Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm

by Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin

  Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines.

  Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm

  by

  Kate Douglas Wiggin

  TO MY MOTHER

  Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

  Wordsworth.

  CONTENTS

  I. "WE ARE SEVEN" II. REBECCA'S RELATIONS III. A DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS IV. REBECCA'S POINT OF VIEW V. WISDOM'S WAYS VI. SUNSHINE IN A SHADY PLACE VII. RIVERBORO SECRETS VIII. COLOR OF ROSE IX. ASHES OF ROSES X. RAINBOW BRIDGES XI. "THE STIRRING OF THE POWERS" XII. "SEE THE PALE MARTYR" XIII. SNOW-WHITE; ROSE-RED XIV. MR. ALADDIN XV. THE BANQUET LAMP XVI. SEASONS OF GROWTH XVII. GRAY DAYS AND GOLD XVIII. REBECCA REPRESENTS THE FAMILY XIX. DEACON ISRAEL'S SUCCESSOR XX. A CHANGE OF HEART XXI. THE SKY LINE WIDENS XXII. CLOVER BLOSSOMS AND SUNFLOWERS XXIII. THE HILL DIFFICULTY XXIV. ALADDIN RUBS HIS LAMP XXV. ROSES OF JOY XXVI. OVER THE TEACUPS XXVII. "THE VISION SPLENDID" XXVIII. "TH' INEVITABLE YOKE" XXIX. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER XXX. "GOOD-BY, SUNNYBROOK!" XXXI. AUNT MIRANDA'S APOLOGY

  REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM

  I

  "WE ARE SEVEN"

  The old stage coach was rumbling along the dusty road that runs fromMaplewood to Riverboro. The day was as warm as midsummer, though it wasonly the middle of May, and Mr. Jeremiah Cobb was favoring the horsesas much as possible, yet never losing sight of the fact that he carriedthe mail. The hills were many, and the reins lay loosely in his handsas he lolled back in his seat and extended one foot and leg luxuriouslyover the dashboard. His brimmed hat of worn felt was well pulled overhis eyes, and he revolved a quid of tobacco in his left cheek.

  There was one passenger in the coach,--a small dark-haired person in aglossy buff calico dress. She was so slender and so stiffly starchedthat she slid from space to space on the leather cushions, though shebraced herself against the middle seat with her feet and extended hercotton-gloved hands on each side, in order to maintain some sort ofbalance. Whenever the wheels sank farther than usual into a rut, orjolted suddenly over a stone, she bounded involuntarily into the air,came down again, pushed back her funny little straw hat, and picked upor settled more firmly a small pink sun shade, which seemed to be herchief responsibility,--unless we except a bead purse, into which shelooked whenever the condition of the roads would permit, finding greatapparent satisfaction in that its precious contents neither disappearednor grew less. Mr. Cobb guessed nothing of these harassing details oftravel, his business being to carry people to their destinations, not,necessarily, to make them comfortable on the way. Indeed he hadforgotten the very existence of this one unnoteworthy little passenger.

  When he was about to leave the post-office in Maplewood that morning, awoman had alighted from a wagon, and coming up to him, inquired whetherthis were the Riverboro stage, and if he were Mr. Cobb. Being answeredin the affirmative, she nodded to a child who was eagerly waiting forthe answer, and who ran towards her as if she feared to be a moment toolate. The child might have been ten or eleven years old perhaps, butwhatever the number of her summers, she had an air of being small forher age. Her mother helped her into the stage coach, deposited a bundleand a bouquet of lilacs beside her, superintended the "roping on"behind of an old hair trunk, and finally paid the fare, counting outthe silver with great care.

  "I want you should take her to my sisters' in Riverboro," she said. "Doyou know Mirandy and Jane Sawyer? They live in the brick house."

  Lord bless your soul, he knew 'em as well as if he'd made 'em!

  "Well, she's going there, and they're expecting her. Will you keep aneye on her, please? If she can get out anywhere and get with folks, orget anybody in to keep her company, she'll do it. Good-by, Rebecca; trynot to get into any mischief, and sit quiet, so you'll look neat an'nice when you get there. Don't be any trouble to Mr. Cobb.--You see,she's kind of excited.--We came on the cars from Temperance yesterday,slept all night at my cousin's, and drove from her house--eight milesit is--this morning."

