VIII
COLOR OF ROSE
On the very next Friday after this "dreadfullest fight that ever wasseen," as Bunyan says in Pilgrim's Progress, there were great doings inthe little schoolhouse on the hill. Friday afternoon was always thetime chosen for dialogues, songs, and recitations, but it cannot bestated that it was a gala day in any true sense of the word. Most ofthe children hated "speaking pieces;" hated the burden of learningthem, dreaded the danger of breaking down in them. Miss Dearborncommonly went home with a headache, and never left her bed during therest of the afternoon or evening; and the casual female parent whoattended the exercises sat on a front bench with beads of cold sweat onher forehead, listening to the all-too-familiar halts and stammers.Sometimes a bellowing infant who had clean forgotten his verse wouldcast himself bodily on the maternal bosom and be borne out into theopen air, where he was sometimes kissed and occasionally spanked; butin any case the failure added an extra dash of gloom and dread to theoccasion. The advent of Rebecca had somehow infused a new spirit intothese hitherto terrible afternoons. She had taught Elijah and ElishaSimpson so that they recited three verses of something with suchcomical effect that they delighted themselves, the teacher, and theschool; while Susan, who lisped, had been provided with a humorous poemin which she impersonated a lisping child. Emma Jane and Rebecca had adialogue, and the sense of companionship buoyed up Emma Jane and gaveher self-reliance. In fact, Miss Dearborn announced on this particularFriday morning that the exercises promised to be so interesting thatshe had invited the doctor's wife, the minister's wife, two members ofthe school committee, and a few mothers. Living Perkins was asked todecorate one of the black-boards and Rebecca the other. Living, who wasthe star artist of the school, chose the map of North America. Rebeccaliked better to draw things less realistic, and speedily, before theeyes of the enchanted multitude, there grew under her skillful fingersan American flag done in red, white, and blue chalk, every star in itsright place, every stripe fluttering in the breeze. Beside thisappeared a figure of Columbia, copied from the top of the cigar boxthat held the crayons.
Miss Dearborn was delighted. "I propose we give Rebecca a goodhand-clapping for such a beautiful picture--one that the whole schoolmay well be proud of!"
The scholars clapped heartily, and Dick Carter, waving his hand, gave arousing cheer.
Rebecca's heart leaped for joy, and to her confusion she felt the tearsrising in her eyes. She could hardly see the way back to her seat, forin her ignorant lonely little life she had never been singled out forapplause, never lauded, nor crowned, as in this wonderful, dazzlingmoment. If "nobleness enkindleth nobleness," so does enthusiasm begetenthusiasm, and so do wit and talent enkindle wit and talent. AliceRobinson proposed that the school should sing Three Cheers for the Red,White, and Blue! and when they came to the chorus, all point toRebecca's flag. Dick Carter suggested that Living Perkins and RebeccaRandall should sign their names to their pictures, so that the visitorswould know who drew them. Huldah Meserve asked permission to cover thelargest holes in the plastered walls with boughs and fill the waterpail with wild flowers. Rebecca's mood was above and beyond allpractical details. She sat silent, her heart so full of grateful joythat she could hardly remember the words of her dialogue. At recess shebore herself modestly, notwithstanding her great triumph, while in thegeneral atmosphere of good will the Smellie-Randall hatchet was buriedand Minnie gathered maple boughs and covered the ugly stove with them,under Rebecca's direction.
Miss Dearborn dismissed the morning session at quarter to twelve, sothat those who lived near enough could go home for a change of dress.Emma Jane and Rebecca ran nearly every step of the way, from sheerexcitement, only stopping to breathe at the stiles.
"Will your aunt Mirandy let you wear your best, or only your buffcalico?" asked Emma Jane.
"I think I'll ask aunt Jane," Rebecca replied. "Oh! if my pink was onlyfinished! I left aunt Jane making the buttonholes!"
"I'm going to ask my mother to let me wear her garnet ring," said EmmaJane. "It would look perfectly elergant flashing in the sun when Ipoint to the flag. Good-by; don't wait for me going back; I may get aride."
