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Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm..........................................................................................................................1

Kate Douglas Wiggin ...............................................................................................................................1

"WE ARE SEVEN".................................................................................................................................2

REBECCA'S RELATIONS .....................................................................................................................9

A DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS ..............................................................................................................11

REBECCA'S POINT OF VIEW ............................................................................................................16

WISDOM'S WAYS...............................................................................................................................18

SUNSHINE IN A SHADY PLACE......................................................................................................23

RIVERBORO SECRETS......................................................................................................................26

COLOR OF ROSE .................................................................................................................................29

ASHES OF ROSES...............................................................................................................................32

RAINBOW BRIDGES..........................................................................................................................35

"THE STIRRING OF THE POWERS" .................................................................................................38

"SEE THE PALE MARTYR"...............................................................................................................42

SNOWWHITE; ROSERED ..............................................................................................................46

MR. ALADDIN.....................................................................................................................................49

THE BANQUET LAMP ........................................................................................................................53

SEASONS OF GROWTH.....................................................................................................................57

GRAY DAYS AND GOLD ...................................................................................................................61

REBECCA REPRESENTS THE FAMILY..........................................................................................64

DEACON ISRAEL'S SUCCESSOR.....................................................................................................67

A CHANGE OF HEART .......................................................................................................................71

THE SKY LINE WIDENS....................................................................................................................74

CLOVER BLOSSOMS AND SUNFLOWERS....................................................................................79

THE HILL DIFFICULTY.....................................................................................................................84

ALADDIN RUBS HIS LAMP..............................................................................................................87

ROSES OF JOY .....................................................................................................................................91

"OVER THE TEACUPS" ......................................................................................................................96

"THE VISION SPLENDID" ..................................................................................................................99

"TH' INEVITABLE YOKE"...............................................................................................................102

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER ............................................................................................................107

GOODBY, SUNNYBROOK............................................................................................................110

AUNT MIRANDA'S APOLOGY.......................................................................................................113

The old stage coach was rumbling along the dusty road that runs from Maplewood to Riverboro. The day was

as warm as midsummer, though it was only the middle of May, and Mr. Jeremiah Cobb was favoring the

horses as much as possible, yet never losing sight of the fact that he carried the mail. The hills were many,

and the reins lay loosely in his hands as he lolled back in his seat and extended one foot and leg luxuriously

over the dashboard. His brimmed hat of worn felt was well pulled over his eyes, and he revolved a quid of

There was one passenger in the coach,a small darkhaired person in a glossy buff calico dress. She was so

slender and so stiffly starched that she slid from space to space on the leather cushions, though she braced

herself against the middle seat with her feet and extended her cottongloved hands on each side, in order to

maintain some sort of balance. Whenever the wheels sank farther than usual into a rut, or jolted suddenly

over a stone, she bounded involuntarily into the air, came down again, pushed back her funny little straw hat,

and picked up or settled more firmly a small pink sun shade, which seemed to be her chief responsibility,

unless we except a bead purse, into which she looked whenever the condition of the roads would permit,

finding great apparent satisfaction in that its precious contents neither disappeared nor grew less. Mr. Cobb

guessed nothing of these harassing details of travel, his business being to carry people to their destinations,

not, necessarily, to make them comfortable on the way. Indeed he had forgotten the very existence of this one

When he was about to leave the postoffice in Maplewood that morning, a woman had alighted from a

wagon, and coming up to him, inquired whether this were the Riverboro stage, and if he were Mr. Cobb.

Being answered in the affirmative, she nodded to a child who was eagerly waiting for the answer, and who

ran towards her as if she feared to be a moment too late. The child might have been ten or eleven years old

perhaps, but whatever the number of her summers, she had an air of being small for her age. Her mother

helped her into the stage coach, deposited a bundle and a bouquet of lilacs beside her, superintended the

"roping on" behind of an old hair trunk, and finally paid the fare, counting out the silver with great care.

"I want you should take her to my sisters' in Riverboro," she said. "Do you know Mi randy and Jane

"Well, she's going there, and they're expecting her. Will you keep an eye on her, please? If she can get out

anywhere and get with folks, or get anybody in to keep her company, she'll do it. Goodby, Rebecca; try not

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

"Goodby, mother, don't worry; you know it isn't as if I hadn't traveled before."

The woman gave a short sardonic laugh and said in an explanatory way to Mr. Cobb, "She's been to

"It WAS TRAVELING, mother," said the child eagerly and willfully. "It was leaving the farm, and putting

up lunch in a basket, and a little riding 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 I told you before," she whispered, in a last attempt at discipline, "that you

shouldn't talk about night gowns and stockings andthings like that, in a loud tone of voice, and especially

"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 sedately on their daily task"all I want to say is that it is a journey when"the stage

was really under way now and Rebecca had to put her head out of the window over the door in order to finish

The objectionable word, uttered in a high treble, floated back to the offended ears of Mrs. Randall, who

watched the stage out of sight, gathered up her packages from the bench at the store door, and stepped into

the wagon that had been standing at the hitchingpost. As she turned 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 the dim distance.

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

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 of Milltown, had lulled Mr. Cobb's never active mind into complete oblivion as to his

Suddenly he heard a small voice above the rattle and rumble of the wheels and the creaking of the harness. At

first he thought it was a cricket, a tree toad, or a bird, but having determined the direction from which it came,

he turned his head over his shoulder and saw a small shape hanging as far out of the window as safety would

allow. A long black braid of hair swung with the motion of the coach; the child held her hat in one hand and

with the other made ineffectual attempts to stab the driver with her microscopic sunshade.

"Does it cost any more to ride up there with you?" she asked. "It's so slippery 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 the windows are so

small I can only see pieces of things, and I've 'most broken my neck stretching round to find out whether my

trunk has fallen off 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 properly speaking this flood of criticism, had

"You can come up if you want to; there ain't no extry charge to sit side o' me." Whereupon he helped her out,

Rebecca sat down carefully, smoothing her dress under her with painstaking precision, and putting her

sunshade under its extended folds between the driver and herself. This done she pushed back her hat, pulled

"Oh! this is better! This is like traveling! I am a real passenger now, and down there I felt like our setting hen

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

"Only two hours," she sighed "That will be half past one; mother will be at cousin Ann's, the children at home

will have had their dinner, and Hannah cleared all away. I have some lunch, because mother said it would be

a bad beginning to get to the brick house hungry and have aunt Mirandy have to get me something to eat the

She extended her dress still farther over the article in question as she said, "Oh dear no! I never put it up

when the sun shines; pink fades 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 time covering it up; it's the dearest thing in life to me,

At this moment the thought gradually permeated Mr. Jeremiah Cobb's slowmoving mind that the bird

perched by his side was a bird of very different feather from those to which he was accustomed in his daily

drives. He put the whip back in its socket, took his foot from the dashboard, pushed his hat back, blew his

quid of tobacco into the road, and having thus cleared his mental decks for action, he took his first good 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 within an inch of its life. From the little

standing ruffle at the neck the child's slender throat rose very brown and thin, and the head looked small to

bear the weight of dark hair that hung in a thick braid to her waist. She wore an odd little vizored cap of white

leghorn, which may either have been the latest thing in children's hats, or some bit of ancient finery furbished

up for the occasion. It was trimmed with a twist of buff ribbon and a cluster of black and orange porcupine

quills, which hung or bristled stiffly over one ear, giving her the quaintest and most unusual appearance. Her

face was without color and sharp 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's eyes were like faith, "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not

seen." Under her delicately etched brows they glowed like two stars, their dancing lights half hidden in

lustrous darkness. Their glance was eager and full of interest, yet never satisfied; their steadfast gaze was

brilliant and mysterious, and had the effect of looking directly through the obvious to something beyond, in

the object, in the landscape, in you. They had never been accounted for, Rebecca's eyes. The school teacher

and the minister at Temperance had tried and failed; the young artist who came for the summer to sketch the

red barn, the ruined mill, and the bridge ended by giving up all these local beauties and devoting herself to

the face of a child,a small, plain face illuminated by a pair of eyes carrying such messages, such

suggestions, such hints of sleeping power and insight, that one never tired of looking into their shining

depths, nor of fancying that what one saw there was the reflection of one's own thought.

Mr. Cobb made none of these generalizations; his remark to his wife that night was simply to the effect that

"Miss Ross, a lady that paints, gave me the sunshade," said Rebecca, when she had exchanged looks with Mr.

Cobb and learned his face by heart. "Did you notice the pinked double ruffle and the white tip and handle?

They're ivory. The handle is scarred, you see. That's because Fanny sucked and chewed it in meeting when I

I learned it to speak in school, but the scholars were hateful and laughed. Hannah is the oldest, I come next,

"Far too big, everybody says," replied Rebecca with an unexpected and thoroughly grownup 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 to bed at night and take them up in the morning for years and years. But it's

finished, that's one comfort, and we'll have a lovely time when we're all grown up and the mortgage is paid

"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 been any since Mira, and she's three. She was born the day father died Aunt Miranda

wanted Hannah to come to Riverboro instead of me, but mother couldn'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 any more children

while I was away I'd have to be sent for, for when there's a baby it always takes Hannah and me both, for

"Near? Why, it must be thousands of miles! We came from Temperance in the 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 house is at Temperance, and that's

only two miles. Sitting up here with you is most as good as climbing the meetinghouse steeple. I know a

boy who's been up on our steeple. He said the people and cows looked like flies. We haven't met any people

yet, but I'm KIND of disappointed in the 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 of them, do they? Boys always do the nice

splendid things, and girls can only do the nasty dull ones that get left over. They can't climb so high, or go so

Mr. Cobb wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and gasped. He had a feeling that he was being hurried

from peak to peak of a mountain range without time to take a good breath in between.

"I can't seem to locate your farm," he said, "though I've been to Temperance and used to live up that way.

"Randall. My mother's name is Aurelia Randall; our names are Hannah Lucy Randall, Rebecca Rowena

Randall, John Halifax Randall, Jenny Lind Randall, Marquis Randall, Fanny Ellsler Randall, and Miranda

Randall. Mother named half of us and father the other half, but we didn't come out even, so they both thought

it would be nice to name Mira after aunt Miranda 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 in particular. Hannah is Hannah at the

Window Binding Shoes, and I am taken out of Ivanhoe; John Halifax was a gentleman in a book; Mark is

after his uncle Marquis de Lafayette that died a twin. (Twins very often don't live to grow up, and triplets

almost neverdid you know that, Mr. Cobb?) We don't call him Marquis, only Mark. Jenny is named for a

singer and Fanny for a beautiful dancer, but mother says they're both misfits, for Jenny can't carry a tune and

Fanny's kind of stiff legged. Mother would like to call them Jane and Frances and give up their middle

names, but she says it wouldn't be fair to father. She says we must always stand up for father, because

everything was against him, and he wouldn't have died if he hadn't had such bad luck. I think that's all there is

"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 you to

"Not much; the trouble is to get the shoes to go and learn 'em. These are spandy new I've got on, and they

have to last six months. Mother always says to save my shoes. There don't seem to be any way of saving

shoes but taking 'em off and going barefoot; but I can't do that in Riverboro without shaming aunt Mirandy.

I'm going to school right along now when I'm living with aunt Mirandy, and in two years I'm going to the

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. At any rate, that's what _I_ think I'm going to be. Mother thinks I'd better teach."

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

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

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 a difference what you call things. When I say

Mr. Cobb felt like a fish removed from his native element and left panting on the sand; there was no evading

the awful responsibility of a reply, for Rebecca's eyes were searchlights, that pierced the fiction of his brain

Rebecca looked disappointed but not quite dis heartened. "That's pretty good," she said encouragingly.

"You're warm but not hot; there's a brook, but not a common brook. It has young trees and baby bushes on

each side of it, and it's a shallow chattering little brook with a white sandy bottom and lots of little shiny

pebbles. Whenever there's a bit of sunshine the brook catches it, and it's always full of sparkles the livelong

day. Don't your stomach feel hollow? Mine doest I was so 'fraid I'd miss the stage I couldn't eat any

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

"I wish I could see Milltown. I suppose it's bigger and grander even than Wareham; more like Paris? Miss

Ross told me about Paris; she bought my pink sunshade there and my bead purse. You see how it opens with

a snap? I've twenty cents in it, and it's got to last three months, for stamps and paper and ink. Mother says

aunt Mirandy won't want to buy things like those when she's feeding and clothing me and paying for my

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

Again Rebecca was obliged to reprove Mr. Cobb, tacitly and quietly, but none the less surely, though the

"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 French are a gay and polite people, fond of dancing and light wines.' I asked the

teacher what light wines were, and he thought it was something like new cider, or maybe ginger pop. I can

see Paris as plain as day by just shutting my eyes. The beautiful ladies are always gayly dancing around with

pink sunshades and bead purses, and the grand gentlemen are politely dancing and drinking ginger pop. But

you can see Milltown most every day with your eyes wide open," Rebecca said wistfully.

"Milltown ain't no great, neither," replied Mr. Cobb, with the air of having visited all the cities of the earth

and found them as naught. "Now you watch me heave this newspaper right onto Mis' Brown's doorstep."

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

"Oh, how splendid that was!" cried Rebecca with enthusiasm. "Just like the knife thrower Mark saw at the

circus. I wish there was a long, long row of houses each with a corn husk mat and a screen door in the

"I might fail on some of 'em, you know," said Mr. Cobb, beaming with modest pride. "If your aunt Mirandy'll

let you, I'll take you down to Milltown some day this summer when the stage ain't full."

A thrill of delicious excitement ran through Rebecca's frame, from her new shoes up, up to the leghorn cap

and down the black braid. She pressed Mr. Cobb's knee ardently and said in a voice choking with tears of joy

and astonishment, "Oh, it can't be true, it can't; to think I should see Milltown. It's like having a fairy

godmother who asks you your wish and then gives it to you! Did you ever read Cinderella, or The Yellow

"No," said Mr. Cobb cautiously, after a moment's reflection. "I don't seem to think I ever did read jest those

"Oh, I've read lots of books," answered Rebecca casually. "Father's and Miss Ross's and all the dif'rent school

teachers', and all in the Sunday 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.What have you

"I've never happened to read those partic'lar books; but land! I've read a sight in my time! Nowadays I'm so

drove I get along with the Almanac, the Weekly Argus, and the Maine State Agriculturist.There's the river

again; this is the last long hill, and when we get to the top of it we'll see the chimbleys of Riverboro in the

distance. 'T ain't fur. 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 her breath; "but I guess I am, just a little mitewhen you say it's coming so

She flashed him an intrepid look and then said proudly, "I'd never go backI might be frightened, but I'd be

ashamed to run. Going to aunt Mirandy's is like going down cellar in the dark. There might be ogres and

giants under the stairs, but, as I tell Hannah, there MIGHT be elves and fairies and enchanted frogs!Is

"I s'pose you might call it a main street, an' your aunt Sawyer lives on it, but there ain't no stores nor mills, an'

it's an awful onehorse village! You have to go 'cross the river an' get on to our side if you want to see

"I'm almost sorry," she sighed, "because it would be so grand to drive down a real main street, sitting high up

like this behind two splendid horses, with my pink sunshade up, and everybody in town wondering who the

bunch of lilacs and the hair trunk belongs to. It would be just like the beautiful lady in the parade. Last

summer the circus came to Temperance, and they had a procession in the morning. Mother let us all walk in

and wheel Mira in the baby carriage, because we couldn't afford to go to the circus in the afternoon. And

there were lovely horses and animals in cages, and clowns on horseback; and at the very end came a little red

and gold chariot drawn by two ponies, and in it, sitting on a velvet cushion, was the snake charmer, all

dressed in satin and spangles. She was so beautiful beyond compare, Mr. Cobb, that you had to swallow

lumps in your throat when you looked at her, and little cold feelings crept up and down your back. Don't you

Mr. Cobb was more distinctly uncomfortable at this moment than he had been at any one time during the

eventful morning, but he evaded the point dexterously by saying, "There ain't no harm, as I can see, in our

makin' the grand entry in the biggest style we can. I'll take the whip out, set up straight, an' drive fast; you

hold your bo'quet in your lap, an' open your little red parasol, an' we'll jest make the natives stare!"

The child's face was radiant for a moment, but the glow faded just as quickly as she said, "I forgot mother

put me inside, and maybe she'd want me to be there when I got to aunt Mirandy's. Maybe I'd be more genteel

inside, and then I wouldn't have to be jumped down and my clothes fly up, but could open the door and step

down like a lady passenger. Would you please stop a minute, Mr. Cobb, and let me change?"

The stage driver goodnaturedly pulled up his horses, lifted the excited little creature down, opened the door,

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

"Never! Cross my heart!" vowed Mr. Cobb solemnly, as he remounted his perch; and as the stage rumbled

down the village street between the green maples, those who looked from their windows saw a little brown

elf in buff calico sitting primly on the back seat holding a great bouquet tightly in one hand and a pink

parasol in the other. Had they been farsighted enough they might have seen, when the stage turned into the

side dooryard of the old brick house, a calico yoke rising and falling tempestuously over the beating heart

beneath, the red color coming and going in two pale cheeks, and a mist of tears swimming in two brilliant

"There's the stage turnin' into the Sawyer girls' dooryard," said Mrs. Perkins to her husband. "That must be

the niece from up Temperance way. It seems they wrote to Aurelia and invited Hannah, the oldest, but

Aurelia said she could spare Rebecca better, if 't was all the same to Mirandy 'n' Jane; so it's Rebecca that's

come. She'll be good comp'ny for 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 of upancomin'. They used to say that one o' the

Randalls married a Spanish woman, somebody that was teachin' music and languages at a boardin' school.

Lorenzo was dark complected, you remember, and this child is, too. Well, I don't know as Spanish blood is

They had been called the Sawyer girls when Miranda at eighteen, Jane at twelve, and Aurelia at eight

participated in the various activities of village life; and when Riverboro fell into a habit of thought or speech,

it saw no reason for falling out of it, at any rate in the same century. So although Miranda and Jane were

between fifty and sixty at the time this story opens, Riverboro still called them the Sawyer girls. They were

spinsters; but Aurelia, the youngest, had made what she called a romantic marriage and what her sisters

termed a mighty poor speculation. "There's worse things than bein' old maids," they said; whether they

The element of romance in Aurelia's marriage existed chiefly in the fact that Mr. L. D. M. Randall had a soul

above farming or trading and was a votary of the Muses. He taught the weekly singingschool (then a feature

of village life) in half a dozen neighboring towns, he played the violin and "called off" at dances, or evoked

rich harmonies from church melodeons on Sundays. He taught certain uncouth lads, when they were of an

age to enter society, the intricacies of contra dances, or the steps of the schottische and mazurka, and he was a

marked figure in all social assemblies, though conspicuously absent from townmeetings and the purely

His hair was a little longer, his hands a little whiter, his shoes a little thinner, his manner a trifle more

polished, than that of his soberer mates; indeed the only department of life in which he failed to shine was the

making of sufficient money to live upon. Luckily he had no responsibilities; his father and his twin brother

had died when he was yet a boy, and his mother, whose only noteworthy achievement had been the naming of

her twin sons Marquis de Lafayette and Lorenzo de Medici Randall, had supported herself and educated her

child by making coats 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

"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. was talented 'nough to GET Reely's money, but M. D. L. would 'a' ben practical 'nough to

Aurelia's share of the modest Sawyer property had been put into one thing after another by the handsome and

luckless Lorenzo de Medici. He had a graceful and poetic way of making an investment for each new son and

daughter that blessed their union. "A birthday present for our child, Aurelia," he would say,"a little

nestegg for the future;" but Aurelia once remarked in a moment of bitterness that the hen never lived that

Miranda and Jane had virtually washed their hands of Aurelia when she married Lorenzo de Medici Randall.

Having exhausted the resources of Riverboro and its immediate vicinity, the unfortunate couple had moved

on and on in a steadily decreasing scale of prosperity until they had reached Temperance, where they had

settled down and invited fate to do its worst, an invitation which was promptly accepted. The maiden sisters

at home wrote to Aurelia two or three times a year, and sent modest but serviceable presents to the children at

Christmas, but refused to assist L. D. M. with the regular expenses of his rapidly growing family. His last

investment, made shortly before the birth of Miranda (named in a lively hope of favors which never came),

was a small farm two miles from Temperance. Aurelia managed this herself, and so it proved a home at least,

and a place for the unsuccessful Lorenzo to die and to be buried from, a duty somewhat too long deferred,

It was in this happygolucky household that Rebecca had grown up. It was just an ordinary family; two or

three of the children were handsome and the rest plain, three of them rather clever, two industrious, and two

commonplace and dull. Rebecca had her father's facility and had been his aptest pupil. She "carried" the alto

by ear, danced without being taught, played the melodeon without knowing the notes. Her love of books she

inherited chiefly from her mother, who found it hard to sweep or cook or sew when there was a novel in the

house. Fortunately books were scarce, or the children might sometimes have gone ragged and hungry.

But other forces had been at work in Rebecca, and the traits of unknown forbears had been wrought into her

fibre. Lorenzo de Medici was flabby and boneless; Rebecca was a thing of fire and spirit: he lacked energy

and courage; Rebecca was plucky at two and dauntless at five. Mrs. Randall and Hannah had no sense of

She had not been able, however, to borrow her parents' virtues and those of other generous ancestors and

escape all the weaknesses in the calendar. She had not her sister Hannah's patience or her brother John's

sturdy staying power. Her will was sometimes willfulness, and the ease with which she did most things led

her to be impatient of hard tasks or long ones. But whatever else there was or was not, there was freedom at

Randall's farm. The children grew, worked, fought, ate what and slept where they could; loved one another

and their parents pretty well, but with no tropical passion; and educated themselves for nine months of the

As a result of this method Hannah, who could only have been developed by 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 and grew, always from within outward.

Her forces of one sort and another had seemingly been set in motion when she was born; they needed no

daily spur, but moved of their own accordtowards what no one knew, least of all Rebecca herself. The

field for the exhibition of her creative instinct was painfully small, and the only use she had made of it as yet

was to leave eggs out of the corn bread one day and milk another, to see how it would turn out; to part

Fanny's hair sometimes in 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 historical

characters found in her favorite books. Rebecca amused her mother and her family generally, but she never

was counted of serious importance, and though considered "smart" and old for her age, she was never thought

superior in any way. Aurelia's experience of genius, as exemplified in the deceased Lorenzo de Medici led

her into a greater admiration of plain, everyday common sense, a quality in which Rebecca, it must be

Hannah was her mother's favorite, so far as Aurelia could indulge herself in such recreations as partiality. The

parent who is obliged to feed and clothe seven children on an income of fifteen dollars a month seldom has

time to discriminate carefully between the various members of her brood, but Hannah at fourteen was at once

companion and partner in all her mother's problems. She it was who kept the house while Aurelia busied

herself in barn and field. Rebecca was capable of certain set tasks, such as keeping the small children from

killing themselves 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 that

luxury with the gifted Lorenzo), leaned on Hannah. Hannah showed the result of this attitude somewhat,

being a trifle careworn in face and sharp in manner; but she was a selfcontained, wellbehaved, dependable

child, and that is the reason her aunts had invited her to Riverboro to be a member of their family and

participate in all the advantages of their loftier position in the world. It was several years since Miranda and

Jane had seen the children, but they remembered with pleasure that Hannah had not spoken a word during the

interview, and it was for this reason that they had asked for the pleasure of her company. Rebecca, on the

other hand, had dressed up the dog in John's clothes, and being requested to get the three younger children

ready for dinner, she had held them under the pump and then proceeded to "smack" their hair flat to their

heads by vigorous brushing, bringing them to the table in such a moist and hideous state of shininess that

their mother was ashamed of their appearance. Rebecca's own black locks were commonly pushed smoothly

off her forehead, but on this occasion she formed what I must perforce call by its only name, a spitcurl,

directly in the centre of her 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 back looking like a Christian. This command she interpreted somewhat too literally perhaps, because

she contrived in a space of two minutes an extremely pious style of hairdressing, fully as effective if not as

startling as the first. These antics were solely the result of nervous irritation, a mood born of Miss Miranda

Sawyer's stiff, grim, and martial attitude. The remembrance of Rebecca was so vivid that their sister Aurelia's

letter was something of a shock to the quiet, elderly spinsters of the brick house; for it said that Hannah could

not possibly be spared for a few years yet, but that Rebecca would come as soon as she could be made ready;

that the offer was most thankfully appreciated, and that the regular schooling and church privileges, as well as

I don' know as I cal'lated to be the makin' of any child," Miranda had said as she folded Aurelia's letter and

laid it in the lightstand drawer. "I s'posed, of course, Aurelia would send us the one we asked for, but it's just

"You remember we said that Rebecca or even Jenny might come, in case Hannah 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," ventured Jane; "she's had time to improve."

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

"I don' know about the privilege part; it'll be considerable of a chore, I guess. If her mother hain't got her on

This depressed and depressing frame of mind had lasted until the eventful day dawned on which Rebecca was

"If she makes as much work after she comes as she has before, we might as well give up hope of ever gettin'

any rest," sighed Miranda as she hung the dish towels on the barberry bushes at the side door.

"But we should have had to clean house, Rebecca or no Rebecca," urged Jane; "and I can't see why you've

scrubbed and washed and baked as you have for that one child, nor why you've about bought out Watson's

"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 and never carin' whether they had 'em on right sid' out or not; I know what

they've had to live and dress on, and so do you. That child will like as not come here with a passel o' things

borrowed from the rest o' the family. She'll have Hannah's shoes and John's undershirts and Mark's socks

most likely. I suppose she never had a thimble on her finger in her life, but she'll know the feelin' o' one

before she's ben here many days. I've bought a piece of unbleached muslin and a piece o' brown gingham for

her to make up; that'll keep her busy. Of course she won't pick up anything after herself; she probably never

see a duster, and she'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 out more biddable 'n we think."

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

Miranda Sawyer had a heart, of course, but she had never used it for any other purpose than the pumping and

circulating of blood. She was just, conscientious, economical, industrious; a regular attendant at church and

Sundayschool, and a member of the State Missionary and Bible societies, but in the presence of all these

chilly virtues you longed for one warm little fault, or lacking that, one likable failing, something to make you

sure she was thoroughly alive. She had never had any education other than that of the neighborhood district

school, for her desires and ambitions had all pointed to the management of the house, the farm, and the dairy.

Jane, on the other hand, had gone to an academy, and also to a boardingschool for young ladies; so had

Aurelia; and after all the years that had elapsed there was still a slight difference in language and in manner

Jane, too, had had the inestimable advantage of a sorrow; not the natural grief at the loss of her aged father

and mother, for she had been content to let them go; but something far deeper. She was engaged to marry

young Tom Carter, who had nothing to marry on, it is true, but who was sure to have, some time or other.

Then the war broke out. Tom enlisted at the first call. Up to that time Jane had loved him with a quiet,

friendly sort of affection, and had given her country a mild emotion of the same sort. But the strife, the

danger, the anxiety of the time, set new currents of feeling in motion. Life became something other than the

three meals a day, the round of cooking, washing, sewing, and church going. Personal gossip vanished from

the village conversation. Big things took the place of trifling ones,sacred sorrows of wives and mothers,

pangs of fathers and husbands, selfdenials, sympathies, new desire to bear one another's burdens. Men and

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 life to new hopes, new fears, new purposes. Then after a year's anxiety, a year when

one never looked in the newspaper without dread and sickness of suspense, came the telegram saying that

Tom was wounded; and without so much as asking Miranda's leave, she packed her trunk and started for the

South. She was in time to hold Tom's hand through hours of pain; to show him for once the heart of a prim

New England girl when it is ablaze with love and grief; to put her arms about him so that he could have a

It carried her through weary months of nursing nursing of other soldiers for Tom's dear sake; it sent her

home a better woman; and though she had never left Riverboro in all the years that lay between, and had

grown into the counterfeit presentment of her sister and of all other thin, spare, New England spinsters, it was

something of a counterfeit, and underneath was still the faint echo of that wild heart beat of her girlhood.

Having learned the trick of beating and loving and suffering, the poor faithful heart persisted, although it

"You're soft, Jane," said Miranda once; "you allers was soft, and you allers will be. If 't wa'n't for me keeping

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

"The stage ought to be here," said Miranda, glancing nervously at the tall clock for the twentieth time. "I

guess everything 's done. I've tacked up two thick towels back of her washstand and put a mat under her

slopjar; but children are awful hard on furniture. I expect we sha'n't know this house a year from now."

Jane's frame of mind was naturally depressed and timorous, having been affected by Miranda's gloomy

presages of evil to come. The only difference between the sisters in this matter was that while Miranda only

wondered how they could endure Rebecca, Jane had flashes of inspiration in which she wondered how

Rebecca would endure them. It was in one of these flashes that she ran up the back stairs to put a vase of

The stage rumbled to the side door of the brick house, and Mr. Cobb handed Rebecca out like a real lady

passenger. She alighted with great circumspection, put the bunch of faded flowers in her aunt Miranda's hand,

and received her salute; it could hardly be called a kiss without injuring the fair name of that commodity.

"You needn't 'a' bothered to bring flowers," remarked that gracious and tactful lady; "the garden 's always full

Jane then kissed Rebecca, giving a somewhat better imitation of the real thing than her sister. "Put the trunk

in the entry, Jeremiah, and we'll get it carried upstairs this afternoon," she said.

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

"Well, goodby, Rebecca; goodday, Mirandy 'n' Jane. You've got a lively little girl there. I guess she'll be a

Miss Sawyer shuddered openly at the adjective "lively" as applied to a child; her belief being that though

children might be seen, if absolutely necessary, they certainly should never be heard if she could help it.

Mr. Cobb saw that he had taken the wrong tack, but he was too unused to argument to explain himself

readily, so he drove away, trying to think by what safer word than "lively" he might have described his

"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 the flies out; it ain't flytime yet, but I want you to start right; take your 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

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

"It's my only hat," explained Rebecca. "My everyday hat wasn't good enough to bring. Fanny's going to finish

"There ain't any thieves hereabouts, and if there was, I guess they wouldn't make for your sunshade, but come

along. Remember to always go up the back way; we don't use the front stairs on account o' the carpet; take

care o' the turn and don't ketch your foot; look to your right and go in. When you've washed your face and

hands and brushed your hair you can come down, and by and by we'll unpack your trunk and get you settled

Rebecca drew her chin down and looked at the row of smoked pearl buttons running up and down the middle

"Hind side foremost? Oh, I see! No, that's all right. If you have seven children you can't keep buttonin' and

unbuttonin' 'em all the timethey have to do themselves. We're always buttoned up in front at our house.

Miranda said nothing as she closed the door, but her looks were at once equivalent to and more eloquent than

Rebecca stood perfectly still in the centre of the floor and looked about her. There was a square of oilcloth in

front of each article of furniture and a drawnin rug beside the single four poster, which was covered with a

Everything was as neat as wax, but the ceilings were much higher than Rebecca was accustomed to. It was a

north room, and the window, which was 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 own at the farm, nor the lack of view,

nor yet the long journey, for she was 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 of some curious blending of uncomprehended

emotions that Rebecca stood her sunshade in the corner, tore off her best hat, flung it on the bureau with the

porcupine quills on the under side, and stripping down the dimity spread, precipitated herself into the middle

In a moment the door opened quietly. Knocking was a refinement quite unknown in Riverboro, and if it had

Miss Miranda entered, and as her eye wandered about the vacant room, it fell upon a white and tempestuous

ocean of counterpane, an ocean breaking into strange movements of wave and crest and billow.

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

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

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

"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 's bringin' your trunk upstairs, and I wouldn't let him see such a clutteredup room

When Mr. Cobb had put up his horses that night he carried a kitchen chair to the side of his wife, who was

"I brought a little Randall girl down on the stage from Maplewood today, 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 that Aurelia's child, the

"'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' to an swer her! Of all the queer children I ever come across she's the queerest.

She ain't no beauty her face is all eyes; but if she ever grows up to them eyes an' fills out a little she'll

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

"Stranger or no stranger, 't wouldn't make no difference to her. She'd talk to a pump or a grind stun; she'd

"Blamed if I can repeat any of it. She kep' me so surprised I didn't have my wits about me. She had a little

pink sunshadeit kind o' looked like a doll's amberill, 'n' she clung to it like a burr to a woolen stockin'. I

advised her to open it upthe sun was so hot; but she said no, 't would fade, an' she tucked it under her

dress. `It's the dearest thing in life to me,' says she, `but it's a dreadful care.' Them 's the very words, an' it's all

the words I remember. `It's the dearest thing in life to me, but it's an awful care!' "here Mr. Cobb laughed

aloud as he tipped his chair back against the side of the house. "There was another thing, but I can't get it

right exactly. She was talkin' 'bout the circus parade an' the snake charmer in a gold chariot, an' says she, `She

was so beautiful beyond compare, Mr. Cobb, that it made you have lumps in your throat to look at her.' She'll

be comin' over to see you, mother, an' you can size her up for yourself. I don' know how she'll git on with

This doubt was more or less openly expressed in Riverboro, which, however, had two opinions on the

subject; one that it was a most generous thing in the Sawyer girls to take one of Aurelia's children to educate,

the other that the education would be bought at a price wholly out of proportion to its intrinsic value.