  "Good-by, mother, don't worry; you know it isn't as if I hadn'ttraveled before."

  The woman gave a short sardonic laugh and said in an explanatory way toMr. Cobb, "She's been to Wareham and stayed over night; that isn't muchto be journey-proud on!"

  "It WAS TRAVELING, mother," said the child eagerly and willfully. "Itwas leaving the farm, and putting up lunch in a basket, and a littleriding and a little steam cars, and we carried our nightgowns."

  "Don't tell the whole village about it, if we did," said the mother,interrupting the reminiscences of this experienced voyager. "Haven't Itold you before," she whispered, in a last attempt at discipline, "thatyou shouldn't talk about night gowns and stockings and--things likethat, in a loud tone of voice, and especially when there's men folksround?"

  "I know, mother, I know, and I won't. All I want to say is"--here Mr.Cobb gave a cluck, slapped the reins, and the horses started sedatelyon their daily task--"all I want to say is that it is a journeywhen"--the stage was really under way now and Rebecca had to put herhead out of the window over the door in order to finish hersentence--"it IS a journey when you carry a nightgown!"

  The objectionable word, uttered in a high treble, floated back to theoffended ears of Mrs. Randall, who watched the stage out of sight,gathered up her packages from the bench at the store door, and steppedinto the wagon that had been standing at the hitching-post. As sheturned the horse's head towards home she rose to her feet for a moment,and shading her eyes with her hand, looked at a cloud of dust in thedim distance.

  "Mirandy'll have her hands full, I guess," she said to herself; "but Ishouldn't wonder if it would be the making of Rebecca."

  All this had been half an hour ago, and the sun, the heat, the dust,the contemplation of errands to be done in the great metropolis ofMilltown, had lulled Mr. Cobb's never active mind into completeoblivion as to his promise of keeping an eye on Rebecca.

  Suddenly he heard a small voice above the rattle and rumble of thewheels and the creaking of the harness. At first he thought it was acricket, a tree toad, or a bird, but having determined the directionfrom which it came, he turned his head over his shoulder and saw asmall shape hanging as far out of the window as safety would allow. Along black braid of hair swung with the motion of the coach; the childheld her hat in one hand and with the other made ineffectual attemptsto stab the driver with her microscopic sunshade.

  "Please let me speak!" she called.

  Mr. Cobb drew up the horses obediently.

  "Does it cost any more to ride up there with you?" she asked. "It's soslippery and shiny down here, and the stage is so much too big for me,that I rattle round in it till I'm 'most black and blue. And thewindows are so small I can only see pieces of things, and I've 'mostbroken my neck stretching round to find out whether my trunk has fallenoff the back. It's my mother's trunk, and she's very choice of it."

  Mr. Cobb waited until this flow of conversation, or more properlyspeaking this flood of criticism, had ceased, and then said jocularly:--

  "You can come up if you want to; there ain't no extry charge to sitside o' me." Whereupon he helped her out, "boosted" her up to the frontseat, and resumed his own place.

  Rebecca sat down carefully, smoothing her dress under her withpainstaking precision, and putting her sunshade under its extendedfolds between the driver and herself. This done she pushed back herhat, pulled up her darned white cotton gloves, and said delightedly:--

  "Oh! this is better! This is like traveling! I am a
real passenger now,and down there I felt like our setting hen when we shut her up in acoop. I hope we have a long, long ways to go?"

  "Oh! we've only just started on it," Mr. Cobb responded genially; "it'smore 'n two hours."

  "Only two hours," she sighed "That will be half past one; mother willbe at cousin Ann's, the children at home will have had their dinner,and Hannah cleared all away. I have some lunch, because mother said itwould be a bad beginning to get to the brick house hungry and have auntMirandy have to get me something to eat the first thing.--It's a goodgrowing day, isn't it?"

  "It is, certain; too hot, most. Why don't you put up your parasol?"

  She extended her dress still farther over the article in question asshe said, "Oh dear no! I never put it up when the sun shines; pinkfades awfully, you know, and I only carry it to meetin' cloudy Sundays;sometimes the sun comes out all of a sudden, and I have a dreadful timecovering it up; it's the dearest thing in life to me, but it's an awfulcare."

