Rebecca walked to school after the first morning. She loved this part of the day's programme. When the dew was not too heavy and the weather was fair there was a short cut through the woods. She turned off the main road, crept through Joshua Woodman's bars, waved away Mrs. Carter's cows, trod the short grass of the pasture, with its well-worn path running through gardens of buttercups and whiteweed, and groves3 of boxberry leaves and sweet fern. She descended4 a little hill, jumped from stone to stone across a woodland brook5, startling the drowsy6 frogs, who were always winking7 and blinking in the morning sun. Then came the "woodsy bit," with her feet pressing the slippery carpet of brown pine needles; the woodsy bit so full of dewy morning surprises,—fungous growths of brilliant orange and crimson8 springing up around the stumps9 of dead trees, beautiful things born in a single night; and now and then the miracle of a little clump10 of waxen Indian pipes, seen just quickly enough to be saved from her careless tread. Then she climbed a stile, went through a grassy12 meadow, slid under another pair of bars, and came out into the road again, having gained nearly half a mile.
How delicious it all was! Rebecca clasped her Quackenbos's Grammar and Greenleaf's Arithmetic with a joyful13 sense of knowing her lessons. Her dinner pail swung from her right hand, and she had a blissful consciousness of the two soda14 biscuits spread with butter and syrup15, the baked cup-custard, the doughnut, and the square of hard gingerbread. Sometimes she said whatever "piece" she was going to speak on the next Friday afternoon.
"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth16 of woman's tears."
How she loved the swing and the sentiment of it! How her young voice quivered whenever she came to the refrain:—
"But we'll meet no more at Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine."
It always sounded beautiful in her ears, as she sent her tearful little treble into the clear morning air.
Another early favorite (for we must remember that Rebecca's only knowledge of the great world of poetry consisted of the selections in vogue17 in the old school Readers) was:—
"Woodman, spare that tree!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now."
When Emma Jane Perkins walked through the "short cut" with her, the two children used to render this with appropriate dramatic action. Emma Jane always chose to be the woodman because she had nothing to do but raise on high an imaginary axe11. On the one occasion when she essayed the part of the tree's romantic protector, she represented herself as feeling "so awful foolish" that she refused to undertake it again, much to the secret delight of Rebecca, who found the woodman's role much too tame for her vaulting19 ambition. She reveled in the impassioned appeal of the poet, and implored20 the ruthless woodman to be as brutal21 as possible with the axe, so that she might properly put greater spirit into her lines. One morning, feeling more frisky22 than usual, she fell upon her knees and wept in the woodman's petticoat. Curiously23 enough, her sense of proportion rejected this as soon as it was done.
"That wasn't right, it was silly, Emma Jane; but I'll tell you where it might come in—in 'Give me Three Grains of Corn.' You be the mother, and I'll be the famishing Irish child. For pity's sake put the axe down; you are not the woodman any longer!"
"What'll I do with my hands, then?" asked Emma Jane.
"Whatever you like," Rebecca answered wearily; "you're just a mother—that's all. What does your mother do with her hands? Nowhere goes!
"'Give me three grains of corn, mother,
Only three grains of corn,
It will keep the little life I have
Till the coming of the morn.'"
This sort of thing made Emma Jane nervous and fidgety, but she was Rebecca's slave and obeyed her lightest commands. At the last pair of bars the two girls were sometimes met by a detachment of the Simpson children, who lived in a black house with a red door and a red barn behind, on the Blueberry Plains road. Rebecca felt an interest in the Simpsons from the first, because there were so many of them and they were so patched and darned, just like her own brood at the home farm.
The little schoolhouse with its flagpole on top and its two doors in front, one for boys and the other for girls, stood on the crest24 of a hill, with rolling fields and meadows on one side, a stretch of pine woods on the other, and the river glinting and sparkling in the distance. It boasted no attractions within. All was as bare and ugly and uncomfortable as it well could be, for the villages along the river expended25 so much money in repairing and rebuilding bridges that they were obliged to be very economical in school privileges. The teacher's desk and chair stood on a platform in one corner; there was an uncouth26 stove, never blackened oftener than once a year, a map of the United States, two blackboards, a ten-quart tin pail of water and long-handled dipper on a corner shelf, and wooden desks and benches for the scholars, who only numbered twenty in Rebecca's time. The seats were higher in the back of the room, and the more advanced and longer-legged pupils sat there, the position being greatly to be envied, as they were at once nearer to the windows and farther from the teacher.
