Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm by Kate Douglas Wiggin (fun books to read for adults TXT) đ
- Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin
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On the very next Friday after this âdreadfullest fight that ever was seen,â as Bunyan says in Pilgrimâs 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 âspeaking pieces;â 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 all-too-familiar 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 doctorâs wife, the ministerâs wife, two members of the school committee, and a few mothers. Living Perkins was asked to decorate one of the blackboards 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. âI propose we give Rebecca a good hand-clapping for such a beautiful pictureâone that the whole school may well be proud of!â
The scholars clapped heartily, and Dick Carter, waving his hand, gave a rousing cheer.
Rebeccaâs 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 ânobleness enkindleth nobleness,â 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 Rebeccaâs 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. Rebeccaâs 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 Smellie-Randall hatchet was buried and Minnie gathered maple boughs and covered the ugly stove with them, under Rebeccaâs 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 excitement, only stopping to breathe at the stiles.
âWill your aunt Mirandy let you wear your best, or only your buff calico?â asked Emma Jane.
âI think Iâll ask aunt Jane,â Rebecca replied. âOh! if my pink was only finished! I left aunt Jane making the buttonholes!â
âIâm going to ask my mother to let me wear her garnet ring,â said Emma Jane. âIt would look perfectly elergant flashing in the sun when I point to the flag. Good-by; donât wait for me going back; I may get a ride.â
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 dining-room 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 Janeâs kind hands. Could she, dare she, wear it without asking? Did the occasion justify a new costume, or would her aunts think she ought to keep it for the concert?
âIâll wear it,â thought Rebecca. âTheyâre not here to ask, and maybe they wouldnât mind a bit; itâs only gingham after all, and wouldnât be so grand if it wasnât new, and hadnât tape trimming on it, and wasnât pink.â
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 reserved for Emma Jane.
Then her eye fell on her cherished pink sunshade, the exact match, and the girls had never seen it. It wasnât quite appropriate for school, but she neednât 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 looking-glass 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 rose-colored 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 resplendent, at the entrance.
âRebecca Randall!â exclaimed Emma Jane, âyouâre handsome as a picture!â
âI?â laughed Rebecca âNonsense! itâs only the pink gingham.â
âYouâre not good looking every day,â insisted Emma Jane; âbut youâre 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 branâ new dress?â
âThey were both away and I didnât ask,â Rebecca responded anxiously. âWhy? Do you think theyâd have said no?â
âMiss Mirandy always says no, doesnât she?â asked Emma Jane.
âYeâes; but this afternoon is very specialâ almost like a Sunday-school concert.â
âYes,â assented Emma Jane, âit is, of course; with your name on the board, and our pointing to your flag, and our elergant dialogue, and all that.â
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 couldnât 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 self-consciousness, 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 whole-souled singing, her irrepressible enthusiasm.
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 to-night, and the vision of helping with the preserves on the morrow had no terrors for herâfears 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 open doorway. Then with a rush she came back to earth.
IX ASHES OF ROSESThere she is, over an hour late; a little more anâ sheâd âaâ been caught in a thunder shower, but sheâd never look ahead,â said Miranda to Jane; âand added to all her other iniquities, if she ainât rigged out in that new dress, steppinâ along with her fatherâs dancinâ-school steps, and swinginâ her parasol for all the world as if she was play-actinâ. Now Iâm the oldest, Jane, anâ I intend to have my say out; if you donât like it you can go into the kitchen till itâs over. Step right in here, Rebecca; I want to talk to you. What did you put on that good new dress for, on a school day, without permission?â
âI had intended to ask you at noontime, but you werenât at home, so I couldnât,â began Rebecca.
âYou did no such a thing; you put it on because you was left alone, though you knew well enough I wouldnât have let you.â
âIf Iâd been CERTAIN you wouldnât have let me Iâd never have done it,â said Rebecca, trying to be truthful; âbut I wasnât CERTAIN, and it was worth risking. I thought perhaps you might, if you knew it was almost a real exhibition at school.â
âExhibition!â exclaimed Miranda scornfully; âyou are exhibition enough by yourself, I should say. Was you exhibitinâ your parasol?â
âThe parasol WAS silly,â confessed Rebecca, hanging her head; âbut itâs 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 havenât hurt my dress a mite, aunt Mirandy.â
âItâs the craftiness and underhandedness of your actions thatâs the worst,â said Miranda coldly. âAnd look at the other things youâve done! It seems as if Satan possessed you! You went up the front stairs to your room, but you didnât hide your tracks, for you dropped your handkerchief on the way up. You left
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