Rebecca's first letters to her mother would seem to indicate that she cordially coincided with the latter view of

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 sittingdown 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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

Sore is my heart and bent my stubborn pride, With Lijah and with Lisha am I tied, My soul recoyles like Cora

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

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

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

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

The day of Rebecca's arrival had been Friday, and on the Monday following she began her education at the

school which was in Riverboro Centre, about a mile distant. Miss Sawyer borrowed a neighbor's horse and

wagon and drove her to the schoolhouse, interviewing the teacher, Miss Dearborn, arranging for books, and

generally starting the child on the path that was to lead to boundless knowledge. Miss Dearborn, it may be

said in passing, had had no special preparation in the art of teaching. It came to her naturally, so her family

said, and perhaps for this reason she, like Tom Tulliver's clergyman tutor, "set about it with that uniformity of

method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under

the immediate teaching of Nature." You remember the beaver which a naturalist tells us "busied himself as

earnestly in constructing a dam in a room up three pair of stairs in London as if he had been laying his

foundation in a lake in Upper Canada. It was his function to build, the absence of water or of possible

progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable." In the same manner did Miss Dearborn lay what

Rebecca walked to school after the first morning. She loved this part of the day's programme. When the dew

was not too heavy and the weather was fair there was a short cut through the woods. She turned off the main

road, crept through uncle Josh Woodman's bars, waved away Mrs. Carter's cows, trod the short grass of the

pasture, with its wellworn path running through gardens of buttercups and white weed, and groves of ivory

leaves and sweet fern. She descended a little hill, jumped from stone to stone across a woodland brook,

startling the drowsy frogs, who were always winking and blinking in the morning sun. Then came the

"woodsy bit," with her feet pressing the slippery carpet of brown pine needles; the "woodsy bit" so full of

dewy morning, surprises,fungous growths of brilliant orange and crimson springing up around the stumps

of dead trees, beautiful things born in a single night; and now and then the miracle of a little clump of waxen

Indian pipes, seen just quickly enough to be saved from her careless tread. Then she climbed a stile, went

through a grassy meadow, slid under another pair of bars, and came out into the road again. having gained

How delicious it all was! Rebecca clasped her Quackenbos's Grammar and Greenleaf's Arithmetic with a

joyful sense of knowing her lessons. Her dinner pail swung from her right hand, and she had a blissful

consciousness of the two soda biscuits spread with butter and syrup, the baked cupcustard, the doughnut,

and the square of hard gingerbread. Sometimes she said whatever "piece" she was going to speak on the next

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

How she loved the swing and the sentiment of it! How her young voice quivered whenever she came to the

It always sounded beautiful in her ears, as she sent her tearful little treble into the clear morning air. Another

early favorite (for we must remember that Rebecca's only knowledge of the great world of poetry consisted of

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

When Emma Jane Perkins walked through the "short cut" with her, the two children used to render this with

appropriate dramatic action. Emma Jane always chose to be the woodman because she had nothing to do but

raise on high an imaginary axe. On the one occasion when she essayed the part of the tree's romantic

protector, she represented herself as feeling "so awful foolish" that she refused to undertake it again, much to

the secret delight of Rebecca, who found the woodman's role much too tame for her vaulting ambition. She

reveled in the impassioned appeal of the poet, and implored the ruthless woodman to be as brutal as possible

with the axe, so that she might properly put greater spirit into her lines. One morning, feeling more frisky

than usual, she fell upon her knees and wept in the woodman's petticoat. Curiously enough, her sense of

"That wasn't right, it was silly, Emma Jane; but I'll tell you where it might come inin Give me Three

Grains of Corn. You be the mother, and I'll be the famishing Irish child. For pity's sake put the axe down; you

"Whatever you like," Rebecca answered wearily; "you're just a motherthat's all. What does YOUR mother

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

This sort of thing made Emma Jane nervous and fidgety, but she was Rebecca's slave and hugged her chains,

At the last pair of bars the two girls were sometimes met by a detachment of the Simpson children, who lived

in a black house with a red door and a red barn behind, on the Blueberry Plains road. Rebecca felt an interest

in the Simpsons from the first, because there were so many of them and they were so patched and darned, just

The little schoolhouse with its flagpole on top and its two doors in front, one for boys and the other for girls,

stood on the crest of a hill, with rolling fields and meadows on one side, a stretch of pine woods on the other,

and the river glinting and sparkling in the distance. It boasted no attractions within. All was as bare and ugly

and uncomfortable as it well could be, for the villages along the river expended so much money in repairing

and rebuilding bridges that they were obliged to be very economical in school privileges. The teacher's desk

and chair stood on a platform in one corner; there was an uncouth stove, never blackened oftener than once a

year, a map of the United States, two blackboards, a tenquart tin pail of water and longhandled dipper on a

corner shelf, and wooden desks and benches for the scholars, who only numbered twenty in Rebecca's time.

The seats were higher in the back of the room, and the more advanced and longerlegged pupils sat there, the

position being greatly to be envied, as they were at once nearer to the windows and farther from the teacher.

There were classes of a sort, although nobody, broadly speaking, studied the same book with anybody else, or

had arrived at the same degree of proficiency in any one branch of learning. Rebecca in particular was so

difficult to classify that Miss Dearborn at the end of a fortnight gave up the attempt altogether. She read with

Dick Carter and Living Perkins, who were fitting for the academy; recited arithmetic with lisping little

Thuthan Thimpthon; geography with Emma Jane Perkins, and grammar after school hours to Miss Dearborn

alone. Full to the brim as she was of clever thoughts and quaint fancies, she made at first but a poor hand at

composition. The labor of writing and spelling, with the added difficulties of punctuation and capitals,

interfered sadly with the free expression of ideas. She took history with Alice Robinson's class, which was

attacking the subject of the Revolution, while Rebecca was bidden to begin with the discovery of America. In

a week she had mastered the course of events up to the Revolution, and in ten days had arrived at Yorktown,

where the class had apparently established summer quarters. Then finding that extra effort would only result

in her reciting with the oldest Simpson boy, she delib erately held herself back, for wisdom's ways were not

those of pleasantness nor her paths those of peace if one were compelled to tread them in the company of

Seesaw Simpson. Samuel Simpson was generally called Seesaw, because of his difficulty in making up his

mind. Whether it were a question of fact, of spelling, or of date, of going swimming or fishing, of choosing a

book in the Sundayschool library or a stick of candy at the village store, he had no sooner determined on

one plan of action than his wish fondly reverted to the opposite one. Seesaw was pale, flaxen haired, blue

eyed, round shouldered, and given to stammering when nervous. Perhaps because of his very weakness

Rebecca's decision of character had a fascination for him, and although she snubbed him to the verge of

madness, he could never keep his eyes away from her. The force with which she tied her shoe when the

lacing came undone, the flirt over shoulder she gave her black braid when she was excited or warm, her

manner of studying,book on desk, arms folded, eyes fixed on the opposite wall,all had an abiding charm

for Seesaw Simpson. When, having obtained permission, she walked 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 and intimacy in drinking next, but there was the fearful joy of

meeting her in transit and receiving a cold and disdainful look from her wonderful eyes.

On a certain warm day in summer Rebecca's thirst exceeded the bounds of propriety. When she asked a third

time for permission to quench it at the common fountain Miss Dearborn nodded "yes," but lifted her

eyebrows unpleasantly as Rebecca neared the desk. As she replaced the dipper Seesaw promptly raised his

There seemed nothing humorous about this reply, which was merely the statement of a fact, but an

irrepressible titter ran through the school. Miss Dearborn did not enjoy jokes neither made nor understood by

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

Rebecca's heart fluttered. She to stand in the corner by the water pail and be stared at by all the scholars! She

unconsciously made a gesture of angry dissent and moved a step nearer her seat, but was arrested by Miss

"Stand by the pail, Rebecca! Samuel, how many times have you asked for water today?"

"Don't touch the dipper, please. The school has done nothing but drink this afternoon; it has had no time

whatever to study. I suppose you had something salt for breakfast, Samuel?" queried Miss Dearborn with

"I had mmmackerel, jjust like Rebbbecca." (Irrepressible giggles by the school.)

Rebecca's head was bowed with shame and wrath. Life looked too black a thing to be endured. The

punishment was bad enough, but to be coupled in correction with Seesaw Simpson was beyond human

Singing was the last exercise in the afternoon, and Minnie Smellie chose Shall we Gather at the River? It was

a baleful choice and seemed to hold some secret and subtle association with the situation and general progress

of events; or at any rate there was apparently some obscure reason for the energy and vim with which the

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 the hand

"You may go to your seat, Rebecca," said Miss Dearborn at the end of the 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 the pail only to

break up this habit of incessant drinking, which is nothing but emptymindedness and desire to walk to and

fro over the floor. Every time Rebecca has asked for a drink today the whole school has gone to the pail one

after another. She is really thirsty, and I dare say I ought to have punished you for following her example, not

"Think of something dry, Alice, and change the subject. Yes, The Star Spangled Banner if you like, or

Rebecca sank into her seat and pulled the singing book from her desk. Miss Dearborn's public explanation

had shifted some of the weight from her heart, and she felt a trifle raised in her selfesteem.

Under cover of the general relaxation of singing, votive offerings of respectful sympathy began to make their

appearance at her shrine. Living Perkins, who could not sing, dropped a piece of maple sugar in her lap as he

passed her on his way to the blackboard to draw the map of Maine. Alice Rob inson rolled a perfectly new

slate pencil over the floor with her foot until it reached Rebecca's place, while her seatmate, Emma Jane,

had made up a little mound of paper balls and labeled them "Bullets for you know who."

Altogether existence grew brighter, and when she was left alone with the teacher for her grammar lesson she

had nearly recovered her equanimity, which was more than Miss Dearborn had. The last clattering foot had

echoed through the hall, Seesaw's backward glance of penitence had been met and answered defiantly by one

"Rebecca, I am afraid I punished you more than I meant," said Miss Dearborn, who was only eighteen

herself, and in her year of teaching country 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

"You started all the others, or it seemed as if you did. Whatever you do they all do, whether you laugh, or

miss, or write notes, or ask to leave the room, or drink; and it must be stopped."

"Sam Simpson is a copycoat!" stormed Rebecca "I wouldn't have minded standing in the corner alonethat

"I saw that you couldn't, and that's the reason I told you to take your seat, and left him in the corner.

Remember that you are a stranger in the place, and they take more notice of what you do, so you must be

careful. Now let's have our conjugations. Give me the verb `to be,' 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

"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 and feminine, but could `it' have been glad?"

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

"Yees," Miss Dearborn answered hesitatingly, never very sure of herself under Rebecca's fire; "but though

we often speak of a baby, a chicken, or a kitten as `it,' they are really masculine or feminine gender, not

"Well, couldn't we say, `The hollyhock might have been glad to see the rain, but there was a weak little

hollyhock bud growing out of its stalk and it was afraid that that might be hurt by the storm; so the big

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

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

"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 in her voice; "nothing but IFS, IFS, IFS! And

Miss Dearborn had not thought of it before, but on reflection she believed the subjunctive mood was a "sad"

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

"If I had not loved mackerel I should not have been thirsty;" said Rebecca with an April smile, as she closed

her grammar. "If thou hadst loved me truly thou wouldst not have stood me up in the corner. If Samuel had

"And if Rebecca had loved the rules of the school she would have controlled her thirst," finished Miss

The little schoolhouse on the hill had its moments of triumph as well as its scenes of tribulation, but it was

fortunate that Rebecca had her books and her new acquaintances to keep her interested and occupied, or life

would have gone heavily with her that first summer in Riverboro. She tried to like her aunt Miranda (the idea

of loving her had been given up at the moment of meeting), but failed ignominiously in the attempt. She was

a very faulty and passionately human child, with no aspirations towards being an angel of the house, but she

had a sense of duty and a desire to be good,respectably, decently good. Whenever she fell below this

selfimposed standard she was miserable. She did not like to be under her aunt's roof, eating bread, wearing

clothes, and studying books provided by her, and dislike her so heartily all the time. She felt instinctively that

this was wrong and mean, and whenever the feeling of remorse was strong within her she made a desperate

effort to please her grim and difficult relative. But how could she succeed when she was never herself in her

aunt Miranda's presence? The searching look of the eyes, the sharp voice, the hard knotty fingers, the thin

straight lips, the long silences, the "front piece" that didn't match her hair, the very obvious "parting" that

seemed sewed in with linen thread on black net,there was not a single item that appealed to Rebecca.

There are certain narrow, unimaginative, and autocratic old people who seem to call out the most

mischievous, and sometimes the worst traits in children. Miss Miranda, had she lived in a populous

neighborhood, would have had her doorbell pulled, her gate tied up, or "dirt traps" set in her garden paths.

The Simpson twins stood in such awe of her that they could not be persuaded to come to the side door even

It is needless to say that Rebecca irritated her aunt with every breath she drew. She continually forgot and

started up the front stairs because it was the shortest route to her bedroom; she left the dipper on the kitchen

shelf instead of hanging it up over the pail; she sat in the chair the cat liked best; she was willing to go on

errands, but often forgot what she was sent for; she left the screen doors ajar, so that flies came in; her tongue

was ever in motion; she sang or whistled when she was picking up chips; she was always messing with

flowers, putting them in vases, pinning them on her dress, and sticking them in her hat; finally she was an

everlasting reminder of her foolish, worthless father, whose handsome face and engaging manner had so

deceived Aurelia, and perhaps, if the facts were known, others besides Aurelia. The Randalls were aliens.

They had not been born in Riverboro nor even in York County. Miranda would have allowed, on compulsion,

that in the nature of things a large number of persons must necessarily be born outside this sacred precinct;

but she had her opinion of them, and it was not a flattering one. Now if Hannah had comeHannah took

after 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, a pattern of all the smaller virtues; instead

of which here was this blackhaired gypsy, with eyes as big as cartwheels, installed as a member of the

What sunshine in a shady place was aunt Jane to Rebecca! Aunt Jane with her quiet voice, her understanding

eyes, her ready excuses, in these first difficult weeks, when the impulsive little stranger was trying to settle

down into the "brick house ways." She did learn them, in part, and by degrees, and the constant fitting of

herself to these new and difficult standards of conduct seemed to make her older than ever for her years.

The child took her sewing and sat beside aunt Jane in the kitchen while aunt Miranda had the post of

observation at the sittingroom window. Sometimes they would work on the side porch where the clematis

and woodbine shaded them from the hot sun. To Rebecca the lengths of brown gingham were interminable.

She made hard work of sewing, broke the thread, dropped her thimble into the syringa bushes, pricked her

finger, wiped the perspiration from her forehead, could not match the checks, puckered the seams. She

polished her needles to nothing, pushing them in and out of the emery strawberry, but they always squeaked.

Still aunt Jane's patience held good, and some small measure of skill was creeping into Rebecca's fingers,

fingers that held pencil, paint brush, and pen so cleverly and were so clumsy with the dainty little needle.

When the first brown gingham frock was completed, the child seized what she thought an opportune moment

"I bought a whole piece of the brown," said Miranda laconically. "That'll give you two more dresses, with

plenty for new sleeves, and to patch and let down with, an' be more economical."

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

"I was helping Emma Jane choose aprons, and didn't think you'd mind which color I had. Pink keeps clean

"Mr. Watson 's a splendid judge of washing, I guess. I don't approve of children being rigged out in fancy

"I think it would be all right to let Rebecca have one pink and one blue 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 like a charity

child always wearing the same brown with a white apron. And it's dreadful unbecoming to her!"

"`Handsome is as handsome does,' say I. Rebecca never'll come to grief along of her beauty, that's certain,

and there's no use in humoring her to think about her looks. I believe she's vain as a peacock now, without

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

"Yes, I was, thank the Lord! I only wish I'd known how to take a little of my foolishness along with me, as

There finally was a pink gingham, and when it was nicely finished, aunt Jane gave Rebecca a delightful

surprise. She showed her how to make a pretty trimming of narrow white linen tape, by folding it in pointed

"It'll be good fancy work for you, Rebecca; for your aunt Miranda won't like to see you always reading in the

long winter evenings. Now if you think you can baste two rows of white tape round the bottom of your pink

skirt and keep it straight by the checks, I'll stitch them on for you and trim the waist and sleeves with pointed

Rebecca's joy knew no bounds. "I'll baste like a house afire!" she exclaimed. "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 from here to Milltown.

Oh! do you think aunt Mirandy'll ever let me go to Milltown with Mr. Cobb? He's asked me again, you know;

but one Saturday I had to pick strawberries, and another it rained, and I don't think she really approves of my

going. It's TWENTYNINE minutes past four, aunt Jane, and Alice Robinson has been sitting under the

"Yes, you may go, and you'd better run as far as you can out behind the barn, so 't your noise won't distract

your aunt Mirandy. I see Susan Simpson and the twins and Emma Jane Perkins hiding behind the fence."

Rebecca leaped off the porch, snatched Alice Robinson from under the currant bushes, and, what was much

more difficult, succeeded, by means of a complicated system of signals, in getting Emma Jane away from the

Simpson party and giving them the slip altogether. They were much too small for certain pleasurable

activities planned for that afternoon; but they were not to be despised, for they had the most fascinating

dooryard in the village. In it, in bewildering confusion, were old sleighs, pungs, horse rakes, hogsheads,

settees without backs, bed steads without heads, in all stages of disability, and never the same on two

consecutive days. Mrs. Simpson was seldom at home, and even when she was, had little concern as to what

happened on the premises. A favorite diversion was to make the house into a fort, gallantly held by a handful

of American soldiers against a besieging force of the British army. Great care was used in apportioning the

parts, for there was no disposition to let anybody win but the Americans. Seesaw Simpson was usually made

commanderinchief of the British army, and a limp and uncertain one he was, capable, with his

contradictory orders and his fondness for the extreme rear, of leading any regiment to an inglorious death.

Sometimes the longsuffering house was a log hut, and the brave settlers defeated a band of hostile Indians,

or occasionally were massacred by them; but in either case the Simpson house looked, to quote a Riverboro

Next to this uncommonly interesting playground, as a field of action, came, in the children's opinion, the

"secret spot." There was a velvety stretch of ground in the Sawyer pasture which was full of fascinating

hollows and hillocks, as well as verdant levels, on which to build houses. A group of trees concealed it

somewhat from view and flung a grateful shade over the dwellings erected there. It had been hard though

sweet labor to take armfuls of "stickins" and "cutrounds" from the mill to this secluded spot, and that it had

been done mostly after supper in the dusk of the evenings gave it a still greater flavor. Here in soap boxes

hidden among the trees were stored all their treasures: wee baskets and plates and cups made of burdock

balls, bits of broken china for parties, dolls, soon to be outgrown, but serving well as characters in all sorts of

romances enacted there,deaths, funerals, weddings, christenings. A tall, square house of stickins was to be

built round Rebecca this afternoon, and she was to be Charlotte Corday leaning against the bars of her prison.

It was a wonderful experience standing inside the building with Emma Jane's apron wound about her hair;

wonderful to feel that when she leaned her head against the bars they seemed to turn to cold iron; that her

eyes were no longer Rebecca Randall's but mirrored something of Charlotte Corday's hapless woe.

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

"If you think you could move up some stones and just take off the top rows, I could step out over," suggested

Charlotte Corday. "Then leave the stones, and you two can step down into the prison tomorrow and be the

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

"It would be elergant being murdered by you," said Emma Jane loyally, "though you are awful real when you

"They'd yell when they was murdered," objected Alice; "you know how silly they are at plays, all except

Clara Belle. Besides if we once show them this secret place, they'll play in it all the time, and perhaps they'd

"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 my secret, partic'lar friends. My mother tells me never to say hard things about

people's own folks to their face. She says nobody can bear it, and it's wicked to shame them for what isn't

Well, they had no difficulty in recalling that dramatic episode, for it had occurred only a few days before; and

a version of it that would have melted the stoniest heart had been presented to every girl in the village by

Minnie Smellie herself, who, though it was Rebecca and not she who came off victorious in the bloody battle

Mr. Simpson spent little time with his family, owing to certain awkward methods of horsetrading, or the

"swapping" of farm implements and vehicles of various kinds, operations in which his customers were

never long suited. After every successful trade he generally passed a longer or shorter term in jail; for when a

poor man without goods or chattels has the inveterate habit of swapping, it follows naturally that he must

have something to swap; and having nothing of his own, it follows still more naturally that he must swap

Mr. Simpson was absent from the home circle for the moment because he had exchanged the Widow

Rideout's sleigh for Joseph Goodwin's plough. Goodwin had lately moved to North Edgewood and had never

before met the urbane and persuasive Mr. Simpson. The Goodwin plough Mr. Simpson speedily bartered

with a man "over Wareham way," and got in exchange for it an old horse which his owner did not need, as he

was leaving town to visit his daughter for a year, Simpson fattened the aged animal, keeping him for several

weeks (at early morning or after nightfall) in one neighbor's pasture after another, and then exchanged him

with a Milltown man for a top buggy. It was at this juncture that the Widow Rideout missed her sleigh from

the old carriage house. She had not used it for fifteen years and might not sit in it for another fifteen, but it

was property, and she did not intend to part with it without a struggle. Such is the suspicious nature of the

village mind that the moment she discovered her loss her thought at once reverted to Abner Simpson. So

complicated, however, was the nature of this particular business transaction, and so tortuous the paths of its

progress (partly owing to the complete disappearance of the owner of the horse, who had gone to the West

and left no address), that it took the sheriff many weeks to prove Mr. Simpson's guilt to the town's and to the

Widow Rideout's satisfaction. Abner himself avowed his complete innocence, and told the neighbors how a

redhaired man with a hare lip and a pepperand salt suit of clothes had called him up one morning about

daylight and offered to swap him a good sleigh for an old cider press he had layin' out in the dooryard. The

bargain was struck, and he, Abner, had paid the harelipped stranger four dollars and seventyfive cents to

boot; whereupon the mysterious one set down the sleigh, took the press on his cart, and vanished up the road,

"If I could once ketch that consarned old thief," exclaimed Abner righteously, "I'd make him dance,workin'

off a stolen sleigh on me an' takin' away my good money an' cider press, to say nothin' o' my character!"

"You'll never ketch him, Ab," responded the sheriff. "He's cut off the same piece o' goods as that there cider

press and that there character and that there fourseventyfive o' yourn; nobody ever see any of 'em but you,

Mrs. Simpson, who was decidedly Abner's better half, took in washing and went out to do days' cleaning, and

the town helped in the feeding and clothing of the children. George, a lanky boy of fourteen, did chores on

neighboring farms, and the others, Samuel, Clara Belle, Susan, Elijah, and Elisha, went to school, when

There were no secrets in the villages that lay along the banks of Pleasant River. There were many

hardworking people among the inhabitants, but life wore away so quietly and slowly that there was a good

deal of spare time for conversation, under the trees at noon in the hayfield; hanging over the bridge at

nightfall; seated about the stove in the village store of an evening. These meetingplaces furnished ample

ground for the discussion of current events as viewed by the mas culine eye, while choir rehearsals, sewing

societies, reading circles, church picnics, and the like, gave opportunity for the expression of feminine

opinion. All this was taken very much for granted, as a rule, but now and then some supersensitive person

Delia Weeks, for example, was a maiden lady who did dressmaking in a small way; she fell ill, and although

attended by all the physicians in the neighborhood, was sinking slowly into a decline when her cousin Cyrus

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 to Riverboro on a brief visit, she was asked if she meant to end her days away

"I do most certainly, if I can get any other place to stay," she responded candidly. "I was bein' worn to a

shadder here, tryin' to keep my little secrets to myself, an' never succeedin'. First they had it I wanted to

marry the minister, and when he took a wife in Standish I was known to be disappointed. Then for five or six

years they suspicioned I was tryin' for a place to teach school, and when I gave up hope, an' took to

dressmakin', they pitied me and sympathized with me for that. When father died I was bound I'd never let

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 was my brother James that went to Arizona when he was

sixteen. I gave good news of him for thirty years runnin', but aunt Achsy Tarbox had a ferretin' cousin that

went out to Tombstone for her health, and she wrote to a postmaster, or to some kind of a town authority, and

found Jim and wrote back aunt Achsy all about him and just how unfortunate he'd been. They knew when I

had my teeth out and a new set made; they knew when I put on a false front piece; they knew when the fruit

peddler asked me to be his third wifeI never told 'em, an' you can be sure HE never did, but they don't

NEED to be told in this village; they have nothin' to do but guess, an' they'll guess right every time. I was all

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 day an' a telescope by night and had myself TO myself without sayin' `By your 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've got a splendid suit of hair. There ain't a person in Lewiston that knows about the minister, or

father's will, or Jim's doin's, or the fruit peddler; an' if they should find out, they wouldn't care, an' they

Miss Delia Weeks may have exaggerated matters somewhat, but it is easy to imagine that Rebecca as well as

all the other Riverboro children had heard the particulars of the Widow Rideout's missing sleigh and Abner

There is not an excess of delicacy or chivalry in the ordinary country school, and several choice conundrums

and bits of verse dealing with the Simpson affair were bandied about among the scholars, uttered always, be

it said to their credit, in undertones, and when the Simpson children were not in the group.

Rebecca Randall was of precisely the same stock, and had had much the same associations as her

schoolmates, so one can hardly say why she so hated mean gossip and so instinctively held herself aloof from

Among the Riverboro girls of her own age was a certain excellently named Minnie Smellie, who was

anything but a general favorite. She was a ferret eyed, blondhaired, spindlelegged little creature whose

mind was a cross between that of a parrot and a sheep. She was suspected of copying answers from other

girls' slates, although she had never been caught in the act. Rebecca and Emma Jane always knew when she

had brought a tart or a triangle of layer cake with her school luncheon, because on those days she forsook the

cheerful society of her mates and sought a safe solitude in the woods, returning after a time with a jocund

After one of these private luncheons Rebecca had been tempted beyond her strength, and when Minnie took

her seat among them asked, "Is your headache better, Minnie? Let me wipe off that strawberry jam over your

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

Rebecca confessed to Emma Jane that same afternoon that she felt ashamed of her prank. "I do hate her

ways," she exclaimed, "but I'm sorry I let her know we 'spected her; and so to make up, I gave her that little

"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; "and then I've had it two years, and it's broken

The coral had partly served its purpose as a reconciling bond, when one afternoon Rebecca, who had stayed

after school for her grammar lesson as usual, was returning home by way of the short cut. Far ahead, beyond

the bars, she espied the Simpson children just entering the woodsy bit. Seesaw was not with them, so she

hastened her steps in order to secure company on her homeward walk. They were speedily lost to view, but

when she had almost overtaken them she heard, in the trees beyond, Minnie Smellie's voice lifted high in

song, and the sound of a child's sobbing. Clara Belle, Susan, and the twins were running along the path, and

"`What made the sleigh love Simpson so?' The eager children cried; `Why Simpson loved the sleigh, you

The last glimpse of the routed Simpson tribe, and the last Rutter of their tattered garments, disappeared in the

dim distance. The fall of one small stone cast by the valiant Elijah, known as "the fighting twin," did break

the stillness of the woods for a moment, but it did not come within a hundred yards of Minnie, who shouted

"Jail Birds" at the top of her lungs and then turned, with an agreeable feeling of excitement, to meet Rebecca,

standing perfectly still in the path, with a day of reckoning plainly set forth in her blazing eyes.

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

"Minnie Smellie, if everIcatchyou singingthatto the Simpsons againdo you know what I'll

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

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

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

"I don't care if you tell your mother, my mother, and all your relations, and the president," said Rebecca,

gaining courage as the noble words fell from her lips. "I don't care if you tell the town, the whole of York

county, the state of Maine and and the nation!" she finished grandiloquently. "Now you run home and

remember what I say. If you do it again, and especially if you say `Jail Birds,' if I think it's right and my duty,

The next morning at recess Rebecca observed Minnie telling the tale with variations to Huldah Meserve. "She

The latter remark was spoken with the direct intention of being overheard, for Minnie had spasms of bravery,

As Rebecca went back to her seat she asked Miss Dearborn if she might pass a note to Minnie Smellie and

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

The effect of this piece of doggerel was entirely convincing, and for days afterwards whenever Minnie met

On the very next Friday after this "dreadfullest fight that ever was seen," as Bunyan says in Pilgrim's

Progress, there were great doings in the little schoolhouse on the hill. Friday afternoon was always the time

chosen for dialogues, songs, and recitations, but it cannot be stated that it was a gala day in any true sense of

the word. Most of the children hated "speaking pieces;" hated the burden of learning them, dreaded the

danger of breaking down in them. Miss Dearborn commonly went home with a headache, and never left her

bed during the rest of the afternoon or evening; and the casual female parent who attended the exercises sat

on a front bench with beads of cold sweat on her forehead, listening to the alltoofamiliar halts and

stammers. Sometimes a bellowing infant who had clean forgotten his verse would cast himself bodily on the

maternal bosom and be borne out into the open air, where he was sometimes kissed and occasionally

spanked; but in any case the failure added an extra dash of gloom and dread to the occasion. The advent of

Rebecca had somehow infused a new spirit into these hitherto terrible afternoons. She had taught Elijah and

Elisha Simpson so that they recited three verses of something with such comical effect that they delighted

themselves, the teacher, and the school; while Susan, who lisped, had been provided with a humorous poem

in which she impersonated a lisping child. Emma Jane and Rebecca had a dialogue, and the sense of

companionship buoyed up Emma Jane and gave her self reliance. In fact, Miss Dearborn announced on this

particular Friday morning that the exercises promised to be so interesting that she had invited the doctor's

wife, the minister's wife, two members of the school committee, and a few mothers. Living Perkins was

asked to decorate one of the black boards and Rebecca the other. Living, who was the star artist of the

school, chose the map of North America. Rebecca liked better to draw things less realistic, and speedily,

before the eyes of the enchanted multitude, there grew under her skillful fingers an American flag done in

red, white, and blue chalk, every star in its right place, every stripe fluttering in the breeze. Beside this

appeared a figure of Columbia, copied from the top of the cigar box that held the crayons.

Miss Dearborn was delighted. "I propose we give Rebecca a good handclapping for such a beautiful

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

Rebecca's heart leaped for joy, and to her confusion she felt the tears rising in her eyes. She could hardly see

the way back to her seat, for in her ignorant lonely little life she had never been singled out for applause,

never lauded, nor crowned, as in this wonderful, dazzling moment. If "nobleness enkindleth nobleness," so

does enthusiasm beget enthusiasm, and so do wit and talent enkindle wit and talent. Alice Robinson proposed

that the school should sing Three Cheers for the Red, White, and Blue! and when they came to the chorus, all

point to Rebecca's flag. Dick Carter suggested that Living Perkins and Rebecca Randall should sign their

names to their pictures, so that the visitors would know who drew them. Huldah Meserve asked permission to

cover the largest holes in the plastered walls with boughs and fill the water pail with wild flowers. Rebecca's

mood was above and beyond all practical details. She sat silent, her heart so full of grateful joy that she could

hardly remember the words of her dialogue. At recess she bore herself modestly, notwithstanding her great

triumph, while in the general atmosphere of good will the SmellieRandall hatchet was buried and 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, so that 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 sheer

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

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

"I'm going to ask my mother to let me wear her garnet ring," said Emma Jane. "It would look perfectly

elergant flashing in the sun when I point to the flag. Goodby; don't wait for me going back; I may get a

Rebecca found the side door locked, but she knew that the key was under the step, and so of course did

everybody else in Riverboro, for they all did about the same thing with it. She unlocked the door and went

into the diningroom to find her lunch laid on the table and a note from aunt Jane saying that they had gone

to Moderation with Mrs. Robinson in her carryall. Rebecca swallowed a piece of bread and butter, and flew

up the front stairs to her bedroom. On the bed lay the pink gingham dress finished by aunt Jane's kind hands.

Could she, dare she, wear it without asking? Did the occasion justify a new costume, or would her aunts think

"I'll wear it," thought Rebecca. "They're not here to ask, and maybe they wouldn't mind a bit; it's only

gingham after all, and wouldn't be so grand if it wasn't new, and hadn't tape trimming on it, and wasn't pink."