There were classes of a sort, although nobody, broadly speaking, studied the same book with anybody else, or had arrived at the same degree of proficiency28 in any one branch of learning. Rebecca in particular was so difficult to classify that Miss Dearborn at the end of a fortnight gave up the attempt altogether. She read with Dick Carter and Living Perkins, who were fitting for the academy; recited arithmetic with lisping little "Thuthan Thimpthon;" geography with Emma Jane Perkins, and grammar after school hours to Miss Dearborn alone. Full to the brim as she was of clever thoughts and quaint29 fancies, she made at first but a poor hand at composition. The labor30 of writing and spelling, with the added difficulties of punctuation31 and capitals, interfered32 sadly with the free expression of ideas. She took history with Alice Robinson's class, which was attacking the subject of the Revolution, while Rebecca was bidden to begin with the discovery of America. In a week she had mastered the course of events up to the Revolution, and in ten days had arrived at Yorktown, where the class had apparently33 established summer quarters. Then finding that extra effort would only result in her reciting with the oldest Simpson boy, she deliberately34 held herself back, for wisdom's ways were not those of pleasantness nor her paths those of peace if one were compelled to tread them in the company of Seesaw35 Simpson. Samuel Simpson was generally called Seesaw, because of his difficulty in making up his mind. Whether it were a question of fact, of spelling, or of date, of going swimming or fishing, of choosing a book in the Sunday-school library or a stick of candy at the village store, he had no sooner determined36 on one plan of action than his wish fondly reverted37 to the opposite one. Seesaw was pale, flaxen haired, blue eyed, round shouldered, and given to stammering38 when nervous. Perhaps because of his very weakness, Rebecca's decision of character had a fascination39 for him, and although she snubbed him to the verge40 of madness, he could never keep his eyes away from her. The force with which she tied her shoe when the lacing came undone41, the flirt42 over shoulder she gave her black braid when she was excited or warm, her manner of studying,—book on desk, arms folded, eyes fixed43 on the opposite wall,—all had an abiding44 charm for Seesaw Simpson. When, having obtained permission, she walked to the water pail in the corner and drank from the dipper, unseen forces dragged Seesaw from his seat to go and drink after her. It was not only that there was something akin27 to association and intimacy45 in drinking next, but there was the fearful joy of meeting her in transit46 and receiving a cold and disdainful look from her wonderful eyes.
On a certain warm day in summer Rebecca's thirst exceeded the bounds of propriety48. When she asked a third time for permission to quench49 it at the common fountain Miss Dearborn nodded "yes," but lifted her eyebrows50 unpleasantly as Rebecca neared the desk. As she replaced the dipper Seesaw promptly51 raised his hand, and Miss Dearborn indicated a weary affirmative.
"What is the matter with you, Rebecca?" she asked.
"It is a very thirsty morning," answered Rebecca.
There seemed nothing humorous about this reply, which was merely the statement of a fact, but an irrepressible titter ran through the school. Miss Dearborn did not enjoy jokes neither made nor understood by herself, and her face flushed.
"I think you had better stand by the pail for five minutes, Rebecca; it may help you to control your thirst."
Rebecca's heart fluttered. She to stand in the corner by the water pail and be stared at by all the scholars! She unconsciously made a gesture of angry dissent52 and moved a step nearer her seat, but was arrested by Miss Dearborn's command in a still firmer voice.
"Stand by the pail, Rebecca!—Samuel Simpson how many times have you asked for water already?"
"This is the f-f-fourth."
"Don't touch the dipper, please. The school has done nothing but drink all day; it has had no time whatever to study. What is the matter with you, Samuel?"
"It is a v-very thirsty m-morning," remarked Samuel, looking at Rebecca while the school tittered.
"I judged so. Stand by the other side of the pail, with Rebecca." Rebecca's head was bowed with shame and wrath53. Life looked too black a thing to be endured. The punishment was bad enough, but to be coupled in correction with Seesaw Simpson was beyond human endurance.
Singing was the last exercise in the afternoon, and Minnie Smellie chose "Shall we Gather at the River?" It was a curious choice and seemed to hold some secret association with the situation and general progress of events; or at any rate there was apparently some obscure reason for the energy and vim54 with which the scholars looked at the empty water pail as they shouted the choral invitation again and again:—
"Shall we gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river?"
Miss Dearborn stole a look at Rebecca's bent55 head, and was frightened. The child's face was pale save for two red spots glowing on her checks. Tears hung on her lashes56; her breath came and went quickly, and the hand that held her pocket handkerchief trembled like a leaf.
"You may go to your seat, Rebecca," said Miss Dearborn at the end of the first song. "Samuel, stay where you are till the close of school. And let me tell you, scholars, that I asked Rebecca to stand by the pail only to break up this habit of incessant57 drinking, which is nothing but empty-mindedness and desire to walk to and fro over the floor. Every time Rebecca has asked for a drink to-day the whole school has gone to the pail like a regiment58. She is really thirsty, and I dare say I ought to have punished you for following her example, not her for setting it. What shall we sing now, Alice?"
"'The Old Oaken Bucket,' please."
"Think of something dry, Alice, and change the subject. Yes, 'The Star Spangled Banner' if you like, or anything else." Rebecca sank into her seat and pulled the singing book from her desk. Miss Dearborn's public explanation had shifted some of the weight from her heart, and she felt a trifle raised in her self-esteem.