  At this moment the thought gradually permeated Mr. Jeremiah Cobb'sslow-moving mind that the bird perched by his side was a bird of verydifferent feather from those to which he was accustomed in his dailydrives. He put the whip back in its socket, took his foot from thedashboard, pushed his hat back, blew his quid of tobacco into the road,and having thus cleared his mental decks for action, he took his firstgood look at the passenger, a look which she met with a grave,childlike stare of friendly curiosity.

  The buff calico was faded, but scrupulously clean, and starched withinan inch of its life. From the little standing ruffle at the neck thechild's slender throat rose very brown and thin, and the head lookedsmall to bear the weight of dark hair that hung in a thick braid to herwaist. She wore an odd little vizored cap of white leghorn, which mayeither have been the latest thing in children's hats, or some bit ofancient finery furbished up for the occasion. It was trimmed with atwist of buff ribbon and a cluster of black and orange porcupinequills, which hung or bristled stiffly over one ear, giving her thequaintest and most unusual appearance. Her face was without color andsharp in outline. As to features, she must have had the usual number,though Mr. Cobb's attention never proceeded so far as nose, forehead,or chin, being caught on the way and held fast by the eyes. Rebecca'seyes were like faith,--"the substance of things hoped for, the evidenceof things not seen." Under her delicately etched brows they glowed liketwo stars, their dancing lights half hidden in lustrous darkness. Theirglance was eager and full of interest, yet never satisfied; theirsteadfast gaze was brilliant and mysterious, and had the effect oflooking directly through the obvious to something beyond, in theobject, in the landscape, in you. They had never been accounted for,Rebecca's eyes. The school teacher and the minister at Temperance hadtried and failed; the young artist who came for the summer to sketchthe red barn, the ruined mill, and the bridge ended by giving up allthese local beauties and devoting herself to the face of a child,--asmall, plain face illuminated by a pair of eyes carrying such messages,such suggestions, such hints of sleeping power and insight, that onenever tired of looking into their shining depths, nor of fancying thatwhat one saw there was the reflection of one's own thought.

  Mr. Cobb made none of these generalizations; his remark to his wifethat night was simply to the effect that whenever the child looked athim she knocked him galley-west.

  "Miss Ross, a lady that paints, gave me the sunshade," said Rebecca,when she had exchanged looks with Mr. Cobb and learned his face byheart. "Did you notice the pinked double ruffle and the white tip andhandle? They're ivory. The handle is scarred, you see. That's becauseFanny sucked and chewed it in meeting when I wasn't looking. I've neverfelt the same to Fanny since."

  "Is Fanny your sister?"

  "She's one of them."

  "How many are there of you?"

  "Seven. There's verses written about seven children:--

  "'Quick was the little Maid's reply, O master! we are seven!'

  I learned it to speak in school, but the scholars were hateful andlaughed. Hannah is the oldest, I come next, then John, then Jenny, thenMark, then Fanny, then Mira."

  "Well, that IS a big family!"

  "Far too big, everybody says," replied Rebecca with an unexpected andthoroughly grown-up candor that induced Mr. Cobb to murmur, "I swan!"and insert more tobacco in his left cheek.

  "They're dear, but such a bother, and cost so much to feed, you see,"she rippled on. "Hannah and I haven't done anything but put babies tobed at night and take them up in the morning for years and years. Butit's finished, that's one comfort, and we'll have a lovely time whenwe're all grown up and the mortgage is paid off."

  "All finished? Oh, you mean you've come away?"

  "No, I mean they're all over and done with; our family 's finished.Mother says so, and she always keeps her promises. There hasn't beenany since Mira, and she's three. She was born the day father died. AuntMiranda wanted Hannah to come to Riverboro instead of me, but mothercouldn't spare her; she takes hold of housework better than I do,Hannah does. I told mother last night if there was likely to be anymore children while I was away I'd have to be sent for, for whenthere's a baby it always takes Hannah and me both, for mother has thecooking and the farm."

  "Oh, you live on a farm, do ye? Where is it?--near to where you got on?"