She unbraided her two pigtails, combed out the waves of her hair and tied them back with a ribbon, changed

her shoes, and then slipped on the pretty frock, managing to fasten all but the three middle buttons, which she

Then her eye fell on her cherished pink sunshade, the exact match, and the girls had never seen it. It wasn't

quite appropriate for school, but she needn't take it into the room; she would wrap it in a piece of paper, just

show it, and carry it coming home. She glanced in the parlor lookingglass downstairs and was electrified at

the vision. It seemed almost as if beauty of apparel could go no further than that heavenly pink gingham

dress! The sparkle of her eyes, glow of her cheeks, sheen of her falling hair, passed unnoticed in the all

conquering charm of the rosecolored garment. Goodness! it was twenty minutes to one and she would be

late. She danced out the side door, pulled a pink rose from a bush at the gate, and covered the mile between

the brick house and the seat of learning in an incredibly short time, meeting Emma Jane, also breathless and

"You're not good looking every day," insisted Emma Jane; "but you're different somehow. See my garnet

ring; mother scrubbed it in soap and water. How on earth did your aunt Mirandy let you put on your bran'

"They were both away and I didn't ask," Rebecca responded anxiously. "Why? Do you think they'd have said

"Yes," assented Emma Jane, "it is, of course; with your name on the board, and our pointing to your flag, and

The afternoon was one succession of solid triumphs for everybody concerned. There were no real failures at

all, no tears, no parents ashamed of their offspring. Miss Dearborn heard many admiring remarks passed upon

her ability, and wondered whether they belonged to her or partly, at least, to Rebecca. The child had no more

to do than several others, but she was somehow in the foreground. It transpired afterwards at various village

entertainments that Rebecca couldn't be kept in the background; it positively refused to hold her. Her worst

enemy could not have called her pushing. She was ready and willing and never shy; but she sought for no

chances of display and was, indeed, remarkably lacking in selfconsciousness, as well as eager to bring

others into whatever fun or entertainment there was. If wherever the MacGregor sat was the head of the table,

so in the same way wherever Rebecca stood was the centre of the stage. Her clear high treble soared above all

the rest in the choruses, and somehow everybody watched her, took note of her gestures, her wholesouled

Finally it was all over, and it seemed to Rebecca as if she should never be cool and calm again, as she loitered

on the homeward path. There would be no lessons to learn tonight, and the vision of helping with the

preserves on the morrow had no terrors for herfears could not draw breath in the radiance that flooded her

soul. There were thick gathering clouds in the sky, but she took no note of them save to be glad that she could

raise her sunshade. She did not tread the solid ground at all, or have any sense of belonging to the common

human family, until she entered the side yard of the brick house and saw her aunt Miranda standing in the

There she is, over an hour late; a little more an' she'd 'a' been caught in a thunder shower, but she'd never look

ahead," said Miranda to Jane; "and added to all her other iniquities, if she ain't rigged out in that new dress,

steppin' along with her father's dancin'school steps, and swingin' her parasol for all the world as if she was

playactin'. 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. Step right in here, Rebecca; I want to talk to you. What did you put on that good new

"I had intended to ask you at noontime, but you weren't at home, so I couldn'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

"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 was worth risking. I thought perhaps you might, if you knew it was almost a

"Exhibition!" exclaimed Miranda scornfully; "you are exhibition enough by yourself, I should say. Was you

"The parasol WAS silly," confessed Rebecca, hanging her head; "but it's the only time in my whole life when

I had anything to match it, and it looked so beautiful with the pink dress! Emma Jane and I spoke a dialogue

about a city girl and a country girl, and it came to me just the minute before I started how nice it would come

in for the city girl; and it did. I haven't hurt my dress a mite, aunt Mirandy."

"It's the craftiness and underhandedness of your actions that's the worst," 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 to your room,

but you didn't hide your tracks, for you dropped your handkerchief on the way up. You left the screen out of

your bedroom window for the flies to come in all over the house. You never cleared away your lunch nor set

away a dish, AND YOU LEFT THE SIDE DOOR UNLOCKED from half past twelve to three o'clock, so 't

Rebecca sat down heavily in her chair as she heard the list of her transgressions. How could she have been so

careless? The tears began to flow now as she attempted to explain sins that never could be explained or

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she faltered. "I was trimming the schoolroom, and got belated, and ran all the way home.

It was hard getting into my dress alone, and I hadn't time to eat but a mouthful, and just at the last minute,

when I honestlyHONESTLY would have thought about clearing away and locking up, I looked at the

clock and knew I could hardly get back to school in time to form in the line; and I thought how dreadful it

would be to go in late and get my first black mark on a Friday afternoon, with the minister's wife and the

"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 of repentance. Instead of tryin' to see how little trouble you can make in a house

that ain't your own home, it seems as if you tried to see how much you could put us out. Take that rose out o'

your dress and let me see the spot it's made on your yoke, an' the rusty holes where the wet pin went in. No, it

ain't; but it's more by luck than forethought. I ain't got any patience with your flowers and frizzledout hair

and furbelows an' airs an' graces, for all the world like your MissNancy father."

Rebecca lifted her head in a flash. "Look here, aunt Mirandy, I'll be as good as I know how to be. I'll mind

quick when I'm spoken to and never leave the door unlocked again, but I won't have my father called names.

He was a pperfectly llovely father, that's what he was, and it's MEAN to call him Miss Nancy!"

"Don't you dare answer me back that imperdent way, Rebecca, tellin' me I'm mean; your father was a vain,

foolish, shiftless man, an' you might as well hear it from me as anybody else; he spent your mother's money

"Not when other folks have to help feed, clothe, and educate 'em," responded Miranda. "Now you step

upstairs, put on your nightgown, go to bed, and stay there till tomorrow mornin'. You'll find a bowl o'

crackers an' milk on your bureau, an' I don't want to hear a sound from you till breakfast time. Jane, run an'

take the dish towels off the line 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 do her sister's bidding. "I don't often speak my

mind, Mirandy; but you ought 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, and Aurelia always says he was a good husband."

Miranda had never heard the proverbial phrase about the only "good Indian," but her mind worked in the

conventional manner when she said grimly, "Yes, I've noticed that dead husbands are usually good ones; but

the truth needs an airin' now and then, and that child will never amount to a hill o' beans till she gets some of

"I daresay you are," remarked Jane, with what might be described as one of her annual bursts of courage; "but

The clap of thunder that shook the house just at that moment made no such peal in Miranda Sawyer's ears as

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

Rebecca mounted the back stairs wearily, closed the door of her bedroom, and took off the beloved pink

gingham with trembling fingers. Her cotton handkerchief was rolled into a hard ball, and in the intervals of

reaching the more difficult buttons that lay between her shoulder blades and her belt, she dabbed her wet eyes

carefully, so that they should not rain salt water on the finery that had been worn at such a price. She

smoothed it out carefully, pinched up the white ruffle at the neck, and laid it away in a drawer with an extra

little sob 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 fact

that she instantly perceived the symbolism of the rose, and laid it in the drawer with the dress as if she were

burying the whole episode with all its sad memories. It was a child's poetic instinct with a dawning hint of

She braided her hair in the two accustomed pig tails, took off her best shoes (which had happily escaped

notice), with all the while a fixed resolve growing in her mind, that of leaving the brick house and going back

to the farm. She would not be received there with open arms,there was no hope of that,but she would

help her mother about the house and send Hannah to Riverboro in her place. "I hope she'll like it!" she

thought in a momentary burst of vindictiveness. She sat by the window trying to make some sort of plan,

watching the lightning play over the hilltop and the streams of rain chasing each other down the lightning

rod. And this was the day that had dawned so joyfully! It had been a red sunrise, and she had leaned on the

window sill studying her lesson and thinking what a lovely world it was. And what a golden morning! The

changing of the bare, ugly little schoolroom into a bower of beauty; Miss Dearborn's pleasure at her success

with the Simpson twins' recitation; the privilege of decorating the blackboard; the happy thought of drawing

Columbia from the cigar box; the intoxicating moment when the school clapped her! And what an afternoon!

How it went on from glory to glory, beginning with Emma Jane's telling her, Rebecca Randall, that she was

She lived through the exercises again in memory, especially her dialogue with Emma Jane and her inspiration

of using the boughcovered stove as a mossy bank where the country girl could sit and watch her flocks. This

gave Emma Jane a feeling of such ease that she never recited better; and how generous it was of her to lend

the garnet ring to the city girl, fancying truly how it would flash as she furled her parasol and approached the

awestricken shepherdess! She had thought aunt Miranda might be pleased that the niece invited down from

the farm had succeeded so well at school; but no, there was no hope of pleasing her in that or in any other

way. She would go to Maplewood on the stage next day with Mr. Cobb and get home somehow from cousin

Ann's. On second thoughts her aunts might not allow it. Very well, she would slip away now and see if she

Rebecca never stopped long to think, more 's the pity, so she put on her oldest dress and hat and jacket, then

wrapped her nightdress, comb, and toothbrush in a bundle and dropped it softly out of the window. Her room

was in the L and her window at no very dangerous distance from the ground, though had it been, nothing

could have stopped her at that moment. Somebody who had gone on the roof to clean out the gutters had left

a cleat nailed to the side of the house about halfway between the window and the top of the back porch.

Rebecca heard the sound of the sewing machine in the diningroom and the chopping of meat in the kitchen;

so knowing the whereabouts of both her aunts, she scrambled out of the window, caught hold of the lightning

rod, slid down to the helpful cleat, jumped to the porch, used the woodbine trellis for a ladder, and was flying

up the road in the storm before she had time to arrange any details of her future movements.

Jeremiah Cobb sat at his lonely supper at the table by the kitchen window. "Mother," as he with his

oldfashioned habits was in the habit of calling his wife, was nursing a sick neighbor. Mrs. Cobb was mother

only 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 rate

The rain still fell, and the heavens were dark, though it was scarcely five o'clock. Looking up from his "dish

of tea," the old man saw at the open door a very figure of woe. Rebecca's face was so swollen with tears and

so sharp with misery that for a moment he scarcely recognized her. 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 to call on old

uncle Jerry and pass the time o' day, hev ye? Why, you're wet 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' lonesome without mother. She's

settin' up with Seth Strout tonight. There, we'll hang your soppy hat on the nail, put your jacket over the

Uncle Jerry had never before said so many words at a time, but he had caught sight of the child's red eyes and

tearstained cheeks, and his big heart went out to her in her trouble, quite regardless of any circumstances

Rebecca stood still for a moment until uncle Jerry took his seat again at the table, and then, unable to contain

herself longer, cried, "Oh, Mr. Cobb, I've run away from the brick house, and I want to go back to the farm.

Will you keep me tonight and take me up to Maplewood in the stage? I haven't got any money for my fare,

"Well, I guess we won't quarrel 'bout money, you and me," said the old man; "and we've never had our ride

"Come over here side o' me an' tell me all about it," coaxed uncle Jerry. "Jest set down on that there wooden

Rebecca leaned her aching head against Mr. Cobb's homespun knee and recounted the history of her trouble.

Tragic as that history seemed to her passionate and undisciplined mind, she told it truthfully and without

Uncle Jerry coughed and stirred in his chair a good deal during Rebecca's recital, but he carefully concealed

any undue feeling of sympathy, just muttering, "Poor little soul! We'll see what we can do for her!"

"Don't you fret a mite," he answered, with a crafty little notion at the back of his mind; "I'll see the lady

passenger through somehow. Now take a bite o' somethin' to eat, child. Spread some o' that tomato preserve

on your bread; draw up to the table. How'd you like to set in mother's place an' pour me out another cup o' hot

Mr. Jeremiah Cobb's mental machinery was simple, and did not move very smoothly save when propelled by

his affection or sympathy. In the present case these were both employed to his advantage, and mourning his

stupidity and praying for some flash of inspiration to light his path, he blundered along, trusting to

Rebecca, comforted by the old man's tone, and timidly enjoying the dignity of sitting in Mrs. Cobb's seat and

lifting the blue china teapot, 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 fearjust a baby thingin the bottom of Rebecca's heart stirred and grew larger the moment it was

"She won't like it that I ran away, I s'pose, and she'll be sorry that I couldn't please aunt Mirandy; but I'll

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

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

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

"Yees; though mother thought that was going to be the making of me," returned Rebecca sadly, giving a

"It'll be nice for you to be all together again at the farmsuch a house full o' children!" remarked the dear

old deceiver, who longed for nothing so much as to cuddle and comfort the poor little creature.

"It's too fullthat's the trouble. But I'll make Hannah come to Riverboro in my place."

"S'pose Mirandy 'n' Jane'll have her? I should be 'most afraid they wouldn't. They'll be kind o' mad at your

This was quite a new thought,that the brick house might be closed to Hannah, since she, Rebecca, had

"How is this school down here in Riverboro pretty good?" inquired uncle Jerry, whose brain was working

with an altogether unaccustomed rapidity,so much so that it almost terrified him.

"You like her, do you? Well, you'd better believe she returns the compliment. Mother was down to the store

this afternoon buyin' liniment for Seth Strout, an' she met Miss Dearborn on the bridge. They got to talkin'

'bout school, for mother has summerboarded a lot o' the schoolmarms, an' likes 'em. `How does the little

Temperance girl git along?' asks mother. `Oh, she's the best scholar I have!' says Miss Dearborn. `I could

teach school from sunup to sundown if scholars was all like Rebecca Randall,' says she."

"Oh, Mr. Cobb, DID she say that?" glowed Rebecca, her face sparkling and dimpling in an instant. "I've tried

"You mean you would if you'd ben goin' to stay here," interposed uncle Jerry. "Now ain't it too bad you've

jest got to give it all up on account o' your aunt Mirandy? Well, I can't hardly blame ye. She's cranky an' she's

sour; I should think she'd ben nussed on bonnyclabber an' green apples. She needs bearin' with; an' I guess

"If I'd had this talk with ye yesterday," pursued Mr. Cobb, "I believe I'd have advised ye different. It's too late

now, an' I don't feel to say you've ben all in the wrong; but if 't was to do over again, I'd say, 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 turrible hard 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's your job to kind o' pay for 'em in good behavior. Jane's a leetle

"Oh, aunt Jane and I get along splendidly," exclaimed Rebecca; "she's just as good and kind as she can be,

and I like her better all the time. I think she kind of likes me, too; she smoothed my hair once. I'd let her scold

me all day long, for she understands; but she can't stand up for me against aunt Mirandy; she's about as afraid

"Jane'll be real sorry tomorrow to find you've gone away, I guess; but never mind, it can't be helped. If she

has a kind of a dull time with Mirandy, on account o' her bein' so sharp, why of course she'd set great store by

your comp'ny. Mother was talkin' with her after prayer meetin' the other night. `You wouldn't know the brick

house, Sarah,' says Jane. `I'm keepin' a sewin' school, an' my scholar has made three dresses. What do you

think o' that,' says she, `for an old maid's child? I've taken a class in Sundayschool,' 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

There was a silence that could be felt in the little kitchen; a silence only broken by the ticking of the tall clock

and the beating of Rebecca's heart, which, it seemed to her, almost drowned the voice of the clock. The rain

ceased, a sudden rosy light filled the room, and through the window a rainbow arch could be seen spanning

the heavens like a radiant bridge. Bridges took one across difficult places, thought Rebecca, and uncle Jerry

"The shower 's over," said the old man, filling his pipe; "it's cleared the air, washed the face o' the airth nice

an' clean, an' everything tomorrer will shine like a new pinwhen you an' I are drivin' up river."

Rebecca pushed her cup away, rose from the table, and put on her hat and jacket quietly. "I'm not going to

drive up river, Mr. Cobb," she said. "I'm going to stay here andcatch bricks; catch 'em without throwing

'em back, too. I don't know as aunt Mirandy will take me in after 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 he gits this thing fixed up," cried the old man

delightedly. "Now you've had all you can stan' tonight, poor little soul, without gettin' a fit o' sickness; an'

Mirandy'll be sore an' cross an' in no condition for argyment; so my plan is jest this: to drive you over to the

brick house in 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 out int' the shed to plan for a load o' wood I'm goin' to have hauled there

this week, you'll slip out o' the buggy and go upstairs to bed. The front door won't be locked, will it?"

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

"Well, it won't; an' if 't is, why we'll have to face it out; though in my opinion there's things that won't bear

facin' out an' had better be settled comfortable an' quiet. You see you ain't run away yet; you've only come

over here to consult me 'bout runnin' away, an' we've concluded it ain't wuth the trouble. The only real sin

you've committed, as I figger it out, was in comin' here by the winder when you'd ben sent to bed. That ain't

so very black, an' you can tell your aunt 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't believe in deceivin' folks, but if you've hed

hard thoughts you ain't obleeged to own 'em up; take 'em to the Lord in prayer, as the hymn says, and then

don't go on hevin' 'em. Now come on; I'm all hitched up to go over to the postoffice; don't forget your

bundle; `it's always a journey, mother, when you carry a nightgown;' them 's the first words your 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; we ain'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 found herself in her bed that night, though

she was aching and throbbing in every nerve, she felt a kind of peace stealing over her. She had been saved

from foolishness and error; kept from troubling her poor mother; prevented from angering and mortifying her

Her heart was melted now, and she determined to win aunt Miranda's approval by some desperate means, and

to try and forget the one thing that rankled worst, the scornful mention of her father, of whom she thought

with the greatest admiration, and whom she had not yet heard criticised; for such sorrows and

disappointments as Aurelia Randall had suffered had never been communicated to her children.

It would have been some comfort to the bruised, unhappy little spirit to know that Miranda Sawyer was

passing an uncomfortable night, and that she tacitly regretted her harshness, partly because Jane had taken

such a lofty and virtuous position in the matter. She could not endure Jane's disapproval, although she would

As uncle Jerry drove homeward under the stars, well content with his attempts at keeping the peace, he

thought wistfully of the touch of Rebecca's head on his knee, and the rain of her tears on his hand; of the

sweet reasonableness of her mind when she had the matter put rightly before her; of her quick decision when

she had once seen the path of duty; of the touching hunger for love and understanding that were so

characteristic in her. "Lord A'mighty!" he ejaculated under his breath, "Lord A'mighty! to hector and abuse a

child like that one! 'T ain't ABUSE exactly, I know, or 't wouldn't be to some o' your elephanthided young

ones; but to that little tender willo'thewisp a hard word 's like a lash. Mirandy Sawyer would be a heap

better woman if 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 today," remarked Miranda Sawyer to Jane on

Saturday evening. "That settin' down I gave her was probably just what she needed, and I daresay it'll last for

"I'm glad you're pleased," returned Jane. "A cringing worm is what you want, not a bright, smiling child.

Rebecca looks to me as if she'd been through the Seven Years' War. When she came downstairs this morning

it seemed 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 beside the river tomorrow afternoon and bring Emma Jane home to a good

Sunday supper. Then if you'll let her go to Milltown with the Cobbs on Wednesday, 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 her

sister's wedding, and the Cobbs and Perkinses want to go down to the Agricultural Fair."

Rebecca's visit to Milltown was all that her glowing fancy had painted it, except that recent readings about

Rome and Venice disposed her to believe that those cities might have an advantage over Milltown in the

matter of mere pictorial beauty. So soon does the soul outgrow its mansions that after once seeing Milltown

her fancy ran out to the future sight of Portland; for that, having islands and a harbor and two public

monuments, must be far more beautiful than Milltown, which would, she felt, take its proud place among the

cities of the earth, by reason of its tremendous business activity rather than by any irresistible appeal to the

It would be impossible for two children to see more, do more, walk more, talk more, eat more, or ask more

"She's the best company I ever see in all my life," said Mrs. Cobb to her husband that evening. "We ain't had

a dull minute this day. She's well mannered, too; she didn't ask for anything, and was thankful for whatever

she got. Did you watch her face when we went into that tent where they was actin' out Uncle Tom's Cabin?

And did you take notice of the way she told us about the book when we sat down to have our ice cream? I tell

"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 turn out somethin' remarkable,a singer, or a writer, or a lady doctor like that Miss

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

"Land, no, mother; there ain't no home'path 'bout Miss Parksshe drives all over the country."

"I can't see Rebecca as a lady doctor, somehow," mused Mrs. Cobb. "Her gift o' gab is what's goin' to be the

makin' of her; mebbe she'll lecture, or recite pieces, like that Portland elocutionist that come out here to the

"I guess she'll be able to write down her own pieces," said Mr. Cobb confidently; "she could make 'em up

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

"PLAIN LOOKING, mother?" exclaimed her husband in astonishment. "Look at the eyes of her; look at the

hair of her, an' the smile, an' that there dimple! Look at Alice Robinson, that's called the prettiest child on the

river, an' see how Rebecca shines her ri' down out o' sight! I hope Mirandy'll favor her comin' over to see us

real often, for she'll let off some of her steam here, an' the brick house'll be consid'able safer 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

Notwithstanding the encomiums of Mr. and Mrs. Cobb, Rebecca made a poor hand at composition writing at

this time. Miss Dearborn gave her every sort of subject that she had ever been given herself: Cloud Pictures;

Abraham Lincoln; Nature; Philanthropy; Slavery; Intemperance; Joy and Duty; Solitude; but with none of

"Write as you talk, Rebecca," insisted poor Miss Dearborn, who secretly knew that she could never manage a

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

"That is what compositions are for," returned Miss Dearborn doubtfully; "to make you have things to say.

Now in your last one, on solitude, you haven't said anything very interesting, and you've made it too common

and everyday to sound well. There are too many `yous' and `yours' in it; you ought to say `one' now and

then, to make it seem more like good writing. `One opens a favorite book;' `One's thoughts are a great

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

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

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

"Joy and Duty" had been the inspiring subject given to the older children for a theme to be written in five

Rebecca had wrestled, struggled, perspired in vain. When her turn came to read she was obliged to confess

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

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

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

Miss Dearborn laughed too; she was little more than a girl, and the training of the young idea seldom

"You must stay after school and try again, Rebecca," she said, but she said it smilingly. "Your poetry hasn't a

"It wasn't MY idea," said Rebecca apologetically. "I had only made the first line when I saw you were going

to ring the bell and say the time was up. I had `clash' written, and I couldn't think of anything then but `hash'

"That is better," Miss Dearborn answered, "though I cannot think `going to smash' is a pretty expression for

Having been instructed in the use of the indefinite pronoun "one" as giving a refined and elegant touch to

literary efforts, Rebecca painstakingly rewrote her composition on solitude, giving it all the benefit of Miss

Dearborn's suggestion. It then appeared in the following form, which hardly satisfied either teacher or

It would be false to say that one could ever be alone when one has one's lovely thoughts to comfort one. One

sits by one's self, it is true, but one thinks; one opens one's favorite book and reads one's favorite story; one

speaks to one's aunt or one's brother, fondles one's cat, or looks at one's photograph album. There is one's

work also: what a joy it is to one, if one happens to like work. All one's little household tasks keep one from

being lonely. Does one ever feel bereft when one picks up one's chips to light one's fire for one's evening

meal? Or when one washes one's milk pail before milking one's cow? One would fancy not. R. R. R.

"It is perfectly dreadful," sighed Rebecca when she read it aloud after school. "Putting in `one' all the time

"You say such queer things," objected Miss Dearborn. "I don't see what makes you do it. Why did you put in

"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 the milk pail that I don't like."

The Milltown trip had not been without its tragic consequences of a small sort; for the next week Minnie

Smellie's mother told Miranda Sawyer that she'd better look after Rebecca, for she was given to "swearing

and profane language;" that she had been heard saying something dreadful that very afternoon, saying it

before Emma Jane and Living Perkins, who only laughed and got down on all fours and chased her.

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

"Search your memory, Rebecca, and try to think what Minnie overheard you say," she pleaded. "Don't be

ugly and obstinate, but think real hard. When did they chase you up the road, and what were you doing?"

"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 I were walking along, and I was ahead. I saw the water streaming over the

road towards the ditch, and it reminded me of Uncle Tom's Cabin at Milltown, when Eliza took her baby and

ran across the Mississippi on the ice blocks, pursued by the bloodhounds. We couldn't keep from laughing

after we came out of the tent because they were acting on such a small platform that Eliza had to run round

and round, and part of the time the one dog they had pursued her, and part of the time she had to pursue the

dog. I knew Living would remember, too, so I took off my waterproof and wrapped it round my books for a

baby; then I shouted, `MY GOD! THE RIVER!' just like thatthe same as Eliza did in the play; then I

leaped from puddle to puddle, and Living and Emma Jane pursued me like the bloodhounds. It's just like that

stupid Minnie Smellie who doesn't know a game when she sees one. And Eliza wasn't swearing when she

"Well, you've got no call to be prayin', any more than swearin', in the middle 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 you allers will be till

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

"I declare she IS the beatin'est child!" said Miranda, taking off her spectacles and laying down her mending.

"I don't think she's like the rest of us," responded Jane thoughtfully and with some anxiety in her pleasant

face; "but whether it's for the better or the worse I can't hardly tell till she grows up. She's got the making of

'most anything in her, Rebecca has; but I feel sometimes as if we were not fitted to cope with her."

"Stuff an' nonsense!" said Miranda "Speak for yourself. I feel fitted to cope with any child that ever was born

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

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

It was about this time that Rebecca, who had been reading about the Spartan boy, conceived the idea of some

mild form of selfpunishment to be applied on occasions when she was fully convinced in her own mind that

it would be salutary. The immediate cause of the decision was a somewhat sadder accident than was

Clad in her best, Rebecca had gone to take tea with the Cobbs; but while crossing the bridge she was

suddenly overcome by the beauty of the river and leaned over the newly painted rail to feast her eyes on the

dashing torrent of the fall. Resting her elbows on the topmost board, and inclining her little figure forward in

The river above the dam was a glassy lake with all the loveliness of blue heaven and green shore reflected in

its surface; the fall was a swirling wonder of water, ever pouring itself over and over inexhaustibly in

luminous golden gushes that lost themselves in snowy depths of foam. Sparkling in the sunshine, gleaming

under the summer moon, cold and gray beneath a November sky, trickling over the dam in some burning July

drought, swollen with turbulent power in some April freshet, how many young eyes gazed into the mystery

and majesty of the falls along that river, and how many young hearts dreamed out their futures leaning over

the bridge rail, seeing "the vision splendid" reflected there and often, too, watching it fade into "the light of

Rebecca never went across the bridge without bending over the rail to wonder and to ponder, and at this

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

"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

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

"I don't like `the rush to Emma Jane,' and I can't think of anything else. Oh! what a smell of paint! Oh! it is

With tears of selfreproach streaming from her eyes, Rebecca flew up the hill, sure of sympathy, and hoping

Mrs. Cobb took in the situation at a glance, and professed herself able to remove almost any stain from

almost any fabric; and in this she was corroborated by uncle Jerry, who vowed that mother could git anything

out. Sometimes she took the cloth right along with the spot, but she had a sure hand, mother had!

The damaged garment was removed and partially immersed in turpentine, while Rebecca graced the festal

"Don't let it take your appetite away," crooned Mrs. Cobb. "I've got cream biscuit and honey for you. If the

turpentine don't work, I'll try French chalk, magneshy, and warm suds. If they fail, father shall run over to

Strout's and borry some of the stuff Marthy got in Milltown to take the currant pie out of her weddin' dress."

"I ain't got to understandin' this paintin' accident yet," said uncle Jerry jocosely, as he handed Rebecca the

honey. "Bein' as how there's `Fresh Paint' signs hung all over the breedge, so 't a blind asylum couldn't miss

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

"The falls has been there sence the beginnin' o' time, an' I cal'late they'll be there till the end on 't; so you

needn't 'a' been in sech a brash to git a sight of 'em. Children comes turrible high, mother, but I s'pose we

When supper was cleared away Rebecca insisted on washing and wiping the dishes, while Mrs. Cobb worked

on the dress with an energy that plainly showed the gravity of the task. Rebecca kept leaving her post at the

sink to bend anxiously over the basin and watch her progress, while uncle Jerry offered advice from time to

"You must 'a' laid all over the breedge, deary," said Mrs. Cobb; "for the paint 's not only on your elbows and

As the garment began to look a little better Rebecca's spirits took an upward turn, and at length she left it to

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

Mrs. Cobb sat by her mending basket, and uncle Jerry took down a gingham bag of strings and occupied

Rebecca soon had the lines copied in her round schoolgirl hand, making such improvements as occurred to

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

"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,

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

She read it aloud, and the Cobbs thought it not only surpassingly beautiful, 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. "If you ask me, I say this piece is as good as that one o' his, `Tell me not in

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

"Then I guess you never studied fractions!" flashed Rebecca. "See here, uncle Jerry and aunt Sarah, would

you write another verse, especially for a last one, as they usually doone with `thoughts' in itto make a

"If you can grind 'em out jest by turnin' the crank, why I should say the more the merrier; but I don't hardly

"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 by the river; it ought to be `Rebecca,' or `the darker maiden;' and `the rush to

Emma Jane' is simply dreadful. Sometimes I think I never will try poetry, it's so hard to make it come right;

But O! alas! we may not gain The good for which we pray The quiet life may come to one Who likes it rather

In a few minutes the poetess looked up, flushed and triumphant. "It was as easy as nothing. Just hear!" And

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

Mr. and Mrs. Cobb exchanged dumb glances of admiration; indeed uncle Jerry was obliged to turn his face to

"Oh, it's easy," answered Rebecca; "the hymns at meeting are all like that. You see there's a school newspaper

printed at Wareham Academy once 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 you had to write the whole paper; an' as for

any boy editor, you could lick him 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.

The old couple followed Rebecca into the kitchen. The frock was quite dry, and in truth it had been helped a

little by aunt Sarah's ministrations; but the colors had run in the rubbing, the pattern was blurred, and there

were muddy streaks here and there. As a last resort, it was carefully smoothed with a warm iron, and Rebecca

was urged to attire herself, that they might see if the spots showed as much when it was on.

They did, most uncompromisingly, and to the dullest eye. Rebecca gave one searching look, and then said, as

she took her hat from a nail in the entry, "I think I'll be going. Goodnight! If I've got to have a scolding, I

"Poor little onlucky misfortunate thing!" sighed uncle Jerry, as his eyes followed her down the hill. "I wish

she could pay some attention to the ground under her feet; but I vow, if she was ourn I'd let her slop paint all

over the house before I could scold her. Here's her poetry she's left behind. Read it out ag'in, mother. Land!"

he continued, chuckling, as he lighted his cob pipe; "I can just see the last flap o' that boyeditor's shirt tail as

he legs it for the woods, while Rebecky settles down in his revolvin' cheer! I'm puzzled as to what kind of a

job editin' is, exactly; but she'll find out, Rebecky will. An' she'll just edit for all she's worth!

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

"She couldn't have thought it out at her age," said Mrs. Cobb; "she must have just guessed it was that way.

Rebecca took her scolding (which she richly deserved) like a soldier. There was considerable of it, and Miss

Miranda remarked, among other things, that so absentminded a child was sure to grow up into a driveling

idiot. She was bidden to stay away from Alice Robinson's birthday party, and doomed to wear her dress,

stained and streaked as it was, until it was worn out. Aunt Jane six months later mitigated this martyrdom by

making her a ruffled dimity pinafore, artfully shaped to conceal all the spots. She was blessedly ready with

these mediations between the poor little sinner and the full consequences of her sin.

When Rebecca had heard her sentence and gone to the north chamber she began to think. If there was

anything she did not wish to grow into, it was an idiot of any sort, particularly a driveling one; and she

resolved to punish herself every time she incurred what she considered to be the righteous displeasure of her

virtuous relative. She didn't mind staying away from Alice Robinson's. She had told Emma Jane it would be

like a picnic in a graveyard, the Robinson house being as near an approach to a tomb as a house can manage

to be. Children were commonly brought in at the back door, and requested to stand on newspapers while

making their call, so that Alice was begged by her friends to "receive" in the shed or barn whenever possible.

Mrs. Robinson was not only "turrible neat," but "turrible close," so that the refreshments were likely to be

After considering the relative values, as penances, of a piece of haircloth worn next the skin, and a pebble in

the shoe, she dismissed them both. The haircloth could not be found, and the pebble would attract the notice

of the Arguseyed aunt, besides being a foolish bar to the activity of a person who had to do housework and

Her first experimental attempt at martyrdom had not been a distinguished success. She had stayed at home

from the Sundayschool concert, a func tion of which, in ignorance of more alluring ones, she was

extremely fond. As a result of her desertion, two infants who relied upon her to prompt them (she knew the

verses of all the children better than they did themselves) broke down ignominiously. The class to which she

belonged had to read a difficult chapter of Scripture in rotation, and the various members spent an arduous

Sabbath afternoon counting out verses according to their seats in the pew, and practicing the ones that would

inevitably fall to them. They were too ignorant to realize, when they were called upon, that Rebecca's absence

would make everything come wrong, and the blow descended with crushing force when the Jebusites and

Amorites, the Girgashites, Hivites, and Perizzites had to be pronounced by the persons of all others least

Selfpunishment, then, to be adequate and proper, must begin, like charity, at home, and unlike charity

should end there too. Rebecca looked about the room vaguely as she sat by the window. She must give up

something, and truth to tell she possessed little to give, hardly anything butyes, that would do, the beloved

pink parasol. She could not hide it in the attic, for in some moment of weakness she would be sure to take it

out again. She feared she had not the moral energy to break it into bits. Her eyes moved from the parasol to

the appletrees in the side yard, and then fell to the well curb. That would do; she would fling her dearest

possession into the depths of the water. Action followed quickly upon decision, as usual. She slipped down in

the darkness, stole out the front door, approached the place of sacrifice, lifted the cover of the well, gave one

unresigned shudder, and flung the parasol downward with all her force. At the crucial instant of renunciation

she was greatly helped by the reflection that she closely resembled the heathen mothers who cast their babes

She slept well and arose refreshed, as a consecrated spirit always should and sometimes does. But there was

great difficulty in drawing water after breakfast. Rebecca, chastened and uplifted, had gone to school. Abijah

Flagg was summoned, lifted the well cover, explored, found the inciting cause of trouble, and with the help of

Yankee wit succeeded in removing it. The fact was that the ivory hook of the parasol had caught in the chain

gear, and when the first attempt at drawing water was made, the little offering of a contrite heart was jerked

up, bent, its strong ribs jammed into the well side, and entangled with a twig root. It is needless to say that no

sleightofhand performer, however expert, unless aided by the powers of darkness, could have

accomplished this feat; but a luckless child in the 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 return from school. You who read may be

well advanced in years, you may be gifted in rhetoric, ingenious in argument; but even you might quail at the

thought of explaining the tortuous mental processes that led you into throwing your beloved pink parasol into

Miranda Sawyer's well. Perhaps you feel equal to discussing the efficacy of spiritual selfchastisement with a

person who closes her lips into a thin line and 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 sacrifice of the sunshade, her aunt said, "Now see here, Rebecca, you're

too big to be whipped, and I shall never whip you; but when you think you ain't punished enough, just tell

me, and I'll make out to invent a little something 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 whole family, and make 'em drink ivory dust, wood

Just before Thanksgiving the affairs of the Simpsons reached what might have been called a crisis, even in

their family, which had been born and reared in a state of adventurous poverty and perilous uncertainty.

