dollars towards theconversion of Syria to Congregationalism, and Mrs. Milliken had a spellof sickness over her husband's rash generosity. 

It would be pleasant to state that Miranda Sawyer was an entirelychanged woman afterwards, but that is not the fact. The tree that hasbeen getting a twist for twenty years cannot be straightened in thetwinkling of an eye. It is certain, however, that although thedifference to the outward eye was very small, it nevertheless existed, and she was less censorious in her treatment of Rebecca, less harsh inher judgments, more hopeful of final salvation for her. This had comeabout largely from her sudden vision that Rebecca, after all, inheritedsomething from the Sawyer side of the house instead of belonging, mind, body, and soul, to the despised Randall stock. Everything that wasinteresting in Rebecca, and every evidence of power, capability, ortalent afterwards displayed by her, Miranda ascribed to the brick housetraining, and this gave her a feeling of honest pride, the pride of amaster workman who has built success out of the most unpromisingmaterial; but never, to the very end, even when the waning of herbodily strength relaxed her iron grip and weakened her power ofrepression, never once did she show that pride or make a singledemonstration of affection. 

Poor misplaced, belittled Lorenzo de Medici Randall, thought ridiculousand good-for-naught by his associates, because he resembled them innothing! If Riverboro could have been suddenly emptied into a largercommunity, with different and more flexible opinions, he was, perhaps, the only personage in the entire population who would have attractedthe smallest attention. It was fortunate for his daughter that she hadbeen dowered with a little practical ability from her mother's family, but if Lorenzo had never done anything else in the world, he might haveglorified himself that he had prevented Rebecca from being all Sawyer. Failure as he was, complete and entire, he had generously handed downto her all that was best in himself, and prudently retained all thatwas unworthy. Few fathers are capable of such delicate discrimination. 

The brick house did not speedily become a sort of wayside inn, a placeof innocent revelry and joyous welcome; but the missionary company wasan entering wedge, and Miranda allowed one spare bed to be made up "incase anything should happen, " while the crystal glasses were kept onthe second from the top, instead of the top shelf, in the china closet. Rebecca had had to stand on a chair to reach them; now she could do itby stretching; and this is symbolic of the way in which sheunconsciously scaled the walls of Miss Miranda's dogmatism andprejudice. 

Miranda went so far as to say that she wouldn't mind if the Burchescame every once in a while, but she was afraid he'd spread abroad thefact of his visit, and missionaries' families would be underfoot thewhole continual time. As a case in point, she gracefully cited the factthat if a tramp got a good meal at anybody's back door, 't was saidthat he'd leave some kind of a sign so that all other tramps would knowwhere they were likely to receive the same treatment. 

It is to be feared that there is some truth in this homelyillustration, and Miss Miranda's dread as to her futureresponsibilities had some foundation, though not of the precise sortshe had in mind. The soul grows into lovely habits as easily as intougly ones, and the moment a life begins to blossom into beautiful wordsand deeds, that moment a new standard of conduct is established, andyour eager neighbors look to you for a continuous manifestation of thegood cheer, the sympathy, the ready wit, the comradeship, or theinspiration, you once showed yourself capable of. Bear figs for aseason or two, and the world outside the orchard is very unwilling youshould bear thistles. 

The effect of the Burches' visit on Rebecca is not easily described. Nevertheless, as she looked back upon it from the vantage ground ofafter years, she felt that the moment when Mr. Burch asked her to "leadin prayer" marked an epoch in her life. 

If you have ever observed how courteous and gracious and mannerly youfeel when you don a beautiful new frock; if you have ever noticed thefeeling of reverence stealing over you when you close your eyes, claspyour hands, and bow your head; if you have ever watched your sense ofrepulsion toward a fellow creature melt a little under the exercise ofdaily politeness, you may understand how the adoption of the outwardand visible sign has some strange influence in developing the inwardand spiritual state of which it is the expression. 

It is only when one has grown old and dull that the soul is heavy andrefuses to rise. The young soul is ever winged; a breath stirs it to anupward flight. Rebecca was asked to bear witness to a state of mind orfeeling of whose existence she had only the vaguest consciousness. Sheobeyed, and as she uttered words they became true in the uttering; asshe voiced aspirations they settled into realities. 

As "dove that to its window flies, " her spirit soared towards a greatlight, dimly discovered at first, but brighter as she came closer toit. To become sensible of oneness with the Divine heart before anysense of separation has been felt, this is surely the most beautifulway for the child to find God. 

XXI

THE SKY LINE WIDENS

The time so long and eagerly waited for had come, and Rebecca was astudent at Wareham. Persons who had enjoyed the social bewildermentsand advantages of foreign courts, or had mingled freely in theintellectual circles of great universities, might not have looked uponWareham as an extraordinary experience; but it was as much of anadvance upon Riverboro as that village had been upon Sunnybrook Farm. Rebecca's intention was to complete the four years' course in three, asit was felt by all the parties concerned that when she had attained theripe age of seventeen she must be ready to earn her own living and helpin the education of the younger children. While she was wondering howthis could be successfully accomplished, some of the other girls werecogitating as to how they could meander through the four years and comeout at the end knowing no more than at the beginning. This would seem adifficult, well-nigh an impossible task, but it can be achieved, andhas been, at other seats of learning than modest little Wareham. 

Rebecca was to go to and fro on the cars daily from September toChristmas, and then board in Wareham during the three coldest months. Emma Jane's parents had always thought that a year or two in theEdgewood high school (three miles from Riverboro) would serve everypurpose for their daughter and send her into the world with as fine anintellectual polish as she could well sustain. Emma Jane had hithertoheartily concurred in this opinion, for if there was any one thing thatshe detested it was the learning of lessons. One book was as bad asanother in her eyes, and she could have seen the libraries of the worldsinking into ocean depths and have eaten her dinner cheerfully thewhile; but matters assumed a different complexion when she was sent toEdgewood and Rebecca to Wareham. She bore it for a week--seven endlessdays of absence from the beloved object, whom she could see only in theevenings when both were busy with their lessons. Sunday offered anopportunity to put the matter before her father, who proved obdurate. He didn't believe in education and thought she had full enough already. He never intended to keep up "blacksmithing" for good when he leasedhis farm and came into Riverboro, but proposed to go back to itpresently, and by that time Emma Jane would have finished school andwould be ready to help her mother with the dairy work. 

Another week passed. Emma Jane pined visibly and audibly. Her colorfaded, and her appetite (at table) dwindled almost to nothing. 

Her mother alluded plaintively to the fact that the Perkinses had ahabit of going into declines; that she'd always feared that Emma Jane'scomplexion was too beautiful to be healthy; that some men would beproud of having an ambitious daughter, and be glad to give her the bestadvantages; that she feared the daily journeys to Edgewood were goingto be too much for her own health, and Mr. Perkins would have to hire aboy to drive Emma Jane; and finally that when a girl had such a passionfor learning as Emma Jane, it seemed almost like wickedness to crossher will. 

Mr. Perkins bore this for several days until his temper, digestion, andappetite were all sensibly affected; then he bowed his head to theinevitable, and Emma Jane flew, like a captive set free, to the lovedone's bower. Neither did her courage flag, although it was put toterrific tests when she entered the academic groves of Wareham. Shepassed in only two subjects, but went cheerfully into the preparatorydepartment with her five "conditions, " intending to let the stream ofeducation play gently over her mental surfaces and not get any wetterthan she could help. It is not possible to blink the truth that EmmaJane was dull; but a dogged, unswerving loyalty, and the gift ofdevoted, unselfish loving, these, after all, are talents of a sort, andmay possibly be of as much value in the world as a sense of numbers ora faculty for languages. 

Wareham was a pretty village with a broad main street shaded by greatmaples and elms. It had an apothecary, a blacksmith, a plumber, severalshops of one sort and another, two churches, and many boarding-houses;but all its interests gathered about its seminary and its academy. These seats of learning were neither better nor worse than others oftheir kind, but differed much in efficiency, according as the principalwho chanced to be at the head was a man of power and inspiration or thereverse. There were boys and girls gathered from all parts of thecounty and state, and they were of every kind and degree as to birth, position in the world, wealth or poverty. There was an opportunity fora deal of foolish and imprudent behavior, but on the whole surprisinglylittle advantage was taken of it. Among the third and fourth yearstudents there was a certain amount of going to and from the trains incouples; some carrying of heavy books up the hill by the sterner sexfor their feminine schoolmates, and occasional bursts of silliness onthe part of heedless and precocious girls, among whom was HuldahMeserve. She was friendly enough with Emma Jane and Rebecca, but grewless and less intimate as time went on. She was extremely pretty, witha profusion of auburn hair, and a few very tiny freckles, to which sheconstantly alluded, as no one could possibly detect them without notingher porcelain skin and her curling lashes. She had merry eyes, asomewhat too plump figure for her years, and was popularly supposed tohave a fascinating way with her. Riverboro being poorly furnished withbeaux, she intended to have as good a time during her four years atWareham as circumstances would permit. Her idea of pleasure was anever-changing circle of admirers to fetch and carry for her, the morepublicly the better; incessant chaff and laughter and vivaciousconversation, made eloquent and effective by arch looks and tellingglances. She had a habit of confiding her conquests to less fortunategirls and bewailing the incessant havoc and damage she was doing; adamage she avowed herself as innocent of, in intention, as any new-bornlamb. It does not take much of this sort of thing to wreck an ordinaryfriendship, so before long Rebecca and Emma Jane sat in one end of therailway train in going to and from Riverboro, and Huldah occupied theother with her court. Sometimes this was brilliant beyond words, including a certain youthful Monte Cristo, who on Fridays expendedthirty cents on a round trip ticket and traveled from Wareham toRiverboro merely to be near Huldah; sometimes, too, the circle wasreduced to the popcorn-and-peanut boy of the train, who seemed to serveevery purpose in default of better game. 

Rebecca was in the normally unconscious state that belonged to heryears; boys were good comrades, but no more; she liked reciting in thesame class with them, everything seemed to move better; but from vulgarand precocious flirtations she was protected by her ideals. There waslittle in the lads she had met thus far to awaken her fancy, for ithabitually fed on better meat. Huldah's school-girl romances, withtheir wealth of commonplace detail, were not the stuff her dreams weremade of, when dreams did flutter across the sensitive plate of her mind. 

Among the teachers at Wareham was one who influenced Rebeccaprofoundly, Miss Emily Maxwell, with whom she studied Englishliterature and composition. Miss Maxwell, as the niece of one ofMaine's ex-governors and the daughter of one of Bowdoin's professors, was the most remarkable personality in Wareham, and that her few yearsof teaching happened to be in Rebecca's time was the happiest of allchances. There was no indecision or delay in the establishment of theirrelations; Rebecca's heart flew like an arrow to its mark, and hermind, meeting its superior, settled at once into an abiding attitude ofrespectful homage. 

It was rumored that Miss Maxwell "wrote, " which word, when uttered in acertain tone, was understood to mean not that a person had command ofpenmanship, Spencerian or otherwise, but that she had appeared in print. 

"You'll like her; she writes, " whispered Huldah to Rebecca the firstmorning at prayers, where the faculty sat in an imposing row on thefront seats. "She writes; and I call her stuck up. "

Nobody seemed possessed of exact information with which to satisfy thehungry mind, but there was believed to be at least one person inexistence who had seen, with his own eyes, an essay by Miss Maxwell ina magazine. This height of achievement made Rebecca somewhat shy ofher, but she looked her admiration; something that most of the classcould never do with the unsatisfactory organs of vision given them byMother Nature. Miss Maxwell's glance was always meeting a pair of eagerdark eyes; when she said anything particularly good, she looked forapproval to the corner of the second bench, where every shade offeeling she wished to evoke was reflected on a certain sensitive youngface. 

One day, when the first essay of the class was under discussion, sheasked each new pupil to bring her some composition written during theyear before, that she might judge the work, and know precisely withwhat material she had to deal. Rebecca lingered after the others, andapproached the desk shyly. 

"I haven't any compositions here, Miss Maxwell, but I can find one whenI go home on Friday. They are packed away in a box in the attic. "

"Carefully tied with pink and blue ribbons?" asked Miss Maxwell, with awhimsical smile. 

"No, " answered Rebecca, shaking her head decidedly; "I wanted to useribbons, because all the other girls did, and they looked so pretty, but I used to tie my essays with twine strings on purpose; and the oneon solitude I fastened with an old shoelacing just to show it what Ithought of it!"

"Solitude!" laughed Miss Maxwell, raising her eyebrows. "Did you chooseyour own subject?"

"No; Miss Dearborn thought we were not old enough to find good ones. "

"What were some of the others?"

"Fireside Reveries, Grant as a Soldier, Reflections on the Life of P. T. Barnum, Buried Cities; I can't remember any more now. They were allbad, and I can't bear to show them; I can write poetry easier andbetter, Miss Maxwell. "

"Poetry!" she exclaimed. "Did Miss Dearborn require you to do it?"

"Oh, no; I always did it even at the farm. Shall I bring all I have? Itisn't much. "

Rebecca took the blank-book in which she kept copies of her effusionsand left it at Miss Maxwell's door, hoping that she might be asked inand thus obtain a private interview; but a servant answered her ring, and she could only walk away, disappointed. 

A few days afterward she saw the black-covered book on Miss Maxwell'sdesk and knew that the dreaded moment of criticism had come, so she wasnot surprised to be asked to remain after class. 

The room was quiet; the red leaves rustled in the breeze and flew in atthe open window, bearing the first compliments of the season. MissMaxwell came and sat by Rebecca's side on the bench. 

"Did you think these were good?" she asked, giving her the verses. 

"Not so very, " confessed Rebecca; "but it's hard to tell all byyourself. The Perkinses and the Cobbs always said they were wonderful, but when Mrs. Cobb told me she thought they were better than Mr. Longfellow's I was worried, because I knew that couldn't be true. "

This ingenuous remark confirmed Miss Maxwell's opinion of Rebecca as agirl who could hear the truth and profit by it. 

"Well, my child, " she said smilingly, "your friends were wrong and youwere right; judged by the proper tests, they are pretty bad. "

"Then I must give up all hope of ever being a writer!" sighed Rebecca, who was tasting the bitterness of hemlock and wondering if she couldkeep the tears back until the interview was over. 

"Don't go so fast, " interrupted Miss Maxwell. "Though they don't amountto anything as poetry, they show a good deal of promise in certaindirections. You almost never make a mistake in rhyme or metre, and thisshows you have a natural sense of what is right; a 'sense of form, 'poets would call it. When you grow older, have a little moreexperience, --in fact, when you have something to say, I think you maywrite very good verses. Poetry needs knowledge and vision, experienceand imagination, Rebecca. You have not the first three yet, but Irather think you have a touch of the last. "

"Must I never try any more poetry, not even to amuse myself?"

"Certainly you may; it will only help you to write better prose. Nowfor the first composition. I am going to ask all the new students towrite a letter giving some description of the town and a hint of theschool life. "

"Shall I have to be myself?" asked Rebecca. 

"What do you mean?"

"A letter from Rebecca Randall to her sister Hannah at Sunnybrook Farm, or to her aunt Jane at the brick house, Riverboro, is so dull andstupid, if it is a real letter; but if I could make believe I was adifferent girl altogether, and write to somebody who would be sure tounderstand everything I said, I could make it nicer. "

"Very well; I think that's a delightful plan, " said Miss Maxwell; "andwhom will you suppose yourself to be?"

"I like heiresses very much, " replied Rebecca contemplatively. "Ofcourse I never saw one, but interesting things are always happening toheiresses, especially to the golden-haired kind. My heiress wouldn't bevain and haughty like the wicked sisters in Cinderella; she would benoble and generous. She would give up a grand school in Boston becauseshe wanted to come here where her father lived when he was a boy, longbefore he made his fortune. The father is dead now, and she has aguardian, the best and kindest man in the world; he is rather old ofcourse, and sometimes very quiet and grave, but sometimes when he ishappy, he is full of fun, and then Evelyn is not afraid of him. Yes, the girl shall be called Evelyn Abercrombie, and her guardian's nameshall be Mr. Adam Ladd. "

"Do you know Mr. Ladd?" asked Miss Maxwell in surprise. 

"Yes, he's my very best friend, " cried Rebecca delightedly. "Do youknow him too?"

