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 Rebecc 
 
 ary 
 
 ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL 
 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Gift of 
 
 Ella Thompson Wright 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924074476429 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
WON T VOU EAT JVST ONE MORE KERNEL, THOAIAS 
 JEFFERSON ?' " 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 By 
 Annie Hamilton Donnell 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 Elizabeth Shippen Green 
 
 <^*^ 
 
 New York 
 Grosset & Dunlap 
 
 Publishers 
 
 Published by anangement with Harper & Brothers 
 
Copyright, 1905, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 Published September, 1905. 
 
Contents 
 
 CSAFTBE TtXSK 
 
 I. Thb Hundred and Oneth 3 
 
 II. The Thousand Quilt 23 
 
 III. The Bible Dream 47 
 
 IV. The Cook-book Diary 65 
 
 V. The Bereavement 8; 
 
 VI. The Feel Doll loj 
 
 VII. The Plummer Kind 125 
 
 VIII. Article Seven 149 
 
 IX. Un-Plummered 173 
 
Illustrations 
 
 ' ' ' WON'l YOD EAT JDST ONE MORE KEIUTEI,, 
 
 THOMAS JEFFERSON ?' " FroniisfUce 
 
 " 'AI,I< THE PI<UMMERS HAVE KEPT DI- 
 ARIES ' " Facing j>. 68 
 
 "'aunt owvia didn't say it, but she 
 
 MOST DID'" " 78 
 
 " SHE APPEARED IN The DOORWAY WITH 
 
 AN ARMFUI< OF SNOWY FEATHERS" . " 94 
 
 "nothing I,00KED QUITE THE SAME UP 
 
 THERE " .........'. " 160 
 
 " IT WAS A REBECCA MARY KISS " ... " 168 
 
 " REBECCA MARY WAS GOING AWAY " . . " 186 
 
 "THEY WERE IN EACH OTHER'S ARMS" . " 192 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 The Hundred and Oneth 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 lEBECCA MARY took an- 
 other stitch. Then another. 
 ' Ninety - sewun, ninety- 
 ! eight," she counted aloud, 
 her little pointed face grave- 
 ' ly intent. She waited the 
 briefest possible space before she took ninety- 
 nine. It was getting very close to the Time 
 now. 
 
 "At the htindred an' oneth," Rebecca 
 Mary whispered. "It's almost it." Her 
 breath came quicker under her tight little 
 dress. Between her thin, light eyebrows a 
 crease deepened anxiously. 
 
 " Ninety — n-i-n-e," she counted, " one hun- 
 der-ed " — ^it was so very close now! The 
 next stitch would be the hundred and oneth. 
 3 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Rebecca Mary's face suddenly grew quite 
 white. 
 
 "I'll wait a m-minute," she decided; "I'm 
 just a little scared. When you've been 
 lookin' head to the hundred and oneth so 
 long and you get the very next door to it, it 
 scares you a little. I'll wait until — oh, until 
 Thomas JefEerson crows, before I sew the 
 hundred and oneth." 
 
 Thomas JefEerson was prospecting tm- 
 der the currant - bushes. Rebecca Mary 
 could see him distinctly, even with her near- 
 sighted little eyes, for Thomas Jefferson was 
 snow-white. Once in a while he stalked dig- 
 nifiedly out of the bushes and crowed. He 
 might do it again any niinute now. 
 
 The great sheet billowed and floated round 
 Rebecca Mary, scarcely whiter than her face. 
 She held her needle poised, waiting the signal 
 of Thomas Jefferson. At any min — He was 
 coming out now ! A fleck of snow-white was 
 pricking the green of the currant leaves. 
 
 "He's out. Any minute he'll begin to 
 cr — " He was already beginning ! The 
 warning signals were out — chest expanding, 
 4 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 neck elongating, and great white wings 
 aflap — 
 
 "I'm just a little scared," breathed the 
 child in the foam of the sheet. Then Thomas 
 JefEerson crowed. 
 
 "Hundred and one!" Rebecca Mary cried 
 out, clearly, courage born within her at the 
 crucial instant. The Time — the Time — had 
 come. She had taken her last stitch. 
 
 " It's o-ver," she panted. " It always was 
 a-coming, and it's come. I knew it would. 
 When it's come, you don't feel qu-ite so 
 scared. I'm glad it's over." 
 
 She folded up the great sheet carefully, 
 making all the edges meet with painful pre- 
 cision. It took time. She had left the needle 
 sticking in the unfinished seam — ^in the hun- 
 dred-and-oneth stitch — and close beside it 
 was a tiny dot of red to "keep the place." 
 
 "Rebecca! Rebecca Mary!" Aunt Olivia 
 always called like that. If there had been 
 still another name — Rebecca Mary Some 
 thing Else — she would have called : " Rebecca ! 
 Rebecca Mary! Rebecca Mary Something 
 Else!" 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "Yes, 'm; I'm here." 
 
 "Where's 'here'?" sharply. 
 
 "Here — the grape-arhor, I mean." 
 
 " Have you got your sheet ?" 
 
 "I— yes, 'm." 
 
 " Is your stent 'most done ?" 
 
 Rebecca Mary rose slowly to her reluctant 
 little feet, and with the heavy sheet across 
 lier arm went to meet the sharp voice. At 
 last the Time had come. 
 
 "Well?" Aunt Olivia was waiting for her 
 answer. Rebecca Mary groaned. Aunt 
 Olivia would not think it was "well." 
 
 " Well, Rebecca Mary Plummer, you came 
 to fetch my answer, did you? You got 
 your stent 'most done ?" Aunt Oliv- 
 ia's hands were extended for the folded 
 sheet. 
 
 "I've got it done, Aunt 'Livia," answered 
 little Rebecca Mary, steadily. Her slender 
 figure, in its quaint, scant dress, looked braced 
 as if to meet a shock. But Rebecca Mary was 
 terribly afraid. 
 
 "Every mite o' that seam? Then I guess 
 you can't have done it very well; that's what 
 6 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 I guess ! If it ain't done well, you'll have to 
 take it—" 
 
 "Wait — please, won't you wait, Aunt 
 'Livia ? I've got to say something. I mean, 
 I've got all the over-'n'-overing I'm ever 
 going to do done. Thafs what's done. The 
 hundred-and-oneth stitch was my stent, and 
 it's done. I'm not ever going to take the 
 him.dred and twoth. I've decided." 
 
 Understanding filtered drop by drop info 
 Aunt Olivia's bewildered brain. She gasped 
 at the final drop. 
 
 "Not ever going to take another stitch?" 
 she repeated, with a calmness that was 
 awfuler than storm. 
 
 "No, 'm." 
 
 "You've decided?" 
 
 "Yes, 'm." 
 
 " May I ask when this — ^this state of mind 
 began?" 
 
 Rebecca Mary girded herself afresh. She 
 had such need of recruiting strength. 
 
 "It's been coming on," she said. "I've 
 felt it. I knew all the time it was a-coming 
 — and then it came." 
 
 7 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 It seemed to be all there. Why must she 
 say any more ? But still Aunt Olivia waited, 
 and Rebecca Mary read grim displeasure in 
 capitals across the gray field of her face. The 
 little figure stiffened more and more. 
 
 "I've over-'n'-overed 'leven sheets," the 
 steady little voice went on, because Aunt 
 Olivia was waiting, and it must, "and you 
 said I did 'em pretty well. I tried to. I 
 vfas going to do the other one well, till you 
 said there was going to be another dozen. I 
 couldn't bear another dozen, Aunt Olivia, so 
 I decided to stop. When Thomas Jefferson 
 crowed I sewed the hundred-and-oneth stitch. 
 That's all there's ever agoing to be." 
 
 Rebecca Mary stepped back a step or two, 
 as if finishing a speech and retiring from her 
 audience. There was even the effect of a 
 bow in the sudden collapse of the stiff little 
 body. It was Aunt Olivia's turn now to re- 
 spond — and Aunt Olivia responded : 
 
 " You've had your say ; now I'll have mine. 
 Listen to me, Rebecca Mary Plummer ! Here's 
 this sheet, and here's this needle in it. When 
 you get good and ready you can go on sewing. 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 You won't have anything to eat till you do. 
 I've got through." 
 
 The grim figure swept right-about face and 
 tramped into the house as though to the 
 battle-roU of drums. Rebecca Mary stayed 
 behind, face to face with her fate. 
 
 "She's a Pltimmer, so it 'U be so," Re- 
 becca Mary thought, with the dull httle thud 
 of a weight falling into her heart. Rebecca 
 Mary was a Plummer too, but she did not 
 think of that, unless the unswerving de- 
 termination in her stout little heart was the 
 unconscious recognition of it. 
 
 "I wonder" — ^her gaze wandered out tow- 
 ards the currant-bushes and came to rest 
 absently on Thomas Jefferson's big, white 
 bulk — "I wonder if it hurts ve-ry much." 
 She meant, to starve. A long ^-ista of food- 
 less days opened before her, and in their con- 
 templation the weight in her heart grew very 
 hea\"V' indeed. 
 
 "We were going to have layer-cake for 
 supper. I'm very fond of layer-cake," Re- 
 becca Mary sighed. "I suppose, though,, 
 after a few weeks " — she shuddered — " I shaE 
 9 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 be glad to have anything — just common 
 things, like crackers and skim-milk. Per- 
 haps I shall want to eat a — horse. I've 
 heard of folks — You get very unparticular 
 when you're starving." 
 
 It was five o'clock. They were going to 
 have supper at half -past. She could hear the 
 tea things clinking in the house. She stole 
 up to a window. There was Aunt Olivia 
 setting the layer-cake on the table. It 
 looked plump and rich, and it was sugared on 
 top. 
 
 "There's strawberry jam in between it," 
 mused Rebecca Mary, regretfully. "I wish 
 it was apple jelly. I could bear it better if it 
 was apple jelly." But it was jam. And 
 there was honey, too, to eat with Aunt OHvia's 
 Httle fluffy biscuit. How ve-ry fond Rebecca 
 Mary was of honey! 
 
 Axmt Olivia stood in the kitchen doorway 
 and rang the supper -bell in long, steady 
 clangs just as usual. But no one responded 
 just as usual, and by the token she knew 
 Rebecca Mary had not taken the other stitch 
 that lay between her and supper. 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 "She's a Plummer," sighed Aunt Olivia, 
 inwardly, unreaHzing her own Plummership, 
 as Uttle Rebecca Mary had unreaHzed hers. 
 Each recognized only the other's. The pity 
 that both must be Plummers! 
 
 Rebecca Mary stayed out-of-doors until 
 bedtime. She made but one confidant. 
 
 " I've done it, Thomas Jefferson," she said, 
 sadly. " You ought to be sorry for me, be- 
 cause if you hadn't crowed I shouldn't have 
 sewed the hundred and oneth. But you're not 
 reaUy to blame," she added, hastily, mindful 
 of Thomas Jefferson's feelings. "I should 
 have done it sometime if you hadn't crowed. 
 I knew it was coming. I suppose now I shall 
 have to starve. You'd think it was pretty 
 hard to starve, I guess, Thomas Jefferson." 
 
 Thomas Jefferson made certain gloomy re- 
 sponses in his throat to the effect that he was 
 always starv'ing; that any contributions on 
 the spot in the way of com kernels, wheat 
 grains, angle-worms — any little delicacies of 
 the kind — ^would be welcome. And Rebecca 
 Mary, understanding, led the way to the 
 corn-bin. In the dark hours that followed, 
 II 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 the intimacy between the great white rooster 
 and the little white girl took on tenderer tones. 
 
 At breakfast next morning — at dinner- 
 time — at supper — Rebecca Mary absented 
 herself from the house. Aunt Olivia set on 
 the meals regularly and waited with tighten- 
 ing heartstrings. It did not seem to occur to 
 her to eat her own portions. She tasted no 
 morsel of all the dainties she got together 
 wistfully. At nightfall the second day she 
 began to feel real alarm. She put on her bon- 
 net and went to the minister's. He was 
 rather a new minister, and the Plummers had 
 always required a good deal of time to make 
 acquaintance. But in the present stress of 
 her need Aunt Olivia did not stop to think 
 of that. 
 
 "You must come over and — and do some- 
 thing," she said, at the conclusion of her 
 strange little story. "It seems to me it's 
 time for the minister to step in." 
 
 "What can I do, Miss Plummer?" the em- 
 barrassed young man ejaculated, with a feel- 
 ing of helplessness. 
 
 "Talk to her," groaned Aunt Olivia, in her 
 
 12 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 agony. "Tell her what her duty is. Re- 
 becca Mary might listen to the minister. All 
 she's got to do is to take just one stitch to 
 show her sutimission. It won't take but an 
 instant. I've got supper all out on the kitch- 
 en table — I don't care if it's ten o'clock at 
 night!" 
 
 "It isn't a case for the minister. It's a 
 case for the Society for the Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Children!" fumed the minister's 
 kind little wife inwardly. And she stole 
 away in the twilight to deal with little Re- 
 becca Mary herself. She came back to the 
 minister by-and-by, red-eyed and fierce. 
 
 "You needn't go over — I've been. It 
 won't do any good, Robert. That poor, stiff- 
 willed, set little thing is starving by inches!" 
 
 " I think her aunt is, too !" 
 
 "Well, perhaps — I can't help it, Robert, 
 perhaps the — aunt — ought — ^to . ' ' 
 
 "My dear!— Felicia!" 
 
 " I told you I couldn't help it. She is so 
 htmgry, Robert! If you had seen her— 
 What do you think she was doing when I got 
 there?" 
 
 13 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "Crying?" 
 
 "Crying! She was laughing. I cried. 
 She sat there under some grape-vines watch- 
 ing a great white rooster eat his supper. His 
 name, I think, is Thomas JeflEerson." 
 
 " Yes, Thomas Jefferson," agreed the minis- 
 ter, with the assurance of acquaintance. For 
 Thomas Jefferson was one of his parishioners. 
 
 "Well, she was laughing at him in the 
 shakiest, hungriest little voice you ever 
 heard. 'Is it good?' she says. 'It looks 
 good. ' He was eating raw com. ' If I could, 
 I'd eat supper with you — ^when you're very 
 htmgry, you don't mind eating things raw.' 
 Then she saw me." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, I coaxed her, Robert. It didn't do 
 any good. To-morrow somebody must go 
 there and interfere." 
 
 " She must be a remarkably strange child," 
 the minister mused. He was thinking of the 
 holding-out powers of the three children he 
 had a half-ownership in. 
 
 "I don't think Rebecca Mary is a child, 
 Robert. She must be fifty years old, at the 
 14 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 least. She and her aimt are about the same 
 age. Perhaps if her mother had lived, or She 
 hadn't made so many sheets, or learned to 
 knit and dam and cook — " The minister's 
 kind little wife finished out her sentence with 
 a sigh. She took up a little garment in dire 
 straits to be mended. It suggested things to 
 the minister. 
 
 "CanRhoda dam?" 
 
 "Rhoda!" 
 
 " Or make sheets and — ^bread and things ?" 
 
 "Robert, don't you feel well? Where is 
 the pain?" But the laugh in the pleasant 
 blue eyes died out suddenly. Little Rebecca 
 Mary lay too heavy on the minister's wife's 
 heart for mirth. 
 
 Aunt Olivia went into Rebecca Mary's 
 room in the middle of the night. She had 
 been in three times before. 
 
 "She looks thinner than she did last 
 time," Aunt Olivia murmured, distressedly. 
 "To-morrow night — ^how long do children 
 live without eating? It's four meals now — 
 four meals is a great many for a little thin 
 thing to go without ! ' ' Aunt Olivia had been 
 IS 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 without four meals too ; she would have been 
 able to judge how it felt — ^if she had remem- 
 bered that part. She stood in her scant, 
 long night-gown, gazing down at the little 
 sleeper. The veil was down and her heart 
 "was in her eyes. 
 
 Rebecca Mary threw out her arm and 
 sighed. "It looks good, Thomas Jefferson," 
 she murmured. " When you're very hungry 
 you can eat things raw." Suddenly the child 
 sat up in bed, wide-eyed and wild. She did 
 3iot seem to see Aunt Olivia at all. 
 
 " Once I ate a pie!" she cried. " It wasn't 
 a whole one, but I should eat a whole one now 
 — I think I should eat the plate now." She 
 swayed back and forth weakly awake and 
 not awake. 
 
 " Once I ate a layer-cake. There was jam 
 in it. I wouldn't care if it was apple jelly in 
 it now — I'd like apple jelly in it now. Once I 
 ate a pudding and a doughnut a-n-d — a. — a — 
 I think it was a horse. I'd eat a horse now. 
 Hush ! Don't teU Aunt Olivia, but I'm going 
 to eat — ^to — e-at — ^Thom-as — ^Jeffer — " She 
 swayed back on the pillows again. Aunt 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 Olivia shook her in an agony of fear — she 
 was so white — she lay so still. 
 
 "Rebecca! Rebecca Mary! Rebecca Mary 
 Plummer!" Aunt Olivia shrilled in her ear, 
 "You get right out o' bed this minute and 
 come down-stairs and eat your supper! It's 
 high time you had something in your stomach 
 — I don't care if it's twelve o'clock. You get 
 right out o' hed— Rebecca Mary!" 
 
 Aunt Olivia had the limp little figure in 
 her arms, shaking it gently again and again. 
 Rebecca's startled eyes flew open. In that 
 instant was bom inspiration in the brain of 
 Aunt Olivia. She thought of an appeal to 
 make. 
 
 "Do you want me to starve, too? Right 
 here before your face and eyes? I haven't 
 eat a mouthful since you did, and I sha'n't till 
 you do." 
 
 Rebecca Mary slid to the floor with a soft 
 thud of little brown, bare feet. Slow com- 
 prehension dawned in her eyes. "Are^^did 
 you say you was starving, too?" 
 
 "Yes"— grimly. 
 
 "Does it hurt you — ^too?" 
 17 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 " Yes ' '^-tmsteadily. 
 
 "Very much?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why don't you eat something?" 
 
 " Because you don't. I'm waiting for you 
 to." 
 
 "Sha'n't you ever?" 
 
 "Not if you don't." 
 
 Rebecca Mary caught her breath in a sob. 
 "Shall I be — ^to blame?" She was moving 
 towards the door now. With an irresistible 
 impulse Aunt Olivia gathered her in her arms, 
 and covered her lean little face with kisses. 
 
 "You poor little thing! You poor little 
 thing! You poor little thing!" over and 
 over. 
 
 Rebecca Mary gazed up into the softened 
 face and read something there. It took her 
 breath away. She could not believe it with- 
 out further proof. 
 
 "You don't — I don't suppose you love 
 me?" panted Rebecca Mary. But Aunt 
 Olivia was gone out of the room in a swirl 
 of white night-gown. 
 
 "Everything's on the table," she called 
 ig 
 
The Hundred and Oneth 
 
 back from the stairs. " I'm going to light a 
 fire. You come right down. I think it's 
 high time — " her voice trailing out thinly. 
 
 "She does," murmured Rebecca Mary, 
 radiant of face. 
 
 At half-past twelve o'clock they both ate 
 supper — both in their scant, white night- 
 gowns, both very hungry indeed. But before 
 she sat down in her old place at the table, 
 Rebecca Mary went round to Aunt Olivia's 
 place and whispered something rather shyly 
 in her ear. She had been by herself in a 
 comer of the room for a moment. 
 
