 Chapter 5 of New Chronicles of Rebecca. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lorelle Anderson. New Chronicles of Rebecca by Kate Douglas-Wigan. Chapter 5. Fifth Chronicle. The Saving of the Colors. Even when Rebecca had left school, having attained the great age of seventeen, and therefore able to look back over a past incredibly long and full, she still reckoned time not by years, but by certain important occurrences. There was the year her father died, the year she left Sunnybrook Farm to come to her aunts in Riverboro, the year Sister Hannah became engaged, the year Little Mira died, the year Abijah Flag ceased to be Squirebean's choreboy, an astounded Riverboro by departing for Limerick Academy in search of an education, and finally the year of her graduation, which, to the mind of seventeen, seems rather the culmination than the beginning of existence. Between these epic-making events, a certain other happening stood out in bold relief against the gray of dull daily life. There was the day she first met her friend of friends, Mr. Ladden, and the later even more radiant one when he gave her the coral necklace. There was the day the Simpson family moved away from Riverboro under a cloud, and she kissed Clarabelle fervently at the crossroads, telling her that she would always be faithful. There was the visit of the Syrian missionaries to the Brick House. That was a bright, romantic memory, as strange and brilliant as the wonderful little bird's wings and breasts that the strangers brought from the Far East. She remembered the moment they asked her to choose some for herself, and the rapture with which she stroked the beautiful things as they lay on the black haircloth sofa. Then there was the coming of the new minister, for though many were tried, only one was chosen, and finally there was the flag-raising, a festivity that thrilled Riverboro and Edgewood society from Centrages or Comference, a festivity that took place just before she entered the female seminary at Warram, and said goodbye to kind Miss Dearborn and the village school. There must have been other flag-razings in history. Even the persons most interested in this particular one would grudgingly have allowed that much. But it would have seemed to them improbable that any such flag-raising as theirs, either in magnitude of conception or brilliancy of actual performance, could twice glorify the same century. Of some pageants it is tacitly admitted that there can be no duplicates, and the flag-raising at Riverboro Center was one of these, so that it is small wonder if Rebecca chose it as one of the most important days in her personal almanac. The new minister's wife was the being, under Providence, who had conceived the germinal idea of the flag. At this time the parish had almost settled down to the trembling belief that they were united on a pastor. In the earlier time a minister was chosen for life, and if he had faults, which was a probable enough contingency, and if his congregation had any, which is within the bounds of possibility, each bore with the other, not quite without friction, as old-fashioned husbands and wives once did, before the easy way out of the difficulty was discovered, or at least before it was popularized. The faithful old parson had died after thirty years preaching, and perhaps the newer methods had begun to creep in, for it seemed impossible to suit the two communities most interested in the choice. The Reverend Mr. Davis, for example, was a spirited preacher, but persisted in keeping two horses in the parsonage stable, and in exchanging them whenever he could get faster ones. As a parochial visitor he was incomparable, dashing from house to house with such speed that he could cover the parish in a single afternoon. This sporting tendency, which would never have been remarked in a British parson, was frowned upon in a New England village, and Deacon Millican told Mr. Davis when giving him what he alluded to as his walking papers, that they didn't want the Edgewood Church run by house power. The next candidate pleased Edgewood, where morning preaching was held, but the other parish, which had afternoon service, declined to accept him because he wore a wig, an ill-matched, crookedly applied wig. Number three was eloquent, but given to gesticulation, and Mrs. Jare Burbank, the president of the Dorcas Society who sat in a front pew, said she couldn't bear to see a preacher scramble around the pulpit hot Sundays. Number four, a genial, handsome man gifted in prayer was found to be a Democrat. The congregation was overwhelmingly Republican in its politics, and perceived something ludicrous, if not positively blasphemous, in a Democrat preaching the gospel. Ananias and Belzebub will be candidate in here, first thing we know, exclaimed the outraged Republican nominee for district attorney. Number five had a feeble-minded child, which the hiring committee prophesied would always be standing in the personage front yard, making talk for the other denominations. Number six was the Reverend Judson Baxter, the present incumbent, and he was voted to be as near perfection as a minister can be in this finite world. His young wife had a small income of her own, a distinct and unusual advantage, and the subscription committee hoped that they might not be eternally driving over the country to get somebody's fifty cents that had been overdue for eight months, but might take their honorous duties a little more easily. It does seem as if our ministers were the poorest lot, complained Mrs. Robinson, if their salary is two months behind and they begin to be nervous. Seems as though they might lay up a little before they come here and not live from hand to mouth so. The Baxter seemed quite different, and I only hope they won't get wasteful and run into debt. They say she keeps the parlor blinds open about half the time, and the room is lit up so often in evenings that the neighbors think her and Mr. Baxter must sit in there. It don't seem hardly as if it could be so, but Mrs. Bazelle says tis, and she says we might as well say goodbye to the parlor carpet, which is church property, for the Baxter's are living all over it. This criticism was the only discordant note in the chorus of praise, and the people gradually grew accustomed to the open blinds and the overused parlor carpet, which was just completing its twenty-fifth year of honest service. Mrs. Baxter communicated her patriotic idea of a new flag to the Dorcas Society, proposing that the women should cut and make it themselves. It may not be quite as good as those manufactured in a large city, she said, but we shall be proud to see our homemade flag flying in the breeze, and it will mean all the more to the young voters growing up to remember that their mothers made it with their own hands. How would it do to let some of the girls help, modestly asked Miss Dearborn, the Riverboro teacher? We might choose the best sowers and let them put in at least a few stitches so that they can feel they have a share in it. Just the thing, exclaimed Mrs. Baxter, we can cut the stripes and sew them together, and after we have basted on the white stars, the girls can apply them to the blue ground. We must have it ready for the campaign rally, and we couldn't christen it at a better time than in this presidential year. In this way the great enterprise was started, and day by day the preparations went forward in the two villages. The boys, as future voters and fighters, demanded an active share in the proceedings, and were organized by Squirebean into a fife and drum corps, so that by day and night, marshal but most inharmonious music woke the echoes, and deafened mothers felt their patriotism oozing out at the soles of their shoes. Dick Carter was made captain, for his grandfather had a gold medal given him by Queen Victoria for rescuing 326 passengers from a sinking British vessel. Riverboro thought at high time to pay some graceful tribute to Great Britain in return for her handsome conduct to Captain Nahum Carter, and human imagination could contrive nothing more impressive than a vicarious share in the flag-raising. Living Perkins tried to be happy in the ranks, for he was offered no official position. Principally Mrs. Smelly observed because his father's war record wasn't clean. Oh yes, Jim Perkins went to the war, she continued, he hid out behind the hen-coupe when they was drafting, but they found him and took him along. He got into one battle, too, somehow or another, but he ran away from it. He was always cautious, Jim was, if he ever see trouble of any kind coming towards him, he was out of sight, for it got a chance to light. He said eight dollars a month without bounty wouldn't pay him to stop bullets for. He wouldn't fight a skeeter, Jim wouldn't, but land we ain't a war all the time, and he's a good neighbor and a good blacksmith. Miss Dearborn was to be Columbia, and the older girls of the two schools were to be the states. Such trade in muslins and red, white, and blue ribbons had never been known since Watson kept store, and the number of brief white petticoats hanging out to bleach would have caused the passing stranger to imagine Riverboro a continual dancing school. Juvenile virtue, both male and female, reached an almost impossible height, for parents only had to lift a finger and say, you shamp go to the flag-raising, and the refractory spirit at once armed itself for new struggles toward the perfect life. Mr. Jeremiah Cobb had consented to impersonate Uncle Sam, and was to drive Columbia and the states to the raising on top of his own stage. Meantime the boys were drilling, the ladies were cutting and basting and stitching, and the girls were sewing on stars, for the starry part of the Spangled Banner was to remain with each of them in turn until she had performed her share of the work. It was felt by one and all a fine and splendid service indeed to help in the making of the flag, and if Rebecca was proud to be of the chosen one, so was her Aunt Jane Sawyer, who had taught her all her delicate stitches. On a long looked-for afternoon in August, the minister's wife drove up to the brick-house door and handed out the great piece of bunting to Rebecca, who received it in her arms with as much solemnity as if it had been a child awaiting baptismal rites. I'm so glad, she sighed happily, I thought it would never come my turn. You should have had it a week ago, but Haldum Azerv upset the ink bottle over her star, and we had to baste on another one. You are the last though, and then we shall sew the stars and stripes together, and Seth Strout will get the top ready for hanging. Just think, it won't be many days before you children will be pulling the rope with all your strength. The band will be playing, the men will be cheering, and the new flag will go higher and higher till the red, white, and blue shows against the sky. Rebecca's eyes fairly blazed. Shall I fell on my star or buttonhole it? she asked. Look at all the others, and make the most beautiful stitches you can, that's all. It is your star, you know, and you can even imagine it is your state, and to try and have it the best of all. If everybody else is trying to do the same thing with her state, that