Phoebe's Revolt
Natalie Babbitt
Acknowledgments
Several illustrations have been modified for this edition. Copyright © 1968 by Natalie Babbitt. All rights reserved. Published by arrangement with Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc., 19 Union Square West, New York, N.Y. 10003.
For M.F.B.
with all my heart
Table of Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Roundtable Discussion
Credits
About the Author
Glossary array/maintain
Notes
Copyright Page
Phoebe Euphemia1 Brandon Brown
Lived in a fancy house in town.
She lived there quite alone unless
You count Miss Trout, her governess,
The butler, cook, and maids in force,
And Mr. and Mrs. Brown, of course,
And Phoebe’s kitten Elihu 2
And her Aunt Celeste, who lived there too.
Good fortune smiled on Phoebe Brown,
But revolution brought her down.
The times (the year was nineteen-four),
The clothes that everybody wore,
The way that people like the Browns
Were living, in our larger towns,
And Phoebe’s way of being prone
To having notions of her own—
All these were more or less to blame
For Phoebe’s crime and Phoebe’s shame.
In nineteen-four, at any rate,
Phoebe Euphemia Brown was eight.
The trouble all began in June
While getting dressed one afternoon.
For Phoebe, who was mostly good
And often did the things she should,
Stepped forward in her underwear
With mingled passion and despair
And loudly said she hated bows
And roses on her slipper toes
And dresses made of fluff and lace
With frills and ruffles every place
And ribbons, stockings, sashes, curls
And everything to do with girls.
She said she had just one request:
To dress the way her father dressed,
In simple white and sober black
Unornamented front and back.
And yet the clothes that Phoebe wore
Were normal back in nineteen-four
And other little girls in fluff
All seemed to be content enough.
Unhampered by the current styles,
They went about with happy smiles
To picnics, teas, parades and such
And did not seem to mind it much.
Now Phoebe’s mother tried her best
And so did Phoebe’s Aunt Celeste.
They both maintained that little girls
Looked sweet with ribbons in their curls.
They often spoke of one such child
Who dressed correctly, yet who smiled.
They spoke, while Phoebe made a face,
Of Phoebe’s little cousin Grace—
How mild she was, and how polite,
How charming in her pink and white.
But “Prissy Prig” was Phoebe’s name
For little Grace, and when she came
To visit as she often did,
Then Phoebe often ran and hid.
Well, Phoebe’s mother was distressed
And so was Phoebe’s Aunt Celeste.
And poor Miss Trout, who had to stay
With Phoebe every single day
And get her dressed and fix her hair,
Was nearly driven to despair.
But Phoebe’s father only smiled
And said she was a novel child.
One morning at their breakfast tea
They all were trying manfully
To disregard the wails of gloom
That filtered down from Phoebe’s room.
(Like “Do I have to put on that?”
And “I don’t want to wear a hat!”
With Miss Trout’s voice, a little shrill:
“Now, Phoebe, please! You must hold still!”)
That morning, though her nerves were taut,
Poor Phoebe’s mother had a thought.
“We’ll give a party! Every chum
of Phoebe’s will be sure to come
In pretty clothes. Why, then she’ll see
She’s acting very foolishly.
She’ll change her mind, I’m sure, Celeste,
And want to be like all the rest.”
But Phoebe’s father shook his head.
“I’m not so sure …” was all he said.
They planned the party anyway
And sent out notes that very day.
The maids put flowers everywhere
And Phoebe’s mother hired a bear
That danced when certain tunes were played,
And Cook made cakes and lemonade.
The time came round. Eight little girls
Arrived, all ribbons, lace and curls.
And Mrs. Brown and Aunt Celeste
Stood greeting every little guest.
But where was Phoebe? Minutes passed.
They knew the awful truth at last
When came the voice of poor Miss Trout:
“She’s in the tub and won’t get out!”
“She’s in the tub and won’t get out!”
The news was whispered all about.
Phoebe’s mother clutched her hair,
Turned pale, and hurried up the stair,
And Aunt Celeste went running too,
In hopes it wasn’t really true.
But in the bathtub Phoebe sat.
She would not move, and that was that.
There hung her dress, all pink chiffon.
She said she would not put it on.