 "I've sewed the hundred and twoth," 
 Rebecca Mary whispered. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 The Thousand Quilt 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 5OOD - afternoon," Rebecca 
 : Mary said, politely. 
 
 The minister's wife was 
 
 ' cutting little trousers out 
 
 ; of big ones — the minister's 
 
 Ibig ones. It was the old 
 
 puzzle of how to steer clear of the thin places. 
 
 "Boys grow so!" sighed, tenderly, the 
 
 minister's wife, over her work. She had not 
 
 heard the voice from the doorway. 
 
 " Good-afternoon " — again. 
 
 It was a quaint little figure in tight red 
 
 calico standing there. It might easily have 
 
 stepped down from some old picture on the 
 
 wall. Rebecca Mary had a bundle in her 
 
 arms. It was so large that it obscured breast 
 
 and face, and only a pair of grave blue eyes, 
 
 3 23 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 presided over by thin, light brows, seemed 
 visible to the minister's wife. The trousers 
 puzzle merged into this one. Now who 
 could — 
 
 "Oh! Oh, it's Miss Plummet's little girl 
 Rebecca," she said, cordially. 
 
 "Rebecca Mary — her niece," came, a little 
 muffled, from behind the great bundle. 
 
 "Rebecca Mary's nie — Oh, you mean 
 Miss Plummer's niece, and your whole name 
 is that! But I suppose she calls you Re- 
 becca or Becky, for short? Walk in, Re- 
 becca." 
 
 But Rebecca Mary was struggling with the 
 paralyzing vision of Aunt Olivia calling her 
 Becky. She had passed by the lesser wonder 
 of being called Rebecca without the Mary. 
 
 "Oh no, 'm, indeed; Aunt 'Livia never 
 shortens me," gently gasped the child. And 
 the minister's wife, measuring from the bun- 
 dle down, smiled to herself. There did not 
 seem much room for shortening. 
 
 " But walk in, dear — ^you're going to walk 
 in? I hope you have come to make me a 
 little call?'* 
 
 24 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 Rebecca Mary struggled out of her paraly- 
 sis. Here was occasion for new embarrass- 
 ment. For Rebecca Mary was honest. 
 
 "N-o, 'm — I mean, not a little call. I've 
 come to spend the afternoon," she said, slow- 
 ly, "and I've brought my work." 
 
 The bundle — 'the great bundle — ^was her 
 work! She advanced into the room and 
 began carefully to unroll it. It was the turn 
 of the minister's wife to be paralyzed. She 
 pushed forward a chair, and the child sat 
 down in it. 
 
 "It's my Thousand Quilt that I'm making 
 for Aunt 'Livia," explained Rebecca Mary. 
 " It's 'most done. There's a thousand pieces 
 in it, and I'm on the nine hundred and ninety- 
 oneth. I thought proberly you'd have some 
 work, so I brought mine." 
 
 "Yes, I see — " The minister's wife stood 
 looking down at the tight little red figure 
 among the gorgeous waves of the Thousand 
 Quilt. They eddied and surged around it in 
 dizzy reds and purples and greens. She was 
 conscious of being a little sea-sick, and for 
 relief she turned back to the puzzle of the 
 
 25 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 little trousers. It had been in her mind at 
 first to express sorrow at Rhoda's being un- 
 fortunately away — and the boys. Now she 
 was glad she hadn't, for it was quite plain 
 enough that the visitor had not come to spend 
 the afternoon with the minister's children, 
 but with the minister's wife. 
 
 " It isn't she that's young — it's I," thought 
 the minister's wife, with kind, laughing eyes. 
 "She's old enough to be my mother. How 
 old are you, dear?" she added, aloud. 
 
 "Me? I guess you mean Aunt 'Livia, 
 don't you? It's Aunt 'Livia's birthday I'm 
 making it for, it's going to be a present. Once 
 she gave me a present on my birthday." 
 
 Once! — the minister's wife remembered 
 Rhoda's birthdays and the boys'. Taken al- 
 together, such a host of little birthdays! But 
 this little old, old visitor seemed to have had 
 but one. 
 
 "My birthday is two days quicker than 
 Aunt 'Livia's is," volunteered the visitor, 
 sociably. "We're 'most twins, you see. 
 Aunt 'Livia was fifty-six that time she gave 
 me the present. She's agoing to be fifty- 
 26 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 nine when I give her this quilt — it's taken me 
 ever since to make it. ' ' 
 
 The minister's wife looked up from her 
 cutting. So Rebecca Mary was only fifty- 
 nine! 
 
 "It's quite a long quilt," sighed Rebecca 
 Mary. But pride woke in her eyes as she 
 gazed out on the splendors of the green and 
 purple sea. "A Thousand Quilt has so 
 many stitches in it, but when you sew 'em all 
 yourself — when you sew every single stitch — " 
 The pride in Rebecca Mary's grave blue eyes 
 grew and grew. 
 
 "Robert," the minister's wife said that 
 night to the minister, "it's an awful quilt, 
 but you ought to have seen her eyes! It's 
 taken her three years to make it — maybe you 
 wouldn't be proud yourself!" 
 
 " Maybe you wouldn't, if Rhoda had made 
 it." 
 
 " Rhoda ! Robert, she sewed one squarie of 
 patchwork once and it made her sick. I had 
 to put her to bed. Speaking of 'once' re- 
 minds me — once Rebecca Mary had a birth- 
 day present, Robert." She waited a little 
 27 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 anxiously for him to understand. The min- 
 ister always understood, but sometimes he 
 made her wait. 
 
 " Felicia, are you trying to make me cry?" 
 he said, and she was satisfied. She went 
 across to him, as she always did when she 
 v/anted to cry herself. The floor was strewn 
 with the tiniest boy's engine and cars, and she 
 remembered, as she zigzagged among them, 
 that they had been one of his very last birth- 
 day presents. 
 
 "It was — ^Robert, what do you think the 
 present was ? I'll give you three guesses, but 
 I advise you to guess a rooster." 
 
 "Thomas Jefferson," murmtired the minis- 
 ter, as one who was acquainted. 
 
 "Yes, that is his name. How did you re- 
 member ? She is very fond of him — he is her 
 intimatest friend, she says. So she is< under 
 great obligations to her aunt. It's a large 
 quilt, but it's none too large to 'cover' 
 Thomas Jefferson. I'm going to help her 
 buy a lining and cotton batting." 
 
 " Cracked corn will make a good lining, but 
 cotton bat — " 
 
 28 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 "Robert, this is not a comedy! If you'd 
 seen Rebecca Mary, and the quilt, you'd 
 call it a tragedy. You couldn't surprise me 
 any if you told me she'd quilted it herself!" 
 
 Down the road from Aunt Olivia's farm, 
 across its southern boundary fence, romped 
 and shouted all day long the Tony Trum- 
 buUses. No one, except possibly their 
 mother, was quite certain how many of them 
 there were; it was a dizzy process to take 
 their census. They were never still, in little 
 brown bare Umbs nor shrill voices. From 
 sunup to sundown the Tony TrumbuUses 
 raced and laughed. Certainly they were 
 happy. 
 
 ■The minister's wife had not dared to tell 
 her caller of the afternoon that the minister's 
 children were down there shouting and racing 
 with the little Tony Trtmibullses. Dear, no! 
 — ^not after Rebecca Mary in the course of 
 conversation had said that Aunt Olivia did 
 not countenance the Tony Trtmibullses. 
 Rebecca Mary did not say "coimtenance," 
 but it meant that. 
 
 " Her aunt won't let her play with them, 
 29 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Robert. And she'd like to — ^you needn't tell 
 me Rebecca Mary wouldn't like to! I saw 
 it in her poor little solemn eyes. Besides, 
 she said she asked her aunt once to let her. 
 Robert, aunts are cruel ; I never knew it be- 
 fore. They've no business bringing up little 
 Rebecca Marys!" 
 
 "My dear! — Felicia!" But in the min- 
 ister's eyes was agreement. 
 
 Atmt Olivia took afternoon naps with 
 pimctilious regularity — ^Aunt Olivia herself 
 was punctilious regularity. At half -past one, 
 day upon day, she hung out the dish-towel, 
 hung up her kitchen apron, and walked with 
 unswerving course into her bedroom. There, 
 disposed upon the dainty bed in rigid lines of 
 unrest, she rested. The naps were often long 
 ones. 
 
 A little after the afternoon that Rebecca 
 Mary spent at the minister's the birthday 
 quilt was finished. The thousandth tiny 
 piece was neatly over-'n'-overed to its gor- 
 geous expanse. But Rebecca Mary was not 
 content. She longed to make it more com- 
 plete. She wanted to surprise Aunt 'Livia 
 30 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 with it, as Aunt 'Livia on that momentous 
 birthday of her own had surprised her with 
 the little fluff -ball of yellow down that had 
 grown into Thomas Jefferson. That had 
 been such a beautiful surprise, but this — 
 Aunt 'Livia had seen the quilt so many, 
 many times ! She had taught Rebecca Mary's 
 stiff little fingers to set the first stitches in it ; 
 she had made her rip out this purple square 
 and that pink-checked one, and this one and 
 that one and that. Oh, Aunt 'Livia was ac- 
 quainted with the quilt! It would not be 
 much of a surprise. 
 
 But Rebecca Mary set her little pointed 
 chin between her little brown palms and 
 pondered, and out of the pondering grew a 
 plan so ambitious and so daring that Re- 
 becca Mary gasped in the throes of it. But 
 she held her ground and entertained it in- 
 trepidly. She even grew on friendly terms 
 with it in the end. Here was a way to sur- 
 prise Aunt 'Livia ; Rebecca Mary would do it ! 
 That it would entail an almost endless 
 amount of work did not daunt her — Rebecca 
 Mary was a Plummer, and Plummers were 
 31 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 not to be daunted. The long vista of patient 
 hours of trying labor that the plan opened up 
 before her set her blood tingling like a 
 warrior's on the eve of battle. What were 
 long, patient hours to a Plummer? Re- 
 becca Mary girded up her loins and went to 
 meet them. 
 
 Thereafter at Aunt Olivia's nap-times Re- 
 becca Mary disappeared. Day upon day, 
 week upon week, she stole quietly away when 
 the door of Aunt Olivia's bedroom shut. The 
 first time she went oddly loaded down with 
 what would have appeared — if there had 
 been any one for it to "appear" to — like a 
 bundle of long sticks. She made two trips 
 into the unknown that first day. The second 
 time the bundle looked much like that one 
 over which her grave blue eyes had peered at 
 the minister's wife when she went to spend 
 the afternoon with her. 
 
 It was spring when the mysterious dis- 
 appearances began. It was summer before 
 Aunt Olivia woke up — not from her nap, but 
 from her inattention. Quite suddenly she 
 came upon the realization that Rebecca 
 32 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 Mary was not about the house ; nor about the 
 grounds, for she instituted prompt search. 
 She went to all the child's odd little haunts — 
 the grapery, the orchard, the corn-house, 
 even to her own beloved back yard, full of 
 sweet-scented hiding-nooks dear to a child, 
 but sacred ground to Aunt Olivia. Rebecca 
 Mary sometimes did her "stents" there as a 
 special privilege; she might be there now, 
 unprivileged. Aunt Olivia's back yard was 
 almost as'fuU of flowery- delights to Rebecca 
 Mary as it was to Aunt Olivia. 
 
 The child was not there — not anjrwhere. 
 Aunt OHvia sought for Thomas Jefferson to 
 inquire of him, but Thomas Jefferson was 
 missing too. She went the rounds again. 
 Where could the child be ? 
 
 It was a hot, stinging day in late June when 
 Aunt Olivia's suspicions awoke. They had 
 been long in rousing, but, once alert, they 
 developed rapidly into certainties. Her pale 
 eyes glistened, her thin nostrils dilated — Aunt 
 Olivia's whole lean, sharp, unemotional per- 
 son put on suspicion. The child had gone to 
 see the Tony Trumbullses. 
 33 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "My land!" ejaculated Aunt Olivia, "after 
 all my forbidding! And she a Plummer!" 
 She sat down suddenly as though a little faint. 
 She had never known a Plummer to disobey 
 before; it was a new experience. It took 
 time to get used to it, and she sat still a long 
 time, rigid and grim, on the edge of the chair. 
 Then as suddenly as she had sat down she got 
 up. It could not be — she refused to enter- 
 tain the suspicion longer. Rebecca Mary 
 had not gone there to that forbidden place; 
 she was in the garden somewhere. Aunt 
 Olivia, a little stiff as if from a chill, went 
 once more in search of the child. 
 
 "Rebecca! Rebecca Mary!" she called, at 
 regular intervals. Then sharply, "Rebecca 
 Mary Plummer!" Her voice had thin ca- 
 dences of suspicion lurking in it against its 
 will. 
 
 But there seemed really no doubt. One 
 by one incriminating circumstances oc- 
 curred to Aunt Olivia. Rebecca Mary had 
 longed to go so much ; the Tony TrumbuUses, 
 one at a time or in a tumultuous body, had 
 urged her so often ,- she herself had more than 
 34 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 once caught the child gazing wistfully, in 
 passing by, at the bewildering, deafening 
 froUcs of the little Tony Trumbullses. Once 
 Rebecca Mary had asked to go barefoot, as 
 they went. Once she had let out the tight 
 little braids in her neck and rumpled her thin 
 little hair. Once Aunt Olivia had come upon 
 her playing. The remembrance of it now 
 tightened the lines around Aunt Olivia's lips. 
 The child had been running wildly about the 
 yard, shouting in a strange, excited, ridicu- 
 lous way. When Aunt Olivia in stem dis- 
 pleastu"e had demanded explanations, she 
 had run on recklessly, calling back over her 
 shotdder: "Don't stop me! I'm a Tony 
 Trumbull!" 
 
 "My land!" breathed Aunt Olivia, taking 
 back the suspicion to her breast. "After all 
 my forbidding she's gone down there. She's 
 been going down there dear knows how long. 
 She's waited till I took my naps an' then 
 went. A Plummer !" 
 
 There was really nowhere else she could 
 have gone. She had never wanted to go 
 anywhere else, except to the minister's, 
 35 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 and Rebecca Mary was punctilious and 
 would not think of going there again till 
 the minister's wife had returned her 
 visit. 
 
 But Aunt Olivia waited. As usual, she 
 went to her room next day at nap-time and 
 closed the door behind her. But when a 
 little figure slipped down the road towards 
 the forbidden place a moment later, she was 
 watching behind her blinds. She was groan- 
 ing as if in pain. 
 
 The little figure began to run staidly. Aunt 
 Olivia groaned again. The child was in a 
 hurry to get there — ^she couldn't wait to 
 walk ! There was guilt in every motion of the 
 little figure. 
 
 "And she runs like a Plummer," groaned 
 Aunt Olivia. 
 
 The next day, and the next, Aunt Olivia 
 watched behind her blind^. The fourth day 
 she put on her afternoon dress and followed 
 the hurrying little figure. Not at once — 
 Aunt Olivia did not hurry. There was a sad 
 reluctance in every movement. It seemed a 
 terrible thing to be following Rebecca Mary 
 ,^6 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 — Rebecca Mary Plummer — ^to a forbidden 
 place. 
 
 Afar ofE Aunt Olivia heard faintly the shout- 
 ings that always heralded an approach to 
 the Tony TrumbuUses, and shuddered. The 
 tumult kept growing clearer ; she thought she 
 detected a wild, excited little shout that 
 might be Rebecca Mary's. Her thin lips set 
 into a stern, straight line. 
 
 A splash of red caught Aunt Olivia's eye 
 as she drew nearer the joyous whirl of little 
 children. Rebecca Mary wore a little tight 
 red dress. The coil seemed closing in about 
 the child. 
 
 Close to the southern boundary fence of 
 Aunt Olivia's land stood an old empty barn. 
 It had been a place for storing surplus hay 
 once, when there had been surplus hay. For 
 many years now it had been empty. As 
 Aunt Olivia approached it she noticed that 
 its great sliding -door was open. Strange, 
 when for so long it had been shut ! 
 
 " If that old bam door ain't open!" breathed 
 Aunt Olivia, stopping in her astonishment. 
 " I ain't seen it open before in these ten years, 
 37 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Now, what I want to know is, who opened it ? 
 Likely as not those screeching little wild In- 
 juns." She strode across the stubby grass- 
 ground to the barn and peered into its cool, 
 dim depths. Then Aunt Olivia uttered a 
 little, bewildered cry. ■ Gradually the dimness 
 took on light and the whole startling pict- 
 ure within unfolded itself to her astonished 
 eyes. 
 
 Rebecca Mary was quilting. She was 
 stooping earnestly over a gay expanse of 
 purples and reds and greens. Her little tight 
 red back was towards Aunt Olivia ; it looked 
 bent and strained. Rebecca Mary's eyes 
 were very close to the gay expanse. 
 
 Suddenly Rebecca Mary began to speak, 
 and Aunt Olivia's widened eyes discovered a 
 great, white rooster pecking about under the 
 quilt. His big, snowy bulk stood out distinct 
 in the shadow of it. 
 
 "I'm glad we're 'most through. Aren't 
 you, Thomas Jefferson? It's been a pretty 
 long quilt. You get sort of tired when you 
 qiiilt a long quilt. It makes your back creak 
 when you tmbend it ; and when you quilt in a 
 38 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 bam, of course you can't see without squinch- 
 ing, and it hurts your eyes to squinch." 
 
 Silence again, except for the industrious 
 peck-peck of the great white rooster. Aunt 
 Olivia stood very still. 
 
 "You've been a great help, Thomas Jef- 
 ferson," began again the voice of Rebecca 
 Mary, after a little. "I'm ve-ry much 
 obHged to you, as I've said before. I don't 
 know what I should have done without you. 
 No, you needn't answer. I couldn't hear a 
 word you said. You can't hear with cotton 
 in both o' your ears," Rebecca Mary sighed. 
 There was no cotton in Aunt Olivia's ears to 
 shut out the soft little sound. " But of course 
 you have to wear it in, on account o' your 
 conscience. It's conscience cotton, Thomas 
 Jefferson. I've explained before, but I don't 
 know's you understood. It seems a little un- 
 polite to wear it in my ears, with you here 
 keeping me comp'ny. I s'pose you think 
 it's un — ^unsociable. But Aunt Olivia doesn't 
 allow me to 'sociate with the Tony Trum- 
 buUses. Oh, Thomas Jefferson, I wish she'd 
 allow me to 'sociate!" 
 
 4 39 
 
■Rebecca Mary 
 
 Aunt Olivia found herself wishing she had 
 conscience cotton in both o' her ears. 
 
 "They're such nice, cheerful little children! 
 It makes you want to go right over their 
 fence and hollow too." Rebecca Mary pro- 
 nounced it "hollow" with careful precision. 
 Aunt Olivia would not approve of "holler." 
 " And when you can't, you like to listen. But 
 I s'posed listening to them hollow wotild be 
 'sociating. So I put the cotton in." 
 
 The joyous "hollowing" broke in waves of 
 glee on Aunt Olivia's ear-drums. It seemed 
 to be assaulting her heart. Oddly, now it 
 did not sound unmannerly and dreadful. It 
 sounded nice and cheerful. A Pliunmer, 
 even, might be happy like that. 
 
