“How d’ ye do, girls?” said Huldah Meserve, peeping in at the door. “Can you stop studying a minute and show me your room? Say, I’ve just been down to the store and bought me these gloves, for I was bound I wouldn’t wear mittens this winter; they’re simply too countrified. It’s your first year here, and you’re younger than I am, so I s’pose you don’t mind, but I simply suffer if I don’t keep up some kind of style. Say, your room is simply too cute for words! I don’t believe any of the others can begin to compare with it! I don’t know what gives it that simply gorgeous look, whether it’s the full curtains, or that elegant screen, or Rebecca’s lamp; but you certainly do have a faculty for fixing up. I like a pretty room too, but I never have a minute to attend to mine; I’m always so busy on my clothes that half the time I don’t get my bed made up till noon; and after all, having no callers but the girls, it don’t make much difference. When I graduate, I’m going to fix up our parlor at home so it’ll be simply regal. I’ve learned decalcomania, and after I take up luster painting I shall have it simply stiff with drapes and tidies and plaques and sofa pillows, and make mother let me have a fire, and receive my friends there evenings.

May I dry my feet at your register? I can’t bear to wear rubbers unless the mud or the slush is simply knee-deep, they make your feet look so awfully big. I had such a fuss getting this pair of French-heeled boots that I don’t intend to spoil the looks of them with rubbers any oftener than I can help. I believe boys notice feet quicker than anything. Elmer Webster stepped on one of mine yesterday when I accidentally had it out in the aisle, and when he apologized after class, he said he wasn’t so much to blame, for the foot was so little he really couldn’t see it! Isn’t he perfectly great? Of course that’s only his way of talking, for after all I only wear a number two, but these French heels and pointed toes do certainly make your foot look smaller, and it’s always said a high instep helps, too. I used to think mine was almost a deformity, but they say it’s a great beauty. Just put your feet beside mine, girls, and look at the difference; not that I care much, but just for fun.”

“My feet are very comfortable where they are,” responded Rebecca dryly. “I can’t stop to measure insteps on algebra days; I’ve noticed your habit of keeping a foot in the aisle ever since you had those new shoes, so I don’t wonder it was stepped on.”

“Perhaps I am a little mite conscious of them, because they’re not so very comfortable at first, till you get them broken in. Say, haven’t you got a lot of new things?”

“Our Christmas presents, you mean,” said Emma Jane. “The pillow cases are from Mrs. Cobb, the rug from cousin Mary in North Riverboro, the scrap basket from Living and Dick. We gave each other the bureau and cushion covers, and the screen is mine from Mr. Ladd.”

“Well, you were lucky when you met him! Gracious! I wish I could meet somebody like that. The way he keeps it up, too! It just hides your bed, doesn’t it, and I always say that a bed takes the style off any room, specially when it’s not made up; though you have an alcove, and it’s the only one in the whole building. I don’t see how you managed to get this good room when you’re such new scholars,” she finished discontentedly.

“We shouldn’t have, except that Ruth Berry had to go away suddenly on account of her father’s death. This room was empty, and Miss Maxwell asked if we might have it,” returned Emma Jane.

“The great and only Max is more stiff and standoffish than ever this year,” said Huldah. “I’ve simply given up trying to please her, for there’s no justice in her; she is good to her favorites, but she doesn’t pay the least attention to anybody else, except to make sarcastic speeches about things that are none of her business. I wanted to tell her yesterday it was her place to teach me Latin, not manners.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk against Miss Maxwell to me,” said Rebecca hotly. “You know how I feel.”

“I know; but I can’t understand how you can abide her.”

“I not only abide, I love her!” exclaimed Rebecca. “I wouldn’t let the sun shine too hot on her, or the wind blow too cold. I’d like to put a marble platform in her classroom and have her sit in a velvet chair behind a golden table!”

“Well, don’t have a fit!—because she can sit where she likes for all of me; I’ve got something better to think of,” and Huldah tossed her head.

“Isn’t this your study hour?” asked Emma Jane, to stop possible discussion.

