X
RAINBOW BRIDGES
Uncle Jerry coughed and stirred in his chair a good deal duringRebecca's recital, but he carefully concealed any undue feeling ofsympathy, just muttering, "Poor little soul! We'll see what we can dofor her!"
"You will take me to Maplewood, won't you, Mr. Cobb?" begged Rebeccapiteously.
"Don't you fret a mite," he answered, with a crafty little notion atthe back of his mind; "I'll see the lady passenger through somehow. Nowtake a bite o' somethin' to eat, child. Spread some o' that tomatopreserve on your bread; draw up to the table. How'd you like to set inmother's place an' pour me out another cup o' hot tea?"
Mr. Jeremiah Cobb's mental machinery was simple, and did not move verysmoothly save when propelled by his affection or sympathy. In thepresent case these were both employed to his advantage, and mourninghis stupidity and praying for some flash of inspiration to light hispath, he blundered along, trusting to Providence.
Rebecca, comforted by the old man's tone, and timidly enjoying thedignity of sitting in Mrs. Cobb's seat and lifting the blue chinateapot, smiled faintly, smoothed her hair, and dried her eyes.
"I suppose your mother'll be turrible glad to see you back again?"queried Mr. Cobb.
A tiny fear--just a baby thing--in the bottom of Rebecca's heartstirred and grew larger the moment it was touched with a question.
"She won't like it that I ran away, I s'pose, and she'll be sorry thatI couldn't please aunt Mirandy; but I'll make her understand, just as Idid you."
"I s'pose she was thinkin' o' your schoolin', lettin' you come downhere; but land! you can go to school in Temperance, I s'pose?"
"There's only two months' school now in Temperance, and the farm 's toofar from all the other schools."
"Oh well! there's other things in the world beside edjercation,"responded uncle Jerry, attacking a piece of apple pie.
"Ye--es; though mother thought that was going to be the making of me,"returned Rebecca sadly, giving a dry little sob as she tried to drinkher tea.
"It'll be nice for you to be all together again at the farm--such ahouse full o' children!" remarked the dear old deceiver, who longed fornothing so much as to cuddle and comfort the poor little creature.
"It's too full--that's the trouble. But I'll make Hannah come toRiverboro in my place."
"S'pose Mirandy 'n' Jane'll have her? I should be 'most afraid theywouldn't. They'll be kind o' mad at your goin' home, you know, and youcan't hardly blame 'em."
This was quite a new thought,--that the brick house might be closed toHannah, since she, Rebecca, had turned her back upon its coldhospitality.
"How is this school down here in Riverboro--pretty good?" inquireduncle Jerry, whose brain was working with an altogether unaccustomedrapidity,--so much so that it almost terrified him.
"Oh, it's a splendid school! And Miss Dearborn is a splendid teacher!"
"You like her, do you? Well, you'd better believe she returns thecompliment. Mother was down to the store this afternoon buyin' linimentfor Seth Strout, an' she met Miss Dearborn on the bridge. They got totalkin' 'bout school, for mother has summer-boarded a lot o' theschoolmarms, an' likes 'em. 'How does the little Temperance girl gitalong?' asks mother. 'Oh, she's the best scholar I have!' says MissDearborn. 'I could teach school from sun-up to sun-down if scholars wasall like Rebecca Randall,' says she."
"Oh, Mr. Cobb, DID she say that?" glowed Rebecca, her face sparklingand dimpling in an instant. "I've tried hard all the time, but I'llstudy the covers right off of the books now."
"You mean you would if you'd ben goin' to stay here," interposed uncleJerry. "Now ain't it too bad you've jest got to give it all up onaccount o' your aunt Mirandy? Well, I can't hardly blame ye. She'scranky an' she's sour; I should think she'd ben nussed on bonny-clabberan' green apples. She needs bearin' with; an' I guess you ain't much onpatience, be ye?"
"Not very much," replied Rebecca dolefully.
"If I'd had this talk with ye yesterday," pursued Mr. Cobb, "I believeI'd have advised ye different. It's too late now, an' I don't feel tosay you've ben all in the wrong; but if 't was to do over again, I'dsay, well, your aunt Mirandy gives you clothes and board and schoolin'and is goin' to send you to Wareham at a big expense. She's turriblehard to get along with, an' kind o' heaves benefits at your head, same's she would bricks; but they're benefits jest the same, an' mebbe it'syour job to kind o' pay for 'em in good behavior. Jane's a leetle bitmore easy goin' than Mirandy, ain't she, or is she jest as hard toplease?"
"Oh, aunt Jane and I get along splendidly," exclaimed Rebecca; "she'sjust as good and kind as she can be, and I like her better all thetime. I think she kind of likes me, too; she smoothed my hair once. I'dlet her scold me all day long, for she understands; but she can't standup for me against aunt Mirandy; she's about as afraid of her as I am."