 " Cotton is a very strange ex — exper'ence, 
 Thomas Jefferson," ran on the little voice. 
 "At first you 'most can't stand it, but you 
 get over the worst of it byme-by. Besides, 
 we're getting 'most through now. Ain't that 
 splendid, Thomas Jefferson ? And it's pretty 
 lucky, too, because Aunt 'Livia's birthday is 
 getting ve-ry near. It — it almost scares 
 me. Doesn't it you ? For I don't know how 
 40 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 Aunt 'Livia looks when she's pleased — ^you 
 think she'll look pleased, don't you, Thomas 
 Jefferson? It's such a long quilt, and when 
 you've sewed every stitch yourself — " 
 
 If Rebecca Mary had turned round then 
 she would have seen how Aunt Olivia looked 
 when she was pleased. But the little figure 
 at the quilting-frame bent steadily to its task, 
 only another soft sigh stealing into Aunt 
 Olivia's uncottoned ears. Thomas Jefferson 
 pecked his way towards the open door, and 
 the lean figure there started back guiltily; 
 Aunt Olivia did not want to be recognized. 
 
 "You there under the quilt, Thomas Jef- 
 ferson?" The little voice put on tenderness. 
 "Because I'm a-going to tell you something. 
 Once Aunt 'Livia gave me a birthday present 
 and it was you. Such a little mite of a yellow 
 chicken! That's why I'm making the quilt 
 for Aunt 'Livia. It was three years ago; 
 I've loved you ever since," added Rebecca 
 Mary, simply. 
 
 For an instant Aunt Olivia stopped being 
 a Plummer. A sob crept into her throat. 
 
 "Rebecca! Rebecca Mary! Rebecca Mary 
 41 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Plummer!" she cried, involuntarily. Then 
 she stepped back hastily, glad for the cotton 
 in Rebecca Mary's ears. For the surprise — 
 she must not spoil the child's hard-earned 
 surprise. And, besides, Aunt Olivia wanted 
 to be surprised. 
 
 It was a relief to get away. She could not 
 look any longer at the picture in the great 
 cobwebby barn — the gorgeous quilt spread 
 out to its full extent, the empty scaffolds 
 above Rebecca Mary stooping to her work, 
 Thomas Jefferson pecking about the floor. 
 Aunt Olivia was not old; through all the 
 years ahead of her she would remember 
 that picture. 
 
 She went straight to the southern boundary 
 fence and looked across at the jubilant little 
 Tony TrumbuUses. The one in a red dress 
 like Rebecca Mary's she singled out with a 
 pointing finger, 
 
 "You come here," she called. "I won't 
 hurt you; you no need to look scairt. Do 
 you know who I am? I'm Rebecca Mary's 
 aunt. You know who Rebecca Mary is, don't 
 you?" 
 
 42 
 
The Thousand Quilt 
 
 "Gracious!" shrilled the little red Tony 
 Trumbull, which Aunt OHvia took for yes. 
 
 " Well, then^ you know where I live. You 
 see here — I want you all, the whole kit o' 
 you, to come to my house to-morrow morn- 
 ing to see Rebecca Mary. I'm going to say 
 it over again. To-morrow morning, to see 
 Rebecca Mary!" setting apart the syllables- 
 with the pointing finger. " You can play in. 
 my back yard," said Aunt Olivia, sublimely 
 unconscious of slang. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 The Bible Dream 
 
The Bible Dream 
 
 lEBECCA MARY sat on the 
 : kitchen steps, shelling pease 
 land trying not to listen. 
 ! She had begun a hummy 
 I little tune to help out,, but 
 in the interstices of rattling 
 pease and the verses of the tune she could 
 distinctly hear some of the things Aunt Olivia 
 and the Caller were saying. This was one of 
 the things: 
 
 "She's offered a reward, but / don't cal- 
 culate there's much chance she'll ever see it 
 again." 
 
 A sigh followed. The voice was the Call- 
 er's, the sigh Aunt Olivia's. 
 
 " It's queer where it ever went to!" Aunt 
 Olivia's voice. 
 
 47 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "Yes, it's all o' queer," the Caller's, with 
 mysterious hints in it that made Rebecca 
 Mary, out on the doorsteps, shudder sud- 
 denly and forget where she was in the tune. 
 Oh, oh, dear, did they s'pose — they couldn't 
 s'pose it had been stolen f" 
 
 Rebecca Mary's little hard brown hand 
 stopped half-way to the pea-basket and fell 
 limply at her side on the doorstep. It made 
 a little thud as it fell. Rebecca Mary's horri- 
 fied gaze»wandered out into the glare of sun- 
 shine where wandered Thomas Jefferson, 
 stepping daintily, hunting bugs. That was 
 his day's work. Thomas Jefferson was a 
 hard worker. 
 
 The voices went on, but Rebecca Mary did 
 not heed them now; she was looking at 
 Thomas Jefferson, but she did not see him. 
 Not until — it happened. On a sudden 
 Thomas Jeffergon, forgetful of dignity, made 
 a swoop for something that glittered in the 
 grass. Then Rebecca Mary saw him — 
 then started to her feet with an inarticulate 
 little cry, while in her honest brown eyes the 
 horror grew. Oh, oh, dear, what was that 
 48 
 
The Bible Dream 
 
 Thomas Jefferson had swooped for? For a 
 brief instant it had glittered in the grass-^ 
 Rebecca Mary knew in her soul that it had 
 glittered. 
 
 Thomas Jefferson stretched his sheeny 
 neck, curved it ridiculously, and crowed. It 
 sounded like a crow of triumph ; that was the 
 way he crowed when the bug had been a 
 delicious one. 
 
 The Caller was coming out. Aunt Olivia 
 with her. Rebecca Mary could, hear the 
 crackle of their starched skirts ; Aunt Olivia's 
 crackled loudest. Rebecca Mary had always 
 had a queer feeling that Aunt Olivia herself 
 was starched. There had never been a time 
 when she could not remember her carry- 
 ing her head very stiffly and straight and 
 never bending her back. Nobody else in 
 the world, Rebecca Mary reflected proudly, 
 could pick up a pin without bending. She 
 couldn't, herself, even after she had privately 
 practised a good deal. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Rebecca Mary, you out 
 here?" the Caller nodded pleasantly. Folks 
 had such queer ways of saying things. How 
 49 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 could you say good-afternoon to anybody if 
 she wasn't here? 
 
 "Didn't you hear Mrs. Dixey, Rebecca 
 Mary ? I guess you've forgot your manners, " 
 came in Aunt Olivia's crisp tones. 
 
 " Oh yes 'm, I have. I mean I did. Yes'm, 
 thank you, I'm out here," quavered Rebecca 
 Mary. She was not afraid of the Caller and 
 she had never been afraid of Aunt Olivia, but 
 the horror that was settling round her heart 
 made her clear little voice unsteady. Her 
 eyes were still following Thomas Jefferson on 
 his mincing travels about the yard. The 
 sunshine was on his splendid white coat, but 
 Rebecca Mary felt no pride in him. 
 
 "Ain't that the han'somest rooster! You 
 ought to show him at the fair, I de- 
 clare! See how his feathers glisten in the 
 sun!" 
 
 "Thomas Jefferson belongs to Rebecca 
 Mary," Aunt Olivia said, briefly. "She 
 raised him." 
 
 "My! Well, he's han'some enough. Ain't 
 it amusing how a nice-feeling rooster like 
 that will go stepping round as if he felt about 
 so 
 
The Bible Dream 
 
 too toppy to live! He'd ought to wear 
 diamonds." 
 
 "Oh, oh, dear, please don't!" breathed 
 Rebecca Mary, softly, but neither of the 
 women heard her. 
 
 "Well, well, I must be going. I've made 
 a regular visit. But I tell John when I get 
 away from home, it feels so good I stay! ' I 
 don't get away any too often,' I says, 'and 
 I guess I've eamt the right.' Well, I must 
 be going if I'm ever going to! Good-bye, 
 Miss Plummer — good-bye, Rebecca Mary. 
 All is, I hope Mis' Avery's boarder '11 find her 
 diamond, don't you? But / don't calculate 
 she will. Well, good-afternoon. She hadn't 
 ought to have wore the ring, when she knew 
 it was loose in the setting like that. Some 
 folks are just that careless! Well — " 
 
 But Rebecca Mary did not hear the rest 
 of the Caller's leave - taking. She had 
 slipped away to Thomas Jefferson out in the 
 sun. 
 
 " Oh, come here — come here with me!" she 
 cried, intensely. " Come out behind the barn 
 where we can talk. I've got to say some- 
 Si 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 thing to you that's awful ! I 've got to, you've 
 got to listen, Thomas Jefferson." 
 
 It was still and terribly hot in the treeless 
 glare behind the bam, but it was all in the 
 day's work to Thomas Jefferson. Behind 
 the bam was a beautiful place for bugs. 
 
 "Listen! Oh, you poor dear, you've got 
 to listen!" Rebecca Mary cried. "You've 
 got to stop hunting for bugs — and don't you 
 dare to crow ! If you crow, Thomas Jefferson, 
 it will break my heart. I don't s'pose you 
 know what you've done — I don't know as 
 you've done it — ^but there's something awful 
 happened. Oh, Thomas Jefferson, it glit- 
 tered — I saw it glitter!" Suddenly Rebecca 
 Mary stooped and gathered Thomas Jeffer- 
 son into her arms. She held him with a 
 passionate clasp against her flat little calico 
 breast. He was hers. He was all the in- 
 timate friend she had ever had. He had 
 been her little downy baby and slept in her 
 hand. She had fed him and watched him 
 grow and been proud of him. He was her 
 all. 
 
 "Oh, Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Jeffer- 
 52 
 
The Bible Dream 
 
 son, what was it ttiat glittered in the grass ? 
 Tell me and I'U believe you. Say it was a 
 little piece o' glass and I'll put you down and 
 go get you some corn, and we'll never speak 
 of it again. But don't look at me like that — 
 don't look at me like that! You look — 
 guilty!" 
 
 She rocked him in her arms. In her soul 
 she knew what it was that had glittered. But 
 in Thomas Jefferson's soul — oh, they could 
 not blame Thomas Jefferson! 
 
 "You haven't got any soul, poor dear; 
 poor dear, you haven't got any soul, arid you 
 can't be guilty without a soul. They could- 
 n't — hang — ^you." Her voice sank to the 
 •merest whisper. She tightened her clasp on 
 the great, soft body and smoothed the soft 
 feathers with a tender, tremulous little hand. 
 
 " The Lord didn't put anything in you but 
 a stomach and a — a gizzard. He left your 
 soul out and you're not to blame for that. I 
 don't blame you, Thomas Jefferson, and of 
 course the Lord don't. But Mrs. Avery's 
 boarder — oh, oh, dear, I'm afraid Mrs. 
 Avery's boarder will! You mustn't tell — I 
 S3 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 mean I mustn't. Nobody must know what 
 it was that glittered in the grass. Do you 
 want to be — searched? 
 
 " You know 'xactly where she sat over to 
 this house yesterday morning, when she went 
 by — ^and how she said you were too sweet for 
 anything — ^and how she flew her hand round 
 with — ^with it on it. You know as well as I 
 do. And it was loose, the di'moiid-stone was 
 loose. We didn't either of us know that. 
 We're not to blame if things are loose, and 
 you're not to blame for not having any soul. 
 But oh, oh, dear, how dreadftilly it makes us 
 both feel! You'd better give up crowing, 
 Thomas Jefferson ; I feel just as if you'd let it 
 out if you crew." 
 
 At tea Rebecca Mary played with her 
 spoon, while her berries swam, untasted, in 
 their yellow sea of cream. Aunt Olivia re- 
 monstrated. 
 
 "Why don't you eat your supper, child?" 
 she asked, sharply. Rebecca Mary was al- 
 ways glad when she said child instead of Re- 
 becca Mary, for then the sharpness did not 
 cut. She was feeling now for the glasses up 
 54 
 
The Bible Dream 
 
 in her thin gray hair. Aunt Olivia could see 
 everything through those glasses and it made 
 Rebecca Mary tremble to think — oh, oh, 
 dear, suppose she should see the secret hidden 
 in Rebecca Mary's soul! It seemed as if 
 Aunt Olivia trained the glasses directly upon 
 the corner where the secret glittered in the 
 gra — ^was hidden in Rebecca Mary's troubled 
 little soul. But this is what Aunt Olivia 
 said: 
 
 " It's your stomach. What you need is a 
 good dose of camomile-tea to tone you up. I 
 didn't give you any this spring, for a wonder. 
 Now you go right up to bed and I'll set some 
 to steeping. Does it hurt you any?" 
 
 "Oh yes'm," murmured Rebecca Mary, 
 sadly, but she meant her soul and Aunt Olivia 
 meant her stomach. She mounted the steep 
 stairs to her little eavesdropping room and 
 slipped her small spare body out of her 
 clothes into her scant little night-gown. It 
 was rather a relief to go to bed. If she could 
 have been sure that Thomas Jefferson — ^but, 
 no, Thomas Jefferson was not in bed. As 
 Rebecca Mary lay and waited for her camo- 
 s 55 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 mile-tea she was certain she could hear him 
 stepping about under the window. Once he 
 came directly tinder and "crew," and then 
 Rebecca Mary hid her head in the pillow — 
 for he was letting it out. 
 
 " Cock - a - doodle - do — ooo, did - you - 
 see - me - swoo - oo - oop - it - up?" crowed 
 Thomas Jefferson, under the window. Re- 
 becca Mary with her eyes pillow-deep could 
 see him stretching his neck and letting it out. 
 It seemed to her everybody could hear him — 
 Aunt Olivia down-stairs, steeping camomile- 
 blows, and Mrs. Avery's boarder across the 
 fields. 
 
 "Aunt Olivia," whispered Rebecca Mary, 
 while she sipped her bitter tea a little later, 
 "how much — I suppose precious things 
 cost a great deal, don't they?" 
 
 " My grief!" Aimt Olivia set down the bowl 
 and felt of Rebecca Mary's temples, then of 
 her wrists. The child was out of her head. 
 
 " Di'mond-stones like — like that boarder's 
 — I suppose those cost a great deal? As 
 much as — how much as. Aunt Olivia?" 
 
 "My grief, don't you worry about any 
 S6 
 
The Bible Dream 
 
 'di'moiid - stones'! You haven't lost any. 
 What you'll lose wiU be your health, if yott 
 don't swallow down the rest o' this tea and 
 go right to sleep like a good girl! No, no, 
 I'm not going to answer any questions. 
 Drink this; swallow it down." 
 
 Rebecca Mary swallowed it down, but she 
 did not go right to sleep like a good girl. She 
 lay on the hard Uttle bed and thought of 
 many things, or of one thing many times. 
 Over and over, wearily, drearily, tintil the sin 
 of Thomas Jefferson became her sin. She 
 adopted it. 
 
 When at last she dropped to sleep it was 
 to dream a Bible dream. Usually Rebecca 
 Mary hked to dream Bible dreams, but not 
 this one. This one was different. This one 
 was of Abraham and Isaac. She thought 
 she was right there and saw Abraham build 
 the little altar and offer up — ^no, it wasn't 
 Isaac! It was Thomas Jefferson. And the 
 Abraham in her dream was turning into 
 her. The flowing white robes were dwindling 
 to a Httle scant white night-gown. She 
 stood a little way oflf and saw herself of- 
 57 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 fering up Thomas Jefferson. It was a dread- 
 ful dream. 
 
 The night was a perfectly black one, the 
 kind that Rebecca Mary was afraid of. It 
 was the only thing in the world she had ever 
 been afraid of — a black night. But after the 
 dream she got up stealthily and slipped 
 through the blackness, out to Thomas Jef- 
 ferson. It was only out to the Httle lean-to 
 shed, but it seemed a very long way to Re- 
 becca Mary. The blacloiess pressed up 
 against her, she put out her little, trembling 
 hands and pushed through it. 
 
 "Thomas Jefferson! Thomas Jefferson!" 
 she called softly. But he was a sound sleeper, 
 she remembered ; she would have to find him 
 and wake him. In the darkness she felt 
 about on Thomas Jefferson's perch for 
 Thomas Jefferson. When the little groping 
 hand came upon something very soft and 
 warm, the other hand went up to join it, and 
 together they lifted Thomas Jefferson down. 
 He gave a protesting croak, and then, because 
 he was acquainted with the clasp of the two 
 small hands, and night or day liked it, he went 
 S8 
 
The Bible Dream 
 
 back to his interrupted dreams and said not 
 another word. Thomas Jefferson had never 
 dreamed a Bible dream — never heard of 
 Abraham or Isaac, had no soul to be dis- 
 quieted. 
 
 With her burden against her breast Re- 
 becca Mary pushed back through the dark- 
 ness, up to the black little room under the 
 eaves. She felt about for her little carpet- 
 covered shoe-box and gently, crowded the 
 great white bulk into it. Then she crept 
 back into bed and lay on the outer edge with 
 her loving, light little hand on Thomas Jef- 
 ferson's feathers. The trouble in her bur- 
 dened soul poured itself out. 
 
 "Oh, Thomas Jefferson," she whispered 
 down to the heap of soft feathers, " I'm going 
 to smooth you this way all night — ^for to- 
 morrow you die!" Her voice even in a whis- 
 per had a solemn, inspired note. "There's 
 no other way ; you'll have to make up your 
 mind to be willing. It's going to break my 
 heart, and, oh, I'm afraid it will break yours! 
 I'm afraid it will kill us both!" 
 
 Thomas Jefferson uttered a mournful 
 59 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 little croaky sound that might have been 
 "Et tu, Brute f" It pierced Rebecca Mary's 
 breast. "There, hush, poor dear, poor dear, 
 and rest. You'll need all your sleep," she 
 crooned softly and brokenly. "To-morrow 
 morning I'll give you some beautiful com, 
 and then — and then I'm going to take you to 
 Mrs. Avery's boarder and tell her the worst. 
 I'm going to give you up, Thomas Jefferson; 
 and I'm the best friend you've got in the 
 world! But I've got to — I've got to — ^I've 
 got to ! It's been revealed to me in a dream. 
 There was a man once in the Bible, named 
 Abraham, and there was his dearly beloved 
 little boy named Isaac. And now here's me 
 named Rebecca Mary, and dearly beloved 
 you named Thomas Jefferson. Oh, I don't 
 suppose you can understand; I suppose 
 you're asleep. You'll never know how it 
 feels to give up your dearly belovedest, but 
 oh, oh, dear, you'll know how it feels to be 
 given up! You'll be one o' the blessed 
 martyrs, Thomas Jefferson — doesn't that 
 comfort you a little speck? Oh, why don't 
 you wake up and be comforted? 
 60 
 
The Bible Dream 
 
 "The Lord excused Abraham, after all. 
 But this isn't the Lord, it's Mrs. Avery's 
 boarder. I'm afraid she isn't the Lord's 
 kind — I'm afraid not, Thomas Jefferson. I 
 don't dare to let you hope; I've got to pre- 
 pare you for the worst." 
 
 She caught up the big, white fellow with 
 sudden, irresistible yearning and sat up with 
 him and rocked him back and forth in her 
 arms. She began a mufifled, sad little tune 
 like a wail. The words were terrible words. 
 
 "I'll hold you in my arms. I'll rock you 
 — ^rock you — rock you. For to-morrow, oh, 
 to-mor-row you — must — die ! Aber-a-ham 
 offered Isaac, and / — must — offer — you." 
 
