Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm [antikvár]

1WE ARE SEVENhe old stagecoach rumbled along the dusty road from JL Maplewood to Riverboro. The day was as warm as midsummer, though it was only the middle of May, and Mr. Jeremiah Cobb was going as easy on his sweating horses as possible, yet never forgetting that he carried the mail. The hills were many and steep, and the reins lay loosely in his hands as he lolled in his seat. He extended one foot and leg luxuriously over the dashboard and pulled his brimmed hat of worn felt nearly over his eyes as the horses kept up a steady trot.One passenger rode in the old Concord coach a small, dark-haired person in a glossy buff calico dress. She was so slender and her dress starched so stiffly that she slid from place to place on the shiny leather cushions, though she braced herself against the middle seat with her feet and extended her cotton-gloved hands on each side to maintain her balance. Whenever the wheels dropped deeply into a rut or jolted suddenly over a stone, she bounced involuntarily into the air, came down again, pushed back her funny little straw-and-porcupine-quill hat, and picked up or settled more firmly a small pink parasol, which seemed to be her chief responsibility. She also