Part 11 (1/2)

”I would my life were like the stream,”

Said her named Emma Jane, ”So quiet and so very smooth, So free from every pain.”

”I'd rather be a little drop In the great rus.h.i.+ng fall!

I would not choose the gla.s.sy lake, 'T would not suit me at all!”

(It was the darker maiden spoke The words I just have stated, The maidens twain were simply friends And not at all related.)

But O! alas I we may not have The things we hope to gain; The quiet life may come to me, The rush to Emma Jane!

”I don't like 'the rush to Emma Jane,' and I can't think of anything else. Oh! what a smell of paint! Oh! it is ON me! Oh! it's all over my best dress! Oh I what WILL aunt Miranda say!”

With tears of self-reproach streaming from her eyes, Rebecca flew up the hill, sure of sympathy, and hoping against hope for help of some sort.

Mrs. Cobb took in the situation at a glance, and professed herself able to remove almost any stain from almost any fabric; and in this she was corroborated by uncle Jerry, who vowed that mother could git anything out. Sometimes she took the cloth right along with the spot, but she had a sure hand, mother had!

The damaged garment was removed and partially immersed in turpentine, while Rebecca graced the festal board clad in a blue calico wrapper of Mrs. Cobb's.

”Don't let it take your appet.i.te away,” crooned Mrs. Cobb. ”I've got cream biscuit and honey for you. If the turpentine don't work, I'll try French chalk, magneshy, and warm suds. If they fail, father shall run over to Strout's and borry some of the stuff Marthy got in Milltown to take the currant pie out of her weddin' dress.”

”I ain't got to understandin' this paintin' accident yet,” said uncle Jerry jocosely, as he handed Rebecca the honey. ”Bein' as how there's 'Fresh Paint' signs hung all over the breedge, so 't a blind asylum couldn't miss 'em, I can't hardly account for your gettin' int' the pesky stuff.”

”I didn't notice the signs,” Rebecca said dolefully. ”I suppose I was looking at the falls.”

”The falls has been there sence the beginnin' o' time, an' I cal'late they'll be there till the end on 't; so you needn't 'a' been in sech a brash to git a sight of 'em. Children comes turrible high, mother, but I s'pose we must have 'em!” he said, winking at Mrs. Cobb.

When supper was cleared away Rebecca insisted on was.h.i.+ng and wiping the dishes, while Mrs. Cobb worked on the dress with an energy that plainly showed the gravity of the task. Rebecca kept leaving her post at the sink to bend anxiously over the basin and watch her progress, while uncle Jerry offered advice from time to time.

”You must 'a' laid all over the breedge, deary,” said Mrs. Cobb; ”for the paint 's not only on your elbows and yoke and waist, but it about covers your front breadth.”

As the garment began to look a little better Rebecca's spirits took an upward turn, and at length she left it to dry in the fresh air, and went into the sitting-room.

”Have you a piece of paper, please?” asked Rebecca. ”I'll copy out the poetry I was making while I was lying in the paint.”

Mrs. Cobb sat by her mending basket, and uncle Jerry took down a gingham bag of strings and occupied himself in taking the snarls out of them,--a favorite evening amus.e.m.e.nt with him.

Rebecca soon had the lines copied in her round school-girl hand, making such improvements as occurred to her on sober second thought.

THE TWO WISHES BY REBECCA RANDALL

Two maidens by a river strayed, 'T was in the state of Maine.

Rebecca was the darker one, The fairer, Emma Jane.

The fairer maiden said, ”I would My life were as the stream; So peaceful, and so smooth and still, So pleasant and serene.”

”I'd rather be a little drop In the great rus.h.i.+ng fall; I'd never choose the quiet lake; 'T would not please me at all.”

(It was the darker maiden spoke The words we just have stated; The maidens twain were simply friends, Not sisters, or related.)

But O! alas! we may not have The things we hope to gain.

The quiet life may come to me, The rush to Emma Jane!