got through choosin'!
You've got a powerful good memory! I guess it ain't no trouble for you
to learn your lessons, is it?"

"Not much; the trouble is to get the shoes to go and learn 'em. These
are spandy new I've got on, and they have to last six months. Mother
always says to save my shoes. There don't seem to be any way of saving
shoes but taking 'em off and going barefoot; but I can't do that in
Riverboro without shaming aunt Mirandy. I'm going to school right along
now when I'm living with aunt Mirandy, and in two years I'm going to
the seminary at Wareham; mother says it ought to be the making of me!
I'm going to be a painter like Miss Ross when I get through school. At
any rate, that's what _I_ think I'm going to be. Mother thinks I'd
better teach."

"Your farm ain't the old Hobbs place, is it?"

"No, it's just Randall's Farm. At least that's what mother calls it. I
call it Sunnybrook Farm."

"I guess it don't make no difference what you call it so long as you
know where it is," remarked Mr. Cobb sententiously.

Rebecca turned the full light of her eyes upon him reproachfully,
almost severely, as she answered:--

"Oh! don't say that, and be like all the rest! It does make a
difference what you call things. When I say Randall's Farm, do you see
how it looks?"

"No, I can't say I do," responded Mr. Cobb uneasily.

"Now when I say Sunnybrook Farm, what does it make you think of?"

Mr. Cobb felt like a fish removed from his native element and left
panting on the sand; there was no evading the awful responsibility of a
reply, for Rebecca's eyes were searchlights, that pierced the fiction
of his brain and perceived the bald spot on the back of his head.

"I s'pose there's a brook somewheres near it," he said timorously.

Rebecca looked disappointed but not quite dis-heartened. "That's pretty
good," she said encouragingly. "You're warm but not hot; there's a
brook, but not a common brook. It has young trees and baby bushes on
each side of it, and it's a shallow chattering little brook with a
white sandy bottom and lots of little shiny pebbles. Whenever there's a
bit of sunshine the brook catches it, and it's always full of sparkles
the livelong day. Don't your stomach feel hollow? Mine doest I was so
'fraid I'd miss the stage I couldn't eat any breakfast."

"You'd better have your lunch, then. I don't eat nothin' till I get to
Milltown; then I get a piece o' pie and cup o' coffee."

"I wish I could see M