A single hour's experience of the vicissitudesincident to a business career cloudedthe children's spirits just the least bit.
They did not accompany each other to the doorsof their chosen victims, feeling sure that togetherthey could not approach the subject seriously;but they parted at the gate of each house, theone holding the horse while the other took thesoap samples and interviewed any one who seemedof a coming-on disposition. Emma Jane had disposedof three single cakes, Rebecca of three smallboxes; for a difference in their ability to persuadethe public was clearly defined at the start, thoughneither of them ascribed either success or defeat toanything but the imperious force of circumstances.
Housewives looked at Emma Jane and desired nosoap; listened to her description of its merits, andstill desired none. Other stars in their coursesgoverned Rebecca's doings. The people whom sheinterviewed either remembered their present needof soap, or reminded themselves that they wouldneed it in the future; the notable point in the casebeing that lucky Rebecca accomplished, with almostno effort, results that poor little Emma Jane failedto attain by hard and conscientious labor.
"It's your turn, Rebecca, and I'm glad, too,"said Emma Jane, drawing up to a gateway andindicating a house that was set a considerabledistance from the road. "I haven't got overtrembling from the last place yet." (A lady had put herhead out of an upstairs window and called, "Goaway, little girl; whatever you have in your box wedon't want any.") "I don't know who lives here,and the blinds are all shut in front. If there'snobody at home you mustn't count it, but take thenext house as yours."Rebecca walked up the lane and went to theside door. There was a porch there, and seated ina rocking-chair, husking corn, was a good-lookingyoung man, or was he middle aged? Rebeccacould not make up her mind. At all events he hadan air of the city about him,--well-shaven face,well-trimmed mustache, well-fitting clothes.
Rebecca was a trifle shy at this unexpected encounter,but there was nothing to be done but explain herpresence, so she asked, "Is the lady of the houseat home?""I am the lady of the house at present," saidthe stranger, with a whimsical smile. "What can Ido for you?""Have you ever heard of the--would you like, orI mean--do you need any soap?" queried Rebecca"Do I look as if I did?" he respondedunexpectedly.
Rebecca dimpled. "I didn't mean THAT; I havesome soap to sell; I mean I would like to introduceto you a very remarkable soap, the best nowon the market. It is called the"--"Oh! I must know that soap," said the gentlemangenially. "Made out of pure vegetable fats,isn't it?""The very purest," corroborated Rebecca.
"No acid in it?""Not a trace.""And yet a child could do the Monday washingwith it and use no force.""A babe," corrected Rebecca"Oh! a babe, eh? That child grows youngerevery year, instead of older--wise child!"This was great good fortune, to find a customerwho knew all the virtues of the article in advance.
Rebecca dimpled more and more, and at her newfriend's invitation sat down on a stool at his sidenear the edge of the porch. The beauties of theornamental box which held the Rose-Red weredisclosed, and the prices of both that and the Snow-White were unfolded. Presently she forgot allabout her silent partner at the gate and was talkingas if she had known this grand personage all herlife.
"I'm keeping house to-day, but I don't live here,"explained the delightful gentleman. "I'm just ona visit to my aunt, who has gone to Portland.
I used to be here as a boy. and I am very fond ofthe spot.""I don't think anything takes the place of thefarm where one lived when one was a child,"observed Rebecca, nearly bursting with pride at havingat last successfully used the indefinite pronoun ingeneral conversation.
The man darted a look at her and put down hisear of corn. "So you consider your childhood athing of the past, do you, young lady?""I can still remember it," answered Rebeccagravely, "though it seems a long time ago.""I can remember mine well enough, and aparticularly unpleasant one it was," said the stranger.
"So was mine," sighed Rebecca. "What wasyour worst trouble?""Lack of food and clothes principally.""Oh!" exclaimed Rebecca sympathetically,--"mine was no shoes and too many babies and notenough books. But you're all right and happynow, aren't you?" she asked doubtfully, for thoughhe looked handsome, well-fed, and prosperous, anychild could see that his eyes were tired and hismouth was sad when he was not speaking.
"I'm doing pretty well, thank you," said theman, with a delightful smile. "Now tell me, howmuch soap ought I to buy to-day?""How much has your aunt on hand now?"suggested the very modest and inexperienced agent;"and how much would she need?""Oh, I don't know about that; soap keeps,doesn't it?""I'm not certain," said Rebecca conscientiously,"but I'll look in the circular--it's sure to tell;"and she drew the document from her pocket.
"What are you going to do with the magnificentprofits you get from this business?""We are not selling for our own benefit," saidRebecca confidentially. "My friend who is holdingthe horse at the gate is the daughter of a veryrich blacksmith, and doesn't need any money. Iam poor, but I live with my aunts in a brick house,and of course they wouldn't like me to be apeddler. We are trying to get a premium for somefriends of ours."Rebecca had never thought of alluding to thecircumstances with her previous customers, butunexpectedly she found herself describing Mr. Simpson,Mrs. Simpson, and the Simpson family; their poverty,their joyless life, and their abject need of abanquet lamp to bright............