  "Near? Why, it must be thousands of miles! We came from Temperance inthe cars. Then we drove a long ways to cousin Ann's and went to bed.Then we got up and drove ever so far to Maplewood, where the stage was.Our farm is away off from everywheres, but our school and meeting houseis at Temperance, and that's only two miles. Sitting up here with youis most as good as climbing the meeting-house steeple. I know a boywho's been up on our steeple. He said the people and cows looked likeflies. We haven't met any people yet, but I'm KIND of disappointed inthe cows;--they don't look so little as I hoped they would; still(brightening) they don't look quite as big as if we were down side ofthem, do they? Boys always do the nice splendid things, and girls canonly do the nasty dull ones that get left over. They can't climb sohigh, or go so far, or stay out so late, or run so fast, or anything."

  Mr. Cobb wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and gasped. He had afeeling that he was being hurried from peak to peak of a mountain rangewithout time to take a good breath in between.

  "I can't seem to locate your farm," he said, "though I've been toTemperance and used to live up that way. What's your folks' name?"

  "Randall. My mother's name is Aurelia Randall; our names are HannahLucy Randall, Rebecca Rowena Randall, John Halifax Randall, Jenny LindRandall, Marquis Randall, Fanny Ellsler Randall, and Miranda Randall.Mother named half of us and father the other half, but we didn't comeout even, so they both thought it would be nice to name Mira after auntMiranda in Riverboro; they hoped it might do some good, but it didn't,and now we call her Mira. We are all named after somebody inparticular. Hannah is Hannah at the Window Binding Shoes, and I amtaken out of Ivanhoe; John Halifax was a gentleman in a book; Mark isafter his uncle Marquis de Lafayette that died a twin. (Twins veryoften don't live to grow up, and triplets almost never--did you knowthat, Mr. Cobb?) We don't call him Marquis, only Mark. Jenny is namedfor a singer and Fanny for a beautiful dancer, but mother says they'reboth misfits, for Jenny can't carry a tune and Fanny's kind ofstiff-legged. Mother would like to call them Jane and Frances and giveup their middle names, but she says it wouldn't be fair to father. Shesays we must always stand up for father, because everything was againsthim, and he wouldn't have died if he hadn't had such bad luck. I thinkthat's all there is to tell about us," she finished seriously.

  "Land o' Liberty! I should think it was enough," ejaculated Mr. Cobb."There wa'n't many names left when your mother got through choosin'!You've got a powerful good memory! I guess it ain't no trouble for youto learn your lessons, is it?"

  "Not much; the trouble is to get the shoes to go and learn 'em. Theseare spandy new I've got on, and they have to last six months. Motheralways says to save my shoes. There don't seem to be any way of saving
shoes but taking 'em off and going barefoot; but I can't do that inRiverboro without shaming aunt Mirandy. I'm going to school right alongnow when I'm living with aunt Mirandy, and in two years I'm going tothe seminary at Wareham; mother says it ought to be the making of me!I'm going to be a painter like Miss Ross when I get through school. Atany rate, that's what _I_ think I'm going to be. Mother thinks I'dbetter teach."

  "Your farm ain't the old Hobbs place, is it?"

  "No, it's just Randall's Farm. At least that's what mother calls it. Icall it Sunnybrook Farm."

  "I guess it don't make no difference what you call it so long as youknow where it is," remarked Mr. Cobb sententiously.

  Rebecca turned the full light of her eyes upon him reproachfully,almost severely, as she answered:--

  "Oh! don't say that, and be like all the rest! It does make adifference what you call things. When I say Randall's Farm, do you seehow it looks?"

  "No, I can't say I do," responded Mr. Cobb uneasily.

  "Now when I say Sunnybrook Farm, what does it make you think of?"

  Mr. Cobb felt like a fish removed from his native element and leftpanting on the sand; there was no evading the awful responsibility of areply, for Rebecca's eyes were searchlights, that pierced the fictionof his brain and perceived the bald spot on the back of his head.

  "I s'pose there's a brook somewheres near it," he said timorously.