They told her how her friends were dressed,
But Phoebe Brown was not impressed.
They told about the dancing bear.
She answered that she didn’t care.
They mentioned shame and protocol
But Phoebe Brown was deaf to all.
She said, “I will not wear that dress.
I won’t come down at all unless …”
She stirred the water with her toes—
“Unless I wear my father’s clothes.”
At this her mother’s patience died.
“I do not trust myself!” she cried.
She turned away and went to bed
And wrapped cold cloths around her head,
While Auntie, with an angry cough,
Went down and called the party off.
The guests went home without their play.
The dancing bear was sent away.
And in the bathtub, unconsoled,
The water slowly turning cold,
With wrinkling toes and fingertips,
Miss Phoebe sat and chewed her lips.
The afternoon had come and gone,
The lamps were lit, the curtains drawn,
When Phoebe’s father, walking in,
Was told about his daughter’s sin.
He was a most resourceful man
And right away he had a plan.
He fetched an armload from his room
And went to work his daughter’s doom
Where in the bathtub, cold and wet,
That stubborn child was sitting yet.
“Hop out,” he said. “The storm has passed.
I’ve come to save the day at last.
You say you want to wear my clothes?
It is surprising, I suppose,
But still, I’ve got some things to spare
That I’d be more than glad to share.”
And the
re they were, her just deserts:3
One of his own fine evening shirts,
A starchy collar, white cravat,
And last of all, a tall silk hat.
Her father’s clothes! And yet—somehow—
They didn’t seem so lovely now.
The charm had paled. The lure was gone.
But Phoebe had to put them on.
Yes, Phoebe had to put them on.
Too late for lace and pink chiffon.
She had her father’s clothes instead—
For seven days, her father said.
He had so nicely said she could,
She knew she must, she felt she should.
She couldn’t spurn that hat and shirt
And have him get his feelings hurt.
So Phoebe wore her father’s clothes.
They looked peculiar, heaven knows,
But those amused by this array
Would kindly look the other way
Or step behind a potted fern
Till feeling more controlled and stern.
And when the seven days had passed
And she could take them off at last,
Miss Phoebe left her father’s clothes
And reassumed her lace and bows
And never said a single word
(At least, that anybody heard).
But Phoebe’s father poked around
In trunks and boxes till he found
A faded picture framed in pearl,
The picture of a little girl;
A little girl dressed head to toe
In funny clothes from long ago
And on her face an awful frown.
That little girl was Mrs. Brown
And eighteen-eighty was the date,
The year that Mrs. Brown was eight.
He brought it down and let it stand
Demurely on the parlor grand.4
And what did Mrs. Brown do then ?
She turned away and took her pen
And wrote her seamstress on the spot:
“Please come at once—I quite forgot—
My daughter Phoebe needs a dress,
In broadcloth or in serge, 5 I guess—
A simple sailor dress or two
In sober, modest navy blue.
And when you’re done, and if you’re free,
You might make one or two for me.”
Phoebe Euphemia Brandon Brown
Lived in a fancy house in town.
She dressed in ruffles, chin to hem,
When circumstance demanded them,
But otherwise and normally
She dressed much more informally.
Roundtable Discussion
1. In the beginning of the story, you are told of “Phoebe’s crime and Phoebe’s shame.” Do you think what Phoebe does is a “crime”? Why or why not?
2. Do you think Phoebe is right to behave the way she does? Can you think of another way she could have solved the problem she had with her clothes?
3. What might have happened if Phoebe had worn her father’s clothes to her party?
4. Phoebe wants something she cannot have. Why do you think she wants it anyway? Why do people often want things they cannot have?
5. How important is it to act the way people expect you to? How important is it to be different?
The story of Phoebe’s revolt is told in rhyme. Before you read the author’s verses, read the rhyming lines below. They will put you in the proper mood.
Do you do what you’ve been told?
Are you always self-controlled?
Should you act like all the others—
Cousins, fathers, friends, or mothers?
Could you stand up to the crowd
And announce your thoughts aloud?
Would you act like Phoebe Brown
Or just sigh and simply frown?
Something about Phoebe Euphemia Brandon Brown’s life simply doesn’t suit her. When Phoebe decides what she doesn’t like, she also decides what must be done—she must revolt. She’ll tell all the people in charge that things have got to change! Now! But how?
