Chapter Chapter 15 · THE BANQUET LAMP

. THE BANQUET LAMP

THE BANQUET LAMP

There had been company at the brick house to the bountiful Thanksgiving

dinner which had been provided at one o'clock,--the Burnham sisters,

who lived between North Riverboro and Shaker Village, and who for more

than a quarter of a century had come to pass the holiday with the

Sawyers every year. Rebecca sat silent with a book after the dinner

dishes were washed, and when it was nearly five asked if she might go

to the Simpsons'.

"What do you want to run after those Simpson children for on a

Thanksgiving Day?" queried Miss Miranda. "Can't you set still for once

and listen to the improvin' conversation of your elders? You never can

let well enough alone, but want to be forever on the move."

"The Simpsons have a new lamp, and Emma Jane and I promised to go up

and see it lighted, and make it a kind of a party."

"What under the canopy did they want of a lamp, and where did they get

the money to pay for it? If Abner was at home, I should think he'd been

swappin' again," said Miss Miranda.

"The children got it as a prize for selling soap," replied Rebecca;

"they've been working for a year, and you know I told you that Emma

Jane and I helped them the Saturday afternoon you were in Portland."

"I didn't take notice, I s'pose, for it's the first time I ever heard

the lamp mentioned. Well, you can go for an hour, and no more. Remember

it's as dark at six as it is at midnight Would you like to take along

some Baldwin apples? What have you got in the pocket of that new dress

that makes it sag down so?"

"It's my nuts and raisins from dinner," replied Rebecca, who never

succeeded in keeping the most innocent action a secret from her aunt

Miranda; "they're just what you gave me on my plate."

"Why didn't you eat them?"

"Because I'd had enough dinner, and I thought if I saved these, it

would make the Simpsons' party better," stammered Rebecca, who hated to

be scolded and examined before company.

"They were your own, Rebecca," interposed aunt Jane, "and if you chose

to save them to give away, it is all right. We ought never to let this

day pass without giving our neighbors something to be thankful for,

instead of taking all the time to think of our own mercies."

The Burnham sisters nodded approvingly as Rebecca went out, and

remarked that they had never seen a child grow and improve so fast in

so short a time.

"There's plenty of room left for more improvement, as you'd know if she

lived in the same house with you," answered Miranda. "She's into every

namable thing in the neighborhood, an' not only into it, but generally

at the head an' front of it, especially when it's mischief. Of all the

foolishness I ever heard of, that lamp beats everything; it's just like

those Simpsons, but I didn't suppose the children had brains enough to

sell anything."

"One of them must have," said Miss Ellen Burnham, "for the girl that

was selling soap at the Ladds' in North Riverboro was described by Adam

Ladd as the most remarkable and winning child he ever saw."

"It must have been Clara Belle, and I should never call her

remarkable," answered Miss Miranda. "Has Adam been home again?"

"Yes, he's been staying a few days with his aunt. There's no limit to

the money he's making, they say; and he always brings presents for all

the neighbors. This time it was a full set of furs for Mrs. Ladd; and

to think we can remember the time he was a barefoot boy without two

shirts to his back! It is strange he hasn't married, with all his

money, and him so fond of children that he always has a pack of them at

his heels."

"There's hope for him still, though," said Miss Jane smilingly; "for I

don't s'pose he's more than thirty."

"He could get a wife in Riverboro if he was a hundred and thirty,"

remarked Miss Miranda.

"Adam's aunt says he was so taken with the little girl that sold the

soap (Clara Belle, did you say her name was?), that he declared he was

going to bring her a Christmas present," continued Miss Ellen.

"Well, there's no accountin' for tastes," exclaimed Miss Miranda.

"Clara Belle's got cross-eyes and red hair, but I'd be the last one to

grudge her a Christmas present; the more Adam Ladd gives to her the

less the town'll have to."

"Isn't there another Simpson girl?" asked Miss Lydia Burnham; "for this

one couldn't have been cross-eyed; I remember Mrs. Ladd saying Adam

remarked about this child's handsome eyes. He said it was her eyes that

made him buy the three hundred cakes. Mrs. Ladd has it stacked up in

the shed chamber."

"Three hundred cakes!" ejaculated Miranda. "Well, there's one crop that

never fails in Riverboro!"

"What's that?" asked Miss Lydia politely.

"The fool crop," responded Miranda tersely, and changed the subject,

much to Jane's gratitude, for she had been nervous and ill at ease for

the last fifteen minutes. What child in Riverboro could be described as

remarkable and winning, save Rebecca? What child had wonderful eyes,

except the same Rebecca? and finally, was there ever a child in the

world who could make a man buy soap by the hundred cakes, save Rebecca?

Meantime the "remarkable" child had flown up the road in the deepening

dusk, but she had not gone far before she heard the sound of hurrying

footsteps, and saw a well-known figure coming in her direction. In a

moment she and Emma Jane met and exchanged a breathless embrace.

"Something awful has happened," panted Emma Jane.

"Don't tell me it's broken," exclaimed Rebecca.

"No! oh, no! not that! It was packed in straw, and every piece came out

all right; and I was there, and I never said a single thing about your

selling the three hundred cakes that got the lamp, so that we could be

together when you told."

"OUR selling the three hundred cakes," corrected Rebecca; "you did as

much as I."

"No, I didn't, Rebecca Randall. I just sat at the gate and held the

horse."

"Yes, but WHOSE horse was it that took us to North Riverboro? And

besides, it just happened to be my turn. If you had gone in and found

Mr. Aladdin you would have had the wonderful lamp given to you; but

what's the trouble?"