  Rebecca looked disappointed but not quite dis-heartened. "That's prettygood," she said encouragingly. "You're warm but not hot; there's abrook, but not a common brook. It has young trees and baby bushes oneach side of it, and it's a shallow chattering little brook with awhite sandy bottom and lots of little shiny pebbles. Whenever there's abit of sunshine the brook catches it, and it's always full of sparklesthe livelong day. Don't your stomach feel hollow? Mine doest I was so'fraid I'd miss the stage I couldn't eat any breakfast."

  "You'd better have your lunch, then. I don't eat nothin' till I get toMilltown; then I get a piece o' pie and cup o' coffee."

  "I wish I could see Milltown. I suppose it's bigger and grander eventhan Wareham; more like Paris? Miss Ross told me about Paris; shebought my pink sunshade there and my bead purse. You see how it openswith a snap? I've twenty cents in it, and it's got to last threemonths, for stamps and paper and ink. Mother says aunt Mirandy won'twant to buy things like those when she's feeding and clothing me andpaying for my school books."

  "Paris ain't no great," said Mr. Cobb disparagingly. "It's the dullestplace in the State o' Maine. I've druv there many a time."

  Again Rebecca was obliged to reprove Mr. Cobb, tacitly and quietly, butnone the less surely, though the reproof was dealt with one glance,quickly sent and as quickly withdrawn.

  "Paris is the capital of France, and you have to go to it on a boat,"she said instructively. "It's in my geography, and it says: 'The Frenchare a gay and polite people, fond of dancing and light wines.' I askedthe teacher what light wines were, and he thought it was something likenew cider, or maybe ginger pop. I can see Paris as plain as day by justshutting my eyes. The beautiful ladies are always gayly dancing aroundwith pink sunshades and bead purses, and the grand gentlemen arepolitely dancing and drinking ginger pop. But you can see Milltown mostevery day with your eyes wide open," Rebecca said wistfully.

  "Milltown ain't no great, neither," replied Mr. Cobb, with the air ofhaving visited all the cities of the earth and found them as naught."Now you watch me heave this newspaper right onto Mis' Brown'sdoorstep."

  Piff! and the packet landed exactly as it was intended, on the cornhusk mat in front of the screen door.

  "Oh, how splendid that was!" cried Rebecca with enthusiasm. "Just likethe knife thrower Mark saw at the circus. I wish there was a long, longrow of houses each with a corn husk mat and a screen door in themiddle, and a newspaper to throw on every one!"

  "I might fail on some of 'em, you know," said Mr. Cobb, beaming withmodest pride. "If your aunt Mirandy'll let you, I'll take you down toMilltown some day this summer when the stage ain't full."

  A thrill of delicious excitement ran through Rebecca's frame, from hernew shoes up, up to the leghorn cap and down the black braid. Shepressed Mr. Cobb's knee ardently and said in a voice choking with tearsof joy and astonishment, "Oh, it can't be true, it can't; to think Ishould see Milltown. It's like having a fairy godmother who asks youyour wish and then gives it to you! Did you ever read Cinderella, orThe Yellow Dwarf, or The Enchanted Frog, or The Fair One with GoldenLocks?"

  "No," said Mr. Cobb cautiously, after a moment's reflection. "I don'tseem to think I ever did read jest those partic'lar ones. Where'd youget a chance at so much readin'?"

  "Oh, I've read lots of books," answered Rebecca casually. "Father's andMiss Ross's and all the dif'rent school teachers', and all in theSunday-school library. I've read The Lamplighter, and Scottish Chiefs,and Ivanhoe, and The Heir of Redclyffe, and Cora, the Doctor's Wife,and David Copperfield, and The Gold of Chickaree, and Plutarch's Lives,and Thaddeus of Warsaw, and Pilgrim's Progress, and lots more.--Whathave you read?"

  "I've never happened to read those partic'lar books; but land! I'veread a sight in my time! Nowadays I'm so drove I get along with theAlmanac, the Weekly Argus, and the Maine State Agriculturist.--There'sthe river again; this is the last long hill, and when we get to the topof it we'll see the chimbleys of Riverboro in the distance. 'T ain'tfur. I live 'bout half a mile beyond the brick house myself."