Riverboro was doing its best to return the entire tribe of Simpsons to the land of its fathers, so to speak,

thinking rightly that the town which had given them birth, rather than the town of their adoption, should feed

them and keep a roof over their heads until the children were of an age for self support. There was little to

eat in the household and less to wear, though Mrs. Simpson did, as always, her poor best. The children

managed to satisfy their appetites by sitting modestly outside their neighbors' kitchen doors when meals were

about to be served. They were not exactly popular favorites, but they did receive certain undesirable morsels

Life was rather dull and dreary, however, and in the chill and gloom of November weather, with the vision of

other people's turkeys bursting with fat, and other people's golden pumpkins and squashes and corn being

garnered into barns, the young Simpsons groped about for some inexpensive form of excitement, and settled

upon the selling of soap for a premium. They had sold enough to their immediate neighbors during the earlier

autumn to secure a child's handcart, which, though very weak on its pins, could be trundled over the country

roads. With large business sagacity and an executive capacity which must have been inherited from their

father, they now proposed to extend their operations to a larger area and distribute soap to contiguous

villages, if these villages could be induced to buy. The Excelsior Soap Company paid a very small return of

any kind to its infantile agents, who were scattered through the state, but it inflamed their imaginations by the

issue of circulars with highly colored pictures of the premiums to be awarded for the sale of a certain number

of cakes. It was at this juncture that Clara Belle and Susan Simpson consulted Rebecca, who threw herself

solidly and wholeheartedly into the enterprise, promising her help and that of Emma Jane Perkins. The

premiums within their possible grasp were three: a bookcase, a plush reclining chair, and a banquet lamp. Of

course the Simpsons had no books, and casting aside, without thought or pang, the plush chair, which might

have been of some use in a family of seven persons (not counting Mr. Simpson, who ordinarily sat elsewhere

at the town's expense), they warmed themselves rapturously in the vision of the banquet lamp, which speedily

be came to them more desirable than food, drink, or clothing. Neither Emma Jane nor Rebecca perceived

anything incongruous in the idea of the Simpsons striving for a banquet lamp. They looked at the picture

daily and knew that if they themselves were free agents they would toil, suffer, ay sweat, for the happy

privilege of occupying the same room with that lamp through the coming winter evenings. It looked to be

about eight feet tall in the catalogue, and Emma Jane advised Clara Belle to measure the height of the

Simpson ceilings; but a note in the margin of the circular informed them that it stood two and a half feet high

when set up in all its dignity and splendor on a proper table, three dollars extra. It was only of polished brass,

continued the circular, though it was invariably mistaken for solid gold, and the shade that accompanied it (at

least it accompanied it if the agent sold a hundred extra cakes) was of crinkled crepe paper printed in a dozen

Seesaw Simpson was not in the syndicate. Clara Belle was rather a successful agent, but Susan, who could

only say "thoap," never made large returns, and the twins, who were somewhat young to be thoroughly

trustworthy, could be given only a half dozen cakes at a time, and were obliged to carry with them on their

business trips a brief document stating the price per cake, dozen, and box. Rebecca and Emma Jane offered to

go two or three miles in some one direction and see what they could do in the way of stirring up a popular

demand for the SnowWhite and RoseRed brands, the former being devoted to laundry purposes and the

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's circular from which to arrange a proper speech, and they had, what was still

better, the remembrance of a certain patentmedicine vender's discourse at the Milltown Fair. His method,

when once observed, could never be forgotten; nor his manner, nor his vocabulary. Emma Jane practiced it

"Can I sell you a little soap this afternoon? It is called the SnowWhite and RoseRed Soap, six cakes in an

ornamental box, only twenty cents for the white, twentyfive cents for the red. It is made from the purest

ingredients, and if desired could be eaten by an invalid 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," rebuked Rebecca, "that sometimes I think that

you must BE one I don't get to feeling like a fool so awfully easy; now leave out that eating part if you don't

"The SnowWhite is probably the most remarkable laundry soap ever manufactured. Immerse the garments

in a tub, lightly rubbing the more soiled portions with the soap; leave them submerged in water from sunset to

sunrise, and then the youngest baby can wash them without the slightest effort."

"Of course it's just the same THING; but a baby has got to be called babe or infant in a circular, the same as it

"No," grumbled Emma Jane; "infant is worse even than babe. Rebecca, do you think we'd better do as the

"I can't imagine a babe doing a family wash with ANY soap," answered Rebecca; "but it must be true or they

would never dare to print it, so don't let's bother. Oh! won't it be the greatest fun, Emma Jane? At some of the

houseswhere they can't possibly know meI shan't be frightened, and I shall reel off the whole rigmarole,

invalid, babe, and all. Perhaps I shall say even the last sentence, if I can remember it: `We sound every chord

This conversation took place on a Friday afternoon at Emma Jane's house, 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 dinner with 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 few houses coming and going, and sell a

little soap for the Simpsons, she at first replied decidedly in the negative. She was an indulgent parent,

however, and really had little objection to Emma Jane amusing herself in this unusual way; it was only for

Rebecca, as the niece of the difficult Miranda Sawyer, that she raised scruples; but when fully persuaded that

The girls called at Mr. Watson's store, and arranged for several large boxes of soap to be charged to Clara

Belle Simpson's account. These were lifted into the back of the wagon, and a happier couple never drove

along the country road than Rebecca and her companion. It was a glorious Indian summer day, which

suggested nothing of Thanksgiving, near at hand as it was. It was a rustly day, a scarlet and buff, yellow and

carmine, bronze and crimson day. There were still many leaves on the 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 of yellow and

russet good things to eat, all ready for the barns, the mills, and the markets. The horse forgot his twenty years,

sniffed the sweet bright air, and trotted like a colt; Nokomis Mountain looked blue and clear in the distance;

Rebecca stood in the wagon, and apostrophized the landscape with sudden joy of living:

"Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful

Dull Emma Jane had never seemed to Rebecca so near, so dear, so tried and true; and Rebecca, to Emma

Jane's faithful heart, had never been so brilliant, so bewildering, so fascinating, as in this visit together, with

its intimacy, its freedom, and the added delights of an exciting business enterprise.

"Perhaps dizzy isn't just the right word, but it's nearest. I'd like to eat color, and drink it, and sleep in it. If you

Emma Jane had enjoyed considerable experience of this kind, and Rebecca had succeeded in unstopping her

ears, ungluing her eyes, and loosening her tongue, so that she could "play the game" after a fashion.

"I'd rather be an appletree in blossom,that one that blooms pink, by our pigpen."

Rebecca laughed. There was always something unexpected in Emma Jane's replies. "I'd choose to be that

scarlet maple just on the edge of the pond there,"and she pointed with the whip. "Then I could see so much

more than your pink appletree by the pigpen. I could look at all the rest of the woods, see my scarlet dress

in my beautiful lookingglass, and watch all the yellow and brown trees growing upside down in the water.

When I'm old enough to earn money, I'm going to have a dress like this leaf, all ruby colorthin, you know,

with a sweeping train and ruffly, curly edges; then I think I'll have a brown sash like the trunk of the tree, and

where could I be green? Do they have green petticoats, I wonder? I'd like a green petticoat coming out now

and then underneath to show what my leaves were like before I was a scarlet maple."

"I think it would be awful homely," said Emma Jane. "I'm going to have a white satin with a pink sash, pink

A single hour's experience of the vicissitudes incident to a business career clouded the children's spirits just

the least bit. They did not accompany each other to the doors of their chosen victims, feeling sure that

together they could not approach the subject seriously; but they parted at the gate of each house, the one

holding the horse while the other took the soap samples and interviewed any one who seemed of a

comingon disposition. Emma Jane had disposed of three single cakes, Rebecca of three small boxes; for a

difference in their ability to persuade the public was clearly defined at the start, though neither of them

ascribed either success or defeat to anything but the imperious force of circumstances. Housewives looked at

Emma Jane and desired no soap; listened to her description of its merits, and still desired none. Other stars in

their courses governed Rebecca's doings. The people whom she interviewed either remembered their present

need of soap, or reminded themselves that they would need it in the future; the notable point in the case being

that lucky Rebecca accomplished, with almost no effort, results that poor little Emma Jane failed to attain by

"It's your turn, Rebecca, and I'm glad, too," said Emma Jane, drawing up to a gateway and indicating a house

that was set a considerable distance from the road. "I haven't got over trembling from the last place yet." (A

lady had put her head out of an upstairs window and called, "Go away, little girl; whatever you have in your

box we don't want any.") "I don't know who lives here, and the blinds are all shut in front. If there's nobody at

Rebecca walked up the lane and went to the side door. There was a porch there, and seated in a

rockingchair, husking corn, was a goodlooking young 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,wellshaven face, welltrimmed

mustache, wellfitting clothes. Rebecca was a trifle shy at this unexpected encounter, but there was nothing

to be done but explain 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 a whimsical smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you ever heard of thewould you like, or I meando you need any soap?" queried Rebecca

Rebecca dimpled. "I didn't mean THAT; I have some soap to sell; I mean I would like to introduce to you a

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

"Oh! a babe, eh? That child grows younger every year, instead of olderwise child!"

This was great good fortune, to find a customer who knew all the virtues of the article in advance. Rebecca

dimpled more and more, and at her new friend's invitation sat down on a stool at his side near the edge of the

porch. The beauties of the ornamental box which held the RoseRed were disclosed, and the prices of both

that and the Snow White were unfolded. Presently she forgot all about her silent partner at the gate and was

"I'm keeping house today, but I don't live here," explained the delightful gentleman. "I'm just on a visit to

my aunt, who has gone to Portland. 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 lived when one was a child," observed Rebecca,

nearly bursting with pride at having at last successfully used the indefinite pronoun in general conversation.

The man darted a look at her and put down his ear of corn. "So you consider your childhood a thing of the

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

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

"Oh!" exclaimed Rebecca sympathetically, "mine was no shoes and too many babies and not enough

books. But you're all right and happy now, aren't you?" she asked doubtfully, for though he looked handsome,

wellfed, and prosperous, any child could see that his eyes were tired and his mouth was sad when he was

"I'm doing pretty well, thank you," said the man, with a delightful smile. "Now tell me, how much soap ought

"How much has your aunt on hand now?" suggested the very modest and inexperienced agent; "and how

"I'm not certain," said Rebecca conscientiously, "but I'll look in the circularit's sure to tell;" and she drew

"What are you going to do with the magnificent profits you get from this 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 a very rich blacksmith, and doesn't need any money. I am poor, but I live with my

aunts in a brick house, and of course they wouldn't like me to be a peddler. We are trying to get a premium

Rebecca had never thought of alluding to the circumstances with her previous customers, but unexpectedly

she found herself describing Mr. Simpson, Mrs. Simpson, and the Simpson family; their poverty, their joyless

"You needn't argue that point," laughed the man, as he stood up to get a glimpse of the "rich blacksmith's

daughter" at the gate. "I can see that they ought to have it if they want it, and especially if you want them to

have it. I've known what it was myself to do without a banquet lamp. Now give me the circular, and let's do

"If they sell two hundred more cakes this month and next, they can have the lamp by Christmas," Rebecca

answered, "and they can get a shade by summer time; but I'm afraid I can't help very much after today,

"I see. Well, that's all right. I'll take three hundred cakes, and that will 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, and disappeared into a clump of lilac bushes. It was a very short distance,

fortunately, and the amused capitalist picked her up, set her on her feet, and brushed her off. "You should

never seem surprised when you have taken a large order," said he; "you ought to have replied `Can't you

make it three hundred and fifty?' instead of capsizing in that unbusinesslike way."

"Oh, I could never say anything like that!" exclaimed Rebecca, who was blushing crimson at her awkward

fall. "But it doesn't seem right for you to buy so much. Are you sure you can afford it?"

"I think I know already," answered Rebecca, with a bright glance. "I'm sure you must be Mr. Aladdin in the

Arabian Nights. Oh, please, can I run down and tell Emma Jane? She must be so tired waiting, and she will

At the man's nod of assent Rebecca sped down the lane, crying irrepressibly as she neared the wagon, "Oh,

Mr. Aladdin followed smilingly to corroborate this astonishing, unbelievable statement; lifted all their boxes

from the back of the wagon, and taking the circular, promised to write to the Excelsior Company that night

"If you could contrive to keep a secret,you two little girls,it would be rather a nice surprise to have the

lamp arrive at the Simpsons' on Thanksgiving Day, wouldn't it?" he asked, as he tucked the old lap robe

They gladly assented, and broke into a chorus of excited thanks during which tears of joy stood in Rebecca's

"Oh, don't mention it!" laughed Mr. Aladdin, lifting his hat. "I was a sort of commercial traveler myself

once,years ago,and I like to see the thing well done. Goodby Miss Rebecca Rowena! Just let me know

whenever you have anything to sell, for I'm certain beforehand I shall want it."

"Goodby, Mr. Aladdin! I surely will!" cried Rebecca, tossing back her dark braids delightedly and waving

"Oh, Rebecca!" said Emma Jane in an awe struck whisper. "He raised his hat to us, and we not thirteen! It'll

"He tucked the lap robe round us, too," continued Emma Jane, in an ecstasy of reminiscence. "Oh! isn't he

perfectly elergant? And wasn't it lovely of him to buy us out? And just think of having both the lamp and the

shade for one day's work! Aren't you glad you wore your pink gingham now, even if mother did make you

put on flannel underneath? You do look so pretty in pink and red, Rebecca, and so homely in drab and

"I know it," sighed Rebecca "I wish I was like youpretty in all colors!" And Rebecca looked longingly at

Emma Jane's fat, rosy cheeks; at her blue eyes, which said nothing; at her neat nose, which had no character;

"Never mind!" said Emma Jane comfortingly. "Everybody says you're awful bright and smart, and mother

thinks you'll be better looking all the time as you grow older. You wouldn't believe it, but I was a dreadful

homely baby, and homely right along till just a year or two ago, when my red hair began to grow dark. What

"I never thought to ask!" ejaculated Rebecca. "Aunt Miranda would say that was just like me, and it is. But I

called him Mr. Aladdin because he gave us a lamp. You know the story of Aladdin and the wonderful lamp?"

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

By dint of superhuman effort, and putting such a seal upon their lips as never mortals put before, the two girls

succeeded in keeping their wonderful news to themselves; although it was obvious to all beholders that they

On Thanksgiving the lamp arrived in a large packing box, and was taken out and set up by See saw

Simpson, who suddenly began to admire and respect the business ability of his sisters. Rebecca had heard the

news of its arrival, but waited until nearly dark before asking permission to go to the Simpsons', so that she

might see the gorgeous trophy lighted and sending a blaze of crimson glory through its red crepe paper shade.

There had been company at the brick house to the bountiful Thanksgiving dinner which had been provided at

one o'clock,the Burnham sisters, who lived between North Riverboro and Shaker Village, and who for

more than a quarter of a century had come to pass the holiday with the Sawyers every year. Rebecca sat silent

with a book after the dinner dishes were washed, and when it was nearly five asked if she might go to the

"What do you want to run after those Simpson children for on a Thanksgiving Day?" queried Miss Miranda.

"Can't you set still for once and listen to the improvin' conversation of your elders? You never can let well

"The Simpsons have a new lamp, and Emma Jane and I promised to go up and see it lighted, and make it a

"What under the canopy did they want of a lamp, and where did they get the money to pay for it? If Abner

"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 Emma Jane 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 heard the lamp mentioned. Well, you can go for an

hour, and no more. Remember it's as dark at six as it is at midnight Would you like to take along some

Baldwin apples? What have you got in the pocket of that new dress that makes it sag down so?"

"It's my nuts and raisins from dinner," replied Rebecca, who never succeeded in keeping the most innocent

action a secret from her aunt Miranda; "they're just what you gave me on my plate."

"Because I'd had enough dinner, and I thought if I saved these, it would make the Simpsons' party better,"

"They were your own, Rebecca," interposed aunt Jane, "and if you chose to save them to give away, it is all

right. We ought never to let this day pass without giving our neighbors something to be thankful for, instead

The Burnham sisters nodded approvingly as Rebecca went out, and remarked that they had never seen a child

"There's plenty of room left for more improvement, as you'd know if she lived in the same house with you,"

answered Miranda. "She's into every namable thing in the neighborhood, an' not only into it, but generally at

the head an' front of it, especially when it's mischief. Of all the foolishness I ever heard of, that lamp beats

everything; it's just like those Simpsons, but I didn't suppose the children had brains enough to sell anything."

"One of them must have," said Miss Ellen Burnham, "for the girl that was selling soap at the Ladds' in North

Riverboro was described by Adam Ladd as the most remarkable and winning child he ever saw."

"It must have been Clara Belle, and I should never call her remarkable," answered Miss Miranda. "Has Adam

"Yes, he's been staying a few days with his aunt. There's no limit to the money he's making, they say; and he

always brings presents for all the neighbors. This time it was a full set of furs for Mrs. Ladd; and to think we

can remember the time he was a barefoot boy without two shirts to his back! It is strange he hasn't married,

with all his money, and him so fond of children that he always has a pack of them at his heels."

"There's hope for him still, though," said Miss Jane smilingly; "for I don'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 the soap (Clara Belle, did you say her name

was?), that he declared he was going to bring her a Christmas present," continued Miss Ellen.

"Well, there's no accountin' for tastes," exclaimed Miss Miranda. "Clara Belle's got crosseyes and red hair,

but I'd be the last one to grudge her a Christmas present; the more Adam Ladd gives to her the less the town'll

"Isn't there another Simpson girl?" asked Miss Lydia Burnham; "for this one couldn't have been crosseyed; I

remember Mrs. Ladd saying Adam remarked about this child's handsome eyes. He said it was her eyes that

made him buy the three hundred cakes. Mrs. Ladd has it stacked up in the shed chamber."

"Three hundred cakes!" ejaculated Miranda. "Well, there's one crop that never fails in Riverboro!"

"The fool crop," responded Miranda tersely, and changed the subject, much to Jane's gratitude, for she had

been nervous and ill at ease for the last fifteen minutes. What child in Riverboro could be described as

remarkable and winning, save Rebecca? What child had wonderful eyes, except the same Rebecca? and

finally, was there ever a child in the world who could make a man buy soap by the hundred cakes, save

Meantime the "remarkable" child had flown up the road in the deepening dusk, but she had not gone far

before she heard the sound of hurrying footsteps, and saw a wellknown figure coming in her direction. In a

"No! oh, no! not that! It was packed in straw, and every piece came out all right; and I was there, and I never

said a single thing about your selling the three hundred cakes that got the lamp, so that we could be together

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

"Yes, but WHOSE horse was it that took us to North Riverboro? And besides, it just happened to be my turn.

If you had gone in and found Mr. Aladdin you would have had the wonderful lamp given to you; but what's

"The Simpsons have no kerosene and no wicks. I guess they thought a banquet lamp was something that

lighted itself, and burned without any help. 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 me any more. We never thought of the

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

"I have peppermints and maple sugar," said Emma Jane. "They had a real Thanksgiving dinner; the doctor

gave them sweet potatoes and cranberries and turnips; father sent a sparerib, and Mrs. Cobb a chicken and a

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 fire die out, and had brought the baby to grace the festal scene. The lamp seemed

to be having the party, and receiving the guests. The children had taken the one small table in the house, and

it was placed in the far corner of the room to serve as a pedestal. On it stood the sacred, the adored, the

longdesired object; almost as beautiful, and nearly half as large as the advertisement. The brass glistened

like gold, and the crimson paper shade glowed like a giant ruby. In the wide splash of light that it flung upon

the floor sat the Simpsons, in reverent and solemn silence, Emma Jane standing behind them, hand in hand

with Rebecca. There seemed to be no desire for conversation; the occasion was too thrilling and serious for

that. The lamp, it was tacitly felt by everybody, was dignifying the party, and providing sufficient

entertainment simply by its presence; being fully as satisfactory in its way as a pianola or a string band.

At the appointed hour Rebecca dragged herself reluctantly away from the enchanting 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 see it shine from our windows. I wonder how long it will burn without bein'

"You needn't put it out for want o' karosene," said Seesaw, coming in from 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 an order by

Rebecca squeezed Emma Jane's arm, and Emma Jane gave a rapturous return squeeze. "It was Mr. Aladdin,"

whispered Rebecca, as they ran down the path to the gate. Seesaw followed them and handsomely offered to

see them "apiece" down the road, but Rebecca declined his escort with such decision that he did not press the

matter, but went to bed to dream of her instead. In his dreams flashes of lightning proceeded from both her

Rebecca entered the home diningroom joyously. The Burnham sisters had gone and the two aunts were

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

"It was a heavenly party," reiterated Rebecca, coming in again, much too excited to be easily crushed, "and

oh! aunt Jane, aunt Miranda, if you'll only come into the kitchen and look out of the sink window, you can

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 no patience with such foolish goin'son."

Jane accompanied Rebecca into the kitchen. Although the feeble glimmer which she was able to see from that

distance did not seem to her a dazzling 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?"

"Is that his real name?" queried Rebecca in astonishment. "I didn't make a bad guess;" and she laughed softly

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

"Now, aunt Jane, how could I make a big grownup man buy anything if he didn't want to? He needed the

Miss Jane still looked a little unconvinced, though she only said, "I hope 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 ordinary

"There can't be anything wrong this time," Rebecca answered confidently. "Emma Jane sold her cakes to her

own relations and to uncle Jerry Cobb, and I went first to those new tenements near the lumber mill, and then

to the Ladds'. Mr. Ladd bought all we had and made us promise to keep the secret until the premium came,

and I've been going about ever since as if the banquet lamp was inside of me all lighted up and burning, for

Rebecca's hair was loosened and falling over her forehead in ruffled waves; her eyes were brilliant, her

cheeks crimson; there was a hint of everything in the girl's face,of sensitiveness and delicacy as well as of

ardor; there was the sweetness of the mayflower and the strength of the young oak, but one could easily

"That's just the way you look, for all the world as if you did have a lamp burning inside of you," sighed aunt

Jane. "Rebecca! Rebecca! I wish you could take things easier, child; I am fearful for you sometimes."

The days flew by; as summer had melted into autumn so autumn had given place to winter. Life in the brick

house had gone on more placidly of late, for Rebecca was honestly trying to be more careful in the

performance of her tasks and duties as well as more quiet in her plays, and she was slowly learning the power

Miranda had not had, perhaps, quite as many opportunities in which to lose her temper, but it is only just to

There had been one outburst of righteous wrath occasioned by Rebecca's overhospitable habits, which were

On a certain Friday afternoon she asked her aunt Miranda if she might take half her bread and milk upstairs to

"The Simpson baby, come to stay over Sunday; that is, if you're willing, 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 smuggle her 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 it is," sighed Rebecca resignedly, as she

moved towards the door; "but at the 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

"Perhaps I can go up there and take care of the baby?" suggested Rebecca. "I brought her home so 't I could

"You've got enough to do right here, without any borrowed babies to make more steps. Now, no answering

"You don't want me to go down the front way, hadn't I better just come through this room and let you look at

her? She has yellow hair and big blue eyes! Mrs. Simpson says she takes after her father."

Miss Miranda smiled acidly as she said she couldn't take after her father, for he'd take any thing there was

Aunt Jane was in the linen closet upstairs, sorting out the clean sheets and pillow cases for Saturday, and

"I brought the Simpson baby home, aunt Jane, thinking it would help us over a dull Sunday, but aunt Miranda

won't let her stay. Emma Jane has the promise of her next Sunday and Alice Robinson the next. Mrs.

Simpson wanted I should have her first because I've had so much experience 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 and fussy like some

babies, and I thought I was going to have her to undress and dress twice each day. Oh dear! I wish I could

have a printed book with everything set down in it that I COULD do, and then I wouldn't get disappointed so

"No book could be printed that would fit you, Rebecca," answered aunt Jane, "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 soapwagon. Come, baby! Take your thumb out of your mouth and

come to ride with Becky in your gocart." She stretched out her strong young arms to the crowing baby, sat

down in a chair with the child, turned her upside down unceremoniously, took from her waistband and

scornfully flung away a crooked pin, walked with her (still in a highly reversed position) to the bureau,

selected a large safety pin, and proceeded to attach her brief red flannel petticoat to a sort of shirt that she

wore. Whether flat on her stomach, or head down, heels in the air, the Simpson baby knew she was in the

hands of an expert, and continued gurgling placidly while aunt Jane regarded the pantomime with a kind of

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

"I ought to be; I've brought up three and a half of 'em," Rebecca responded cheerfully, pulling up the infant

"I do like them, but there's never any change in a doll; it's always the same everlasting old doll, and you have

to make believe it's cross or 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 gold on the finger, and the baby curled her

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

Jane looked back across the halfforgotten years, and the vision of Tom's gladness flashed upon her: his

haggard smile, the tears in his tired eyes, his outstretched arms, his weak voice saying, "Oh, Jenny! Dear

Jenny! I've wanted you so, Jenny!" It was too much! She had never breathed a word of it before to a human

creature, for there was no one who would have understood. Now, in a shamefaced way, to hide her brimming

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, leaning her head back and sucking her thumb

contentedly. Rebecca put her cheek down until it touched her aunt's gray hair and softly patted her, as she

The girl's eyes were soft and tender and the heart within her stretched a little and grew; grew in sweetness and

intuition and depth of feeling. It had looked into another heart, felt it beat, and heard it sigh; and that is how

Episodes like these enlivened the quiet course of everyday existence, made more quiet by the departure of

Dick Carter, Living Perkins, and Huldah Meserve for Wareham, and the small attendance at the winter

school, from which the younger children of the place stayed away during the cold weather.

Life, however, could never be thoroughly dull or lacking in adventure to a child of Rebecca's temperament.

Her nature was full of adaptability, fluidity, receptivity. She made friends everywhere she went, and snatched

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 fruit venders and tin peddlers; she who was asked to take supper or pass the

night with children in neighboring villageschildren of whose parents her aunts had never so much as heard.

As to the nature of these friendships, which seemed so many to the eye of the superficial observer, they were

of various kinds, and while the girl pursued them with enthusiasm and ardor, they left her unsatisfied and

hearthungry; they were never intimacies such as are so readily made by shallow natures. She loved Emma

Jane, but it was a friendship born of propinquity and circumstance, not of true affinity. It was her neighbor's

amiability, constancy, and devotion that she loved, and although she rated these qualities at their true value,

she was always searching beyond them for intellectual treasures; searching and never finding, for although

Emma Jane had the advantage in years she was still immature. Huldah Meserve had an instinctive love of fun

which appealed to Rebecca; she also had a fascinating knowledge of the world, from having visited her

married sisters in Milltown and Portland; but on the other hand there was a certain sharpness and lack of

sympathy in Huldah which repelled rather than attracted. With Dick Carter she could at least talk intelligently

about lessons. He was a very ambitious boy, full of plans for his future, which he discussed quite freely with

Rebecca, but when she broached the subject of her future his interest sensibly lessened. Into the world of the

ideal Emma Jane, Huldah, and Dick alike never seemed to have peeped, and the consciousness of this was

"Uncle Jerry" and "aunt Sarah" Cobb were dear friends of quite another sort, a very satisfying and perhaps a

somewhat dangerous one. A visit from Rebecca always sent them into a twitter of delight. Her merry

conversation and quaint come ments on life in general fairly dazzled the old couple, who hung on her

lightest word as if it had been a prophet's utterance; and Rebecca, though she had had no previous experience,

owned to herself a perilous pleasure in being dazzling, even to a couple of dear humdrum old people like Mr.

and Mrs. Cobb. Aunt Sarah flew to the pantry or cellar whenever Rebecca's slim little shape first appeared on

the crest of the hill, and a jelly tart or a frosted cake was sure to be forthcoming. The sight of old uncle Jerry's

spare figure in its clean white shirt sleeves, whatever the weather, always made Rebecca's heart warm when

she saw him peer longingly from the kitchen window. Before the snow came, many was the time he had

come out to sit on a pile of boards at the gate, to see if by any chance she was mounting the hill that led to

their house. In the autumn Rebecca was often the old man's companion while he was digging potatoes or

shelling beans, 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 is safe to say that he was the only creature in Riverboro who

possessed Rebecca's entire confidence; the only being to whom she poured out her whole heart, with its

wealth of hopes, and dreams, and vague ambitions. At the brick house she practiced scales and exercises, but

at the Cobbs' cabinet organ she sang like a bird, improvising simple accompaniments that seemed to her

ignorant auditors nothing short of marvelous. Here she was happy, here she was loved, here she was drawn

out of herself and admired and made much of. But, she thought, if there were somebody who not only loved

but understood; who spoke her language, comprehended her desires, and responded to her mysterious

longings! Perhaps in the big world of Wareham there would be people who thought and dreamed and

In reality Jane did not understand her niece very much better than Miranda; the difference between the sisters

was, that while Jane was puzzled, she was also attracted, and when she was quite in the dark for an

explanation of some quaint or unusual action she was sympathetic as to its possible motive and believed the

best. A greater change had come over Jane than over any other person in the brick house, but it had been

wrought so secretly, and concealed so religiously, that it scarcely appeared to the ordinary observer. Life had

now a motive utterly lacking before. Breakfast was not eaten in the kitchen, because it seemed worth while,

now that there were three persons, to lay the cloth in the dining room; it was also a more bountiful meal than

of yore, when there was no child to consider. The morning was made cheerful by Rebecca's start for school,

the packing of the luncheon basket, the final word about umbrella, waterproof, or rubbers; the parting

admonition and the unconscious waiting at the window for the last wave of the hand. She found herself taking

pride in Rebecca's improved appearance, her rounder throat and cheeks, and her better color; she was wont to

mention the length of Rebecca's hair and add a word as to its remarkable evenness and lustre, at times when

Mrs. Perkins grew too diffuse about Emma Jane's complexion. She threw herself wholeheartedly on her

niece's side when it became a question between a crimson or a brown linseywoolsey dress, and went

through a memorable struggle with her sister concerning the purchase of a red bird for Rebecca's black felt

hat. No one guessed the quiet pleasure that lay hidden in her heart when she watched the girl's dark head bent

over her lessons at night, nor dreamed of her joy it, certain quiet evenings when Miranda went to prayer

meeting; evenings when Rebecca would read aloud Hiawatha or Barbara Frietchie, The Bugle Song, or The

Brook. Her narrow, humdrum existence bloomed under the dews that fell from this fresh spirit; her dullness

brightened under the kindling touch of the younger mind, took fire from the "vital spark of heavenly flame"

Rebecca's idea of being a painter like her friend Miss Ross was gradually receding, owing to the apparently

insuperable difficulties in securing any instruction. Her aunt Miranda saw no wisdom in cultivating such a

talent, and could not conceive that any money could ever be earned by its exercise, "Hand painted pictures"

were held in little esteem in Riverboro, where the cheerful chromo or the dignified steel engraving were

respected and valued. There was a slight, a very slight hope, that Rebecca might be allowed a few music

lessons from Miss Morton, who played the church cabinet organ, but this depended entirely upon whether

Mrs. Morton would decide to accept a hayrack in return for a year's instruction from her daughter. She had

the matter under advisement, but a doubt as to whether or not she would sell or rent her hayfields kept her

from coming to a conclusion. Music, in common with all other accomplishments, was viewed by Miss

Miranda as a trivial, useless, and foolish amusement, but she allowed Rebecca an hour a day for practice on

the old piano, and a little extra time for lessons, if Jane could secure them without payment of actual cash.

The news from Sunnybrook Farm was hopeful rather than otherwise. Cousin Ann's husband had died, and

John, Rebecca's favorite brother, had gone to be the man of the house to the widowed cousin. He was to have

good schooling in return for his care of the horse and cow and barn, and what was still more dazzling, the use

of the old doctor's medical library of two or three dozen volumes. John's whole heart was set on becoming a

country doctor, with Rebecca to keep house for him, and the vision seemed now so true, so near, that he

could almost imagine his horse ploughing through snowdrifts on errands of mercy, or, less dramatic but none

the less attractive, could see a physician's neat turncut trundling along the shady country roads, a medicine

case between his, Dr. Randall's, feet, and Miss Rebecca Randall sitting in a black silk dress by his side.