"The Simpsons have no kerosene and no wicks. I guess they thought a

banquet lamp was something that lighted itself, and burned without any

help. Seesaw has gone to the doctor's to try if he can borrow a wick,

and mother let me have a pint of oil, but she says she won't give me

any more. We never thought of the expense of keeping up the lamp,

Rebecca."

"No, we didn't, but let's not worry about that till after the party. I

have a handful of nuts and raisins and some apples."

"I have peppermints and maple sugar," said Emma Jane. "They had a real

Thanksgiving dinner; the doctor gave them sweet potatoes and

cranberries and turnips; father sent a spare-rib, and Mrs. Cobb a

chicken and a jar of mince-meat."

At half past five one might have looked in at the Simpsons' windows,

and seen the party at its height. Mrs. Simpson had let the kitchen fire

die out, and had brought the baby to grace the festal scene. The lamp

seemed to be having the party, and receiving the guests. The children

had taken the one small table in the house, and it was placed in the

far corner of the room to serve as a pedestal. On it stood the sacred,

the adored, the long-desired object; almost as beautiful, and nearly

half as large as the advertisement. The brass glistened like gold, and

the crimson paper shade glowed like a giant ruby. In the wide splash of

light that it flung upon the floor sat the Simpsons, in reverent and

solemn silence, Emma Jane standing behind them, hand in hand with

Rebecca. There seemed to be no desire for conversation; the occasion

was too thrilling and serious for that. The lamp, it was tacitly felt

by everybody, was dignifying the party, and providing sufficient

entertainment simply by its presence; being fully as satisfactory in

its way as a pianola or a string band.

"I wish father could see it," said Clara Belle loyally.

"If he onth thaw it he'd want to thwap it," murmured Susan sagaciously.

At the appointed hour Rebecca dragged herself reluctantly away from the

enchanting scene.

"I'll turn the lamp out the minute I think you and Emma Jane are home,"

said Clara Belle. "And, oh! I'm so glad you both live where you can see

it shine from our windows. I wonder how long it will burn without bein'

filled if I only keep it lit one hour every night?"

"You needn't put it out for want o' karosene," said Seesaw, coming in

from the shed, "for there's a great kag of it settin' out there. Mr.

Tubbs brought it over from North Riverboro and said somebody sent an

order by mail for it."

Rebecca squeezed Emma Jane's arm, and Emma Jane gave a rapturous return

squeeze. "It was Mr. Aladdin," whispered Rebecca, as they ran down the

path to the gate. Seesaw followed them and handsomely offered to see

them "apiece" down the road, but Rebecca declined his escort with such

decision that he did not press the matter, but went to bed to dream of

her instead. In his dreams flashes of lightning proceeded from both her

eyes, and she held a flaming sword in either hand.

Rebecca entered the home dining-room joyously. The Burnham sisters had

gone and the two aunts were knitting.

"It was a heavenly party," she cried, taking off her hat and cape.

"Go back and see if you have shut the door tight, and then lock it,"

said Miss Miranda, in her usual austere manner.

"It was a heavenly party," reiterated Rebecca, coming in again, much

too excited to be easily crushed, "and oh! aunt Jane, aunt Miranda, if

you'll only come into the kitchen and look out of the sink window, you

can see the banquet lamp shining all red, just as if the Simpsons'

house was on fire."

"And probably it will be before long," observed Miranda. "I've got no

patience with such foolish goin's-on."

Jane accompanied Rebecca into the kitchen. Although the feeble glimmer

which she was able to see from that distance did not seem to her a

dazzling exhibition, she tried to be as enthusiastic as possible.

"Rebecca, who was it that sold the three hundred cakes of soap to Mr.

Ladd in North Riverboro?"

"Mr. WHO?" exclaimed Rebecca.

"Mr. Ladd, in North Riverboro."

"Is that his real name?" queried Rebecca in astonishment. "I didn't

make a bad guess;" and she laughed softly to herself.

"I asked you who sold the soap to Adam Ladd?" resumed Miss Jane.

"Adam Ladd! then he's A. Ladd, too; what fun!"

"Answer me, Rebecca."

"Oh! excuse me, aunt Jane, I was so busy thinking. Emma Jane and I sold

the soap to Mr. Ladd."

"Did you tease him, or make him buy it?"

"Now, aunt Jane, how could I make a big grown-up man buy anything if he

didn't want to? He needed the soap dreadfully as a present for his

aunt."

Miss Jane still looked a little unconvinced, though she only said, "I

hope your aunt Miranda won't mind, but you know how particular she is,

Rebecca, and I really wish you wouldn't do anything out of the ordinary

without asking her first, for your actions are very queer."

"There can't be anything wrong this time," Rebecca answered

confidently. "Emma Jane sold her cakes to her own relations and to

uncle Jerry Cobb, and I went first to those new tenements near the

lumber mill, and then to the Ladds'. Mr. Ladd bought all we had and

made us promise to keep the secret until the premium came, and I've

been going about ever since as if the banquet lamp was inside of me all

lighted up and burning, for everybody to see."

Rebecca's hair was loosened and falling over her forehead in ruffled

waves; her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks crimson; there was a hint of

everything in the girl's face,--of sensitiveness and delicacy as well

as of ardor; there was the sweetness of the mayflower and the strength

of the young oak, but one could easily divine that she was one of

"The souls by nature pitched too high,

By suffering plunged too low."

"That's just the way you look, for all the world as if you did have a

lamp burning inside of you," sighed aunt Jane. "Rebecca! Rebecca! I

wish you could take things easier, child; I am fearful for you

sometimes."