ur, and then Mr. Perkins was mercilessly pelted
with arguments against the choice of the poor farm as a place of
residence for a baby.

"His father is sure to come back some time, Mr. Perkins," urged Rebecca.
"He couldn't leave this beautiful thing forever; and if Emma Jane and I
can persuade Mrs. Cobb to keep him a little while, would you care?"

No; on reflection Mr. Perkins did not care. He merely wanted a quiet
life and enough time left over from the public service to attend to his
blacksmith's shop; so instead of going home over the same road by which
they came he crossed the bridge into Edgewood and dropped the children
at the long lane which led to the Cobb house.

Mrs. Cobb, "Aunt Sarah" to the whole village, sat by the window looking
for Uncle Jerry, who would soon be seen driving the noon stage to the
post office over the hill. She always had an eye out for Rebecca, too,
for ever since the child had been a passenger on Mr. Cobb's stagecoach,
making the eventful trip from her home farm to the brick house in
Riverboro in his company, she had been a constant visitor and the joy
of the quiet household. Emma Jane, too, was a well-known figure in the
lane, but the strange baby was in the nature of a surprise--a surprise
somewhat modified by the fact that Rebecca was a dramatic personage and
more liable to appear in conjunction with curious outriders, comrades,
and retainers than the ordinary Riverboro child. She had run away from
the too stern discipline of the brick house on one occasion, and had
been persuaded to return by Uncle Jerry. She had escorted a wandering
organ grinder to their door and begged a lodging for him on a rainy
night; so on the whole there was nothing amazing about the coming
procession.

The little party toiled up to the hospitable door, and Mrs. Cobb came
out to meet them.

Rebecca was spokesman. Emma Jane's talent did not lie in eloquent
speech, but it would have been a valiant and a fluent child indeed
who could have usurped Rebecca's privileges and tendencies in this
direction, language being her native element, and words of assorted
sizes springing spontaneously to her lips.

"Aunt Sarah, dear," she said, plumping Jack-o'-lantern down on the grass
as she pulled his dress over his feet and smoothed his hair becomingly,
"will you please not say a word till I get through--as it's very
important you should know everything before you answer yes or no?
This is a baby named Jacky Winslow,