New Chronicles of Rebecca - Kate Wiggin 3 стр.

The little party toiled up to the hospitable door, and Mrs. Cobb came out to meet them.

Rebecca was spokesman. Emma Janes talent did not lie in eloquent speech, but it would have been a valiant and a fluent child indeed who could have usurped Rebeccas privileges and tendencies in this direction, language being her native element, and words of assorted sizes springing spontaneously to her lips.

Aunt Sarah, dear, she said, plumping Jack-o-lantern down on the grass as she pulled his dress over his feet and smoothed his hair becomingly, will you please not say a word till I get throughas its very important you should know everything before you answer yes or no? This is a baby named Jacky Winslow, and I think he looks like a Jack-o-lantern. His mother has just died over to North Riverboro, all alone, excepting for Mrs. Lizy Ann Dennett, and there was another little weeny baby that died with her, and Emma Jane and I put flowers around them and did the best we could. The fatherthats John Winslowquarreled with the motherthat was Sal Perry on the Moderation Roadand ran away and left her. So he doesnt know his wife and the weeny baby are dead. And the town has got to bury them because they cant find the father right off quick, and Jacky has got to go to the poor farm this afternoon. And it seems an awful shame to take him up to that lonesome place with those old people that cant amuse him, and if Emma Jane and Alice Robinson and I take most all the care of him we thought perhaps you and Uncle Jerry would keep him just for a little while. Youve got a cow and a turn-up bedstead, you know, she hurried on insinuatingly, and theres hardly any pleasure as cheap as more babies where theres ever been any before, for baby carriages and trundle beds and cradles dont wear out, and theres always clothes left over from the old baby to begin the new one on. Of course, we can collect enough things to start Jacky, so he wont be much trouble or expense; and anyway, hes past the most troublesome age and you wont have to be up nights with him, and he isnt afraid of anybody or anything, as you can see by his just sitting there laughing and sucking his thumb, though he doesnt know whats going to become of him. And hes just seventeen months old like dear little Sarah Ellen in the graveyard, and we thought we ought to give you the refusal of him before he goes to the poor farm, and what do you think about it? Because its near my dinner time and Aunt Miranda will keep me in the whole afternoon if Im late, and Ive got to finish weeding the hollyhock bed before sundown.

IV

Mrs. Cobb had enjoyed a considerable period of reflection during this monologue, and Jacky had not used the time unwisely, offering several unconscious arguments and suggestions to the matter under discussion; lurching over on the greensward and righting himself with a chuckle, kicking his bare feet about in delight at the sunshine and groping for his toes with arms too short to reach them, the movement involving an entire upsetting of equilibrium followed by more chuckles.

Coming down the last of the stone steps, Sarah Ellens mother regarded the baby with interest and sympathy.

Poor little mite! she said; that doesnt know what hes lost and whats going to happen to him. Seems to me we might keep him a spell till were sure his fathers deserted him for good. Want to come to Aunt Sarah, baby?

Jack-o-lantern turned from Rebecca and Emma Jane and regarded the kind face gravely; then he held out both his hands and Mrs. Cobb, stooping, gathered him like a harvest. Being lifted into her arms, he at once tore her spectacles from her nose and laughed aloud. Taking them from him gently, she put them on again, and set him in the cushioned rocking chair under the lilac bushes beside the steps. Then she took one of his soft hands in hers and patted it, and fluttered her fingers like birds before his eyes, and snapped them like castanets, remembering all the arts she had lavished upon Sarah Ellen, aged seventeen months, years and years ago.

Rebecca knew nothing of this couplet, but she saw clearly enough that her case was won.

The boy must be hungry; when was he fed last? asked Mrs. Cobb. Just stay a second longer while I get him some mornings milk; then you run home to your dinners and Ill speak to Mr. Cobb this afternoon. Of course, we can keep the baby for a week or two till we see what happens. Land! He aint goin to be any more trouble than a wax doll! I guess he aint been used to much attention, and that kinds always the easiest to take care of.

At six oclock that evening Rebecca and Emma Jane flew up the hill and down the lane again, waving their hands to the dear old couple who were waiting for them in the usual place, the back piazza where they had sat so many summers in a blessed companionship never marred by an unloving word.

Wheres Jacky? called Rebecca breathlessly, her voice always outrunning her feet.

Go up to my chamber, both of you, if you want to see, smiled Mrs. Cobb, only dont wake him up.