Under cover of the general relaxation59 of singing, offerings of respectful sympathy began to make their appearance at her shrine60. Living Perkins, who could not sing, dropped a piece of maple61 sugar in her lap as he passed her on his way to the blackboard to draw the map of Maine, while Alice Robinson rolled a perfectly62 new slate63 pencil over the floor with her foot until it reached Rebecca's place.
Altogether existence grew brighter, and when she was left alone with the teacher for her grammar lesson she had nearly recovered her equanimity64, which was more than Miss Dearborn had. The last clattering65 foot had echoed through the hall, Seesaw's backward glance of penitence66 had been met and answered defiantly67 by one of cold disdain47.
"Rebecca, I am afraid I punished you more than I meant," said Miss Dearborn, who was only eighteen herself, and in her year of teaching country schools had never encountered a child like Rebecca.
"I had n't missed a question this whole day, nor whispered either," quavered the culprit; "and I don't think I ought to be shamed just for drinking."
"You started all the others, or it seemed as if you did. Whatever you do they all do, whether you laugh, or write notes, or ask to leave the room, or drink; and it must be stopped."
"Sam Simpson is a copycoat!" stormed Rebecca. "I would n't have minded standing68 in the corner alone—that is, not so very much; but I couldn't bear standing with him."
"I saw that you could n't, and that's the reason I told you to take your seat, and left him in the corner. Remember that you are a stranger in the place, and they take more notice of what you do, so you must be careful. Now let's have our conjugations. Give me the verb 'to be,' potential mood, past perfect tense."
"I might have been
Thou mightst have been
He might have been
We might have been
You might have been
They might have been"
"Give me an example, please."
"I might have been glad
Thou mightst have been glad
He, she, or it might have been glad"
"'He' or 'she' might have been glad because they are masculine and feminine, but could 'it' have been glad?" asked Miss Dearborn, who was very fond of splitting hairs.
"Why not?" asked Rebecca.
"Could n't we say, 'The kitten might have been glad if it had known it was not going to be drowned'?"
"Ye-es," Miss Dearborn answered hesitatingly, never very sure of herself under Rebecca's fire; "but though we often speak of a baby, a chicken, or a kitten as 'it,' they are really masculine or feminine gender, not neuter."
Rebecca reflected a long moment and then asked, "Is a hollyhock neuter?"
"Oh yes, of course it is, Rebecca."
"Well, could n't we say, 'The hollyhock might have been glad to see it rain, but there was a weak little baby bud growing out of its stalk and it was afraid it might be hurt by the storm; so the big hollyhock was kind of afraid, instead of being real glad'?"
Miss Dearborn looked puzzled as she answered, "Of course, Rebecca, hollyhocks could not be sorry, or glad, or afraid, really."
"We can't tell, I s'pose," replied the child; "but I think they are, anyway. Now what shall I say?"
"The subjunctive mood, past perfect tense of the verb 'to know.'"
"If I had known
If thou hadst known
If he had known
If we had known
If you had known
If they had known"
"Oh, it is the saddest tense," sighed Rebecca with a little a little break in her voice; "nothing but ifs, ifs, ifs! And it makes you feel that if they only had known, things might have been better!"
Miss Dearborn had not thought of it before, but on reflection she believed the subjective70 mood was a "sad" one and "if" rather a sorry "part of speech."
"Give me some examples of the subjective, Rebecca, and that will do for this afternoon," she said.
"If I had not eaten salt mackerel for breakfast I should not have been thirsty," said Rebecca with an April smile, as she closed her grammar. "If thou hadst love me truly thou wouldst not have stood me up in the corner. If Samuel had not loved wickedness he would not have followed me to the water pail."
"And if Rebecca had loved the rules of the school she would have controlled her thirst," finished Miss Dearborn with a kiss, and the two parted friends.
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1
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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2
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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3
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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7
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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9
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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10
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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12
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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13
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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14
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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16
dearth
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| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
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17
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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18
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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19
vaulting
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| n.（天花板或屋顶的）拱形结构 | |
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20
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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22
frisky
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| adj.活泼的，欢闹的；n.活泼，闹着玩；adv.活泼地，闹着玩地 | |
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23
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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25
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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26
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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28
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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29
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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30
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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31
punctuation
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| n.标点符号，标点法 | |
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32
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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33
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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seesaw
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| n.跷跷板 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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37
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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38
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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39
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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40
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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41
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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42
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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43
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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44
abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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45
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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46
transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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47
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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48
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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49
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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50
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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51
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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52
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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53
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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54
vim
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| n.精力，活力 | |
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55
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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56
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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57
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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58
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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59
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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60
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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61
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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62
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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63
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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64
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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65
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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66
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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67
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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68
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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69
gender
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| n.（生理上的）性，（名词、代词等的）性 | |
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subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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