"Oh, yes; he is a trustee of these schools, you know, and often comeshere. But if I let you 'suppose' any more, you will tell me your wholeletter and then I shall lose a pleasant surprise. "

What Rebecca thought of Miss Maxwell we already know; how the teacherregarded the pupil may be gathered from the following letter writtentwo or three months later. 

 Wareham, December 1st

 My Dear Father, --As you well know, I have not always been an enthusiast on the subject of teaching. The task of cramming knowledge into these self-sufficient, inefficient youngsters of both sexes discourages me at times. The more stupid they are, the less they are aware of it. If my department were geography or mathematics, I believe I should feel that I was accomplishing something, for in those branches application and industry work wonders; but in English literature and composition one yearns for brains, for appreciation, for imagination! Month after month I toil on, opening oyster after oyster, but seldom finding a pearl. Fancy my joy this term when, without any violent effort at shell-splitting, I came upon a rare pearl; a black one, but of satin skin and beautiful lustre! Her name is Rebecca, and she looks not unlike Rebekah at the Well in our family Bible; her hair and eyes being so dark as to suggest a strain of Italian or Spanish blood. She is nobody in particular. Man has done nothing for her; she has no family to speak of, no money, no education worthy the name, has had no advantages of any sort; but Dame Nature flung herself into the breach and said:--

 "This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine and I will make A Lady of my own. "

 Blessed Wordsworth! How he makes us understand! And the pearl never heard of him until now! Think of reading Lucy to a class, and when you finish, seeing a fourteen-year-old pair of lips quivering with delight, and a pair of eyes brimming with comprehending tears!

 You poor darling! You, too, know the discouragement of sowing lovely seed in rocky earth, in sand, in water, and (it almost seems sometimes) in mud; knowing that if anything comes up at all it will be some poor starveling plant. Fancy the joy of finding a real mind; of dropping seed in a soil so warm, so fertile, that one knows there are sure to be foliage, blossoms, and fruit all in good time! I wish I were not so impatient and so greedy of results! I am not fit to be a teacher; no one is who is so scornful of stupidity as I am. . . . The pearl writes quaint countrified little verses, doggerel they are; but somehow or other she always contrives to put in one line, one thought, one image, that shows you she is, quite unconsciously to herself, in possession of the secret. . . . Good-by; I'll bring Rebecca home with me some Friday, and let you and mother see her for yourselves. 

 Your affectionate daughter, Emily. 

XXII

CLOVER BLOSSOMS AND SUNFLOWERS

"How d' ye do, girls?" said Huldah Meserve, peeping in at the door. "Can you stop studying a minute and show me your room? Say, I've justbeen down to the store and bought me these gloves, for I was bound Iwouldn't wear mittens this winter; they're simply too countrified. It'syour first year here, and you're younger than I am, so I s'pose youdon't mind, but I simply suffer if I don't keep up some kind of style. Say, your room is simply too cute for words! I don't believe any of theothers can begin to compare with it! I don't know what gives it thatsimply gorgeous look, whether it's the full curtains, or that elegantscreen, or Rebecca's lamp; but you certainly do have a faculty forfixing up. I like a pretty room too, but I never have a minute toattend to mine; I'm always so busy on my clothes that half the time Idon't get my bed made up till noon; and after all, having no callersbut the girls, it don't make much difference. When I graduate, I'mgoing to fix up our parlor at home so it'll be simply regal. I'velearned decalcomania, and after I take up lustre painting I shall haveit simply stiff with drapes and tidies and placques and sofa pillows, and make mother let me have a fire, and receive my friends thereevenings. May I dry my feet at your register? I can't bear to wearrubbers unless the mud or the slush is simply knee-deep, they make yourfeet look so awfully big. I had such a fuss getting this pair ofFrench-heeled boots that I don't intend to spoil the looks of them withrubbers any oftener than I can help. I believe boys notice feet quickerthan anything. Elmer Webster stepped on one of mine yesterday when Iaccidentally had it out in the aisle, and when he apologized afterclass, he said he wasn't so much to blame, for the foot was so littlehe really couldn't see it! Isn't he perfectly great? Of course that'sonly his way of talking, for after all I only wear a number two, butthese French heels and pointed toes do certainly make your foot looksmaller, and it's always said a high instep helps, too. I used to thinkmine was almost a deformity, but they say it's a great beauty. Just putyour feet beside mine, girls, and look at the difference; not that Icare much, but just for fun. "

"My feet are very comfortable where they are, " responded Rebecca dryly. "I can't stop to measure insteps on algebra days; I've noticed yourhabit of keeping a foot in the aisle ever since you had those newshoes, so I don't wonder it was stepped on. "

"Perhaps I am a little mite conscious of them, because they're not sovery comfortable at first, till you get them broken in. Say, haven'tyou got a lot of new things?"

"Our Christmas presents, you mean, " said Emma Jane. "The pillow-casesare from Mrs. Cobb, the rug from cousin Mary in North Riverboro, thescrap-basket from Living and Dick. We gave each other the bureau andcushion covers, and the screen is mine from Mr. Ladd. "

"Well, you were lucky when you met him! Gracious! I wish I could meetsomebody like that. The way he keeps it up, too! It just hides yourbed, doesn't it, and I always say that a bed takes the style off anyroom--specially when it's not made up; though you have an alcove, andit's the only one in the whole building. I don't see how you managed toget this good room when you're such new scholars, " she finisheddiscontentedly. 

"We shouldn't have, except that Ruth Berry had to go away suddenly onaccount of her father's death. This room was empty, and Miss Maxwellasked if we might have it, " returned Emma Jane. 

"The great and only Max is more stiff and standoffish than ever thisyear, " said Huldah. "I've simply given up trying to please her, forthere's no justice in her; she is good to her favorites, but shedoesn't pay the least attention to anybody else, except to makesarcastic speeches about things that are none of her business. I wantedto tell her yesterday it was her place to teach me Latin, not manners. "

"I wish you wouldn't talk against Miss Maxwell to me, " said Rebeccahotly. "You know how I feel. "

"I know; but I can't understand how you can abide her. "

"I not only abide, I love her!" exclaimed Rebecca. "I wouldn't let thesun shine too hot on her, or the wind blow too cold. I'd like to put amarble platform in her class-room and have her sit in a velvet chairbehind a golden table!"

"Well, don't have a fit!--because she can sit where she likes for allof me; I've got something better to think of, " and Huldah tossed herhead. 

"Isn't this your study hour?" asked Emma Jane, to stop possiblediscussion. 

"Yes, but I lost my Latin grammar yesterday; I left it in the hall halfan hour while I was having a regular scene with Herbert Dunn. I haven'tspoken to him for a week and gave him back his class pin. He was simplyfurious. Then when I came back to the hall, the book was gone. I had togo down town for my gloves and to the principal's office to see if thegrammar had been handed in, and that's the reason I'm so fine. "

Huldah was wearing a woolen dress that had once been gray, but had beendyed a brilliant blue. She had added three rows of white braid andlarge white pearl buttons to her gray jacket, in order to make it alittle more "dressy. " Her gray felt hat had a white feather on it, anda white tissue veil with large black dots made her delicate skin lookbrilliant. Rebecca thought how lovely the knot of red hair looked underthe hat behind, and how the color of the front had been dulled byincessant frizzing with curling irons. Her open jacket disclosed agalaxy of souvenirs pinned to the background of bright blue, --a smallAmerican flag, a button of the Wareham Rowing Club, and one or twosociety pins. These decorations proved her popularity in very much thesame way as do the cotillion favors hanging on the bedroom walls of thefashionable belle. She had been pinning and unpinning, arranging anddisarranging her veil ever since she entered the room, in the hope thatthe girls would ask her whose ring she was wearing this week; butalthough both had noticed the new ornament instantly, wild horses couldnot have drawn the question from them; her desire to be asked was tooobvious. With her gay plumage, her "nods and becks and wreathedsmiles, " and her cheerful cackle, Huldah closely resembled the parrotin Wordsworth's poem:--

 "Arch, volatile, a sportive bird, By social glee inspired; Ambitious to be seen or heard, And pleased to be admired!"

"Mr. Morrison thinks the grammar will be returned, and lent meanother, " Huldah continued. 

"He was rather snippy about my leaving a book in the hall. There was aperfectly elegant gentleman in the office, a stranger to me. I wish hewas a new teacher, but there's no such luck. He was too young to be thefather of any of the girls, and too old to be a brother, but he washandsome as a picture and had on an awful stylish suit of clothes. Helooked at me about every minute I was in the room. It made me soembarrassed I couldn't hardly answer Mr. Morrison's questions straight. "

"You'll have to wear a mask pretty soon, if you're going to have anycomfort, Huldah, " said Rebecca. "Did he offer to lend you his classpin, or has it been so long since he graduated that he's left offwearing it? And tell us now whether the principal asked for a lock ofyour hair to put in his watch?"

This was all said merrily and laughingly, but there were times whenHuldah could scarcely make up her mind whether Rebecca was trying to bewitty, or whether she was jealous; but she generally decided it wasmerely the latter feeling, rather natural in a girl who had littleattention. 

"He wore no jewelry but a cameo scarf pin and a perfectly gorgeousring, --a queer kind of one that wound round and round his finger. Ohdear, I must run! Where has the hour gone? There's the study bell!"

Rebecca had pricked up her ears at Huldah's speech. She remembered acertain strange ring, and it belonged to the only person in the world(save Miss Maxwell) who appealed to her imagination, --Mr. Aladdin. Herfeeling for him, and that of Emma Jane, was a mixture of romantic andreverent admiration for the man himself and the liveliest gratitude forhis beautiful gifts. Since they first met him not a Christmas had goneby without some remembrance for them both; remembrances chosen with therarest taste and forethought. Emma Jane had seen him only twice, but hehad called several times at the brick house, and Rebecca had learned toknow him better. It was she, too, who always wrote the notes ofacknowledgment and thanks, taking infinite pains to make Emma Jane'squite different from her own. Sometimes he had written from Boston andasked her the news of Riverboro, and she had sent him pages of quaintand childlike gossip, interspersed, on two occasions, with poetry, which he read and reread with infinite relish. If Huldah's strangershould be Mr. Aladdin, would he come to see her, and could she and EmmaJane show him their beautiful room with so many of his gifts inevidence?

When the girls had established themselves in Wareham as real boardingpupils, it seemed to them existence was as full of joy as it well couldhold. This first winter was, in fact, the most tranquilly happy ofRebecca's school life, --a winter long to be looked back upon. She andEmma Jane were room-mates, and had put their modest possessionstogether to make their surroundings pretty and homelike. The room had, to begin with, a cheerful red ingrain carpet and a set of maplefurniture. As to the rest, Rebecca had furnished the ideas and EmmaJane the materials and labor, a method of dividing responsibilitiesthat seemed to suit the circumstances admirably. Mrs. Perkins's fatherhad been a storekeeper, and on his death had left the goods of which hewas possessed to his married daughter. The molasses, vinegar, andkerosene had lasted the family for five years, and the Perkins atticwas still a treasure-house of ginghams, cottons, and "Yankee notions. "So at Rebecca's instigation Mrs. Perkins had made full curtains andlambrequins of unbleached muslin, which she had trimmed and looped backwith bands of Turkey red cotton. There were two table covers to match, and each of the girls had her study corner. Rebecca, after muchcoaxing, had been allowed to bring over her precious lamp, which wouldhave given a luxurious air to any apartment, and when Mr. Aladdin'slast Christmas presents were added, --the Japanese screen for Emma Janeand the little shelf of English Poets for Rebecca, --they declared thatit was all quite as much fun as being married and going to housekeeping. 

The day of Huldah's call was Friday, and on Fridays from three to halfpast four Rebecca was free to take a pleasure to which she lookedforward the entire week. She always ran down the snowy path through thepine woods at the back of the seminary, and coming out on a quietvillage street, went directly to the large white house where MissMaxwell lived. The maid-of-all-work answered her knock; she took offher hat and cape and hung them in the hall, put her rubber shoes andumbrella carefully in the corner, and then opened the door of paradise. Miss Maxwell's sitting-room was lined on two sides with bookshelves, and Rebecca was allowed to sit before the fire and browse among thebooks to her heart's delight for an hour or more. Then Miss Maxwellwould come back from her class, and there would be a precious half hourof chat before Rebecca had to meet Emma Jane at the station and takethe train for Riverboro, where her Saturdays and Sundays were spent, and where she was washed, ironed, mended, and examined, approved andreproved, warned and advised in quite sufficient quantity to last herthe succeeding week. 

On this Friday she buried her face in the blooming geraniums on MissMaxwell's plant-stand, selected Romola from one of the bookcases, andsank into a seat by the window with a sigh of infinite content, Sheglanced at the clock now and then, remembering the day on which she hadbeen so immersed in David Copperfield that the Riverboro train had noplace in her mind. The distracted Emma Jane had refused to leavewithout her, and had run from the station to look for her at MissMaxwell's. There was but one later train, and that went only to a placethree miles the other side of Riverboro, so that the two girls appearedat their respective homes long after dark, having had a weary walk inthe snow. 

When she had read for half an hour she glanced out of the window andsaw two figures issuing from the path through the woods. The knot ofbright hair and the coquettish hat could belong to but one person; andher companion, as the couple approached, proved to be none other thanMr. Aladdin. Huldah was lifting her skirts daintily and picking safestepping-places for the high-heeled shoes, her cheeks glowing, her eyessparkling under the black and white veil. 

Rebecca slipped from her post by the window to the rug before thebright fire and leaned her head on the seat of the great easy-chair. She was frightened at the storm in her heart; at the suddenness withwhich it had come on, as well as at the strangeness of an entirely newsensation. She felt all at once as if she could not bear to give up hershare of Mr. Aladdin's friendship to Huldah: Huldah so bright, saucy, and pretty; so gay and ready, and such good company! She had alwaysjoyfully admitted Emma Jane into the precious partnership, but perhapsunconsciously to herself she had realized that Emma Jane had never heldanything but a secondary place in Mr. Aladdin's regard; yet who was sheherself, after all, that she could hope to be first?

Suddenly the door opened softly and somebody looked in, somebody whosaid: "Miss Maxwell told me I should find Miss Rebecca Randall here. "

Rebecca started at the sound and sprang to her feet, saying joyfully, "Mr. Aladdin! Oh! I knew you were in Wareham, and I was afraid youwouldn't have time to come and see us. "

"Who is 'us'? The aunts are not here, are they? Oh, you mean the richblacksmith's daughter, whose name I can never remember. Is she here?"

"Yes, and my room-mate, " answered Rebecca, who thought her own knell ofdoom had sounded, if he had forgotten Emma Jane's name. 

The light in the room grew softer, the fire crackled cheerily, and theytalked of many things, until the old sweet sense of friendliness andfamiliarity crept back into Rebecca's heart. Adam had not seen her forseveral months, and there was much to be learned about school mattersas viewed from her own standpoint; he had already inquired concerningher progress from Mr. Morrison. 

"Well, little Miss Rebecca, " he said, rousing himself at length, "Imust be thinking of my drive to Portland. There is a meeting of railwaydirectors there to-morrow, and I always take this opportunity ofvisiting the school and giving my valuable advice concerning itsaffairs, educational and financial. "

"It seems funny for you to be a school trustee, " said Rebeccacontemplatively. "I can't seem to make it fit. "

"You are a remarkably wise young person and I quite agree with you, " heanswered; "the fact is, " he added soberly, "I accepted the trusteeshipin memory of my poor little mother, whose last happy years were spenthere. "

"That was a long time ago!"

"Let me see, I am thirty-two; only thirty-two, despite an occasionalgray hair. My mother was married a month after she graduated, and shelived only until I was ten; yes, it is a long way back to my mother'stime here, though the school was fifteen or twenty years old then, Ibelieve. Would you like to see my mother, Miss Rebecca?"

The girl took the leather case gently and opened it to find aninnocent, pink-and-white daisy of a face, so confiding, so sensitive, that it went straight to the heart. It made Rebecca feel old, experienced, and maternal. She longed on the instant to comfort andstrengthen such a tender young thing. 

"Oh, what a sweet, sweet, flowery face!" she whispered softly. 

