Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm by Kate Douglas Wiggin (fun books to read for adults TXT) đ
- Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin
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âYou will take me to Maplewood, wonât you, Mr. Cobb?â begged Rebecca piteously.
âDonât you fret a mite,â he answered, with a crafty little notion at the back of his mind; âIâll see the lady passenger through somehow. Now take a bite oâ somethinâ to eat, child. Spread some oâ that tomato preserve on your bread; draw up to the table. Howâd you like to set in motherâs place anâ pour me out another cup oâ hot tea?â
Mr. Jeremiah Cobbâs 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 Providence.
Rebecca, comforted by the old manâs tone, and timidly enjoying the dignity of sitting in Mrs. Cobbâs seat and lifting the blue china teapot, smiled faintly, smoothed her hair, and dried her eyes.
âI suppose your motherâll be turrible glad to see you back again?â queried Mr. Cobb.
A tiny fearâjust a baby thingâin the bottom of Rebeccaâs heart stirred and grew larger the moment it was touched with a question.
âShe wonât like it that I ran away, I sâpose, and sheâll be sorry that I couldnât please aunt Mirandy; but Iâll make her understand, just as I did you.â
âI sâpose she was thinkinâ oâ your schoolinâ, lettinâ you come down here; but land! you can go to school in Temperance, I sâpose?â
âThereâs only two monthsâ school now in Temperance, and the farm âs too far from all the other schools.â
âOh well! thereâs other things in the world beside edjercation,â responded uncle Jerry, attacking a piece of apple pie.
âYeâes; though mother thought that was going to be the making of me,â returned Rebecca sadly, giving a dry little sob as she tried to drink her tea.
âItâll be nice for you to be all together again at the farmâsuch a house full oâ children!â remarked the dear old deceiver, who longed for nothing so much as to cuddle and comfort the poor little creature.
âItâs too fullâthatâs the trouble. But Iâll make Hannah come to Riverboro in my place.â
âSâpose Mirandy ânâ Janeâll have her? I should be âmost afraid they wouldnât. Theyâll be kind oâ mad at your goinâ home, you know, and you canât hardly blame âem.â
This was quite a new thought,âthat the brick house might be closed to Hannah, since she, Rebecca, had turned her back upon its cold hospitality.
âHow is this school down here in Riverboro âpretty good?â inquired uncle Jerry, whose brain was working with an altogether unaccustomed rapidity,âso much so that it almost terrified him.
âOh, itâs a splendid school! And Miss Dearborn is a splendid teacher!â
âYou like her, do you? Well, youâd better believe she returns the compliment. Mother was down to the store this afternoon buyinâ liniment for Seth Strout, anâ she met Miss Dearborn on the bridge. They got to talkinâ âbout school, for mother has summer-boarded a lot oâ the schoolmarms, anâ likes âem. `How does the little Temperance girl git along?â asks mother. `Oh, sheâs the best scholar I have!â says Miss Dearborn. `I could teach school from sun-up to sun-down if scholars was all like Rebecca Randall,â says she.â
âOh, Mr. Cobb, DID she say that?â glowed Rebecca, her face sparkling and dimpling in an instant. âIâve tried hard all the time, but Iâll study the covers right off of the books now.â
âYou mean you would if youâd ben goinâ to stay here,â interposed uncle Jerry. âNow ainât it too bad youâve jest got to give it all up on account oâ your aunt Mirandy? Well, I canât hardly blame ye. Sheâs cranky anâ sheâs sour; I should think sheâd ben nussed on bonny-clabber anâ green apples. She needs bearinâ with; anâ I guess you ainât much on patience, be ye?â
âNot very much,â replied Rebecca dolefully.