will make a great country, won't it? Rebecca's eyes spoke glad confirmation of the idea. My star, my state, she repeated joyously. Oh, Mrs. Baxter, I'll make such fine stitches you'll think the white grew out of the blue. The new minister's wife looked pleased to see her spark kindle of flame in the young heart. You can sew so much of yourself into your star, she went on in the glad voice that made her so winsome, that when you are an old lady you can put on your specs and find it among all the others. Goodbye, come to the parsonage Saturday afternoon. Mr. Baxter wants to see you. Judson, help that dear little genius of a Rebecca. All you can, she said that night when they were causally talking in their parlor and living all over the parish carpet. I don't know what she may or may not come to some day. I only wish she were ours. If you could have seen her clasp the flag, tighten her arms and put her cheek against it, and watched the tears of feeling start in her eyes when I told her that her star was her state. I kept whispering to myself, Covet, not thy neighbor's child. Daily at four o'clock, Rebecca scrubbed her hands almost to the bone, brushed her hair, and otherwise prepared herself in body, mind, and spirit for the consecrated labor of sewing on her star. All the time that her needle cautiously, conscientiously formed the tiny stitches she was making rhymes in her head, her favorite achievement being this. Your star, my star, all our stars together, they make the dear old banner proud to float in the bright fall weather. There was much discussion as to which of the girls should impersonate the state of Maine, for that was felt to be the highest honor in the gift of the committee. Alice Robinson was the prettiest child in the village, but she was very shy and by no means a general favorite. Minnie Smelly possessed the handsomest dress and a pair of white slippers and open work stockings that nearly carried the day. Still, as Miss Delia Weeks well said, she was so stupid that if she should suck her thumb all of the exercises nobody would be a dite surprised. Holden Mazerve was next voted upon and the fact that if she were not chosen her father might withdraw his subscription to the Brass Band Fund was a matter for grave concern. I kind of hate to have such a giggler for the state of Maine. Let her be the goddess of liberty, proposed Mrs. Burbank, whose patriotism was more local than national. How would Rebecca Randall do for Maine and let her speak some of her verses, which suggested the new minister's wife, who, could she have had her way, would have given all the prominent parts to Rebecca from Uncle Sam on down. So beauty, fashion and wealth, having been tried and found wanting, the committee discussed the claims of talent and it transpired that to the awe-stricken Rebecca fell the chief plum in the pudding. It was a tribute to her gifts that there was no jealousy or envy among the other girls. They readily conceded her special fitness for the role. Her life had not been pressed down full to the brim of pleasures and she had a sort of distrust of joy in the bud. Not until she saw it in full radiance of bloom did she dare embrace it. She had never read any verse but Viren, Felicia Hemans, Bits of Paradise Lost and selections in the school readers, but she would have hardly agreed with the poet who said, Not by appointment do we meet delight and joy, they heed not our expectancy. But round some corner in the streets of life they on a sudden clasp us with a smile. For many nights before the raising when she went to her bed she said to herself after she had finished her prayers, It can't be true that I'm chosen for the State of Maine. It just can't be true. Nobody could be good enough, but oh, I'll try and be as good as I can. To be going to Werem Seminary next week and to be the State of Maine too, oh, I must pray hard to God to keep me meek and humble. The flag was to be raised on a Tuesday and on the previous Sunday it became known to the children that Clara Bell Simpson was coming back from Acreville, coming to live with Mrs. Fogg and take care of the baby, called by the neighborhood boys the Foghorn on account of his excellent voice production. Clara Bell was one of Miss Dearborn's original flock and if she were left wholly out of the festivities she would be the only girl of suitable age to be thus slighted. It seemed clear to the juvenile mind therefore that neither she nor her descendants would recover from such a blow. But under all the circumstances would she be allowed to join in the procession? Even Rebecca, the optimistic, feared not and the committee confirmed her fears by saying that Abner Simpson's daughter certainly could not take any prominent part in the ceremony, but they hoped that Mrs. Fogg would allow her to witness it. When Abner Simpson, urged by the town authorities, took his wife and seven children away from Riverboro to Acreville just over the border of the next county, Riverboro went to bed leaving its barn and shed doors unfastened and drew long breaths of gratitude to Providence. Of most winning disposition and genial manners, Mr. Simpson had not that instinctive comprehension of property rights, which renders a man a valuable citizen. Squire Bean was his nearest neighbor and he conceived the novel idea of paying Simpson five dollars a year not to steal from him, a method occasionally used in the highlands in the early days. The bargain was struck and adhered to religiously for a twelve month, but on the 2nd of January Mr. Simpson announced the verbal contract as formally broken. I didn't know what I was doing when I made it at Squire, he urged. In the first place it's a slur on my reputation and an injury to my self-respect. Secondly, it's a nervous strain on me and thirdly, five dollars don't pay me. Squire Bean was so struck with the unique and convincing nature of these arguments that he could scarcely restrain his admiration and he confessed to himself afterwards that unless Simpson's mental attitude could be changed, he was perhaps a fitter subject for medical science than the state prison. Abner was a most unusual thief and conducted his operations with attacked and neighborly consideration none too common in the profession. He would never steal a man's scythe in hanging time, nor his fur laprobe in the coldest of the winter. The picking of a lock offered no attractions to him, he won no burglar, he would have scornfully asserted. A strange horse and wagon hitched by the roadside was the most flagrant of his thefts but it was the small things, the hatchet or axe on the chopping block, the tin pans sunning at the side door, a stray garment bleaching on the grass, a hoe, rake, shovel, or a bag of early potatoes that tempted him most sorely. And these appealed to him not so much for their intrinsic value as because they were so excellently adapted to swapping. Swapping was really the most enjoyable part of the procedure. The theft was only a sad but necessary preliminary for if Abner himself had been a man of sufficient property to carry on his business operations independently it is doubtful if he would have helped himself so freely to his neighbor's goods. River Borough regretted the loss of Mrs. Simpson, who was useful in scrubbing, cleaning, and washing and was thought to exercise some influence over her predatory spouse. There was a story of their early married life when they had a farm. A story to the effect that Mrs. Simpson always rode on every load of hay that her husband took to Melltown with the view of keeping him sober through the day. After he turned out of the country road and approached the metropolis, it was said that he used to bury the docile lady in the load. He would then drive on to the scales, have the weight of the hay entered in the buyer's book, take his horses to the stable for feed and water, and when a favorable opportunity offered he would assist the hot and panting Mrs. Simpson out of the side or back of the rack and gallantly brush the straw from her person. For this reason it was always asserted that Abner Simpson sold his wife every time he went to Melltown, but the story was never fully substantiated and at all events it was the only suspected blot on Meek Mrs. Simpson's personal reputation. As for the Simpson children, they were missed chiefly as familiar figures by the roadside, but Rebecca honestly loved Clara Bell, notwithstanding her Aunt Miranda's opposition to the intimacy. Rebecca's taste for low company was a source of continual anxiety to her aunt. Anything that's human flesh is good enough for her, Miranda groaned to Jane. She'll ride with a rag, sack, and bottle paddler just as quick as she would with the minister. She always sets beside the St. Vitus dance young one at Sabbath school, and she's forever rigging and unrigging that dirty face. She reminds me of a puppy that'll always go to everybody that'll have him. It was thought very creditable to Mrs. Fogg that she sent for Clara Bell to live with her and go to school part of the year. She'll be useful, said Mrs. Fogg, and she'll be out of her father's way and so keep honest. Though she's awful homely, I have no fears for her. A girl with her red hair, freckles, and cross-eyes can't fall into no kind of sin, I don't believe. Mrs. Fogg requested that Clara Bell ride on her journey from Acreville by train and come the rest of the way by stage, and she was disturbed to receive word on Sunday that Mr. Simpson had borrowed a good rotor from a new acquaintance, and would himself drive the girl from Acreville to Riverboro a distance of 35 miles. That he would arrive in their vicinity on the very night before the flag raising was thought by Riverboro to be a public misfortune and several residents hastily determined to deny themselves aside of the flag and remain watchfully upon their own premises. On Monday afternoon, the children were rehearsing their songs at the meeting house. As Rebekah came out on the broad wooden steps, she watched Mrs. Peter Mazzerve's buggy out of sight, for in front wrapped in a cotton sheet lay the previous flag. After a few chattering goodbyes and weather prophecies with the other girls, she started on her homeward walk, dropping in at the parsonage to read her verses to the minister. He welcomed her gladly as she removed her white cotton gloves, hastily slipped on outside the door for ceremony, and pushed back the funny hat with the yellow and black porcupine quills, the hat with which she made her first appearance in Riverboro society. You've heard the beginning, Mr. Baxter. Now you please tell me if you like the last verse she asked, taking out her paper. I've only read it to Alice Robinson, and I think perhaps she can follow it, though she's a splendid writer. Last year when she was twelve, she made a birthday poem to herself, and she made natal rhyme with Milton, which of course it wouldn't. I remember every verse ended, this is my day so natal, and I will follow Milton. Another one of hers was written just because she couldn't help it, she said, this was it. Let me to the hills away, give me pen and paper, I'll write until the earth will sway the story of my maker. The minister could scarcely refrain from smiling, but he controlled