“Yes, but I lost my Latin grammar yesterday; I left it in the hall half an hour while I was having a regular scene with Herbert Dunn. I haven’t spoken to him for a week and gave him back his class pin. He was simply furious. Then when I came back to the hall, the book was gone. I had to go down town for my gloves and to the principal’s office to see if the grammar had been handed in, and that’s the reason I’m so fine.”

Huldah was wearing a woolen dress that had once been gray, but had been dyed a brilliant blue. She had added three rows of white braid and large white pearl buttons to her gray jacket, in order to make it a little more “dressy.” Her gray felt hat had a white feather on it, and a white tissue veil with large black dots made her delicate skin look brilliant. Rebecca thought how lovely the knot of red hair looked under the hat behind, and how the color of the front had been dulled by incessant frizzing with curling irons. Her open jacket disclosed a galaxy of souvenirs pinned to the background of bright blue, a small American flag, a button of the Wareham Rowing Club, and one or two society pins. These decorations proved her popularity in very much the same way as do the cotillion favors hanging on the bedroom walls of the fashionable belle. She had been pinning and unpinning, arranging and disarranging her veil ever since she entered the room, in the hope that the girls would ask her whose ring she was wearing this week; but although both had noticed the new ornament instantly, wild horses could not have drawn the question from them; her desire to be asked was too obvious. With her gay plumage, her “nods and becks and wreathed smiles,” and her cheerful cackle, Huldah closely resembled the parrot in Wordsworth’s poem:



“Arch, volatile, a sportive bird,

By social glee inspired;

Ambitious to be seen or heard,

And pleased to be admired!”



“Mr. Morrison thinks the grammar will be returned, and lent me another,” Huldah continued.

“He was rather snippy about my leaving a book in the hall. There was a perfectly elegant gentleman in the office, a stranger to me. I wish he was a new teacher, but there’s no such luck. He was too young to be the father of any of the girls, and too old to be a brother, but he was handsome as a picture and had on an awful stylish suit of clothes. He looked at me about every minute I was in the room. It made me so embarrassed I couldn’t hardly answer Mr. Morrison’s questions straight.”

“You’ll have to wear a mask pretty soon, if you’re going to have any comfort, Huldah,” said Rebecca. “Did he offer to lend you his class pin, or has it been so long since he graduated that he’s left off wearing it? And tell us now whether the principal asked for a lock of your hair to put in his watch?”

This was all said merrily and laughingly, but there were times when Huldah could scarcely make up her mind whether Rebecca was trying to be witty, or whether she was jealous; but she generally decided it was merely the latter feeling, rather natural in a girl who had little attention.

“He wore no jewelry but a cameo scarf pin and a perfectly gorgeous ring,—a queer kind of one that wound round and round his finger. Oh dear, I must run! Where has the hour gone? There’s the study bell!”

Rebecca had pricked up her ears at Huldah’s speech. She remembered a certain strange ring, and it belonged to the only person in the world (save Miss Maxwell) who appealed to her imagination, Mr. Aladdin. Her feeling for him, and that of Emma Jane, was a mixture of romantic and reverent admiration for the man himself and the liveliest gratitude for his beautiful gifts. Since they first met him not a Christmas had gone by without some remembrance for them both; remembrances chosen with the rarest taste and forethought. Emma Jane had seen him only twice, but he had called several times at the brick house, and Rebecca had learned to know him better. It was she, too, who always wrote the notes of acknowledgment and thanks, taking infinite pains to make Emma Jane’s quite different from her own. Sometimes he had written from Boston and asked her the news of Riverboro, and she had sent him pages of quaint and childlike gossip, interspersed, on two occasions, with poetry, which he read and reread with infinite relish. If Huldah’s stranger should be Mr. Aladdin, would he come to see her, and could she and Emma Jane show him their beautiful room with so many of his gifts in evidence?