 Over and over, then tenderly she low- 
 ered Thomas Jefferson to the shoe - box 
 again. 
 
 When Aunt Olivia came up in the morning, 
 vaguely alarmed because it was so late and 
 no Rebecca Mary stirring, she had news to 
 tell. Some one going by had told her some- 
 thing. 
 
 "Well, that woman's found her 'di'mond- 
 
 stone,' — ^how are you feeling this morning, 
 6i 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 child ? It was in her pocket where she'd put 
 her hand in and felt round! So all that fuss 
 for noth— " 
 
 Suddenly Aunt Olivia stopped, for without 
 warning, out of a box at the bedside stalked 
 a great white rooster and flew to the foot 
 board and "crew"; 
 
 " Cock-a-doodle-do-ooo! 
 It was glass that glittered in the grass, 
 And all the time I knew-oo-ooo!" 
 
 "My grief!" Aunt Olivia gasped. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 The Cook-book Diary 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 JEBECCA MARY decided to 
 I keep a diary. It was not 
 I an inspiration, though it was 
 i rather like one in its sudden- 
 l ness. Of course she had al- 
 [ ways known that Aunt Olivia 
 kept a diary. When she was very small she 
 had stretched a-tiptoe and with little point- 
 ing forefinger counted rows and rows of little 
 black books that Aunt Olivia had "kept." 
 Each little black book had its year -label 
 pasted neatly on the back. Rebecca Mary 
 breathed deep breaths of awe, there were so 
 many of them. There must be so much 
 weather in those little black books — so 
 many pleasant days, rainy days, storms, 
 and snows! 
 
 6S 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 It was Rebecca Mary who remembered that 
 it was Tuesday, and that it had showered a 
 little Wednesday — shone Thursday — show- 
 ered again on Friday. Rebecca Mary was the 
 jog to Aimt Olivia's memory. It gave her 
 now, at the beginning of her own diary career, 
 an experienced feeling, as if she knew already 
 how to keep a diary. It made it seem a much 
 simpler matter to begin. 
 
 And then, of course, the minister's littlest 
 little boy — really it was the minister's littlest 
 little boy who had started Rebecca Mary. 
 He had volunteered a peep into his own diary,, 
 and made whispered explanations and sug- 
 gestions. He let Rebecca Mary read some 
 of the entries: "Mundy, plesent and good. 
 Tusdy, rany and bad. Wensdy, sum plesent 
 and not good enuf to hirt. Thirsdy — " but 
 he had hastily withdrawn the book at 
 "Thirsdy," and a tidal-wave of warm red 
 blood had flowed up over his little brown 
 ears and in around all the little brown isl- 
 ands of his freckles. So Rebecca Mary had 
 begun hastily to talk of other things. For 
 the minister's littlest little boy had explained 
 66 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 that the first statement in each entry referred 
 to the weather and the second to the deport- 
 ment of the writer, and Rebecca Mary had re- 
 marked a sympathetic resemblance between 
 the two statements. She had caught a fleet- 
 ing glimpse of the weather part of "Thirsdy " 
 — she could guess the rest. Better let the 
 curtain fall on ' ' Thirsdy. " On her way home 
 Rebecca Mary decided to keep a diary her- 
 self. Her first day's record had been a good 
 deal like the "Mundy" of the minister's lit- 
 tlest little boy, only there were more a's in 
 the weather. After that, little by little, she 
 branched out into a certain originality — ^the 
 Rebecca Mary sort. If she had not been 
 hampered by circtimstances, it would have 
 been easier to be original. The most ham- 
 pering circumstance was the cook-book itself, 
 which she was driven to use in her new under- 
 taking. There was room on the blank leaves 
 and above and below the recipes for cake and 
 pudding and pie. The book was one Aunt 
 Olivia had given her long ago to draw im- 
 possible pictures in. 
 
 In the beginning Rebecca Mary tried past- 
 67 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 ing pieces of "empty" paper over the pies 
 and puddings and cakes, but the empty paper 
 was too transparent. In rather startling 
 places things were liable to show through. 
 
 As : " Sunday. — It rained a level teaspoon- 
 ful. Aunt Olivia and I went to church. The 
 text was thou shalt not steal i J cups of sour 
 milk — " Rebecca Mary got no farther than 
 that. She was a little appalled at the result 
 thus far, and hastily turned a page and began 
 again in a blank space where no intrusive 
 pudding could break through and corrupt. 
 Thereafter she wrote above and below the 
 recipes and pasted no more thin veils over 
 them. It seemed safer. 
 
 Aunt Olivia, apparently oblivious to what 
 was going on, yet saw and did not disapprove. 
 It was to be expected that the child should 
 come into her inheritance sometime, early or 
 late. If early — ^well. 
 
 " It's the Plummer in her. All the Plum- 
 mers have kept diaries," Aunt Olivia mused, 
 knitting stolidly on while the child stooped 
 painfully to her self-imposed task. The 
 quaint resemblance to herself at her own 
 68 
 
ALL THE PLUNr.MERS HAVE KEPT DIARIES' 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 diary-writing did not escape her, and she 
 smiled a little in the Aunt Olivia way that 
 scarcely stirred her lips. Aunt Olivia smiled 
 oftener now when she looked at the child. 
 She was "failing" a little, Plummerly. Be- 
 tween the two of them, little Plummer and 
 big, stretched of late a tie woven of sheets and 
 a gorgeous quilt of a thousand bits. It was 
 not very visible to the naked eye, but they 
 were both rather shyly conscious that it was 
 there. They would never be quite so far 
 apart again. 
 
 Rebecca Mary took her diary out to the 
 haunts of Thomas Jefferson and read aloud 
 selections to him, with an odd, conscious 
 little air, as though she were graduating. The 
 great white fellow was a sympathetic auditor, 
 if silence and extreme gravity count. Only 
 once did he ever make comments, and Re- 
 becca Mary could never quite make up her 
 mind whether he laughed then or applauded. 
 When a great white rooster elongates his 
 neck, crooks it ridiculously, flaps his wings 
 and crows, it's hard telling exactly what 
 feeling prompts him. But Rebecca reasoned 
 69 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 from past experience and her faith in him — 
 he had never laughed at her before. It was 
 applause. The especial entry which evoked 
 it was the one that first mentioned an allow- 
 ance. 
 
 '''Thursday. — I think I'm going to — '" 
 read Rebecca Mary slowly; and it was sig- 
 nificant that on this Thursday there was no 
 weather. " ' I havent desided — I dont know, 
 but I think I'm going to ask Aunt Olivia to 
 pay me 5 cents a weak. Rhoda says you 
 call it an alowance, and I supose she knows. 
 She is the minnister's daughter. She has 10 
 cents a weak unless shes bad and then she 
 pays the minnister an alowance. He charges 
 her I cent a sin and he gives it to somebody 
 who is indignant — I think Rhoda said in- 
 dignant. Then I should think he would give 
 it back to Rhoda. I shant only ask Aunt 
 Olivia for 5 cents — I think she will be more 
 likely. I havent desided but I think I shall 
 ask her tomorrow after her knap. After 
 knaps you are more rested and maybe things 
 dont look just as they do before knaps. 
 
 " ' Friday. — I think Ide better wait untill 
 70 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 tomorrow. Her knap was rather short. Ive 
 desided to say you needent alow but 4 if 5 is 
 too mutch. If she alows Im going to buy 
 me some crimpers. Rhodas curls natchurally 
 but she says you can crimp it if it doesent. 
 I have begun to look at myself in the glass 
 and it fritens me — I guess there ought to be 
 a gh in that — to see how homebly I am. I 
 wonder if it doesent kind of scare Aunt Olivia. 
 Prehaps if I was pretty like Rhoda she would 
 call me darling and dear instead of Rebecca 
 Mary. I dont blame her mutch because I 
 look like Rebecca Mary. 
 
 "'Saturday. — I think Sunday will be the 
 best time to ask her, just after she gets home 
 from meeting and has rolled her bonnet strings 
 up, espesialy if the minnister preaches on the 
 Lord lovething a cheerful giver. I am hope- 
 ing he will. If I dont get the crimpers Ime 
 going to give up looking in the glass. For I 
 think Ime growing homeblyer right along. 
 Theres something the matter with my nose. 
 Rhodas doesent run up hill. I never thought 
 about noses before. Aunt Olivias is a little 
 quear too but I like it because its Aunt 
 6 71 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Olivias nose. I wish I knew if Aunt Olivia 
 liked mine. I wish we were better 
 akquainted. 
 
 "'Sunday. — I wish the Lord had created 
 mine curly because I dont dass to ask Aunt 
 Olivia. I don't dass to, so there. It scares 
 my throat. I supose its because atmts amt 
 mothers — seems as if youd dass to ask your 
 mother. I hate to be scart on acoimt of be- 
 ing a Plummer. Im afraid Im the only 
 Plummer that ever was — •' " 
 
 The reading suddenly stopped here. This 
 was Sunday, and the last entry was fresh 
 from Rebecca Mary's pencil. 
 
 "Thomas Jefferson!" stormed Rebecca 
 Mary, in a little gust of passion, " don't you 
 ever tell I was scared ! As long as you live ! — 
 cross your heart! — oh, I wish I hadn't read 
 that part to you! You're a Plummer too, 
 and you never were scared, and you can't 
 understand — " 
 
 The diary was clutched to Rebecca Mary's 
 little flat breast, and with a swirl of starched 
 Sunday skirts the child was gone. She went 
 straight to Aunt Olivia. Red spots of shame 
 
 72 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 flamed in both sallow little cheeks ; resolution 
 sat astride her little up-hill nose. She could 
 not bear to go, but it was easier than being 
 ashamed. The pointing fingers of all the 
 Plummers pushed her on. Go she must, or 
 be a coward. Long ago — it seemed long to 
 Rebecca Mary — ^she had stood up straight 
 and stanch and refused to make any more 
 sheets. Was that little girl who had dared, 
 this little girl who was afraid ? Should that 
 little girl be ashamed of this one ? 
 
 "Aunt Olivia," steadily, though Rebecca 
 Mary's heart was pounding hard — "Aunt 
 Olivia, are — are you well off?" 
 
 She had not meant to begin like that, but 
 afterwards she was glad that she had. 
 
 "My grief!" Aunt Olivia ejaculated in her 
 surprise. What would the child ask next? 
 "Am I well off? If you mean rich, no, I 
 ain't." 
 
 "Oh! Then you're— why, I didn't think 
 about your being poor! I shouldn't have 
 thought of asking — ^that makes a great dif- 
 ference. I never thought of that !" 
 
 She was off before Atmt Olivia had fully 
 
 73 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 recovered her breath, and the stumping of 
 her heavy little shoes going up -stairs was 
 th5 only distinctly audible sound. In her 
 own room Rebecca Mary stopped, panting. 
 "Oh, I'm glad I didn't get as far as asking!" 
 she breathed aloud. " I never thought about 
 her being poor — of course then I wouldn't 
 ask!" 
 
 But she squared her shoulders and stood 
 up, straight and unashamed. For she had 
 vindicated herself. She had been ready to 
 ask. She could look that other little girl of 
 the sheets in the face. The Other Little Girl 
 was there, coming to meet her as she ad- 
 vanced to the little looking-glass above the 
 table. But Rebecca Mary waved her back 
 -peremptorily. 
 
 " Go right back!" she said. " I only came 
 to tell you I wasn't a coward — ^that's all. 
 'Good-bye. For I'm not coming any more. 
 You're sorry I'm homely, and I'm sorry you 
 .are, but it doesn't do any good for us to look 
 at each other and groan. It will make us un- 
 satisfied. So I shall turn you back to the 
 ■wall — good-bye." 
 
 74 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 But for a very instant they looked sadly 
 into each other's Httle lean brown-yellow 
 faces. It was a brief ceremony of farewell. 
 "Good-bye," smiled Rebecca Mary, bravely. 
 And the lips of The Other Little Girl moved 
 as though saying it too. The Other Little 
 Girl smiled. And neither of them knew that 
 just then she was beautiful. 
 
 Aunt Olivia was trying to meet her own 
 courage-test. She had been trying a good 
 many days. Duty — stem, unswerving duty 
 — ^bade her inspect Rebecca Mary's little 
 cook-book diary. Should she not know — 
 ought she not to know the thoughts that 
 were brewing in the child's mind? How else 
 could she bring her up properly ? 
 
 ' ' Read it, " Duty said ; " find out. Are you 
 afraid?" 
 
 "I'm ashamed," groaned Aunt Olivia. 
 "Do you think Rebecca Mary would read 
 my diary?" 
 
 "Is Rebecca Mary bringing you up?" 
 
 Aunt Olivia sometimes thought so. The 
 puzzle that she had begun to try to solve 
 when Rebecca Mary's white, death - struck 
 75 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 mother had laid her baby in Aunt Olivia's un- 
 accustomed arms was getting a little more 
 difficult every day. Some days Aunt Olivia 
 wondered if she ought to give it up. Oh, this 
 bringing up — this bringing up of little children ! 
 
 "If I must," groaned Aunt Olivia, and got 
 as far as taking the little diary in her hands. 
 But she got no farther. She laid it gently 
 down again. 
 
 " I can't," she said, firmly, but she could 
 not look Duty in the face as she said it. She 
 had always listened to Duty before. 
 
 " You know you ought to — " 
 
 "Yes, I know, but I can't! It seems a 
 shameful thing to do. I'm sure I've tried 
 often enough — you know I've tried — " 
 
 "I know — that was good practice. Now 
 stop trying and read it!" 
 
 Aunt Olivia flamed up. "I tell you I 
 won't! It's a shameful thing. If I found 
 Rebecca Mary reading one of my diaries, I 
 should send her to bed — " 
 
 " Read hers and go to bed yourself. It's 
 your duty to read it. When you bring up a 
 child—" 
 
 76 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 " I never will again!" 
 
 Aunt Olivia read it, with the relentless 
 grip of Duty holding her to the task. But 
 flame-spots crept up through the sallow of her 
 thin cheeks and naade what atonement they 
 could. 
 
 It did not take long, though some of the 
 pages she read twice. The weatherless week, 
 when Rebecca Mary had put off her " asking " 
 from day to day. Aunt Olivia went back to 
 the third time. When she closed the little 
 book it was not a Plummer face she lifted 
 it to and laid it against for the space of a 
 breath — a Plummer face would not have been 
 wet. 
 
 Then she whirled upon Duty. " Well, I've 
 done it — I hope you're satisfied!" 
 
 " It had to be done," calm Duty responded. 
 " If you think it will make you feel any bet- 
 ter, you can send yourself to bed." 
 
 " I 'm going to, " sighed Aunt Olivia, slipping 
 away to her room. A strange little yearning 
 was upon her to hunt up Rebecca Mary and 
 call her darling and dear. But in her heart 
 she knew she should not have the courage 
 77 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 to do it. Here was another Plummer cow- 
 ard! 
 
 " Why are some people made like me ?" she 
 thought — " so it kills 'em to say anything any- 
 ways tenderish. Seems to be too much for 
 their vocal organs — they'd rather do a week's 
 washing!" 
 
 Other thoughts came to Aunt Olivia as she 
 lay on her bed, doing her whimsical penance 
 for violating the sanctity of the little old cook- 
 book. She was not comfortable. It was a 
 hard bed — ^nothing was soft of Aunt Olivia's. 
 She moved about on it uneasily. 
 
 " When they're dead, we're willing enough 
 to say tenderish things to 'em," her musings 
 ran. " We wish we had then.. I suppose if 
 Rebecca Mary was — " 
 
 She got no farther for the sudden horror 
 that was upon her — ^that sent her to her feet 
 and to the door. But there she stopped in 
 the blessed relief that drifted in to her on a 
 child's laugh. Somewhere out there Rebecca 
 Mary was laughing in her subdued, sweet way. 
 A cracked, shrill crow followed — ^Thomas Jef- 
 ferson was laughing too. 
 
 7« 
 
'aunt OLIVIA didn't S.-IV IT, BUT SHE MOST DID 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 Rebecca Mary was not dead. There was. 
 time to say a " tenderish " thing to her before 
 she lay — before that. Aunt Olivia shut her 
 eyes resolutely to the vision that had in- 
 truded upon her musings. It was Rebecca. 
 Mary who was laughing somewhere out there- 
 that she wanted to see. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and in the quiet 
 of the long afternoon Rebecca Mary read 
 aloud again to Thomas Jefferson. It was: 
 from the little cook-book diary. Thomas 
 Jefferson was pecking about the long grass of 
 the orchard. 
 
 "Oh, listen!" cried Rebecca Mary, her 
 eyes unwontedly shining. "Listen to this, 
 Thomas Jefferson! 
 
 "'Saturday. — ^Wind northwest by Mrs. 
 Tupper's weather vain. Something hap- 
 pened yesterday. Aunt Olivia didn't say it, 
 but she most did. She came right out ofjaer 
 bedroom and I saw it in her face! " Dear" — 
 "darling," — ^they were both there, and she 
 was looking at me! Nobody ever looked 
 " dear " — " darling " at me before. I suppose 
 my mother would have. If I hadent had 
 79 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 another mother I think I should like to have 
 had Aunt Olivia. 
 
 "'You feel that way more after you get 
 akquainted. When I get very akquainted 
 prehaps I shall tell Aunt Olivia. Itsquear, 
 I think, how it isent as easy to say some 
 things as it is to think them. You can wright 
 them easier too. I am glad Ime keeping a 
 diary because I can wright about yesterday 
 and what happenned. I shall read it to my 
 grand children — to be continude. 
 
 "'Sunday' — that's today, Thomas Jef- 
 ferson, — 'Sunday. — ^This is yesterday con- 
 tinude, because there was too mutch for one 
 day. Something else beutiful happenned. 
 My Aunt Olivia said to me as folows, I have 
 desided to pay you a weakly alowance of lo 
 cents a weak Rebecca Mary. And I never 
 asked her to. And she never said anything 
 about charging me for my sins. I was going 
 to ask her but I found out she was poor. That 
 was a mistake, she isent. She must be some 
 well of I think for lo cents seams a great deal 
 to have of your own every weak. But I shant 
 buy crimpers. Ime going to buy a present 
 80 
 
The Cook-book Diary 
 
 for Aunt Olivia byamby. Ime very happy. 
 I wish I knew how to spell hooray.' " 
 
 Suddenly Rebecca Mary was on her feet, 
 waving the cook-book jubilantly. 
 
 " Hoo - ray! Hoo - ray! Thomas Jeffer- 
 son!" she shouted, surprising the gentle Sun- 
 day calm. She surprised Thomas Jefferson, 
 too, but he was equal to the occasion — 
 Thomas Jefferson was a gentleman. 
 
 "Hoo-ra-a-a-ay!" he crowed, splendidly, 
 with a fine effect of clapping his hands. 
 
 This time there could be no doubt. This 
 was applause. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 The Bereavement 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 |HOMAS JEFFERSON was 
 (losing his appetite. Even 
 [Aunt Olivia noticed it, but 
 'it did not worry her as it 
 ;did Rebecca Mary. 
 
 "He's always had as 
 many appetites as a cat's got lives — ^he's got 
 eight good ones left," she said, caknly. 
 
 But Rebecca Mary was not calm. It 
 seemed to her that Thomas Jefferson was 
 getting thinner every day. 
 
