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herself, when she was persuading me not to mind being given

away."
"Clara Belle Simpson!" exclaimed Rebecca in a transport. "Who'd

have thought you'd be a female hero and an heiress besides? It's
just like a book story, and it happened in Riverboro. I'll make

Uncle Jerry Cobb allow there CAN be Riverboro stories, you see if
I don't."

"Of course I know it's all right," Clara Belle replied soberly.
"I'll have a good home and father can't keep us all; but it's

kind of dreadful to be given away, like a piano or a horse and
carriage!"

Rebecca's hand went out sympathetically to Clara Belle's freckled
paw. Suddenly her own face clouded and she whispered:

"I'm not sure, Clara Belle, but I'm given away too--do you s'pose
I am? Poor father left us in debt, you see. I thought I came away

from Sunnybrook to get an education and then help pay off the
mortgage; but mother doesn't say anything about my coming back,

and our family's one of those too-big ones, you know, just like
yours."

"Did your mother sign papers to your aunts?'
"If she did I never heard anything about it; but there's

something pinned on to the mortgage that mother keeps in the
drawer of the bookcase."

"You'd know it if twas adoption papers; I guess you're just
lent," Clara Belle said cheeringly. "I don't believe anybody'd

ever give YOU away! And, oh! Rebecca, father's getting on so
well! He works on Daly's farm where they raise lots of horses and

cattle, too, and he breaks all the young colts and trains them,
and swaps off the poor ones, and drives all over the country.

Daly told Mr. Fogg he was splendid with stock, and father says
it's just like play. He's sent home money three Saturday nights."

"I'm so glad!" exclaimed Rebecca sympathetically. "Now your
mother'll have a good time and a black silk dress, won't she?"

"I don't know," sighed Clara Belle, and her voice was grave.
"Ever since I can remember she's just washed and cried and cried

and washed. Miss Dearborn has been spending her vacation up to
Acreville, you know, and she came yesterday to board next door to

Mrs. Fogg's. I heard them talking last night when I was getting
the baby to sleep--I couldn't help it, they were so close-- and

Miss Dearborn said mother doesn't like Acreville; she says nobody
takes any notice of her, and they don't give her any more work.

Mrs. Fogg said, well, they were dreadful stiff and particular up
that way and they liked women to have wedding rings."

"Hasn't your mother got a wedding ring?" asked Rebecca,
astonished. "Why, I thought everybody HAD to have them, just as

they do sofas and a kitchen stove!"
"I never noticed she didn't have one, but when they spoke I

remembered mother's hands washing and wringing, and she doesn't
wear one, I know. She hasn't got any jewelry, not even a

breast-pin."
"Rebecca's tone was somewhat censorious, "your father's been so

poor perhaps he couldn't afford breast-pins, but I should have
thought he'd have given your mother a wedding ring when they were

married; that's the time to do it, right at the very first."
"They didn't have any real church dress-up wedding," explained

Clara Belle extenuatingly. "You see the first mother, mine, had
the big boys and me, and then she died when we were little. Then

after a while this mother came to housekeep, and she stayed, and
by and by she was Mrs. Simpson, and Susan and the twins and the

baby are hers, and she and father didn't have time for a regular
wedding in church. They don't have veils and bridesmaids and

refreshments round here like Miss Dearborn's sister did."
"Do they cost a great deal--wedding rings?" asked Rebecca

thoughtfully. "They're solid gold, so I s'pose they do. If they
were cheap we might buy one. I've got seventy-four cents saved

up; how much have you?"
"Fifty-three," Clara Belle responded, in a depressing tone; "and

anyway there are no stores nearer than Milltown. We'd have to buy
it secretly, for I wouldn't make father angry, or shame his

pride, now he's got steady work; and mother would know I had
spent all my savings."

Rebecca looked nonplussed. "I declare," she said, "I think the
Acreville people must be perfectlyhorrid not to call on your

mother only because she hasn't got any jewelry. You wouldn't dare
tell your father what Miss Dearborn heard, so he'd save up and

buy the ring?"
"No; I certainly would not!" and Clara Belle's lips closed

tightly and decisively.
Rebecca sat quietly for a few moments, then she exclaimed

jubilantly: "I know where we could get it! From Mr. Aladdin, and
then I needn't tell him who it's for! He's coming to stay over

tomorrow with his aunt, and I'll ask him to buy a ring for us in
Boston. I won't explain anything, you know; I'll just say I need

a wedding ring."
"That would be perfectly lovely," replied Clara Belle, a look of

hope dawning in her eyes; "and we can think afterwards how to get
it over to mother. Perhaps you could send it to father instead,

but I wouldn't dare to do it myself. You won't tell anybody,
Rebecca?"

"Cross my heart!" Rebecca exclaimed dramatically; and then with a
reproachful look, "you know I couldn't repeat a sacred secret

like that! Shall we meet next Saturday afternoon, and I tell you
what's happened?--Why, Clara Belle, isn't that Mr. Ladd watering

his horse at the foot of the hill this very minute? It is; and
he's driven up from Milltown stead of coming on the train from

Boston to Edgewood. He's all alone, and I can ride home with him
and ask him about the ring right away!"

