Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm is a classic American 1903 children's novel by Kate Douglas Wiggin that tells the story of Rebecca Rowena Randall and her aunts, one stern and one kind, in the fictional village of Riverboro, Maine. Everyone loves this book. Well, at least everyone loves Rebecca, and I should have said almost everyone loves Rebecca, there are a few people who aren't so thrilled with her, not many, but a few. After all, when the aunts send the invitation for Mrs. Randall's daughter to live with them, they didn't ask for Rebecca but her older sister Hannah. But her mother couldn't spare Hannah, she is older so she helps with the housework, so she sends Rebecca instead. Rebecca is described as a thing of fire and spirit, her mother and Hannah have no sense of humor, Rebecca has possessed it as soon as she could walk and talk. She does not have Hannah's patience though, so she was impatient of hard tasks at the farm. We're told this:
Hannah was her mother's favorite, so far as Aurelia could indulge herself in such recreations as partiality. The parent who is obliged to feed and clothe seven children on an income of fifteen dollars a month seldom has time to discriminate carefully between the various members of her brood, but Hannah at fourteen was at once companion and partner in all her mother's problems. She it was who kept the house while Aurelia busied herself in barn and field. Rebecca was capable of certain set tasks, such as keeping the small children from killing themselves and one another, feeding the poultry, picking up chips, hulling strawberries, wiping dishes; but she was thought irresponsible, and Aurelia, needing somebody to lean on, leaned on Hannah. Hannah showed the result of this attitude somewhat, being a trifle careworn in face and sharp in manner; but she was a self-contained, well-behaved, dependable child, and that is the reason her aunts had invited her to Riverboro to be a member of their family and participate in all the advantages of their loftier position in the world. It was several years since Miranda and Jane had seen the children, but they remembered with pleasure that Hannah had not spoken a word during the interview, and it was for this reason that they had asked for the pleasure of her company. Rebecca, on the other hand, had dressed up the dog in John's clothes, and being requested to get the three younger children ready for dinner, she had held them under the pump and then proceeded to "smack" their hair flat to their heads by vigorous brushing, bringing them to the table in such a moist and hideous state of shininess that their mother was ashamed of their appearance. Rebecca's own black locks were commonly pushed smoothly off her forehead, but on this occasion she formed what I must perforce call by its only name, a spit-curl, directly in the centre of her brow, an ornament which she was allowed to wear a very short time, only in fact till Hannah was able to call her mother's attention to it, when she was sent into the next room to remove it and to come back looking like a Christian. This command she interpreted somewhat too literally perhaps, because she contrived in a space of two minutes an extremely pious style of hairdressing, fully as effective if not as startling as the first. These antics were solely the result of nervous irritation, a mood born of Miss Miranda Sawyer's stiff, grim, and martial attitude. The remembrance of Rebecca was so vivid that their sister Aurelia's letter was something of a shock to the quiet, elderly spinsters of the brick house; for it said that Hannah could not possibly be spared for a few years yet, but that Rebecca would come as soon as she could be made ready; that the offer was most thankfully appreciated, and that the regular schooling and church privileges, as well as the influence of the Sawyer home, would doubtless be "the making of Rebecca."
But no matter what the aunts may think, she is now on her way with Mr. Cobb. He drives the stage coach, so he gets to take Rebecca to live with her aunts, for how long I don't know. Here she goes:
"I want you should take her to my sisters' in Riverboro," she said. "Do you know Mirandy and Jane Sawyer? They live in the brick house."
Lord bless your soul, he knew 'em as well as if he'd made 'em!
"Well, she's going there, and they're expecting her. Will you keep an eye on her, please? If she can get out anywhere and get with folks, or get anybody in to keep her company, she'll do it. Good-by, Rebecca; try not to get into any mischief, and sit quiet, so you'll look neat an' nice when you get there. Don't be any trouble to Mr. Cobb.—You see, she's kind of excited.—We came on the cars from Temperance yesterday, slept all night at my cousin's, and drove from her house—eight miles it is—this morning."
"Good-by, mother, don't worry; you know it isn't as if I hadn't traveled before."
The woman gave a short sardonic laugh and said in an explanatory way to Mr. Cobb, "She's been to Wareham and stayed over night; that isn't much to be journey-proud on!"
"It WAS TRAVELING, mother," said the child eagerly and willfully. "It was leaving the farm, and putting up lunch in a basket, and a little riding and a little steam cars, and we carried our nightgowns."