 "Oh, I can feel your bones!" she cried, in 
 distress. " Your boijes are coming through, 
 you poor, dear Thomas Jefferson! Won't 
 you eat just one more kernel of com — ^just 
 this one for Rebecca Mary ? I 'd do it for you. 
 Shut your eyes and swallow it right down 
 and you'll never know it." 
 8S 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 That day Thomas Jefferson listened to her 
 pleading, but not the next day — ^nor the next. 
 He went about dispiritedly, and the last few 
 times that he crowed it made Rebecca Mary 
 cry. Even Aunt Olivia shook her head. 
 
 "I could do it better than that myself," 
 she said, soberly. 
 
 Rebecca Mary hunted bugs and angle- 
 worms and arranged them temptingly in 
 TOWS, but the big, white rooster passed them 
 by with a feeble peck or two. Bits of bread 
 failed to tempt him, or even his favorite 
 cooky crumbs. His eighth appetite departed 
 — ^his seventh, sixth, fifth, fourth. 
 
 " He lost his third one yesterday," lament- 
 ed Rebecca Mary, "and to-day he's lost his 
 second. It's pretty bad when he hasn't only 
 one left. Aunt Olivia." 
 
 "Pretty bad," nodded Aunt Olivia. She 
 was stirring up a warm mush. When Re- 
 becca Mary had gone up-stairs she took it to 
 Thomas Jefferson and commanded him to 
 eat. He was beyond coaxing — perhaps he 
 needed commanding. 
 
 Rebecca Mary thought Aunt Olivia did not 
 86 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 care, and it added a new sting to her pain. 
 There was that time that Aunt Olivia said she 
 wished the Lord hadn't ever created roosters 
 — ^Thomas Jefferson had just scratched up 
 her pansy seeds. And the time when she 
 wished Thomas Jefferson was dead — did she 
 wish that now? Was she — ^was she glad he 
 was going to be dead ? 
 
 For Rebecca Mary had given up hope. She 
 was not reconciled, but she was sure. She 
 spent all her spare time with the big, gaunt, 
 pitiful fellow, trying to make his last days 
 easier. She knew he liked to have her with 
 him. 
 
 "You do, don't you, dear?" she said. She 
 had never called him "dear" before. She 
 realized sadly that this was her last chance. 
 "You do like to have me here, don't you? 
 You'd rather? Don't try to crow — ^just nod 
 your head a little if you do." And the big, 
 -white fellow's head had nodded a little, she 
 was sure. She put out her loving little brown 
 hand and caressed it. 
 
 " I knew yoyrndid, dear. Oh, Thomas Jef- 
 ferson, Thomas Jefferson, don't die! Please 
 1 87 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 don't — think of the good times we'll have if 
 you won't! Think of the — ^the grasshoppers 
 ^the bugs, Thomas Jefferson — ^the cookies! 
 Won't you think? — ^won't you try to be a 
 little bit hungry?" 
 
 Rebecca Mary knew what it was to be 
 hungry and not be able to eat, but to be able 
 to eat and not be hungry — ^this was away 
 and beyond her experience. The sad puzzle 
 of it she could not solve. 
 
 One day the minister had a rather surpris- 
 ing summons to perform his priestly functions. 
 The summoner was Rebecca Mary. She ap- 
 peared like a sombre little shadow in his 
 sunny sermon-room. The minister's wife 
 ushered her in, and in the brief instant of 
 opening the door and announcing her name 
 fiashed him a warning glance. He had been 
 acquainted so long with her glances that he 
 was able to interpret this one with consider- 
 able accuracy. " All right," he glanced back. 
 No, he would not smile — ^yes, he would re- 
 member that it was Rebecca Mary. 
 
 "Do what she asks you," flashed the 
 minister's wife's glance. 
 88 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 "All right," flashed the minister. Then 
 the door closed. 
 
 "Thomas Jefferson is dying," Rebecca 
 Mary began, hurriedly. "I came to see if 
 you'd come." 
 
 In spite of himself the minister gasped. 
 Then, as the situation dawned clearly upon 
 him, his mouth corners began — in spite of 
 themselves — to curve upward. But in time 
 he remembered the minister's wife, and drew 
 them back to their centres of gravity. He 
 waited a little — it was safer. 
 
 "Aunt Olivia isn't at home and I'm glad. 
 She doesn't care. Perhaps she would laugh. 
 Oh, I know," appealed Rebecca Mary, 
 piteously, " I know he's a rooster! It isn't 
 because I don't know — ^but he's folks to me! 
 You needn't do anything but just smooth 
 his feathers a little and say the Lord bless 
 you. I thought perhaps you'd come and 
 do that. / could, but I wanted you to, 
 because you're a minister. I thought — I 
 thought perhaps you'd try and forget he's a 
 rooster." 
 
 "I will," the minister said, gently. Now 
 89 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 his lips were quite grave. He took Rebecca 
 Mary's hand and went with her. 
 
 "He's a good man," murmured the minis- 
 ter's wife, watching them go. She had known 
 he would go. 
 
 "He was one of my parishioners," the 
 minister was saying for the comforting of 
 Rebecca Mary. Unconsciously he used the 
 past tense, as one speaks of those close to 
 death. It was well enough, for already big, 
 gaunt, white Thomas Jefferson was in the 
 past tense. 
 
 Rebecca Mary chronicled the sad event in 
 her diary: 
 
 " Tomas Jefferson passed away at ten min- 
 utes of three this afternoon blessed are them 
 that die in the Lord. The minnister did not 
 get here in time. I wish I had asked him 
 to run for he is a very good minnister and 
 would have. He helped me berry him in the 
 cold cold ground and we sang a him. I 
 dident ask him to pray because he was only 
 a rooster, but he was folks to me. I loved 
 him. It is very lonesome. I dred wakening 
 up to - morrow because he always crowed 
 90 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 under my window. The Lord gaveth and 
 the Lord has taken away." 
 
 This last Rebecca Mary erased once, but 
 she WTote it again after a moment's thought. 
 For, she reasoned, it was the Lord-part of 
 Aunt Olivia which had given Thomas Jeffer- 
 son to her. In the primitive little creed of 
 Rebecca Mary every one had a Lord-part, 
 but some people's was very small. Not 
 Aunt Olivia's — she had never gauged Aunt 
 Olivia's Lord-part; it would not have been 
 consistent with her ideas of loyalty. 
 
 It was very lonely, as Rebecca Mary had 
 known it would be. At best her life had 
 never been over-full of companionships, and 
 the sudden taking-off — ^it seemed sudden, as 
 all deaths do — of Thomas Jefferson was hard 
 to bear. Strange how blank a space one 
 great, white rooster can leave behind him! 
 
 The yard and the orchard seemed full of 
 blank spaces, though in a way Thomas Jef- 
 ferson's soul seemed to frequent his old be- 
 loved haunts. Rebecca Mary could not see 
 it pecking daintily about, but she felt it was 
 there. 
 
 91 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 " His soul isn't dead," she persisted, gently. 
 She clung to the comfort of that. And one 
 morning she thought she heard again Thomas 
 Jefferson's old, cheery greeting to the sunrise. 
 The sound she thought she heard woke her 
 instantly. Was it Thomas Jefferson's soul 
 crowing? 
 
 "Aunt Olivia isent sorry," chronicled the 
 diary, sadly. " Prehaps shes glad. Once she 
 wished the Lord had forgot to create roosters. 
 But she was ever kind to Tomas Jefferson, 
 considdering the seeds he scrached up. That 
 was his besittingest sin and I know he is sorry 
 now. I wish Aimt Olivia was sorry." 
 
 Nothing was ever said between the two 
 about Rebecca Mary's loss, but Aunt Olivia 
 recognized the keenness of it to the child. 
 She worried a little about it ; it reminded her 
 of that other time of worry when Rebecca 
 Mary and she had nearly starved. Sheets 
 and roosters — ^there were so many worries in 
 the world. 
 
 That other time she went to the minister, 
 this time to the minister's wife. One after- 
 noon she went and carried her work. 
 92 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 "You know about children," she began, 
 without loss of time. "What happens 
 when they lose their appetite over a dead 
 rooster?" 
 
 "Thomas Jefferson?" breathed the minis- 
 ter's wife, softly. 
 
 "Yes — he's dead and buried, and she's 
 mourning for him. I set three tarts on for 
 dinner to-day, and I set three tarts away 
 after dinner Rebecca Mary is fond of tarts. 
 What should you do if it was Rhoda?" 
 
 "Oh — ^Rhoda — ^why, I think I should get 
 her another rooster, or a cat or something, to 
 get her mind off. But Rhoda isn't Rebecca 
 Mary — " 
 
 Aunt Olivia folded up her work. She got 
 up briskly. 
 
 " They've got a white rooster down to the 
 TrumbuUses', " she said. " I guess I better go 
 right down now; Tony Trumbull is liable to 
 be at home just before supper. I'm very 
 much obliged to you for your advice." 
 
 "Did I advise her?" murmured the minis- 
 ter's wife, watching the resolute swing of 
 Aunt Olivia's skirts as she strode away. " I 
 93 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 was going to tell her that what would cure 
 my Rhoda might not ctire Rebecca Mary. 
 Well, I hope it will work," but she was sure it 
 wouldn't. She had grown a little acquainted 
 with Rebecca Mary. 
 
 It was the new, white rooster crowing, in- 
 stead of the soul of Thomas Jefferson. Re- 
 becca Mary found out after she had dressed 
 and gone down-stairs. Soon after that she 
 appeared in the kitchen doorway with an 
 armful of snowy feathers. Aunt Olivia, over 
 her muffin-pans, eyed her with secret delight. 
 The cure was working sooner than she had 
 dared to expect. 
 
 "This is the Tony Tnimbullses' rooster; if 
 I hurry I guess I can carry him back before 
 breakfast," Rebecca Mary said from the door- 
 way. " I'll run. Aunt Olivia. " 
 
 "Carry him back!" Aunt Olivia's muffin- 
 spoon dropped into the bowl of creamy batter. 
 One look at Rebecca Mary convinced her that 
 the cure had not begun to work. Imper- 
 ceptibly she stiffened. " He ain't anybody's 
 but mine. I've bought him," she explained, 
 briefly. "You set him down and feed him 
 94 
 
SHE APPEARED IN' THE DOORWAY WITH AN ARMFUL OF 
 SNOWY feathers" 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 with these crumbs — he ain't human if he 
 don't like cloth-o'-gold cake." 
 
 But the child in the doorway, after gently 
 releasing the great fellow, drew away quietly. 
 The second look at her face convinced Aunt 
 Olivia that the cure would never work. 
 
 "You feed him, please, Aunt Olivia," Re- 
 becca Mary said; " I — couldn't. I'll stir the 
 muffins up." 
 
 Nothing further was ever said about keep- 
 ing the Tony Trumbull rooster. He pecked 
 about the place in unrestrained freedom until 
 the morning work was done, and then Aunt 
 Olivia carried him home in her apron. 
 
 " I concluded not to keep him — he'd likely 
 be homesick," she said, with a qualm of con- 
 science ; for the big, white fellow had certainly 
 shown no signs of homesickness. But she 
 could not explain and reveal the secret places 
 of Rebecca Mary's heart. Aunt Olivia, too, 
 had her ideas of loyalty. 
 
 In the diary, there occurred brief mention 
 
 of the episode: "The Tony Trumbull rooster 
 
 has been here. I could eat him — that's how 
 
 I feel about the Tony Trumbull rooster. I 
 
 95 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 never could have eatten Tomas Jefferson but 
 once and then it would have broken my 
 heart but I was starveing. Aunt Olivia took 
 him back." 
 
 Thomas Jefferson's grave was kept green. 
 Rebecca Mary took her stents down into the 
 orchard and sat beside it, sadly stitching. 
 She kept it heaped with wild flowers and 
 poppies from her own rows. Aunt Olivia's 
 flowers she never touched. The bitterness 
 of Aunt Olivia's not being sorry — perhaps 
 being glad — rankled in her sore little soul. 
 It would have helped — oh yes, it would 
 have helped. 
 
 Aunt Olivia worried on. It seemed to her 
 that all Rebecca Mary's meals in one meal 
 would not have kept a kitten alive — and that 
 reminded her. She would try a kitten. The 
 minister's wife had said a rooster or a cat. A 
 white kitten, she decided, though she could 
 scarcely have told why. 
 
 The kitten was better, but it was not a 
 
 cure. Rebecca Mary took the little creature 
 
 to her breast and told it her grief for Thomas 
 
 Jefferson and cried her Thomas Jefferson 
 
 06 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 tears into its soft, white fur. In that way, at 
 any rate, it was a success. 
 
 "Maybe I shall love you some day," she 
 whispered, "but I can't yet, while Thomas 
 Jefferson is fresh. He's all I have room for. 
 He was my intimate friend — ^when your in- 
 timate friend is dead you can't love anybody 
 else right away." But she apologized to the 
 little cat gently — she felt that an apology was 
 due it. 
 
 "You see how it is, little, white cat," she 
 said. " I shall have to ask you to wait. But 
 if I ever have a second love, I promise it will 
 be you. You're a great deal comfortinger 
 than that Tony Trumbull rooster! I could 
 love you this minute if I had never loved 
 Thomas Jefferson. Do you feel like waiting ?" 
 
 The little, white cat waited. And Aunt 
 Olivia waited. She made tempting dishes 
 for Rebecca Mary's meals, and put a ruffle 
 into her night-gown neck and sleeves — Re- 
 becca Mary had always yearned for ruffles. 
 
 " I don't believe she sees 'em. She don't 
 know they're there," groaned Aunt Olivia, 
 impotently. ''She don't see anything but 
 97 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Thomas Jefferson, and I don't know as she 
 ever will!" 
 
 But Rebecca Mary saw the ruffles and 
 fluted them between her brown little fingers 
 admiringly. She tried once or twice to go 
 and thank Aunt Olivia, and got as far as her 
 bedroom door. But the bitterness in her 
 heart stayed her hand from turning the knob. 
 If Aunt Olivia had only known that being 
 sorry was the right thing to do! Strangely 
 enough, though Rebecca Mary's view of the 
 matter never occurred to Aunt Olivia, she 
 came by-and-by to being sorry on her own 
 account. Perhaps she had been all along, 
 underneath her disquietude for Rebecca 
 Mary's sorrow. Perhaps when she thought 
 how quiet it had grown mornings, and what 
 a good chance there was now for a supple- 
 mentary nap, she was being sorry. When 
 she remembered that she need not buy wheat 
 now and yellow com, and that the cookies 
 would last longer — perhaps then she was 
 sorry. But she did not know it. It seemed 
 to come upon her with the nature of a 
 surprise on one especial day. She had 
 98 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 been working her un-"scrached," untram- 
 pled flower-beds. 
 
 "My grief!" she ejaculated, suddenly, as if 
 just aware of it. " I declare I believe I miss 
 him, too! I believe to my soul I'd like to 
 hear him crow — I wouldn't mind if he came 
 strutting in here!" And "in here" was 
 Aunt Olivia's beloved garden of flowers. 
 Surely she was being sorry now! 
 
 It was the next day that Rebecca Mary's 
 bitterness was sweetened — that she began to 
 be cured. She and the little, white cat went 
 down together to Thomas Jefferson's resting- 
 place. When they went home — and they 
 went soon — Rebecca Mary got her diary and 
 began to write in it with eager haste. Her 
 sombre little face had lighted up with some 
 inner gladness, like relief: 
 
 " Shes been there and put some lavvender 
 on and pinks. I mean Aunt Olivia. And 
 shes the very fondest of her pinks and 
 lavvender. So she must have loved Tomas 
 Jefferson. Shes sorry. Shes sorry. Shes 
 sorry. And Ime so glad." 
 
 Rebecca Mary caught up the little, white 
 99 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 cat and cried her first tear of joy on its neck. 
 Then she wrote again: 
 
 " Now there are two momers instead of one. 
 Two morners seams so mutch lovinger than 
 only one. I know he must feal better. I 
 think he must have been hurt before and so 
 was I, I wish I dass tell Aunt Olivia how 
 glad I am shes sorry." 
 
 But she told only the little, white cat. The 
 Pliimmer mantle of reticence had fallen too 
 heavily on her narrow little shoulders. What 
 she longed to do she did not "dass." But 
 that evening in her little ruffled night-gown 
 she went to Aunt Olivia's room and thanked 
 her for the ruffles. 
 
 "They're beautiful," she murmured, ia a 
 small agony of shyness. " I think it was very 
 kind of you to ruffle me — I've always wanted 
 to be. Thank you very much." And then 
 she had scurried away on her bare feet to the 
 safe retreat of her own room under the eaves. 
 Aunt Olivia, left behind, was unconsciously 
 relieved at not having to respond. She was 
 glad the child had discovered the ruffles and 
 was pleased It was a good sign. 
 
 lOO 
 
The Bereavement 
 
 " I'll mix up some pancakes in the morn- 
 ing," Aunt Olivia said, complacently. "Pan- 
 cakes may help along. Rebecca Mary is fond 
 of 'em ' 
 
 The pinks and the fragrant lavender ap- 
 peared to have established a certain unspo- 
 ken comradeship between the two " momers " 
 of Thomas Jefferson. Thereafter Rebecca 
 Mary went about comforted, and Aunt Olivia 
 relieved. The little, white cat purred about 
 the skirts of one and the stubbed-out toes of 
 the other in cheerful content. 
 
 "Well?" the minister's wife queried, in a 
 moment of social intercourse after church. 
 She and Aunt Olivia walked down the aisle 
 together. 
 
 "She's getting over it — or beginning to," 
 nodded Aunt Olivia. "That other rooster 
 didn't work, but I think the little cat is going 
 to. She hugs it." 
 
 " Good ! But she still mourns Thomas Jef — " 
 
 " Of course!" Aunt Olivia interposed, rather 
 crisply. "You couldn't expect her to get 
 over it all in a minute. He was a remarkable 
 rooster." 
 
 lOI 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 " She misses him, herself," inwardly smiled 
 the minister's little wife. Whether by virtue 
 of her relationship to the minister or by her 
 own virtue, she had learned to read human 
 nature with a degree of accuracy. 
 
 " I looked at myself in the glass to-night," 
 confessed Rebecca Mary's diary, " but it was 
 on acount of the rufles. I think Ime not 
 quite so homebly in rufles. I think Aunt 
 Olivia was kind to rufle me. I should like to 
 ware this night gown in the day time. I wish 
 folks did." 
 
 The pencil slipped out of Rebecca Mary's 
 fingers and rolled on the floor, to the undoing 
 of the little, white cat, who had gone to bed in 
 his basket. Rebecca Mary caught him up as 
 he darted after the pencil, and hugged him 
 in an odd little ecstasy. She felt oddly 
 happy. 
 
 " You little, white cat!" she cried, muffledly, 
 her face in this thick coat, "you've waited 
 and waited, but I think I'm going to love you 
 now — you needn't wait any more." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 The Feel Doll 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 |HE minister uttered a sup- 
 pressed note of warning as 
 solid little steps sounded in 
 the hall. It was he who 
 threw a hasty covering over 
 the doll. The minister's 
 wife sewed on undisturbedly. She did worse 
 than that. 
 
 "Come here, Rhoda," she called, "and tell 
 me which you like better, three tucks or five 
 in this petticoat?" 
 