himself that he might lose none of Rebecca's quaint observations. When she was perfectly at ease, unwatched and uncriticized, she was a marvelous companion. The name of the poem is going to be my star, she continued, and Mrs. Baxter gave me all the ideas, but somehow there's a kind of magicness when they get into poetry, don't you think so? Rebecca always talked to grown people as if she were their age, or a more untrue distinction, as if they were hers. It has often been so remarked in different words, agreed the minister. Mrs. Baxter said that each star was a state, and if each state did its best we should have a splendid country. Then once she said that we ought to be glad the war is over and the states are all at peace together, and I thought Columbia must be glad too for Miss Dearborn says she's the mother of all the states. So I'm going to have it end like this. I didn't write it, I just sewed it while I was working on the star. For it's your star, my star, all the stars together that make our country's flags so proud to float in the bright fall weather. Northern stars, southern stars, stars of the east and west, side by side they lay at peace on the dear flag's mother breast. Oh, many are the poets that are sewn by nature, thought the minister, quoting words worth to himself, and I wonder what becomes of them. That's a pretty idea, little Rebecca, and I don't know whether you or my wife ought to have the more praise. What made you think of the stars laying on the flag's mother breast? Where did you get that word? Why, and the young poet looked rather puzzled, that's the way it is. The flag is the whole country, the mother, and the stars are the states. The stars had to lie somewhere, lapped nor arms wouldn't sound so well with west, so of course I said breast. Rebecca answered with some surprise at the question, and the minister put his hand under her chin and kissed her softly on the forehead when he said goodbye at the door. Rebecca walked rapidly along in the gathering twilight, thinking of the eventful morrow. As she approached the turning on the left, called the Old Milltown Road, she saw a white horse and wagon, driven by a man with a rake-ish flapping Panama hat, coming rapidly around the turn and disappear over the long hills leading toward the falls. There was no mistaking him, there was never another Abner Simpson, with his lean height, his bushy reddish hair, cock of his hat, and the long radical upturned mustaches, which the boys used to say or used as hat racks by the Simpson children at night. The Old Milltown Road ran past Mrs. Fogg's house, so he must have left Claire Bell there, and Rebecca's heart glowed to think that her poor little friend need not miss the raising. She began to run now, fearful of being late for supper and covered the ground to the falls in a brief time. As she crossed the bridge she again saw Abner Simpson's team drawn up at the watering trough. Coming a little nearer, with the view of inquiring for the family, her quick eye caught sight of something unexpected. A gust of wind blew up a corner of a linen laprobe in the back of the wagon, and underneath she distinctly saw a white-sheeted bundle that held the flag, the bundle with a tiny, tiny spot of red bunting peeping out at one corner. It is true she had eaten, slept, dreamed, red, white, and blue for weeks, but there was no mistaking the evidence of her senses. The idolized flag, longed for, worked for, sowed for, that flag was in the back of Abner Simpson's wagon, and if so, what would become of the raising? Acting on blind impulse, she ran toward the watering trough, calling out in her clear trouble, Mr. Simpson! Oh, Mr. Simpson, will you let me ride a piece with you and hear all about Claire Bell? I'm going partway over to the center on an errand. So she was, a most important errand, to recover the flag of her country at present in the hands of the foe. Mr. Simpson turned round in his seat and cried hardly, certain sure I will, for he liked the fair sex, young and old, and Rebecca had always been a prime favorite with him. The folks talk about you from sun up to sun down, and Claire Bell can't hardly wait for a side of you. Rebecca scrambled up, trembling in pale with excitement. She did not, in the least, know what was going to happen. She was sure that the flag, when in the enemy's country, was at least a little safer with the state of Maine, sitting on top of it. Mr. Simpson began a long monologue about Acreville, the house he lived in, the pond in front of it, Mrs. Simpson's health, and various items of news about the children, varied by reports of his personal misfortune. He put no questions and asked no replies, so this gave the inexperienced soldier a few seconds to plan a campaign. There were three houses to pass, the Browns at the corner, the Millikins, on the brow of the hill. If Mr. Robinson were in the front yard, she might tell Mr. Simpson she wanted to call there, and ask Mr. Robinson to hold the horse's head while she got out of the wagon. Then she might fly to the back before Mr. Simpson could realize the situation, and dragging out the precious bundle sit on it hard, while Mr. Robinson settled the matter of ownership with Mr. Simpson. This was feasible, but it meant a quarrel between the two men, who held an ancient grudge against each other, and Mr. Simpson was a valiant fighter, as the various sheriffs who had attempted to arrest him could cordially testify. It also meant that everybody in the village would hear of the incident, and poor Clara Bell would be branded again as the child of a thief. Another idea danced into her excited brain, such a clever one she could hardly believe at hers. She might call Mr. Robinson to the wagon, and when he came close to the wheels, she might say all of a sudden, please take the flag out of the back of the wagon, Mr. Simpson might be so surprised that he would give up his prize rather than be suspected of stealing. But as they neared the Robinson's house, there was not a sign of life to be seen, so the last plan, ingenious though it was, was per force abandoned. The road now lay between thick pine woods with no dwelling in sight. It was growing dusk, and Rebecca was driving along the lonely way with a person who was generally called Slippery Simpson. Not a thought of fear crossed her mind, saved the fear of bungling in her diplomacy and so losing the flag. She knew Mr. Simpson well, and a pleasanter man was seldom to be met. She recalled an afternoon when he came home and surprised the whole school playing the Revolutionary War in his Helter Skelter Doiard, and the way in which he had joined the British forces and impersonated General Burgoyne had greatly endeared him to her. The only difficulty was to find proper words for her delicate mission. For, of course, if Mr. Simpson's anger were aroused, he would politely push her out of the wagon and drive away with the flag. Perhaps if she led the conversation in the right direction an opportunity would present itself. She remembered how Emma Jane Perkins had failed to convert Jacob Moody, simply because she failed to lead up to the delicate question of his manner of life. Clearing her throat nervously, she began, Is it likely to be fair tomorrow? Guess so, clear as a bell. What's on foot, a picnic? No, we're to have a grand flag raising. That is, she thought, if we have any flag to raise. That's so. Where? The three villages are to club together and have a rally and raise the flag at the centre. There will be a brass band and speakers and the mayor of Portland, and the man that will be governor if he's elected, and a dinner in the Grange Hall, and we girls are chosen to raise the flag. I want to know. That'll be grand, won't it? Still not a sign of consciousness on the part of Abner. I hope Mrs. Fogg will take Clara Bell for it will be splendid to look at. Mr. Cobb is going to be Uncle Sam and drive us on the stage. Miss Dearborn, Clara Bell's old teacher you know, is going to be Columbia. The girls will be States of the Union and oh, Mr. Simpson, I am the one to be the State of Maine. This was not altogether to the point, but a piece of information impossible to conceal. Mr. Simpson flourished the whip stock and gave a loud, hearty laugh. Then he turned in his seat and regarded Rebecca curiously. You're kind of small, ain't ya, for so big a state as this one, he asked. Any of us would be too small, replied Rebecca with dignity, but the committee asked me, and I'm going to try hard to do well. The tragic thought that there might be no occasion for anybody to do anything, well or ill, suddenly overcame her here and, putting her hand on Mr. Simpson's sleeve, she attacked the subject practically and courageously. Oh, Mr. Simpson, dear Mr. Simpson, it's such a mortifying subject, I can't bear to say anything about it, but please give us back our flag. Don't, don't take it over to Acreville, Mr. Simpson. We've worked so hard to make it, and it was so hard getting the money for the bunting. Wait a minute, please, don't be angry, and don't say no just yet till I explain more. It'll be so dreadful for everybody to get there tomorrow morning and find no flag to raise. And the band and the mayor all disappointed and the children crying with their muslin dresses all bought for nothing. Oh, dear Mr. Simpson, please don't take our flag away from us. The apparently astonished Abner pulled his mustaches and exclaimed, but I don't know what you're driving at. Who's got your flag? I ain't. Could duplicity, deceit, and infamy go any further, Rebecca wondered, and her soul filling with righteous wrath, she cast discretion to the winds and spoke a little more plainly, bending her great swimming eyes on the now embarrassed Abner who looked like an angle warm wriggling on a pin. Mr. Simpson, how could you say that when I saw the flag in the back of your wagon myself when you stopped to water the horse? It's wicked of you to take it, and I cannot bear it. Her voice broke now for a doubt of Mr. Simpson's yielding suddenly darkened her mind. If you keep it, you'll have to keep me for I won't be parted from it. I can't fight like the boys, but I can pinch and scratch and I will scratch like a panther. I'll lay right down on my star and not move if I starve to death. Look here, hold your horses and don't cry till you get something to cry for, grumbled the outraged Abner to whom a clue had just come, and leaning over the wagon back he caught a hold of a corner of white sheet and dragged up the bundle scooping off Rebecca's hat in the process and almost burying her in bunting. She caught the treasure passionately to her heart and stifled her sobs in it while Abner claimed I swanned a man if that hang a flag. Well in that case you're good and welcome to it land. I see that bundle lying in the middle of the road and I says to myself that somebody's washing and I'd better pick it up and leave it at the post office to be claimed and all the time it was a flag. This was a Simpsonian version of the matter, the fact being that a white covered bundle lying on the reserves front steps had attracted his practice die and slipping in at the open gate he had definitely removed it to his wagon on general principles, thinking if it were clean