"The flower had to bear all sorts of storms, " said Adam gravely. "Thebitter weather of the world bent its slender stalk, bowed its head, anddragged it to the earth. I was only a child and could do nothing toprotect and nourish it, and there was no one else to stand between itand trouble. Now I have success and money and power, all that wouldhave kept her alive and happy, and it is too late. She died for lack oflove and care, nursing and cherishing, and I can never forget it. Allthat has come to me seems now and then so useless, since I cannot shareit with her!"

This was a new Mr. Aladdin, and Rebecca's heart gave a throb ofsympathy and comprehension. This explained the tired look in his eyes, the look that peeped out now and then, under all his gay speech andlaughter. 

"I'm so glad I know, " she said, "and so glad I could see her just asshe was when she tied that white muslin hat under her chin and saw heryellow curls and her sky-blue eyes in the glass. Mustn't she have beenhappy! I wish she could have been kept so, and had lived to see yougrow up strong and good. My mother is always sad and busy, but oncewhen she looked at John I heard her say, 'He makes up for everything. 'That's what your mother would have thought about you if she had lived, and perhaps she does as it is. "

"You are a comforting little person, Rebecca, " said Adam, rising fromhis chair. 

As Rebecca rose, the tears still trembling on her lashes, he looked ather suddenly as with new vision. 

"Good-by!" he said, taking her slim brown hands in his, adding, as ifhe saw her for the first time, "Why, little Rose-Red-Snow-White ismaking way for a new girl! Burning the midnight oil and doing fouryears' work in three is supposed to dull the eye and blanch the cheek, yet Rebecca's eyes are bright and she has a rosy color! Her long braidsare looped one on the other so that they make a black letter U behind, and they are tied with grand bows at the top! She is so tall that shereaches almost to my shoulder. This will never do in the world! Howwill Mr. Aladdin get on without his comforting little friend! Hedoesn't like grown-up young ladies in long trains and wonderful fineclothes; they frighten and bore him!"

"Oh, Mr. Aladdin!" cried Rebecca eagerly, taking his jest quiteseriously; "I am not fifteen yet, and it will be three years before I'ma young lady; please don't give me up until you have to!"

"I won't; I promise you that, " said Adam. "Rebecca, " he continued, after a moment's pause, "who is that young girl with a lot of prettyred hair and very citified manners? She escorted me down the hill; doyou know whom I mean?"

"It must be Huldah Meserve; she is from Riverboro. "

Adam put a finger under Rebecca's chin and looked into her eyes; eyesas soft, as clear, as unconscious, and childlike as they had been whenshe was ten. He remembered the other pair of challenging blue ones thathad darted coquettish glances through half-dropped lids, shot arrowybeams from under archly lifted brows, and said gravely, "Don't formyourself on her, Rebecca; clover blossoms that grow in the fieldsbeside Sunnybrook mustn't be tied in the same bouquet with gaudysunflowers; they are too sweet and fragrant and wholesome. "

XXIII

THE HILL DIFFICULTY

The first happy year at Wareham, with its widened sky-line, its largervision, its greater opportunity, was over and gone. Rebecca had studiedduring the summer vacation, and had passed, on her return in theautumn, certain examinations which would enable her, if she carried outthe same programme the next season, to complete the course in threeinstead of four years. She came off with no flying colors, --that wouldhave been impossible in consideration of her inadequate training; butshe did wonderfully well in some of the required subjects, and sobrilliantly in others that the average was respectable. She would neverhave been a remarkable scholar under any circumstances, perhaps, andshe was easily out-stripped in mathematics and the natural sciences bya dozen girls, but in some inexplicable way she became, as the monthswent on, the foremost figure in the school. When she had entirelyforgotten the facts which would enable her to answer a question fullyand conclusively, she commonly had some original theory to expound; itwas not always correct, but it was generally unique and sometimesamusing. She was only fair in Latin or French grammar, but when it cameto translation, her freedom, her choice of words, and her sympatheticunderstanding of the spirit of the text made her the delight of herteachers and the despair of her rivals. 

"She can be perfectly ignorant of a subject, " said Miss Maxwell to AdamLadd, "but entirely intelligent the moment she has a clue. Most of theother girls are full of information and as stupid as sheep. "

Rebecca's gifts had not been discovered save by the few, during thefirst year, when she was adjusting herself quietly to the situation. She was distinctly one of the poorer girls; she had no fine dresses toattract attention, no visitors, no friends in the town. She had morestudy hours, and less time, therefore, for the companionship of othergirls, gladly as she would have welcomed the gayety of that side ofschool life. Still, water will find its own level in some way, and bythe spring of the second year she had naturally settled into the samesort of leadership which had been hers in the smaller community ofRiverboro. She was unanimously elected assistant editor of the WarehamSchool Pilot, being the first girl to assume that enviable, thoughsomewhat arduous and thankless position, and when her maiden numberwent to the Cobbs, uncle Jerry and aunt Sarah could hardly eat or sleepfor pride. 

"She'll always get votes, " said Huldah Meserve, when discussing theelection, "for whether she knows anything or not, she looks as if shedid, and whether she's capable of filling an office or not, she looksas if she was. I only wish I was tall and dark and had the gift ofmaking people believe I was great things, like Rebecca Randall. There'sone thing: though the boys call her handsome, you notice they don'ttrouble her with much attention. "

It was a fact that Rebecca's attitude towards the opposite sex wasstill somewhat indifferent and oblivious, even for fifteen and a half!No one could look at her and doubt that she had potentialities ofattraction latent within her somewhere, but that side of her nature washappily biding its time. A human being is capable only of a certainamount of activity at a given moment, and it will inevitably satisfyfirst its most pressing needs, its most ardent desires, its chiefambitions. Rebecca was full of small anxieties and fears, for matterswere not going well at the brick house and were anything but hopeful atthe home farm. She was overbusy and overtaxed, and her thoughts werenaturally drawn towards the difficult problems of daily living. 

It had seemed to her during the autumn and winter of that year as ifher aunt Miranda had never been, save at the very first, so censoriousand so fault-finding. One Saturday Rebecca ran upstairs and, burstinginto a flood of tears, exclaimed, "Aunt Jane, it seems as if I nevercould stand her continual scoldings. Nothing I can do suits auntMiranda; she's just said it will take me my whole life to get theRandall out of me, and I'm not convinced that I want it all out, sothere we are!"

Aunt Jane, never demonstrative, cried with Rebecca as she attempted tosoothe her. 

"You must be patient, " she said, wiping first her own eyes and thenRebecca's. "I haven't told you, for it isn't fair you should betroubled when you're studying so hard, but your aunt Miranda isn'twell. One Monday morning about a month ago, she had a kind of faintspell; it wasn't bad, but the doctor is afraid it was a shock, and ifso, it's the beginning of the end. Seems to me she's failing rightalong, and that's what makes her so fretful and easy vexed. She hasother troubles too, that you don't know anything about, and if you'renot kind to your aunt Miranda now, child, you'll be dreadful sorry sometime. "

All the temper faded from Rebecca's face, and she stopped crying to saypenitently, "Oh! the poor dear thing! I won't mind a bit what she saysnow. She's just asked me for some milk toast and I was dreading to takeit to her, but this will make everything different. Don't worry yet, aunt Jane, for perhaps it won't be as bad as you think. "

So when she carried the toast to her aunt a little later, it was in thebest gilt-edged china bowl, with a fringed napkin on the tray and asprig of geranium lying across the salt cellar. 

"Now, aunt Miranda, " she said cheerily, "I expect you to smack yourlips and say this is good; it's not Randall, but Sawyer milk toast. "

"You've tried all kinds on me, one time an' another, " Miranda answered. "This tastes real kind o' good; but I wish you hadn't wasted that nicegeranium. "

"You can't tell what's wasted, " said Rebecca philosophically; "perhapsthat geranium has been hoping this long time it could brightensomebody's supper, so don't disappoint it by making believe you don'tlike it. I've seen geraniums cry, --in the very early morning!"

The mysterious trouble to which Jane had alluded was a very real one, but it was held in profound secrecy. Twenty-five hundred dollars of thesmall Sawyer property had been invested in the business of a friend oftheir father's, and had returned them a regular annual income of ahundred dollars. The family friend had been dead for some five years, but his son had succeeded to his interests and all went on as formerly. Suddenly there came a letter saying that the firm had gone intobankruptcy, that the business had been completely wrecked, and that theSawyer money had been swept away with everything else. 

The loss of one hundred dollars a year is a very trifling matter, butit made all the difference between comfort and self-denial to the twoold spinsters Their manner of life had been so rigid and careful thatit was difficult to economize any further, and the blow had fallen justwhen it was most inconvenient, for Rebecca's school and boardingexpenses, small as they were, had to be paid promptly and in cash. 

"Can we possibly go on doing it? Shan't we have to give up and tell herwhy?" asked Jane tearfully of the elder sister. 

"We have put our hand to the plough, and we can't turn back, " answeredMiranda in her grimmest tone; "we've taken her away from her mother andoffered her an education, and we've got to keep our word. She'sAurelia's only hope for years to come, to my way o' thinkin'. Hannah'sbeau takes all her time 'n' thought, and when she gits a husband hermother'll be out o' sight and out o' mind. John, instead of farmin', thinks he must be a doctor, --as if folks wasn't gettin' unhealthyenough these days, without turnin' out more young doctors to help 'eminto their graves. No, Jane; we'll skimp 'n' do without, 'n' plan togit along on our interest money somehow, but we won't break into ourprincipal, whatever happens. "

"Breaking into the principal" was, in the minds of most thrifty NewEngland women, a sin only second to arson, theft, or murder; and, though the rule was occasionally carried too far for common sense, --asin this case, where two elderly women of sixty might reasonably havedrawn something from their little hoard in time of special need, --itdoubtless wrought more of good than evil in the community. 

Rebecca, who knew nothing of their business affairs, merely saw heraunts grow more and more saving, pinching here and there, cutting offthis and that relentlessly. Less meat and fish were bought; the womanwho had lately been coming two days a week for washing, ironing, andscrubbing was dismissed; the old bonnets of the season before werebrushed up and retrimmed; there were no drives to Moderation or tripsto Portland. Economy was carried to its very extreme; but thoughMiranda was well-nigh as gloomy and uncompromising in her manner andconversation as a woman could well be, she at least never twitted herniece of being a burden; so Rebecca's share of the Sawyers' misfortunesconsisted only in wearing her old dresses, hats, and jackets, withoutany apparent hope of a change. 

There was, however, no concealing the state of things at Sunnybrook, where chapters of accidents had unfolded themselves in a sort of serialstory that had run through the year. The potato crop had failed; therewere no apples to speak of; the hay had been poor; Aurelia had turns ofdizziness in her head; Mark had broken his ankle. As this was hisfourth offense, Miranda inquired how many bones there were in the humanbody, "so 't they'd know when Mark got through breakin' 'em. " The timefor paying the interest on the mortgage, that incubus that had crushedall the joy out of the Randall household, had come and gone, and therewas no possibility, for the first time in fourteen years, of paying therequired forty-eight dollars. The only bright spot in the horizon wasHannah's engagement to Will Melville, --a young farmer whose land joinedSunnybrook, who had a good house, was alone in the world, and his ownmaster. Hannah was so satisfied with her own unexpectedly radiantprospects that she hardly realized her mother's anxieties; for thereare natures which flourish, in adversity, and deteriorate when exposedto sudden prosperity. She had made a visit of a week at the brickhouse; and Miranda's impression, conveyed in privacy to Jane, was thatHannah was close as the bark of a tree, and consid'able selfish too;that when she'd clim' as fur as she could in the world, she'd kick theladder out from under her, everlastin' quick; that, on being sounded asto her ability to be of use to the younger children in the future, shesaid she guessed she'd done her share a'ready, and she wan't goin' toburden Will with her poor relations. "She's Susan Randall through andthrough!" ejaculated Miranda. "I was glad to see her face turnedtowards Temperance. If that mortgage is ever cleared from the farm, 'twon't be Hannah that'll do it; it'll be Rebecca or me!"

XXIV

ALADDIN RUBS HIS LAMP

"Your esteemed contribution entitled Wareham Wildflowers has beenaccepted for The Pilot, Miss Perkins, " said Rebecca, entering the roomwhere Emma Jane was darning the firm's stockings. "I stayed to tea withMiss Maxwell, but came home early to tell you. "

"You are joking, Becky!" faltered Emma Jane, looking up from her work. 

"Not a bit; the senior editor read it and thought it highlyinstructive; it appears in the next issue. "

"Not in the same number with your poem about the golden gates thatclose behind us when we leave school?"--and Emma Jane held her breathas she awaited the reply. 

"Even so, Miss Perkins. "

"Rebecca, " said Emma Jane, with the nearest approach to tragedy thather nature would permit, "I don't know as I shall be able to bear it, and if anything happens to me, I ask you solemnly to bury that numberof The Pilot with me. "

Rebecca did not seem to think this the expression of an exaggeratedstate of feeling, inasmuch as she replied, "I know; that's just the wayit seemed to me at first, and even now, whenever I'm alone and take outthe Pilot back numbers to read over my contributions, I almost burstwith pleasure; and it's not that they are good either, for they lookworse to me every time I read them. "

"If you would only live with me in some little house when we getolder, " mused Emma Jane, as with her darning needle poised in air sheregarded the opposite wall dreamily, "I would do the housework andcooking, and copy all your poems and stories, and take them to thepost-office, and you needn't do anything but write. It would beperfectly elergant!"

"I'd like nothing better, if I hadn't promised to keep house for John, "replied Rebecca. 

"He won't have a house for a good many years, will he?"

"No, " sighed Rebecca ruefully, flinging herself down by the table andresting her head on her hand. "Not unless we can contrive to pay offthat detestable mortgage. The day grows farther off instead of nearernow that we haven't paid the interest this year. "

She pulled a piece of paper towards her, and scribbling idly on it readaloud in a moment or two:--

 "Will you pay a little faster?" said the mortgage to the farm; "I confess I'm very tired of this place. " "The weariness is mutual, " Rebecca Randall cried; "I would I'd never gazed upon your face!"

"A note has a 'face, '" observed Emma Jane, who was gifted inarithmetic. "I didn't know that a mortgage had. "

"Our mortgage has, " said Rebecca revengefully. "I should know him if Imet him in the dark. Wait and I'll draw him for you. It will be goodfor you to know how he looks, and then when you have a husband andseven children, you won't allow him to come anywhere within a mile ofyour farm. "

The sketch when completed was of a sort to be shunned by a timid personon the verge of slumber. There was a tiny house on the right, and aweeping family gathered in front of it. The mortgage was depicted as across between a fiend and an ogre, and held an axe uplifted in his redright hand. A figure with streaming black locks was staying the blow, and this, Rebecca explained complacently, was intended as a likeness ofherself, though she was rather vague as to the method she should use inattaining her end. 

"He's terrible, " said Emma Jane, "but awfully wizened and small. "

"It's only a twelve hundred dollar mortgage, " said Rebecca, "and that'scalled a small one. John saw a man once that was mortgaged for twelvethousand. "

"Shall you be a writer or an editor?" asked Emma Jane presently, as ifone had only to choose and the thing were done. 

"I shall have to do what turns up first, I suppose. "

"Why not go out as a missionary to Syria, as the Burches are alwayscoaxing you to? The Board would pay your expenses. "

"I can't make up my mind to be a missionary, " Rebecca answered. "I'mnot good enough in the first place, and I don't 'feel a call, ' as Mr. Burch says you must. I would like to do something for somebody and makethings move, somewhere, but I don't want to go thousands of miles awayteaching people how to live when I haven't learned myself. It isn't asif the heathen really needed me; I'm sure they'll come out all right inthe end. "

"I can't see how; if all the people who ought to go out to save themstay at home as we do, " argued Emma Jane. 

"Why, whatever God is, and wherever He is, He must always be there, ready and waiting. He can't move about and miss people. It may take theheathen a little longer to find Him, but God will make allowances, ofcourse. He knows if they live in such hot climates it must make themlazy and slow; and the parrots and tigers and snakes and bread-fruittrees distract their minds; and having no books, they can't think aswell; but they'll find God somehow, some time. "

"What if they die first?" asked Emma Jane. 

"Oh, well, they can't be blamed for that; they don't die on purpose, "said Rebecca, with a comfortable theology. 