 " Fi ve, " promptly, upon inspection. Rhoda 
 pulled away the concealing cover and re- 
 garded the stolid doll with tilted head. " She's 
 'nough like my Pharaoh's Daughter to be a 
 blood-relation," she remarked. "She's got 
 the Pharaoh complexion." 
 105 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "Spoken like my daughter!" laughed the 
 minister. "But I thought new dolls in this 
 house were always surprises. And here's 
 Mrs. Minister making doll petticoats out in 
 the open!" 
 
 "This is Rebecca Mary's — I'm dressing a 
 doll for Rebecca Mary, Robert. She's eleven 
 years old and never had a doll ! Rhoda's ten 
 and has had — How many dolls have you 
 had, Rhoda?" 
 
 "Gracious! Why, Pharaoh's Daughter, 
 an' Caiapha, an' Esther the Beautiful Queen, 
 an' the Children of Israel — five o' them — an' 
 Mrs. Job, an'— " 
 
 "Never mind the rest, dear. You hear, 
 Robert? Do you think Rhoda would be 
 alive now if she'd never had a doll ?" 
 
 The minister pondered the question. " May- 
 be not, maybe not," he decided; "but possi- 
 bly the dolls would have been." 
 
 "Don't make me smile, Robert. I'm 
 trying to make you cry. If Rebecca Mary 
 were sixty instead of eleven I should dress her 
 a doll." 
 
 "Then why not one for Miss Olivia?" 
 io6 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 "I may dress her one," undauntedly, "if 
 I find out she never had one in her life." 
 
 "She never did." The minister's voice 
 was positive. "And for that reason, dear, 
 aren't you afraid she would not approve 
 of Rebecca Mary's having one? Isn't it 
 rather a delicate mat — " 
 
 " Don't, Robert, don't discourage me. It's 
 going to be such a beautiful doUl And you 
 needn't tell me that poor little eleven-year- 
 old woman-child won't hold out her empty 
 arms for it. Robert, you're a minister — 
 would it be wrong to give it to her straight?"' 
 
 "Straight, dear?" 
 
 " Yes ; without saying anything to her aunt 
 Olivia. Tell me. Rhoda's gone. Say it as 
 — as liberally as you can." 
 
 The minister for answer swept doll, petti- 
 coat, and minister's wife into his arms, and 
 kissed them all impartially. 
 
 "Think if it were Rhoda," she pleaded. 
 
 "And you were 'Aunt Olivia'? You ask 
 me to think such hard things, dear! If I 
 could stop being a minister long enough — " 
 
 "Stop!" she laughed; but she knew she 
 107 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 meant keep on. With a sigh she burrowed 
 a little deeper in his neck. "Then I'll ask 
 Aunt Olivia first," she said. 
 
 She went back to her tucking. Only once 
 more did she mention Rebecca Mary. The 
 once was after she had come down-stairs from 
 tucking the children into bed. She stood in 
 the doorway with the look in her face that 
 mothers have after doing things like that. 
 The minister loved that look. 
 
 "Robert, nights when I kiss the children — 
 you knew when you married me that I was 
 foolish — I kiss little lone Rebecca Mary too. 
 I began the day Thomas Jefferson died — I 
 went to the Rebecca-Mary-est window and 
 threw her a kiss. I went to-night. Don't 
 say a word; you knew when you married 
 me. 
 
 Aunt Olivia received the resplendent doll 
 in silence. Pliimmer honesty and Plummer 
 politeness were at variance. Plummer po- 
 liteness said: "Thank her. For goodness' 
 sake, aren't you going to thank the minister's 
 wife?" But Plummer honesty, grim and 
 yieldless, said, "You can't thank her, be- 
 io8 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 cause you're not thankful." So Aunt Olivia 
 sat silent, with her resplendent doll across 
 her knees. 
 
 "For Rebecca Mary," the minister's wife 
 was saying, in rather a halting way. "I 
 dressed it for her. I thought perhaps she 
 never — " 
 
 "She never," said Aunt Olivia, briefly. 
 Strange that at that particular instant she 
 should remember a trifling incident in the 
 child's far-off childhood. The incident had 
 to do with a little, white night-gown rolled 
 tightly and pinned together. She had found 
 Rebecca Mary in her little waist and petticoat 
 cuddling it in bed. 
 
 " It's a dollie. Please 'sh, Aunt Olivia, or 
 you'll wake her up!" the child had whispered, 
 in an agony. "Oh, you're not agoing to 
 turn her back to a night-gown ? Don't unpin 
 her. Aunt Olivia — it will kill her! I'll name 
 her after you if you'll let her stay." 
 
 "Get up and take your clothes off." 
 
 Strange Aunt Olivia should remember at this 
 
 particular instant; should remember, too, 
 
 that the pin had been a little rusty and came 
 
 109 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 out hard. Rebecca Mary had slid out of bed 
 obediently, but there had been a look on her 
 little brown face as of one bereaved. She had 
 watched the pin come out and the night-gown 
 unroll, in stricken silence. When it hung re- 
 leased and limp over Aunt Olivia's arm she 
 liad given one little cry : 
 
 "She's dead!" 
 
 The minister's wife was talking hurriedly. 
 Her voice seemed a good way off ; it had the 
 effect of coming nearer and growing louder as 
 Aunt Olivia stepped back across the years. 
 
 " Of course you are to do as you think best 
 about giving it to her," the minister's wife 
 said, unwillingly. This came of being a 
 minister's wife! "But I think — I have al- 
 ways thought — that little girls ought — I 
 mean Rhoda ought — ^to have dolls to cuddle. 
 It seems part of their — her — inheritance." 
 This was hard work! If Miss Olivia would 
 not sit there looking like that — 
 
 "As if I'd done something unkind!" 
 thought the gentle little mother, indignantly. 
 She got up presently and went away. But 
 Aunt Olivia, with the doll hanging unhealth- 
 
 IIO 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 ily over her arm, followed her to the door. 
 There was something the Plummer honesty- 
 insisted upon Aunt Olivia's saying. She said 
 it reluctantly : 
 
 " I think I ought to tell you that I've never 
 believed in dolls. I've always thought they 
 were a waste of time and kept children from 
 learning to do useful things. I've brought 
 Rebecca Mary up according to my best 
 light." 
 
 "Worst darkness!" thought the minister's 
 wife, hotly. 
 
 " She's never had a doll. I never had one. 
 I got along. I could make butter when I was 
 seven. So perhaps you'd better take the 
 doll—" 
 
 "No, no! Please keep it, Miss Olivia, and 
 if you should ever change your mind — I mean 
 perhaps sometime — ^good-bye. It's a beauti- 
 ful day, isn't it?" 
 
 Aunt Olivia took it up into the guest- 
 chamber and laid it in an empty bureau 
 drawer. She closed the drawer hastily. She 
 did not feel as duty-proof as she had once 
 felt, before things had happened — softening 
 III 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 things that had pulled at her heart-strings 
 and weakened her. The quilt on the guest- 
 chamber bed was one of the things ; she would 
 not look at it now. And the sheets under the 
 quilt — and the grave 'of Thomas Jefferson 
 that she could see from the guest-chamber 
 window. Aunt Olivia was terribly beset with 
 the temptation to take the doll out to Re- 
 becca Mary in the garden. 
 
 " Are you going to do it ?" demanded Duty, 
 confronting her. " Are you going to give up 
 all your convictions now? Rebecca Mary's 
 in her twelfth year — pretty late to begin to 
 humor her. I thought you didn't believe in 
 humoring." 
 
 "I unpinned the night-gown," parried 
 Aunt Olivia, on the defensive. " I never let 
 her make another one." 
 
 "But you're weakening now. You want 
 to let her have this doll." 
 
 " It seems like part of — of her inheritance." 
 
 "Lock that drawer!" 
 
 Aunt Olivia turned the key unhappily. It 
 was not that her "convictions" had changed 
 — it was her heart. 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 She went up at odd times and looked at 
 the doll the minister's wife had dressed. She 
 had an unaccountable, uncomfortable feeling 
 that it was lying there in its coffin — that 
 Rebecca Mary would have said, "She's 
 dead." 
 
 It was a handsome doll. Aunt Olivia 
 was not acquainted with dolls, but she ac- 
 knowledged that. She admired it unwill- 
 ingly. She liked its clothes — the minister's, 
 wife had not spared any pains. She had not 
 stinted in tucks nor ruffles. 
 
 Once Aunt Olivia took it out and turned 
 it over in her hands with critical intent, but 
 there was nothing to criticise. It was a 
 beautiful doll. She held it with a curious, 
 shy tenderness. But that time she did not 
 sit down with it. It was the next time. 
 
 The rocker was so near the bureau, and 
 Aunt Olivia was tired — and the doll was al- 
 ready in her arms. She only sat down. For 
 a minute she sat quite straight and unre- 
 laxed, then she settled back a little — a little 
 more. The doll lay heavily against her, its 
 flaxen head touching her breast. After the 
 "3 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 manner of high-bred dolls, its eyes drooped 
 sleepily. 
 
 Aunt Olivia began to rock — a gentle sway 
 back and forth. She was sixty, but this was 
 the first time she had ever rocked a chi — a 
 doll. So she rocked for a little, scarcely 
 knowing it. When she found out, a wave of 
 soft pink dyed her face and flowed upward 
 redly to her hair. 
 
 "Well!" Duty jibed, mocking her. 
 
 "Don't say a word!" cried poor Aunt 
 Olivia. " I'll put her right back." 
 
 "What good will that do?" 
 
 "I'll lock her in." 
 
 " You've locked her in before." 
 
 " I'll— I'll hide the key." 
 
 "Where you can find it! Think again." 
 
 Aunt Olivia thrust the doll back into its 
 coffin with unsteady hands. The red in her 
 face had faded to a faint, abiding pink. She 
 locked the drawer and drew out the key. She 
 strode to the window and flung it out with a 
 wide sweep of her arm. 
 
 The minister's wife, ignorant of the result 
 of her kind little experiment, resolved to 
 114 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 question Rebecca Mary the next time she 
 came on an errand. She would do it with 
 extreme caution. 
 
 "I'll just feel round," she said. "I want 
 to know if her aunt's given it to her. You 
 think she must have, don't you, Robert? 
 By this time? Why, it was six weeks ago I 
 carried it over ! It was such a nice, friendly 
 little doll! By this time they would be such 
 friends — ^if her aunt gave it to her. Robert, 
 you think — " 
 
 "I think it's going to rain," the minister 
 said. But he kissed her to make it easier. 
 
 Rebecca Mary came over to bring Aunt 
 Olivia's rule for parson-cake that the minis- 
 ter's wife had asked for. 
 
 "Come in, Rebecca Mary," the minister's 
 wife said, cordially. " Don't you want to see 
 the new dress Rhoda's doll is going to have ? 
 I suppose you could make your doll's dress 
 yourself?" It seemed a hard thing to say. 
 Feeling round was not pleasant. 
 
 "P'haps I could, but she doesn't wear 
 dresses," Rebecca Mary answered, gravely. 
 
 *' No ?" This was puzzling. " Her clothes 
 115 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 don't come off, I suppose?" Then it could 
 not be the nice, friendly doll. 
 
 "No'm. Nor they don't go on, either. 
 She isn't a feel doll." 
 
 "A — what kind did you say, dear?" The 
 minister's wife paused in her work interested- 
 ly. Distinctly, Miss Olivia had not given her 
 the doll ; but this doll — " I don't think I quite 
 understood, Rebecca Mary." 
 
 "No'm; it's a little hard. She isn't a feel 
 doll, I said. I never had a feel one. Mine 
 hasn't any body, just a soul. But she's a 
 great comfort." 
 
 "Robert," appealed the minister's wife, 
 helplessly. This was a case for the minister 
 — a case of souls. 
 
 "Tell us some more about her, Rebecca 
 Mary, ' ' the minister urged, gently. But there 
 was helpessness, too, in his eyes. 
 
 " Why, that's all!" returned Rebecca Mary, 
 in surprise. " Of course I can't dress her and 
 undress her or take her out calling. But it's 
 a great comfort to rock her soul to sleep." 
 
 "Call Rhoda," murmured the minister's 
 wife to the minister ; but Rhoda was already 
 ii6 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 there. She volunteered prompt explanation. 
 There was no hesitation in Rhoda's face. 
 
 " She means a make-believe doll. Don't 
 you, Rebecca Mary?" 
 
 "Yes," Rebecca Mary assented; "that's 
 her other name, I suppose, but I never called 
 her by it." 
 
 "What did you call her?" demanded 
 practical Rhoda. "What's her name, I 
 mean?" 
 
 "Rhoda!" — hastily, from the minister's 
 wife. This seemed like sacrilege. But 
 Rhoda's clear, blue eyes were fixed upon 
 Rebecca Mary; she had not heard her 
 mother's warning little word. 
 
 A shy color spread thinly over the lean 
 little face of Rebecca Mary. For the space 
 of a breath or two she hesitated. 
 
 "Her name's — Felicia," then, softly. 
 
 "Robert" — the children had gone out to- 
 gether; the minister's wife's eyes were un- 
 ashamedly wet — " Robert, I wish you were a 
 — a sheriff instead of a minister. Because I 
 think I would make a better sheriff's wife. 
 Do you know what I would make you do?" 
 117 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 The minister could guess. 
 
 " I'd make you arrest that woman, Robert!" 
 
 " Felicia !" But she saw willingness for her 
 to be a sheriff's wife come into his own eyes 
 and stop there briefly. 
 
 "Don't call me ' Felicia ' while I feel as 
 wicked as this! Oh, Robert, to think she 
 named her little soul-doll after me!" 
 
 "It's a beautiful name." 
 4! Suddenly the wickedness was over. She 
 laughed unsteadily. 
 
 " It wouldn't be a good name for a sheriff's 
 wife, would it?" she said. "So I'll stay by 
 my own minister." 
 
 One day close upon this time Aunt Olivia 
 came abruptly upon Rebecca Mary in the 
 grape-arbor. She was sitting in her little 
 rocking-chair, swaying back and forth slowly. 
 She did not see Aunt Olivia. What was this 
 she was crooning half \uider her breath? 
 
 " Oh, hush, oh, hush, my doUie; 
 Don't worry any more. 
 For Rebecca Mary 'n' the angels 
 Are watching o'er, 
 — O'er 'n' o'er 'n' o'er." 
 
 118 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 The same words over and over — ^growing 
 perhaps a little softer and tenderer. Rebecca 
 Mary's arm was crooked as though a little 
 flaxen head lay in the bend of it. Rebecca 
 Mary's brooding little face was gazing down- 
 ward intently at her empty arm. Quite sud- 
 denly it came upon Aunt Olivia that she had 
 seen the child rocking like this before — that 
 she must have seen her often. 
 
 " Rebecca Mary 'n' the angels 
 Are watching o'er," 
 
 sang on the crooning Httle voice in Aunt 
 Olivia's ears. 
 
 The doll in its coflSn up-stairs; down here 
 Rebecca Mary rocking her empty arms. The 
 two thoughts flashed into Aunt Olivia's mind 
 and welded into one. All her vacillations 
 and Duty's sharp reminders occurred to her 
 clearly. She had thought that at last she 
 was proof against temptation, but she had 
 not thought of this. She was not prepared 
 for Rebecca Mary, here in her little rocking- 
 chair, rocking her little soul-doll to sleep. 
 
 The angels were used to watching o'er, but 
 9 119 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Aunt Olivia could not bear it. She turned 
 away with a strange, unaccustomed ache in 
 her throat. The minister's wife would not 
 have wanted her arrested then. 
 
 Aunt Olivia tiptoed away as though Re- 
 becca Mary had said, '"Sh!" She was re- 
 membering, as she went, the brief, sweet; 
 moment when she had sat like that and rock- 
 ed, with the doll the minister's wife had 
 dressed, in her arms. It seemed to establish 
 a new link of kinship between her and Re- 
 becca Mary. 
 
 She ran plump into Duty. 
 
 "Oh!" she gasped. She was a little 
 stunned. Aunt Olivia's Duty was robust and 
 solid 
 
 "I know where you've been. I tried to 
 get there in time." 
 
 " You're too late," Aunt Olivia said, firmly. 
 "Don't stop me; there's something I must 
 do before it gets too dark. It's six o'clock 
 now." 
 
 "Wait!" commanded Duty. "Are you 
 crazy? You don't mean — " 
 
 "Go back there and look at that child — 
 
 120 
 
The Feel Doll 
 
 and hear what she's singing! Stay long 
 enough to take it all in — don't hurry." 
 
 But Duty barred her way, grim and stem. 
 Palely she put up both her hands and thrust 
 it aside. She did not once look back at it. 
 
 Already it was dusky under the guest- 
 chamber window. She had to stoop and peer 
 and feel in the long tangle of grass. She kept 
 on patiently with the Plummer kind of 
 patience that never gave up. She was eager 
 and smiling, as though something pleasant 
 were at the end of the peering and stooping 
 and feeling. 
 
 Aunt Olivia was hunting for a key. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 The Plummer Kind 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 ?HE doll's name was Olivicia. 
 [Rebecca Mary had evolved 
 i the name from her inner 
 ! consciousness and her in- 
 tense gratitude to Aunt 
 1 Olivia and the minister's 
 wife. She had put Aunt Olivia first with in- 
 stinctive loyalty, though in the secret little 
 closet of her soul she had longed to call the 
 beautiftd being Felicia, intact and sweet. 
 She did not know the meaning of Felicia, but 
 she knew that the doll, as it lay in the loving 
 cradle of her arms, gazing upward with 
 changeless placidity and graciousness, looked 
 as one should look whose name was Felicia. 
 Greater compliment than this Rebecca Mary 
 cotdd not have paid the minister's wife. 
 
 I2S 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "OKvicia," she had placed the beautiful 
 being on the sill of the attic window, and 
 stood confronting, addressing it: "Olivicia, 
 it's coming — it is very near to ! Sit there and 
 listen and smile — oh yes, smile, smile. I 
 don't wonder! I would too, only I'm too 
 glad. When you're too glad you can't smile. 
 I've been waiting for it to come. OHvicia, 
 seems as if I'd been waiting a thou-san' years ! 
 You're so young, you've only lived such a 
 little while, of course I don't expect you to 
 understand the deep-downness inside o' me 
 when I think — " i 
 
 The address fluttered and came to a stand- 
 still here. Rebecca Mary was suddenly re- 
 minded that Olivicia was in the dark; she 
 must be enlightened before she could smile 
 understandingly, 
 
 "Why, you poor dear! — ^why, you don't 
 know what it is that's coming and that's near 
 to! it's the — city, Olivicia," enlightened 
 Rebecca Mary, gently, to insure against shock. 
 "Aunt Olivia's going — to — ^the — city." 
 
 In Rebecca Mary's dreamings it had al- 
 ways been the city. It did not need a " local 
 T26 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 habitation and a name"; enough that it had 
 streets upon streets, houses upon houses upon- 
 houses, a dazzKng swirl of men, women, and 
 little children — noise, glitter, glory. In her 
 dreamings the city was something so won- 
 drous and grand that Heaven might have: 
 been its name. The streets upon streets were^ 
 not paved with gold, of course — of course she 
 knew they were not paved with gold! But 
 in spite of herself she knew that she would 
 be disappointed if they did not shine. 
 
 Aunt Olivia had said it that morning. At; 
 breakfast — quite matter-of-factly. Think of 
 saying it matter-of-factly ! 
 