clothes it would be extremely useful and in any event there was no good in passing by something flung into your very arms so to speak. He had had no leisure to examine the bundle and indeed took little interest in it. Probably he stole it simply from force of habit and because there was nothing in sight to steal. Everybody's premises being better naturally tidy and empty almost as if his visit had been expected. Rebecca was a practical child and it seemed to her almost impossible that so heavy a bundle could fall out of Mrs. Miserve's buggy and not be noticed but she hoped that Mr. Simpson was telling the truth and she was too glad and grateful to doubt anyone at the moment. Thank you, thank you so much Mr. Simpson, you're the nicest kindest, politest man I ever knew and the girls will be so pleased you gave us back the flag and so will the Dorcas Society they'll be sure to write you a letter of thanks they always do. Tell them not to bother about anything said Simpson beaming virtuously but land I'm glad to as me that happened to see that bundle in the road and take the trouble to pick it up. Just to think of it's being a flag he thought if there ever was a pesky worthless thing to be traded off to be a great gormann flag like that. Can I get out now please ask Rebecca I want to go back for Mrs. Miserve will be dreadfully nervous when she finds out she dropped the flag and she has heart trouble. No you don't objected Mr. Simpson gallantly turning the horse do you think I'd let a little creature like you lug that great heavy bundle I ain't got time to go back to Miserve's but I'll take you to the corner and dump you there flag and all and you can get some of the men folks to carry it the rest of the way you'll wear it out hugging it so I help make it and I adore it said Rebecca who was in a high pitched and grand eloquent mood why don't you like it it's your country's flag Simpson smiled an indulgent smile and looked a trifle board at these frequent appeals to his extremely rusty higher feelings I don't know as I've got any particular interest in the country he remarked languidly I know I don't know nothing to it nor own nothing in it you own a star on the flag same as everybody argued Rebecca who had been feeding on patriotism for a month and you own a state too like all of us land I wished I did or even a quarter section side Mr. Simpson feeling somehow a little more poverty stricken and discouraged than usual as they approached the corner and the watering trough where four crossroads met the whole neighborhood seemed to be in evidence and Mr. Simpson suddenly regretted his chivalrous escort of Rebecca especially when as he neared the group an excited lady wringing her hands turned out to be Mrs. Peter Mazzerve accompanied by Hulda the Browns Mrs. Millican a by-jaw flag and Miss Dearborn do you know anything about the new flag Rebecca shrieked Mrs. Mazzerve too agitated at the moment to notice the child's companion it's right here in my lap all safe responded Rebecca joyously you careless meddlesome young one to take it off my steps where I left it just long enough to go around to the back and hunt up my dorky you've given me a fit of sickness with my weak heart and what business was it of yours I believe you think you own the flag handed over to me this minute Rebecca was climbing down during this torrent of but as she turned she flashed one look of knowledge at the false Simpson a look that went through him from head to foot as if it were carried by electricity he had not deceived her after all owing to the angry chatter of Mrs. Mazzerve he had been handcuffed twice in his life but no sheriff had ever disconfident him so thoroughly as this child fury mounted to his brain and as soon as she was safely out from between the wheels he stood up in the wagon and flung the flag out in the road in the excited group take it you pious passimony as cheese pear and hair splitting back biting flag raisin crew he roared Rebecca never took the flag I found it in the road I say you never know such a thing exclaimed Mrs. Mazzerve you found it on the doorsteps in my garden maybe twice your garden but it was so chock full of weeds I thought was the road retorted Abner I vow I wouldn't have given the old rag back to one of you not if you begged me on your bended knees but Rebecca's a friend of my folks and can do with her flag as she's mine too and the rest of you can go to thunder and stay there for all I care so saying he made a sharp turn gave the gaunt white horse a lash and disappeared in a cloud of dust before the astonished Mr. Brown the only man in the party had a thought of detaining him I'm sorry I spoke so quick Rebecca said Mrs. Mazzerve greatly mortified but don't you believe a word that lion critter said he did steal it off my doorstep and how did you come to be riding and consorting with him I believe it would kill you around Miranda she should hear about it the little school teacher put a sheltering arm around Rebecca as Mr. Brown picked up the flag and dusted and folded it I'm willing she should hear about it Rebecca answered I didn't do anything to be ashamed of I saw the flag in the back of Mr. Simpson's wagon and I just followed it there weren't any people who would take care of it and so it fell to me you wouldn't have had me let it out of my sight would you and we going to raise it tomorrow morning Rebecca's perfectly right Mrs. Mazzerve said Mr. you're born proudly and it's lucky there was somebody quick-witted enough to ride and consort with Mr. Simpson I don't know what the village will think but seems to me the town clerk might write down in his book this day the state of Maine saved the flag End of chapter 5 Chapter 6 of New Chronicles of Rebecca this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Lorelle Anderson New Chronicles of Rebecca by Kate Douglas-Wiggin Chapter 6 6th Chronicle The State of Maine Girl The foregoing episode if narrated in a romance would undoubtedly have been called the saving of the colors but at the nightly conversazione in Watson's store it was alluded to as the way little Becky Randall got the flag away from slippery Simpson dramatic as it was it passed into the limbo of half-forgotten things in Rebecca's mind its brief importance submerged in the glories of the next day there was a painful prelude to these glories Alice Robinson came to spend the night with Rebecca and when the bedroom door closed upon the two girls Alice announced her intention of doing up Rebecca's front hair in leads and rags and braiding the back in six tight wedded braids Rebecca demerred Alice persisted your hair is so long and thick and dark and straight she said that you'll look like an engine I'm the State of Maine it all belonged to the Indians once Rebecca remarked gloomily and was curiously shy about discussing her personal appearance and your wreath of little pine cones won't set decent without crimps continued Alice Rebecca glanced in the cracked looking glass and met what she considered an accusing lack of beauty a sight that always either saddened or enraged her according to circumstances then she sat down resignedly and began to help Alice in the philanthropic work of making the State of Maine fit to be seen at the raising of the girls was an expert hairdresser and at the end of an hour when the sixth braid was tied and Rebecca had given one last shuddering look in the mirror both were ready to weep with fatigue the candle was blown out and Alice soon went to sleep but Rebecca tossed on her pillow its goose feathered softness all dented by the cruel lead knobs and the knots of twisted rags she slipped out of bed and walked to and fro holding her aching head with both hands finally she leaned on the window sill watching the still weather vane on Alice's barn and breathing in the fragrance of the ripening apples until her restlessness subsided under the clear starry beauty of the night at six in the morning the girls were out of bed for Alice could hardly wait until Rebecca's hair was taken down she was so eager to see the results of her labors the leads and rags were painfully removed together with much hair the operation being punctuated by a series of squeaks, squeals and shrieks on the part of Rebecca and a series of warnings from Alice who wished the preliminaries to be kept secret from the aunts that they might the more fully appreciate the radiant results then came the end braiding and then dramatic moment the combing out a difficult not to say impossible process in which the hairs that had resisted the earlier stages almost gave up the ghost the long front strands had been wound up from various angles and by various methods when released they assumed the strangest most obstinate, most unexpected attitudes when the comb was dragged through the last braid the wild, tortured electric hairs following and then rebounding from it in a bristling, snarling tangle Massachusetts gave one encompassing glance at the state of Maine's head and announced her intention of going home to breakfast. She was deeply grieved at the result of her attempted beautifying but she felt that meeting Miss and a Sawyer at the morning meal would not men matters in the least so slipping out of the side door she ran up guide board hill as fast as her legs could carry her the state of Maine deserted and somewhat unnerved sat down before the glass and attacked her hair doggedly and with set lips working over it until Miss Jane called her to breakfast then with a boldness born of despair she entered the dining room where her aunts were already seated at table to draw fire she whistled a forbidden joy which only attracted more attention instead of diverting it there was a moment of silence after the grotesque figure was fully taken in then came a moan from Jane and a groan from Miranda what have you done to yourself asked Miranda sternly made an effort to be beautiful and failed jauntily replied Rebecca but she was too miserable to keep up the fiction oh on Miranda don't scold I'm so unhappy Alice and I rolled up my hair to curl it for the raising she said it was so straight I looked like an Indian maybe you did vigorously agreed Miranda but at any rate you looked like a Christian engine and now you look like a heathen engine that's all the difference I can see what can we do with her Jane between this and nine o'clock we'll all go up to the pump just as soon as we're through breakfast answered Jane soothingly we can accomplish considerable with water and force Rebecca nibbled her corncake her tearful eyes cast on her plate and her chin quivering don't you cry and read your eyes up chatted Miranda quite kindly the minute you've eaten up run up and get your brush and comb and meet us at the back door I wouldn't care myself how bad I looked said Rebecca but I can't bear to be so homely that I shame the state of Maine oh what an hour followed this plaint did any aspirant for literary or dramatic honors ever passed to fame through such an anti-chamber of horrors did poet of the day ever have his head so maltreated to be dipped in the rainwater tub sourced again and again to be held under the spout and pumped on to be rubbed furiously with rough roller towels to be dried with hot flannels and is it not well