full of plans for his future, which he discussed quite freely with
Rebecca, but when she broached the subject of her future his interest
sensibly lessened. Into the world of the ideal Emma Jane, Huldah, and
Dick alike never seemed to have peeped, and the consciousness of this
was always a fixed gulf between them and Rebecca.

"Uncle Jerry" and "aunt Sarah" Cobb were dear friends of quite another
sort, a very satisfying and perhaps a somewhat dangerous one. A visit
from Rebecca always sent them into a twitter of delight. Her merry
conversation and quaint comments on life in general fairly dazzled the
old couple, who hung on her lightest word as if it had been a prophet's
utterance; and Rebecca, though she had had no previous experience,
owned to herself a perilous pleasure in being dazzling, even to a
couple of dear humdrum old people like Mr. and Mrs. Cobb. Aunt Sarah
flew to the pantry or cellar whenever Rebecca's slim little shape first
appeared on the crest of the hill, and a jelly tart or a frosted cake
was sure to be forthcoming. The sight of old uncle Jerry's spare figure
in its clean white shirt sleeves, whatever the weather, always made
Rebecca's heart warm when she saw him peer longingly from the kitchen
window. Before the snow came, many was the time he had come out to sit
on a pile of boards at the gate, to see if by any chance she was
mounting the hill that led to their house. In the autumn Rebecca was
often the old man's companion while he was digging potatoes or shelling
beans, and now in the winter, when a younger man was driving the stage,
she sometimes stayed with him while he did his evening milking. It is
safe to say that he was the only creature in Riverboro who possessed
Rebecca's entire confidence; the only being to whom she poured out her
whole heart, with its wealth of hopes, and dreams, and vague ambitions.
At the brick house she practiced scales and exercises, but at the
Cobbs' cabinet organ she sang like a bird, improvising simple
accompaniments that seemed to her ignorant auditors nothing short of
marvelous. Here she was happy, here she was loved, here she was drawn
out of herself and admired and made much of. But, she thought, if there
were somebody who not only loved but understood; who spoke her
language, comprehended her desires, and responded to her mysterious
longings! Perhaps in the big world of Wareham there would be people who
thought and dreamed and wondered as she did.

In reali