 "I'm going to the city soon, Rebecca 
 Mary," she had said, between sips of her tea. 
 " Perhaps by Friday week, but I haven't set 
 the day, really. There's a good deal to do." 
 
 Rebecca Mary had been helping do it all 
 day. Now it was nearly time for the pageant 
 of red and gold in the west that Rebecca Mary 
 loved, and she had come up here with the 
 beautiful being to watch it through the tiny 
 panes of the attic window, but more to ease 
 the aching rapture' in her soul by speech. She 
 127 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 must say it out loud. The city — the city — 
 to the city of streets and houses and men and 
 wonders upon wonders! 
 
 Olivicia had come in the capacity of calm 
 listener; for nothing excited Olivicia. 
 
 "I," Aunt Olivia had said, but Aunt 
 Olivia usually said "I." There was no dis- 
 couragement in that to Rebecca Mary. It 
 did not for a moment occur to her that "I" 
 did not mean "we." 
 
 The vaHse they had got down from its 
 cobwebby niche was roomy; it would hold 
 enough for two. Rebecca Mary knew that, 
 because she had packed it so many times in 
 her dreamings. She wished Aunt Olivia 
 would let her pack it now. She knew just 
 where she would put everything — her best 
 dress and Aunt Olivia's (for of course they 
 would wear their second -bests), their best 
 hats and shoes and gloves. Their night- 
 gowns she would roll tightly and put in one 
 end, for it doesn't hurt night-gowns to be 
 rolled tightly. Of course she would not 
 put anything heavy, like hair-brushes and 
 shoes and things, on top of anything — ^un- 
 128 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 less it was the night-gowns, for it doesn't 
 hurt — 
 
 "Oh, Olivicia — oh, Olivicia, how I hope 
 she'll say, ' Rebecca Mary, you may pack the 
 valise ' ! I could do it with my eyes shut, I've 
 •done it so many, many times!" 
 
 But Aunt Olivia did not say it. One day 
 and then another went by without her saying 
 itf and then one morning Rebecca Mary knew 
 by the pltimp, well-fed aspect of the valise 
 that it was packed. Aunt Olivia had packed 
 it in the night. 
 
 There was no one else in the room when 
 Rebecca Mary made her disappointing little 
 <iiscovery. She went over to the plump valise 
 and prodded it gently with her finger. But 
 it is so difficult to tell in that way whether 
 your own best dress, your own best hat, best 
 shoes, best gloves, are in there. Rebecca 
 Mary hurried up-stairs and looked in her 
 closet and in her "best" bureau drawer. 
 They were not there! In her relief she 
 caught up the beautiful being and strained 
 her hard, lifeless little body to her own 
 warm breast. If she had not been Rebecca 
 129 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Mary, she would have danced about the 
 room. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so relieved, Olivicia!" she laugh- 
 ed, softly. "If they're not up here, they're 
 down there. They've got to be somewhere. 
 They're in that valise — valise — vali-i-ise!" 
 
 Rebecca Mary had never been to a city, 
 and within her remembrance Aunt Olivia 
 had never been. Curiosity was not a Plum- 
 mer trait, hence Rebecca Mary had never 
 asked many questions about the remote 
 period before her own advent into Aunt- 
 Olivia's life. The same Plummer restraint 
 kept her now from asking questions. There 
 was nothing to do but wait, but the waiting 
 was illumined by her joyous anticipations. 
 
 Oddly enough, Aunt Olivia seemed to have 
 no anticipations — at least joyous ones. Her 
 thin, grave face may even have looked a little 
 thinner and graver, if Rebecca Mary had 
 thought to notice. 
 
 The night the lean old valise' took on plump- 
 ness Aunt Olivia went often into Rebecca- 
 Mary's little room. Many of the times she 
 came out very shortly with the child's " best" 
 130 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 things trailing from her arms, but once or 
 twice she stayed rather long — long enough to 
 stand beside a little white bed and look down 
 on a flushed little face. A pair of wide-open 
 eyes watched her smilingly from the pillows, 
 but they were not Rebecca Mary's eyes, and 
 OHvicia was altogether trustworthy. 
 
 An odd thing happened — but Olivicia 
 never told. Why should she publish abroad 
 that she had lain there and seen Aunt Olivia 
 bend once — ^bend twice — over Rebecca Mary 
 and kiss her ? 
 
 Softly, patiently, very wearily. Aunt Olivia 
 went in and out. The things she brought out 
 in her arms she folded carefully and packed, 
 but not in the lank old valise. She put them 
 all with tender painstaking into a quaint 
 little carpet-bag. When the work was done 
 she set the bag away out of sight, and went 
 about packing her own things in the old 
 valise. 
 
 The day before, she had been to see the 
 
 minister and the minister's wife. She called 
 
 for them both, and sat down gravely and 
 
 made her proposition. It was startling only 
 
 131 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 because of the few words it took to make it. 
 Otherwise it was very pleasant, and the 
 minister and the minister's wife received it 
 with nods and smiles. 
 
 "Of course, Miss Olivia — why, certainly!" 
 smiled and nodded the minister. 
 
 "Why, it will be delightful— and Rhoda 
 will be so pleased!" nodded and smiled the 
 minister's wife. But after their caller had 
 gone she faced the minister with indignant 
 eyes. 
 
 "Why did you let her?" she demanded. 
 "Why did you spoil it all by that?" 
 
 "Because she was Miss Olivia," he answer- 
 ed, gently. 
 
 "Yes-=-yes, I suppose so," reluctantly; 
 "but, anyway, you needn't have let her do it 
 in advance. Actually it made me blush, 
 Robert!" 
 
 The minister rubbed his cheeks tentatively. 
 " Made me, too," he admitted, " but I respect 
 Miss Olivia so much — " 
 
 The minister's wife tacked abruptly to her 
 other soiirce of indignation. 
 
 "Why doesn't she take Rebecca Mary? 
 132 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 Robert, wait! You know it isn't because — 
 You know better!" 
 
 "It isn't because, dear — I know better," 
 he hurried, assuringly. The minister was 
 used to her little indignations and loved them 
 for being hers. They were harmless, too, and 
 wont to have a good excuse for being. This 
 one, now — the minister in his heart won- 
 dered that Miss Olivia did not take 'Rebecca 
 Mary. 
 
 "It would be such a treat. Robert, you 
 think what a treat it would be to Rebecca 
 Mary!" 
 
 "Still, dear— " 
 
 " I don't want to be still! I want Rebecca 
 Mary to have that treat!" But she kissed 
 him in token of being willing to drop it there 
 — it was her usual token — and ran away to 
 get a little room ready. There was not a 
 device known to the minister's wife that she 
 did not use to make that room pleasant. 
 
 "Shall I take your pin-cushion, Rhoda?" 
 Rhoda had come up to help. 
 
 "Yes," eagerly, "and I'll write Welcome 
 with the pins." 
 
 133 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 " And the little fan to put on the wall — the 
 pink one?" 
 
 "Yes, yes; let me spread it out, mam- 
 ma!" 
 
 "That's grand. Now if we only had a 
 pink quilt — " 
 
 "I 'only have' one!" laughed Rhoda, 
 hurrying after it. 
 
 The whole little room when they left it, 
 like the pins in the pin - cushion, spelled 
 "Welcome." 
 
 Aunt Olivia got up earlier than usual one 
 day and went about the house for a final 
 survey. The valise and the little carpet-bag 
 she carried down-stairs and out on to the 
 front steps. Her face was whitened as if by 
 a long night's vigil. When she called Re- 
 becca Mary it was with a voice strained and 
 hoarse. The beautiful being Olivicia watch- 
 ed her with intent, unwinking gaze. Could 
 it be Olivicia understood? 
 
 "Hurry and dress, Rebecca Mary; there's 
 
 a good deal to do," Aunt Olivia said at the 
 
 door. She did not go in. "Yes, in your 
 
 second-best — don't you see I've put it out? 
 
 134 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 You can wear that every day now, till — for a 
 while." Something in the voice startled Re- 
 becca Mary out of her subdued ecstasy and 
 sent her down to breakfast with a nameless 
 fear tugging at her heart. 
 
 "You're going to stay at the minister's 
 — I've paid your board in advance," Aunt 
 OHvia said, monotonously, as if it were her 
 lesson. She did not look at Rebecca Mary. 
 " I've put in yotir long-sleeve aprons so you 
 can help do up the dishes. There's plenty 
 of handkerchiefs to last. You mustn't forget 
 your rubbers when it's wet, or to make up 
 your bed yourself. I don't want you to make 
 the minister's wife any more trouble than you 
 can help." 
 
 The lesson went monotonously on, but 
 Rebecca Mary scarcely heard. She had 
 heard the first sentence — her sentence, poor 
 child! "You're going to stay at the minis- 
 ter's — stay at the minister's — stay at the 
 minister's." It said itself over and over 
 again in her ears. In her need for somebody 
 to lean on, her startled gaze sought the beau- 
 tiful being across the room in agonized appeal. 
 
 " 135 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 But Olivicia was staring smilingly at Aunt 
 Olivia. Et tu, Olivicia ! 
 
 If Rebecca Mary had noticed, there was an 
 appealing, wistful look in Aimt Olivia's eyes 
 too, in odd contrast to the firm lips that 
 moved steadily on with their lesson: 
 
 " You can walk to school with Rhoda, and 
 you'll enjoy that. You've never had folks to 
 walk with. And you can stay with her, only 
 you mustn't forget your stents. I've put in 
 some towels to hem. Maybe the minister's 
 wife has got something; if so, hem hers first. 
 You'll be like one o' the family, and they're 
 nice folks, but I want you to keep right on 
 being a Plummer." 
 
 Years afterwards Rebecca Mary remember- 
 ed the dizzy dance of the bottles in the great 
 caster — they seemed to join hands and sway 
 and swing about their silver circlet — and 
 how Aunt Olivia's buttons marched and 
 countermarched up and down Aunt Olivia's 
 alpaca dress. She did not look above the 
 buttons — she did not dare to. If she was to 
 keep right on being a Plummer, she must not 
 cry. 
 
 136 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 "That's all," she heard through the daze 
 and dizziness, " except that I can't tell when 
 I'll be back. It — ain't decided. Likely I 
 sha'n't be able — ^there won't be much chance 
 to write, and you needn't expect me to. You 
 no need to write me either. That's all, I 
 guess." 
 
 The stage that came for Aunt Olivia 
 dropped the little carpet-bag and Rebecca 
 Mary at the minister's. In the brief interval 
 between the start and the dropping, Re- 
 becca Mary sat, stiff and numb, on the edge 
 of the high seat and gazed out unfamiliarly 
 at the familiar landmarks they lurched past. 
 At any other time the knowledge that she was 
 going to the minister's to stay — to live — 
 would have filled her with staid joy. At any 
 other time — but this time only a dull ache 
 filled her little dreary world. Everything 
 seemed to ache — ^the munching cows in the 
 Trumbull pasture, the cats on the door-steps, 
 the dog loping along beside the stage, the 
 stage - driver's stooping old back. Aunt 
 Olivia was going to the city — Rebecca Mary 
 wasn't going to the city. There was no room 
 137 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 in the world for anything but that and the 
 ache 
 
 Rebecca Mary's indignation was not born 
 till night. Then, lying in the dainty bed, 
 under Rhoda's pink quilt, her mood changed. 
 Until then she had only been disappointed. 
 But then she sat up suddenly and said bitter 
 things about Aunt Olivia. 
 
 " She's gone to have a good time all to her- 
 self — and she might have taken me. She 
 didn't, she didn't, and she might 've! She 
 wanted all the good time herself! She didn't 
 want me to have any!" 
 
 "Rebecca Mary! — did you speak, dear?" 
 It was the gentle voice of the minister's wife 
 outside the door. Rebecca Mary's red little 
 hands unwrung and dropped on the pink quilt. 
 
 "No'm, I did — I mean yes'm, I didn't — I 
 mean — " 
 
 "You don't feel sick? There isn't any- 
 thing the matter, dear?" 
 
 "No'm — oh, yes'm, yes'm!" for there was 
 something the matter. It was Aunt Olivia. 
 But she must not say it — must not cry — 
 must keep right on being a Plummer. 
 138 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 "Robert, I didn't go in — I couldn't," 
 the minister's wife said, back in the cheery- 
 sitting-room. " I suppose you think I'd have 
 gone in and comforted her, taken her right in 
 my arms and comforted her the Rhoda way, 
 but I didn't." 
 
 "No.?" The minister's voice was a little 
 vague on account of the sermon on his knees. 
 
 "I seemed to know — something told me 
 right through that door — ^that she'd rather I 
 wouldn't. Robert, if the child is homesick, 
 it's a different kind of home-sickness." 
 
 "The Plummer kind," he suggested. The 
 minister was coming to. 
 
 " Yes, the Plummer kind, I suppose. Pltim- 
 mers are such — such Plummery persons, 
 Robert!" 
 
 Up-stairs under the pink quilt the rigid 
 little figure relaxed just enough to admit of 
 getting out of bed and fumbling in the little 
 carpet-bag. With her diary in her hand — for 
 Aunt Olivia had remembered her diary — 
 Rebecca Mary went to the window and sat 
 down. She had to hold the cook-book up at 
 a painful angle and peer at it sharply, for the 
 139 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 moonlight that filtered into the little room 
 through the vines was dim and soft. 
 
 "Aunt Olivia has gone to the city and I 
 haven't," painfully traced Rebecca Mary. 
 " She wanted the good time all to herself. I 
 shall never forgive Aunt Olivia the Lord have 
 mersy on her." Then Rebecca Mary went 
 back to bed. She dreamed that the cars ran 
 off the track and they brought Aunt Olivia's 
 pieces home to her. In the dreadful dream 
 she forgave Aunt Olivia. 
 
 It was very pleasant at the minister's and 
 the minister's wife's. Rebecca Mary felt 
 the warmth and pleasantness of it in every 
 fibre of her body and soul. But she was not 
 happy nor warm. She thought it was all 
 indignation against Aunt Olivia — she did not 
 know she was homesick. She did not know 
 why she went to the old home every day after 
 school and wandered through Aunt Olivia's 
 flower-garden, and sat with little brown 
 chin palm-deep on the door-steps, brooding. 
 Gradually the indignation melted out of ex- 
 istence and only the homesickness was left. 
 It sat on her small, lean face like a grim 
 140 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 little spectre. It troubled the minister's 
 wife. 
 
 "What can we do, Robert?" she asked. 
 
 "What?" he echoed; for the minister, too, 
 was troubled. 
 
 " She wanders about like a little lost soul. 
 When she plays with the children it's only 
 the outside of her that plays." 
 
 "Only the outside," he nodded. 
 
 "Last night I went in, Robert, and — and 
 tried the Rhoda way. I think she liked it, 
 but it didn't comfort her. I am sure now 
 that it is homesickness, Robert," They 
 were both sure, but the grim little spectre sat 
 on, undaunted by all their kindnesses. 
 
 " When thy father and thy mother forsake 
 the," wrote Rebecc'a Mary in the cook-book 
 diary, "and thy Aunt Olivia for I know it 
 means and thy Aunt Olivia then the Lord will 
 take the up, but I dont feal as if anyboddy 
 had taken me up. The ministers wife did 
 once but of course she had to put me down 
 again rite away. She is a beutiful person 
 and I love her but she is differunt from thy 
 father and thy mother and thy Aunt Olivia. 
 141 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Ide rather have Aunt Olivia take me up than 
 to have the Lord." 
 
 It was when she shut the battered little 
 book this time that Rebecca Mary remem- 
 bered one or two things that had happened 
 the morning Aunt Olivia went away. It was 
 queer how she hadn't remembered them before. 
 
 She remembered that Aunt Olivia had 
 taken her sharp little face between her own 
 hands and looked down wistfully at it — wist- 
 fully, Rebecca Mary remembered now, though 
 she did not call it by that name. She re- 
 membered Aunt Olivia had said, "You 
 needn't hem anything unless it's for the 
 minister's wife — ^never mind the towels I put 
 in." That was almost the last thing she had 
 said. She had put her head out of the stage 
 door to say it. Rebecca Mary had hemmed 
 a towel each day. There were but two left, 
 and she resolved to hem both of those to-mor- 
 row. A sudden little longing was born within 
 her for more towels to hem for Aunt Olivia. 
 
 It was nearly three weeks after Rebecca 
 Mary's entrance into the minister's family 
 when the letter came. It was directed to 
 
 1A2 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 Rebecca Mary, and lay on her plate when she 
 came home from school. 
 
 "Oh, look, you've got a letter, Rebecca 
 Mary!" heralded Rhoda, joyfully. Then her 
 face fell, for maybe the letter would say Aunt 
 OEvia was coming home. 
 
 " Is it from your aunt Olivia?" she asked, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " No," Rebecca Mary said, in slow surprise, 
 " The writing isn't, anyTvay, and the name is 
 another one — " 
 
 "Oh! Oh! Maybe she's got mar— " 
 
 "Rhoda!" cautioned the minister. 
 
 This is the letter Rebecca Mary read: 
 
 "Dear Rebecca Mary, — You see I know your 
 name from your aunt. She talked about you all 
 the time, but I am writing you of my own accord. 
 She does not know it. I think you will like to 
 know that at last we are feeling very hopeful about 
 your aunt. We have been very anxious since the 
 operation, she had so little strength to rally with. 
 But now if she keeps on as well as this you will 
 have her home again in a little while. The doctors 
 say three weeks. She is the patientest patient in 
 the ward. Yours very truly, 
 
 "Sara Ellen Nesbit, Nurse. 
 
 " Ward A, Emmons Hospitau" 
 
 143 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 That was the letter. Rebecca Mary's face 
 grew a Kttle whiter at every line of it. At 
 every line tinderstanding grew clearer, till at 
 the end she knew it all. She gave a little cry, 
 and ran out of the room. Love and remorse 
 and sympathy fought for first place in her 
 laboring little breast. In the next few min- 
 utes she lived so long a time and thought 
 so many thoughts! But above everything 
 else towered joy that Aunt Olivia was coming 
 home. 
 
 Rebecca Mary's eyes blazed with sudden 
 pride at being a Pluriimer. This kind of 
 courage was the Plummer kind. The child's 
 lank little figure seemed to grow taller and 
 straighter. She held up her head splendidly 
 and exulted. She felt like going up on the 
 minister's house-top and proclaiming: "She's 
 my aunt Olivia! She's mine! she's mine! — 
 I'm a Plummer, too! All o' you listen; 
 she's my aunt Olivia, and she's coming 
 home!" 
 
 Suddenly the child flung out her arms 
 towards the south where Aunt Olivia was. 
 And though she stood quite still, something 
 144 
 
The Plummer Kind 
 
 within her seemed to spring away and go 
 htirrying through the clear air. 
 
 "I shouldn't suppose Auttit Olivia would 
 ever forgive me, but she's Aunt Olivia and she 
 will," wrote Rebecca Mary that night, her 
 small, dark face full of a solemn peace — it 
 seemed so long since she had been full of 
 peace before. She wrote on eagerly: 
 
 " When she gets home Ime going to hug her 
 I can't help it if it wont be keeping right on." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Article Seven 
 
Article Seven 
 
 EBECCA MARY measured 
 them. Against the wood- 
 shed wall, with chalk — it 
 I was not altogether an easy 
 'thing to do. The result 
 'startled her. With rather 
 unsteady little fingers she measured from 
 chalk-mark to floor again, to make sure it 
 was as bad as that. It was even a little 
 worse. 
 
