"I never thought to ask!" ejaculated Rebecca.
"Aunt Miranda would say that was just like me,
and it is. But I called him Mr. Aladdin because he
gave us a lamp. You know the story of Aladdin and
the wonderful lamp?"
"Oh, Rebecca! how could you call him a
nicknamethe very first time you ever saw him?"
"Aladdin isn't a
nickname exactly; anyway, he
laughed and seemed to like it."
By dint of superhuman effort, and putting such
a seal upon their lips as never mortals put before,
the two girls succeeded in keeping their wonderful
news to themselves; although it was
obvious to all
beholders that they were in an
extraordinary and
abnormal state of mind.
On Thanksgiving the lamp arrived in a large
packing box, and was taken out and set up by See-
saw Simpson, who suddenly began to admire and
respect the business
ability of his sisters. Rebecca
had heard the news of its
arrival, but waited until
nearly dark before asking
permission to go to the
Simpsons', so that she might see the gorgeous
trophy lighted and sending a blaze of
crimsonglory through its red crepe paper shade.
XV
THE BANQUET LAMP
There had been company at the brick
house to the bountiful Thanksgiving
dinner which had been provided at one
o'clock,--the Burnham sisters, who lived between
North Riverboro and Shaker Village, and who for
more than a quarter of a century had come to pass
the
holiday with the Sawyers every year. Rebecca
sat silent with a book after the dinner dishes were
washed, and when it was nearly five asked if she
might go to the Simpsons'.
"What do you want to run after those Simpson
children for on a Thanksgiving Day?" queried Miss
Miranda. "Can't you set still for once and listen
to the improvin' conversation of your elders? You
never can let well enough alone, but want to be forever
on the move."
"The Simpsons have a new lamp, and Emma
Jane and I promised to go up and see it lighted,
and make it a kind of a party."
"What under the
canopy did they want of a
lamp, and where did they get the money to pay for
it? If Abner was at home, I should think he'd been
swappin' again," said Miss Miranda.
"The children got it as a prize for selling soap,"
replied Rebecca; "they've been
working for a year,
and you know I told you that Emma Jane and I
helped them the Saturday afternoon you were in
Portland."
"I didn't take notice, I s'pose, for it's the first
time I ever heard the lamp mentioned. Well, you
can go for an hour, and no more. Remember it's
as dark at six as it is at
midnight Would you like
to take along some Baldwin apples? What have
you got in the pocket of that new dress that makes
it sag down so?"
"It's my nuts and raisins from dinner," replied
Rebecca, who never succeeded in keeping the most
innocent action a secret from her aunt Miranda;
"they're just what you gave me on my plate."
"Why didn't you eat them?"
"Because I'd had enough dinner, and I thought
if I saved these, it would make the Simpsons'
party better," stammered Rebecca, who hated to
be scolded and examined before company.
"They were your own, Rebecca," interposed
aunt Jane, "and if you chose to save them to give
away, it is all right. We ought never to let this day
pass without giving our neighbors something to be
thankful for, instead of
taking all the time to think
of our own mercies."
The Burnham sisters nodded approvingly as
Rebecca went out, and remarked that they had never
seen a child grow and improve so fast in so short a
time.
"There's plenty of room left for more improvement,
as you'd know if she lived in the same house
with you," answered Miranda. "She's into every
namable thing in the
neighborhood, an' not only
into it, but generally at the head an' front of it,
especially when it's
mischief. Of all the foolishness
I ever heard of, that lamp beats everything; it's
just like those Simpsons, but I didn't suppose the
children had brains enough to sell anything."
"One of them must have," said Miss Ellen
Burnham, "for the girl that was selling soap at the
Ladds' in North Riverboro was described by Adam
Ladd as the most
remarkable and
winning child he
ever saw."
"It must have been Clara Belle, and I should
never call her
remarkable," answered Miss Miranda.
"Has Adam been home again?"
"Yes, he's been staying a few days with his aunt.
There's no limit to the money he's making, they
say; and he always brings presents for all the
neighbors. This time it was a full set of furs for
Mrs. Ladd; and to think we can remember the
time he was a
barefoot boy without two shirts to his
back! It is strange he hasn't married, with all his
money, and him so fond of children that he always
has a pack of them at his heels."
