Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm by Kate Douglas Wiggin (fun books to read for adults TXT) đ
- Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin
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âIf I could once ketch that consarned old thief,â exclaimed Abner righteously, âIâd make him dance,âworkinâ off a stolen sleigh on me anâ takinâ away my good money anâ cider press, to say nothinâ oâ my character!â
âYouâll never ketch him, Ab,â responded the sheriff. âHeâs cut off the same piece oâ goods as that there cider press and that there character and that there four-seventy-five oâ yourn; nobody ever see any of âem but you, and youâll never see âem again!â
Mrs. Simpson, who was decidedly Abnerâs better half, took in washing and went out to do daysâ 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 sufficiently clothed and not otherwise more pleasantly engaged.
There were no secrets in the villages that lay along the banks of Pleasant River. There were many hard-working people among the inhabitants, but life wore away so quietly and slowly that there was a good deal of spare time for conversation,â 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 meeting-places furnished ample ground for the discussion of current events as viewed by the masculine 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 made violent objections to it, as a theory of life.
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 from home.
âI do most certainly, if I can get any other place to stay,â she responded candidly. âI was beinâ worn to a shadder here, tryinâ to keep my little secrets to myself, anâ never succeedinâ. 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 tryinâ for a place to teach school, and when I gave up hope, anâ took to dressmakinâ, they pitied me and sympathized with me for that. When father died I was bound Iâd never let anybody know how I was left, for that spites âem worse than anything else; but thereâs ways oâ findinâ out, anâ they found out, hard as I fought âem! Then there was my brother James that went to Arizona when he was sixteen. I gave good news of him for thirty years runninâ, but aunt Achsy Tarbox had a ferretinâ 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 heâd 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 wifeâI never told âem, anâ you can be sure HE never did, but they donât NEED to be told in this village; they have nothinâ to do but guess, anâ theyâll guess right every time. I was all tuckered out tryinâ to mislead âem and deceive âem and sidetrack âem; but the minute I got where I waânât put under a microscope by day anâ a telescope by night and had myself TO myself without sayinâ `By your leave,â I begun to pick up. Cousin Cyrus is an old man anâ considâable trouble, but he thinks my teeth are handsome anâ says Iâve got a splendid suit of hair. There ainât a person in Lewiston that knows about the minister, or fatherâs will, or Jimâs doinâs, or the fruit peddler; anâ if they should find out, they wouldnât care, anâ they couldnât remember; for Lewiston âs a busy place, thanks be!â
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 Rideoutâs missing sleigh and Abner Simpsonâs supposed connection with it.
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 it.
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, blond-haired, spindle-legged little creature whose mind was a cross between that of a parrot and a sheep. She was suspected of copying answers from other girlsâ 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 smile on her smug face.
After one of these private luncheons Rebecca had been tempted beyond her strength, and when Minnie took her seat among them asked, âIs your headache better, Minnie? Let me wipe off that strawberry jam over your mouth.â
There was no jam there as a matter of fact, but the guilty Minnieâs handkerchief went to her crimson face in a flash.
Rebecca confessed to Emma Jane that same afternoon that she felt ashamed of her prank. âI do hate her ways,â she exclaimed, âbut Iâm sorry I let her know we âspected her; and so to make up, I gave her that little piece of broken coral I keep in my bead purse; you know the one?â
âIt donât hardly seem as if she deserved that, and her so greedy,â remarked Emma Jane.
âI know it, but it makes me feel better,â said Rebecca largely; âand then Iâve had it two years, and itâs broken so it wouldnât ever be any real good, beautiful as it is to look at.â
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 Smellieâs voice lifted high in song, and the sound of a childâs sobbing. Clara Belle, Susan, and the twins were running along the path, and Minnie was dancing up and down, shrieking:â
â`What made the sleigh love Simpson so?â The eager children cried; `Why Simpson loved the sleigh, you know,â The teacher quick replied.â
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 âthe fighting twin,â did break the stillness of the woods for a moment, but it did not come within a hundred yards of Minnie, who shouted âJail Birdsâ 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.
Minnieâs face was not pleasant to see, for a coward detected at the moment of wrongdoing is not an object of delight.
âMinnie Smellie, if everâIâcatchâyouâ singingâthatâto the Simpsons againâdo you know what Iâll do?â asked Rebecca in a tone of concentrated rage.
âI donât know and I donât care,â said Minnie jauntily, though her looks belied her.
âIâll take that piece of coral away from you, and I THINK I shall slap you besides!â
âYou wouldnât darst,â retorted Minnie. âIf you do, Iâll tell my mother and the teacher, so there!â
âI donât care if you tell your mother, my mother, and all your relations, and the president,â said Rebecca, gaining courage as the noble words fell from her lips. âI donât care if you tell the town, the whole of York county, the state of Maine andâ and the nation!â she finished grandiloquently. âNow you run home and remember what I say. If you do it again, and especially if you say `Jail Birds,â if I think itâs right and my duty, I shall punish you somehow.â
The next morning at recess Rebecca observed Minnie telling the tale with variations to Huldah Meserve. âShe THREATENED me,â whispered Minnie, âbut I never believe a word she says.â
The latter remark was spoken with the direct intention of being overheard, for Minnie had spasms of bravery, when well surrounded by the machinery of law and order.
As Rebecca went back to her seat she asked Miss Dearborn if she might pass a note to Minnie Smellie and received permission. This was the note:â
Of all the girls that are so mean Thereâs none like Minnie Smellie. Iâll take away the gift I gave And pound her into jelly.
P. S. Now do you believe me?
R. Randall.
The effect
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