Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm | Page 3

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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

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM
"WE ARE SEVEN"
The old stage coach was rumbling along the dusty road that runs from
Maplewood to Riverboro. The day was as warm as midsummer, though
it was only the middle of May, and Mr. Jeremiah Cobb was favoring
the horses as much as possible, yet never losing sight of the fact that he
carried the mail. The hills were many, and the reins lay loosely in his
hands as he lolled back in his seat and extended one foot and leg
luxuriously over the dashboard. His brimmed hat of worn felt was well
pulled over his 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 a
glossy buff calico dress. She was so slender and so stiffly starched that
she slid from space to space on the leather cushions, though she braced
herself against the middle seat with her feet and extended her
cotton-gloved hands on each side, in order to maintain some sort of
balance. Whenever the wheels sank farther than usual into a rut, or
jolted suddenly over a stone, she bounded involuntarily into the air,
came down again, pushed back her funny little straw hat, and picked up
or settled more firmly a small pink sun shade, which seemed to be her
chief responsibility, --unless we except a bead purse, into which she
looked whenever the condition of the roads would permit, finding great
apparent satisfaction in that its precious contents neither disappeared
nor grew less. Mr. Cobb guessed nothing of these harassing details of
travel, his business being to carry people to their destinations, not,
necessarily, to make them comfortable on the way. Indeed he had
forgotten the very existence of this one unnoteworthy little passenger.
When he was about to leave the post-office in Maplewood that morning,
a woman had alighted from a wagon, and coming up to him, inquired

whether this were the Riverboro stage, and if he were Mr. Cobb. Being
answered in the affirmative, she nodded to a child who was eagerly
waiting for the answer, and who ran towards her as if she feared to be a
moment too late. The child might have been ten or eleven years old
perhaps, but whatever the number of her summers, she had an air of
being small for her age. Her mother helped her into the stage coach,
deposited a bundle and a bouquet of lilacs beside her, superintended the
"roping on" behind of an old hair trunk, and finally paid the fare,
counting out the silver with great care.
"I want you should take her to my sisters' in Riverboro," she said. "Do
you know Mi- randy and Jane Sawyer? They live in the brick house."
Lord bless your soul, he knew 'em as well as if he'd made