not incredible that at the close of such an hour the ends of the long hair should still stand out straight the braids having been turned up two inches by Alice and tied hard in that position with linen thread get out the skirt board Jane cried Miranda to whom opposition served as a tonic and move that flat iron on to the front of the stove Rebecca sit down in that low chair beside the board and Jane you spread her hair out on it and cover it up with brown paper don't cringe Rebecca the worst so and you've born up real good I'll be careful not to pull your hair nor scorch you and oh how I'd like to have Alice Robinson across my knee in a good strip of shingle in my right hand there you're all ironed out and your Aunt Jane can put on your white dress and braid up your hair again good and tight perhaps you won't be the homeliest of the states after all but when I see you coming into breakfast I said to myself I guess if Maine looked like that it wouldn't have never been admitted into the union when Uncle Sam and the stagecoach drew up to the brick house with a grand swing and a flourish the goddess of liberty and most of the states were already in their places on the hurricane deck words failed to describe the gallant bearing of Stahl's gaily trimmed and their harnesses dotted with little flags the stage windows were hung in bunting and from within beamed Columbia looking out from the bright frame as if proud of her freight of loyal children patriotic streamers floated from whip from dashboard and from rumble and the effect of the whole was something to stimulate the most phlegmatic voter Rebecca came out on the steps and Aunt Jane brought a chair to assist in the ascent Miss Dearborn peeped from the window and gave a despairing look at her favorite what had happened to her who addressed her had her head been put through a wringing machine why were her eyes red and swollen Miss Dearborn determined to take her behind the trees in the pine grove and give her some finishing touches touches that her skillful fingers fairly itched to bestow the stage started and as the roadside pageant grew gayer and gayer Rebecca began to brighten and look prettier her beautifying came from within the people walking, driving or standing on their doorsteps cheered Uncle Sam's coach with its freight of gossamer muslin fluttering ribbon girls and just behind the gorgeously decorated hay cart driven by a bija flag bearing the jolly but inharmonious fife and drum core was ever such a golden day such crystal air, such mellow sunshine such a merry Uncle Sam the stage drew up at an appointed spot near a pine grove and while the crowd was gathering the children waited for the hour to arrive when they should march to the platform the hour toward which they seemed to have been moving since the dawn of creation as soon as possible Miss Dearborn whispered to Rebecca come behind the trees with me I want to make you prettier Rebecca thought she had suffered enough from that process already during the last 12 hours but she put out an obedient hand and the two withdrew and Miss Dearborn was I fear a very indifferent teacher Dr. Moses always said so and Libby Moses who wanted her school said it was a pity she hadn't enjoyed more social advantages in her youth Libby herself had taken music lessons of Portland and spent a night at the profile house in the White Mountains and had visited her sister in Lowell, Massachusetts these experiences gave her in her own mind and in the mind of her intimate friends a horizon so boundless that her view of her humbler matters was a trifle distorted Miss Dearborn's stock and trade was small her principle of virtues being devotion to children and ability to gain their love and a power of evolving the school rooms order so natural, cherry serene and peaceful that it gave the beholder a certain sense of being in a district heaven she was poor in arithmetic and weak in geometry but if you gave her a rose, a bit of ribbon and a seven by nine looking glass she would be as a pink in two minutes safely sheltered behind the pines Miss Dearborn began to practice mysterious feminine arts she flew at Rebecca's tight braids opened the strands and rebrated them loosely, bit and tore the red white and blue ribbon in two and tied the braid separately then with nimble fingers she pulled out little tendrils of hair behind the ears and around the nape of the neck after a glance of acute disapproval directed at the stiff balloon skirt and gave a strenuous embrace to Rebecca's knees murmuring between her hugs starch must be cheap at the brick house this particular line of beauty attained there ensued great pinchings of ruffles her fingers that could never hold a ferrule nor snap children's ears being incomparable fluting irons next the sash was scornfully untied and tightened to suggest something resembling a waist the chastened bows that had been squat dowdy, spiritless flirts bracing little pokes and dabs till acknowledging a master hand they stood up, pequant pert, smart, alert pride of bearing was now infused into the flattened lace at the neck and a pin, removed at some sacrifice from her own toilet was darned in at the back to prevent any cowardly lapsing the short white cotton gloves that called attention to the tanned wrists and arms were stripped off and put into her own pocket then the wreath of pine cones was casted at an adhere to four unimagined angle the hair was pulled softly into a fluffy frame and finally, as she met Rebecca's grateful eyes, she gave her two approving, triumphant kisses in the second, the sensitive face lighted into happiness, please dimples appeared in the cheeks, the kissed mouth was as red as a rose, and the little fright that had walked behind the pine tree stepped out on the other side Rebecca, the lovely as to the relative value of Miss Dearborn's accomplishments, the decision must be left to the gentle reader but though it is certain that children should be properly grounded in mathematics no heart of flesh could bear to hear Miss Dearborn's methods vilified who had seen her patting, pulling, squeezing Rebecca from ugliness into beauty. The young superintendent of district schools was a witness of the scene, and when later he noted the children surrounding Columbia as B. Zahni Sakal he observed to Dr. Moses that there may not be much of a teacher but I think she'd be considerable of a wife and subsequent events proved that he meant what he said. Now all was ready the moment of fate was absolutely at hand the fife and drum core led the way and the states followed, but what actually happened Rebecca never knew she lived through the hours in a waking dream every little detail was a facet of light that reflected sparkles, and among them all she was fairly dazzled the brass band played inspiring strains the mayor spoke eloquently on great themes, the people cheered then the rope on which so much depended was put into the children's hands they applied superhuman strength to their task, and the flag mounted mounted smoothly and slowly and slowly unwound and stretched itself until its splendid size and beauty were revealed against the maples and pines and blue New England sky. Then after cheer upon cheers and after a patriotic chorus by church choirs the state of Maine mounted the platform vaguely conscious that she was to recite a poem, though for the life of her she could not remember a single word. Speak up loud and clear Rebecca, whispered Uncle Sam in the front row, but she could scarcely hear her own voice when tremblingly she began her first line. After that she gathered strength and the poem said itself while the dream went on. She saw Adam Ladd leaning against a tree Aunt Jane and Aunt Miranda palpitating with nervousness. Clarabel Simpson gazing cross-eyed but adoring from a seat on the side and in the far far distance on the very outskirts of the crowd a tall man standing in a wagon, a tall loose jointed man with red upturned mustaches and a gaunt white horse headed toward the Acreville Road. Loud applause greeted the state of Maine the slender little white clad figure standing on the mossy boulder that had been used as the center of the platform. The sun came up from behind a great maple and shone full on the star-spangled banner making it more dazzling than ever so its beauty drew all eyes upward. Abner Simpson lifted his vagrant shifting gaze to its softly fluttering folds and its splendid massing of colors thinking I don't know is anybody ought to seal a flag. The thundering Egypt seemed to set such store by it and what is it anyway? Nothing but a sheet of bunting. He looked curiously at the wrapped faces of the mothers their babies asleep in their arms the parted lips and shining eyes of the white clad girls a cat and lord who had been in Libby prison and Nat Strout who had left an arm at Bull Run. At the friendly jostling crowd of farmers happy eager absorbed their throats ready to burst with cheers then the breeze served and he heard Rebecca's clear voice saying for it's your star my star all the stars together that make our country's flag so proud to float in the bright fall weather talk about stars she's got a couple of them right in her head thought Simpson if I ever seen a young one like that lying on anyone's doorstep I'd hook her quicker in a wink though I've got plenty to home the lord knows and I wouldn't swap her off neither spunky little creed or two setting up in the wagon looking bad as big as a pina cider but keeping right after the goods I vow I'm about sick of my job never with the crowd always just on the outside as if I wasn't as good as they be if it paid well maybe I wouldn't mind but they're so thunder and stingy around here they don't leave anything decent out for you to take from them yet you're risking your liberty and reputation just the same counting the poor pickings and the time I lose in jail I might most as well be done with it and work out by the days the folks want me to I'd make bouts much and I don't know as it'd be any better he could see Rebecca stepping down from the platform while his own red-headed little girl stood up on her bench waving her hat with one hand her handkerchief with the other and stamping with both feet now a man sitting beside the mayor rose from his chair and Abner heard him call three cheers for the women who made the flag hip hip hurrah three cheers for the state of Maine hip hip hurrah three cheers for the girl that saved the flag from the hands of the enemy hip hip hurrah hip hip hurrah it was the Edgewood minister whose full vibrant voice was of the sort to move a crowd his words rang out into the clear air and were carried from lip to lip hands clapped feet stamped hats swung while the loud hazzas might almost have wakened the echoes on Mount Ossaby the tall loose jointed man sat down in the wagon suddenly and took up the reins they're getting a little might-personal and I guess it's about time for you to be going, Simpson the tone was jocular but the red moustaches drooped and the half-hearted cut he gave to start the white mare on her homeward journey showed that he was not in his usual devil-made care mood during his skin he burst out in a vindictive undertone as the mare swung into her long gate it's a lie I