Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm - Kate Douglas Wiggin (black male authors txt) 📗

Huldy could ‘a’ done it, and not winked an eyelash,” observed Mrs. Meserve complacently; a remark which there seemed no disposition on the part of any of the company to controvert.

“It was complete, though, the governor happening to be there to see his niece graduate,” said Delia Weeks. “Land! he looked elegant! They say he’s only six feet, but he might ‘a’ been sixteen, and he certainly did make a fine speech.”

“Did you notice Rebecca, how white she was, and how she trembled when she and Herbert Dunn stood there while the governor was praisin’ ‘em? He’d read her composition, too, for he wrote the Sawyer girls a letter about it.” This remark was from the sympathetic Mrs. Cobb.

“I thought ‘t was kind o’ foolish, his makin’ so much of her when it wan’t her graduation,” objected Mrs. Meserve; “layin’ his hand on her head ‘n’ all that, as if he was a Pope pronouncin’ benediction. But there! I’m glad the prize come to Riverboro ‘t any rate, and a han’somer one never was give out from the Wareham platform. I guess there ain’t no end to Adam Ladd’s money. The fifty dollars would ‘a’ been good enough, but he must needs go and put it into those elegant purses.”

“I set so fur back I couldn’t see ‘em fairly,” complained Delia, “and now Rebecca has taken hers home to show her mother.”

“It was kind of a gold net bag with a chain,” said Mrs. Perkins, “and there was five ten-dollar gold pieces in it. Herbert Dunn’s was put in a fine leather wallet.”

“How long is Rebecca goin’ to stay at the farm?” asked Delia.

“Till they get over Hannah’s bein’ married, and get the house to runnin’ without her,” answered Mrs. Perkins. “It seems as if Hannah might ‘a’ waited a little longer. Aurelia was set against her goin’ away while Rebecca was at school, but she’s obstinate as a mule, Hannah is, and she just took her own way in spite of her mother. She’s been doin’ her sewin’ for a year; the awfullest coarse cotton cloth she had, but she’s nearly blinded herself with fine stitchin’ and rufflin’ and tuckin’. Did you hear about the quilt she made? It’s white, and has a big bunch o’ grapes in the centre, quilted by a thimble top. Then there’s a row of circle-borderin’ round the grapes, and she done them the size of a spool. The next border was done with a sherry glass, and the last with a port glass, an’ all outside o’ that was solid stitchin’ done in straight rows; she’s goin’ to exhibit it at the county fair.”

“She’d better ‘a’ been takin’ in sewin’ and earnin’ money, ‘stead o’ blindin’ her eyes on such foolishness as quilted counterpanes,” said Mrs. Cobb. “The next thing you know that mortgage will be foreclosed on Mis’ Randall, and she and the children won’t have a roof over their heads.”

“Don’t they say there’s a good chance of the railroad goin’ through her place?” asked Mrs. Robinson. “If it does, she’ll git as much as the farm is worth and more. Adam Ladd ‘s one of the stockholders, and everything is a success he takes holt of. They’re fightin’ it in Augusty, but I’d back Ladd agin any o’ them legislaters if he thought he was in the right.”

“Rebecca’ll have some new clothes now,” said Delia, “and the land knows she needs ‘em. Seems to me the Sawyer girls are gittin’ turrible near!”

“Rebecca won’t have any new clothes out o’ the prize money,” remarked Mrs. Perkins, “for she sent it away the next day to pay the interest on that mortgage.”

“Poor little girl!” exclaimed Delia Weeks.

“She might as well help along her folks as spend it on foolishness,” affirmed Mrs. Robinson. “I think she was mighty lucky to git it to pay the interest with, but she’s probably like all the Randalls; it was easy come, easy go, with them.”

“That’s more than could be said of the Sawyer stock,” retorted Mrs. Perkins; “seems like they enjoyed savin’ more’n anything in the world, and it’s gainin’ on Mirandy sence her shock.”

“I don’t believe it was a shock; it stands to reason she’d never ‘a’ got up after it and been so smart as she is now; we had three o’ the worst shocks in our family that there ever was on this river, and I know every symptom of ‘em better’n the doctors.” And Mrs. Peter Meserve shook her head wisely.

“Mirandy ‘s smart enough,” said Mrs. Cobb, “but you notice she stays right to home, and she’s more close-mouthed than ever she was; never took a mite o’ pride in the prize, as I could see, though it pretty nigh drove Jeremiah out o’ his senses. I thought I should ‘a’ died o’ shame when he cried `Hooray!’ and swung his straw hat when the governor shook hands with Rebecca. It’s lucky he couldn’t get fur into the church and had to stand back by the door, for as it was, he made a spectacle of himself. My suspicion is”—and here every lady stopped eating and sat up straight—“that the Sawyer girls have lost money. They don’t know a thing about business ‘n’ never did, and Mirandy’s too secretive and contrairy to ask advice.”

“The most o’ what they’ve got is in gov’ment bonds, I always heard, and you can’t lose money on them. Jane had the timber land left her, an’ Mirandy had the brick house. She probably took it awful hard that Rebecca’s fifty dollars had to be swallowed up in a mortgage, ‘stead of goin’ towards school expenses. The more I think of it, the more I think Adam Ladd intended Rebecca should have that prize when he gave it.” The mind of Huldah’s mother ran towards the idea that her daughter’s rights had been assailed.