Hannah now wore her hair in a coil and her dresses a trifle below her ankles, these concessions being due to

her extreme height. Mark had broken his collar bone, but it was healing well. Little Mira was growing very

pretty. There was even a rumor that the projected railroad from Temperance to Plumville might go near the

Randall farm, in which case land would rise in value from nothingatall an acre to something at least

resembling a price. Mrs. Randall refused to consider any improvement in their financial condition as a

possibility. Content to work from sunrise to sunset to gain a mere subsistence for her children, she lived in

their future, not in her own present, as a mother is wont to do when her own lot seems hard and cheerless.

When Rebecca looked back upon the year or two that followed the Simpsons' Thanksgiving party, she could

The first milestone was Christmas Day. It was a fresh, crystal morning, with icicles hanging like dazzling

pendants from the trees and a glaze of pale blue on the surface of the snow. The Simpsons' red barn stood out,

a glowing mass of color in the white landscape. Rebecca had been busy for weeks before, trying to make a

present for each of the seven persons at Sunnybrook Farm, a somewhat difficult proceeding on an

expenditure of fifty cents, hoarded by incredible exertion. Success had been achieved, however, and the

precious packet had been sent by post two days previous. Miss Sawyer had bought her niece a nice gray

squirrel muff and tippet, which was even more unbecoming if possible, than Rebecca's other articles of

wearing apparel; but aunt Jane had made her the loveliest dress of green cashmere, a soft, soft green like that

of a young leaf. It was very simply made, but the color delighted the 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 been an

There was a knock at the door at breakfast time, and Rebecca, answering it, was asked by a boy if Miss

Rebecca Randall lived there. On being told that she did, he handed her a parcel bearing her name, a parcel

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

The parcel being untied proved to have two smaller packages within, and Rebecca opened with trembling

fingers the one addressed to her. Anybody's fingers would have trembled. There was a case which, when the

cover was lifted, disclosed a long chain of delicate pink coral beads,a chain ending in a cross made of coral

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

"Adam Ladd! Well I never! Don't you remember Ellen Burnham said he was going to send Rebecca a

Christmas present? But I never supposed he'd think of it again," said Jane. "What's the other package?"

It proved to be a silver chain with a blue enamel locket on it, marked for Emma Jane. That added the last

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.

"Well, well!" cried Miss Jane, "isn't that kind of him? He's very fond of children, Lyddy Burnham says. Now

eat your breakfast, Rebecca, and after we've done the dishes you can run over to Emma's and give her her

Rebecca's emotions seemed always to be stored, as it were, in adjoining compartments, and to be continually

getting mixed. At this moment, though her joy was too deep for words, her bread and butter almost choked

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 them for years. On a footstool near the open fire sat Rebecca, silent and

shy, so conscious of her fine apparel and the presence of aunt Miranda that she could not utter a word. It was

one of her "beauty days." Happiness, excitement, the color of the green dress, and the touch of lovely pink in

the coral necklace had transformed the little brown wren for the time into a bird of plumage, and Adam Ladd

watched her with evident satisfaction. Then there was the sleigh ride, during which she found her tongue and

chattered like any magpie, and so ended that glorious Christmas Day; and many and many a night thereafter

did Rebecca go to sleep with the precious coral chain under her pillow, one hand always upon it to be certain

Another milestone was the departure of the Simpsons from Riverboro, bag and baggage, the banquet lamp

being their most conspicuous posses sion. It was delightful to be rid of Seesaw's hateful presence; but

otherwise the loss of several playmates at one fell swoop made rather a gap in Riverboro's "younger set," and

Rebecca was obliged to make friends with the Robinson baby, he being the only longclothes child in the

village that winter. The faithful Seesaw had called at the side door of the brick house on the evening before

his departure, and when Rebecca answered his knock, stammered solemnly, "Can I kkeep comp'ny with you

when you ggrow up?" "Certainly NOT," replied Rebecca, closing the door somewhat too speedily upon

Mr. Simpson had come home in time to move his wife and children back to the town that had given them

birth, a town by no means waiting with open arms to receive them. The Simpsons' moving was presided over

by the village authorities and somewhat anxiously watched by the entire neighborhood, but in spite of all

precautions a pulpit chair, several kerosene lamps, and a small stove disappeared from the church and were

successfully swapped in the course of Mr. Simpson's driving tour from the old home to the new. It gave

Rebecca and Emma Jane some hours of sorrow to learn that a certain village in the wake of Abner Simpson's

line of progress had acquired, through the medium of an ambitious young minister, a magnificent lamp for its

new church parlors. No money changed hands in the operation; for the minister succeeded in getting the lamp

in return for an old bicycle. The only pleasant feature of the whole affair was that Mr. Simpson, wholly

unable to console his offspring for the loss of the beloved object, mounted the bicycle and rode away on it,

The year was notable also as being the one in which Rebecca shot up like a young tree. She had seemingly

never grown an inch since she was ten years old, but once started she attended to growing precisely as she did

other things,with such energy, that Miss Jane did nothing for months but lengthen skirts, sleeves, and

waists. In spite of all the arts known to a thrifty New England woman, the limit of letting down and piecing

down was reached at last, and the dresses were sent to Sunnybrook Farm to be made over for Jenny.

There was another milestone, a sad one, marking a little grave under a willow tree at Sunnybrook Farm. Mira,

the baby of the Randall family, died, and Rebecca went home for a fortnight's visit. The sight of the small

still shape that had been Mira, the baby who had been her special charge ever since her birth, woke into being

a host of new thoughts and wonderments; for it is sometimes the mystery of death that brings one to a

It was a sorrowful homecoming for Rebecca. The death of Mira, the absence of John, who had been her

special comrade, the sadness of her mother, the isolation of the little house, and the pinching economies that

went on within it, all conspired to depress a child who was so sensitive 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 in certain ways she now appeared older than aunt Jane soberer, and more

Rebecca walked through all the old playgrounds and favorite haunts of her early childhood; all her familiar,

her secret places; some of them known to John, some to herself alone. There was the spot where the Indian

pipes grew; the particular bit of marshy ground where the fringed gentians used to be largest and bluest; the

rock maple where she found the oriole's nest; the hedge where the field mice lived; the mosscovered stump

where the white toadstools were wont to spring up as if by magic; the hole at the root of the old pine where an

ancient and honorable toad made his home; these were the landmarks of her childhood, and she looked at

them as across an immeasurable distance. The dear little sunny brook, her chief companion after John, was

sorry company at this season. There was no laughing water sparkling in the sunshine. In summer the merry

stream had danced over white pebbles on its way to deep pools where it could be still and think. Now, like

Mira, it was cold and quiet, wrapped in its shroud of snow; but Rebecca knelt 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. It was all

right! Sunnybrook would sing again in the spring; perhaps Mira too would have her singing time

somewhereshe 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 from the daily care and work of

the farm. She, Rebecca, had enjoyed all the privileges thus far. Life at the brick house had not been by any

means a path of roses, but there had been comfort and the companionship of other children, as well as

chances for study and reading. Riverboro had not been the world itself, but it had been a glimpse of it through

a tiny peephole that was infinitely better than nothing. Rebecca shed more than one quiet tear before she

could trust herself to offer up as a sacrifice that which she so much desired for herself. Then one morning as

her visit neared its end she plunged into the subject boldly and said, "Hannah, after this term I'm going to stay

at home and let you go away. Aunt Miranda has always wanted you, and it's only fair you should have your

Hannah was darning stockings, and she threaded her needle and snipped off the yarn before she answered,

"No, thank you, Becky. Mother couldn't do without me, and I hate going to school. I can read and write and

cipher as well as anybody now, and that's enough for me. I'd die rather than teach school for a living. The

winter'll go fast, for Will Melville is going to lend me his mother's sewing machine, and I'm going to make

white petticoats out of the piece of muslin aunt Jane sent, and have 'em just solid with tucks. Then there's

going to be a singingschool and a social circle in Temperance after New Year's, and I shall have a real good

time now I'm grown up. I'm not one to be lonesome, Becky," Hannah ended with a blush; "I love this place."

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

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 a wake of smaller events in its train. This was the coming to Riverboro of the

The Aid Society had called its meeting for a certain Wednesday in March of the year in which Rebecca ended

her Riverboro school days and began her studies at Wareham. It was a raw, blustering day, snow on the

ground and a look in the sky of more to follow. Both Miranda and Jane had taken cold and decided that they

could not leave the house in such weather, and this deflection from the path of duty worried Miranda, since

she was an officer of the society. After making the breakfast table sufficiently uncomfortable and wishing

plaintively that Jane wouldn't always insist on being sick at the same time she was, she decided that Rebecca

must go to the meeting in their stead. "You'll be better than nobody, Rebecca," she said flatteringly; "your

aunt Jane shall write an excuse from afternoon school for you; you can wear your rubber boots and come

home by the way of the meetin' house. This Mr. Burch, if I remember right, used to know your grandfather

Sawyer, and stayed here once when he was candidatin'. He'll mebbe look for us there, and you must just go

and represent the family, an' give him our respects. Be careful how you behave. Bow your head in prayer;

sing all the hymns, but not too loud and bold; ask after Mis' Strout's boy; tell everybody what awful colds

we've got; if you see a good chance, take your pocket handkerchief and wipe the dust off the melodeon before

the meetin' begins, and get twentyfive cents out of the sittin' room matchbox in case there should be a

Rebecca willingly assented. Anything interested her, even a village missionary meeting, and the idea of

The service was held in the Sundayschool room, and although the Rev. Mr. Burch was on the platform

when Rebecca entered, there were only a dozen persons present. Feeling a little shy and considerably too

young for this assemblage, Rebecca sought the shelter of a friendly face, and seeing Mrs. Robinson in one of

"Both my aunts had bad colds," she said softly, "and sent me to represent 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 save souls seems like you hev' to part with your complexion. Eudoxy Morton ain't

come yet; I hope to the land she will, or Mis' Deacon Milliken'll pitch the tunes where we can't reach 'em with

Mrs. Burch was a slim, frail little woman with dark hair, a broad low forehead, and patient mouth. She was

dressed in a wellworn 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 you give 'em anything they'd turn right

round and give it to the heathen. His congregation up to Parsonsfield clubbed together and give him that gold

watch he carries; I s'pose he'd 'a' handed that over too, only heathens always tell time by the sun 'n' don't need

watches. Eudoxy ain't comin'; now for massy's sake, Rebecca, do git ahead of Mis' Deacon Milliken and pitch

The meeting began with prayer and then the Rev. Mr. Burch announced, to the 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?" he asked unexpectedly.

Everybody looked at everybody else, and nobody moved; then there came a voice 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

she went to the melodeon and did so without any ado, no member of her family being present to give her

The talk that ensued was much the usual sort of thing. Mr. Burch made impassioned appeals for the spreading

of the gospel, and added his entreaties that all who were prevented from visiting in person the peoples who

sat in darkness should contribute liberally to the support of others who could. But he did more than this. He

was a pleasant, earnest speaker, and he interwove his discourse with stories of life in a foreign land,of the

manners, the customs, the speech, the point of view; even giving glimpses of the daily round, the common

task, of his own household, the work of his devoted helpmate and their little group of children, all born under

Rebecca sat entranced, having been given the key of another world. Riverboro had faded; the Sundayschool

room, with Mrs. Robinson's red plaid shawl, and Deacon Milliken's wig, on crooked, the bare benches and

torn hymnbooks, the hanging texts and maps, were no longer visible, and she saw blue skies and burning

stars, white turbans and gay colors; Mr. Burch had not said so, but perhaps there were mosques and temples

and minarets and datepalms. What stories they must know, those children born under Syrian skies! Then she

The contribution box was passed and Mr. Burch prayed. As he opened his eyes and gave out the last hymn he

looked at the handful of people, at the scattered pennies and dimes in the contribution box, and reflected that

his mission was not only to gather funds for the building of his church, but to keep alive, in all these remote

and lonely neighborhoods, that love for the cause which was its only hope in the years to come.

"If any of the sisters will provide entertainment," he said, "Mrs. Burch and I will remain among you tonight

and tomorrow. In that event we could hold a parlor meeting. My wife and one of my children would wear

the native costume, we would display some specimens of Syrian handiwork, and give an account of our

educational methods with the children. These informal parlor meetings, admitting of questions or

conversation, are often the means of interesting those not commonly found at church services so I repeat, if

any member of the congregation desires it and offers her hospitality, we will gladly stay and tell you more of

A pall of silence settled over the little assembly. There was some cogent 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 together with unbelievers" who disliked strange

ministers. Mrs. Burch's thin hands fingered her black silk nervously. "Would no one speak!" thought

Rebecca, her heart fluttering with sympathy. Mrs. Robinson leaned over and whispered significantly, "The

missionaries always used to be entertained at the brick house; your grand father never would let 'em sleep

anywheres else when he was alive." She meant this for a stab at Miss Miranda's parsimony, remembering the

four spare chambers, closed from January to December; but Rebecca thought it was intended as a suggestion.

If it had been a former custom, perhaps her aunts would want her to do the right thing; for what else was she

representing the family? So, delighted that duty lay in so pleasant a direction, she rose from her seat and said

in the pretty voice and with the quaint manner that so separated her from all the other young people in the

village, "My aunts, Miss Miranda and Miss Jane Sawyer, would be very happy to have you visit them at the

brick house, as the ministers always used to do when their father was alive. They sent their respects by me."

The "respects" might have been the freedom of the city, or an equestrian statue, when presented in this way,

and the aunts would have shuddered could they have foreseen the manner of delivery; but it was vastly

impressive to the audience, who concluded that Mirandy Sawyer must be making her way uncommonly fast

Mr. Burch bowed courteously, accepted the invitation "in the same spirit in which it was offered," and asked

If the Eternal Ear could ever tire it would have ceased long ere this to listen to Deacon Milliken, who had

wafted to the throne of grace the same prayer, with very slight variations, for forty years. Mrs. Perkins

followed; she had several petitions at her command, good sincere ones too, but a little cut and dried, made of

scripture texts laboriously woven together. Rebecca wondered why she always ended, at the most peaceful

seasons, with the form, "Do Thou be with us, God of Battles, while we strive onward like Christian soldiers

marching as to war;" but everything sounded real to her today, she was in a devout mood, and many things

Mr. Burch had said had moved her strangely. As she lifted her head the minister looked directly at her and

Every drop of blood in Rebecca's body seemed to stand still, and her heart almost stopped beating. Mrs.

Cobb's excited breathing could be heard distinctly in the silence. There was nothing extraordinary in Mr.

Burch's request. In his journeyings among country congregations he was constantly in the habit of meeting

young members who had "experienced religion" and joined the church when nine or ten years old. Rebecca

was now thirteen; she had played the melodeon, led the singing, delivered her aunts' invitation with an air of

great worldly wisdom, and he, concluding that she must be a youthful pillar of the church, called upon her

Rebecca's plight was pathetic. How could she refuse; how could she explain she was not a "member;" how

could she pray before all those elderly women! John Rogers at the stake hardly suffered more than this poor

child for the moment as she rose to her feet, forgetting that ladies prayed sitting, while deacons stood in

prayer. Her mind was a maze of pictures that the Rev. Mr. Burch had flung on the screen. She knew the

conventional phraseology, of course; what New England child, accustomed to Wednesday evening meetings,

does not? But her own secret prayers 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 today

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

Poor little ignorant, fantastic child! Her petition was simply a succession of lines from the various hymns,

and images the minister had used in his sermon, but she had her own way of recombining and applying these

things, even of using them in a new connection, so that they had a curious effect of belonging to her. The

words of some people might generally be written with a minus sign after them, the minus meaning that the

personality of the speaker subtracted from, rather than added to, their weight; but Rebecca's words might

The "Amen" said, she sat down, or presumed she sat down, on what she believed to be a bench, and there was

a benediction. In a moment or two, when the room ceased spinning, she went up to Mrs. Burch, who kissed

her affectionately and said, "My dear, how glad I am that we are going 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 and for our children.

Rebecca said that half past five was their supper hour, and then accepted an invitation to drive home with

Mrs. Cobb. Her face was flushed and her lip quivered in a way that aunt Sarah had learned to know, so the

homeward drive was taken almost in silence. The bleak wind and aunt Sarah's quieting presence brought her

back to herself, however, and she entered the brick house cheerily. Being too full of news to wait in the side

entry to take off her rubber boots, she carefully lifted a braided rug into the sittingroom and stood on that

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

It was a very small meeting, aunt Miranda," began Rebecca, "and the missionary and his wife are lovely

people, and they are coming here to stay all night and tomorrow 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

"No," Rebecca answered. "I had to invite them for you; but I thought you'd like to have such interesting

"Then you can explain, if you can, who gave you any authority to invite a passel of strangers to stop here

over night, when you know we ain't had any company for twenty years, and don't intend to have any for

"Don't blame her, Miranda, till you've heard her story," said Jane. "It was in my mind right along, if we went

to the meeting, some such thing might 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 president wasn't there, and Mrs. Matthews took the chair, which was a pity, for the

seat wasn't nearly big enough for her, and she reminded me of a line in a hymn we sang, `Wide as the heathen

nations are,' and she wore that kind of a beaver gardenhat that always gets on one side. And Mr. Burch

talked beautifully about the Syrian heathen, and the singing went real well, and there looked to be about forty

cents in the basket that was 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 Riverboro tomorrow, with Mrs. Burch in Syrian costume, and lovely foreign things to show. Then he

waited and waited, and nobody said a word. I was so mortified 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 was his duty. Just

then Mrs. Robinson whispered to me and said the missionaries always used to go to the brick house when

grandfather was alive, and that he never would let them sleep anywhere else. I didn't know you had stopped

having them. because no traveling ministers have been 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 for yourself, and you told me to

"No; I stood right up in meeting. I had to, for Mr. Burch's feelings were getting hurt at nobody's speaking. So

I said, `My aunts, Miss Miranda and Miss Jane Sawyer would be happy to have you visit at the brick house,

just as the missionaries always did when their father was alive, 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 thanked our Heavenly Father

that his spirit was still alive in his descendants (that was you), and that the good old house where so many of

the brethren had been cheered and helped, and from which so many had gone out strengthened for the fight,

Sometimes, when the heavenly bodies are in just the right conjunction, nature seems to be the most perfect

art. The word or the deed coming straight 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 full knowledge. If Rebecca had plotted for days, and with the utmost cunning, she

could not have effected an entrance into that forbidden country, and now, unknown to both of them, the gate

swung on its stiff and rusty hinges, and the favoring wind of opportunity opened it wider and wider as time

went on. All things had worked together amazingly for good. The memory of old days had been evoked, and

the daily life of a pious and venerated father called to mind; the Sawyer name had been publicly dignified and

praised; Rebecca had comported herself as the granddaughter of Deacon Israel Sawyer should, and showed

conclusively that she was not "all Randall," as had been supposed. Miranda was rather mollified by and

pleased with the turn of events, although she did not intend to show it, or give anybody any reason to expect

that this expression of hospitality was to serve for a precedent on any subsequent occasion.

"Well, I see you did only what you was obliged to do, Rebecca," she said, "and you worded your invitation as

nice as anybody could have done. I wish your aunt Jane and me wasn't both so worthless with these colds; but

it only shows the good of havin' a clean house, with every room in order, whether open or shut, and enough

victuals cooked so 't you can't be surprised and belittled by anybody, whatever happens. There was half a

dozen there that might have entertained the Burches as easy as not, if they hadn't 'a' been too mean or lazy.

"I didn't think to ask; but I will get two rooms ready, and if there are any over I'll take 'em into my bed," said

Rebecca, secretly hoping that this would be the case. "Now, as you're both half sick, couldn't you trust me

"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's half past threedon't you let me lay a minute past five. I kep' a good fire in the

kitchen stove. I don't know, I'm sure, why I should have baked a pot o' beans in the middle of the week, but

they'll come in handy. Father used to say there was nothing that went right to the spot with returned

missionaries like pork 'n' beans 'n' brown bread. Fix up the two south chambers, Rebecca."

Rebecca, given a free hand for the only time in her life, dashed upstairs like a whirlwind. Every room in the

brick house was as neat as wax, and she had only to pull up the shades, go over the floors with a whisk

broom, and dust the furniture. The aunts could hear her scurrying to and fro, beating up pillows and feather

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

She had grown to be a handy little creature, and tasks she was capable of doing at all she did like a flash, so

that when she called her aunts at five o'clock to pass judgment, she had accomplished wonders. There were

fresh towels on bureaus and washstands, the beds were fair and smooth, the pitchers were filled, and soap and

matches were laid out; newspaper, kindling, and wood were in the boxes, and a large stick burned slowly in

each air tight stove. "I thought I'd better just take the chill off," she explained, "as they're right from Syria;

There was nothing to disapprove, so the two sisters went downstairs to make some slight changes in their

dress. As they passed the parlor door Miranda 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 a fire laid on the hearth in the back room.

Rebecca's own lamp, her second Christmas present from Mr. Aladdin, stood on a marbletopped table in the

corner, the light that came softly through its rosecolored shade transforming the stiff and gloomy ugliness of

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

"We did on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I thought this was about as great an occasion," she said. "I

moved the wax flowers off the mantelpiece so they wouldn't melt, and put the shells, the coral, and the green

stuffed bird on top of the whatnot, so the children wouldn't ask to play with them. Brother Milliken's

coming over to see Mr. Burch about business, and I shouldn't wonder if Brother and Sister Cobb happened in.

"Ain't she the beatin'est creetur that ever was born int' the world!" exclaimed Miranda; "but she can turn off

At quarter past five everything was ready, and the neighbors, those at least who were within sight of the brick

house (a prominent object in the landscape when there were no leaves on the trees), were curious almost to

desperation. Shades up in both parlors! Shades up in the two south bedrooms! And firesif human vision

was to be relied onfires in about every room. If it had not been for the kind offices of a lady who had been

at the meeting, and who charitably called in at one or two houses and explained the reason of all this

The missionary party arrived promptly, and there were but two children, seven or eight having been left with

the brethren in Portland, to diminish traveling expenses. Jane escorted them all upstairs, while Miranda

watched the cooking of the supper; but Rebecca promptly took the two little girls away from their mother,

divested them of their wraps, smoothed their hair, and brought them down to the kitchen to smell the beans.

There was a bountiful supper, and the presence of the young people robbed it of all possible stiffness. Aunt

Jane helped clear the table and put away the food, while Miranda entertained in the parlor; but Rebecca and

the infant Burches washed the dishes and held high carnival in the kitchen, doing only trifling

damagebreaking a cup and plate that had been cracked before, emptying a silver spoon with some

dishwater out of the back door (an act never permitted at the brick house), and putting coffee grounds in the

sink. All evidences of crime having been removed by Rebecca, and damages repaired in all possible cases,

the three entered the parlor, where Mr. and Mrs. Cobb and Deacon and Mrs. Milliken had already appeared.

It was such a pleasant evening! Occasionally they left the heathen in his blindness bowing down to wood and

stone, not for long, but just to give themselves (and him) time enough to breathe, and then the Burches told

strange, beautiful, marvelous things. The two smaller children sang together, and Rebecca, at the urgent

request of Mrs. Burch, seated herself at the tinkling old piano and gave "Wild roved an Indian girl, bright

At eight o'clock she crossed the room, handed a palmleaf fan to her aunt Miranda, ostensibly that she might

shade her eyes from the lamplight; but it was a piece of strategy that gave her an opportunity to whisper,

Rebecca moved quietly towards the door, and the young Burches cataracted after her as if they could not bear

a second's separation. In five minutes they returned, the little ones bearing plates of thin caraway

wafers,hearts, diamonds, and circles daintily sugared, and flecked with caraway seed raised in the garden

behind the house. These were a specialty of Miss Jane's, and Rebecca carried a tray with six tiny crystal

glasses filled with dandelion wine, for which Miss Miranda had been famous in years gone by. Old Deacon

Israel had always had it passed, and he had bought the glasses himself in Boston. Miranda admired them

greatly, not only for their beauty but because they held so little. Before their advent the dandelion wine had

As soon as these refreshmentscommonly called a "colation" in Riverborohad been genteelly partaken

of, Rebecca looked at the clock, rose from her chair in the children's corner, and said cheerfully, "Come! time

Everybody laughed at this, the big missionaries most of all, as the young people shook hands and disappeared

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'able heedless," answered Miranda, "an'

"We must remember that it is deficient, not excessive vitality, that makes the greatest trouble in this world,"

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

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

"My sister don't believe in flattering children," hastily interpolated Jane, glancing toward Mrs. Burch, who

seemed somewhat shocked, and was about to open her lips to ask if Rebecca was not a "professor."

Mrs. Cobb had been looking for this question all the evening and dreading some allusion to her favorite as

gifted in prayer. She had taken an instantaneous and illogical dislike to the Rev. Mr. Burch in the afternoon

because he called upon Rebecca to "lead." She had seen the pallor creep into the girl's face, the hunted look in

her eyes, and the trembling of the lashes on her cheeks, and realized the ordeal through which she was

passing. Her prejudice against the minister had relaxed under his genial talk and presence, but feeling that

Mrs. Burch was about to tread on dangerous ground, she hastily asked her if one had to change cars many

times going from Riverboro to Syria. She felt that it was not a particularly appropriate question, but it served

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

"Then you've noticed it too! I thought at first, seein' she favored her father so on the outside, that she was the

"It struck me this afternoon when she got up to give your invitation in meetin'. It was kind o' cur'ous, but she

set in the same seat he used to when he was leader o' the Sabbathschool. You know his old way of holdin'

his chin up and throwin' his head back a leetle when he got up to say anything? Well, she done the very same

The callers left before nine, and at that hour (an impossibly dissipated one for the brick house) the family

retired for the night. As Rebecca carried Mrs. Burch's candle upstairs and found herself thus alone 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 do when he asked me to pray this afternoon. I hadn't the courage to say I had never done it out

loud and didn't know how. I couldn't think; and I was so frightened I wanted to sink into the floor. It seemed

bold and wicked for me to pray before all those old church members and make believe I was better than I

really was; but then again, wouldn't God think I was wicked not to be willing to pray when a minister asked

The candle light fell on Rebecca's flushed, sensitive face. Mrs. Burch bent and kissed her good night. "Don't

Rebecca waked before six the next morning, so full of household cares that sleep was impossible. She went to

"Aunt Jane told me she should get up at half past six and have breakfast at half past seven," she thought; "but

I daresay they are both sick with their colds, and aunt Miranda will be fidgety with so many in the house. I

She put on a wadded wrapper and slippers and stole quietly down the tabooed front stairs, carefully closed the

kitchen door behind her so that no noise should waken the rest of the household, busied herself for a half hour

with the early morning routine she knew so well, and then went back to her room to dress before calling the

Contrary to expectation, Miss Jane, who the evening before felt better than Miranda, grew worse in the night,

and was wholly unable to leave her bed in the morning. Miranda grumbled without ceasing during the

progress of her hasty toilet, blaming everybody in the universe for the afflictions she had borne and was to

bear during the day; she even castigated the Missionary Board that had sent the Burches to Syria, and gave it

as her unbiased opinion that those who went to foreign lands for the purpose of saving heathen should stay

there and save 'em, and not go gallivantin' all over the earth with a passel o' children, visitin' folks that didn't

Jane lay anxiously and restlessly in bed with a feverish headache, wondering how her sister could manage

Miranda walked stiffly through the diningroom, tying a shawl over her head to keep the draughts away,

intending to start the breakfast fire and then call Rebecca down, set her to work, and tell her, meanwhile, a

few plain facts concerning the proper way of representing the family at a missionary meeting.

She opened the kitchen door and stared vaguely about her, wondering whether she had strayed into the wrong

The shades were up, and there was a roaring fire in the stove; the teakettle was singing and bubbling as it sent

out a cloud of steam, and pushed 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 the settling process were standing near. The cold potatoes and corned beef were in the wooden

tray, and "Regards of Rebecca" stuck on the chopping knife. The brown loaf was out, the white loaf was out,

the toast rack was out, the doughnuts were out, the milk was skimmed, the butter had been brought from the

Miranda removed the shawl from her head and sank into the kitchen rocker, ejaculating under her breath,

The day and the evening passed off with credit and honor to everybody concerned, even to Jane, who had the

discretion to recover instead of growing worse and acting as a damper to the general enjoyment. The Burches

left with lively regrets, and the little missionaries, bathed in tears, swore eternal friendship with Rebecca, who

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

When they first saw the light, 'T was in a heathen land. Not Greenland's icy mountains, Nor India's coral

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 darkskinned unbelievers, And teach them of their

It can readily be seen that this visit of the returned missionaries to Riverboro was not without somewhat

farreaching results. Mr. and Mrs. Burch themselves looked back upon it as one of the rarest pleasures of

their half year at home. The neighborhood extracted considerable eager conversation from it; argument,

rebuttal, suspicion, certainty, retrospect, and prophecy. Deacon Milliken gave ten dollars towards the

conversion of Syria to Congregationalism, and Mrs. Milliken had a spell of sickness over her husband's rash

It would be pleasant to state that Miranda Sawyer was an entirely changed woman afterwards, but that is not

the fact. The tree that has been getting a twist for twenty years cannot be straightened in the twinkling of an

eye. It is certain, however, that although the difference to the outward eye was very small, it nevertheless

existed, and she was less censorious in her treatment of Rebecca, less harsh in her judgments, more hopeful

of final salvation for her. This had come about largely from her sudden vision that Rebecca, after all,

inherited something from the Sawyer side of the house instead of belonging, mind, body, and soul, to the

despised Randall stock. Everything that was interesting in Rebecca, and every evidence of power, capability,

or talent afterwards displayed by her, Miranda ascribed to the brick house training, and this gave her a feeling

of honest pride, the pride of a master workman who has built success out of the most unpromising material;

but never, to the very end, even when the waning of her bodily strength relaxed her iron grip and weakened

her power of repression, never once did she show that pride or make a single demonstration of affection.

Poor misplaced, belittled Lorenzo de Medici Ran dall, thought ridiculous and goodfornaught by his

associates, because he resembled them in nothing! If Riverboro could have been suddenly emptied into a

larger community, with different and more flexible opinions, he was, perhaps, the only personage in the

entire population who would have attracted the smallest attention. It was fortunate for his daughter that she

had been dowered with a little practical ability from her mother's family, but if Lorenzo had never done

anything else in the world, he might have glorified himself that he had prevented Rebecca from being all

Sawyer. Failure as he was, complete and entire, he had generously handed down to her all that was best in

himself, and prudently retained all that was unworthy. Few fathers are capable of such delicate

The brick house did not speedily become a sort of wayside inn, a place of innocent revelry and joyous

welcome; but the missionary company was an entering wedge, and Miranda allowed one spare bed to be

made up "in case anything should happen," while the crystal glasses were kept on the 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 it by stretching; and this is symbolic of the way in which she unconsciously scaled the walls of Miss

Miranda went so far as to say that she wouldn't mind if the Burches came every once in a while, but she was

afraid he'd spread abroad the fact of his visit, and missionaries' families would be underfoot the whole

continual time. As a case in point, she gracefully cited the fact that if a tramp got a good meal at anybody's

back door, 't was said that he'd leave some kind of a sign so that all other tramps would know where they

It is to be feared that there is some truth in this homely illustration, and Miss Miranda's dread as to her future

responsibilities had some foundation, though not of the precise sort she had in mind. The soul grows into

lovely habits as easily as into ugly ones, and the moment a life begins to blossom into beautiful words and

deeds, that moment a new standard of conduct is established, and your eager neighbors look to you for a

continuous manifestation of the good cheer, the sympathy, the ready wit, the comradeship, or the inspiration,

you once showed yourself capable of. Bear figs for a season or two, and the world outside the orchard is very

The effect of the Burches' visit on Rebecca is not easily described. Nevertheless, as she looked back upon it

from the vantage ground of after years, she felt that the moment when Mr. Burch asked her to "lead in

If you have ever observed how courteous and gracious and mannerly you feel when you don a beautiful new

frock; if you have ever noticed the feeling of reverence stealing over you when you close your eyes, clasp

your hands, and bow your head; if you have ever watched your sense of repulsion toward a fellow creature

melt a little under the exercise of daily politeness, you may understand how the adoption of the outward and

visible sign has some strange influence in developing the inward and spiritual state of which it is the

It is only when one has grown old and dull that the soul is heavy and refuses to rise. The young soul is ever

winged; a breath stirs it to an upward flight. Rebecca was asked to bear witness to a state of mind or feeling

of whose existence she had only the vaguest consciousness. She obeyed, and as she uttered words they

became true in the uttering; as she voiced aspirations they settled into realities.

As "dove that to its window flies," her spirit soared towards a great light, dimly discovered at first, but

brighter as she came closer to it. To become sensible of oneness with the Divine heart before any sense of

separation has been felt, this is surely the most beautiful way for the child to find God.