Rebecca found the side door locked, but she knew that the key was underthe step, and so of course did everybody else in Riverboro, for theyall did about the same thing with it. She unlocked the door and wentinto the dining-room to find her lunch laid on the table and a notefrom aunt Jane saying that they had gone to Moderation with Mrs.Robinson in her carryall. Rebecca swallowed a piece of bread andbutter, and flew up the front stairs to her bedroom. On the bed lay thepink gingham dress finished by aunt Jane's kind hands. Could she, dareshe, wear it without asking? Did the occasion justify a new costume, orwould her aunts think she ought to keep it for the concert?
"I'll wear it," thought Rebecca. "They're not here to ask, and maybethey wouldn't mind a bit; it's only gingham after all, and wouldn't beso grand if it wasn't new, and hadn't tape trimming on it, and wasn'tpink."
She unbraided her two pig-tails, combed out the waves of her hair andtied them back with a ribbon, changed her shoes, and then slipped onthe pretty frock, managing to fasten all but the three middle buttons,which she reserved for Emma Jane.
Then her eye fell on her cherished pink sunshade, the exact match, andthe girls had never seen it. It wasn't quite appropriate for school,but she needn't take it into the room; she would wrap it in a piece ofpaper, just show it, and carry it coming home. She glanced in theparlor looking-glass downstairs and was electrified at the vision. Itseemed almost as if beauty of apparel could go no further than thatheavenly pink gingham dress! The sparkle of her eyes, glow of hercheeks, sheen of her falling hair, passed unnoticed in theall-conquering charm of the rose-colored garment. Goodness! it wastwenty minutes to one and she would be late. She danced out the sidedoor, pulled a pink rose from a bush at the gate, and covered the milebetween the brick house and the seat of learning in an incredibly shorttime, meeting Emma Jane, also breathless and resplendent, at theentrance.
"Rebecca Randall!" exclaimed Emma Jane, "you're handsome as a picture!"
"I?" laughed Rebecca "Nonsense! it's only the pink gingham."
"You're not good looking every day," insisted Emma Jane; "but you'redifferent somehow. See my garnet ring; mother scrubbed it in soap andwater. How on earth did your aunt Mirandy let you put on your bran' newdress?"
"They were both away and I didn't ask," Rebecca responded anxiously."Why? Do you think they'd have said no?"
"Miss Mirandy always says no, doesn't she?" asked Emma Jane.
"Ye--es; but this afternoon is very special--almost like aSunday-school concert."
"Yes," assented Emma Jane, "it is, of course; with your name on theboard, and our pointing to your flag, and our elergant dialogue, andall that."
The afternoon was one succession of solid triumphs for everybodyconcerned. There were no real failures at all, no tears, no parentsashamed of their offspring. Miss Dearborn heard many admiring remarkspassed upon her ability, and wondered whether they belonged to her orpartly, at least, to Rebecca. The child had no more to do than severalothers, but she was somehow in the foreground. It transpired afterwardsat various village entertainments that Rebecca couldn't be kept in thebackground; it positively refused to hold her. Her worst enemy couldnot have called her pushing. She was ready and willing and never shy;but she sought for no chances of display and was, indeed, remarkablylacking in self-consciousness, as well as eager to bring others intowhatever fun or entertainment there was. If wherever the MacGregor satwas the head of the table, so in the same way wherever Rebecca stoodwas the centre of the stage. Her clear high treble soared above all therest in the choruses, and somehow everybody watched her, took note ofher gestures, her whole-souled singing, her irrepressible enthusiasm.
Finally it was all over, and it seemed to Rebecca as if she shouldnever be cool and calm again, as she loitered on the homeward path.There would be no lessons to learn to-night, and the vision of helpingwith the preserves on the
morrow had no terrors for her--fears couldnot draw breath in the radiance that flooded her soul. There were thickgathering clouds in the sky, but she took no note of them save to beglad that she could raise her sunshade. She did not tread the solidground at all, or have any sense of belonging to the common humanfamily, until she entered the side yard of the brick house and saw heraunt Miranda standing in the open doorway. Then with a rush she cameback to earth.
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm Page 8