Credits
Photography Thomas Victor: p. 44.
About the Author
Natalie Babbitt Natalie Babbitt was born in 1932, in Dayton, Ohio. As a youngster, she spent most of her free time reading and drawing. Later she studied art at Smith College. Babbitt worked as an illustrator before she became a writer. She did not begin writing until her children were in school.
“The main characters in my stories tend to be me,” Babbitt says. The names of her characters are very important. When she is writing a book, Babbitt sits around with the phone book and the thesaurus, looking for good names.
Babbitt always thinks a book out in her head before she writes it down. Because of the great care she takes, it took her ten years to write her book The Eyes of the Amaryllis. But not all of her books take that long! Her other books include The Search for Delicious, Tuck Everlasting, and Goody Hall. In addition to writing, Babbitt enjoys crossword puzzles, bad storms, needlework, and her several pets.
Glossary array/maintain
A
ar•ray ( r’) 1. An impressive display or collection. 2. Splendid clothing: For the holidays, they dressed in their finest array.
C
chif•fon (sh fn’) or (shf’ n’) A soft, sheer, airy fabric of silk or rayon, used for scarfs, veils, or dresses.
cra•vat (kr vt’) A necktie or a scarf worn as a tic.
D
de•mure (d myr’) Shy or modest, sometimes falsely so.—de•mure’ ly.
de•spair (d spâr’) Lack of all hope: The child watched in despair as her toy boat sank.
doom (doom) An unhappy end, especially death: The sailor thought he would meet his doom in the storm.
L
lure (loor) Something that attracts, especially with the promise of pleasure or a reward.
M
main•tain (man tn’) 1. To keep up; continue. 2. To declare to be true; to
pat / pay / â care / ä father / pet / be / pit / pie / î fierce / pot / go / ô paw, for / oi oil /
book / boot / ou out / cut / û fur / th the / th thin / hw which / zh vision /
ago, item, pencil, atom, circus
Copyright © 1986 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Definitions and pronunciation key adapted and reprinted by permission from The American Heritage Student’s Dictionary.
mingled/spurn say firmly: The boy stubbornly maintained that he was right.
min•gled (mng’ gld) Mixed: I looked forward to the start of school with a mingled sense of excitement and worry.
N
nov•el (nv’l) Very new, unusual, or different: This novel machine can beat eggs and slice meat.
P
par•lor (pär’ lr) A room for entertaining visitors: When company came, they had tea in the parlor.
prone (prn) Likely (to act or feel a certain way); tending: I am prone to giggling when I am tired.
pro•to•col (pr’ t kôl’) or (-kl’) or (-kl’) Rules about ceremony and social behavior: Protocol demands that we stand when the judge enters the court room.
R
re•as•sume (r sm’) To take up again; put on again: John reassumed the job he had last year.
re•source•ful (r sôrs’ fl) or (-srs’-) Clever and imaginative, especially in finding ways to deal with a difficult situation: The resourceful cook made a delicious meal from leftovers.
S
spurn (spurn) To refuse or reject with scorn: He spurned my kind offer of help.
taut/unornamental
T
taut (tôt) Pulled or drawn tight: Pull the rope to make it taut.
U
un•con•soled (n’ kn sld’) Not comforted during a time of disappointment or unhappiness.
un•ham•pered (n hm’ prd) Not preventing freedom of movement: The loose-fitting clothing allowed her to dance unhampered.
un.or.na.men.ted (n or�
� n men’ td) Without jewelry or decoration; simple in design: Would you like an unornamented picture frame or a fancier kind?
pat / pay / â care / ä father / pet / be / pit / pie / î fierce / pot / go / ô paw, for / oi oil /
book / boot / ou out / cut / û fur / th the / th thin / hw which / zh vision /
ago, item, pencil, atom, circus
Notes
1 Phoebe Euphemia (f’ be y f’ m ).
2 Elihu (l’ i hy ).
3 just deserts: reward or punishment that is deserved.
4 grand: grand piano.
5 broadcloth or in serge: plain woolen fabrics.
Copyright © 1989 by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
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eISBN 9781429954785
First eBook Edition : July 2011