  Rebecca's hand stirred nervously in her lap and she moved in her seat."I didn't think I was going to be afraid," she said almost under herbreath; "but I guess I am, just a little mite--when you say it's comingso near."

  "Would you go back?" asked Mr. Cobb curiously.

  She flashed him an intrepid look and then said proudly, "I'd never goback--I might be frightened, but I'd be ashamed to run. Going to auntMirandy's is like going down cellar in the dark. There might be ogresand giants under the stairs,--but, as I tell Hannah, there MIGHT beelves and fairies and enchanted frogs!--Is there a main street to thevillage, like that in Wareham?"

  "I s'pose you might call it a main street, an' your aunt Sawyer liveson it, but there ain't no stores nor mills, an' it's an awful one-horsevillage! You have to go 'cross the river an' get on to our side if youwant to see anything goin' on."

  "I'm almost sorry," she sighed, "because it would be so grand to drivedown a real main street, sitting high up like this behind two splendidhorses, with my pink sunshade up, and everybody in town wondering whothe bunch of lilacs and the hair trunk belongs to. It would be justlike the beautiful lady in the parade. Last summer the circus came toTemperance, and they had a procession in the morning. Mother let us allwalk in and wheel Mira in the baby carriage, because we couldn't affordto go to the circus in the afternoon. And there were lovely horses andanimals in cages, and clowns on horseback; and at the very end came alittle red and gold chariot drawn by two ponies, and in it, sitting ona velvet cushion, was the snake charmer, all dressed in satin andspangles. She was so beautiful beyond compare, Mr. Cobb, that you hadto swallow lumps in your throat when you looked at her, and little coldfeelings crept up and down your back. Don't you know how I mean? Didn'tyou ever see anybody that made you feel like that?"

  Mr. Cobb was more distinctly uncomfortable at this moment than he hadbeen at any one time during the eventful morning, but he evaded thepoint dexterously by saying, "There ain't no harm, as I can see, in ourmakin' the grand entry in the biggest style we can. I'll take the whipout, set up straight, an' drive fast; you hold your bo'quet in yourlap, an' open your little red parasol, an' we'll jest make the nativesstare!"

  The child's face was radiant for a moment, but the glow faded just asquickly as she said, "I forgot--mother put me inside, and maybe she'dwant me to be there when I got to aunt Mirandy's. Maybe I'd be moregenteel inside, and then I wouldn't have to be jumped down and myclothes fly up, but could open the door and step down like a ladypassenger. Would you please stop a minute, Mr. Cobb, and let me change?"

  The sta
ge driver good-naturedly pulled up his horses, lifted theexcited little creature down, opened the door, and helped her in,putting the lilacs and the pink sunshade beside her.

  "We've had a great trip," he said, "and we've got real well acquainted,haven't we?--You won't forget about Milltown?"

  "Never!" she exclaimed fervently; "and you're sure you won't, either?"

  "Never! Cross my heart!" vowed Mr. Cobb solemnly, as he remounted hisperch; and as the stage rumbled down the village street between thegreen maples, those who looked from their windows saw a little brownelf in buff calico sitting primly on the back seat holding a greatbouquet tightly in one hand and a pink parasol in the other. Had theybeen farsighted enough they might have seen, when the stage turned intothe side dooryard of the old brick house, a calico yoke rising andfalling tempestuously over the beating heart beneath, the red colorcoming and going in two pale cheeks, and a mist of tears swimming intwo brilliant dark eyes.

  Rebecca's journey had ended.

  "There's the stage turnin' into the Sawyer girls' dooryard," said Mrs.Perkins to her husband. "That must be the niece from up Temperance way.It seems they wrote to Aurelia and invited Hannah, the oldest, butAurelia said she could spare Rebecca better, if 't was all the same toMirandy 'n' Jane; so it's Rebecca that's come. She'll be good comp'nyfor our Emma Jane, but I don't believe they'll keep her three months!She looks black as an Injun what I can see of her; black and kind ofup-an-comin'. They used to say that one o' the Randalls married aSpanish woman, somebody that was teachin' music and languages at aboardin' school. Lorenzo was dark complected, you remember, and thischild is, too. Well, I don't know as Spanish blood is any realdisgrace, not if it's a good ways back and the woman was respectable."