The time so long and eagerly waited for had come, and Rebecca was a student at Wareham. Persons who had

enjoyed the social bewilderments and advantages of foreign courts, or had mingled freely in the intellectual

circles of great universities, might not have looked upon Wareham as an extraordinary experience; but it was

as much of an advance upon Riverboro as that village had been upon Sunnybrook Farm. Rebecca's intention

was to complete the four years' course in three, as it was felt by all the parties concerned that when she had

attained the ripe age of seventeen she must be ready to earn her own living and help in the education of the

younger children. While she was wondering how this could be successfully accomplished, some of the other

girls were cogitating as to how they could meander through the four years and come out at the end knowing

no more than at the beginning. This would seem a difficult, wellnigh an impossible task, but it can be

Rebecca was to go to and fro on the cars daily from September to Christmas, and then board in Wareham

during the three coldest months. Emma Jane's parents had always thought that a year or two in the Edgewood

high school (three miles from Riverboro) would serve every purpose for their daughter and send her into the

world with as fine an intellectual polish as she could well sustain. Emma Jane had hitherto heartily concurred

in this opinion, for if there was any one thing that she detested it was the learning of lessons. One book was

as bad as another in her eyes, and she could have seen the libraries of the world sinking into ocean depths and

have eaten her dinner cheerfully the while; but matters assumed a different complexion when she was sent to

Edgewood and Rebecca to Wareham. She bore it for a week seven endless days of absence from the

beloved object, whom she could see only in the evenings when both were busy with their lessons. Sunday

offered an opportunity 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 leased his farm and came into Riverboro, but proposed to go back to it presently, and by that time

Emma Jane would have finished school and would be ready to help her mother with the dairy work.

Another week passed. Emma Jane pined visibly and audibly. Her color faded, and her appetite (at table)

Her mother alluded plaintively to the fact that the Perkinses had a habit of going into declines; that she'd

always feared that Emma Jane's complexion was too beautiful to be healthy; that some men would be proud

of having an ambitious daughter, and be glad to give her the best advantages; that she feared the daily

journeys to Edgewood were going to be too much for her own health, and Mr. Perkins would have to hire a

boy to drive Emma Jane; and finally that when a girl had such a passion for learning as Emma Jane, it seemed

Mr. Perkins bore this for several days until his temper, digestion, and appetite were all sensibly affected; then

he bowed his head to the inevitable, and Emma Jane flew, like a captive set free, to the loved one's bower.

Neither did her courage flag, although it was put to terrific tests when she entered the academic groves of

Wareham. She passed in only two subjects, but went cheerfully into the preparatory department with her five

"conditions," intending to let the stream of education play gently over her mental surfaces and not get any

wetter than she could help. It is not possible to blink the truth that Emma Jane was dull; but a dogged,

unswerving loyalty, and the gift of devoted, unselfish loving, these, after all, are talents of a sort, and may

possibly be of as much value in the world as a sense of numbers or a faculty for languages.

Wareham was a pretty village with a broad main street shaded by great maples and elms. It had an

apothecary, a blacksmith, a plumber, several shops of one sort and another, two churches, and many

boardinghouses; but all its interests gathered about its seminary and its academy. These seats of learning

were neither better nor worse than others of their kind, but differed much in efficiency, according as the

principal who chanced to be at the head was a man of power and inspiration or the reverse. There were boys

and girls gathered from all parts of the county and state, and they were of every kind and degree as to birth,

position in the world, wealth or poverty. There was an opportunity for a deal of foolish and imprudent

behavior, but on the whole surprisingly little advantage was taken of it. Among the third and fourth year

students there was a certain amount of going to and from the trains in couples; some carrying of heavy books

up the hill by the sterner sex for their feminine schoolmates, and occasional bursts of silliness on the part of

heedless and precocious girls, among whom was Huldah Meserve. She was friendly enough with Emma Jane

and Rebecca, but grew less and less intimate as time went on. She was extremely pretty, with a profusion of

auburn hair, and a few very tiny freckles, to which she constantly alluded, as no one could possibly detect

them without noting her porcelain skin and her curling lashes. She had merry eyes, a somewhat too plump

figure for her years, and was popularly supposed to have a fascinating way with her. Riverboro being poorly

furnished with beaux, she intended to have as good a time during her four years at Wareham as circumstances

would permit. Her idea of pleasure was an everchanging circle of admirers to fetch and carry for her, the

more publicly the better; incessant chaff and laughter and vivacious conversation, made eloquent and

effective by arch looks and telling glances. She had a habit of confiding her conquests to less fortunate girls

and bewailing the incessant havoc and damage she was doing; a damage she avowed herself as innocent of, in

intention, as any newborn lamb. It does not take much of this sort of thing to wreck an ordinary friendship,

so before long Rebecca and Emma Jane sat in one end of the railway train in going to and from Riverboro,

and Huldah occupied the other with her court. Sometimes this was brilliant beyond words, including a certain

youthful Monte Cristo, who on Fridays expended thirty cents on a round trip ticket and traveled from

Wareham to Riverboro merely to be near Huldah; sometimes, too, the circle was reduced to the

popcornandpeanut boy of the train, who seemed to serve every purpose in default of better game.

Rebecca was in the normally unconscious state that belonged to her years; boys were good comrades, but no

more; she liked reciting in the same class with them, everything seemed to move better; but from vulgar and

precocious flirtations she was protected by her ideals. There was little in the lads she had met thus far to

awaken her fancy, for it habitually fed on better meat. Huldah's school girl romances, with their wealth of

commonplace detail, were not the stuff her dreams were made of, when dreams did flutter across the sensitive

Among the teachers at Wareham was one who influenced Rebecca profoundly, Miss Emily Maxwell, with

whom she studied English literature and composition. Miss Maxwell, as the niece of one of Maine's

exgovernors and the daughter of one of Bowdoin's professors, was the most remarkable personality in

Wareham, and that her few years of teaching happened to be in Rebecca's time was the happiest of all

chances. There was no indecision or delay in the establishment of their relations; Rebecca's heart flew like an

arrow to its mark, and her mind, meeting its superior, settled at once into an abiding attitude of respectful

It was rumored that Miss Maxwell "wrote," which word, when uttered in a certain tone, was understood to

mean not that a person had command of penmanship, Spencerian or otherwise, but that she had appeared in

"You'll like her; she writes," whispered Huldah to Rebecca the first morning at prayers, where the faculty sat

Nobody seemed possessed of exact information with which to satisfy the hungry mind, but there was believed

to be at least one person in existence who had seen, with his own eyes, an essay by Miss Maxwell in a

magazine. This height of achievement made Rebecca somewhat shy of her, but she looked her admiration;

something that most of the class could never do with the unsatisfactory organs of vision given them by

Mother Nature. Miss Maxwell's glance was always meeting a pair of eager dark eyes; when she said anything

particularly good, she looked for approval to the corner of the second bench, where every shade of feeling she

One day, when the first essay of the class was under discussion, she asked each new pupil to bring her some

composition written during the year before, that she might judge the work, and know precisely with what

material she had to deal. Rebecca lingered after the others, and approached the desk shyly.

"I haven't any compositions here, Miss Maxwell, but I can find one when I go home on Friday. They are

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

"No," answered Rebecca, shaking her head decidedly; "I wanted to use ribbons, 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 one on

solitude I fastened with an old shoelacing just to show it what I thought of it!"

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

"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 all bad, and I can't bear to show them; I can write poetry easier and

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

Rebecca took the blankbook in which she kept copies of her effusions and left it at Miss Maxwell's door,

hoping that she might be asked in and thus obtain a private interview; but a servant answered her ring, and

A few days afterward she saw the blackcovered book on Miss Maxwell's desk and knew that the dreaded

moment of criticism had come, so she was not surprised to be asked to remain after class.

The room was quiet; the red leaves rustled in the breeze and flew in at the open window, bearing the first

compliments of the season. Miss Maxwell came and sat by Rebecca's side on the bench.

"Not so very," confessed Rebecca; "but it's hard to tell all by yourself. 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

This ingenuous remark confirmed Miss Maxwell's opinion of Rebecca as a girl who could hear the truth and

"Well, my child," she said smilingly, "your friends were wrong and you were right; judged by the proper

"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 could keep the tears back until the interview was over.

"Don't go so fast," interrupted Miss Maxwell. "Though they don't amount to anything as poetry, they show a

good deal of promise in certain direc tions. You almost never make a mistake in rhyme or metre, and this

shows you have a natural sense of what is right; a `sense of form,' poets would call it. When you grow older,

have a little more experience,in fact, when you have something to say, I think you may write very good

verses. Poetry needs knowledge and vision, experience and imagination, Rebecca. You have not the first

"Certainly you may; it will only help you to write better prose. Now for the first composition. I am going to

ask all the new students to write a letter giving some description of the town and a hint of the school life."

"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 and stupid, if it is a real letter; but if I could make believe I was a different girl

altogether, and write to somebody who would be sure to understand everything I said, I could make it nicer."

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

"I like heiresses very much," replied Rebecca contemplatively. "Of course I never saw one, but interesting

things are always happening to heiresses, especially to the goldenhaired kind. My heiress wouldn't be vain

and haughty like the wicked sisters in Cinderella; she would be noble and generous. She would give up a

grand school in Boston because she wanted to come here where her father lived when he was a boy, long

before he made his fortune. The father is dead now, and she has a guardian, the best and kindest man in the

world; he is rather old of course, and sometimes very quiet and grave, but sometimes when he is happy, he is

full of fun, and then Evelyn is not afraid of him. Yes, the girl shall be called Evelyn Abercrombie, and her

"Yes, he's my very best friend," cried Rebecca delightedly. "Do you know him too?"

"Oh, yes; he is a trustee of these schools, you know, and often comes here. But if I let you `suppose' any

more, you will tell me your whole letter and then I shall lose a pleasant surprise."

What Rebecca thought of Miss Maxwell we already know; how the teacher regarded the pupil may be

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 selfsufficient, 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 shellsplitting, 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 fourteenyearold pair of lips quivering with delight,

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. . . . Goodby; I'll bring Rebecca home with me some Friday, and let you and mother see her for

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 just been down to the store and bought me these gloves, for I was bound I

wouldn't wear mittens this winter; they're simply too countrified. It's your first year here, and you're younger

than I am, so I s'pose you don'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 the others can begin to compare with it! I don't know what

gives it that simply gorgeous look, whether it's the full curtains, or that elegant screen, or Rebecca's lamp; but

you certainly do have a faculty for fixing up. I like a pretty room too, but I never have a minute to attend to

mine; I'm always so busy on my clothes that half the time I don't get my bed made up till noon; and after all,

having no callers but the girls, it don't make much difference. When I graduate, I'm going to fix up our parlor

at home so it'll be simply regal. I've learned decalcomania, and after I take up lustre painting I shall have it

simply stiff with drapes and tidies and placques and sofa pillows, and make mo ther let me have a fire, and

receive my friends there evenings. May I dry my feet at your register? I can't bear to wear rubbers unless the

mud or the slush is simply kneedeep, they make your feet look so awfully big. I had such a fuss getting this

pair of Frenchheeled boots that I don't intend to spoil the looks of them with rubbers any oftener than I can

help. I believe boys notice feet quicker than anything. Elmer Webster stepped on one of mine yesterday when

I accidentally had it out in the aisle, and when he apologized after class, he said he wasn't so much to blame,

for the foot was so little he really couldn't see it! Isn't he perfectly great? Of course that's only his way of

talking, for after all I only wear a number two, but these French heels and pointed toes do certainly make

your foot look smaller, and it's always said a high instep helps, too. I used to think mine was almost a

deformity, but they say it's a great beauty. Just put your feet beside mine, girls, and look at the difference; not

"My feet are very comfortable where they are," responded Rebecca dryly. "I can't stop to measure insteps on

algebra days; I've noticed your habit of keeping a foot in the aisle ever since you had those new shoes, so I

"Perhaps I am a little mite conscious of them, because they're not so very comfortable at first, till you get

"Our Christmas presents, you mean," said Emma Jane. "The pillowcases are from Mrs. Cobb, the rug from

cousin Mary in North Riverboro, the scrapbasket from Living and Dick. We gave each other the bureau and

"Well, you were lucky when you met him! Gracious! I wish I could meet somebody like that. The way he

keeps it up, too! It just hides your bed, doesn't it, and I always say that a bed takes the style off any

roomspecially when it's not made up; though you have an alcove, and it's the only one in the whole

building. I don't see how you managed to get this good room when you're such new scholars," she finished

"We shouldn't have, except that Ruth Berry had to go away suddenly on account of her father's death. This

room was empty, and Miss Maxwell asked if we might have it," returned Emma Jane.

"The great and only Max is more stiff and standoffish than ever this year," said Huldah. "I've simply given up

trying to please her, for there's no justice in her; she is good to her favorites, but she doesn't pay the least

attention to anybody else, except to make sarcastic speeches about things that are none of her business. I

"I wish you wouldn't talk against Miss Maxwell to me," said Rebecca hotly. "You know how I feel."

"I not only abide, I love her!" exclaimed Rebecca. "I wouldn't let the sun shine too hot on her, or the wind

blow too cold. I'd like to put a marble platform in her classroom and have her sit in a velvet chair behind a

"Well, don't have a fit!because she can sit where she likes for all of me; I've got something better to think

"Yes, but I lost my Latin grammar yesterday; I left it in the hall half an hour while I was having a regular

scene with Herbert Dunn. I haven't spoken to him for a week and gave him back his class pin. He was simply

furious. Then when I came back to the hall, the book was gone. I had to go down town for my gloves and to

the principal's office to see if the grammar 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 been dyed a brilliant blue. She had

added three rows of white braid and large white pearl buttons to her gray jacket, in order to make it a little

more "dressy." Her gray felt hat had a white feather on it, and a white tissue veil with large black dots made

her delicate skin look brilliant. Rebecca thought how lovely the knot of red hair looked under the hat behind,

and how the color of the front had been dulled by incessant frizzing with curling irons. Her open jacket

disclosed a galaxy of souvenirs pinned to the background of bright blue,a small American flag, a button of

the Wareham Rowing Club, and one or two society pins. These decorations proved her popularity in very

much the same way as do the cotillion favors hanging on the bedroom walls of the fashionable belle. She had

been pinning and unpinning, arranging and disarranging her veil ever since she entered the room, in the hope

that the girls would ask her whose ring she was wearing this week; but although both had noticed the new

ornament instantly, wild horses could not have drawn the question from them; her desire to be asked was too

obvious. With her gay plumage, her "nods and becks and wreathed smiles," and her cheerful cackle, Huldah

"Arch, volatile, a sportive bird, By social glee inspired; Ambitious to be seen or heard, And pleased to be

"Mr. Morrison thinks the grammar will be returned, and lent me another," Huldah continued.

"He was rather snippy about my leaving a book in the hall. There was a perfectly elegant gentleman in the

office, a stranger to me. I wish he was a new teacher, but there's no such luck. He was too young to be the

father of any of the girls, and too old to be a brother, but he was handsome as a picture and had on an awful

stylish suit of clothes. He looked at me about every minute I was in the room. It made me so embarrassed I

"You'll have to wear a mask pretty soon, if you're going to have any comfort, Huldah," said Rebecca. "Did he

offer to lend you his class pin, or has it been so long since he graduated that he's left off wearing it? And tell

us now whether the principal asked for a lock of your hair to put in his watch?"

This was all said merrily and laughingly, but there were times when Huldah could scarcely make up her mind

whether Rebecca was trying to be witty, or whether she was jealous; but she generally decided it was merely

"He wore no jewelry but a cameo scarf pin and a perfectly gorgeous ring,a queer kind of one that wound

round and round his finger. Oh dear, 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 a certain strange ring, and it belonged

to the only person in the world (save Miss Maxwell) who appealed to her imagination, Mr. Aladdin. Her

feeling for him, and that of Emma Jane, was a mixture of romantic and reverent admiration for the man

himself and the liveliest gratitude for his beautiful gifts. Since they first met him not a Christmas had gone by

without some remembrance for them both; remembrances chosen with the rarest taste and forethought. Emma

Jane had seen him only twice, but he had called several times at the brick house, and Rebecca had learned to

know him better. It was she, too, who always wrote the notes of acknowledgment and thanks, taking infinite

pains to make Emma Jane's quite different from her own. Sometimes he had written from Boston and asked

her the news of Riverboro, and she had sent him pages of quaint and childlike gossip, interspersed, on two

occasions, with poetry, which he read and reread with infinite relish. If Huldah's stranger should be Mr.

Aladdin, would he come to see her, and could she and Emma Jane show him their beautiful room with so

When the girls had established themselves in Wareham as real boarding pupils, it seemed to them existence

was as full of joy as it well could hold. This first winter was, in fact, the most tranquilly happy of Rebecca's

school life,a winter long to be looked back upon. She and Emma Jane were roommates, and had put their

modest possessions together to make their surroundings pretty and homelike. The room had, to begin with, a

cheerful red ingrain carpet and a set of maple furniture. As to the rest, Rebecca had furnished the ideas and

Emma Jane the materials and labor, a method of dividing responsibilities that seemed to suit the

circumstances admirably. Mrs. Perkins's father had been a storekeeper, and on his death had left the goods of

which he was possessed to his married daughter. The molasses, vinegar, and kerosene had lasted the family

for five years, and the Perkins attic was still a treasurehouse of ginghams, cottons, and "Yankee notions." So

at Rebecca's instigation Mrs. Perkins had made full curtains and lambrequins of unbleached muslin, which

she had trimmed and looped back with bands of Turkey red cotton. There were two table covers to match,

and each of the girls had her study corner. Rebecca, after much coaxing, had been allowed to bring over her

precious lamp, which would have given a luxurious air to any apartment, and when Mr. Aladdin's last

Christmas presents were added,the Japanese screen for Emma Jane and the little shelf of English Poets for

Rebecca,they declared that it 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 half past four Rebecca was free to take a

pleasure to which she looked forward the entire week. She always ran down the snowy path through the pine

woods at the back of the seminary, and coming out on a quiet village street, went directly to the large white

house where Miss Maxwell lived. The maidofallwork answered her knock; she took off her hat and cape

and hung them in the hall, put her rubber shoes and umbrella carefully in the corner, and then opened the

door of paradise. Miss Maxwell's sittingroom was lined on two sides with bookshelves, and Rebecca was

allowed to sit before the fire and browse among the books to her heart's delight for an hour or more. Then

Miss Maxwell would come back from her class, and there would be a precious half hour of chat before

Rebecca had to meet Emma Jane at the station and take the train for Riverboro, where her Saturdays and

Sundays were spent, and where she was washed, ironed, mended, and examined, approved and reproved,

warned and advised in quite sufficient quantity to last her the succeeding week.

On this Friday she buried her face in the blooming geraniums on Miss Maxwell's plantstand, selected

Romola from one of the bookcases, and sank into a seat by the window with a sigh of infinite content, She

glanced at the clock now and then, remembering the day on which she had been so immersed in David

Copperfield that the Riverboro train had no place in her mind. The distracted Emma Jane had refused to leave

without her, and had run from the station to look for her at Miss Maxwell's. There was but one later train, and

that went only to a place three miles the other side of Riverboro, so that the two girls appeared at their

When she had read for half an hour she glanced out of the window and saw two figures issuing from the path

through the woods. The knot of bright hair and the coquettish hat could belong to but one person; and her

companion, as the couple approached, proved to be none other than Mr. Aladdin. Huldah was lifting her

skirts daintily and picking safe steppingplaces for the highheeled shoes, her cheeks glowing, her eyes

Rebecca slipped from her post by the window to the rug before the bright fire and leaned her head on the seat

of the great easychair. She was frightened at the storm in her heart; at the suddenness with which it had

come on, as well as at the strangeness of an entirely new sensation. She felt all at once as if she could not bear

to give up her share of Mr. Aladdin's friendship to Huldah: Huldah so bright, saucy, and pretty; so gay and

ready, and such good company! She had always joyfully admitted Emma Jane into the precious partnership,

but perhaps unconsciously to herself she had realized that Emma Jane had never held anything but a

secondary place in Mr. Aladdin's regard; yet who was she herself, after all, that she could hope to be first?

Suddenly the door opened softly and somebody looked in, somebody who said: "Miss Maxwell told me I

Rebecca started at the sound and sprang to her feet, saying joyfully, "Mr. Aladdin! Oh! I knew you were in

"Who is `us'? The aunts are not here, are they? Oh, you mean the rich blacksmith's daughter, whose name I

"Yes, and my roommate," answered Rebecca, who thought her own knell of doom had sounded, if he had

The light in the room grew softer, the fire crackled cheerily, and they talked of many things, until the old

sweet sense of friendliness and familiarity crept back into Rebecca's heart. Adam had not seen her for several

months, and there was much to be learned about school matters as viewed from her own standpoint; he had

"Well, little Miss Rebecca," he said, rousing himself at length, "I must be thinking of my drive to Portland.

There is a meeting of railway directors there tomorrow, and I always take this opportunity of visiting the

school and giving my valuable advice concerning its affairs, educational and financial."

"It seems funny for you to be a school trustee," said Rebecca contemplatively. "I can't seem to make it fit."

"You are a remarkably wise young person and I quite agree with you," he answered; "the fact is," he added

soberly, "I accepted the trusteeship in memory of my poor little mother, whose last happy years were spent

"Let me see, I am thirtytwo; only thirtytwo, despite an occasional gray hair. My mother was married a

month after she graduated, and she lived only until I was ten; yes, it is a long way back to my mother's time

here, though the school was fifteen or twenty years old then, I believe. Would you like to see my mother,

The girl took the leather case gently and opened it to find an innocent, pinkandwhite daisy of a face, so

confiding, so sensitive, that it went straight to the heart. It made Rebecca feel old, experienced, and maternal.

"The flower had to bear all sorts of storms," said Adam gravely. "The bitter weather of the world bent its

slender stalk, bowed its head, and dragged it to the earth. I was only a child and could do nothing to protect

and nourish it, and there was no one else to stand between it and trouble. Now I have success and money and

power, all that would have kept her alive and happy, and it is too late. She died for lack of love and care,

nursing and cherishing, and I can never forget it. All that has come to me seems now and then so useless,

This was a new Mr. Aladdin, and Rebecca's heart gave a throb of sympathy and comprehension. This

explained the tired look in his eyes, the look that peeped out now and then, under all his gay speech and

"I'm so glad I know," she said, "and so glad I could see her just as she was when she tied that white muslin

hat under her chin and saw her yellow curls and her skyblue eyes in the glass. Mustn't she have been happy!

I wish she could have been kept so, and had lived to see you grow up strong and good. My mother is always

sad and busy, but once when 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 from his chair.

As Rebecca rose, the tears still trembling on her lashes, he looked at her suddenly as with new vision.

"Goodby!" he said, taking her slim brown hands in his, adding, as if he saw her for the first time, "Why,

little RoseRedSnowWhite is making way for a new girl! Burning the midnight oil and doing four years'

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 braids are 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 she reaches almost to my shoulder. This will never do in

the world! How will Mr. Aladdin get on without his comforting little friend! He doesn't like grownup young

"Oh, Mr. Aladdin!" cried Rebecca eagerly, taking his jest quite seriously; "I am not fifteen yet, and it will be

three years before I'm a young lady; please don't give me up until you have to!"

"I won't; I promise you that," said Adam. "Rebecca," he continued, after a moment's pause, "who is that

young girl with a lot of pretty red hair and very citified manners? She escorted me down the hill; do you

Adam put a finger under Rebecca's chin and looked into her eyes; eyes as soft, as clear, as unconscious, and

childlike as they had been when she was ten. He remembered the other pair of challenging blue ones that had

darted coquettish glances through halfdropped lids, shot arrowy beams from under archly lifted brows, and

said gravely, "Don't form yourself on her, Rebecca; clover blossoms that grow in the fields beside

Sunnybrook mustn't be tied in the same bouquet with gaudy sunflowers; they are too sweet and fragrant and

The first happy year at Wareham, with its widened skyline, its larger vision, its greater opportunity, was

over and gone. Rebecca had studied during the summer vacation, and had passed, on her return in the

autumn, certain examinations which would enable her, if she carried out the same programme the next

season, to complete the course in three instead of four years. She came off with no flying colors,that would

have been impossible in consideration of her inadequate training; but she did wonderfully well in some of the

required subjects, and so brilliantly in others that the average was respectable. She would never have been a

remarkable scholar under any circumstances, perhaps, and she was easily out stripped in mathematics and

the natural sciences by a dozen girls, but in some inexplicable way she became, as the months went on, the

foremost figure in the school. When she had entirely forgotten the facts which would enable her to answer a

question fully and conclusively, she commonly had some original theory to expound; it was not always

correct, but it was generally unique and sometimes amusing. She was only fair in Latin or French grammar,

but when it came to translation, her freedom, her choice of words, and her sympathetic understanding of the

spirit of the text made her the delight of her teachers and the despair of her rivals.

"She can be perfectly ignorant of a subject,' said Miss Maxwell to Adam Ladd, "but entirely intelligent the

moment she has a clue. Most of the other girls are full of information and as stupid as sheep."

Rebecca's gifts had not been discovered save by the few, during the first year, when she was adjusting herself

quietly to the situation. She was distinctly one of the poorer girls; she had no fine dresses to attract attention,

no visitors, no friends in the town. She had more study hours, and less time, therefore, for the companionship

of other girls, gladly as she would have welcomed the gayety of that side of school life. Still, water will find

its own level in some way, and by the spring of the second year she had naturally settled into the same sort of

leadership which had been hers in the smaller community of Riverboro. She was unanimously elected

assistant editor of the Wareham School Pilot, being the first girl to assume that enviable, though somewhat

arduous and thankless position, and when her maiden number went to the Cobbs, uncle Jerry and aunt Sarah

"She'll always get votes," said Huldah Meserve, when discussing the election, "for whether she knows

anything or not, she looks as if she did, and whether she's capable of filling an office or not, she looks as if

she was. I only wish I was tall and dark and had the gift of making people believe I was great things, like

Rebecca Randall. There's one thing: though the boys call her handsome, you notice they don't trouble her

It was a fact that Rebecca's attitude towards the opposite sex was still somewhat indifferent and oblivious,

even for fifteen and a half! No one could look at her and doubt that she had potentialities of attraction latent

within her somewhere, but that side of her nature was happily biding its time. A human being is capable only

of a certain amount of activity at a given moment, and it will inevitably satisfy first its most pressing needs,

its most ardent desires, its chief ambitions. Rebecca was full of small anxieties and fears, for matters were not

going well at the brick house and were anything but hopeful at the home farm. She was overbusy and

overtaxed, and her thoughts were naturally drawn towards the difficult problems of daily living.

It had seemed to her during the autumn and winter of that year as if her aunt Miranda had never been, save at

the very first, so censorious and so faultfinding. One Saturday Rebecca ran upstairs and, bursting into a

flood of tears, exclaimed, "Aunt Jane, it seems as if I never could stand her continual scoldings. Nothing I can

do suits aunt Miranda; she's just said it will take me my whole life to get the Randall out of me, and I'm not

Aunt Jane, never demonstrative, cried with Rebecca as she attempted to soothe her.

"You must be patient," she said, wiping first her own eyes and then Rebecca's. "I haven't told you, for it isn't

fair you should be troubled when you're studying so hard, but your aunt Miranda isn't well. One Monday

morning about a month ago, she had a kind of faint spell; it wasn't bad, but the doctor is afraid it was a shock,

and if so, it's the beginning of the end. Seems to me she's failing right along, and that's what makes her so

fretful and easy vexed. She has other troubles too, that you don't know anything about, and if you're not kind

All the temper faded from Rebecca's face, and she stopped crying to say penitently, "Oh! the poor dear thing!

I won't mind a bit what she says now. She's just asked me for some milk toast and I was dreading to take it to

her, but this will make everything different. Don't worry yet, aunt Jane, for perhaps it won't be as bad as you

So when she carried the toast to her aunt a little later, it was in the best giltedged china bowl, with a fringed

"Now, aunt Miranda," she said cheerily, "I expect you to smack your lips and say this is good; it's not

"You've tried all kinds on me, one time an' another," Miranda answered. "This tastes real kind o' good; but I

"You can't tell what's wasted," said Rebecca philosophically; "perhaps that geranium has been hoping this

long time it could brighten somebody's supper, so don't disappoint it by making believe you don't like it. I've

The mysterious trouble to which Jane had alluded was a very real one, but it was held in profound secrecy.

Twentyfive hundred dollars of the small Sawyer property had been invested in the business of a friend of

their father's, and had returned them a regular annual income of a hundred 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 into bankruptcy, that the business had been completely

The loss of one hundred dollars a year is a very trifling matter, but it made all the difference between comfort

and selfdenial to the two old spinsters Their manner of life had been so rigid and careful that it was difficult

to economize any further, and the blow had fallen just when it was most inconvenient, for Rebecca's school

"Can we possibly go on doing it? Shan't we have to give up and tell her why?" asked Jane tearfully of the

"We have put our hand to the plough, and we can't turn back," answered Miranda in her grimmest tone;

"we've taken her away from her mother and offered her an education, and we've got to keep our word. She's

Aurelia's only hope for years to come, to my way o' thinkin'. Hannah's beau takes all her time 'n' thought, and

when she gits a husband her mother'll be out o' sight and out o' mind. John, instead of farmin', thinks he must

be a doctor, as if folks wasn't gettin' unhealthy enough these days, without turnin' out more young doctors

to help 'em into their graves. No, Jane; we'll skimp 'n' do without, 'n' plan to git along on our interest money

"Breaking into the principal" was, in the minds of most thrifty New England women, a sin only second to

arson, theft, or murder; and, though the rule was occasionally carried too far for common sense,as in this

case, where two elderly women of sixty might reasonably have drawn something from their little hoard in

time of special need,it doubtless wrought more of good than evil in the community.

Rebecca, who knew nothing of their business affairs, merely saw her aunts grow more and more saving,

pinching here and there, cutting off this and that relentlessly. Less meat and fish were bought; the woman

who had lately been coming two days a week for washing, ironing, and scrubbing was dismissed; the old

bonnets of the season before were brushed up and retrimmed; there were no drives to Moderation or trips to

Portland. Economy was carried to its very extreme; but though Miranda was wellnigh as gloomy and

uncompromising in her manner and conversation as a woman could well be, she at least never twitted her

niece of being a burden; so Rebecca's share of the Sawyers' misfortunes consisted only in wearing her old

There was, however, no concealing the state of things at Sunnybrook, where chapters of accidents had

unfolded themselves in a sort of serial story that had run through the year. The potato crop had failed; there

were no apples to speak of; the hay had been poor; Aurelia had turns of dizziness in her head; Mark had

broken his ankle. As this was his fourth offense, Miranda inquired how many bones there were in the human

body, "so 't they'd know when Mark got through breakin' 'em." The time for paying the interest on the

mortgage, that incubus that had crushed all the joy out of the Randall household, had come and gone, and

there was no possibility, for the first time in fourteen years, of paying the required fortyeight dollars. The

only bright spot in the horizon was Hannah's engagement to Will Melville,a young farmer whose land

joined Sunnybrook, who had a good house, was alone in the world, and his own master. Hannah was so

satisfied with her own unexpectedly radiant prospects that she hardly realized her mother's anxieties; for there

are natures which flourish, in adversity, and deteriorate when exposed to sudden prosperity. She had made a

visit of a week at the brick house; and Miranda's impression, conveyed in privacy to Jane, was that Hannah

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 the ladder out from under her, everlastin' quick; that, on being sounded as to her ability to

be of use to the younger children in the future, she said she guessed she'd done her share a'ready, and she

wan't goin' to burden Will with her poor relations. "She's Susan Randall through and through!" ejaculated

Miranda. "I was glad to see her face turned towards Temperance. If that mortgage is ever cleared from the

Your esteemed contribution entitled Wareham Wildflowers has been accepted for The Pilot, Miss Perkins,"

said Rebecca, entering the room where Emma Jane was darning the firm's stockings. "I stayed to tea with

"Not a bit; the senior editor read it and thought it highly instructive; it appears in the next issue."

"Not in the same number with your poem about the golden gates that close behind us when we leave

"Rebecca," said Emma Jane, with the nearest approach to tragedy that her 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 number of The

Rebecca did not seem to think this the expression of an exaggerated state of feeling, inasmuch as she replied,

"I know; that's just the way it seemed to me at first, and even now, whenever I'm alone and take out the Pilot

back numbers to read over my contributions, I almost burst with pleasure; and it's not that they are good

"If you would only live with me in some little house when we get older," mused Emma Jane, as with her

darning needle poised in air she regarded the opposite wall dreamily, "I would do the housework and

cooking, and copy all your poems and stories, and take them to the postoffice, and you needn't do anything

"I'd like nothing better, if I hadn't promised to keep house for John," replied Rebecca.

"No," sighed Rebecca ruefully, flinging herself down by the table and resting her head on her hand. "Not

unless we can contrive to pay off that detestable mortgage. The day grows farther off instead of nearer now

She pulled a piece of paper towards her, and scribbling idly on it read aloud in a moment or two:

"Will you pay a little faster?" said the mortgage to the farm; "I confess I'm very tired of this place." "The

weariness is mutual," Rebecca Randall cried; "I would I'd never gazed upon your face!"

