章节正文
with Rebecca,' says she; an' mother declares she
never see her look so young 'n' happy."
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 radiantbridge. 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.
"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 to-morrer
will shine like a new pin--when 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 and--catch 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' to-night, 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 post-office; 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 aunts.
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 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 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 touchinghunger 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 elephant-hided young ones; but
to that little tender will-o'-the-wisp 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 to-day," 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 a month."
"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 to-morrow 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."
XI
"THE STIRRING OF THE POWERS"
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 irresistibleappeal to the imagination.
It would be impossible for two children to see
more, do more, walk more, talk more, eat more, or
ask more questions than Rebecca and Emma Jane
did on that eventful Wednesday.
"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 you
Harriet Beecher Stowe herself couldn't 'a' done
it better justice."
"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 Parks up to Cornish."
"Lady doctors are always home'paths, ain't
they?" asked Mrs. Cobb, who, it is needless to say,
was distinctly of the old school in medicine.
"Land, no, mother; there ain't no home'path
'bout Miss Parks--she 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 harvest supper."
"I guess she'll be able to write down her own
pieces," said Mr. Cobb confidently; "she could
make 'em up faster 'n she could read 'em out of a
book."
"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 allowances."
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 them did
never see her look so young 'n' happy."
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 radiantbridge. 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.
"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 to-morrer
will shine like a new pin--when 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 and--catch 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' to-night, 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 post-office; 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 aunts.
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 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 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 touchinghunger 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 elephant-hided young ones; but
to that little tender will-o'-the-wisp 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 to-day," 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 a month."
"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 to-morrow 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."
XI
"THE STIRRING OF THE POWERS"
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 irresistibleappeal to the imagination.
It would be impossible for two children to see
more, do more, walk more, talk more, eat more, or
ask more questions than Rebecca and Emma Jane
did on that eventful Wednesday.
"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 you
Harriet Beecher Stowe herself couldn't 'a' done
it better justice."
"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 Parks up to Cornish."
"Lady doctors are always home'paths, ain't
they?" asked Mrs. Cobb, who, it is needless to say,
was distinctly of the old school in medicine.
"Land, no, mother; there ain't no home'path
'bout Miss Parks--she 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 harvest supper."
"I guess she'll be able to write down her own
pieces," said Mr. Cobb confidently; "she could
make 'em up faster 'n she could read 'em out of a
book."
"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 allowances."
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 them did
- shower [´ʃauə]
n.展出者；阵雨；淋浴 (初中英语单词) - jacket [´dʒækit] n.茄克衫；外套 (初中英语单词)
- sickness [´siknis] n.生病；呕吐，恶心 (初中英语单词)
- consult [kən´sʌlt] v.商量；磋商；请教 (初中英语单词)
- advise [əd´vaiz] vt.忠告；建议；通知 (初中英语单词)
- bundle [´bʌndl] n.包，捆；包袱(裹) (初中英语单词)
- partly [´pɑ:tli] ad.部分地；不完全地 (初中英语单词)
- endure [in´djuə] vt.忍耐，忍受；坚持 (初中英语单词)
- hunger [´hʌŋgə] n.饥饿；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- wednesday [´wenzdi] n.星期三 (初中英语单词)
- appetite [´æpitait] n.欲望；食欲 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- wedding [´wediŋ] n.婚礼，结婚 (初中英语单词)
- agricultural [ægri´kʌltʃər(ə)l] a.农业的 (初中英语单词)
- advantage [əd´vɑ:ntidʒ] n.优势；利益 (初中英语单词)
- tremendous [tri´mendəs] a.可怕的；巨大的 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- singer [´siŋə] n.歌手，演唱者 (初中英语单词)
- writer [´raitə] n.作者；作家 (初中英语单词)
- distinctly [di´stiŋktli] ad.清楚地，明晰地 (初中英语单词)
- recite [ri´sait] v.背诵；叙述 (初中英语单词)
- harvest [´hɑ:vist] n.&v.收获；收割 (初中英语单词)
- astonishment [ə´stɔniʃmənt] n.吃惊；惊异 (初中英语单词)
- slavery [´sleivəri] n.奴隶制；奴役 (初中英语单词)
- radiant [´reidiənt] a.发光的 n.光源(体) (高中英语单词)
- post-office [´pəust-´ɔfis] a.邮政的 (高中英语单词)
- approval [ə´pru:vəl] n.赞成，批准，认可 (高中英语单词)
- uncomfortable [ʌn´kʌmftəbəl] a.不舒服的，不自在的 (高中英语单词)
- homeward [´həumwəd] ad.&a.回家(的) (高中英语单词)
- characteristic [,kæriktə´ristik] a.特有的 n.特性 (高中英语单词)
- pictorial [pik´tɔ:riəl] a.绘画的 n.画报 (高中英语单词)
- appeal [ə´pi:l] vi.&n.请求；呼吁；上诉 (高中英语单词)
- thankful [´θæŋkfəl] a.感激的；欣慰的 (高中英语单词)
- needless [´ni:dləs] a.不必要的；无用的 (高中英语单词)
- solitude [´sɔlitju:d] n.孤独；寂寞；荒凉 (高中英语单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- upstairs [,ʌp´steəz] ad.在楼上 a.楼上的 (英语四级单词)
- virtuous [´və:tjuəs] a.道德的；善良的 (英语四级单词)
- rightly [´raitli] ad.正义地；正确地 (英语四级单词)
- touching [´tʌtʃiŋ] a.动人的 prep.提到 (英语四级单词)
- stirring [´stə:riŋ] a.活跃的；热闹的 (英语四级单词)
- irresistible [,iri´zistəbəl] a.不可抵抗的 (英语四级单词)
- lincoln [´liŋkən] n.林肯 (英语四级单词)
- beating [´bi:tiŋ] n.敲；搅打；失败 (英语六级单词)
- runaway [´rʌnəwei] n.逃跑(者) a.逃亡的 (英语六级单词)
- foolishness [´fu:liʃnis] n.愚蠢 (英语六级单词)
- scornful [´skɔ:nful] a.轻蔑的，藐视的 (英语六级单词)
- wistfully [´wistfuli] ad.渴望地；不满足地 (英语六级单词)
- confidently [´kɔnfidəntli] ad.有信心地；自信地 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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