The girls went softly up the stairs into Aunt Sarahs room. There, in the turn-up bedstead that had been so long empty, slept Jack-o-lantern, in blissful unconsciousness of the doom he had so lately escaped. His nightgown and pillow case were clean and fragrant with lavender, but they were both as yellow as saffron, for they had belonged to Sarah Ellen.

I wish his mother could see him! whispered Emma Jane.

You cant tell; its all puzzly about heaven, and perhaps she does, said Rebecca, as they turned reluctantly from the fascinating scene and stole down to the piazza.

It was a beautiful and a happy summer that year, and every day it was filled with blissful plays and still more blissful duties. On the Monday after Jack-o-lanterns arrival in Edgewood Rebecca founded the Riverboro Aunts Association. The Aunts were Rebecca, Emma Jane, Alice Robinson, and Minnie Smellie, and each of the first three promised to labor for and amuse the visiting baby for two days a week, Minnie Smellie, who lived at some distance from the Cobbs, making herself responsible for Saturday afternoons.

Minnie Smellie was not a general favorite among the Riverboro girls, and it was only in an unprecedented burst of magnanimity that they admitted her into the rites of fellowship, Rebecca hugging herself secretly at the thought, that as Minnie gave only the leisure time of one day a week, she could not be called a full Aunt. There had been long and bitter feuds between the two children during Rebeccas first summer in Riverboro, but since Mrs. Smellie had told her daughter that one more quarrel would invite a punishment so terrible that it could only be hinted at vaguely, and Miss Miranda Sawyer had remarked that any niece of hers who couldnt get along peaceable with the neighbors had better go back to the seclusion of a farm where there werent any, hostilities had been veiled, and a suave and diplomatic relationship had replaced the former one, which had been wholly primitive, direct, and barbaric. Still, whenever Minnie Smellie, flaxen-haired, pink-nosed, and ferret-eyed, indulged in fluent conversation, Rebecca, remembering the old fairy story, could always see toads hopping out of her mouth. It was really very unpleasant, because Minnie could never see them herself; and what was more amazing, Emma Jane perceived nothing of the sort, being almost as blind, too, to the diamonds that fell continually from Rebeccas lips; but Emma Janes strong point was not her imagination.

A shaky perambulator was found in Mrs. Perkinss wonderful attic; shoes and stockings were furnished by Mrs. Robinson; Miss Jane Sawyer knitted a blanket and some shirts; Thirza Meserve, though too young for an aunt, coaxed from her mother some dresses and nightgowns, and was presented with a green paper certificate allowing her to wheel Jacky up and down the road for an hour under the superintendence of a full Aunt. Each girl, under the constitution of the association, could call Jacky hers for two days in the week, and great, though friendly, was the rivalry between them, as they washed, ironed, and sewed for their adored nephew.

If Mrs. Cobb had not been the most amiable woman in the world she might have had difficulty in managing the aunts, but she always had Jacky to herself the earlier part of the day and after dusk at night.

Meanwhile Jack-o-lantern grew healthier and heartier and jollier as the weeks slipped away. Uncle Jerry joined the little company of worshipers and slaves, and one fear alone stirred in all their hearts; not, as a sensible and practical person might imagine, the fear that the recreant father might never return to claim his child, but, on the contrary, that he MIGHT do so!

October came at length with its cheery days and frosty nights, its glory of crimson leaves and its golden harvest of pumpkins and ripened corn. Rebecca had been down by the Edgewood side of the river and had come up across the pastures for a good-night play with Jacky. Her literary labors had been somewhat interrupted by the joys and responsibilities of vice-motherhood, and the thought book was less frequently drawn from its hiding place under the old haymow in the barn chamber.

Mrs. Cobb stood behind the screen door with her face pressed against the wire netting, and Rebecca could see that she was wiping her eyes.

All at once the childs heart gave one prophetic throb and then stood still. She was like a harp that vibrated with every wind of emotion, whether from anothers grief or her own.

She looked down the lane, around the curve of the stone wall, red with woodbine, the lane that would meet the stage road to the station. There, just mounting the crown of the hill and about to disappear on the other side, strode a stranger man, big and tall, with a crop of reddish curly hair showing from under his straw hat. A woman walked by his side, and perched on his shoulder, wearing his most radiant and triumphant mien, as joyous in leaving Edgewood as he had been during every hour of his sojourn thererode Jack-o-lantern!