"Don't tell the whole village about it, if we did," said the mother, interrupting the reminiscences of this experienced voyager. "Haven't I told you before," she whispered, in a last attempt at discipline, "that you shouldn't talk about night gowns and stockings and—things like that, in a loud tone of voice, and especially when there's men folks round?"
"I know, mother, I know, and I won't. All I want to say is"—here Mr. Cobb gave a cluck, slapped the reins, and the horses started sedately on their daily task—"all I want to say is that it is a journey when"—the stage was really under way now and Rebecca had to put her head out of the window over the door in order to finish her sentence—"it IS a journey when you carry a nightgown!"
Perhaps her mother doesn't love her quite as much as she does Hannah. By the time they arrive at the home of her aunts, Mr. Cobb absolutely adores her. And while Aunt Miranda is not exactly thrilled with her new house mate, Aunt Jane soon loves her. She talks the entire way there, and doesn't want to sit inside the coach, but up on the seat with Mr. Cobb. Then she talks, and talks, and talks. Here's part of that wonderful conversation:
"Milltown ain't no great, neither," replied Mr. Cobb, with the air of having visited all the cities of the earth and found them as naught. "Now you watch me heave this newspaper right onto Mis' Brown's doorstep."
Piff! and the packet landed exactly as it was intended, on the corn husk mat in front of the screen door.
"Oh, how splendid that was!" cried Rebecca with enthusiasm. "Just like the knife thrower Mark saw at the circus. I wish there was a long, long row of houses each with a corn husk mat and a screen door in the middle, and a newspaper to throw on every one!"
"I might fail on some of 'em, you know," said Mr. Cobb, beaming with modest pride. "If your aunt Mirandy'll let you, I'll take you down to Milltown some day this summer when the stage ain't full."
A thrill of delicious excitement ran through Rebecca's frame, from her new shoes up, up to the leghorn cap and down the black braid. She pressed Mr. Cobb's knee ardently and said in a voice choking with tears of joy and astonishment, "Oh, it can't be true, it can't; to think I should see Milltown. It's like having a fairy godmother who asks you your wish and then gives it to you! Did you ever read Cinderella, or The Yellow Dwarf, or The Enchanted Frog, or The Fair One with Golden Locks?"
"No," said Mr. Cobb cautiously, after a moment's reflection. "I don't seem to think I ever did read jest those partic'lar ones. Where'd you get a chance at so much readin'?"
"Oh, I've read lots of books," answered Rebecca casually. "Father's and Miss Ross's and all the dif'rent school teachers', and all in the Sunday-school library. I've read The Lamplighter, and Scottish Chiefs, and Ivanhoe, and The Heir of Redclyffe, and Cora, the Doctor's Wife, and David Copperfield, and The Gold of Chickaree, and Plutarch's Lives, and Thaddeus of Warsaw, and Pilgrim's Progress, and lots more.—What have you read?"
Oh, I can't explain it, this girl just gets on my nerves. Mr. Cobb tells his wife about Rebecca, and within a minute of seeing her Mrs. Cobb loves her too. Then there is Emma Jane, who meets Rebecca when they go to school, we're told she is Rebecca's slave and hugged her chains. All the children love her, the teacher tells her:
"Whatever you do they all do, whether you laugh, or miss, or write notes, or ask to leave the room, or drink; and it must be stopped."
Yes, let's see if I can remember all the wonderful things Rebecca does. She infuses a new spirit into the school, she teaches Elijah and Elisha Simpson to recite three verses to the delight of the school, she wrote a poem for the girl who lisped, she drew an American flag on the chalk board that delighted the teacher and the scholars clapped heartily when seeing it. Another girl drew a map of North America, but since it's not mentioned again, I guess no one was delighted or clapped. She sells soap to buy a poor family a lamp, and Alan Ladd, upon meeting her is so impressed he buys three hundred bars. That had me wondering how long it would take to use all three hundred bars. I find I don't want to talk anymore about Rebecca and her book. I didn't like her because I got tired of her being loved by everyone, no matter what she said or did, and because I didn't like her I didn't care what was going on. But don't listen to me, after all Jack Kerouac called it his favorite childhood book, Mark Twain found it beautiful and moving and satisfying, and Jack London sent a letter to the author saying "Rebecca won my heart". I wonder if I would have felt differently if I would have read it as a young girl. Thinking back on what I was like as a young girl, I have a feeling I would have felt exactly how I do now. Happy reading.