



Produced by Charles Keller.  HTML version by Al Haines.








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



I

"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 Mirandy and Jane Sawyer? They live in the brick house