loyally.
"If he onth thaw it he'd want to thwap it,"
murmured Susan sagaciously.
At the appointed hour Rebecca dragged herself
reluctantly away from 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' filled if I only keep
it lit one hour every night?"
"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 mail for it."
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 eyes,
and she held a
flaming sword in either hand.
Rebecca entered the home dining-room joyously.
The Burnham sisters had gone and the two aunts
were knitting.
"It was a
heavenly party," she cried,
taking off
her hat and cape.
"Go back and see if you have shut the door
tight, and then lock it," said Miss Miranda, in her
usual
austere manner.
"It was a
heavenly party," reiterated Rebecca,
coming in again, 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's-on."
Jane accompanied Rebecca into the kitchen.
Although the
feebleglimmer 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?"
"Mr. WHO?" exclaimed Rebecca
"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 to herself.
"I asked you who sold the soap to Adam
Ladd?" resumed Miss Jane.
"Adam Ladd! then he's A. Ladd, too; what fun!"
"Answer me, Rebecca."
"Oh! excuse me, aunt Jane, I was so busy
thinking. Emma Jane and I sold the soap to Mr.
Ladd."
"Did you tease him, or make him buy it?"
"Now, aunt Jane, how could I make a big
grown-up man buy anything if he didn't want to?
He needed the soap
dreadfully as a present for his
aunt."
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 without asking her first,
for your actions are very queer."
"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 everybody
to see."
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
divine that she was one of
"The souls by nature pitched too high,
By
suffering plunged too low."
"That's just the way you look, for all the world
as if you did have 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."
XVI
SEASONS OF GROWTH
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 of the soft
answer in turning away wrath.
Miranda had not had, perhaps, quite as many
opportunities in which to lose her
temper, but it is
only just to say that she had not fully availed herself
of all that had offered themselves.
There had been one
outburst of
righteous wrath
occasioned by Rebecca's over-hospitable habits,
which were later shown in a still more
dramatic and
unexpected fashion.
On a certain Friday afternoon she asked her aunt
Miranda if she might take half her bread and milk
upstairs to a friend.
"What friend have you got up there, for pity's
sake?" demanded aunt Miranda.
"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 disappointed and so will Mrs.
Simpson. She was planning to go to Milltown."
"She can un-plan then," observed Miss Miranda.
"Perhaps I can go up there and take care of the
baby?" suggested Rebecca. "I brought her home
so 't I could do my Saturday work just the same."
"You've got enough to do right here, without
any borrowed babies to make more steps. Now, no
answering back, just give the child some supper and
carry it home where it belongs."
"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 before she got there!
Aunt Jane was in the linen
closetupstairs, sorting
out the clean sheets and pillow cases for Saturday,
and Rebecca sought comfort from her.
"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 often."
"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
soap-wagon. Come, baby! Take your thumb out of
your mouth and come to ride with Becky in your
go-cart." 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 dazed awe.
"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 Simpson's stockings.
"I should think you'd be fonder of dolls than
you are," said Jane.
"I do like them, but there's never any change
in a doll; it's always the same
everlasting old doll,