Other editions of book New Chronicles of Rebecca

In the first book, we see how, slowly, the child Rebecca is able to bring change to her surroundings; these changes continue in the New Chronicles. Rebecca is an imaginative girl who writes poetry and stories constantly, but struggles to work within her environment (e.g., the same displeasing porcupine quills in her hat instead of lovely, yet extravagant feathers). Her winning ways save the stolen flag for the town's flag ceremony, and help her to find friends throughout the town - but her overzealous missionary efforts result in the offense of a curmudgeon who neglects to attend church as regularly as he ought.ContentsJack o' Lantern -- Daughters of Zion -- Rebecca's thought book -- A tragedy in millinery -- The saving of the colors -- The state o' Maine girl -- The little prophet -- Abner Simpson's new leaf -- The green isle -- Rebecca's reminiscences -- Abijah the brave and the fair Emmanjane.

Jacob Moody of Riverboro was tall, gaunt and swarthy, black-bearded -- his masses of grizzled, uncombed hair and the red scar across his nose and cheek adding to his sinister appearance. His tumble-down house stood on a rocky bit of land back of the Sawyer pasture and the acres of his farm stretched out on all sides of it. He lived alone, ate alone, plowed, planted, sowed, harvested alone, and was more than willing to die alone, "unwept, unhonored, and unsung." So who would ever think to visit him, and urge him to attend church? But a new Home Mission society has been set up by the girls, which has elected as its first president that "will-o'-the-wispish little person," Rebecca! And when she sets her mind to a task . . .

Miss Miranda Sawyer's old-fashioned garden was the pleasantest spot in Riverboro on a sunny July morning. The rich color of the brick house gleamed and glowed through the shade of the elms and maples. Luxuriant hop-vines clambered up the lightning-rods and waterspouts, hanging their delicate clusters here and there in graceful profusion. Woodbine transformed the old shed and tool-house to things of beauty, and the flower-beds themselves were the prettiest and most fragrant in all the countryside. A row of dahlias ran directly around the garden spot; dahlias scarlet, gold, and variegated. In the very centre was a round plot where the upturned faces of a thousand pansies smiled amid their leaves, and in the four corners were triangular blocks of sweet phlox over which the butterflies fluttered unceasingly...