thought it was somebody's wash I ain't an enemy while the crowd at the raising happy family groups to their picnics in the woods while the goddess of liberty Uncle Sam Columbia and the proud states lunched grandly in the Grange Hall with distinguished guests and scarred veterans of two wars the lonely man drove and drove and drove through silent woods and dull sleepy villages never alighting to replenish his wardrobe or his stock of swapping material at dusk he reached a miserable tumble-down house on the edge of a pond his wife with the sad mouth and the habitual look of anxiety in her faded eyes came to the door at the sound of wheels and went doggedly to the horse shed to help him on harness you didn't expect to see me back tonight did you he asked satirically at least why is not with this same horse well I'm here you needn't be scared to look under the wagon seat there ain't nothing there not even my supper so I hope you're suited for once no I guess I ain't gonna be an angel right away neither there wasn't nothing but flags laying loose round down river borough way and whatever they say I ain't such a hound as to steal a flag it was natural that young river borough should have red white and blue dreams on the night after the new flag was raised a stranger thing perhaps is the fact that Abner Simpson should lie down on his hard bed with the flutter of bunting before his eyes and a whirl of unaccustomed words in his mind for it's your star my star all our stars together I'm sick of going it alone he thought I guess I'll try the other road for a spell and with that he fell asleep end of chapter 6 recording by Lorelle Anderson Sanford Florida this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Carl St. Louis, Missouri October 2007 New Chronicles of Rebecca by Kate Douglas-Wiggin Seventh Chronicle The Little Prophet I guess York County will never get rid of that Simpson crew exclaimed Miranda Sawyer to Jane I thought when the family moved to Acreville we'd seen the last of them but we ain't big cross-eyed stuttering boys got a place at the mills in Maplewood that's near enough to come to Riverboro once in a while of a Sunday morning and set in the meet-and-house staring at Rebecca same as she used to do only as re-skiing now both of her older then Mrs. Fogg must go and bring back the biggest girl to help her take care of her baby as if there weren't planning of help near her home now I hear that the youngest twin has come to stop the summer with the canes up to Edgewood Lower Corner I thought two twins were always the same age said Rebecca, reflectively as she came into the kitchen with the milk pail so they be, snap Miranda flushing and correcting herself but that pasty face Simpson twin looks younger and is smaller than the other one he's make as Moses and the other one is as bold as a brass kettle I don't see how they come to be twins they ain't a mighty like Elijah was always called the fighting twin at school said Rebecca and Elisha's other name was Nimby Pamby but I think he's a nice little boy and I'm glad he's come back he won't like living with Mr. Cain but he'll be almost next door to the ministers and Mrs. Baxter is sure to let him play in her garden I wonder why the boys stay in with cash's claim said Jane to be sure they haven't got any of their own but the child's too young to be much use I know why remarked Rebecca promptly for I heard all about it over to Watson's when I was getting the milk he treated something with Mr. Simpson two years ago and got the best of the bargain and Uncle Jerry says he's the only man that ever did and he ought to have a monument put up to him so Mr. Cain owes Mr. Simpson money and won't pay it and Mr. Simpson said he'd send over a child and board part of it out and take the rest in stock a pig or a calf or something that's all stuff and nonsense exclaimed Miranda nothing in the world but store talk all men folks sitting around Watson's stove were out on the bench at the door and they'll be making up stories as fast as their tongues can wag the man don't live that's smart enough to cheat Abner, Simpson in a trade and whoever heard of anybody's own him money taint disposable that a woman like Mrs. Cain would allow her husband to be in debt to a man like Abner Simpson it's a sight likelier that she heard that Mrs. Simpson was ailing and sent for the boy as to help the family along she always had Mrs. Simpson to wash for her once a month if you remember Jane there are some facts so shrouded in obscurity that the most skillful and patient investigator cannot drag them into the light of day there are also but only occasionally certain motives acts, speeches, lines of conduct that can never be wholly and satisfactorily explained even in a village post office or on the loafers bench outside the tavern door Cassius Cain was a close man close of mouth and close of purse and all that Riverboro ever knew as to the three months visit of the Simpson twin was that it actually occurred Elisha otherwise Nimby Pamby Cain Nimby Pamby stayed and Nimby Pamby when he finally rejoined his own domestic circle did not go empty handed so to speak for he was accompanied on his homeward travels by a large red bony somewhat truculent cow who was tied on behind the wagon and who made the journey a lively and eventful one by her total lack of desire to proceed over the road from Edgewood to Acreville but that the cow's tail belongs to another time and place and the cowards tail must come first for Elisha Simpson was held to be sadly lacking in the manly quality of courage it was the new minister's wife who called Nimby Pamby the little prophet his full name was Elisha Jeremiah Simpson but one seldom heard it at full length since if he escaped the ignomy of Nimby Pamby Elisha was quite enough for an urchin just in his first trousers and those assumed somewhat prematurely he was Elisha therefore to the village but the little prophet to the young minister's wife Rebecca could see the Kansas Brown farmhouse from Mrs. Baxter's sitting room window the little traveled road with strips of tufted green between the wheel tracks curled dustily up to the very doorstep and inside the screen door of pink mosquito netting was a wonderful drawn in rug shaped like a half pie with welcome in saffron letters on a green ground Rebecca liked Mrs. Cash's claim who was a friend of her Aunt Miranda's and one of the few persons who exchanged calls with the somewhat unsociable lady the cane farm was not a long walk from the brick house for Rebecca could go across the fields when hang time was over and her delight at being sent on an errand in that direction could not be measured now that the new minister and his wife had grown to be such a resource in her life she liked to see Mrs. Keem shake the welcome rug flinging the cheery word out into the summer sunshine like a bright greeting to the day she liked to see her go to the screen door a dozen times in the morning open it a crack and chase an imaginary lie from the sacred precincts within she liked to see her come up the cellar steps into the side garden appearing mysteriously as from the bowels of the earth carrying a shining pan of milk in both hands and disappearing through the beds of hollyhocks and sunflowers to the pigpen or the hen house Rebecca was not fond of Mr. Keem and neither was Mrs. Baxter nor Lysha for that matter in fact Mr. Keem was rather a difficult person to grow fond of with his fiery red beard his freckled skin his gruff way of speaking for there were no children in the brown house to smooth the creases from his forehead or the roughness from his voice the new minister's wife was sitting under the shade of her great maple early one morning when she first saw the little prophet a tiny figure came down the grass grown road leading a cow by a rope if it had been a small boy a cow a middle sized boy and an ordinary cow or a grown man and a big cow she might not have noticed them but it was the combination of an infinitesimal boy and a huge cow that attracted her attention she could not guess the child's years she only knew that he was small for his age whatever it was the cow was a dark red beast with a crumpled horn a white star on her forehead she had, of course, two eyes and both were surprised but the left one had an added hint of amazement in it by virtue of a few white hairs looking accidentally in the center of the eyebrow the boy had a thin sensitive face and curtly brown hair short trousers patched on both knees and a ragged straw hat on the back of his head he patted along behind the cow sometimes jerking the rope with both hands and getting over the ground in a jerky way as the animal left him no time to think of a smooth path for bare feet the cane pasture was a good half mile distant and the cow seemed in no hurry to reach it accordingly she forsook the road now and then and rambled in the hollows where the grass was sweeter to her way of thinking she started on one of these exploring expeditions just as she passed the minister's great maple and gave Mrs. Baxter time to call out to the little fellow the cow Elisha blushed and smiled and tried to speak modestly but there was a quiver of pride in his voice as he answered suggestively it's nearly my cow how is that? asked Mrs. Baxter why? Mr. Caine says when I drive her 29 more times to pasture without getting her foot over the rope or without my being frayed she's gonna be my truly cow are you afraid of cows? y-yes Mrs. Baxter confessed I am just a little you see I'm nothing but a woman and boys can't understand how we feel about cows I can they're awful big things aren't they? perfectly enormous I've always thought a cow coming towards you one of the biggest things in the world yes me too don't let's think about it they hook people so very often no indeed in fact one scarcely ever hears of such a case if they stepped on your bare foot they'd scrunch it wouldn't they? yes but you are the driver you mustn't let them do that you are a free will boy and they are nothing but cows I know but perhaps there is free will cows and if they just would do it you couldn't help being scrunched for you mustn't let's go with a rote nor run Mr. Cain says no of course that would never do where you used to live did all the cows go down into the boggy places when you drove them to pasture or did some walk in the road there weren't any cows or any pastures where I used to live that's what makes me feel so foolish why does your cow need a rope she don't like to go to pasture Mr. Cain says sometimes she'd rather stay at home and so when she gets part way she turns around comes backwards dear me thought Mrs. Baxter what becomes of this boy might if the cow has a spell of going backwards do you like to drive her she asked no not exactly but you see it'll be my cow if I drive her 29 more times without getting her foot over the road without my being afraid and a beaming smile gave transient brightness to her harass little face will she feed in the ditch much longer shall I say her up that's what Mr. Cain says her up like that it means to hurry up it was a rather feeble warning that he sounded and the cow fed on peacefully the little fellow looked up at the minister's wife confidingly and then glanced