In these days Adam Ladd sometimes went to Temperance on businessconnected with the proposed branch of the railroad familiarly known asthe "York and Yank 'em, " and while there he gained an inkling ofSunnybrook affairs. The building of the new road was not yet acertainty, and there was a difference of opinion as to the best routefrom Temperance to Plumville. In one event the way would lead directlythrough Sunnybrook, from corner to corner, and Mrs. Randall would becompensated; in the other, her interests would not be affected eitherfor good or ill, save as all land in the immediate neighborhood mightrise a little in value. 

Coming from Temperance to Wareham one day, Adam had a long walk andtalk with Rebecca, whom he thought looking pale and thin, though shewas holding bravely to her self-imposed hours of work. She was wearinga black cashmere dress that had been her aunt Jane's second best. Weare familiar with the heroine of romance whose foot is so exquisitelyshaped that the coarsest shoe cannot conceal its perfections, and onealways cherishes a doubt of the statement; yet it is true thatRebecca's peculiar and individual charm seemed wholly independent ofaccessories. The lines of her figure, the rare coloring of skin andhair and eyes, triumphed over shabby clothing, though, had theadvantage of artistic apparel been given her, the little world ofWareham would probably at once have dubbed her a beauty. The long blackbraids were now disposed after a quaint fashion of her own. They werecrossed behind, carried up to the front, and crossed again, thetapering ends finally brought down and hidden in the thicker part atthe neck. Then a purely feminine touch was given to the hair that wavedback from the face, --a touch that rescued little crests and waveletsfrom bondage and set them free to take a new color in the sun. 

Adam Ladd looked at her in a way that made her put her hands over herface and laugh through them shyly as she said: "I know what you arethinking, Mr. Aladdin, --that my dress is an inch longer than last year, and my hair different; but I'm not nearly a young lady yet; truly I'mnot. Sixteen is a month off still, and you promised not to give me uptill my dress trails. If you don't like me to grow old, why don't yougrow young? Then we can meet in the halfway house and have nice times. Now that I think about it, " she continued, "that's just what you'vebeen doing all along. When you bought the soap, I thought you weregrandfather Sawyer's age; when you danced with me at the flag-raising, you seemed like my father; but when you showed me your mother'spicture, I felt as if you were my John, because I was so sorry for you. "

"That will do very well, " smiled Adam; "unless you go so swiftly thatyou become my grandmother before I really need one. You are studyingtoo hard, Miss Rebecca Rowena!"

"Just a little, " she confessed. "But vacation comes soon, you know. "

"And are you going to have a good rest and try to recover your dimples?They are really worth preserving. "

A shadow crept over Rebecca's face and her eyes suffused. "Don't bekind, Mr. Aladdin, I can't bear it;--it's--it's not one of my dimplydays!" and she ran in at the seminary gate, and disappeared with afarewell wave of her hand. 

Adam Ladd wended his way to the principal's office in a thoughtfulmood. He had come to Wareham to unfold a plan that he had beenconsidering for several days. This year was the fiftieth anniversary ofthe founding of the Wareham schools, and he meant to tell Mr. Morrisonthat in addition to his gift of a hundred volumes to the referencelibrary, he intended to celebrate it by offering prizes in Englishcomposition, a subject in which he was much interested. He wished theboys and girls of the two upper classes to compete; the award to bemade to the writers of the two best essays. As to the nature of theprizes he had not quite made up his mind, but they would be substantialones, either of money or of books. 

This interview accomplished, he called upon Miss Maxwell, thinking ashe took the path through the woods, "Rose-Red-Snow-White needs thehelp, and since there is no way of my giving it to her without causingremark, she must earn it, poor little soul! I wonder if my money isalways to be useless where most I wish to spend it!"

He had scarcely greeted his hostess when he said: "Miss Maxwell, doesn't it strike you that our friend Rebecca looks wretchedly tired?"

"She does indeed, and I am considering whether I can take her away withme. I always go South for the spring vacation, traveling by sea to OldPoint Comfort, and rusticating in some quiet spot near by. I shouldlike nothing better than to have Rebecca for a companion. "

"The very thing!" assented Adam heartily; "but why should you take thewhole responsibility? Why not let me help? I am greatly interested inthe child, and have been for some years. "

"You needn't pretend you discovered her, " interrupted Miss Maxwellwarmly, "for I did that myself. "

"She was an intimate friend of mine long before you ever came toWareham, " laughed Adam, and he told Miss Maxwell the circumstances ofhis first meeting with Rebecca. "From the beginning I've tried to thinkof a way I could be useful in her development, but no reasonablesolution seemed to offer itself. "

"Luckily she attends to her own development, " answered Miss Maxwell. "In a sense she is independent of everything and everybody; she followsher saint without being conscious of it. But she needs a hundredpractical things that money would buy for her, and alas! I have aslender purse. "

"Take mine, I beg, and let me act through you, " pleaded Adam. "I couldnot bear to see even a young tree trying its best to grow without lightor air, --how much less a gifted child! I interviewed her aunts a yearago, hoping I might be permitted to give her a musical education. Iassured them it was a most ordinary occurrence, and that I was willingto be repaid later on if they insisted, but it was no use. The elderMiss Sawyer remarked that no member of her family ever had lived oncharity, and she guessed they wouldn't begin at this late day. "

"I rather like that uncompromising New England grit, " exclaimed MissMaxwell, "and so far, I don't regret one burden that Rebecca has borneor one sorrow that she has shared. Necessity has only made her brave;poverty has only made her daring and self-reliant. As to her presentneeds, there are certain things only a woman ought to do for a girl, and I should not like to have you do them for Rebecca; I should feelthat I was wounding her pride and self-respect, even though she wereignorant; but there is no reason why I may not do them if necessary andlet you pay her traveling expenses. I would accept those for herwithout the slightest embarrassment, but I agree that the matter wouldbetter be kept private between us. "

"You are a real fairy godmother!" exclaimed Adam, shaking her handwarmly. "Would it be less trouble for you to invite her room-matetoo, --the pink-and-white inseparable?"

"No, thank you, I prefer to have Rebecca all to myself, " said MissMaxwell. 

"I can understand that, " replied Adam absent-mindedly; "I mean, ofcourse, that one child is less trouble than two. There she is now. "

Here Rebecca appeared in sight, walking down the quiet street with alad of sixteen. They were in animated conversation, and were apparentlyreading something aloud to each other, for the black head and the curlybrown one were both bent over a sheet of letter paper. Rebecca keptglancing up at her companion, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. 

"Miss Maxwell, " said Adam, "I am a trustee of this institution, butupon my word I don't believe in coeducation!"

"I have my own occasional hours of doubt, " she answered, "but surelyits disadvantages are reduced to a minimum with--children! That is avery impressive sight which you are privileged to witness, Mr. Ladd. The folk in Cambridge often gloated on the spectacle of Longfellow andLowell arm in arm. The little school world of Wareham palpitates withexcitement when it sees the senior and the junior editors of The Pilotwalking together!"

XXV

ROSES OF JOY

The day before Rebecca started for the South with Miss Maxwell she wasin the library with Emma Jane and Huldah, consulting dictionaries andencyclopaedias. As they were leaving they passed the locked casescontaining the library of fiction, open to the teachers andtownspeople, but forbidden to the students. 

They looked longingly through the glass, getting some little comfortfrom the titles of the volumes, as hungry children imbibe emotionalnourishment from the pies and tarts inside a confectioner's window. Rebecca's eyes fell upon a new book in the corner, and she read thename aloud with delight: "_The Rose of Joy_. Listen, girls; isn't thatlovely? _The Rose of Joy_. It looks beautiful, and it sounds beautiful. What does it mean, I wonder?"

"I guess everybody has a different rose, " said Huldah shrewdly. "I knowwhat mine would be, and I'm not ashamed to own it. I'd like a year in acity, with just as much money as I wanted to spend, horses and splendidclothes and amusements every minute of the day; and I'd like aboveeverything to live with people that wear low necks. " (Poor Huldah nevertook off her dress without bewailing the fact that her lot was cast inRiverboro, where her pretty white shoulders could never be seen. )

"That would be fun, for a while anyway, " Emma Jane remarked. "Butwouldn't that be pleasure more than joy? Oh, I've got an idea!"

"Don't shriek so!" said the startled Huldah. "I thought it was a mouse. "

"I don't have them very often, " apologized Emma Jane, --"ideas, I mean;this one shook me like a stroke of lightning. Rebecca, couldn't it besuccess?"

"That's good, " mused Rebecca; "I can see that success would be a joy, but it doesn't seem to me like a rose, somehow. I was wondering if itcould be love?"

"I wish we could have a peep at the book! It must be perfectlyelergant!" said Emma Jane. "But now you say it is love, I think that'sthe best guess yet. "

All day long the four words haunted and possessed Rebecca; she saidthem over to herself continually. Even the prosaic Emma Jane wasaffected by them, for in the evening she said, "I don't expect you tobelieve it, but I have another idea, --that's two in one day; I had itwhile I was putting cologne on your head. The rose of joy might behelpfulness. "

"If it is, then it is always blooming in your dear little heart, youdarlingest, kind Emmie, taking such good care of your troublesomeBecky!"

"Don't dare to call yourself troublesome! You're--you're--you're myrose of joy, that's what you are!" And the two girls hugged each otheraffectionately. 

In the middle of the night Rebecca touched Emma Jane on the shouldersoftly. "Are you very fast asleep, Emmie?" she whispered. 

"Not so very, " answered Emma Jane drowsily. 

"I've thought of something new. If you sang or painted or wrote, --not alittle, but beautifully, you know, --wouldn't the doing of it, just asmuch as you wanted, give you the rose of joy?"

"It might if it was a real talent, " answered Emma Jane, "though I don'tlike it so well as love. If you have another thought, Becky, keep ittill morning. "

"I did have one more inspiration, " said Rebecca when they were dressingnext morning, "but I didn't wake you. I wondered if the rose of joycould be sacrifice? But I think sacrifice would be a lily, not a rose;don't you?"

The journey southward, the first glimpse of the ocean, the strange newscenes, the ease and delicious freedom, the intimacy with Miss Maxwell, almost intoxicated Rebecca. In three days she was not only herselfagain, she was another self, thrilling with delight, anticipation, andrealization. She had always had such eager hunger for knowledge, suchthirst for love, such passionate longing for the music, the beauty, thepoetry of existence! She had always been straining to make the outwardworld conform to her inward dreams, and now life had grown all at oncerich and sweet, wide and full. She was using all her natural, God-givenoutlets; and Emily Maxwell marveled daily at the inexhaustible way inwhich the girl poured out and gathered in the treasures of thought andexperience that belonged to her. She was a lifegiver, altering thewhole scheme of any picture she made a part of, by contributing newvalues. Have you never seen the dull blues and greens of a roomchanged, transfigured by a burst of sunshine? That seemed to MissMaxwell the effect of Rebecca on the groups of people with whom theynow and then mingled; but they were commonly alone, reading to eachother and having quiet talks. The prize essay was very much onRebecca's mind. Secretly she thought she could never be happy unlessshe won it. She cared nothing for the value of it, and in this casealmost nothing for the honor; she wanted to please Mr. Aladdin andjustify his belief in her. 

"If I ever succeed in choosing a subject, I must ask if you think I canwrite well on it; and then I suppose I must work in silence and secret, never even reading the essay to you, nor talking about it. "

Miss Maxwell and Rebecca were sitting by a little brook on a sunnyspring day. They had been in a stretch of wood by the sea sincebreakfast, going every now and then for a bask on the warm white sand, and returning to their shady solitude when tired of the sun's glare. 

"The subject is very important, " said Miss Maxwell, "but I do not darechoose for you. Have you decided on anything yet?"

"No, " Rebecca answered; "I plan a new essay every night. I've begun oneon What is Failure? and another on He and She. That would be a dialoguebetween a boy and girl just as they were leaving school, and would telltheir ideals of life. Then do you remember you said to me one day, 'Follow your Saint'? I'd love to write about that. I didn't have asingle thought in Wareham, and now I have a new one every minute, so Imust try and write the essay here; think it out, at any rate, while Iam so happy and free and rested. Look at the pebbles in the bottom ofthe pool, Miss Emily, so round and smooth and shining. "

"Yes, but where did they get that beautiful polish, that satin skin, that lovely shape, Rebecca? Not in the still pool lying on the sands. It was never there that their angles were rubbed off and their roughsurfaces polished, but in the strife and warfare of running waters. They have jostled against other pebbles, dashed against sharp rocks, and now we look at them and call them beautiful. "

 "If Fate had not made somebody a teacher, She might have been, oh! such a splendid preacher!"

rhymed Rebecca. "Oh! if I could only think and speak as you do!" shesighed. "I am so afraid I shall never get education enough to make agood writer. "

"You could worry about plenty of other things to better advantage, "said Miss Maxwell, a little scornfully. "Be afraid, for instance, thatyou won't understand human nature; that you won't realize the beauty ofthe outer world; that you may lack sympathy, and thus never be able toread a heart; that your faculty of expression may not keep pace withyour ideas, --a thousand things, every one of them more important to thewriter than the knowledge that is found in books. AEsop was a Greekslave who could not even write down his wonderful fables; yet all theworld reads them. "

"I didn't know that, " said Rebecca, with a half sob. "I didn't knowanything until I met you!"

"You will only have had a high school course, but the most famousuniversities do not always succeed in making men and women. When I longto go abroad and study, I always remember that there were three greatschools in Athens and two in Jerusalem, but the Teacher of all teacherscame out of Nazareth, a little village hidden away from the bigger, busier world. "

"Mr. Ladd says that you are almost wasted on Wareham, " said Rebeccathoughtfully. 

"He is wrong; my talent is not a great one, but no talent is whollywasted unless its owner chooses to hide it in a napkin. Remember thatof your own gifts, Rebecca; they may not be praised of men, but theymay cheer, console, inspire, perhaps, when and where you least expect. The brimming glass that overflows its own rim moistens the earth aboutit. "

"Did you ever hear of The Rose of Joy?" asked Rebecca, after a longsilence. 

"Yes, of course; where did you see it?"

"On the outside of a book in the library. "

"I saw it on the inside of a book in the library, " smiled Miss Maxwell. "It is from Emerson, but I'm afraid you haven't quite grown up to it, Rebecca, and it is one of the things impossible to explain. "

"Oh, try me, dear Miss Maxwell!" pleaded Rebecca. "Perhaps by thinkinghard I can guess a little bit what it means. "

"'In the actual--this painful kingdom of time and chance--are Care, Canker, and Sorrow; with thought, with the Ideal, is immortalhilarity--the rose of Joy; round it all the Muses sing, '" quoted MissMaxwell. 

Rebecca repeated it over and over again until she had learned it byheart; then she said, "I don't want to be conceited, but I almostbelieve I do understand it, Miss Maxwell. Not altogether, perhaps, because it is puzzling and difficult; but a little, enough to go onwith. It's as if a splendid shape galloped past you on horseback; youare so surprised and your eyes move so slowly you cannot half see it, but you just catch a glimpse as it whisks by, and you know it isbeautiful. It's all settled. My essay is going to be called The Rose ofJoy. I've just decided. It hasn't any beginning, nor any middle, butthere will be a thrilling ending, something like this: let me see; joy, boy, toy, ahoy, decoy, alloy:--

 Then come what will of weal or woe (Since all gold hath alloy), Thou 'lt bloom unwithered in this heart, My Rose of Joy!

Now I'm going to tuck you up in the shawl and give you the fir pillow, and while you sleep I am going down on the shore and write a fairystory for you. It's one of our 'supposing' kind; it flies far, far intothe future, and makes beautiful things happen that may never really allcome to pass; but some of them will, --you'll see! and then you'll takeout the little fairy story from your desk and remember Rebecca. "

"I wonder why these young things always choose subjects that would taxthe powers of a great essayist!" thought Miss Maxwell, as she tried tosleep. "Are they dazzled, captivated, taken possession of, by thesplendor of the theme, and do they fancy they can write up to it? Poorlittle innocents, hitching their toy wagons to the stars! How prettythis particular innocent looks under her new sunshade!"

