Rose of Dutcher's Coolly   By: Hamlin Garland (1860-1940)

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ROSE OF DUTCHER'S COOLLY

by

HAMLIN GARLAND

Chicago Stone & Kimball MDCCCXCV

Copyright, 1895, by Hamlin Garland

CONTENTS CHAPTER I. HER CHILDHOOD CHAPTER II. CHILD LIFE, PAGAN FREE CHAPTER III. DANGEROUS DAYS CHAPTER IV. AN OPENING CLOVER BLOOM CHAPTER V. HER FIRST PERIL CHAPTER VI. HER FIRST IDEAL CHAPTER VII. ROSE MEETS DR. THATCHER CHAPTER VIII. LEAVING HOME CHAPTER IX. ROSE ENTERS MADISON CHAPTER X. QUIET YEARS OF GROWTH CHAPTER XI. STUDY OF THE STARS CHAPTER XII. THE GATES OPEN WIDE CHAPTER XIII. THE WOMAN'S PART CHAPTER XIV. AGAIN THE QUESTION OF HOME LEAVING CHAPTER XV. CHICAGO CHAPTER XVI. HER FIRST CONQUEST CHAPTER XVII. HER FIRST DINNER OUT CHAPTER XVIII. MASON TALKS ON MARRIAGE CHAPTER XIX. ROSE SITS IN THE BLAZE OF A THOUSAND EYES CHAPTER XX. ROSE SETS FACE TOWARD THE OPEN ROAD CHAPTER XXI. MASON TALKS AGAIN CHAPTER XXII. SOCIAL QUESTIONS CHAPTER XXIII. A STORM AND A HELMSMAN CHAPTER XXIV. MASON TAKES A VACATION CHAPTER XXV. ROSE RECEIVES A LETTER CHAPTER XXVI. MASON AS A LOVER CONCLUSION

ROSE OF DUTCHER'S COOLLY

CHAPTER I

HER CHILDHOOD

Rose was an unaccountable child from the start. She learned to speak early and while she did not use "baby talk" she had strange words of her own. She called hard money "tow" and a picture "tac," names which had nothing to do with onomatopoeia though it seemed so in some cases. Bread and milk she called "plop."

She began to read of her own accord when four years old, picking out the letters from the advertisements of the newspapers, and running to her mother at the sink or bread board to learn what each word meant. Her demand for stories grew to be a burden. She was insatiate, nothing but sleep subdued her eager brain.

As she grew older she read and re read her picture books when alone, but when older people were talking she listened as attentively as if she understood every word. She had the power of amusing herself and visited very little with other children. It was deeply moving to see her with her poor playthings out under the poplar tree, talking to herself, arranging and rearranging her chairs and tables, the sunlight flecking her hair, and the birds singing overhead.

She seemed only a larger sort of insect, and her prattle mixed easily with the chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves.

She was only five years old when her mother suddenly withdrew her hands from pans and kettles, gave up all thought of bread and butter making, and took rest in death. Only a few hours of waiting on her bed near the kitchen fire and Ann Dutcher was through with toil and troubled dreaming, and lay in the dim best room, taking no account of anything in the light of day.

Rose got up the next morning after her mother's last kiss and went into the room where the body lay. A gnomish little figure the child was, for at that time her head was large and her cropped hair bristled till she seemed a sort of brownie. Also, her lonely child life had given her quaint, grave ways.

She knew her mother was dead, and that death was a kind of sleep which lasted longer than common sleep, that was all the difference, so she went in and stood by the bed and tried to see her mother's face. It was early in the morning and the curtains being drawn it was dark in the room, but Rose had no fear, for mother was there.