back at the farm to see if Cassius Cain were watching the progress of events what shall we do next he asked Mrs. Baxter delighted in that warm cozy little wee it took her into the firm so pleasantly she was a weak prop when it came to cows but all the courage in her soul rose to arms when Alasha said what shall we do next Burt, genius, strong on the instant what is the cow's name she asked sitting up straight in the swing chair buttercup but she don't seem to know it very well she ain't a might like a buttercup never mind you must shout buttercup at the top of your voice and twitch the rope hard and I'll call her up with all my might at the same moment and if she starts quickly we mustn't run nor seem frightened they did this it worked to a charm and Mrs. Baxter looked affectionately after her little profit as the cow pulled him down Tory Hill a lovely August days wore on Rebecca was often at the parsonage and saw Alasha frequently but buttercup was seldom present at their interviews as the boy now drove her to the pasture very early in the morning the journey thither being one of considerable length and her method of reaching the goal being exceedingly round about Mr. Caine had pointed out the necessity of getting her into the pasture at least a few minutes before she had to be taken again at night and though Rebecca didn't like Mr. Caine she saw the common sense of this remark sometimes Mrs. Baxter and Rebecca caught a glimpse of the two at sundown as they returned from the pasture to the twilight milking buttercup chewing her peaceful cud her soft white bag of milk hanging full her surprised eye rolling in its accustomed fine frenzy the frenzy'd roll did not mean anything they used to assure Alasha but if it didn't it was an awful pity she had to do it Rebecca thought and Mrs. Baxter agreed to have an expression of eye that meant murder and yet to be a perfectly virtuous and well meaning animal this was the calamity indeed Mrs. Baxter was looking at the sun one evening as it dropped like a ball of red fire into Wilkins Woods when the little prophet passed it's the 29th night he called joyously I'm so glad she answered for she had often feared some accident might prevent his claiming the promised reward then tomorrow buttercup will be your own cow I guess so that's what Mr. Caine said he's off to Acreville now but he'll be home tonight and father's gonna send my new hat by him when buttercup's my own cow I wish I could change her name and call her Red Rover but perhaps her mother wouldn't like it when she belongs to me maybe I won't be afraid of getting hooked and scrunched because she'll know she's mine and she'll go better I haven't let her get snarled up in the road one single time and I don't show him afraid do I I should never suspect it for an instant or courageingly I've often envied you your bold brave look Elisha appeared distinctly pleased I haven't cried either when she's dragged me over the pasture bars and peeled my legs Bill Peaceful brother Charlie says he ain't afraid of anything not even bears he says he would walk right up close and cuff him if they dared to get but I ain't like that he ain't scared of elephants all the same as frogs or chickens to him Rebecca told Aunt Miranda that evening that it was the prophet's 29th night and that the big red cow was to be his on the morrow well I hope it'll turn out that way she said but I ain't much sure that Cassius Claim will give up that cow when it comes to the point it won't be the first time he's tried to crawl out of a bargain with folks a good deal bigger than Elisha for he's terrible close Cassius is to be sure he's stiff in his joints and he's glad enough to have a boy to take the cow to the pasture in summer time but he always has hired help when it comes to harvesting so life shall be no use from this on and I daresay the cow is Abner Simpsons anyway if you want to walk tonight wish you'd go up there and ask Miss Claim if she'd lend me and your Aunt Jane half her Easter cake tell her we'll pay it back when we get ours a Saturday don't you want to take Thiers and Miserve with you she's alone as usual while Hudley's entertaining bows on the side porch don't stay too long at the parsonage Rebecca was used to this sort of errand for the whole village of Riverboro would sometimes be rocked to the very center of its being by simultaneous desire for a yeast cake as the nearest repository was a mile and a half distant as the yeast cake was valued at 2 cents and wouldn't keep as the demand was uncertain being dependent entirely on a fluctuating desire for rice bread the storekeeper refused to order more than 3 yeast cakes a day at his own risk sometimes they remained on his hands a dead loss sometimes 8 or 10 persons would hitch up and drive from distant farms for the coveted article only to be met with a flat note I'm all out of yeast cake Mrs. Simpson took less maybe you can borrow half of her and she ain't much of a bread eater so Rebecca climbed the hills to Mrs. Cames knowing that her daily bread depended on the successful issue of the call Thierzo was barefooted and tough as her little feet were the long walk over the stubble fields tired her when they came within sight of the cane barn she coaxed Rebecca to take a shortcut through the turnips growing in long beautifully weeded rows you know Mr. Cames is awfully crossed Thierzo and can't bear anybody to tread in his crops or touch a tree or a bush that belongs to him I'm kind of afraid but come along and mind you step softly in between the rows and hold up your petticoat so you can't possibly touch the turnip plants out of the same skip along fast because then we won't leave any deep footprints the children passed safely and noiselessly along the trifle enhanced by the felt dangers of their progress Rebecca knew that they were doing no harm but that did not prevent her hoping to escape the gimlet eye of Mr. Cain as they neared the outer edge of the turnip patch they paused suddenly, petticoats in air a great clump of elderberry bushes hid them from the barn but from the other side of the clump came the sound of conversation the timid voice of the little prophet and the gruff tones of Cassius Cain Rebecca was afraid to interrupt and too honest to wished over here she could only hope the man and the boy would pass on to the house as they talked so she motioned to the paralyzed therza to take two more steps and stand with her behind the elderberry bushes but no in a moment they heard Mr. Cain drag a stool over beside the grindstone as he said well now Lasha Jeremiah will talk about the red cow you say you drove her a month do ye and the trade between us was that if you could drive her a month without her getting the rope over her foot without being afraid you was to have her that's straight ain't it the prophet's face burned with excitement his gingham shirt rose and fell as if he were breathing hard but he only nodded his scent and said nothing now continued Mr. Cain have you made out to keep the rope from under her feet she ain't got tangled up once single time said Lasha stuttering in his excitement but looking up with some courage from his bare toes with which he was assiduously threading the grass so far so good now about being afraid as you seem so certain of getting the cow I suppose you ain't been expect scared heavy on her right now I not just but a little might hold up a minute of course you didn't say you was afraid and you didn't show you was afraid and nobody knew you was afraid but that ain't the way we fixed it up you was to call a cow yarn if you could drive her to the pasture for a month without being afraid own up square now have you been afraid a long pause than a faint yes where's your manners I mean yes sir how often if it ain't been too many times maybe I let you off though you're a regular girl boy and I'll be running away from the camp by my have it been twice yes and the little prophet's voice was very faint now and had a decided tear in it yes what yes sir more heaving of the kingdom shirt well you air a thunder and coward how many times speak up now more digging of the bear toes in the earth than one premonitory teardrop stealing from under the downcast lids then a little most every day and you can keep the cow wailed the prophet as he turned abruptly and fled behind the shed where he flung himself on to the green depths of a tansy bed and gave himself up to unmanly sobs cash's cane gave sort of a shame-faced caffa at the abrupt departure of the boy and went on into the house while Rebecca and Theorza made a stealthy circuit of the barn and a polite and circumspect entrance through the parsonage front gate Rebecca told the minister's wife what she could remember of the interview between cash's cane and Elisha Simpson tender-hearted Mrs. Baxter longed to seek and comfort her little prophet sobbing in the tansy bed the brand of coward on his forehead and what was much worse the fear in his heart that he deserved it Rebecca could hardly be prevented from bearding Mr. Cain and openly espousing the cause of Elisha for she was an impetuous, reckless, valiant creature when a weaker vessel was attacked or threatened unjustly Mrs. Baxter acknowledged that Mr. Cain had been true in a way to his word in bargain but she confessed that she had never heard of so cruel and hard a bargain since the days of Shylock and it was all the worse for being made with a child Rebecca hurried home, her visit quite spoiled and her errand quite forgotten till she reached the Bracastore where she told her aunts with her customary picturesqueness of speech that she would rather eat buttermilk bread till she died than partake of food mixed with one of Mr. Cain's east cakes that it would choke her even in the shape of good raised bread that's all very fine Rebecca said her Aunt Miranda who had a pin prick for almost every bubble but don't forget there's two other mouths to feed in this house and you might at least give your aunt and me the privilege of choking the way you want to Mrs. Baxter finally heard from Mrs. Cain through whom all information was sure to filter if you gave it time that her husband despised a coward that he considered Elisha a regular mother's apron string boy and that he was learning him to be brave Bill Peters, the hired man now drove Buttercup to pasture though whenever Mr. Cain went to moderation or Bonnie Eagle as he often did Mrs. Baxter noticed that Elisha took the hired man's place she often joined him on these anxious expeditions and like terror in both their souls they attempted to train the red cow and give her some idea of obedience if only she wouldn't look at us that way we would get along real nicely with her wouldn't we Prattle the Prophet struggling along by her side she is splendid cow she gives twenty one quarts a day and Mr. Cain says it's more than half cream the minister's wife assented to all this thinking that if Buttercup would give up her habit of turning completely round in the road to roll her eyes and elevate her white tipped eyebrow she might indeed be an enjoyable companion but in her present state of development her society was not agreeable even did she give sixty one quarts of milk a day furthermore when Mrs. Baxter discovered that