“Land, Marthy, what foolishness you talk!” exclaimed Mrs. Perkins; “you don’t suppose he could tell what composition the committee was going to choose; and why should he offer another fifty dollars for a boy’s prize, if he wan’t interested in helpin’ along the school? He’s give Emma Jane about the same present as Rebecca every Christmas for five years; that’s the way he does.”

“Some time he’ll forget one of ‘em and give to the other, or drop ‘em both and give to some new girl!” said Delia Weeks, with an experience born of fifty years of spinsterhood.

“Like as not,” assented Mrs. Peter Meserve, “though it’s easy to see he ain’t the marryin’ kind. There’s men that would marry once a year if their wives would die fast enough, and there’s men that seems to want to live alone.”

“If Ladd was a Mormon, I guess he could have every woman in North Riverboro that’s a suitable age, accordin’ to what my cousins say,” remarked Mrs. Perkins.

“‘T ain’t likely he could be ketched by any North Riverboro girl,” demurred Mrs. Robinson; “not when he prob’bly has had the pick o’ Boston. I guess Marthy hit it when she said there’s men that ain’t the marryin’ kind.”

“I wouldn’t trust any of ‘em when Miss Right comes along!” laughed Mrs. Cobb genially. “You never can tell what ‘n’ who ‘s goin’ to please ‘em. You know Jeremiah’s contrairy horse, Buster? He won’t let anybody put the bit into his mouth if he can help it. He’ll fight Jerry, and fight me, till he has to give in. Rebecca didn’t know nothin’ about his tricks, and the other day she went int’ the barn to hitch up. I followed right along, knowing she’d have trouble with the headstall, and I declare if she wan’t pattin’ Buster’s nose and talkin’ to him, and when she put her little fingers into his mouth he opened it so fur I thought he’d swaller her, for sure. He jest smacked his lips over the bit as if ‘t was a lump o’ sugar. `Land, Rebecca,’ I says, `how’d you persuade him to take the bit?’ `I didn’t,’ she says, `he seemed to want it; perhaps he’s tired of his stall and wants to get out in the fresh air.’”

XXVII

“THE VISION SPLENDID”

A year had elapsed since Adam Ladd’s prize had been discussed over the teacups in Riverboro. The months had come and gone, and at length the great day had dawned for Rebecca,—the day to which she had been looking forward for five years, as the first goal to be reached on her little journey through the world. School-days were ended, and the mystic function known to the initiated as “graduation” was about to be celebrated; it was even now heralded by the sun dawning in the eastern sky. Rebecca stole softly out of bed, crept to the window, threw open the blinds, and welcomed the rosy light that meant a cloudless morning. Even the sun looked different somehow,—larger, redder, more important than usual; and if it were really so, there was no member of the graduating class who would have thought it strange or unbecoming, in view of all the circumstances. Emma Jane stirred on her pillow, woke, and seeing Rebecca at the window, came and knelt on the floor beside her. “It’s going to be pleasant!” she sighed gratefully. “If it wasn’t wicked, I could thank the Lord, I’m so relieved in mind! Did you sleep?”

“Not much; the words of my class poem kept running through my head, and the accompaniments of the songs; and worse than anything, Mary Queen of Scots’ prayer in Latin; it seemed as if

“`Adoro, imploro, Ut liberes me!’

were burned into my brain.”

No one who is unfamiliar with life in rural neighborhoods can imagine the gravity, the importance, the solemnity of this last day of school. In the matter of preparation, wealth of detail, and general excitement it far surpasses a wedding; for that is commonly a simple affair in the country, sometimes even beginning and ending in a visit to the parsonage. Nothing quite equals graduation in the minds of the graduates themselves, their families, and the younger students, unless it be the inauguration of a governor at the State Capitol. Wareham, then, was shaken to its very centre on this day of days. Mothers and fathers of the scholars, as well as relatives to the remotest generation, had been coming on the train and driving into the town since breakfast time; old pupils, both married and single, with and without families, streamed back to the dear old village. The two livery stables were crowded with vehicles of all sorts, and lines of buggies and wagons were drawn up along the sides of the shady roads, the horses switching their tails in luxurious idleness. The streets were filled with people wearing their best clothes, and the fashions included not only “the latest thing,” but the well preserved relic of a bygone day. There were all sorts and conditions of men and women, for there were sons and daughters of storekeepers, lawyers, butchers, doctors, shoemakers, professors, ministers, and farmers at the Wareham schools, either as boarders or day scholars. In the seminary building there was an excitement so deep and profound that it expressed itself in a kind of hushed silence, a transient suspension of life, as those most interested approached the crucial moment. The feminine graduates-to-be were seated in their own bedrooms, dressed with a completeness of detail to which all their past lives seemed to have been but a prelude. At least, this was the case with their bodies; but their heads, owing to the extreme heat of the day, were one and all ornamented with leads, or papers, or dozens of little braids, to issue later in every sort of curl known to the girl of that period. Rolling the hair on leads or papers was a favorite method of attaining the desired result, and though