"Jane'll be real sorry to-morrow to find you've gone away, I guess; butnever mind, it can't be helped. If she has a kind of a dull time withMirandy, on account o' her bein' so sharp, why of course she'd setgreat store by your comp'ny. Mother was talkin' with her after prayermeetin' the other night. 'You wouldn't know the brick house, Sarah,'says Jane. 'I'm keepin' a sewin' school, an' my scholar has made threedresses. What do you think o' that,' says she, 'for an old maid'schild? I've taken a class in Sunday-school,' says Jane, 'an' think o'renewin' my youth an' goin' to the picnic 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 silenceonly broken by the ticking of the tall clock and the beating ofRebecca's heart, which, it seemed to her, almost drowned the voice ofthe clock. The rain ceased, a sudden rosy light filled the room, andthrough the window a rainbow arch could be seen spanning the heavenslike a radiant bridge. Bridges took one across difficult places,thought Rebecca, and uncle Jerry seemed to have built one over hertroubles and given her strength to walk.
"The shower 's over," said the old man, filling his pipe; "it's clearedthe air, washed the face o' the airth nice an' clean, an' everythingto-morrer will shine like a new pin--when you an' I are drivin' upriver."
Rebecca pushed her cup away, rose from the table, and put on her hatand jacket quietly. "I'm not going to drive up river, Mr. Cobb," shesaid. "I'm going to stay here and--catch bricks; catch 'em withoutthrowing 'em back, too. I don't know as aunt Mirandy will take me inafter 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 hegits this thing fixed up," cried the old man delightedly. "Now you'vehad all you can stan' to-night, poor little soul, without gettin' a fito' sickness; an' Mirandy'll be sore an' cross an' in no condition forargyment; so my plan is jest this: to drive you over to the brick housein 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 outint' the shed to plan for a load o' wood I'm goin' to have hauled therethis week, you'll slip out o' the buggy and go upstairs to bed. Thefront door won't be locked, will it?"
"Not this time of night," Rebecca answered; "not till aunt Mirandy goesto 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 inmy opinion there's things that won't bear facin' out an' had better besettled comfortable an' quiet. You see you ain't run away yet; you'veonly come over here to consult me 'bout runnin' away, an' we'veconcluded it ain't wuth the trouble. The only real sin you'vecommitted, as I figger it out, was in comin' here by the winder whenyou'd ben sent to bed. That ain't so very black, an' you can tell youraunt 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'tbelieve in deceivin' folks, but if you've hed hard thoughts you ain'tobleeged to own 'em up; take 'em to the Lord in prayer, as the hymnsays, and then don't go on hevin' 'em. Now come on; I'm all hitched upto go over to the post-off
ice; don't forget your bundle; 'it's always ajourney, mother, when you carry a nightgown;' them 's the first wordsyour 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; weain'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 foundherself in her bed that night, though she was aching and throbbing inevery nerve, she felt a kind of peace stealing over her. She had beensaved 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'sapproval by some desperate means, and to try and forget the one thingthat rankled worst, the scornful mention of her father, of whom shethought with the greatest admiration, and whom she had not yet heardcriticised; for such sorrows and disappointments as Aurelia Randall hadsuffered had never been communicated to her children.
It would have been some comfort to the bruised, unhappy little spiritto know that Miranda Sawyer was passing an uncomfortable night, andthat she tacitly regretted her harshness, partly because Jane had takensuch a lofty and virtuous position in the matter. She could not endureJane's disapproval, although she would never have confessed to such aweakness.
As uncle Jerry drove homeward under the stars, well content with hisattempts at keeping the peace, he thought wistfully of the touch ofRebecca's head on his knee, and the rain of her tears on his hand; ofthe sweet reasonableness of her mind when she had the matter putrightly before her; of her quick decision when she had once seen thepath of duty; of the touching hunger for love and understanding thatwere so characteristic in her. "Lord A'mighty!" he ejaculated under hisbreath, "Lord A'mighty! to hector and abuse a child like that one! 'Tain't ABUSE exactly, I know, or 't wouldn't be to some o' yourelephant-hided young ones; but to that little tender will-o'-the-wisp ahard word 's like a lash. Mirandy Sawyer would be a heap better womanif 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' downI gave her was probably just what she needed, and I daresay it'll lastfor a month."
"I'm glad you're pleased," returned Jane. "A cringing worm is what youwant, not a bright, smiling child. Rebecca looks to me as if she'd beenthrough the Seven Years' War. When she came downstairs this morning itseemed 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 besidethe river to-morrow afternoon and bring Emma Jane home to a good Sundaysupper. Then if you'll let her go to Milltown with the Cobbs onWednesday, 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 hersister's wedding, and the Cobbs and Perkinses want to go down to theAgricultural Fair."
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm Page 10