When the girls had established themselves in Wareham as real boarding pupils, it seemed to them existence was as full of joy as it well could hold. This first winter was, in fact, the most tranquilly happy of Rebecca’s school life, a winter long to be looked back upon. She and Emma Jane were room-mates, and had put their modest possessions together to make their surroundings pretty and homelike. The room had, to begin with, a cheerful red ingrain carpet and a set of maple furniture. As to the rest, Rebecca had furnished the ideas and Emma Jane the materials and labor, a method of dividing responsibilities that seemed to suit the circumstances admirably. Mrs. Perkins’s father had been a storekeeper, and on his death had left the goods of which he was possessed to his married daughter. The molasses, vinegar, and kerosene had lasted the family for five years, and the Perkins attic was still a treasure house of ginghams, cottons, and “Yankee notions.” So at Rebecca’s instigation Mrs. Perkins had made full curtains and lambrequins of unbleached muslin, which she had trimmed and looped back with bands of Turkey red cotton. There were two table covers to match, and each of the girls had her study corner. Rebecca, after much coaxing, had been allowed to bring over her precious lamp, which would have given a luxurious air to any apartment, and when Mr. Aladdin’s last Christmas presents were added,—the Japanese screen for Emma Jane and the little shelf of English Poets for Rebecca,—they declared that it was all quite as much fun as being married and going to housekeeping.

The day of Huldah’s call was Friday, and on Fridays from three to half past four Rebecca was free to take a pleasure to which she looked forward the entire week. She always ran down the snowy path through the pine woods at the back of the seminary, and coming out on a quiet village street, went directly to the large white house where Miss Maxwell lived. The maid-of-all-work answered her knock; she took off her hat and cape and hung them in the hall, put her rubber shoes and umbrella carefully in the corner, and then opened the door of paradise. Miss Maxwell’s sitting room was lined on two sides with bookshelves, and Rebecca was allowed to sit before the fire and browse among the books to her heart’s delight for an hour or more. Then Miss Maxwell would come back from her class, and there would be a precious half hour of chat before Rebecca had to meet Emma Jane at the station and take the train for Riverboro, where her Saturdays and Sundays were spent, and where she was washed, ironed, mended, and examined, approved and reproved, warned and advised in quite sufficient quantity to last her the succeeding week.

On this Friday she buried her face in the blooming geraniums on Miss Maxwell’s plant-stand, selected Romola from one of the bookcases, and sank into a seat by the window with a sigh of infinite content, She glanced at the clock now and then, remembering the day on which she had been so immersed in David Copperfield that the Riverboro train had no place in her mind. The distracted Emma Jane had refused to leave without her, and had run from the station to look for her at Miss Maxwell’s. There was but one later train, and that went only to a place three miles the other side of Riverboro, so that the two girls appeared at their respective homes long after dark, having had a weary walk in the snow.

When she had read for half an hour she glanced out of the window and saw two figures issuing from the path through the woods. The knot of bright hair and the coquettish hat could belong to but one person; and her companion, as the couple approached, proved to be none other than Mr. Aladdin. Huldah was lifting her skirts daintily and picking safe stepping places for the high-heeled shoes, her cheeks glowing, her eyes sparkling under the black and white veil.

Rebecca slipped from her post by the window to the rug before the bright fire and leaned her head on the seat of the great easy-chair. She was frightened at the storm in her heart; at the suddenness with which it had come on, as well as at the strangeness of an entirely new sensation. She felt all at once as if she could not bear to give up her share of Mr. Aladdin’s friendship to Huldah: Huldah so bright, saucy, and pretty; so gay and ready, and such good company! She had always joyfully admitted Emma Jane into the precious partnership, but perhaps unconsciously to herself she had realized that Emma Jane had never held anything but a secondary place in Mr. Aladdin’s regard; yet who was she herself, after all, that she could hope to be first?

Suddenly the door opened softly and somebody looked in, somebody who said: “Miss Maxwell told me I should find Miss Rebecca Randall here.”

Rebecca started at the sound and sprang to her feet, saying joyfully, “Mr. Aladdin! Oh! I knew you were in Wareham, and I was afraid you wouldn’t have time to come and see us.”

“Who is ‘us’? The aunts are not here, are they? Oh, you mean the rich blacksmith’s daughter, whose name I can never remember. Is she here?”

“Yes, and my room-mate,” answered Rebecca, who thought her own knell of doom had sounded, if he had forgotten Emma Jane’s name.

The light in the room grew softer, the fire crackled cheerily, and they talked of many things, until the old sweet sense of friendliness and familiarity crept back into Rebecca’s heart. Adam had not seen her for several months, and there was much to be learned about school matters as viewed from her own standpoint; he had already inquired concerning her progress from Mr. Morrison.