she never did any of these reprehensible things with Bill Peters she began to believe cows more intelligent creatures than she had supposed them to be and she was indignant to think Buttercup would count so confidently on the weakness of a small boy and a timid woman one evening when Buttercup was more than usually exasperating Mrs. Baxter said to the prophet who was bracing himself to keep from being pulled into a wayside brook where Buttercup loved dabble Elisha do you know anything about the superiority of mind over matter? No he didn't though it was not a fair time to ask the question for he had sat down in the road to get a better purchase on the rope well it doesn't signify what I mean is that we can die but once it's a glorious thing to die for a great principle give me that rope I can pull like an ox in my present frame of mind you run down the opposite side of that brook take that big stick weighed right in you're barefooted brandish the stick and if necessary do more than brandish I would go myself but it is better she should recognize you as her master and I am in as much danger as you are anyway I will take you of course but you must keep waving the stick die brandishing Prophet that's the idea she may turn and run for me in which case I shall run too but I shall die running and the minister can bury us under our favorite sweet apple tree the Prophet's soul was fired by the lovely ladies eloquence their spirits mounted simultaneously and they were flushed with a splendid courage in which death looked like a mean and paltry thing compared to vanquishing that cow she had already stepped into the pool but the Prophet waded in towards her moving the alder branch menacingly she looked up with a familiar role of the eye that had done her such good service all summer but she quailed beneath the stern justice and the new valor of the Prophet's gaze in that moment perhaps she felt ashamed of the misery she had caused the helpless might at any rate actuated by fear, surprise or remorse she turned and walked back into the road without a sign of passion or indignation leaving the boy and the lady rather disappointed at their easy victory to be prepared for a violent death and receive not even a scratch made them fear that they might possibly have overestimated the danger they were better friends than ever after that and the young minister's wife and the forlorn little boy from landfill sent away from home he knew not why unless it were that there was little to eat there and considerably more at the cash claims as they were called in Edgewood Cassius was familiarly known as Uncle Cash partly because there was a disposition in Edgewood to abbreviate all Christian names and partly because the old man paid cash and expected to be paid cash for everything the late summer grew into autumn and the minister's great maple flung a flaming bow of scarlet over Mrs. Baxter's swing chair. Uncle Cash found in Lycia very useful at picking up potatoes and apples but the boy was going back to his family as soon as the harvesting was over one Friday evening Mrs. Baxter and Rebecca wrapped in shawls and fascinators were sitting on Mrs. Cain's front steps enjoying the sunset Rebecca was in a tremendous state of happiness for she had come directly from the seminary at Warram to the Parsonage as the minister was absent at a church conference she was to stay the night with Mrs. Baxter and go with her to Portland next day they were to go to the islands have an ice cream for lunch and ride on a horse car and walk by the Longfellow House a program that so unsettled Rebecca's never very steady mind she radiated flashes and sparkles of joy making Mrs. Baxter wonder if flesh could be translucent enabling the spirit fires within to shine through but her cup was being milked on the grassy slope near the shed door as she walked to the barn after giving up her pailfuls of yellow milk she bent her neck and snatched a hasty bite from a pile of turnips lying temptingly near in her haste she took more of a mouthful than would be considered good manners even among cows and as she disappeared in the barn door they could see a forest of green turnip tops hanging from her mouth while she painfully attempted to grind up the mass of stolen material without allowing a single turnip to escape it grew dark soon afterward and they went into the house to see Mrs. Kane's noon lamp lighted for the first time the last drawn in rug a wonderful achievement produced entirely from dyed flannel petticoats and to hear the doctor's wife play often the still night on the dulcimer as they closed the sitting room door opening on the piazza facing the barn the women heard the cow coughing and said to one another buttercup was too greedy and now she is indigestion Elisha always went to bed at sundown when Uncle Cash had gone to the doctors to have his hand dressed for he had heard it in some way in the threshing machine Bill Peters, the hired man came in presently and asked for him saying that the cow coughed more and more and it must be that something was wrong but he could not get her to open her mouth wide enough for him to see anything she'd up and die rather than oblige anybody that turnile ugly cow would he said when Uncle Cash had driven into the yard he came in for a lantern and went directly out to the barn after half an hour or so in which the little party had forgotten the whole occurrence he came in again I'm blaming him for we ain't gonna lose that cow he said come out, will you Hannah and hold the lantern I can't do anything with my right hand in a sling and Bill is the stupidest critter in the country everybody went out to the barn accordingly except the doctor's wife who ran over to her house to see if her brother Moses had come home from Milltown and could come and take a hand in the exercises buttercup was in a bad way there was no doubt of it something one of the turnips presumably had lodged in her throat and would move neither way despite her attempts to dislodge it her breathing was labored and her eyes bloodshot from straining and choking once or twice that succeeded in getting her mouth partly open but before they could discover the cause of the trouble she had rested her head away I can see a little tuft of green sticking straight up in the middle said Uncle Cash while Bill Peters and Moses held a lantern on each side of Buttercup's head but land, it's so far down in such a mud of a thing I couldn't get it even if I could use my right hand suppose you try Bill Bill himmed and hawed and confessed he didn't care to try Buttercup's grinders were of good size and excellent quality and he had no fancy for leaving his hand within her jaws he said he was no good at that kind of work and that he would help Uncle Cash hold the cow's head and it was just as necessary and considerable safer Moses was more inclined to the service of humanity and did his best with his wrist and a cloth and making desperate but ineffectual dives at the slippery green turnip tops in the reluctantly open throat but the cow tossed her head and stamped her feet and twitched her tail and wriggled from under Bill's hands so that it seemed altogether impossible to reach the seat of the trouble Uncle Cash was in despair fuming and fretting the more because of his own crippled hand Hitch up Bill he said drive over to the Milken's mills for the horse doctor I know we can get out that turnip if we can hit on the right tools and somebody to manage them right but we've got to be quick about it or the critical choke to death sure your hand's so clumsy Moses she thinks her time's come and she feels it in her mouth and your fingers are so big you can't catch hold of that green stuff without it slipping mine ain't big, let me try and turning round they saw little Elisha Simpson his trousers pulled on over his night shirt his curly hair ruffled and his eyes vague with sleep Uncle Cash gave a laugh of good humor derision, you that's afraid to drive a cow to pasture no sir you ain't got sane enough for this job I guess but her cup just then gave a worse cough than ever and her eyes rolled in her head as if she were giving up the ghost I'd rather do it than see her choke to death cried the boy in despair then by ginger you can try it Sonny, it's Uncle Cash now this time we'll tie her head up take it slow and make a good job of it accordingly they pried poor Buttercup's jaws open to put a wooden gag between them tied her head up and kept her as still as they could while the women held the lanterns now Sonny, strip up your sleeve and reach as furred down as you can wind your little fingers among that green stuff sticking up there that ain't hardly big enough to call green stuff get a twist and pull for all your worth land what a skinny little pipe stamp the little prophet had stripped up his sleeve it was a slender thing, his arm but he had driven the red cow all summer borne her tantrums protected her from the consequences of her own obstinacy taking as he thought a future owner's pride in her splendid flow of milk grown fond of her in a word and now she was choking to death a skinny little pipe stem is capable of a deal at such a time and only a slender hand and arm could have done the work Elisha trembled with nervousness but he made a dexterous and dashing entrance into the awful cavern of Buttercup's mouth descended upon the tiny clump of green spills or spikes wound his little fingers in among them as firmly as he could and then gave a long, steady, determined pull with all the strength in this body that was not so much in itself to be sure but he borrowed a good deal more from some reserve quarter the location of which nobody knows anything about but upon which everybody draws in time of need such a valiant pull you never would have expected of the little prophet such a pull it was that to his own utter amazement he suddenly found himself lying flat on his back on the barn floor with a very slippery something in his hand at a fair sized but rather dilapidated turnip at the end of it That's the business cried Moses I could have done it as easy as my arm had been a little much smaller said Bill Peters You're a Trump, Sonny exclaimed Uncle Cash as he helped Moses untie Buttercup's head and took the gag out You're a Trump, Lycia and buy ginger that cows urine only don't you let your blessed pie drink none of her cream the welcome air rushed into Buttercup's lungs and cooled her parched torn throat she was pretty nearly spent poor thing and bent her head rather gently for her over the little prophet's shoulder as he threw his arms joyfully about her neck and whispered You're much of the cow now, ain't you Buttercup Mrs. Baxter, dear, said Rebecca as they walked home to the parsley together under the young harvest moon there are all sorts of cowards aren't there and don't you think Lasha is one of the best kind I don't quite know what to think about cowards, Rebecca Rowena said the minister's wife hesitatingly the little prophet is the third coward I've known in my short life who turned out to be a hero when the real testing time came meanwhile the heroes themselves or the ones that were taken for heroes were always busy doing something or being somewhere else end of the seventh chronicle