Adam Ladd had been driving through Boston streets on a cold spring daywhen nature and the fashion-mongers were holding out promises whichseemed far from performance. Suddenly his vision was assailed by thesight of a rose-colored parasol gayly unfurled in a shop window, signaling the passer-by and setting him to dream of summer sunshine. Itreminded Adam of a New England apple-tree in full bloom, the outercovering of deep pink shining through the thin white lining, and afluffy, fringe-like edge of mingled rose and cream dropping over thegreen handle. All at once he remembered one of Rebecca's earlyconfidences, --the little pink sunshade that had given her the only peepinto the gay world of fashion that her childhood had ever known; heradoration of the flimsy bit of finery and its tragic and sacrificialend. He entered the shop, bought the extravagant bauble, and expressedit to Wareham at once, not a single doubt of its appropriatenesscrossing the darkness of his masculine mind. He thought only of the joyin Rebecca's eyes; of the poise of her head under the apple-blossomcanopy. It was a trifle embarrassing to return an hour later and buy ablue parasol for Emma Jane Perkins, but it seemed increasinglydifficult, as the years went on, to remember her existence at all theproper times and seasons. 

This is Rebecca's fairy story, copied the next day and given to EmilyMaxwell just as she was going to her room for the night. She read itwith tears in her eyes and then sent it to Adam Ladd, thinking he hadearned a share in it, and that he deserved a glimpse of the girl'sbudding imagination, as well as of her grateful young heart. 

A FAIRY STORY

There was once a tired and rather poverty-stricken Princess who dweltin a cottage on the great highway between two cities. She was not asunhappy as thousands of others; indeed, she had much to be gratefulfor, but the life she lived and the work she did were full hard for onewho was fashioned slenderly. 

Now the cottage stood by the edge of a great green forest where thewind was always singing in the branches and the sunshine filteringthrough the leaves. 

And one day when the Princess was sitting by the wayside quite spent byher labor in the fields, she saw a golden chariot rolling down theKing's Highway, and in it a person who could be none other thansomebody's Fairy Godmother on her way to the Court. The chariot haltedat her door, and though the Princess had read of such beneficentpersonages, she never dreamed for an instant that one of them couldever alight at her cottage. 

"If you are tired, poor little Princess, why do you not go into thecool green forest and rest?" asked the Fairy Godmother. 

"Because I have no time, " she answered. "I must go back to my plough. "

"Is that your plough leaning by the tree, and is it not too heavy?"

"It is heavy, " answered the Princess, "but I love to turn the hardearth into soft furrows and know that I am making good soil wherein myseeds may grow. When I feel the weight too much, I try to think of theharvest. "

The golden chariot passed on, and the two talked no more together thatday; nevertheless the King's messengers were busy, for they whisperedone word into the ear of the Fairy Godmother and another into the earof the Princess, though so faintly that neither of them realized thatthe King had spoken. 

The next morning a strong man knocked at the cottage door, and doffinghis hat to the Princess said: "A golden chariot passed me yesterday, and one within it flung me a purse of ducats, saying: 'Go out into theKing's Highway and search until you find a cottage and a heavy ploughleaning against a tree near by. Enter and say to the Princess whom youwill find there: "I will guide the plough and you must go and rest, orwalk in the cool green forest; for this is the command of your FairyGodmother. "'"

And the same thing happened every day, and every day the tired Princesswalked in the green wood. Many times she caught the glitter of thechariot and ran into the Highway to give thanks to the Fairy Godmother;but she was never fleet enough to reach the spot. She could only standwith eager eyes and longing heart as the chariot passed by. Yet shenever failed to catch a smile, and sometimes a word or two floated backto her, words that sounded like: "I would not be thanked. We are allchildren of the same King, and I am only his messenger. "

Now as the Princess walked daily in the green forest, hearing the windsinging in the branches and seeing the sunlight filter through thelattice-work of green leaves, there came unto her thoughts that hadlain asleep in the stifling air of the cottage and the weariness ofguiding the plough. And by and by she took a needle from her girdle andpricked the thoughts on the leaves of the trees and sent them into theair to float hither and thither. And it came to pass that people beganto pick them up, and holding them against the sun, to read what waswritten on them, and this was because the simple little words on theleaves were only, after all, a part of one of the King's messages, suchas the Fairy Godmother dropped continually from her golden chariot. 

But the miracle of the story lies deeper than all this. 

Whenever the Princess pricked the words upon the leaves she added athought of her Fairy Godmother, and folding it close within, sent theleaf out on the breeze to float hither and thither and fall where itwould. And many other little Princesses felt the same impulse and didthe same thing. And as nothing is ever lost in the King's Dominion, sothese thoughts and wishes and hopes, being full of love and gratitude, had no power to die, but took unto themselves other shapes and lived onforever. They cannot be seen, our vision is too weak; nor heard, ourhearing is too dull; but they can sometimes be felt, and we know notwhat force is stirring our hearts to nobler aims. 

The end of the story is not come, but it may be that some day when theFairy Godmother has a message to deliver in person straight to theKing, he will say: "Your face I know; your voice, your thoughts, andyour heart. I have heard the rumble of your chariot wheels on the greatHighway, and I knew that you were on the King's business. Here in myhand is a sheaf of messages from every quarter of my kingdom. They weredelivered by weary and footsore travelers, who said that they couldnever have reached the gate in safety had it not been for your help andinspiration. Read them, that you may know when and where and how yousped the King's service. "

And when the Fairy Godmother reads them, it may be that sweet odorswill rise from the pages, and half-forgotten memories will stir theair; but in the gladness of the moment nothing will be half so lovelyas the voice of the King when he said: "Read, and know how you sped theKing's service. "

Rebecca Rowena Randall

XXVI

"OVER THE TEACUPS"

The summer term at Wareham had ended, and Huldah Meserve, Dick Carter, and Living Perkins had finished school, leaving Rebecca and Emma Janeto represent Riverboro in the year to come. Delia Weeks was at homefrom Lewiston on a brief visit, and Mrs. Robinson was celebrating theoccasion by a small and select party, the particular day having beenset because strawberries were ripe and there was a rooster that wantedkilling. Mrs. Robinson explained this to her husband, and requestedthat he eat his dinner on the carpenter's bench in the shed, as theparty was to be a ladies' affair. 

"All right; it won't be any loss to me, " said Mr. Robinson. "Give mebeans, that's all I ask. When a rooster wants to be killed, I wantsomebody else to eat him, not me!"

Mrs. Robinson had company only once or twice a year, and was generallymuch prostrated for several days afterward, the struggle between prideand parsimony being quite too great a strain upon her. It wasnecessary, in order to maintain her standing in the community, tofurnish a good "set out, " yet the extravagance of the proceeding goadedher from the first moment she began to stir the marble cake to themoment when the feast appeared upon the table. 

The rooster had been boiling steadily over a slow fire since morning, but such was his power of resistance that his shape was as firm andhandsome in the pot as on the first moment when he was lowered into it. 

"He ain't goin' to give up!" said Alice, peering nervously under thecover, "and he looks like a scarecrow. "

"We'll see whether he gives up or not when I take a sharp knife tohim, " her mother answered; "and as to his looks, a platter full o'gravy makes a sight o' difference with old roosters, and I'll putdumplings round the aidge; they're turrible fillin', though they don'tbelong with boiled chicken. "

The rooster did indeed make an impressive showing, lying in his borderof dumplings, and the dish was much complimented when it was borne inby Alice. This was fortunate, as the chorus of admiration ceasedabruptly when the ladies began to eat the fowl. 

"I was glad you could git over to Huldy's graduation, Delia, " said Mrs. Meserve, who sat at the foot of the table and helped the chicken whileMrs. Robinson poured coffee at the other end. She was a fit mother forHuldah, being much the most stylish person in Riverboro; ill health anddress were, indeed, her two chief enjoyments in life. It was rumoredthat her elaborately curled "front piece" had cost five dollars, andthat it was sent into Portland twice a year to be dressed and frizzed;but it is extremely difficult to discover the precise facts in suchcases, and a conscientious historian always prefers to warn a toocredulous reader against imbibing as gospel truth something that mightbe the basest perversion of it. As to Mrs. Meserve's appearance, haveyou ever, in earlier years, sought the comforting society of the cookand hung over the kitchen table while she rolled out sugar gingerbread?Perhaps then, in some unaccustomed moment of amiability, she made you adough lady, cutting the outline deftly with her pastry knife, and then, at last, placing the human stamp upon it by sticking in two blackcurrants for eyes. Just call to mind the face of that sugar gingerbreadlady and you will have an exact portrait of Huldah's mother, --Mis'Peter Meserve, she was generally called, there being several others. 

"How'd you like Huldy's dress, Delia?" she asked, snapping the elasticin her black jet bracelets after an irritating fashion she had. 

"I thought it was about the handsomest of any, " answered Delia; "andher composition was first rate. It was the only real amusin' one therewas, and she read it so loud and clear we didn't miss any of it; mosto' the girls spoke as if they had hasty pudtin' in their mouths. "

"That was the composition she wrote for Adam Ladd's prize, " explainedMrs. Meserve, "and they do say she'd 'a' come out first, 'stead o'fourth, if her subject had been dif'rent. There was three ministers andthree deacons on the committee, and it was only natural they shouldchoose a serious piece; hers was too lively to suit 'em. "

Huldah's inspiring theme had been Boys, and she certainly had a fund ofknowledge and experience that fitted her to write most intelligentlyupon it. It was vastly popular with the audience, who enjoyed therather cheap jokes and allusions with which it coruscated; but judgedfrom a purely literary standpoint, it left much to be desired. 

"Rebecca's piece wan't read out loud, but the one that took the boy'sprize was; why was that?" asked Mrs. Robinson. 

"Because she wan't graduatin', " explained Mrs. Cobb, "and couldn't takepart in the exercises; it'll be printed, with Herbert Dunn's, in theschool paper. "

"I'm glad o' that, for I'll never believe it was better 'n Huldy's tillI read it with my own eyes; it seems as if the prize ought to 'a' goneto one of the seniors. "

"Well, no, Marthy, not if Ladd offered it to any of the two upperclasses that wanted to try for it, " argued Mrs. Robinson. "They saythey asked him to give out the prizes, and he refused, up and down. Itseems odd, his bein' so rich and travelin' about all over the country, that he was too modest to git up on that platform. "

"My Huldy could 'a' done it, and not winked an eyelash, " observed Mrs. Meserve complacently; a remark which there seemed no disposition on thepart of any of the company to controvert. 

"It was complete, though, the governor happening to be there to see hisniece graduate, " said Delia Weeks. "Land! he looked elegant! They sayhe's only six feet, but he might 'a' been sixteen, and he certainly didmake a fine speech. "

"Did you notice Rebecca, how white she was, and how she trembled whenshe and Herbert Dunn stood there while the governor was praisin' 'em?He'd read her composition, too, for he wrote the Sawyer girls a letterabout it. " This remark was from the sympathetic Mrs. Cobb. 

"I thought 't was kind o' foolish, his makin' so much of her when itwan't her graduation, " objected Mrs. Meserve; "layin' his hand on herhead 'n' all that, as if he was a Pope pronouncin' benediction. Butthere! I'm glad the prize come to Riverboro 't any rate, and ahan'somer one never was give out from the Wareham platform. I guessthere ain't no end to Adam Ladd's money. The fifty dollars would 'a'been good enough, but he must needs go and put it into those elegantpurses. "

"I set so fur back I couldn't see 'em fairly, " complained Delia, "andnow Rebecca has taken hers home to show her mother. "

"It was kind of a gold net bag with a chain, " said Mrs. Perkins, "andthere was five ten-dollar gold pieces in it. Herbert Dunn's was put ina fine leather wallet. "

"How long is Rebecca goin' to stay at the farm?" asked Delia. 

"Till they get over Hannah's bein' married, and get the house torunnin' without her, " answered Mrs. Perkins. "It seems as if Hannahmight 'a' waited a little longer. Aurelia was set against her goin'away while Rebecca was at school, but she's obstinate as a mule, Hannahis, and she just took her own way in spite of her mother. She's beendoin' her sewin' for a year; the awfullest coarse cotton cloth she had, but she's nearly blinded herself with fine stitchin' and rufflin' andtuckin'. Did you hear about the quilt she made? It's white, and has abig bunch o' grapes in the centre, quilted by a thimble top. Thenthere's a row of circle-borderin' round the grapes, and she done themthe size of a spool. The next border was done with a sherry glass, andthe last with a port glass, an' all outside o' that was solid stitchin'done in straight rows; she's goin' to exhibit it at the county fair. "

"She'd better 'a' been takin' in sewin' and earnin' money, 'stead o'blindin' her eyes on such foolishness as quilted counterpanes, " saidMrs. Cobb. "The next thing you know that mortgage will be foreclosed onMis' Randall, and she and the children won't have a roof over theirheads. "

"Don't they say there's a good chance of the railroad goin' through herplace?" asked Mrs. Robinson. "If it does, she'll git as much as thefarm is worth and more. Adam Ladd 's one of the stockholders, andeverything is a success he takes holt of. They're fightin' it inAugusty, but I'd back Ladd agin any o' them legislaters if he thoughthe was in the right. "

"Rebecca'll have some new clothes now, " said Delia, "and the land knowsshe needs 'em. Seems to me the Sawyer girls are gittin' turrible near!"

"Rebecca won't have any new clothes out o' the prize money, " remarkedMrs. Perkins, "for she sent it away the next day to pay the interest onthat mortgage. "

"Poor little girl!" exclaimed Delia Weeks. 

"She might as well help along her folks as spend it on foolishness, "affirmed Mrs. Robinson. "I think she was mighty lucky to git it to paythe interest with, but she's probably like all the Randalls; it waseasy come, easy go, with them. "

"That's more than could be said of the Sawyer stock, " retorted Mrs. Perkins; "seems like they enjoyed savin' more'n anything in the world, and it's gainin' on Mirandy sence her shock. "

"I don't believe it was a shock; it stands to reason she'd never 'a'got up after it and been so smart as she is now; we had three o' theworst shocks in our family that there ever was on this river, and Iknow every symptom of 'em better'n the doctors. " And Mrs. Peter Meserveshook her head wisely. 

"Mirandy 's smart enough, " said Mrs. Cobb, "but you notice she staysright to home, and she's more close-mouthed than ever she was; nevertook a mite o' pride in the prize, as I could see, though it prettynigh drove Jeremiah out o' his senses. I thought I should 'a' died o'shame when he cried 'Hooray!' and swung his straw hat when the governorshook hands with Rebecca. It's lucky he couldn't get fur into thechurch and had to stand back by the door, for as it was, he made aspectacle of himself. My suspicion is"--and here every lady stoppedeating and sat up straight--"that the Sawyer girls have lost money. They don't know a thing about business 'n' never did, and Mirandy's toosecretive and contrairy to ask advice. "

"The most o' what they've got is in gov'ment bonds, I always heard, andyou can't lose money on them. Jane had the timber land left her, an'Mirandy had the brick house. She probably took it awful hard thatRebecca's fifty dollars had to be swallowed up in a mortgage, 'stead ofgoin' towards school expenses. The more I think of it, the more I thinkAdam Ladd intended Rebecca should have that prize when he gave it. " Themind of Huldah's mother ran towards the idea that her daughter's rightshad been assailed. 

"Land, Marthy, what foolishness you talk!" exclaimed Mrs. Perkins; "youdon't suppose he could tell what composition the committee was going tochoose; and why should he offer another fifty dollars for a boy'sprize, if he wan't interested in helpin' along the school? He's giveEmma Jane about the same present as Rebecca every Christmas for fiveyears; that's the way he does. "

"Some time he'll forget one of 'em and give to the other, or drop 'emboth and give to some new girl!" said Delia Weeks, with an experienceborn of fifty years of spinsterhood. 

"Like as not, " assented Mrs. Peter Meserve, "though it's easy to see heain't the marryin' kind. There's men that would marry once a year iftheir wives would die fast enough, and there's men that seems to wantto live alone. "

"If Ladd was a Mormon, I guess he could have every woman in NorthRiverboro that's a suitable age, accordin' to what my cousins say, "remarked Mrs. Perkins. 

