The Flag-Raising | Page 5

children are awful hard on furniture. I expect we sha'n't
know this house a year from now." Jane's frame of mind was naturally
depressed and timorous, having been affected by Miranda's gloomy
presages of evil to come. The only difference between the sisters in this
matter was that while Miranda only wondered how they could endure
Rebecca, Jane had flashes of inspiration in which she wondered how
Rebecca would endure them. It was in one of these flashes that she ran
up the back stairs to put a vase of apple blossoms and a red tomato-
pincushion on Rebecca's bureau. The stage rumbled to the side door of
the brick house, and Mr. Cobb handed Rebecca out like a real lady
passenger. She alighted with great circumspection, put a bunch of
flowers in her aunt Miranda's hand, and received her salute; it could
hardly be called a kiss without injuring the fair name of that commodity.
"You need n't 'a'bothered to bring flowers," remarked that gracious and
tactful lady; "the garden's always full of 'em here when it comes time."
Jane then kissed Rebecca, giving a somewhat better imitation of the
real thing than her sister. "Put the trunk in the entry, Jeremiah, and we'll
get it carried upstairs this afternoon," she said. "I'll take it up for ye
now, if ye say the word, girls." "No, no; don't leave the horses;
somebody'll be comin' past, and we can call 'em in." "Well, good-by,
Rebecca; good-day, Mirandy'n'Jane. You've got a lively little girl there.

I guess she'll be a first-rate company keeper." Miss Sawyer shuddered
openly at the adjective "lively" as applied to a child; her belief being
that though children might be seen, if absolutely necessary, they
certainly should never be heard if she could help it. "We're not much
used to noise, Jane and me," she remarked acidly. Mr. Cobb saw that he
had spoken indiscreetly, but he was too unused to argument to explain
himself readily, so he drove away, trying to think by what safer word
than "lively" he might have described his interesting little passenger.
"I'll take you up and show you your room, Rebecca," Miss Miranda
said. "Shut the mosquito nettin' door tight behind you, so's to keep the
flies out; it ain't fly time yet, but I want you to start right; take your
parcel along with you and then you won't have to come down for it;
always make your head save your heels. Rub your feet on that braided
rug; hang your hat and cape in the entry as you go past." "It's my best
hat," said Rebecca. "Take it upstairs then and put it in the clothes-press;
but I shouldn't 'a' thought you'd 'a' worn your best hat on the stage."
"It's my only hat," explained Rebecca. "My every-day hat was n't good
enough to bring. Sister Fanny's going to finish it." "Lay your parasol in
the entry closet."
"Do you mind if I keep it in my room, please? It always seems safer."
"There ain't any thieves hereabouts, and if there was, I guess they
wouldn't make for your sunshade; but come along. Remember to
always go up the back way; we don't use the front stairs on account o'
the carpet; take care o' the turn and don't ketch your foot; look to your
right and go in. When you've washed your face and hands and brushed
your hair you can come down, and by and by we'll unpack your trunk
and get you settled before supper. Ain't you got your dress on hind side
foremost?" Rebecca drew her chin down and looked at the row of
smoked pearl buttons running up and down the middle of her flat little
chest. "Hind side foremost? Oh, I see! No, that's all right. If you have
seven children you can't keep buttonin' and unbuttonin' 'em all the
time--they have to do themselves. We're always buttoned up in front at
our house. Mira's only three, but she's buttoned up in front, too."
Miranda said nothing as she closed the door, but her looks were more
eloquent than words. Rebecca stood perfectly still in the centre of the

floor and looked about her. There was a square of oilcloth in front of
each article of furniture and a drawn-in rug beside the single four poster,
which was covered with a fringed white dimity counterpane.
Everything was as neat as wax, but the ceilings were much higher than
Rebecca was accustomed to. It was a north room, and the window,
which was long and narrow, looked out on the back buildings and the
barn. It was not the room, which was far more comfortable than
Rebecca's own at Sunnybrook Farm, nor the lack of view, nor yet the
long journey, for she was not conscious