“Well, little Miss Rebecca,” he said, rousing himself at length, “I must be thinking of my drive to Portland. There is a meeting of railway directors there tomorrow, and I always take this opportunity of visiting the school and giving my valuable advice concerning its affairs, educational and financial.”

“It seems funny for you to be a school trustee,” said Rebecca contemplatively. “I can’t seem to make it fit.”

“You are a remarkably wise young person and I quite agree with you,” he answered; “the fact is,” he added soberly, “I accepted the trusteeship in memory of my poor little mother, whose last happy years were spent here.”

“That was a long time ago!”

“Let me see, I am thirty-two; only thirty-two, despite an occasional gray hair. My mother was married a month after she graduated, and she lived only until I was ten; yes, it is a long way back to my mother’s time here, though the school was fifteen or twenty years old then, I believe. Would you like to see my mother, Miss Rebecca?”

The girl took the leather case gently and opened it to find an innocent, pink-and-white daisy of a face, so confiding, so sensitive, that it went straight to the heart. It made Rebecca feel old, experienced, and maternal. She longed on the instant to comfort and strengthen such a tender young thing.

“Oh, what a sweet, sweet, flowery face!” she whispered softly.

“The flower had to bear all sorts of storms,” said Adam gravely. “The bitter weather of the world bent its slender stalk, bowed its head, and dragged it to the earth. I was only a child and could do nothing to protect and nourish it, and there was no one else to stand between it and trouble. Now I have success and money and power, all that would have kept her alive and happy, and it is too late. She died for lack of love and care, nursing and cherishing, and I can never forget it. All that has come to me seems now and then so useless, since I cannot share it with her!”

This was a new Mr. Aladdin, and Rebecca’s heart gave a throb of sympathy and comprehension. This explained the tired look in his eyes, the look that peeped out now and then, under all his gay speech and laughter.

“I’m so glad I know,” she said, “and so glad I could see her just as she was when she tied that white muslin hat under her chin and saw her yellow curls and her sky-blue eyes in the glass. Mustn’t she have been happy! I wish she could have been kept so, and had lived to see you grow up strong and good. My mother is always sad and busy, but once when she looked at John I heard her say, ‘He makes up for everything.’ That’s what your mother would have thought about you if she had lived, and perhaps she does as it is.”

“You are a comforting little person, Rebecca,” said Adam, rising from his chair.

As Rebecca rose, the tears still trembling on her lashes, he looked at her suddenly as with new vision.

“Goodbye!” he said, taking her slim brown hands in his, adding, as if he saw her for the first time, “Why, little Rose-Red-Snow-White is making way for a new girl! Burning the midnight oil and doing four years’ work in three is supposed to dull the eye and blanch the cheek, yet Rebecca’s eyes are bright and she has a rosy color! Her long braids are looped one on the other so that they make a black letter U behind, and they are tied with grand bows at the top! She is so tall that she reaches almost to my shoulder. This will never do in the world! How will Mr. Aladdin get on without his comforting little friend! He doesn’t like grown-up young ladies in long trains and wonderful fine clothes; they frighten and bore him!”

“Oh, Mr. Aladdin!” cried Rebecca eagerly, taking his jest quite seriously; “I am not fifteen yet, and it will be three years before I’m a young lady; please don’t give me up until you have to!”

“I won’t; I promise you that,” said Adam. “Rebecca,” he continued, after a moment’s pause, “who is that young girl with a lot of pretty red hair and very citified manners? She escorted me down the hill; do you know whom I mean?”

“It must be Huldah Meserve; she is from Riverboro.”

Adam put a finger under Rebecca’s chin and looked into her eyes; eyes as soft, as clear, as unconscious, and childlike as they had been when she was ten. He remembered the other pair of challenging blue ones that had darted coquettish glances through half-dropped lids, shot arrowy beams from under archly lifted brows, and said gravely, “Don’t form yourself on her, Rebecca; clover blossoms that grow in the fields beside Sunnybrook mustn’t be tied in the same bouquet with gaudy sunflowers; they are too sweet and fragrant and wholesome.”