"'T ain't likely he could be ketched by any North Riverboro girl, "demurred Mrs. Robinson; "not when he prob'bly has had the pick o'Boston. I guess Marthy hit it when she said there's men that ain't themarryin' kind. "

"I wouldn't trust any of 'em when Miss Right comes along!" laughed Mrs. Cobb genially. "You never can tell what 'n' who 's goin' to please 'em. You know Jeremiah's contrairy horse, Buster? He won't let anybody putthe bit into his mouth if he can help it. He'll fight Jerry, and fightme, till he has to give in. Rebecca didn't know nothin' about histricks, and the other day she went int' the barn to hitch up. Ifollowed right along, knowing she'd have trouble with the headstall, and I declare if she wan't pattin' Buster's nose and talkin' to him, and when she put her little fingers into his mouth he opened it so furI thought he'd swaller her, for sure. He jest smacked his lips over thebit as if 't was a lump o' sugar. 'Land, Rebecca, ' I says, 'how'd youpersuade him to take the bit?' 'I didn't, ' she says, 'he seemed to wantit; perhaps he's tired of his stall and wants to get out in the freshair. '"

XXVII

"THE VISION SPLENDID"

A year had elapsed since Adam Ladd's prize had been discussed over theteacups in Riverboro. The months had come and gone, and at length thegreat day had dawned for Rebecca, --the day to which she had beenlooking forward for five years, as the first goal to be reached on herlittle journey through the world. School-days were ended, and themystic function known to the initiated as "graduation" was about to becelebrated; it was even now heralded by the sun dawning in the easternsky. Rebecca stole softly out of bed, crept to the window, threw openthe blinds, and welcomed the rosy light that meant a cloudless morning. Even the sun looked different somehow, --larger, redder, more importantthan usual; and if it were really so, there was no member of thegraduating class who would have thought it strange or unbecoming, inview of all the circumstances. Emma Jane stirred on her pillow, woke, and seeing Rebecca at the window, came and knelt on the floor besideher. "It's going to be pleasant!" she sighed gratefully. "If it wasn'twicked, I could thank the Lord, I'm so relieved in mind! Did you sleep?"

"Not much; the words of my class poem kept running through my head, andthe accompaniments of the songs; and worse than anything, Mary Queen ofScots' prayer in Latin; it seemed as if

 "'Adoro, imploro, Ut liberes me!'

were burned into my brain. "

No one who is unfamiliar with life in rural neighborhoods can imaginethe gravity, the importance, the solemnity of this last day of school. In the matter of preparation, wealth of detail, and general excitementit far surpasses a wedding; for that is commonly a simple affair in thecountry, sometimes even beginning and ending in a visit to theparsonage. Nothing quite equals graduation in the minds of thegraduates themselves, their families, and the younger students, unlessit be the inauguration of a governor at the State Capitol. Wareham, then, was shaken to its very centre on this day of days. Mothers andfathers of the scholars, as well as relatives to the remotestgeneration, had been coming on the train and driving into the townsince breakfast time; old pupils, both married and single, with andwithout families, streamed back to the dear old village. The two liverystables were crowded with vehicles of all sorts, and lines of buggiesand wagons were drawn up along the sides of the shady roads, the horsesswitching their tails in luxurious idleness. The streets were filledwith people wearing their best clothes, and the fashions included notonly "the latest thing, " but the well preserved relic of a bygone day. There were all sorts and conditions of men and women, for there weresons and daughters of storekeepers, lawyers, butchers, doctors, shoemakers, professors, ministers, and farmers at the Wareham schools, either as boarders or day scholars. In the seminary building there wasan excitement so deep and profound that it expressed itself in a kindof hushed silence, a transient suspension of life, as those mostinterested approached the crucial moment. The feminine graduates-to-bewere seated in their own bedrooms, dressed with a completeness ofdetail to which all their past lives seemed to have been but a prelude. At least, this was the case with their bodies; but their heads, owingto the extreme heat of the day, were one and all ornamented with leads, or papers, or dozens of little braids, to issue later in every sort ofcurl known to the girl of that period. Rolling the hair on leads orpapers was a favorite method of attaining the desired result, andthough it often entailed a sleepless night, there were those who gladlypaid the price. Others, in whose veins the blood of martyrs did notflow, substituted rags for leads and pretended that they made a morenatural and less woolly curl. Heat, however, will melt the proudesthead and reduce to fiddling strings the finest product of thewaving-pin; so anxious mothers were stationed over their offspring, waving palm-leaf fans, it having been decided that the supreme instantwhen the town clock struck ten should be the one chosen for releasingthe prisoners from their self-imposed tortures. 

Dotted or plain Swiss muslin was the favorite garb, though there werethose who were steaming in white cashmere or alpaca, because in somecases such frocks were thought more useful afterwards. Blue and pinkwaist ribbons were lying over the backs of chairs, and the girl who hada Roman sash was praying that she might be kept from vanity and pride. 

The way to any graduating dress at all had not seemed clear to Rebeccauntil a month before. Then, in company with Emma Jane, she visited thePerkins attic, found piece after piece of white butter-muslin orcheesecloth, and decided that, at a pinch, it would do. The "richblacksmith's daughter" cast the thought of dotted Swiss behind her, andelected to follow Rebecca in cheesecloth as she had in higher matters;straightway devising costumes that included such drawing of threads, such hemstitching and pin-tucking, such insertions of fine threadtatting that, in order to be finished, Rebecca's dress was given out insections, --the sash to Hannah, waist and sleeves to Mrs. Cobb, andskirt to aunt Jane. The stitches that went into the despised material, worth only three or four pennies a yard, made the dresses altogetherlovely, and as for the folds and lines into which they fell, they couldhave given points to satins and brocades. 

The two girls were waiting in their room alone, Emma Jane in rather atearful state of mind. She kept thinking that it was the last day thatthey would be together in this altogether sweet and close intimacy. Thebeginning of the end seemed to have dawned, for two positions had beenoffered Rebecca by Mr. Morrison the day before: one in which she wouldplay for singing and calisthenics, and superintend the piano practiceof the younger girls in a boarding-school; the other an assistant'splace in the Edgewood High School. Both were very modest as to salary, but the former included educational advantages that Miss Maxwellthought might be valuable. 

Rebecca's mood had passed from that of excitement into a sort ofexaltation, and when the first bell rang through the corridorsannouncing that in five minutes the class would proceed in a body tothe church for the exercises, she stood motionless and speechless atthe window with her hand on her heart. 

"It is coming, Emmie, " she said presently; "do you remember in The Millon the Floss, when Maggie Tulliver closed the golden gates of childhoodbehind her? I can almost see them swing; almost hear them clang; and Ican't tell whether I am glad or sorry. "

"I shouldn't care how they swung or clanged, " said Emma Jane, "if onlyyou and I were on the same side of the gate; but we shan't be, I knowwe shan't!"

"Emmie, don't dare to cry, for I'm just on the brink myself! If onlyyou were graduating with me; that's my only sorrow! There! I hear therumble of the wheels! People will be seeing our grand surprise now! Hugme once for luck, dear Emmie; a careful hug, remembering ourbutter-muslin frailty!"

Ten minutes later, Adam Ladd, who had just arrived from Portland andwas wending his way to the church, came suddenly into the main streetand stopped short under a tree by the wayside, riveted to the spot by ascene of picturesque loveliness such as his eyes had seldom witnessedbefore. The class of which Rebecca was president was not likely tofollow accepted customs. Instead of marching two by two from theseminary to the church, they had elected to proceed thither by royalchariot. A haycart had been decked with green vines and bunches oflong-stemmed field daisies, those gay darlings of New England meadows. Every inch of the rail, the body, even the spokes, all were twined withyellow and green and white. There were two white horses, flower-trimmedreins, and in the floral bower, seated on maple boughs, were the twelvegirls of the class, while the ten boys marched on either side of thevehicle, wearing buttonhole bouquets of daisies, the class flower. 

Rebecca drove, seated on a green-covered bench that looked not unlike athrone. No girl clad in white muslin, no happy girl of seventeen, isplain; and the twelve little country maids, from the vantage ground oftheir setting, looked beautiful, as the June sunlight filtered down ontheir uncovered heads, showing their bright eyes, their fresh cheeks, their smiles, and their dimples. 

Rebecca, Adam thought, as he took off his hat and saluted the prettypanorama, --Rebecca, with her tall slenderness, her thoughtful brow, thefire of young joy in her face, her fillet of dark braided hair, mighthave been a young Muse or Sibyl; and the flowery hayrack, with itsfreight of blooming girlhood, might have been painted as an allegoricalpicture of The Morning of Life. It all passed him, as he stood underthe elms in the old village street where his mother had walked half acentury ago, and he was turning with the crowd towards the church whenhe heard a little sob. Behind a hedge in the garden near where he wasstanding was a forlorn person in white, whose neat nose, chestnut hair, and blue eyes he seemed to know. He stepped inside the gate and said, "What's wrong, Miss Emma?"

"Oh, is it you, Mr. Ladd? Rebecca wouldn't let me cry for fear ofspoiling my looks, but I must have just one chance before I go in. Ican be as homely as I like, after all, for I only have to sing with theschool; I'm not graduating, I'm just leaving! Not that I mind that;it's only being separated from Rebecca that I never can stand!"

The two walked along together, Adam comforting the disconsolate EmmaJane, until they reached the old meeting-house where the Commencementexercises were always held. The interior, with its decorations ofyellow, green, and white, was crowded, the air hot and breathless, theessays and songs and recitations precisely like all others that havebeen since the world began. One always fears that the platform may sinkunder the weight of youthful platitudes uttered on such occasions; yetone can never be properly critical, because the sight of the boys andgirls themselves, those young and hopeful makers of to-morrow, disarmsone's scorn. We yawn desperately at the essays, but our hearts go outto the essayists, all the same, for "the vision splendid" is shining intheir eyes, and there is no fear of "th' inevitable yoke" that theyears are so surely bringing them. 

Rebecca saw Hannah and her husband in the audience; dear old John andcousin Ann also, and felt a pang at the absence of her mother, thoughshe had known there was no possibility of seeing her; for poor Aureliawas kept at Sunnybrook by cares of children and farm, and lack of moneyeither for the journey or for suitable dress. The Cobbs she saw too. Noone, indeed, could fail to see uncle Jerry; for he shed tears more thanonce, and in the intervals between the essays descanted to hisneighbors concerning the marvelous gifts of one of the graduating classwhom he had known ever since she was a child; in fact, had driven herfrom Maplewood to Riverboro when she left her home, and he had toldmother that same night that there wan't nary rung on the ladder o' famethat that child wouldn't mount before she got through with it. 

The Cobbs, then, had come, and there were other Riverboro faces, butwhere was aunt Jane, in her black silk made over especially for thisoccasion? Aunt Miranda had not intended to come, she knew, but where, on this day of days, was her beloved aunt Jane? However, this thought, like all others, came and went in a flash, for the whole morning waslike a series of magic lantern pictures, crossing and recrossing herfield of vision. She played, she sang, she recited Queen Mary's Latinprayer, like one in a dream, only brought to consciousness by meetingMr. Aladdin's eyes as she spoke the last line. Then at the end of theprogramme came her class poem, Makers of To-morrow; and there, as onmany a former occasion, her personality played so great a part that sheseemed to be uttering Miltonic sentiments instead of school-girl verse. Her voice, her eyes, her body breathed conviction, earnestness, emotion; and when she left the platform the audience felt that they hadlistened to a masterpiece. Most of her hearers knew little of Carlyleor Emerson, or they might have remembered that the one said, "We areall poets when we read a poem well, " and the other, "'T is the goodreader makes the good book. "

It was over! The diplomas had been presented, and each girl, aftergiving furtive touches to her hair, sly tweaks to her muslin skirts, and caressing pats to her sash, had gone forward to receive the roll ofparchment with a bow that had been the subject of anxious thought forweeks. Rounds of applause greeted each graduate at this thrillingmoment, and Jeremiah Cobb's behavior, when Rebecca came forward, wasthe talk of Wareham and Riverboro for days. Old Mrs. Webb avowed thathe, in the space of two hours, had worn out her pew more--the carpet, the cushions, and woodwork--than she had by sitting in it forty years. Yes, it was over, and after the crowd had thinned a little, Adam Laddmade his way to the platform. Rebecca turned from speaking to somestrangers and met him in the aisle. "Oh, Mr. Aladdin, I am so glad youcould come! Tell me"--and she looked at him half shyly, for hisapproval was dearer to her, and more difficult to win, than that of theothers--"tell me, Mr. Aladdin, --were you satisfied?"

"More than satisfied!" he said; "glad I met the child, proud I know thegirl, longing to meet the woman!"

XXVIII

"TH' INEVITABLE YOKE"

Rebecca's heart beat high at this sweet praise from her hero's lips, but before she had found words to thank him, Mr. And Mrs. Cobb, who hadbeen modestly biding their time in a corner, approached her and sheintroduced them to Mr. Ladd. 

"Where, where is aunt Jane?" she cried, holding aunt Sarah's hand onone side and uncle Jerry's on the other. 

"I'm sorry, lovey, but we've got bad news for you. "

"Is aunt Miranda worse? She is; I can see it by your looks;" andRebecca's color faded. 

"She had a second stroke yesterday morning jest when she was helpin'Jane lay out her things to come here to-day. Jane said you wan't toknow anything about it till the exercises was all over, and we promisedto keep it secret till then. "

"I will go right home with you, aunt Sarah. I must just run to tellMiss Maxwell, for after I had packed up to-morrow I was going toBrunswick with her. Poor aunt Miranda! And I have been so gay and happyall day, except that I was longing for mother and aunt Jane. "

"There ain't no harm in bein' gay, lovey; that's what Jane wanted youto be. And Miranda's got her speech back, for your aunt has just sent aletter sayin' she's better; and I'm goin' to set up to-night, so youcan stay here and have a good sleep, and get your things togethercomfortably to-morrow. "

"I'll pack your trunk for you, Becky dear, and attend to all our roomthings, " said Emma Jane, who had come towards the group and heard thesorrowful news from the brick house. 

They moved into one of the quiet side pews, where Hannah and herhusband and John joined them. From time to time some stragglingacquaintance or old schoolmate would come up to congratulate Rebeccaand ask why she had hidden herself in a corner. Then some member of theclass would call to her excitedly, reminding her not to be late at thepicnic luncheon, or begging her to be early at the class party in theevening. All this had an air of unreality to Rebecca. In the midst ofthe happy excitement of the last two days, when "blushing honors" hadbeen falling thick upon her, and behind the delicious exaltation of themorning, had been the feeling that the condition was a transient one, and that the burden, the struggle, the anxiety, would soon loom againon the horizon. She longed to steal away into the woods with dear oldJohn, grown so manly and handsome, and get some comfort from him. 

Meantime Adam Ladd and Mr. Cobb had been having an animatedconversation. 

"I s'pose up to Boston, girls like that one are as thick asblackb'ries?" uncle Jerry said, jerking his head interrogatively inRebecca's direction. 

"They may be, " smiled Adam, taking in the old man's mood; "only I don'thappen to know one. "

"My eyesight bein' poor 's the reason she looked han'somest of any girlon the platform, I s'pose?"

"There's no failure in my eyes, " responded Adam, "but that was how thething seemed to me!"

"What did you think of her voice? Anything extry about it?"

"Made the others sound poor and thin, I thought. "

"Well, I'm glad to hear your opinion, you bein' a traveled man, formother says I'm foolish 'bout Rebecky and hev been sence the fust. Mother scolds me for spoilin' her, but I notice mother ain't fur behindwhen it comes to spoilin'. Land! it made me sick, thinkin' o' themparents travelin' miles to see their young ones graduate, and then whenthey got here hevin' to compare 'em with Rebecky. Good-by, Mr. Ladd, drop in some day when you come to Riverboro. "

"I will, " said Adam, shaking the old man's hand cordially; "perhapsto-morrow if I drive Rebecca home, as I shall offer to do. Do you thinkMiss Sawyer's condition is serious?"

"Well, the doctor don't seem to know; but anyhow she's paralyzed, andshe'll never walk fur again, poor soul! She ain't lost her speech;that'll be a comfort to her. "

Adam left the church, and in crossing the common came upon Miss Maxwelldoing the honors of the institution, as she passed from group to groupof strangers and guests. Knowing that she was deeply interested in allRebecca's plans, he told her, as he drew her aside, that the girl wouldhave to leave Wareham for Riverboro the next day. 

"That is almost more than I can bear!" exclaimed Miss Maxwell, sittingdown on a bench and stabbing the greensward with her parasol. "It seemsto me Rebecca never has any respite. I had so many plans for her thisnext month in fitting her for her position, and now she will settledown to housework again, and to the nursing of that poor, sick, crossold aunt. "

"If it had not been for the cross old aunt, Rebecca would still havebeen at Sunnybrook; and from the standpoint of educational advantages, or indeed advantages of any sort, she might as well have been in thebackwoods, " returned Adam. 