âIf Iâd had this talk with ye yesterday,â pursued Mr. Cobb, âI believe Iâd have advised ye different. Itâs too late now, anâ I donât feel to say youâve ben all in the wrong; but if ât was to do over again, Iâd say, well, your aunt Mirandy gives you clothes and board and schoolinâ and is goinâ to send you to Wareham at a big expense. Sheâs turrible hard to get along with, anâ kind oâ heaves benefits at your head, same âs she would bricks; but theyâre benefits jest the same, anâ mebbe itâs your job to kind oâ pay for âem in good behavior. Janeâs a leetle bit more easy goinâ than Mirandy, ainât she, or is she jest as hard to please?â
âOh, aunt Jane and I get along splendidly,â exclaimed Rebecca; âsheâs 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. Iâd let her scold me all day long, for she understands; but she canât stand up for me against aunt Mirandy; sheâs about as afraid of her as I am.â
âJaneâll be real sorry to-morrow to find youâve gone away, I guess; but never mind, it canât be helped. If she has a kind of a dull time with Mirandy, on account oâ her beinâ so sharp, why of course sheâd set great store by your compâny. Mother was talkinâ with her after prayer meetinâ the other night. `You wouldnât know the brick house, Sarah,â says Jane. `Iâm keepinâ a sewinâ school, anâ my scholar has made three dresses. What do you think oâ that,â says she, `for an old maidâs child? Iâve taken a class in Sunday-school,â says Jane, `anâ think oâ renewinâ my youth anâ goinâ to the picnic with Rebecca,â says she; anâ mother declares she never see her look so young ânâ happy.â
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 Rebeccaâs 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 seemed to have built one over her troubles and given her strength to walk.
âThe shower âs over,â said the old man, filling his pipe; âitâs cleared the air, washed the face oâ the airth nice anâ clean, anâ everything to-morrer will shine like a new pinâwhen you anâ I are drivinâ up river.â
Rebecca pushed her cup away, rose from the table, and put on her hat and jacket quietly. âIâm not going to drive up river, Mr. Cobb,â she said. âIâm going to stay here andâcatch bricks; catch âem without throwing âem back, too. I donât know as aunt Mirandy will take me in after Iâve run away, but Iâm going back now while I have the courage. You wouldnât be so good as to go with me, would you, Mr. Cobb?â
âYouâd better bâlieve your uncle Jerry donât propose to leave till he gits this thing fixed up,â cried the old man delightedly. âNow youâve had all you can stanâ to-night, poor little soul, without gettinâ a fit oâ sickness; anâ Mirandyâll be sore anâ cross anâ 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, anâ I git out anâ go to the side door; anâ when I git your aunt Mirandy ânâ aunt Jane out intâ the shed to plan for a load oâ wood Iâm goinâ to have hauled there this week, youâll slip out oâ the buggy and go upstairs to bed. The front door wonât be locked, will it?â
âNot this time of night,â Rebecca answered; ânot till aunt Mirandy goes to bed; but oh! what if it should be?â
âWell, it wonât; anâ if ât is, why weâll have to face it out; though in my opinion thereâs things that wonât bear facinâ out anâ had better be settled comfortable anâ quiet. You see you ainât run away yet; youâve only come over here to consult me âbout runninâ away, anâ weâve concluded it ainât wuth the trouble. The only real sin youâve committed, as I figger it out, was in cominâ here by the winder when youâd ben sent to bed. That ainât so very black, anâ you can tell your aunt Jane âbout it come Sunday, when sheâs chock full oâ religion, anâ she can advise you when youâd better tell your aunt Mirandy. I donât believe in deceivinâ folks, but if youâve hed hard thoughts you ainât obleeged to own âem up; take âem to the Lord in prayer, as the hymn says, and then donât go on hevinâ âem. Now come on; Iâm all hitched up to go over to the post-office; donât forget your bundle; `itâs always a journey, mother, when you carry a nightgown;â them âs the first words your uncle Jerry ever heard you say! He didnât think youâd be bringinâ your nightgown over to his house. Step in anâ curl up in the corner; we ainât goinâ to let folks see little runaway gals, âcause theyâre goinâ back to begin all over agâin!â
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 aunts.
Her heart was melted now, and she determined to win aunt Mirandaâs 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 Janeâs disapproval, although she would never have confessed to such a weakness.
As uncle Jerry drove homeward under the stars, well content with his attempts at keeping the peace, he thought wistfully of the touch of Rebeccaâs 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. âLord Aâmighty!â he ejaculated under his breath, âLord Aâmighty! to hector and abuse a child like that one! âT ainât ABUSE exactly, I know, or ât wouldnât be to some oâ your elephant-hided young ones; but to that little tender will-oâ-the-wisp a hard word âs like a lash. Mirandy Sawyer would be a heap better woman if she had a little gravestun to remember, sameâs mother ânâ I have.â
âI never see a child improve in her work as Rebecca has to-day,â remarked Miranda Sawyer to Jane on Saturday evening. âThat settinâ down I gave her was probably just what she needed, and I daresay itâll last for a month.â
âIâm glad youâre pleased,â returned
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