"A note has a `face,'" observed Emma Jane, who was gifted in arithmetic. "I didn't know that a mortgage

"Our mortgage has," said Rebecca revengefully. "I should know him if I met him in the dark. Wait and I'll

draw him for you. It will be good for you to know how he looks, and then when you have a husband and

seven children, you won't allow him to come anywhere within a mile of your farm."

The sketch when completed was of a sort to be shunned by a timid person on the verge of slumber. There was

a tiny house on the right, and a weeping family gathered in front of it. The mortgage was depicted as a cross

between a fiend and an ogre, and held an axe uplifted in his red right hand. A figure with streaming black

locks was staying the blow, and this, Rebecca explained complacently, was intended as a likeness of herself,

though she was rather vague as to the method she should use in attaining her end.

"It's only a twelve hundred dollar mortgage," said Rebecca, "and that's called a small one. John saw a man

"Shall you be a writer or an editor?" asked Emma Jane presently, as if one had only to choose and the thing

"Why not go out as a missionary to Syria, as the Burches are always coaxing you to? The Board would pay

"I can't make up my mind to be a missionary," Rebecca answered. "I'm not 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 make

things move, somewhere, but I don't want to go thousands of miles away teaching people how to live when I

haven't learned myself. It isn't as if the heathen really needed me; I'm sure they'll come out all right in the

"I can't see how; if all the people who ought to go out to save them stay at home as we do," argued Emma

"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 the heathen a little longer to find Him, but God will make allowances, of

course. He knows if they live in such hot climates it must make them lazy and slow; and the parrots and tigers

and snakes and breadfruit trees distract their minds; and having no books, they can't think as well; but they'll

"Oh, well, they can't be blamed for that; they don't die on purpose," said Rebecca, with a comfortable

In these days Adam Ladd sometimes went to Temperance on business connected with the proposed branch of

the railroad familiarly known as the "York and Yank 'em," and while there he gained an inkling of

Sunnybrook affairs. The building of the new road was not yet a certainty, and there was a difference of

opinion as to the best route from Temperance to Plumville. In one event the way would lead directly through

Sunnybrook, from corner to corner, and Mrs. Randall would be compensated; in the other, her interests would

not be affected either for good or ill, save as all land in the immediate neighborhood might rise a little in

Coming from Temperance to Wareham one day, Adam had a long walk and talk with Rebecca, whom he

thought looking pale and thin, though she was holding bravely to her selfimposed hours of work. She was

wearing a black cashmere dress that had been her aunt Jane's second best. We are familiar with the heroine of

romance whose foot is so exquisitely shaped that the coarsest shoe cannot conceal its perfections, and one

always cherishes a doubt of the statement; yet it is true that Rebecca's peculiar and individual charm seemed

wholly independent of accessories. The lines of her fig ure, the rare coloring of skin and hair and eyes,

triumphed over shabby clothing, though, had the advantage of artistic apparel been given her, the little world

of Wareham would probably at once have dubbed her a beauty. The long black braids were now disposed

after a quaint fashion of her own. They were crossed behind, carried up to the front, and crossed again, the

tapering ends finally brought down and hidden in the thicker part at the neck. Then a purely feminine touch

was given to the hair that waved back from the face,a touch that rescued little crests and wavelets from

Adam Ladd looked at her in a way that made her put her hands over her face and laugh through them shyly as

she said: "I know what you are thinking, Mr. Aladdin,that my dress is an inch longer than last year, and

my hair different; but I'm not nearly a young lady yet; truly I'm not. Sixteen is a month off still, and you

promised not to give me up till my dress trails. If you don't like me to grow old, why don't you grow 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've been doing all along. When you bought the soap, I thought you were grandfather Sawyer's

age; when you danced with me at the flagraising, you seemed like my father; but when you showed me your

mother's picture, 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 that you become my grandmother before I

"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 be kind, Mr. Aladdin, I can't bear

it;it'sit's not one of my dimply days!" and she ran in at the seminary gate, and disappeared with a

Adam Ladd wended his way to the principal's office in a thoughtful mood. He had come to Wareham to

unfold a plan that he had been considering for several days. This year was the fiftieth anniversary of the

founding of the Wareham schools, and he meant to tell Mr. Morrison that in addition to his gift of a hundred

volumes to the reference library, he intended to celebrate it by offering prizes in English composition, a

subject in which he was much interested. He wished the boys and girls of the two upper classes to compete;

the award to be made to the writers of the two best essays. As to the nature of the prizes he had not quite

made up his mind, but they would be substantial ones, either of money or of books.

This interview accomplished, he called upon Miss Maxwell, thinking as he took the path through the woods,

"RoseRedSnowWhite needs the help, and since there is no way of my giving it to her without causing

remark, she must earn it, poor little soul! I wonder if my money is always to be useless where most I wish to

He had scarcely greeted his hostess when he said: "Miss Maxwell, doesn't it strike you that our friend

"She does indeed, and I am considering whether I can take her away with me. I always go South for the

spring vacation, traveling by sea to Old Point Comfort, and rusticating in some quiet spot near by. I should

"The very thing!" assented Adam heartily; "but why should you take the whole responsibility? Why not let

"You needn't pretend you discovered her," interrupted Miss Maxwell warmly, "for I did that myself."

"She was an intimate friend of mine long before you ever came to Wareham," laughed Adam, and he told

Miss Maxwell the circumstances of his first meeting with Rebecca. "From the beginning I've tried to think of

a way I could be useful in her development, but no reasonable solution 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 follows her saint without being conscious of it. But she needs a hundred

practical things that money would buy for her, and alas! I have a slender purse."

"Take mine, I beg, and let me act through you," pleaded Adam. "I could not bear to see even a young tree

trying its best to grow without light or air,how much less a gifted child! I interviewed her aunts a year ago,

hoping I might be permitted to give her a musical education. I assured them it was a most ordinary

occurrence, and that I was willing to be repaid later on if they insisted, but it was no use. The elder Miss

Sawyer remarked that no member of her family ever had lived on charity, and she guessed they wouldn't

"I rather like that uncompromising New England grit," exclaimed Miss Maxwell, "and so far, I don't regret

one burden that Rebecca has borne or one sorrow that she has shared. Necessity has only made her brave;

poverty has only made her daring and selfreliant. As to her present needs, 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 feel that I was

wounding her pride and selfrespect, even though she were ignorant; but there is no reason why I may not do

them if necessary and let you pay her traveling expenses. I would accept those for her without the slightest

embarrassment, but I agree that the matter would better be kept private between us."

"You are a real fairy godmother!" exclaimed Adam, shaking her hand warmly. "Would it be less trouble for

"I can understand that," replied Adam absent mindedly; "I mean, of course, that one child is less trouble

Here Rebecca appeared in sight, walking down the quiet street with a lad of sixteen. They were in animated

conversation, and were apparently reading something aloud to each other, for the black head and the curly

brown one were both bent over a sheet of letter paper. Rebecca kept glancing up at her companion, her eyes

"Miss Maxwell," said Adam, "I am a trustee of this institution, but upon my word I don't believe in

"I have my own occasional hours of doubt," she answered, "but surely its disadvantages are reduced to a

minimum withchildren! That is a very im pressive sight which you are privileged to witness, Mr. Ladd.

The folk in Cambridge often gloated on the spectacle of Longfellow and Lowell arm in arm. The little school

world of Wareham palpitates with excitement when it sees the senior and the junior editors of The Pilot

The day before Rebecca started for the South with Miss Maxwell she was in the library with Emma Jane and

Huldah, consulting dictionaries and encyclopaedias. As they were leaving they passed the locked cases

containing the library of fiction, open to the teachers and townspeople, but forbidden to the students.

They looked longingly through the glass, getting some little comfort from the titles of the volumes, as hungry

children imbibe emotional nourishment from the pies and tarts inside a confectioner's window. Rebecca's

eyes fell upon a new book in the corner, and she read the name aloud with delight: "_The Rose of Joy_.

Listen, girls; isn't that lovely? _The Rose of Joy_. It looks beautiful, and it sounds beautiful. What does it

"I guess everybody has a different rose," said Huldah shrewdly. "I know what mine would be, and I'm not

ashamed to own it. I'd like a year in a city, with just as much money as I wanted to spend, horses and splendid

clothes and amusements every minute of the day; and I'd like above everything to live with people that wear

low necks." (Poor Huldah never took off her dress with out bewailing the fact that her lot was cast in

"That would be fun, for a while anyway," Emma Jane remarked. "But wouldn't that be pleasure more than

"I don't have them very often," apologized Emma Jane,"ideas, I mean; this one shook me like a stroke of

"That's good," mused Rebecca; "I can see that success would be a joy, but it doesn't seem to me like a rose,

"I wish we could have a peep at the book! It must be perfectly elergant!" said Emma Jane. "But now you say

All day long the four words haunted and possessed Rebecca; she said them over to herself continually. Even

the prosaic Emma Jane was affected by them, for in the evening she said, "I don't expect you to believe it, but

I have another idea, that's two in one day; I had it while I was putting cologne on your head. The rose of

"If it is, then it is always blooming in your dear little heart, you darlingest, kind Emmie, taking such good

"Don't dare to call yourself troublesome! You're you'reyou're my rose of joy, that's what you are!" And

In the middle of the night Rebecca touched Emma Jane on the shoulder softly. "Are you very fast asleep,

"I've thought of something new. If you sang or painted or wrote,not a little, but beautifully, you

know,wouldn't the doing of it, just as much as you wanted, give you the rose of joy?"

"It might if it was a real talent," answered Emma Jane, "though I don't like it so well as love. If you have

"I did have one more inspiration," said Rebecca when they were dressing next morning, "but I didn't wake

you. I wondered if the rose of joy could be sacrifice? But I think sacrifice would be a lily, not a rose; don't

The journey southward, the first glimpse of the ocean, the strange new scenes, the ease and delicious

freedom, the intimacy with Miss Maxwell, almost intoxicated Rebecca. In three days she was not only herself

again, she was another self, thrilling with delight, anticipation, and realization. She had always had such

eager hunger for knowledge, such thirst for love, such passionate longing for the music, the beauty, the poetry

of existence! She had always been straining to make the outward world conform to her inward dreams, and

now life had grown all at once rich and sweet, wide and full. She was using all her natural, Godgiven

outlets; and Emily Maxwell marveled daily at the inexhaustible way in which the girl poured out and

gathered in the treasures of thought and experience that belonged to her. She was a lifegiver, altering the

whole scheme of any picture she made a part of, by contributing new values. Have you never seen the dull

blues and greens of a room changed, transfigured by a burst of sunshine? That seemed to Miss Maxwell the

effect of Rebecca on the groups of people with whom they now and then mingled; but they were commonly

alone, reading to each other and having quiet talks. The prize essay was very much on Rebecca's mind.

Secretly she thought she could never be happy unless she won it. She cared nothing for the value of it, and in

this case almost nothing for the honor; she wanted to please Mr. Aladdin and justify his belief in her.

"If I ever succeed in choosing a subject, I must ask if you think I can write 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 sunny spring day. They had been in a stretch of

wood by the sea since breakfast, going every now and then for a bask on the warm white sand, and returning

"The subject is very important," said Miss Maxwell, "but I do not dare choose for you. Have you decided on

"No," Rebecca answered; "I plan a new essay every night. I've begun one on What is Failure? and another on

He and She. That would be a dialogue between a boy and girl just as they were leaving school, and would tell

their ideals of life. Then do you remember you said to me one day, `Follow your Saint'? I'd love to write

about that. I didn't have a single thought in Wareham, and now I have a new one every minute, so I must try

and write the essay here; think it out, at any rate, while I am so happy and free and rested. Look at the pebbles

"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 rough surfaces polished,

but in the strife and warfare of running waters. They have jostled against other pebbles, dashed against sharp

"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!" she sighed. "I am so afraid I shall never get

"You could worry about plenty of other things to better advantage," said Miss Maxwell, a little scornfully.

"Be afraid, for instance, that you won't understand human nature; that you won't realize the beauty of the

outer world; that you may lack sympathy, and thus never be able to read a heart; that your faculty of

expression may not keep pace with your ideas,a thousand things, every one of them more important to the

writer than the knowledge that is found in books. AEsop was a Greek slave who could not even write down

"I didn't know that," said Rebecca, with a half sob. "I didn't know anything until I met you!"

"You will only have had a high school course, but the most famous universities do not always succeed in

making men and women. When I long to go abroad and study, I always remember that there were three great

schools in Athens and two in Jerusalem, but the Teacher of all teachers came out of Nazareth, a little village

"Mr. Ladd says that you are almost wasted on Wareham." said Rebecca thoughtfully.

"He is wrong; my talent is not a great one, but no talent is wholly wasted unless its owner chooses to hide it

in a napkin. Remember that of your own gifts, Rebecca; they may not be praised of men, but they may cheer,

console, inspire, perhaps, when and where you least expect. The brimming glass that overflows its own rim

"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 thinking hard I can guess a little bit what it

"`In the actualthis painful kingdom of time and chanceare Care, Canker, and Sorrow; with thought, with

the Ideal, is immortal hilaritythe rose of Joy; round it all the Muses sing,'" quoted Miss Maxwell.

Rebecca repeated it over and over again until she had learned it by heart; then she said, "I don't want to be

conceited, but I almost believe I do understand it, Miss Maxwell. Not altogether, perhaps, because it is

puzzling and difficult; but a little, enough to go on with. It's as if a splendid shape galloped past you on

horseback; you are 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 is beautiful. It's all settled. My essay is going to be called The Rose

of Joy. I've just decided. It hasn't any beginning, nor any middle, but there will be a thrilling ending,

Then come what will of weal or woe (Since all gold hath alloy), Thou 'lt bloom unwithered in this heart, My

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 fairy story for you. It's one of our `supposing' kind; it flies far, far into the future, and

makes beautiful things happen that may never really all come to pass; but some of them will,you'll see!

and then you'll take out the little fairy story from your desk and remember Rebecca."

"I wonder why these young things always choose subjects that would tax the powers of a great essayist!"

thought Miss Maxwell, as she tried to sleep. "Are they dazzled, captivated, taken possession of, by the

splendor of the theme, and do they fancy they can write up to it? Poor little innocents, hitch ing their toy

wagons to the stars! How pretty this particular innocent looks under her new sunshade!"

Adam Ladd had been driving through Boston streets on a cold spring day when nature and the

fashionmongers were holding out promises which seemed far from performance. Suddenly his vision was

assailed by the sight of a rosecolored parasol gayly unfurled in a shop window, signaling the passerby and

setting him to dream of summer sunshine. It reminded Adam of a New England apple tree in full bloom, the

outer covering of deep pink shining through the thin white lining, and a fluffy, fringelike edge of mingled

rose and cream dropping over the green handle. All at once he remembered one of Rebecca's early

confidences,the little pink sunshade that had given her the only peep into the gay world of fashion that her

childhood had ever known; her adoration of the flimsy bit of finery and its tragic and sacrificial end. He

entered the shop, bought the extravagant bauble, and expressed it to Wareham at once, not a single doubt of

its appropriateness crossing the darkness of his masculine mind. He thought only of the joy in Rebecca's eyes;

of the poise of her head under the appleblossom canopy. It was a trifle embarrassing to return an hour later

and buy a blue parasol for Emma Jane Perkins, but it seemed increasingly difficult, as the years went on, to

This is Rebecca's fairy story, copied the next day and given to Emily Maxwell just as she was going to her

room for the night. She read it with tears in her eyes and then sent it to Adam Ladd, thinking he had earned a

share in it, and that he deserved a glimpse of the girl's budding imagination, as well as of her grateful young

There was once a tired and rather poverty stricken Princess who dwelt in a cottage on the great highway

between two cities. She was not as unhappy as thousands of others; indeed, she had much to be grateful for,

but the life she lived and the work she did were full hard for one who was fashioned slenderly.

Now the cottage stood by the edge of a great green forest where the wind was always singing in the branches

And one day when the Princess was sitting by the wayside quite spent by her labor in the fields, she saw a

golden chariot rolling down the King's Highway, and in it a person who could be none other than somebody's

Fairy Godmother on her way to the Court. The chariot halted at her door, and though the Princess had read of

such beneficent personages, she never dreamed for an instant that one of them could ever alight at her

"If you are tired, poor little Princess, why do you not go into the cool green forest and rest?" asked the Fairy

"It is heavy," answered the Princess, "but I love to turn the hard earth into soft furrows and know that I am

making good soil wherein my seeds may grow. When I feel the weight too much, I try to think of the

The golden chariot passed on, and the two talked no more together that day; nevertheless the King's

messengers were busy, for they whispered one word into the ear of the Fairy Godmother and another into the

ear of the Princess, though so faintly that neither of them realized that the King had spoken.

The next morning a strong man knocked at the cottage door, and doffing his 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 the

King's Highway and search until you find a cottage and a heavy plough leaning against a tree near by. Enter

and say to the Princess whom you will find there: "I will guide the plough and you must go and rest, or walk

And the same thing happened every day, and every day the tired Princess walked in the green wood. Many

times she caught the glitter of the chariot 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 stand with eager eyes and longing heart as

the chariot passed by. Yet she never failed to catch a smile, and sometimes a word or two floated back to her,

words that sounded like: "I would not be thanked. We are all children of the same King, and I am only his

Now as the Princess walked daily in the green forest, hearing the wind singing in the branches and seeing the

sunlight filter through the latticework of green leaves, there came unto her thoughts that had lain asleep in

the stifling air of the cottage and the weariness of guiding the plough. And by and by she took a needle from

her girdle and pricked the thoughts on the leaves of the trees and sent them into the air to float hither and

thither. And it came to pass that people began to pick them up, and holding them against the sun, to read what

was written on them, and this was because the simple little words on the leaves were only, after all, a part of

one of the King's messages, such as the Fairy Godmother dropped continually from her golden chariot.

Whenever the Princess pricked the words upon the leaves she added a thought of her Fairy Godmother, and

folding it close within, sent the leaf out on the breeze to float hither and thither and fall where it would. And

many other little Princesses felt the same impulse and did the same thing. And as nothing is ever lost in the

King's Dominion, so these thoughts and wishes and hopes, being full of love and gratitude, had no power to

die, but took unto themselves other shapes and lived on forever. They cannot be seen, our vision is too weak;

nor heard, our hearing is too dull; but they can sometimes be felt, and we know not what force is stirring our

The end of the story is not come, but it may be that some day when the Fairy Godmother has a message to

deliver in person straight to the King, he will say: "Your face I know; your voice, your thoughts, and your

heart. I have heard the rumble of your chariot wheels on the great Highway, and I knew that you were on the

King's business. Here in my hand is a sheaf of messages from every quarter of my kingdom. They were

delivered by weary and footsore travelers, who said that they could never have reached the gate in safety had

it not been for your help and inspiration. Read them, that you may know when and where and how you sped

And when the Fairy Godmother reads them, it may be that sweet odors will rise from the pages, and

halfforgotten memories will stir the air; but in the gladness of the moment nothing will be half so lovely as

the voice of the King when he said: "Read, and know how you sped the King's service."

The summer term at Wareham had ended, and Huldah Meserve, Dick Carter, and Living Perkins had finished

school, leaving Rebecca and Emma Jane to represent Riverboro in the year to come. Delia Weeks was at

home from Lewiston on a brief visit, and Mrs. Robinson was celebrating the occasion by a small and select

party, the particular day having been set because strawberries were ripe and there was a rooster that wanted

killing. Mrs. Robinson explained this to her husband, and requested that he eat his dinner on the carpenter's

"All right; it won't be any loss to me," said Mr. Robinson. "Give me beans, that's all I ask. When a rooster

Mrs. Robinson had company only once or twice a year, and was generally much prostrated for several days

afterward, the struggle between pride and parsimony being quite too great a strain upon her. It was necessary,

in order to maintain her standing in the community, to furnish a good "set out," yet the extravagance of the

proceeding goaded her from the first moment she began to stir the marble cake to the moment when the feast

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 and handsome 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 the cover, "and he looks like a scarecrow."

"We'll see whether he gives up or not when I take a sharp knife to him," her mother answered; "and as to his

looks, a platter full o' gravy makes a sight o' difference with old roosters, and I'll put dumplings round the

The rooster did indeed make an impressive showing, lying in his border of dumplings, and the dish was much

complimented when it was borne in by Alice. This was fortunate, as the chorus of admiration ceased abruptly

"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 while Mrs. Robinson poured coffee at the other end. She was a fit mother for

Huldah, being much the most stylish person in Riverboro; ill health and dress were, indeed, her two chief

enjoyments in life. It was rumored that her elaborately curled "front piece" had cost five dollars, and that it

was sent into Portland twice a year to be dressed and frizzed; but it is extremely difficult to discover the

precise facts in such cases, and a conscientious historian always prefers to warn a too credulous reader

against imbibing as gospel truth something that might be the basest perversion of it. As to Mrs. Meserve's

appearance, have you ever, in earlier years, sought the comforting society of the cook and hung over the

kitchen table while she rolled out sugar gingerbread? Perhaps then, in some unaccustomed moment of

amiability, she made you a dough lady, cutting the outline deftly with her pastry knife, and then, at last,

placing the human stamp upon it by sticking in two black currants for eyes. Just call to mind the face of that

sugar gingerbread lady and you will have an exact portrait of Huldah's mother, Mis' Peter Meserve, she

"How'd you like Huldy's dress, Delia?" she asked, snapping the elastic in her black jet bracelets after an

"I thought it was about the handsomest of any," answered Delia; "and her composition was first rate. It was

the only real amusin' one there was, and she read it so loud and clear we didn't miss any of it; most o' the girls

"That was the composition she wrote for Adam Ladd's prize," explained Mrs. 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 and three

deacons on the committee, and it was only natural they should choose a serious piece; hers was too lively to

Huldah's inspiring theme had been Boys, and she certainly had a fund of knowledge and experience that fitted

her to write most intelligently upon it. It was vastly popular with the audience, who enjoyed the rather cheap

jokes and allusions with which it coruscated; but judged from a purely literary standpoint, it left much to be

"Rebecca's piece wan't read out loud, but the one that took the boy's prize was; why was that?" asked Mrs.

"Because she wan't graduatin'," explained Mrs. Cobb, "and couldn't take part in the exercises; it'll be printed,

"I'm glad o' that, for I'll never believe it was better 'n Huldy's till I read it with my own eyes; it seems as if the

"Well, no, Marthy, not if Ladd offered it to any of the two upper classes that wanted to try for it," argued Mrs.

Robinson. "They say they asked him to give out the prizes, and he refused, up and down. It seems 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 the part of any of the company to controvert.

"It was complete, though, the governor happening to be there to see his niece graduate," said Delia Weeks.

"Land! he looked elegant! They say he's only six feet, but he might 'a' been sixteen, and he certainly did make

"Did you notice Rebecca, how white she was, and how she trembled when she and Herbert Dunn stood there

while the governor was praisin' 'em? He'd read her composition, too, for he wrote the Sawyer girls a letter

"I thought 't was kind o' foolish, his makin' so much of her when it wan't her graduation," objected Mrs.

Meserve; "layin' his hand on her head 'n' all that, as if he was a Pope pronouncin' benediction. But there! I'm

glad the prize come to Riverboro 't any rate, and a han'somer one never was give out from the Wareham

platform. I guess there ain't no end to Adam Ladd's money. The fifty dollars would 'a' been good enough, but

"I set so fur back I couldn't see 'em fairly," complained Delia, "and now Rebecca has taken hers home to

"It was kind of a gold net bag with a chain," said Mrs. Perkins, "and there was five tendollar gold pieces in

"Till they get over Hannah's bein' married, and get the house to runnin' without her," answered Mrs. Perkins.

"It seems as if Hannah might 'a' waited a little longer. Aurelia was set against her goin' away while Rebecca

was at school, but she's obstinate as a mule, Hannah is, and she just took her own way in spite of her mother.

She's been doin' her sewin' for a year; the awfullest coarse cotton cloth she had, but she's nearly blinded

herself with fine stitchin' and rufflin' and tuckin'. Did you hear about the quilt she made? It's white, and has a

big bunch o' grapes in the centre, quilted by a thimble top. Then there's a row of circleborderin' round the

grapes, and she done them the size of a spool. The next border was done with a sherry glass, and the 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

"She'd better 'a' been takin' in sewin' and earnin' money, 'stead o' blindin' her eyes on such foolishness as

quilted counterpanes," said Mrs. Cobb. "The next thing you know that mortgage will be foreclosed on Mis'

"Don't they say there's a good chance of the railroad goin' through her place?" asked Mrs. Robinson. "If it

does, she'll git as much as the farm is worth and more. Adam Ladd 's one of the stockholders, and everything

is a success he takes holt of. They're fightin' it in Augusty, but I'd back Ladd agin any o' them legislaters if he

"Rebecca'll have some new clothes now," said Delia, "and the land knows she needs 'em. Seems to me the

"Rebecca won't have any new clothes out o' the prize money," remarked Mrs. Perkins, "for she sent it away

"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 pay the interest with, but she's probably like all the Randalls; it was easy come, easy

"That's more than could be said of the Sawyer stock," retorted Mrs. Perkins; "seems like they enjoyed savin'

"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' the worst shocks in our family that there ever was on this river, and I know every

symptom of 'em better'n the doctors." And Mrs. Peter Meserve shook her head wisely.

"Mirandy 's smart enough," said Mrs. Cobb, "but you notice she stays right to home, and she's more

closemouthed than ever she was; never took a mite o' pride in the prize, as I could see, though it pretty nigh

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 governor shook hands with Rebecca. It's lucky he couldn't get fur into the church and had

to stand back by the door, for as it was, he made a spectacle of himself. My suspicion is"and here every

lady stopped eating 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 too secretive and contrairy to ask advice."

"The most o' what they've got is in gov'ment bonds, I always heard, and you 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 that Rebecca's

fifty dollars had to be swallowed up in a mortgage, 'stead of goin' towards school expenses. The more I think

of it, the more I think Adam Ladd intended Rebecca should have that prize when he gave it." The mind of

Huldah's mother ran towards the idea that her daughter's rights had been assailed.

"Land, Marthy, what foolishness you talk!" exclaimed Mrs. Perkins; "you don't suppose he could tell what

composition the committee was going to choose; and why should he offer another fifty dollars for a boy's

prize, if he wan't interested in helpin' along the school? He's give Emma Jane about the same present as

"Some time he'll forget one of 'em and give to the other, or drop 'em both and give to some new girl!" said

"Like as not," assented Mrs. Peter Meserve, "though it's easy to see he ain't the marryin' kind. There's men

that would marry once a year if their wives would die fast enough, and there's men that seems to want to live

"If Ladd was a Mormon, I guess he could have every woman in North Riverboro that's a suitable age,

"'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 the marryin'

"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 put

the bit into his mouth if he can help it. He'll fight Jerry, and fight me, till he has to give in. Rebecca didn't

know nothin' about his tricks, and the other day she went int' the barn to hitch up. I followed 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 fur I thought he'd swaller her, for sure.

He jest smacked his lips over the bit as if 't was a lump o' sugar. `Land, Rebecca,' I says, `how'd you persuade

him to take the bit?' `I didn't,' she says, `he seemed to want it; perhaps he's tired of his stall and wants to get

A year had elapsed since Adam Ladd's prize had been discussed over the teacups in Riverboro. The months

had come and gone, and at length the great day had dawned for Rebecca,the day to which she had been

looking forward for five years, as the first goal to be reached on her little journey through the world. School

days were ended, and the mystic function known to the initiated as "graduation" was about to be celebrated; it

was even now heralded by the sun dawning in the eastern sky. Rebecca stole softly out of bed, crept to the

window, threw open the blinds, and welcomed the rosy light that meant a cloudless morning. Even the sun

looked different somehow,larger, redder, more important than usual; and if it were really so, there was no

member of the graduating class who would have thought it strange or unbecoming, in view of all the

circumstances. Emma Jane stirred on her pillow, woke, and seeing Rebecca at the window, came and knelt on

the floor beside her. "It's going to be pleasant!" she sighed gratefully. "If it wasn't wicked, I could thank the

"Not much; the words of my class poem kept running through my head, and the accompaniments of the

songs; and worse than anything, Mary Queen of Scots' prayer in Latin; it seemed as if

No one who is unfamiliar with life in rural neighborhoods can imagine the gravity, the importance, the

solemnity of this last day of school. In the matter of preparation, wealth of detail, and general excitement it

far surpasses a wedding; for that is commonly a simple affair in the country, sometimes even beginning and

ending in a visit to the parsonage. Nothing quite equals graduation in the minds of the graduates themselves,

their families, and the younger students, unless it be the inauguration of a governor at the State Capitol.

Wareham, then, was shaken to its very centre on this day of days. Mothers and fathers of the scholars, as well

as relatives to the remotest generation, had been coming on the train and driving into the town since breakfast

time; old pupils, both married and single, with and without families, streamed back to the dear old village.

The two livery stables were crowded with vehicles of all sorts, and lines of buggies and wagons were drawn

up along the sides of the shady roads, the horses switching their tails in luxurious idleness. The streets were

filled with people wearing their best clothes, and the fashions included not only "the latest thing," but the well

preserved relic of a bygone day. There were all sorts and conditions of men and women, for there were sons

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 was an excitement so

deep and profound that it expressed itself in a kind of hushed silence, a transient suspension of life, as those

most interested approached the crucial moment. The feminine graduatestobe were seated in their own

bedrooms, dressed with a completeness of detail 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, owing to the extreme heat of the day,

were one and all ornamented with leads, or papers, or dozens of little braids, to issue later in every sort of curl

known to the girl of that period. Rolling the hair on leads or papers was a favorite method of attaining the

desired result, and though it often entailed a sleepless night, there were those who gladly paid the price.

Others, in whose veins the blood of martyrs did not flow, substituted rags for leads and pretended that they

made a more natural and less woolly curl. Heat, however, will melt the proudest head and reduce to fiddling

strings the finest product of the waving pin; so anxious mothers were stationed over their offspring, waving

palmleaf fans, it having been decided that the supreme instant when the town clock struck ten should be the

Dotted or plain Swiss muslin was the favorite garb, though there were those who were steaming in white

cashmere or alpaca, because in some cases such frocks were thought more useful afterwards. Blue and pink

waist ribbons were lying over the backs of chairs, and the girl who had a Roman sash was praying that she

The way to any graduating dress at all had not seemed clear to Rebecca until a month before. Then, in

company with Emma Jane, she visited the Perkins attic, found piece after piece of white butter muslin or

cheesecloth, and decided that, at a pinch, it would do. The "rich blacksmith's daughter" cast the thought of

dotted Swiss behind her, and elected to follow Rebecca in cheesecloth as she had in higher matters;

straightway devising costumes that included such drawing of threads, such hemstitching and pintucking,

such insertions of fine thread tatting that, in order to be finished, Rebecca's dress was given out in

sections,the sash to Hannah, waist and sleeves to Mrs. Cobb, and skirt to aunt Jane. The stitches that went

into the despised material, worth only three or four pennies a yard, made the dresses altogether lovely, and as

for the folds and lines into which they fell, they could have given points to satins and brocades.

The two girls were waiting in their room alone, Emma Jane in rather a tearful state of mind. She kept thinking

that it was the last day that they would be together in this altogether sweet and close intimacy. The beginning

of the end seemed to have dawned, for two positions had been offered Rebecca by Mr. Morrison the day

before: one in which she would play for singing and calisthenics, and superintend the piano practice of the

younger girls in a boardingschool; the other an assistant's place in the Edgewood High School. Both were

very modest as to salary, but the former included educational advantages that Miss Maxwell thought might be

Rebecca's mood had passed from that of excitement into a sort of exaltation, and when the first bell rang

through the corridors announcing that in five minutes the class would proceed in a body to the church for the

exercises, she stood motionless and speechless at the window with her hand on her heart.

"It is coming, Emmie," she said presently; "do you remember in The Mill on the Floss, when Maggie Tulliver

closed the golden gates of childhood behind her? I can almost see them swing; almost hear them clang; and I

"I shouldn't care how they swung or clanged," said Emma Jane, "if only you and I were on the same side of

"Emmie, don't dare to cry, for I'm just on the brink myself! If only you were graduating with me; that's my

only sorrow! There! I hear the rumble of the wheels! People will be seeing our grand surprise now! Hug me

once for luck, dear Emmie; a careful hug, remembering our butter muslin frailty!"