"That is true; I was vexed when I spoke, for I thought an easier andhappier day was dawning for my prodigy and pearl. "

"OUR prodigy and pearl, " corrected Adam. 

"Oh, yes!" she laughed. "I always forget that it pleases you to pretendyou discovered Rebecca. "

"I believe, though, that happier days are dawning for her, " continuedAdam. "It must be a secret for the present, but Mrs. Randall's farmwill be bought by the new railroad. We must have right of way throughthe land, and the station will be built on her property. She willreceive six thousand dollars, which, though not a fortune, will yieldher three or four hundred dollars a year, if she will allow me toinvest it for her. There is a mortgage on the land; that paid, andRebecca self-supporting, the mother ought to push the education of theoldest boy, who is a fine, ambitious fellow. He should be taken awayfrom farm work and settled at his studies. "

"We might form ourselves into a Randall Protective Agency, Limited, "mused Miss Maxwell. "I confess I want Rebecca to have a career. "

"I don't, " said Adam promptly. 

"Of course you don't. Men have no interest in the careers of women! ButI know Rebecca better than you. "

"You understand her mind better, but not necessarily her heart. You areconsidering her for the moment as prodigy; I am thinking of her more aspearl. "

"Well, " sighed Miss Maxwell whimsically, "prodigy or pearl, the RandallProtective Agency may pull Rebecca in opposite directions, butnevertheless she will follow her saint. "

"That will content me, " said Adam gravely. 

"Particularly if the saint beckons your way. " And Miss Maxwell lookedup and smiled provokingly. 

Rebecca did not see her aunt Miranda till she had been at the brickhouse for several days. Miranda steadily refused to have any one butJane in the room until her face had regained its natural look, but herdoor was always ajar, and Jane fancied she liked to hear Rebecca'squick, light step. Her mind was perfectly clear now, and, save that shecould not move, she was most of the time quite free from pain, andalert in every nerve to all that was going on within or without thehouse. "Were the windfall apples being picked up for sauce; were thepotatoes thick in the hills; was the corn tosselin' out; were theycuttin' the upper field; were they keepin' fly-paper laid outeverywheres; were there any ants in the dairy; was the kindlin' woodholdin' out; had the bank sent the cowpons?"

Poor Miranda Sawyer! Hovering on the verge of the great beyond, --herbody "struck" and no longer under control of her iron will, --no divinevisions floated across her tired brain; nothing but petty cares andsordid anxieties. Not all at once can the soul talk with God, be Heever so near. If the heavenly language never has been learned, quick asis the spiritual sense in seizing the facts it needs, then the poorsoul must use the words and phrases it has lived on and grown into dayby day. Poor Miss Miranda!--held fast within the prison walls of herown nature, blind in the presence of revelation because she had neverused the spiritual eye, deaf to angelic voices because she had not usedthe spiritual ear. 

There came a morning when she asked for Rebecca. The door was openedinto the dim sick-room, and Rebecca stood there with the sunlightbehind her, her hands full of sweet peas. Miranda's pale, sharp face, framed in its nightcap, looked haggard on the pillow, and her body waspitifully still under the counterpane. 

"Come in, " she said; "I ain't dead yet. Don't mess up the bed with themflowers, will ye?"

"Oh, no! They're going in a glass pitcher, " said Rebecca, turning tothe washstand as she tried to control her voice and stop the tears thatsprang to her eyes. 

"Let me look at ye; come closer. What dress are ye wearin'?" said theold aunt in her cracked, weak voice. 

"My blue calico. "

"Is your cashmere holdin' its color?"

"Yes, aunt Miranda. "

"Do you keep it in a dark closet hung on the wrong side, as I told ye?"

"Always. "

"Has your mother made her jelly?"

"She hasn't said. "

"She always had the knack o' writin' letters with nothin' in 'em. What's Mark broke sence I've been sick?"

"Nothing at all, aunt Miranda. "

"Why, what's the matter with him? Gittin' lazy, ain't he? How 's Johnturnin' out?"

"He's going to be the best of us all. "

"I hope you don't slight things in the kitchen because I ain't there. Do you scald the coffee-pot and turn it upside down on the winder-sill?"

"Yes, aunt Miranda. "

"It's always 'yes' with you, and 'yes' with Jane, " groaned Miranda, trying to move her stiffened body; "but all the time I lay here knowin'there's things done the way I don't like 'em. "

There was a long pause, during which Rebecca sat down by the bedsideand timidly touched her aunt's hand, her heart swelling with tenderpity at the gaunt face and closed eyes. 

"I was dreadful ashamed to have you graduate in cheesecloth, Rebecca, but I couldn't help it no-how. You'll hear the reason some time, andknow I tried to make it up to ye. I'm afraid you was a laughin'-stock!"

"No, " Rebecca answered. "Ever so many people said our dresses were thevery prettiest; they looked like soft lace. You're not to be anxiousabout anything. Here I am all grown up and graduated, --number three ina class of twenty-two, aunt Miranda, --and good positions offered mealready. Look at me, big and strong and young, all ready to go into theworld and show what you and aunt Jane have done for me. If you want menear, I'll take the Edgewood school, so that I can be here nights andSundays to help; and if you get better, then I'll go to Augusta, --forthat's a hundred dollars more, with music lessons and other thingsbeside. "

"You listen to me, " said Miranda quaveringly. "Take the best place, regardless o' my sickness. I'd like to live long enough to know you'dpaid off that mortgage, but I guess I shan't. "

Here she ceased abruptly, having talked more than she had for weeks;and Rebecca stole out of the room, to cry by herself and wonder if oldage must be so grim, so hard, so unchastened and unsweetened, as itslipped into the valley of the shadow. 

The days went on, and Miranda grew stronger and stronger; her willseemed unassailable, and before long she could be moved into a chair bythe window, her dominant thought being to arrive at such a condition ofimprovement that the doctor need not call more than once a week, instead of daily; thereby diminishing the bill, that was mounting tosuch a terrifying sum that it haunted her thoughts by day and dreams bynight. 

Little by little hope stole back into Rebecca's young heart. Aunt Janebegan to "clear starch" her handkerchiefs and collars and purple muslindress, so that she might be ready to go to Brunswick at any moment whenthe doctor pronounced Miranda well on the road to recovery. Everythingbeautiful was to happen in Brunswick if she could be there byAugust, --everything that heart could wish or imagination conceive, forshe was to be Miss Emily's very own visitor, and sit at table withcollege professors and other great men. 

At length the day dawned when the few clean, simple dresses were packedin the hair trunk, together with her beloved coral necklace, hercheesecloth graduating dress, her class pin, aunt Jane's lace cape, andthe one new hat, which she tried on every night before going to bed. Itwas of white chip with a wreath of cheap white roses and green leaves, and cost between two and three dollars, an unprecedented sum inRebecca's experience. The effect of its glories when worn with hernightdress was dazzling enough, but if ever it appeared in conjunctionwith the cheesecloth gown, Rebecca felt that even reverend professorsmight regard it with respect. It is probable indeed that anyprofessorial gaze lucky enough to meet a pair of dark eyes shiningunder that white rose garland would never have stopped at respect!

Then, when all was ready and Abijah Flagg at the door, came a telegramfrom Hannah: "Come at once. Mother has had bad accident. "

In less than an hour Rebecca was started on her way to Sunnybrook, herheart palpitating with fear as to what might be awaiting her at herjourney's end. 

Death, at all events, was not there to meet her; but something thatlooked at first only too much like it. Her mother had been standing onthe haymow superintending some changes in the barn, had been seizedwith giddiness, they thought, and slipped. The right knee was fracturedand the back strained and hurt, but she was conscious and in noimmediate danger, so Rebecca wrote, when she had a moment to send auntJane the particulars. 

"I don' know how 'tis, " grumbled Miranda, who was not able to sit upthat day; "but from a child I could never lay abed without Aurelia'sgettin' sick too. I don' know 's she could help fallin', though itain't anyplace for a woman, --a haymow; but if it hadn't been that, 'twould 'a' been somethin' else. Aurelia was born unfortunate. Now she'llprobably be a cripple, and Rebecca'll have to nurse her instead ofearning a good income somewheres else. "

"Her first duty 's to her mother, " said aunt Jane; "I hope she'llalways remember that. "

"Nobody remembers anything they'd ought to, --at seventeen, " respondedMiranda. "Now that I'm strong again, there's things I want to considerwith you, Jane, things that are on my mind night and day. We've talked'em over before; now we'll settle 'em. When I'm laid away, do you wantto take Aurelia and the children down here to the brick house? There'san awful passel of 'em, --Aurelia, Jenny, and Fanny; but I won't haveMark. Hannah can take him; I won't have a great boy stompin' out thecarpets and ruinin' the furniture, though I know when I'm dead I can'thinder ye, if you make up your mind to do anything. "

"I shouldn't like to go against your feelings, especially in laying outyour money, Miranda, " said Jane. 

"Don't tell Rebecca I've willed her the brick house. She won't git ittill I'm gone, and I want to take my time 'bout dyin' and not behurried off by them that's goin' to profit by it; nor I don't want tobe thanked, neither. I s'pose she'll use the front stairs as common asthe back and like as not have water brought into the kitchen, but mebbewhen I've been dead a few years I shan't mind. She sets such store byyou, she'll want you to have your home here as long's you live, butanyway I've wrote it down that way; though Lawyer Burns's wills don'thold more'n half the time. He's cheaper, but I guess it comes out jestthe same in the end. I wan't goin' to have the fust man Rebecca picksup for a husband turnin' you ou'doors. "

There was a long pause, during which Jane knit silently, wiping thetears from her eyes from time to time, as she looked at the pitifulfigure lying weakly on the pillows. Suddenly Miranda said slowly andfeebly:--

"I don' know after all but you might as well take Mark; I s'posethere's tame boys as well as wild ones. There ain't a mite o' sense inhavin' so many children, but it's a turrible risk splittin' up familiesand farmin' 'em out here 'n' there; they'd never come to no good, an'everybody would keep rememberin' their mother was a Sawyer. Now ifyou'll draw down the curtin, I'll try to sleep. "

XXIX

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

Two months had gone by, --two months of steady, fagging work; ofcooking, washing, ironing; of mending and caring for the threechildren, although Jenny was fast becoming a notable little housewife, quick, ready, and capable. They were months in which there had beenmany a weary night of watching by Aurelia's bedside; of soothing andbandaging and rubbing; of reading and nursing, even of feeding andbathing. The ceaseless care was growing less now, and the familybreathed more freely, for the mother's sigh of pain no longer came fromthe stifling bedroom, where, during a hot and humid August, Aurelia hadlain, suffering with every breath she drew. There would be no questionof walking for many a month to come, but blessings seemed to multiplywhen the blinds could be opened and the bed drawn near the window; whenmother, with pillows behind her, could at least sit and watch the workgoing on, could smile at the past agony and forget the weary hours thathad led to her present comparative ease and comfort. 

No girl of seventeen can pass through such an ordeal and come outunchanged; no girl of Rebecca's temperament could go through it withoutsome inward repining and rebellion. She was doing tasks in which shecould not be fully happy, --heavy and trying tasks, which perhaps shecould never do with complete success or satisfaction; and like promiseof nectar to thirsty lips was the vision of joys she had had to putaside for the performance of dull daily duty. How brief, how fleeting, had been those splendid visions when the universe seemed open for heryoung strength to battle and triumph in! How soon they had faded intothe light of common day! At first, sympathy and grief were so keen shethought of nothing but her mother's pain. No consciousness of selfinterposed between her and her filial service; then, as the weekspassed, little blighted hopes began to stir and ache in her breast;defeated ambitions raised their heads as if to sting her; unattainabledelights teased her by their very nearness; by the narrow line ofseparation that lay between her and their realization. It is easy, forthe moment, to tread the narrow way, looking neither to the right norleft, upborne by the sense of right doing; but that first joy ofself-denial, the joy that is like fire in the blood, dies away; thepath seems drearier and the footsteps falter. Such a time came toRebecca, and her bright spirit flagged when the letter was receivedsaying that her position in Augusta had been filled. There was amutinous leap of the heart then, a beating of wings against the door ofthe cage, a longing for the freedom of the big world outside. It wasthe stirring of the powers within her, though she called it by no suchgrand name. She felt as if the wind of destiny were blowing her flamehither and thither, burning, consuming her, but kindling nothing. Allthis meant one stormy night in her little room at Sunnybrook, but theclouds blew over, the sun shone again, a rainbow stretched across thesky, while "hope clad in April green" smiled into her upturned face andbeckoned her on, saying:--

 "Grow old along with me, The best is yet to be. "

Threads of joy ran in and out of the gray tangled web of daily living. There was the attempt at odd moments to make the bare little house lessbare by bringing in out-of-doors, taking a leaf from Nature's book andnoting how she conceals ugliness wherever she finds it. Then there wasthe satisfaction of being mistress of the poor domain; of planning, governing, deciding; of bringing order out of chaos; of implantinggayety in the place of inert resignation to the inevitable. Anotherelement of comfort was the children's love, for they turned to her asflowers to the sun, drawing confidently on her fund of stories, serenein the conviction that there was no limit to Rebecca's power ofmake-believe. In this, and in yet greater things, little as sherealized it, the law of compensation was working in her behalf, for inthose anxious days mother and daughter found and knew each other asnever before. A new sense was born in Rebecca as she hung over hermother's bed of pain and unrest, --a sense that comes only ofministering, a sense that grows only when the strong bend toward theweak. As for Aurelia, words could never have expressed her dumbhappiness when the real revelation of motherhood was vouchsafed her. Inall the earlier years when her babies were young, carking cares andanxieties darkened the fireside with their brooding wings. Then Rebeccahad gone away, and in the long months of absence her mind and soul hadgrown out of her mother's knowledge, so that now, when Aurelia had timeand strength to study her child, she was like some enchantingchangeling. Aurelia and Hannah had gone on in the dull round and thecommon task, growing duller and duller; but now, on a certain stage oflife's journey, who should appear but this bewildering being, who gavewings to thoughts that had only crept before; who brought color andgrace and harmony into the dun brown texture of existence. 

You might harness Rebecca to the heaviest plough, and while she hadyouth on her side, she would always remember the green earth under herfeet and the blue sky over her head. Her physical eye saw the cake shewas stirring and the loaf she was kneading; her physical ear heard thekitchen fire crackling and the teakettle singing, but ever and anon herfancy mounted on pinions, rested itself, renewed its strength in theupper air. The bare little farmhouse was a fixed fact, but she had manya palace into which she now and then withdrew; palaces peopled withstirring and gallant figures belonging to the world of romance; palacesnot without their heavenly apparitions too, breathing celestialcounsel. Every time she retired to her citadel of dreams she came forthradiant and refreshed, as one who has seen the evening star, or heardsweet music, or smelled the rose of joy. 

Aurelia could have understood the feeling of a narrow-minded andconventional hen who has brought a strange, intrepid duckling into theworld; but her situation was still more wonderful, for she could onlycompare her sensations to those of some quiet brown Dorking who hasbrooded an ordinary egg and hatched a bird of paradise. Such an ideahad crossed her mind more than once during the past fortnight, and itflashed to and fro this mellow October morning when Rebecca came intothe room with her arms full of goldenrod and flaming autumn leaves. 

"Just a hint of the fall styles, mother, " she said, slipping the stemof a gorgeous red and yellow sapling between the mattress and the footof the bed. "This was leaning over the pool, and I was afraid it wouldbe vain if I left it there too long looking at its beautifulreflection, so I took it away from danger; isn't it wonderful? How Iwish I could carry one to poor aunt Miranda to-day! There's never aflower in the brick house when I'm away. "

It was a marvelous morning. The sun had climbed into a world that heldin remembrance only a succession of golden days and starlit nights. Theair was fragrant with ripening fruit, and there was a mad little birdon a tree outside the door nearly bursting his throat with joy ofliving. He had forgotten that summer was over, that winter must evercome; and who could think of cold winds, bare boughs, or frozen streamson such a day? A painted moth came in at the open window and settled onthe tuft of brilliant leaves. Aurelia heard the bird and looked fromthe beauty of the glowing bush to her tall, splendid daughter, standinglike young Spring with golden Autumn in her arms. 

