Rosa's Tale. Louisa May Alcott

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      ROSA'S TALE

      By

      LOUISA MAY ALCOTT

      This edition published by Dreamscape Media LLC, 2018

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       About Louisa May Alcott:

      Louisa May Alcott (November 29, 1832 – March 6, 1888) was an American novelist and poet best known as the author of the novel Little Women (1868) and its sequels Little Men (1871) and Jo's Boys (1886). Raised by her transcendentalist parents, Abigail May and Amos Bronson Alcott in New England, she also grew up among many of the well-known intellectuals of the day such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry David Thoreau and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

      Alcott's family suffered from financial difficulties, and while she worked to help support the family from an early age, she also sought an outlet in writing. She began to receive critical success for her writing in the 1860s. Early in her career, she sometimes used the pen name A. M. Barnard, under which she wrote novels for young adults that focused on spies, revenge, and cross dressers.

      Published in 1868, Little Women is set in the Alcott family home, Orchard House, in Concord, Massachusetts and is loosely based on Alcott's childhood experiences with her three sisters. The novel was very well received and is still a popular children's novel today, filmed several times.

      Alcott was an abolitionist and a feminist and remained unmarried throughout her life. She died from a stroke, two days after her father died, in Boston on March 6, 1888.

      Source: Wikipedia

      Rosa's Tale

      "Now, I believe everyone has had a Christmas present and a good time. Nobody has been forgotten, not even the cat," said Mrs. Ward to her daughter, as she looked at Pobbylinda, purring on the rug, with a new ribbon round her neck and the remains of a chicken bone between her paws.

      It was very late, for the Christmas tree was decorated, the little folks in bed, the baskets and bundles left at poor neighbors' doors, and everything ready for the happy day which would begin as the clock struck twelve. They were resting after their mother's words reminded Belinda of one good friend who had received no gift that night.

      "We've forgotten Rosa! Her mistress is away, but she shall have a present nevertheless. As late as it is, I know she would like some apples and cake and a Merry Christmas from the family."

      Belinda jumped up as she spoke, and having collected such remnants of the feast as a horse would relish, she put on her hood, lighted a lantern, and trotted off to the barn to deliver her Christmas cheer.

      As she opened the door of the loose box in which Rosa was kept, Belinda saw Rosa's eyes shining in the dark as she lifted her head with a startled air. Then, recognizing a friend, the horse rose and came rustling through the straw to greet her late visitor. She was evidently much pleased with the attention and gratefully rubbed her nose against Miss Belinda. At the same time, she poked her nose suspiciously into the contents of the basket.

      Miss Belinda well knew that Rosa was an unusually social beast and would enjoy the little feast more if she had company, so she hung up the lantern, and sitting down on an inverted bucket, watched her as she munched contentedly.

      "Now really," said Miss Belinda, when telling her story afterwards, "I am not sure whether I took a nap and dreamed what follows, or whether it actually happened; for strange things do occur at Christmastime, as everyone knows.

      "As I sat there, the town clock struck twelve, and the sound reminded me of the legend, which affirms that all dumb animals are endowed with speech for one hour after midnight on Christmas Eve, in memory of the animals who lingered near the manger when the blessed Christ Child was born.

      "I wish this pretty legend were true and our Rosa could speak, if only for an hour. I'm sure she has an interesting history, and I long to know all about it.

      "I said this aloud, and to my utter amazement the bay mare stopped eating, fixed her intelligent eyes upon my face, and answered in a language I understood perfectly well—'You shall indeed know my history, for whether the legend you mention is true or not, I do feel that I can confide in you and tell you all that I feel,' sweet Rosa told me.

      "'I was lying awake listening to the fun in the house, thinking of my dear mistress so far away across the ocean and feeling very sad, for I heard you say that I was to be sold. That nearly broke my heart, for no one has ever been so kind to me as Miss Merry; and nowhere shall I be taken care of, nursed, and loved as I have been since she bought me. I know I'm getting old and stiff in the knees. My forefoot is lame, and sometimes I'm cross when my shoulder aches; but I do try to be a patient, grateful beast. I've gotten fat with good living, my work is not hard, and I dearly love to carry those who have done so much for me. I'll carry them about until I die in the harness if they will only keep me.'

      "I was so astonished by Rosa's speech that I tumbled off the pail on which I was sitting and landed in the straw staring up at Rosa, as dumb as if I had lost the power she had gained. She seemed to enjoy my surprise, and added to it by letting me hear a genuine horse laugh—hearty, shrill, and clear—as she shook her pretty head and went on talking rapidly in the language which I now perceived to be a mixture of English and the peculiar dialect of the horse country.

      "'Thank you for remembering me tonight, and in return for the goodies you bring I'll tell my story as quickly as I can, for I have often longed to recount the trials and triumphs of my life. Miss Merry came last Christmas Eve to bring me sugar, and I wanted to speak, but it was too early and I could not say a word, though my heart was full.'

      "Rosa paused an instant, and her fine eyes dimmed as if with tender tears at the recollection of the happy year, which followed the day she was bought from the drudgery of a livery stable to be a lady's special pet. I stroked her neck as she stooped to sniff affectionately at my hood, and eagerly said—