Rebecca gave a cry in which maternal longing and helpless, hopeless jealousy strove for supremacy. Then, with an impetuous movement she started to run after the disappearing trio.

Mrs. Cobb opened the door hastily, calling after her, Rebecca, Rebecca, come back here! You mustnt follow where you havent any right to go. If thered been anything to say or do, Id a done it.

Hes mine! Hes mine! stormed Rebecca. At least hes yours and mine!

Hes his fathers first of all, faltered Mrs. Cobb; dont lets forget that; and wed ought to be glad and grateful that John Winslows come to his senses an remembers hes brought a child into the world and ought to take care of it. Our loss is his gain and it may make a man of him. Come in, and well put things away all neat before your Uncle Jerry gets home.

Rebecca sank in a pitiful little heap on Mrs. Cobbs bedroom floor and sobbed her heart out. Oh, Aunt Sarah, where shall we get another Jack-o-lantern, and how shall I break it to Emma Jane? What if his father doesnt love him, and what if he forgets to strain the milk or lets him go without his nap? Thats the worst of babies that arent privateyou have to part with them sooner or later!

Sometimes you have to part with your own, too, said Mrs. Cobb sadly; and though there were lines of sadness in her face there was neither rebellion nor repining, as she folded up the sides of the turn-up bedstead preparatory to banishing it a second time to the attic. I shall miss Sarah Ellen now moren ever. Still, Rebecca, we mustnt feel to complain. Its the Lord that giveth and the Lord that taketh away: Blessed be the name of the Lord.

Second Chronicle. DAUGHTERS OF ZION

I

Abijah Flagg was driving over to Wareham on an errand for old Squire Winship, whose general chore-boy and farmers assistant he had been for some years.

He passed Emma Jane Perkinss house slowly, as he always did. She was only a little girl of thirteen and he a boy of fifteen or sixteen, but somehow, for no particular reason, he liked to see the sun shine on her thick braids of reddish-brown hair. He admired her china-blue eyes too, and her amiable, friendly expression. He was quite alone in the world, and he always thought that if he had anybody belonging to him he would rather have a sister like Emma Jane Perkins than anything else within the power of Providence to bestow. When she herself suggested this relationship a few years later he cast it aside with scorn, having changed his mind in the intervalbut that story belongs to another time and place.

Emma Jane was not to be seen in garden, field, or at the window, and Abijah turned his gaze to the large brick house that came next on the other side of the quiet village street. It might have been closed for a funeral. Neither Miss Miranda nor Miss Jane Sawyer sat at their respective windows knitting, nor was Rebecca Randalls gypsy face to be discerned. Ordinarily that will-o-the wispish little person could be seen, heard, or felt wherever she was.

The village must be abed, I guess, mused Abijah, as he neared the Robinsons yellow cottage, where all the blinds were closed and no sign of life showed on porch or in shed. No, t aint, neither, he thought again, as his horse crept cautiously down the hill, for from the direction of the Robinsons barn chamber there floated out into the air certain burning sentiments set to the tune of Antioch. The words, to a lad brought up in the orthodox faith, were quite distinguishable:

Daughter of Zion, from the dust, Exalt thy fallen head!

Even the most religious youth is stronger on first lines than others, but Abijah pulled up his horse and waited till he caught another familiar verse, beginning:

Rebuild thy walls, thy bounds enlarge, And send thy heralds forth.

Thats Rebecca carrying the air, and I can hear Emma Janes alto.

Land! aint they smart, seesawin up and down in that part they learnt in singin school! I wonder what theyre actin out, singin hymn-tunes up in the barn chamber? Some o Rebeccas doins, Ill be bound! Git dap, Aleck!

Aleck pursued his serene and steady trot up the hills on the Edgewood side of the river, till at length he approached the green Common where the old Tory Hill meeting-house stood, its white paint and green blinds showing fair and pleasant in the afternoon sun. Both doors were open, and as Abijah turned into the Wareham road the church melodeon pealed out the opening bars of the Missionary Hymn, and presently a score of voices sent the good old tune from the choir-loft out to the dusty road:

Land! exclaimed Abijah under his breath. Theyre at it up here, too! That explains it all. Theres a missionary meeting at the church, and the girls want allowed to come so they held one of their own, and I bate ye its the liveliest of the two.