Then suddenly she covered her eyes and cried, "I can't bear it! Here Ilie chained to this bed, interfering with everything you want to do. It's all wasted! All my saving and doing without; all your hard study;all Mirandy's outlay; everything that we thought was going to be themaking of you!"

"Mother, mother, don't talk so, don't think so!" exclaimed Rebecca, sitting down impetuously on the floor by the bed and dropping thegoldenrod by her side. "Why, mother, I'm only a little past seventeen!This person in a purple calico apron with flour on her nose is only thebeginnings of me! Do you remember the young tree that Johntransplanted? We had a dry summer and a cold winter and it didn't growa bit, nor show anything of all we did for it; then there was a goodyear and it made up for lost time. This is just my little 'rootingseason, ' mother, but don't go and believe my day is over, because ithasn't begun! The old maple by the well that's in its hundredth yearhad new leaves this summer, so there must be hope for me at seventeen!"

"You can put a brave face on it, " sobbed Aurelia, "but you can'tdeceive me. You've lost your place; you'll never see your friends here, and you're nothing but a drudge!"

"I look like a drudge, " said Rebecca mysteriously, with laughing eyes, "but I really am a princess; you mustn't tell, but this is only adisguise; I wear it for reasons of state. The king and queen who are atpresent occupying my throne are very old and tottering, and are goingto abdicate shortly in my favor. It's rather a small kingdom, Isuppose, as kingdoms go, so there isn't much struggle for it in royalcircles, and you mustn't expect to see a golden throne set with jewels. It will probably be only of ivory with a nice screen of peacockfeathers for a background; but you shall have a comfortable chair verynear it, with quantities of slaves to do what they call in novels your'lightest bidding. '"

Aurelia smiled in spite of herself, and though not perhaps whollydeceived, she was comforted. 

"I only hope you won't have to wait too long for your thrones and yourkingdoms, Rebecca, " she said, "and that I shall have a sight of thembefore I die; but life looks very hard and rough to me, what with youraunt Miranda a cripple at the brick house, me another here at the farm, you tied hand and foot, first with one and then with the other, to saynothing of Jenny and Fanny and Mark! You've got something of yourfather's happy disposition, or it would weigh on you as it does on me. "

"Why, mother!" cried Rebecca, clasping her knees with her hands; "why, mother, it's enough joy just to be here in the world on a day likethis; to have the chance of seeing, feeling, doing, becoming! When youwere seventeen, mother, wasn't it good just to be alive? You haven'tforgotten?"

"No, " said Aurelia, "but I wasn't so much alive as you are, never inthe world. "

"I often think, " Rebecca continued, walking to the window and lookingout at the trees, --"I often think how dreadful it would be if I werenot here at all. If Hannah had come, and then, instead of me, John;John and Jenny and Fanny and the others, but no Rebecca; never anyRebecca! To be alive makes up for everything; there ought to be fearsin my heart, but there aren't; something stronger sweeps them out, something like a wind. Oh, see! There is Will driving up the lane, mother, and he ought to have a letter from the brick house. "

XXX

GOOD-BY, SUNNYBROOK

Will Melville drove up to the window and, tossing a letter intoRebecca's lap, went off to the barn on an errand. 

"Sister 's no worse, then, " sighed Aurelia gratefully, "or Jane wouldhave telegraphed. See what she says. "

Rebecca opened the envelope and read in one flash of an eye the wholebrief page:--

 Your aunt Miranda passed away an hour ago. Come at once, if your mother is out of danger. I shall not have the funeral till you are here. She died very suddenly and without any pain. Oh, Rebecca! I long for you so!

 Aunt Jane. 

The force of habit was too strong, and even in the hour of death Janehad remembered that a telegram was twenty-five cents, and that Aureliawould have to pay half a dollar for its delivery. 

Rebecca burst into a passion of tears as she cried, "Poor, poor auntMiranda! She is gone without taking a bit of comfort in life, and Icouldn't say good-by to her! Poor lonely aunt Jane! What can I do, mother? I feel torn in two, between you and the brick house. "

"You must go this very instant, " said Aurelia; starting from herpillows. "If I was to die while you were away, I would say the verysame thing. Your aunts have done everything in the world for you, --morethan I've ever been able to do, --and it is your turn to pay back someo' their kindness and show your gratitude. The doctor says I've turnedthe corner and I feel I have. Jenny can make out somehow, if Hannah'llcome over once a day. "

"But, mother, I CAN'T go! Who'll turn you in bed?" exclaimed Rebecca, walking the floor and wringing her hands distractedly. 

"It don't make any difference if I don't get turned, " replied Aureliastoically. "If a woman of my age and the mother of a family hasn't gotsense enough not to slip off haymows, she'd ought to suffer. Go put onyour black dress and pack your bag. I'd give a good deal if I was ableto go to my sister's funeral and prove that I've forgotten and forgivenall she said when I was married. Her acts were softer 'n her words, Mirandy's were, and she's made up to you for all she ever sinnedagainst me 'n' your father! And oh, Rebecca, " she continued withquivering voice, "I remember so well when we were little girls togetherand she took such pride in curling my hair; and another time, when wewere grown up, she lent me her best blue muslin: it was when yourfather had asked me to lead the grand march with him at the Christmasdance, and I found out afterwards she thought he'd intended to ask her!"

Here Aurelia broke down and wept bitterly; for the recollection of thepast had softened her heart and brought the comforting tears even moreeffectually than the news of her sister's death. 

There was only an hour for preparation. Will would drive Rebecca toTemperance and send Jenny back from school. He volunteered also toengage a woman to sleep at the farm in case Mrs. Randall should beworse at any time in the night. 

Rebecca flew down over the hill to get a last pail of spring water, andas she lifted the bucket from the crystal depths and looked out overthe glowing beauty of the autumn landscape, she saw a company ofsurveyors with their instruments making calculations and laying linesthat apparently crossed Sunnybrook at the favorite spot where MirrorPool lay clear and placid, the yellow leaves on its surface no yellowerthan its sparkling sands. 

She caught her breath. "The time has come!" she thought. "I am sayinggood-by to Sunnybrook, and the golden gates that almost swung togetherthat last day in Wareham will close forever now. Good-by, dear brookand hills and meadows; you are going to see life too, so we must behopeful and say to one another:--

 "'Grow old along with me, The best is yet to be. '"

Will Melville had seen the surveyors too, and had heard in theTemperance post-office that morning the probable sum that Mrs. Randallwould receive from the railway company. He was in good spirits at hisown improved prospects, for his farm was so placed that its value couldbe only increased by the new road; he was also relieved in mind thathis wife's family would no longer be in dire poverty directly at hisdoorstep, so to speak. John could now be hurried forward and forcedinto the position of head of the family several years sooner than hadbeen anticipated, so Hannah's husband was obliged to exercise greatself-control or he would have whistled while he was driving Rebecca tothe Temperance station. He could not understand her sad face or thetears that rolled silently down her cheeks from time to time; forHannah had always represented her aunt Miranda as an irascible, parsimonious old woman, who would be no loss to the world whenever sheshould elect to disappear from it. 

"Cheer up, Becky!" he said, as he left her at the depot. "You'll findyour mother sitting up when you come back, and the next thing you knowthe whole family'll be moving to some nice little house wherever yourwork is. Things will never be so bad again as they have been this lastyear; that's what Hannah and I think;" and he drove away to tell hiswife the news. 

Adam Ladd was in the station and came up to Rebecca instantly, as sheentered the door looking very unlike her bright self. 

"The Princess is sad this morning, " he said, taking her hand. "Aladdinmust rub the magic lamp; then the slave will appear, and these tears bedried in a trice. "

He spoke lightly, for he thought her trouble was something connectedwith affairs at Sunnybrook, and that he could soon bring the smiles bytelling her that the farm was sold and that her mother was to receive ahandsome price in return. He meant to remind her, too, that though shemust leave the home of her youth, it was too remote a place to be aproper dwelling either for herself or for her lonely mother and thethree younger children. He could hear her say as plainly as if it wereyesterday, "I don't think one ever forgets the spot where one lived asa child. " He could see the quaint little figure sitting on the piazzaat North Riverboro and watch it disappear in the lilac bushes when hegave the memorable order for three hundred cakes of Rose-Red andSnow-White soap. 

A word or two soon told him that her grief was of another sort, and hermood was so absent, so sensitive and tearful, that he could only assureher of his sympathy and beg that he might come soon to the brick houseto see with his own eyes how she was faring. 

Adam thought, when he had put her on the train and taken his leave, that Rebecca was, in her sad dignity and gravity, more beautiful thanhe had ever seen her, --all-beautiful and all-womanly. But in thatmoment's speech with her he had looked into her eyes and they werestill those of a child; there was no knowledge of the world in theirshining depths, no experience of men or women, no passion, norcomprehension of it. He turned from the little country station to walkin the woods by the wayside until his own train should be leaving, andfrom time to time he threw himself under a tree to think and dream andlook at the glory of the foliage. He had brought a new copy of TheArabian Nights for Rebecca, wishing to replace the well-worn old onethat had been the delight of her girlhood; but meeting her at such aninauspicious time, he had absently carried it away with him. He turnedthe pages idly until he came to the story of Aladdin and the WonderfulLamp, and presently, in spite of his thirty-four years, the old taleheld him spellbound as it did in the days when he first read it as aboy. But there were certain paragraphs that especially caught his eyeand arrested his attention, --paragraphs that he read and reread, finding in them he knew not what secret delight and significance. Thesewere the quaintly turned phrases describing the effect on the once poorAladdin of his wonderful riches, and those descanting upon the beautyand charm of the Sultan's daughter, the Princess Badroulboudour:--

_Not only those who knew Aladdin when he played in the streets like avagabond did not know him again; those who had seen him but a littlewhile before hardly knew him, so much were his features altered; suchwere the effects of the lamp, as to procure by degrees to those whopossessed it, perfections agreeable to the rank the right use of itadvanced them to. _

_The Princess was the most beautiful brunette in the world; her eyeswere large, lively, and sparkling; her looks sweet and modest; her nosewas of a just proportion and without a fault; her mouth small, her lipsof a vermilion red, and charmingly agreeable symmetry; in a word, allthe features of her face were perfectly regular. It is not thereforesurprising that Aladdin, who had never seen, and was a stranger to, somany charms, was dazzled. With all these perfections the Princess hadso delicate a shape, so majestic an air, that the sight of her wassufficient to inspire respect. _

"_Adorable Princess, " said Aladdin to her, accosting her, and salutingher respectfully, "if I have the misfortune to have displeased you bymy boldness in aspiring to the possession of so lovely a creature, Imust tell you that you ought to blame your bright eyes and charms, notme. _"

_"Prince, " answered the Princess, "it is enough for me to have seenyou, to tell you that I obey without reluctance. "_

XXXI

AUNT MIRANDA'S APOLOGY

When Rebecca alighted from the train at Maplewood and hurried to thepost-office where the stage was standing, what was her joy to see uncleJerry Cobb holding the horses' heads. 

"The reg'lar driver 's sick, " he explained, "and when they sent for me, thinks I to myself, my drivin' days is over, but Rebecky won't let thegrass grow under her feet when she gits her aunt Jane's letter, andlike as not I'll ketch her to-day; or, if she gits delayed, to-morrowfor certain. So here I be jest as I was more 'n six year ago. Will yoube a real lady passenger, or will ye sit up in front with me?"

Emotions of various sorts were all struggling together in the old man'sface, and the two or three bystanders were astounded when they saw thehandsome, stately girl fling herself on Mr. Cobb's dusty shouldercrying like a child. "Oh, uncle Jerry!" she sobbed; "dear uncle Jerry!It's all so long ago, and so much has happened, and we've grown so old, and so much is going to happen that I'm fairly frightened. "

"There, there, lovey, " the old man whispered comfortingly, "we'll beall alone on the stage, and we'll talk things over 's we go along theroad an' mebbe they won't look so bad. "

Every mile of the way was as familiar to Rebecca as to uncle Jerry;every watering-trough, grindstone, red barn, weather-vane, duck-pond, and sandy brook. And all the time she was looking backward to the day, seemingly so long ago, when she sat on the box seat for the first time, her legs dangling in the air, too short to reach the footboard. Shecould smell the big bouquet of lilacs, see the pink-flounced parasol, feel the stiffness of the starched buff calico and the hated prick ofthe black and yellow porcupine quills. The drive was taken almost insilence, but it was a sweet, comforting silence both to uncle Jerry andthe girl. 

Then came the sight of Abijah Flagg shelling beans in the barn, andthen the Perkins attic windows with a white cloth fluttering from them. She could spell Emma Jane's loving thought and welcome in that littlewaving flag; a word and a message sent to her just at the first momentwhen Riverboro chimneys rose into view; something to warm her hearttill they could meet. 

The brick house came next, looking just as of yore; though it seemed toRebecca as if death should have cast some mysterious spell over it. There were the rolling meadows, the stately elms, all yellow and brownnow; the glowing maples, the garden-beds bright with asters, and thehollyhocks, rising tall against the parlor windows; only in place ofthe cheerful pinks and reds of the nodding stalks, with their gayrosettes of bloom, was a crape scarf holding the blinds together, andanother on the sitting-room side, and another on the brass knocker ofthe brown-painted door. 

"Stop, uncle Jerry! Don't turn in at the side; hand me my satchel, please; drop me in the road and let me run up the path by myself. Thendrive away quickly. "

At the noise and rumble of the approaching stage the house door openedfrom within, just as Rebecca closed the gate behind her. Aunt Jane camedown the stone steps, a changed woman, frail and broken and white. Rebecca held out her arms and the old aunt crept into them feebly, asshe did on that day when she opened the grave of her buried love andshowed the dead face, just for an instant, to a child. Warmth andstrength and life flowed into the aged frame from the young one. 

"Rebecca, " she said, raising her head, "before you go in to look ather, do you feel any bitterness over anything she ever said to you?"

Rebecca's eyes blazed reproach, almost anger, as she said chokingly:"Oh, aunt Jane! Could you believe it of me? I am going in with a heartbrimful of gratitude!"

"She was a good woman, Rebecca; she had a quick temper and a sharptongue, but she wanted to do right, and she did it as near as shecould. She never said so, but I'm sure she was sorry for every hardword she spoke to you; she didn't take 'em back in life, but she actedso 't you'd know her feeling when she was gone. "

"I told her before I left that she'd been the making of me, just asmother says, " sobbed Rebecca. 

"She wasn't that, " said Jane. "God made you in the first place, andyou've done considerable yourself to help Him along; but she gave youthe wherewithal to work with, and that ain't to be despised; speciallywhen anybody gives up her own luxuries and pleasures to do it. Now letme tell you something, Rebecca. Your aunt Mirandy 's willed all this toyou, --the brick house and buildings and furniture, and the land allround the house, as far 's you can see. "

Rebecca threw off her hat and put her hand to her heart, as she alwaysdid in moments of intense excitement. After a moment's silence shesaid: "Let me go in alone; I want to talk to her; I want to thank her;I feel as if I could make her hear and feel and understand!"

Jane went back into the kitchen to the inexorable tasks that death hasno power, even for a day, to blot from existence. He can stalk throughdwelling after dwelling, leaving despair and desolation behind him, butthe table must be laid, the dishes washed, the beds made, by somebody. 

Ten minutes later Rebecca came out from the Great Presence lookingwhite and spent, but chastened and glorified. She sat in the quietdoorway, shaded from the little Riverboro world by the overhangingelms. A wide sense of thankfulness and peace possessed her, as shelooked at the autumn landscape, listened to the rumble of a wagon onthe bridge, and heard the call of the river as it dashed to the sea. She put up her hand softly and touched first the shining brass knockerand then the red bricks, glowing in the October sun. 

It was home; her roof, her garden, her green acres, her dear trees; itwas shelter for the little family at Sunnybrook; her mother would haveonce more the companionship of her sister and the friends of hergirlhood; the children would have teachers and playmates. 

And she? Her own future was close-folded still; folded and hidden inbeautiful mists; but she leaned her head against the sun-warmed door, and closing her eyes, whispered, just as if she had been a child sayingher prayers: "God bless aunt Miranda; God bless the brick house thatwas; God bless the brick house that is to be!"