Clara Belle kissed Rebecca fervently, and started on her homeward
walk, while Rebecca waited at the top of the long hill,

fluttering her handkerchief as a signal.
"Mr. Aladdin! Mr. Aladdin!" she cried, as the horse and wagon

came nearer.
Adam Ladd drew up quickly at the sound of the eager young voice.

"Well, well; here is Rebecca Rowena fluttering along the highroad
like a red-winged blackbird! Are you going to fly home, or drive

with me?"
Rebecca clambered into the carriage, laughing and blushing with

delight at his nonsense and with joy at seeing him again.
"Clara Belle and I were just talking about you this minute, and

I'm so glad you came this way, for there's something very
important to ask you about," she began, rather breathlessly.

"No doubt," laughed Adam Ladd, who had become, in the course of
his acquaintance with Rebecca, a sort of high court of appeals;

"I hope the premiumbanquet lamp doesn't smoke as it grows
older?"

"Now, Mr. Aladdin, you WILL not remember nicely. Mr. Simpson
swapped off the banquet lamp when he was moving the family to

Acreville; it's not the lamp at all, but once, when you were here
last time, you said you'd make up your mind what you were going

to give me for Christmas."
"Well," and "I do remember that much quite nicely."

"Well, is it bought?"
"No, I never buy Christmas presents before Thanksgiving."

"Then, DEAR Mr. Aladdin, would you buy me something different,
something that I want to give away, and buy it a little sooner

than Christmas?"
"That depends. I don't relish having my Christmas presents given

away. I like to have them kept forever in little girls' bureau
drawers, all wrapped in pink tissue paper; but explain the matter

and perhaps I'll change my mind. What is it you want?"
"I need a wedding ring dreadfully," said Rebecca, "but it's a

sacred secret."
Adam Ladd's eyes flashed with surprise and he smiled to himself

with pleasure. Had he on his list of acquaintances, he asked
himself, a person of any age or sex so altogether irresistible

and unique as this child? Then he turned to face her with the
merry teasing look that made him so delightful to young people.

"I thought it was perfectly understood between us," he said,
"that if you could ever contrive to grow up and I were willing to

wait, that I was to ride up to the brick house on my snow
white"--

"Coal black," corrected Rebecca, with a sparkling eye and a
warning finger.

"Coal black charger; put a golden circlet on your lily white
finger, draw you up behind me on my pillion"--

"And Emma Jane, too," Rebecca interrupted.
"I think I didn't mention Emma Jane," argued Mr. Aladdin. "Three

on a pillion is very uncomfortable. I think Emma Jane leaps on
the back of a prancing chestnut, and we all go off to my castle

in the forest."
"Emma Jane never leaps, and she'd be afraid of a prancing

chestnut," objected Rebecca.
"Then she shall have a gentle cream-colored pony; but now,

without any explanation, you ask me to buy you a wedding ring,
which shows plainly that you are planning to ride off on a snow

white -- I mean coal black--charger with somebody else."
Rebecca dimpled and laughed with joy at the nonsense. In her

prosaic world no one but Adam Ladd played the game and answered
the fool according to his folly. Nobody else talked delicious

fairy-story twaddle but Mr. Aladdin.
"The ring isn't for ME!" she explained carefully. "You know very

well that Emma Jane nor I can't be married till we're through
Quackenbos's Grammar, Greenleaf's Arithmetic, and big enough to

wear long trails and run a sewing machine. The ring is for a
friend."

"Why doesn't the groom give it to his bride himself?"
"Because he's poor and kind of thoughtless, and anyway she isn't

a bride any more; she has three step and three other kind of
children."

Adam Ladd put the whip back in the socketthoughtfully, and then
stooped to tuck in the rug over Rebecca's feet and his own. When

he raised his head again he asked: "Why not tell me a little
more, Rebecca? I'm safe!"

Rebecca looked at him, feeling his wisdom and strength, and above
all his sympathy. Then she said hesitatingly: "You remember I

told you all about the Simpsons that day on your aunt's porch
when you bought the soap because I told you how the family were

always in trouble and how much they needed a banquet lamp? Mr.
Simpson, Clara Belle's father, has always been very poor, and not

always very good,--a little bit THIEVISH, you know--but oh, so
pleasant and nice to talk to! And now he's turning over a new

leaf. And everybody in Riverboro liked Mrs. Simpson when she came
here a stranger, because they were sorry for her and she was so

patient, and such a hard worker, and so kind to the children. But
where she lives now, though they used to know her when she was a

girl, they're not polite to her and don't give her scrubbing and
washing; and Clara belle heard our teacher say to Mrs. Fogg that

the Acreville people were stiff, and despised her because she
didn't wear a wedding ring, like all the rest. And Clara Belle

and I thought if they were so mean as that, we'd love to give her
one, and then she'd be happier and have more work; and perhaps

Mr. Simpson if he gets along better will buy her a breast-pin and
earrings, and she'll be fitted out like the others. I know Mrs.

Peter Meserve is looked up to by everybody in Edgewood on account
of her gold bracelets and moss agate necklace."

Adam turned again to meet the luminous, innocent eyes that glowed
under the delicate brows and long lashes, feeling as he had more

than once felt before, as if his worldly-wise, grown-up thoughts
had been bathed in some purifying spring.

"How shall you send the ring to Mrs. Simpson?" he asked, with
interest.



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