Ten minutes later, Adam Ladd, who had just arrived from Portland and was wending his way to the church,

came suddenly into the main street and stopped short under a tree by the wayside, riveted to the spot by a

scene of picturesque loveliness such as his eyes had seldom witnessed before. The class of which Rebecca

was president was not likely to follow accepted customs. Instead of marching two by two from the seminary

to the church, they had elected to proceed thither by royal chariot. A haycart had been decked with green

vines and bunches of longstemmed field daisies, those gay darlings of New England meadows. Every inch

of the rail, the body, even the spokes, all were twined with yellow and green and white. There were two white

horses, flowertrimmed reins, and in the floral bower, seated on maple boughs, were the twelve girls of the

class, while the ten boys marched on either side of the vehicle, wearing buttonhole bouquets of daisies, the

Rebecca drove, seated on a greencovered bench that looked not unlike a throne. No girl clad in white

muslin, no happy girl of seventeen, is plain; and the twelve little country maids, from the vantage ground of

their setting, looked beautiful, as the June sunlight filtered down on their uncovered heads, showing their

Rebecca, Adam thought, as he took off his hat and saluted the pretty panorama,Rebecca, with her tall

slenderness, her thoughtful brow, the fire of young joy in her face, her fillet of dark braided hair, might have

been a young Muse or Sibyl; and the flowery hayrack, with its freight of blooming girlhood, might have been

painted as an allegorical picture of The Morning of Life. It all passed him, as he stood under the elms in the

old village street where his mother had walked half a century ago, and he was turning with the crowd towards

the church when he heard a little sob. Behind a hedge in the garden near where he was standing was a forlorn

person in white, whose neat nose, chestnut hair, and blue eyes he seemed to know. He stepped inside the gate

"Oh, is it you, Mr. Ladd? Rebecca wouldn't let me cry for fear of spoiling my looks, but I must have just one

chance before I go in. I can be as homely as I like, after all, for I only have to sing with the school; I'm not

graduating, I'm just leaving! Not that I mind that; it's only being separated from Rebecca that I never can

The two walked along together, Adam comforting the disconsolate Emma Jane, until they reached the old

meetinghouse where the Commencement exercises were always held. The interior, with its decorations of

yellow, green, and white, was crowded, the air hot and breathless, the essays and songs and recitations

precisely like all others that have been since the world began. One always fears that the platform may sink

under the weight of youthful platitudes uttered on such occasions; yet one can never be properly critical,

because the sight of the boys and girls themselves, those young and hopeful makers of tomorrow, disarms

one's scorn. We yawn desperately at the essays, but our hearts go out to the essayists, all the same, for "the

vision splendid" is shining in their eyes, and there is no fear of "th' inevitable yoke" that the years are so

Rebecca saw Hannah and her husband in the audience; dear old John and cousin Ann also, and felt a pang at

the absence of her mother, though she had known there was no possibility of seeing her; for poor Aurelia was

kept at Sunnybrook by cares of children and farm, and lack of money either for the journey or for suitable

dress. The Cobbs she saw too. No one, indeed, could fail to see uncle Jerry; for he shed tears more than once,

and in the intervals between the essays descanted to his neighbors concerning the marvelous gifts of one of

the graduating class whom he had known ever since she was a child; in fact, had driven her from Maplewood

to Riverboro when she left her home, and he had told mother that same night that there wan't nary rung on the

The Cobbs, then, had come, and there were other Riverboro faces, but where was aunt Jane, in her black silk

made over especially for this occasion? Aunt Miranda had not intended to come, she knew, but where, on this

day of days, was her beloved aunt Jane? However, this thought, like all others, came and went in a flash, for

the whole morning was like a series of magic lantern pictures, crossing and recrossing her field of vision. She

played, she sang, she recited Queen Mary's Latin prayer, like one in a dream, only brought to consciousness

by meeting Mr. Aladdin's eyes as she spoke the last line. Then at the end of the programme came her class

poem, Makers of To morrow; and there, as on many a former occasion, her personality played so great a

part that she seemed to be uttering Miltonic sentiments instead of schoolgirl verse. Her voice, her eyes, her

body breathed conviction, earnestness, emotion; and when she left the platform the audience felt that they had

listened to a masterpiece. Most of her hearers knew little of Carlyle or Emerson, or they might have

remembered that the one said, "We are all poets when we read a poem well," and the other, "'T is the good

It was over! The diplomas had been presented, and each girl, after giving furtive touches to her hair, sly

tweaks to her muslin skirts, and caressing pats to her sash, had gone forward to receive the roll of parchment

with a bow that had been the subject of anxious thought for weeks. Rounds of applause greeted each graduate

at this thrilling moment, and Jeremiah Cobb's behavior, when Rebecca came forward, was the talk of

Wareham and Riverboro for days. Old Mrs. Webb avowed that he, in the space of two hours, had worn out

her pew morethe 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 Ladd made his way to the platform. Rebecca turned

from speaking to some stran gers and met him in the aisle. "Oh, Mr. Aladdin, I am so glad you could come!

Tell me"and she looked at him half shyly, for his approval was dearer to her, and more difficult to win,

"More than satisfied!" he said; "glad I met the child, proud I know the girl, longing to meet the woman!"

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 had been modestly biding their time in a corner, approached her and she

"Where, where is aunt Jane?" she cried, holding aunt Sarah's hand on one side and uncle Jerry's on the other.

"Is aunt Miranda worse? She is; I can see it by your looks;" and Rebecca's color faded.

"She had a second stroke yesterday morning jest when she was helpin' Jane lay out her things to come here

today. Jane said you wan't to know anything about it till the exercises was all over, and we promised to keep

"I will go right home with you, aunt Sarah. I must just run to tell Miss Maxwell, for after I had packed up

tomorrow I was going to Brunswick with her. Poor aunt Miranda! And I have been so gay and happy all

"There ain't no harm in bein' gay, lovey; that's what Jane wanted you to be. And Miranda's got her speech

back, for your aunt has just sent a letter sayin' she's better; and I'm goin' to set up tonight, so you can stay

"I'll pack your trunk for you, Becky dear, and attend to all our room things," said Emma Jane, who had come

They moved into one of the quiet side pews, where Hannah and her husband and John joined them. From

time to time some straggling acquaintance or old schoolmate would come up to congratulate Rebecca and ask

why she had hidden herself in a corner. Then some member of the class would call to her excitedly,

reminding her not to be late at the picnic luncheon, or begging her to be early at the class party in the

evening. All this had an air of unreality to Rebecca. In the midst of the happy excitement of the last two days,

when "blushing honors" had been falling thick upon her, and behind the delicious exaltation of the morning,

had been the feeling that the condition was a transient one, and that the burden, the struggle, the anxiety,

would soon loom again on the horizon. She longed to steal away into the woods with dear old John, grown so

"I s'pose up to Boston, girls like that one are as thick as blackb'ries?" uncle Jerry said, jerking his head

"They may be," smiled Adam, taking in the old man's mood; "only I don't happen to know one."

"My eyesight bein' poor 's the reason she looked han'somest of any girl on the platform, I s'pose?"

"There's no failure in my eyes," responded Adam, "but that was how the thing seemed to me!"

"Well, I'm glad to hear your opinion, you bein' a traveled man, for mother 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 behind when it comes

to spoilin'. Land! it made me sick, thinkin' o' them parents travelin' miles to see their young ones graduate,

and then when they got here hevin' to compare 'em with Rebecky. Goodby, Mr. Ladd, drop in some day

"I will," said Adam, shaking the old man's hand cordially; "perhaps tomorrow if I drive Rebecca home, as I

"Well, the doctor don't seem to know; but anyhow she's paralyzed, and she'll never walk fur again, poor soul!

Adam left the church, and in crossing the common came upon Miss Maxwell doing the honors of the

institution, as she passed from group to group of strangers and guests. Knowing that she was deeply

interested in all Rebecca's plans, he told her, as he drew her aside, that the girl would have to leave Wareham

"That is almost more than I can bear!" exclaimed Miss Maxwell, sitting down on a bench and stabbing the

greensward with her parasol. "It seems to me Rebecca never has any respite. I had so many plans for her this

next month in fitting her for her position, and now she will settle down to housework again, and to the

"If it had not been for the cross old aunt, Rebecca would still have been at Sunnybrook; and from the

standpoint of educational advantages, or indeed advantages of any sort, she might as well have been in the

"That is true; I was vexed when I spoke, for I thought an easier and happier day was dawning for my prodigy

"Oh, yes!" she laughed. "I always forget that it pleases you to pretend you discovered Rebecca."

"I believe, though, that happier days are dawning for her," continued Adam. "It must be a secret for the

present, but Mrs. Randall's farm will be bought by the new railroad. We must have right of way through the

land, and the station will be built on her property. She will receive six thousand dollars, which, though not a

fortune, will yield her three or four hundred dollars a year, if she will allow me to invest it for her. There is a

mortgage on the land; that paid, and Rebecca selfsupporting, the mother ought to push the education of the

oldest boy, who is a fine, ambitious fellow. He should be taken away from farm work and settled at his

"We might form ourselves into a Randall Protective Agency, Limited," mused Miss Maxwell. "I confess I

"Of course you don't. Men have no interest in the careers of women! But I know Rebecca better than you."

"You understand her mind better, but not necessarily her heart. You are considering her for the moment as

"Well," sighed Miss Maxwell whimsically, "prodigy or pearl, the Randall Protective Agency may pull

"Particularly if the saint beckons your way." And Miss Maxwell looked up and smiled provokingly.

Rebecca did not see her aunt Miranda till she had been at the brick house for several days. Miranda steadily

refused to have any one but Jane in the room until her face had regained its natural look, but her door was

always ajar, and Jane fancied she liked to hear Rebecca's quick, light step. Her mind was perfectly clear now,

and, save that she could not move, she was most of the time quite free from pain, and alert in every nerve to

all that was going on within or without the house. "Were the windfall apples being picked up for sauce; were

the potatoes thick in the hills; was the corn tosselin' out; were they cuttin' the upper field; were they keepin'

flypaper laid out everywheres; were there any ants in the dairy; was the kindlin' wood holdin' out; had the

Poor Miranda Sawyer! Hovering on the verge of the great beyond,her body "struck" and no longer under

control of her iron will,no divine visions floated across her tired brain; nothing but petty cares and sordid

anxieties. Not all at once can the soul talk with God, be He ever so near. If the heavenly language never has

been learned, quick as is the spiritual sense in seizing the facts it needs, then the poor soul must use the words

and phrases it has lived on and grown into day by day. Poor Miss Miranda!held fast within the prison walls

of her own nature, blind in the presence of revelation because she had never used the spiritual eye, deaf to

There came a morning when she asked for Rebecca. The door was opened into the dim sick room, and

Rebecca stood there with the sunlight behind her, her hands full of sweet peas. Miranda's pale, sharp face,

framed in its nightcap, looked haggard on the pillow, and her body was pitifully still under the counterpane.

"Come in," she said; "I ain't dead yet. Don't mess up the bed with them flowers, will ye?"

"Oh, no! They're going in a glass pitcher," said Rebecca, turning to the washstand as she tried to control her

"Let me look at ye; come closer. What dress are ye wearin'?" said the old aunt in her cracked, weak voice.

"She always had the knack o' writin' letters with nothin' in 'em. What's Mark broke sence I've been sick?"

"Why, what's the matter with him? Gittin' lazy, ain't he? How 's John turnin' out?"

"I hope you don't slight things in the kitchen because I ain't there. Do you scald the coffeepot and turn it

"It's always `yes' with you, and `yes' with Jane," groaned Miranda, trying to move her stiffened body; "but all

There was a long pause, during which Rebecca sat down by the bedside and timidly touched her aunt's hand,

"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, and know 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 the very prettiest; they looked like soft

lace. You're not to be anxious about anything. Here I am all grown up and graduated, number three in a

class of twentytwo, aunt Miranda,and good positions offered me already. Look at me, big and strong and

young, all ready to go into the world and show what you and aunt Jane have done for me. If you want me

near, I'll take the Edgewood school, so that I can be here nights and Sundays to help; and if you get better,

then I'll go to Augusta,for that's a hundred dollars more, with music lessons and other things beside."

"You listen to me," said Miranda quaveringly. "Take the best place, regardless o' my sickness. I'd like to live

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 old age must be so grim, so hard, so unchastened and unsweetened, as it slipped

The days went on, and Miranda grew stronger and stronger; her will seemed unassailable, and before long she

could be moved into a chair by the window, her dominant thought being to arrive at such a condition of

improvement that the doctor need not call more than once a week, instead of daily; thereby diminishing the

bill, that was mount ing to such a terrifying sum that it haunted her thoughts by day and dreams by night.

Little by little hope stole back into Rebecca's young heart. Aunt Jane began to "clear starch" her

handkerchiefs and collars and purple muslin dress, so that she might be ready to go to Brunswick at any

moment when the doctor pronounced Miranda well on the road to recovery. Everything beautiful was to

happen in Brunswick if she could be there by August,everything that heart could wish or imagination

conceive, for she was to be Miss Emily's very own visitor, and sit at table with college professors and other

At length the day dawned when the few clean, simple dresses were packed in the hair trunk, together with her

beloved coral necklace, her cheesecloth graduating dress, her class pin, aunt Jane's lace cape, and the one new

hat, which she tried on every night before going to bed. It was of white chip with a wreath of cheap white

roses and green leaves, and cost between two and three dollars, an unprecedented sum in Rebecca's

experience. The effect of its glories when worn with her nightdress was dazzling enough, but if ever it

appeared in conjunction with the cheesecloth gown, Rebecca felt that even reverend professors might regard

it with respect. It is probable indeed that any professorial gaze lucky enough to meet a pair of dark eyes

Then, when all was ready and Abijah Flagg at the door, came a telegram from Hannah: "Come at once.

In less than an hour Rebecca was started on her way to Sunnybrook, her heart palpitating with fear as to what

Death, at all events, was not there to meet her; but something that looked at first only too much like it. Her

mother had been standing on the haymow superintending some changes in the barn, had been seized with

giddiness, they thought, and slipped. The right knee was fractured and the back strained and hurt, but she was

conscious and in no immediate danger, so Rebecca wrote, when she had a moment to send aunt Jane the

"I don' know how 'tis," grumbled Miranda, who was not able to sit up that day; "but from a child I could

never lay abed without Aurelia's gettin' sick too. I don' know 's she could help fallin', though it ain't anyplace

for a woman,a haymow; but if it hadn't been that, 't would 'a' been somethin' else. Aurelia was born

unfortunate. Now she'll probably be a cripple, and Rebecca'll have to nurse her instead of earning a good

"Her first duty 's to her mother," said aunt Jane; "I hope she'll always remember that."

"Nobody remembers anything they'd ought to, at seventeen," responded Miranda. "Now that I'm strong

again, there's things I want to consider with 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 want to take Aurelia and the

children down here to the brick house? There's an awful passel of 'em,Aurelia, Jenny, and Fanny; but I

won't have Mark. Hannah can take him; I won't have a great boy stompin' out the carpets and ruinin' the

furniture, though I know when I'm dead I can't hinder ye, if you make up your mind to do anything."

"I shouldn't like to go against your feelings, especially in laying out your money, Miranda," said Jane.

"Don't tell Rebecca I've willed her the brick house. She won't git it till I'm gone, and I want to take my time

'bout dyin' and not be hurried off by them that's goin' to profit by it; nor I don't want to be thanked, neither. I

s'pose she'll use the front stairs as common as the back and like as not have water brought into the kitchen,

but mebbe when I've been dead a few years I shan't mind. She sets such store by you, she'll want you to have

your home here as long's you live, but anyway I've wrote it down that way; though Lawyer Burns's wills don't

hold more'n half the time. He's cheaper, but I guess it comes out jest the same in the end. I wan't goin' to have

There was a long pause, during which Jane knit silently, wiping the tears from her eyes from time to time, as

she looked at the pitiful figure lying weakly on the pillows. Suddenly Miranda said slowly and feebly:

"I don' know after all but you might as well take Mark; I s'pose there's tame boys as well as wild ones. There

ain't a mite o' sense in havin' so many children, but it's a turrible risk splittin' up families and farmin' 'em out

here 'n' there; they'd never come to no good, an' everybody would keep rememberin' their mother was a

Two months had gone by,two months of steady, fagging work; of cooking, washing, ironing; of mending

and caring for the three children, although Jenny was fast becoming a notable little housewife, quick, ready,

and capable. They were months in which there had been many a weary night of watching by Aurelia's

bedside; of soothing and bandaging and rubbing; of reading and nursing, even of feeding and bathing. The

ceaseless care was growing less now, and the family breathed more freely, for the mother's sigh of pain no

longer came from the stifling bedroom, where, during a hot and humid August, Aurelia had lain, suffering

with every breath she drew. There would be no question of walking for many a month to come, but blessings

seemed to multiply when the blinds could be opened and the bed drawn near the window; when mother, with

pillows behind her, could at least sit and watch the work going on, could smile at the past agony and forget

No girl of seventeen can pass through such an ordeal and come out unchanged; no girl of Re becca's

temperament could go through it without some inward repining and rebellion. She was doing tasks in which

she could not be fully happy,heavy and trying tasks, which perhaps she could never do with complete

success or satisfaction; and like promise of nectar to thirsty lips was the vision of joys she had had to put

aside for the performance of dull daily duty. How brief, how fleeting, had been those splendid visions when

the universe seemed open for her young strength to battle and triumph in! How soon they had faded into the

light of common day! At first, sympathy and grief were so keen she thought of nothing but her mother's pain.

No consciousness of self interposed between her and her filial service; then, as the weeks passed, little

blighted hopes began to stir and ache in her breast; defeated ambitions raised their heads as if to sting her;

unattainable delights teased her by their very nearness; by the narrow line of separation that lay between her

and their realization. It is easy, for the moment, to tread the narrow way, looking neither to the right nor left,

upborne by the sense of right doing; but that first joy of selfdenial, the joy that is like fire in the blood, dies

away; the path seems drearier and the footsteps falter. Such a time came to Rebecca, and her bright spirit

flagged when the letter was received saying that her position in Augusta had been filled. There was a

mutinous leap of the heart then, a beating of wings against the door of the cage, a longing for the freedom of

the big world outside. It was the stirring of the powers within her, though she called it by no such grand

name. She felt as if the wind of destiny were blowing her flame hither and thither, burning, consuming her,

but kindling nothing. All this meant one stormy night in her little room at Sunnybrook, but the clouds blew

over, the sun shone again, a rainbow stretched across the sky, while "hope clad in April green" smiled into

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 less bare by bringing in outofdoors, taking a leaf from Nature's book and

noting how she conceals ugliness wherever she finds it. Then there was the satisfaction of being mistress of

the poor domain; of planning, governing, deciding; of bringing order out of chaos; of implanting gayety in

the place of inert resignation to the inevitable. Another element of comfort was the children's love, for they

turned to her as flowers to the sun, drawing confidently on her fund of stories, serene in the conviction that

there was no limit to Rebecca's power of makebelieve. In this, and in yet greater things, little as she realized

it, the law of compensation was working in her behalf, for in those anxious days mother and daughter found

and knew each other as never before. A new sense was born in Rebecca as she hung over her mother's bed of

pain and unrest,a sense that comes only of ministering, a sense that grows only when the strong bend

toward the weak. As for Aurelia, words could never have expressed her dumb happiness when the real

revelation of motherhood was vouchsafed her. In all the earlier years when her babies were young, carking

cares and anxieties darkened the fireside with their brooding wings. Then Rebecca had gone away, and in the

long months of absence her mind and soul had grown out of her mother's knowledge, so that now, when

Aurelia had time and strength to study her child, she was like some enchanting changeling. Aurelia and

Hannah had gone on in the dull round and the common task, growing duller and duller; but now, on a certain

stage of life's journey, who should appear but this bewildering being, who gave wings to thoughts that had

only crept before; who brought color and grace and harmony into the dun brown texture of existence.

You might harness Rebecca to the heaviest plough, and while she had youth on her side, she would always

remember the green earth under her feet and the blue sky over her head. Her physical eye saw the cake she

was stirring and the loaf she was kneading; her physical ear heard the kitchen fire crackling and the teakettle

singing, but ever and anon her fancy mounted on pinions, rested itself, renewed its strength in the upper air.

The bare little farmhouse was a fixed fact, but she had many a palace into which she now and then withdrew;

palaces peopled with stirring and gallant figures belonging to the world of romance; palaces not without their

heavenly apparitions too, breathing celestial counsel. Every time she retired to her citadel of dreams she came

forth radiant and refreshed, as one who has seen the evening star, or heard sweet music, or smelled the rose of

Aurelia could have understood the feeling of a narrowminded and conventional hen who has brought a

strange, intrepid duckling into the world; but her situation was still more wonderful, for she could only

compare her sensations to those of some quiet brown Dorking who has brooded an ordinary egg and hatched

a bird of paradise. Such an idea had crossed her mind more than once during the past fortnight, and it flashed

to and fro this mellow October morning when Rebecca came into the room with her arms full of goldenrod

"Just a hint of the fall styles, mother," she said, slipping the stem of a gorgeous red and yellow sapling

between the mattress and the foot of the bed. "This was leaning over the pool, and I was afraid it would be

vain if I left it there too long looking at its beautiful reflection, so I took it away from danger; isn't it

wonderful? How I wish I could carry one to poor aunt Miranda today! There's never a flower in the brick

It was a marvelous morning. The sun had climbed into a world that held in remembrance only a succession of

golden days and starlit nights. The air was fragrant with ripening fruit, and there was a mad little bird on a

tree outside the door nearly bursting his throat with joy of living. He had forgotten that summer was over,

that winter must ever come; and who could think of cold winds, bare boughs, or frozen streams on such a

day? A painted moth came in at the open window and settled on the tuft of brilliant leaves. Aurelia heard the

bird and looked from the beauty of the glowing bush to her tall, splendid daughter, standing like young

Then suddenly she covered her eyes and cried, "I can't bear it! Here I lie chained to this bed, interfering with

everything you want to do. It's all wasted! All my saving and doing without; all your hard study; all

Mirandy's outlay; everything that we thought was going to be the making 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 the goldenrod 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 the beginnings of me! Do you remember the young tree

that John transplanted? We had a dry summer and a cold winter and it didn't grow a bit, nor show anything of

all we did for it; then there was a good year and it made up for lost time. This is just my little `rooting season,'

mother, but don't go and believe my day is over, because it hasn't begun! The old maple by the well that's in

its hundredth year had 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't deceive me. You've lost your place; you'll

"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 a disguise; I wear it for reasons of state. The king and queen who are at present

occupying my throne are very old and tottering, and are going to abdicate shortly in my favor. It's rather a

small kingdom, I suppose, as kingdoms go, so there isn't much struggle for it in royal circles, 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 peacock

feathers for a background; but you shall have a comfortable chair very near it, with quantities of slaves to do

Aurelia smiled in spite of herself, and though not perhaps wholly deceived, she was comforted.

"I only hope you won't have to wait too long for your thrones and your kingdoms, Rebecca," she said, "and

that I shall have a sight of them before I die; but life looks very hard and rough to me, what with your aunt

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 say nothing of Jenny and Fanny and Mark! You've got something of your father's

"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 like this; to have the chance of seeing, feeling, doing, becoming! When you were

"No," said Aurelia, "but I wasn't so much alive as you are, never in the world."

"I often think," Rebecca continued, walking to the window and looking out at the trees,"I often think how

dreadful it would be if I were not 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 any Rebecca! To be alive makes up for everything;

there ought to be fears in 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."

Will Melville drove up to the window and, tossing a letter into Rebecca's lap, went off to the barn on an

"Sister 's no worse, then," sighed Aurelia gratefully, "or Jane would have telegraphed. See what she says."

Rebecca opened the envelope and read in one flash of an eye the whole brief 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!

The force of habit was too strong, and even in the hour of death Jane had remembered that a telegram was

twentyfive cents, and that Aurelia would have to pay half a dollar for its delivery.

Rebecca burst into a passion of tears as she cried, "Poor, poor aunt Miranda! She is gone without taking a bit

of comfort in life, and I couldn't say goodby to her! Poor lonely aunt Jane! What can I do, mother? I feel

"You must go this very instant," said Aurelia; starting from her pillows. "If I was to die while you were away,

I would say the very same thing. Your aunts have done everything in the world for you,more than I've ever

been able to do,and it is your turn to pay back some o' their kindness and show your gratitude. The doctor

says I've turned the corner and I feel I have. Jenny can make out somehow, if Hannah'll come over once a

"But, mother, I CAN'T go! Who'll turn you in bed?" exclaimed Rebecca, walking the floor and wringing her

"It don't make any difference if I don't get turned," replied Aurelia stoically. "If a woman of my age and the

mother of a family hasn't got sense enough not to slip off haymows, she'd ought to suffer. Go put on your

black dress and pack your bag. I'd give a good deal if I was able to go to my sister's funeral and prove that

I've forgotten and forgiven all 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 sinned against me 'n' your father! And oh, Rebecca," she

continued with quivering voice, "I remember so well when we were little girls together and she took such

pride in curling my hair; and another time, when we were grown up, she lent me her best blue muslin: it was

when your father had asked me to lead the grand march with him at the Christmas dance, and I found out

Here Aurelia broke down and wept bitterly; for the recollection of the past had softened her heart and brought

There was only an hour for preparation. Will would drive Rebecca to Temperance and send Jenny back from

school. He volunteered also to engage a woman to sleep at the farm in case Mrs. Randall should be worse at

Rebecca flew down over the hill to get a last pail of spring water, and as she lifted the bucket from the crystal

depths and looked out over the glowing beauty of the autumn landscape, she saw a company of surveyors

with their instruments making calculations and laying lines that apparently crossed Sunnybrook at the

favorite spot where Mirror Pool lay clear and placid, the yellow leaves on its surface no yellower than its

She caught her breath. "The time has come!" she thought. "I am saying goodby to Sunnybrook, and the

golden gates that almost swung together that last day in Wareham will close forever now. Goodby, dear

brook and hills and meadows; you are going to see life too, so we must be hopeful and say to one another:

Will Melville had seen the surveyors too, and had heard in the Temperance postoffice that morning the

probable sum that Mrs. Randall would receive from the railway company. He was in good spirits at his own

improved prospects, for his farm was so placed that its value could be only increased by the new road; he was

also relieved in mind that his wife's family would no longer be in dire poverty directly at his doorstep, so to

speak. John could now be hurried forward and forced into the position of head of the family several years

sooner than had been anticipated, so Hannah's husband was obliged to exercise great selfcontrol or he would

have whistled while he was driving Rebecca to the Temperance station. He could not understand her sad face

or the tears that rolled silently down her cheeks from time to time; for Hannah had always represented her

aunt Miranda as an irascible, parsimonious old woman, who would be no loss to the world whenever she

"Cheer up, Becky!" he said, as he left her at the depot. "You'll find your mother sitting up when you come

back, and the next thing you know the whole family'll be moving to some nice little house wherever your

work is. Things will never be so bad again as they have been this last year; that's what Hannah and I think;"

Adam Ladd was in the station and came up to Rebecca instantly, as she entered the door looking very unlike

"The Princess is sad this morning," he said, taking her hand. "Aladdin must rub the magic lamp; then the

He spoke lightly, for he thought her trouble was something connected with affairs at Sunnybrook, and that he

could soon bring the smiles by telling her that the farm was sold and that her mother was to receive a

handsome price in return. He meant to remind her, too, that though she must leave the home of her youth, it

was too remote a place to be a proper dwelling either for herself or for her lonely mother and the three

younger children. He could hear her say as plainly as if it were yesterday, "I don't think one ever forgets the

spot where one lived as a child." He could see the quaint little figure sitting on the piazza at North Riverboro

and watch it disappear in the lilac bushes when he gave the memorable order for three hundred cakes of

A word or two soon told him that her grief was of another sort, and her mood was so absent, so sensitive and

tearful, that he could only assure her of his sympathy and beg that he might come soon to the brick house to

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 than he had ever seen her,allbeautiful and allwomanly. But in that moment's

speech with her he had looked into her eyes and they were still those of a child; there was no knowledge of

the world in their shining depths, no experience of men or women, no passion, nor comprehension of it. He

turned from the little country station to walk in the woods by the wayside until his own train should be

leaving, and from time to time he threw himself under a tree to think and dream and look at the glory of the

foliage. He had brought a new copy of The Arabian Nights for Rebecca, wishing to replace the wellworn

old one that had been the delight of her girlhood; but meeting her at such an inauspicious time, he had

absently carried it away with him. He turned the pages idly until he came to the story of Aladdin and the

Wonderful Lamp, and presently, in spite of his thirtyfour years, the old tale held him spellbound as it did in

the days when he first read it as a boy. But there were certain paragraphs that especially caught his eye and

arrested his attention, paragraphs that he read and reread, finding in them he knew not what secret delight

and significance. These were the quaintly turned phrases describing the effect on the once poor Aladdin of his

wonderful riches, and those descanting upon the beauty and charm of the Sultan's daughter, the Princess

_Not only those who knew Aladdin when he played in the streets like a vagabond did not know him again;

those who had seen him but a little while before hardly knew him, so much were his features altered; such

were the effects of the lamp, as to procure by degrees to those who possessed it, perfections agreeable to the

_The Princess was the most beautiful brunette in the world; her eyes were large, lively, and sparkling; her

looks sweet and modest; her nose was of a just proportion and without a fault; her mouth small, her lips of a

vermilion red, and charmingly agreeable symmetry; in a word, all the features of her face were perfectly

regular. It is not therefore surprising that Aladdin, who had never seen, and was a stranger to, so many

charms, was dazzled. With all these perfections the Princess had so delicate a shape, so majestic an air, that

_"Adorable Princess," said Aladdin to her, accosting her, and saluting her respectfully, "if I have the

misfortune to have displeased you by my boldness in aspiring to the possession of so lovely a creature, I must

"Prince," answered the Princess, "it is enough for me to have seen you, to tell you that I obey without

When Rebecca alighted from the train at Maplewood and hurried to the post office where the stage was

"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 the grass grow under her feet when she gits her aunt Jane's letter, and like as not

I'll ketch her today; or, if she gits delayed, tomorrow for certain. So here I be jest as I was more 'n six year

Emotions of various sorts were all struggling together in the old man's face, and the two or three bystanders

were astounded when they saw the handsome, stately girl fling herself on Mr. Cobb's dusty shoulder crying

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 be all alone on the stage, and we'll talk

Every mile of the way was as familiar to Rebecca as to uncle Jerry; every wateringtrough, grindstone, red

barn, weathervane, duckpond, 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. She could smell the big bouquet of lilacs, see the pinkflounced parasol, feel the

stiffness of the starched buff calico and the hated prick of the black and yellow porcupine quills. The drive

was taken almost in silence, but it was a sweet, comforting silence both to uncle Jerry and the girl.

Then came the sight of Abijah Flagg shelling beans in the barn, and then the Perkins attic windows with a

white cloth fluttering from them. She could spell Emma Jane's loving thought and welcome in that little

waving flag; a word and a message sent to her just at the first moment when Riverboro chimneys rose into

The brick house came next, looking just as of yore; though it seemed to Rebecca as if death should have cast

some mysterious spell over it. There were the rolling meadows, the stately elms, all yellow and brown now;

the glowing maples, the gardenbeds bright with asters, and the hollyhocks, rising tall against the parlor

windows; only in place of the cheerful pinks and reds of the nodding stalks, with their gay rosettes of bloom,

was a crape scarf holding the blinds together, and another on the sittingroom side, and another on the brass

"Stop, uncle Jerry! Don't turn in at the side; hand me my satchel, please; drop me in the road and let me run

At the noise and rumble of the approaching stage the house door opened from within, just as Rebecca closed

the gate behind her. Aunt Jane came down the stone steps, a changed woman, frail and broken and white.

Rebecca held out her arms and the old aunt crept into them feebly, as she did on that day when she opened

the grave of her buried love and showed the dead face, just for an instant, to a child. Warmth and strength and

"Rebecca," she said, raising her head, "before you go in to look at her, do you feel any bitterness over

Rebecca's eyes blazed reproach, almost anger, as she said chokingly: "Oh, aunt Jane! Could you believe it of

"She was a good woman, Rebecca; she had a quick temper and a sharp tongue, but she wanted to do right,

and she did it as near as she could. She never said so, but I'm sure she was sorry for every hard word she

spoke to you; she didn't take 'em back in life, but she acted so '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 as mother says," sobbed Rebecca

"She wasn't that," said Jane. "God made you in the first place, and you've done considerable yourself to help

Him along; but she gave you the wherewithal to work with, and that ain't to be despised; specially when

anybody gives up her own luxuries and pleasures to do it. Now let me tell you something, Rebecca. Your

aunt Mirandy 's willed all this to you,the brick house and buildings and furniture, and the land all round the

Rebecca threw off her hat and put her hand to her heart, as she always did in moments of intense excitement.

After a moment's silence she said: "Let me go in alone; I want to talk to her; I want to thank her; I feel as if I

Jane went back into the kitchen to the inexorable tasks that death has no power, even for a day, to blot from

existence. He can stalk through dwelling after dwelling, leaving despair and desolation behind him, but the

Ten minutes later Rebecca came out from the Great Presence looking white and spent, but chastened and

glorified. She sat in the quiet doorway, shaded from the little Riverboro world by the overhanging elms. A

wide sense of thankfulness and peace possessed her, as she looked at the autumn landscape, listened to the

rumble of a wagon on the 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 knocker and then the red bricks, glowing in the October sun.

It was home; her roof, her garden, her green acres, her dear trees; it was shelter for the little family at

Sunnybrook; her mother would have once more the companionship of her sister and the friends of her

And she? Her own future was closefolded still; folded and hidden in beautiful mists; but she leaned her head

against the sunwarmed door, and closing her eyes, whispered, just as if she had been a child saying her

prayers: "God bless aunt Miranda; God bless the brick house that was; God bless the brick house that is to