"There's hope for him still, though," said Miss
Jane smilingly; "for I don't s'pose he's more than
thirty."
"He could get a wife in Riverboro if he was a
hundred and thirty," remarked Miss Miranda.
"Adam's aunt says he was so taken with the little
girl that sold the soap (Clara Belle, did you say her
name was?), that he declared he was going to bring
her a Christmas present," continued Miss Ellen.
"Well, there's no accountin' for tastes," exclaimed
Miss Miranda. "Clara Belle's got cross-eyes and
red hair, but I'd be the last one to
grudge her a
Christmas present; the more Adam Ladd gives to
her the less the town'll have to."
"Isn't there another Simpson girl?" asked Miss
Lydia Burnham; "for this one couldn't have been
cross-eyed; I remember Mrs. Ladd
saying Adam
remarked about this child's handsome eyes. He said
it was her eyes that made him buy the three hundred
cakes. Mrs. Ladd has it stacked up in the shed
chamber."
"Three hundred cakes!" ejaculated Miranda.
"Well, there's one crop that never fails in Riverboro!"
"What's that?" asked Miss Lydia politely.
"The fool crop," responded Miranda tersely, and
changed the subject, much to Jane's
gratitude, for
she had been
nervous and ill at ease for the last fifteen
minutes. What child in Riverboro could be
described as
remarkable and
winning, save Rebecca?
What child had wonderful eyes, except the same
Rebecca? and finally, was there ever a child in the
world who could make a man buy soap by the hundred
cakes, save Rebecca?
Meantime the "
remarkable" child had flown up
the road in the deepening dusk, but she had not
gone far before she heard the sound of hurrying
footsteps, and saw a
well-known figure coming in
her direction. In a moment she and Emma Jane
met and exchanged a
breathless embrace.
"Something awful has happened," panted Emma
Jane.
"Don't tell me it's broken," exclaimed Rebecca.
"No! oh, no! not that! It was packed in straw,
and every piece came out all right; and I was there,
and I never said a single thing about your selling
the three hundred cakes that got the lamp, so that
we could be together when you told."
"OUR selling the three hundred cakes," corrected
Rebecca; "you did as much as I."
"No, I didn't, Rebecca Randall. I just sat at the
gate and held the horse."
"Yes, but WHOSE horse was it that took us to
North Riverboro? And besides, it just happened
to be my turn. If you had gone in and found Mr.
Aladdin you would have had the wonderful lamp
given to you; but what's the trouble?"
"The Simpsons have no
kerosene and no wicks.
I guess they thought a
banquet lamp was something
that lighted itself, and burned without any
help. Seesaw has gone to the doctor's to try if he
can borrow a wick, and mother let me have a pint
of oil, but she says she won't give me any more.
We never thought of the expense of keeping up
the lamp, Rebecca."
"No, we didn't, but let's not worry about that
till after the party. I have a
handful of nuts and
raisins and some apples."
"I have peppermints and maple sugar," said
Emma Jane. "They had a real Thanksgiving dinner;
the doctor gave them sweet potatoes and cranberries
and turnips; father sent a spare-rib, and Mrs.
Cobb a chicken and a jar of mince-meat."
At half past five one might have looked in at
the Simpsons' windows, and seen the party at its
height. Mrs. Simpson had let the kitchen fire die
out, and had brought the baby to grace the festal
scene. The lamp seemed to be having the party,
and receiving the guests. The children had taken
the one small table in the house, and it was placed
in the far corner of the room to serve as a pedestal.
On it stood the
sacred, the adored, the long-desired
object; almost as beautiful, and nearly half as large
as the
advertisement. The brass glistened like gold,
and the
crimson paper shade glowed like a giant
ruby. In the wide
splash of light that it flung upon
the floor sat the Simpsons, in reverent and solemn
silence, Emma Jane
standing behind them, hand in
hand with Rebecca. There seemed to be no desire
for conversation; the occasion was too thrilling and
serious for that. The lamp, it was tacitly felt by
everybody, was dignifying the party, and providing
sufficient
entertainment simply by its presence;
being fully as
satisfactory in its way as a pianola or
a string band.
"I wish father could see it," said Clara Belle