 "Oh," sighed Rebecca Mary, "to think 
 they belong to me — to think they're hitched 
 on!" She gazed down at them with scorn 
 and was ashamed of them. She tried to 
 conceal their length with her brief skirts ; but 
 when she straightened up, there they were 
 again, as long as ever. She sat down sud- 
 149 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 denly on the shed-floor and drew them up un- 
 derneath her. That was temporarily a relief. 
 
 "If I sit here world without end amen, 
 nobody '11 see 'em," grimly smiled Rebecca 
 Mary. 
 
 It was her legs Rebecca Mary measured 
 against the wood-shed wall. It was her legs 
 she was ashamed of. No wonder the minis- 
 ter's wife had said to the minister- — going 
 home from meeting, with Rebecca Mary be- 
 hind them unawares, — no wonder she had 
 said, "Robert, have you noticed Rebecca 
 Mary's legs?" 
 
 Rebecca Mary had not heard the reply of 
 the minister, for of course she had gone away 
 then. If she had stayed she would have 
 laeard him say, with exaggerated prudery, 
 "Felicia! my dear! were you alluding to 
 Rebecca Mary's limbs?" for the minister 
 wickedly remembered inadvertent occasions 
 when he himself had called legs legs. 
 
 "Legs," the minister's wife repeated, calm- 
 ly — "Rebecca Mary's are too long for limbs. 
 Robert, that child will grow up one of these 
 days!" 
 
 ISO 
 
Article Seven 
 
 " They all do," sighed the minister. " It's 
 human nature, dear. You'll be telling me 
 next that there's something the matter with 
 Rhoda's— legs." 
 
 The minister's wife gazed thoughtfully 
 ahead at a little trio fast approaching the 
 vanishing-point. Her eyes grew a little 
 wistfiil. 
 
 " There is now, perhaps, but I haven't no- 
 ticed — I won't look!" she murmured. "And, 
 anyway, Robert, Rhoda will give us a little 
 time to get used to it in. But Rebecca Mary 
 isn't the Rhoda kind — I don't believe Re- 
 becca Mary will give us even three days of 
 grace!" 
 
 "I always supposed Rebecca Mary was 
 born that way— grown up," the minister re- 
 marked, tucking a gloved hand comfortably 
 close under his arm. "I wouldn't let it 
 worry me, dear." 
 
 " Oh, I don't — not worry, really," she said, 
 smiling — "only her legs startled me a little 
 to-day. If she were mine, I should let her 
 dresses down." 
 
 " If she were Rhod— " 
 II 151 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "She isn't, she's Rebecca Mary. Proba- 
 bly if I were Miss Olivia I would let Rhoda's 
 down!" And she knew she would. 
 
 Rebecca Mary on the wood-shed floor sat 
 and thought "deep-down" thoughts. Her 
 eyes were fixed dreamily on a big knot-hole 
 before her, and the thoughts seemed to come 
 out of it and stand before her, demanding 
 imperiously to be thought. One after an- 
 other — a relentless procession. 
 
 " Think me," the first one had commanded : 
 "I'm the Thought of Growing Up. I saw 
 you measuring your legs, and I concluded it 
 was time for me to introduce myself. I had 
 to come some time, didn't I?" 
 
 "Oh yes," breathed Rebecca Mary, sadly. 
 " I don't suppose I could expect you to stay 
 in there always; but — but I'm not very glad 
 to see you. You needn't have come so 
 sudden," she added, with gentle resent- 
 ment. 
 
 The Thought of Growing Up crept into her 
 mind and nestled down there. As thoughts 
 go, it was not an unkind one. 
 
 " You'll get used to me sometime and like 
 152 
 
Article Seven 
 
 me," it said, comfortingly. But Rebecca 
 Mary knew better. She drove it out. 
 
 Why must legs keep on growing and un- 
 welcome Thoughts come out of knot-holes? 
 Why could not little girls keep on sewing 
 stents and learning arithmetic and carrying 
 beautiful doll-beings to bed? Why had the 
 Lord created little girls, like this — ^this grow- 
 ing kind? 
 
 "If I had made the world," began Re- 
 becca Mary — ^but stopped in a hurry. The 
 irreverence of presuming to make a better 
 world than the Lord shamed her. 
 
 " I suppose He knew best, but if He'd ever 
 been a little girl — " This was worse than the 
 other. Rebecca Mary hastily dismissed the 
 world and its Maker from her musings for 
 fear of further irreverences. 
 
 One Thought came out of the knot-hole, il- 
 lustrated. It was leading a tall woman-girl 
 by the hand — no, it was pushing it as though 
 the woman-girl were loath to come. 
 
 "Come along," urged the new Thought, 
 laughingly. "Here she is — this is Rebecca 
 Mary. Rebecca Mary, this is you! You 
 153 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 needn't be afraid of each other, you two. 
 Take a good long look and get acquainted." 
 
 The woman-girl was tall and straight. She 
 had Rebecca Mary's hair, Rebecca Mary's 
 eyes, mouth, little pointed chin. But not 
 Rebefcca's Mary's legs — unless the long skirts 
 covered them. She was rather comely and 
 pleasant to look at. But Rebecca Mary tried 
 not to look. 
 
 "She's got a lover — some day she'll be 
 getting married," the new Thought said more 
 abruptly, startlingly, than grammatically. 
 And then with a little muffled cry Rebecca 
 Mary put out her hands and pushed the 
 woman-girl away — ^back into the knot-hole 
 whence she had come. The Thought, too, 
 for she had no room in her mind for thoughts 
 like that. 
 
 "My aunt Olivia wouldn't allow me to 
 think of you," she explained in dismissing 
 them. "And," with dignity she added, 
 "neither would Rebecca Mary." 
 
 It was to be as the minister's wife had 
 prophesied — there were to be not even the 
 three days of grace allowed by law when Re- 
 154 
 
Article Seven 
 
 becca Mary grew up. Sitting there with her 
 legs, her poor little unappreciated legs, the in- 
 nocent cause of the whole trouble, curled out 
 of sight, Rebecca Mary planned that there 
 shotild be but one day of grace. She would 
 allow one day more to be a little girl in, and 
 then she would grow up. But that one day 
 — Rebecca Mary got up hastily and went to 
 find Aunt Olivia. 
 
 "Aunt Olivia," she began, without pre- 
 amble — Rebecca Mary never preambled — 
 "Aunt OH via, may I have a holiday to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 Aunt Olivia was rocking in her easy-chair 
 on the porch. It had taken her sixty-two 
 years to learn to sit in an easy-chair and rock. 
 Even now, and she had been home from the 
 hospital many months, she felt a little as 
 though the friendly birds that perched on the 
 porch railing were twittering tauntingly, 
 ' ' Pliimmer ! Plummer ! Pltimmer ! — ^rocking 
 in an easy-chair!" 
 
 "May I, Aunt Olivia?" It was an un- 
 usual occurrence for Rebecca Mary to ask 
 again so soon. But this was an unusual oc- 
 I5S 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 ciirrence. Aunt Olivia's thin face turned af- 
 fectionately towards the child. 
 
 "School doesn't begin again to-morrow, 
 dioes it?" she said in surprise. Weren't all 
 Rebecca Mary's days now holidays? 
 
 "Oh no — no'm. But I mean may I skip 
 my stents? And — and may I soak the 
 kettles and pans? Just to-morrow." 
 
 "Just to-morrow," repeated bewildered 
 Aunt Olivia — " soak — your — stents — " 
 
 "Because it's going to be a pretty busy 
 day. It's going to be a — a celebration," Re- 
 becca Mary said, softly. There was a 
 strangely exalted look on her face. Oddly 
 enough she was not afraid that Aunt Olivia 
 woiuld say no. 
 
 Aunt Olivia said yes. She did not ask 
 any questions about the celebration, on ac- 
 count of the exalted look. She could wait. 
 But the bewildered look stayed for a while 
 on her thin face. Rebecca Mary was a queer 
 child, a queer child — but she was a dear child. 
 Deamess atoned for queemess in Aunt 
 Olivia's creed. 
 
 The celebration began early the next mom- 
 156 
 
Article Seven 
 
 ing before Aunt Olivia was up. She lay in 
 bed and heard it begin. Rebecca Mary out 
 in the dewy garden was singing at the top of 
 her voice. Aunt Olivia had never heard her 
 sing like that before — not at the top. Her 
 sweet, shrill voice sounded rather unac- 
 quainted with such free heights as that, and 
 the woman in the bed wondered with a staid 
 little smile if it did not make Rebecca Mary 
 feel as she felt when she sat in the easy-chair 
 rocking. 
 
 Rebecca Mary sang hjrmns mostly, but in- 
 terspersed in her programme were bits of 
 Mother Goose set to original tunes — she had 
 learned the Mother Goose of the minister's 
 Littlest Little Boy — and original bits set to 
 familiar tunes. It was a wild little orgy of 
 song. 
 
 "My grief!" Aunt Olivia ejaculated un- 
 der her breath; but she did not mean her 
 grief. Other people might think Rebecca 
 Mary was crazy — not Aunt Olivia. But yet 
 she wondered a little and found it hard to 
 wait. 
 
 Rebecca Mary washed the breakfast cup 
 157 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 and plates, but put the pans and kettles to 
 soak, and hurried away to her play. There 
 was so much playing to be done before the 
 sun set on her opportunity. She had made a 
 little programme on a slip of paper, with ap- 
 proximate times allotted to each item. As : 
 
 Tree climbing i hr. 
 
 (Do not tare anything) 
 
 Mud pies I hr. and ^ 
 
 (Do not get an3rthing muddy) 
 
 Tea party 2 hrs. 
 
 (Do not break an3?thing) 
 Skipping ^ hr. 
 
 Rebecca Mary had written i hr. at first 
 opposite skipping, but it had rather appalled 
 her to think of skipping for so long a period 
 of time, and, with a sense of being already out 
 of breath, she had hurriedly erased the i and 
 substituted J. Underneath she had written, 
 ("Do not tip over anjrthing ' ') . All the items 
 had cautionary parentheses underneath them, 
 for Rebecca Mary did not wish the celebra- 
 tion to injure "anything." Not this last 
 158 
 
Article Seven 
 
 day, when all the days of all the years before 
 it, that had gone to make up her little girl- 
 hood, nothing had been torn or muddied or 
 tipped over. 
 
 Rebecca Mary had never climbed trees, 
 had never made mud-pies, never had tea- 
 parties, nor skipped. It was with rather 
 a hesitating step that she went forward to 
 meet them all. She was even a little awed. 
 But she went. No item on her programme 
 was omitted. 
 
 From her rocker on the porch Aunt Olivia 
 watched proceedings with quiet patience. It 
 was a good vantage-point — she could see 
 nearly all of the celebration. The tree Re- 
 becca Mary climbed was on the edge of the 
 old orchard next to Aunt Olivia, and there 
 was a providential little rift through the 
 shrubbery and vines that intervened. This 
 part of the programme she could see almost 
 too clearly, for it must be confessed that this 
 part startled Aimt Olivia out of her calm. 
 It — it was so unexpected. She stopped rock- 
 ing and leaned forward in her chair to peer 
 more sharply. What was the child — " She's 
 IS9 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 climbing a tree!" breathed Aunt Olivia in 
 undisguised astonishment. Even as she 
 breathed it there came to her faintly the 
 snapping of twigs and flutter of leaves. 
 Then all was quite stUl, but she could dis- 
 cern with her pair of trusty Plummer eyes 
 two long legs gently dangling. 
 
 If Aunt Olivia had known, Rebecca Mary, 
 too, was startled. It — it was so strange an 
 experience. She was not in the least afraid 
 — it was a mental start rather than a physical 
 one. When she had reached the limb set 
 down in her programme she sat on it in a 
 little daze of bewildered delight. She liked 
 it! 
 
 "Why — why, it's nice!" Rebecca Mary 
 breathed. Her turn had come for -undis- 
 guised astonishment. The leaves all about 
 her nodded to her and stroked her cheeks 
 and hair and hands. They whispered things 
 into her ears. They were such friendly little 
 leaves ! 
 
 Nothing looked quite the same up there. 
 It was a little as if she were in a new world, 
 and she felt odd thrills of pride, as probably 
 1 60 
 
.■iCrr5»fcoua'^"o»j^ra- ^i;i»r9jii 
 
 'NOTHING LOOKED QUITE THE SAME UP THERE 
 
Article Seven 
 
 people who had discovered countries and 
 rivers and north poles felt. Through a rift 
 in the leaves she could see with her good 
 Plummer eyes a swaying spot of brown and 
 white that was Atint Olivia rocking. Sud- 
 denly Rebecca Mary experienced a pang of 
 remorse that she had wasted so many op- 
 porttmities like this — that this was her only 
 one. She wished she had put 2 hrs. instead 
 of I hr. over against " Tree climbing," but it 
 was too late now. She had borrowed Aunt 
 Olivia's open-faced gold watch to serve as 
 time-keeper, and promptly at the expiration 
 of the I hr. she slid down through the crack- 
 ling twigs and friendly leaves to the old world 
 below. She did not allow herself to look 
 back, but she could not help the sigh. It 
 was going to be harder to grow up than she 
 had thought it would be. 
 
 The mud -pies she made with conscien- 
 tious care as Rhoda, the minister's little girl, 
 had said she used to make them. She made 
 rows and rows of them and set them in the 
 Sim to bake. There were raisin stones in 
 them all and crimped edges around them. 
 161 
 
Rebecca Mary- 
 It did not take nearly all the i hr. and ^, so 
 she made another and still another batch. 
 When the time was up she did not sigh, but 
 she had had rather a good time. How many 
 mud-pies she hadn't made in all those years 
 that were to end to-day! 
 
 Olivicia and the little white cat went to 
 the tea-party. Rebecca Mary thought of in- 
 viting Aunt Olivia — she got as far as the 
 porch steps, but no farther. She caught a 
 glimpse of her own legs and shrank back 
 sensitively. They seemed to have grown 
 since she measured them against the wood- 
 shed waU. Rebecca Mary felt the contrast 
 between her legs and the tea-party. Atmt 
 Olivia never knew how near she had come 
 to being invited to take part in the celebra- 
 tion, at Article III. on the programme. 
 
 Rhoda had had tea-parties unnumbered, 
 like the sands of the sea. She had described 
 them fluently, so Rebecca Mary was not as 
 one in the dark. She knew how to cut the 
 bread and the cake into tiny dice, and the 
 cookies into tiny roimds. She knew how 
 to make the cambric tea and to arrange the 
 162 
 
Article Seven 
 
 jelly and flowers. But Rhoda had forgotten 
 to tell her how to make a rose-pie — how to 
 select two large rose leaves for upper and 
 under crust, and to fill in the pie between 
 them with pink and white rose petals and 
 sugar in alternate layers. Press until " done." 
 Why had Rhoda forgotten? It seemed a 
 pity that there was no rose-pie at Rebecca 
 Mary's tea-party — and no time left to make 
 one. 
 
 " Will you take sugar in your tea, Olivicia ?" 
 Rebecca Mary asked, shyly. She sat on the 
 grotmd with her legs drawn under her out of 
 sight, but there were little warm spots in 
 her cheeks. She had not expected to be — 
 ashamed. If there had been a knot-hole any- 
 where, she thought to herself, the Thought of 
 Growing Up would have come out of it and 
 confronted her and reminded her of her legs. 
 
 "Will you help yourself to the bread? 
 Won't you have another cookie?" She left 
 nothing out, and gradually the strangeness 
 wore away. It got gradually to be a good 
 time. "How many tea-parties," thought 
 Rebecca Mary, "there might have been!" 
 163 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Rebecca Mary was skipping, when the 
 minister's wife came to call on Atmt Olivia. 
 It was the minister's wife who discovered it. 
 Atint Olivia caught the indrawing of her 
 breath and saw her face. Then Aunt Olivia 
 discovered it, and a delicate color overspread 
 her thin cheeks and rose to her temples. Now 
 what was the child — 
 
 "Rhoda is a great skipper," the minister's 
 wife said, hurriedly. But it was the wrong 
 thing — she knew it was the wrong thing. 
 
 "Rebecca Mary is having a — celebration," 
 hurried Aunt Olivia ; but she wished she had 
 not, for it seemed like trying to excuse Re- 
 becca Mary. She, too, had said the wrong 
 thing. 
 
 "How pleasant it is out here!" tried again 
 the minister's wife. 
 
 "Yes, it's cool," Aunt Olivia agreed, grate- 
 fully. After that the things they said were 
 right things. The fantastic little figure 
 down there in the orchard, skipping wildly, 
 determinedly, was in none of them. Both 
 felt it to be safer. But the minister's wife's 
 gaze dwelt on the skipping figure and followed 
 I 6a 
 
Article Seven 
 
 it through its amazing mazes, in spite of the 
 minister's wife. 
 
 "I couldn't have helped it, Robert," she 
 said. "Not if you'd been there preaching 
 'Thou shalt not' to me! You would have 
 looked too, while you were preaching. You 
 can't imagine, sitting there at that desk, what 
 the temptation was — ^Robert, you don't sup- 
 pose Rebecca Mary has gone crazy?" 
 
 "Felicia! You frighten me!" 
 
 "No, I don't suppose either. But it was 
 certainly very strange. It was almost alarm- 
 ing, Robert. And she didn't know how at 
 all. I wanted to go down and show her!" 
 
 " It seems to me" — the minister spoke im- 
 pressively — " that it is not Rebecca Mary who 
 has gone crazy — " 
 
 "Why, the idea! Haven't I made it 
 plain?" laughed she. " I'll speak in A B C's 
 then. Rebecca Mary was skipping, Robert 
 — skipping — skipping. " 
 
 "Then it's Rebecca Mary," the minister 
 murmtired. 
 
 " That's what I'm afraid — didn't I say so ? 
 Or else it's her second childhood — " 
 i6s 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 '' First, you mean. If that's it, don't let's 
 say a word, dear — don't breathe, Felicia, for 
 fear we'll stop it." 
 
 "Dear child!" the minister's wife said, 
 tenderly. " I wish I'd gone down there and 
 shown her how. And I'd have told her — 
 Robert, I'd have told her how to climb a 
 tree ! Don't tell the parish. ' ' 
 
 The day was to end at sunset. From sun- 
 rise to sunset, Rebecca Mary had decreed. 
 The last article on her crumpled little pro- 
 gramme was, "Saying Good-by to Olivicia 
 (Don't cry)." It was going to be the most 
 difficult thing of all the articles. Olivicia had 
 existed so short a time comparatively — it 
 might not have been as difficult if there had 
 always been an Olivicia. " Or it might have 
 been harder," Rebecca Mary said. She went 
 towards that article with reluctant feet. But 
 it had to come. 
 
 The bureau drawer was all ready. Re- 
 becca Mary had lined it with something white 
 and soft and sweetened it with dried rose 
 petals spiced in the century-old Plummer 
 way. It bore rather grewsome resemblance to 
 i66 
 
Article Seven 
 
 Olivicia's coffin, but it was not grewsome to 
 Rebecca Mary. She laid the doll in it with 
 the tender little swinging motion mothers 
 use in laying down their tiny sleepers. 
 
 "There, there — the-re!" crooned Rebecca 
 Mary, softly, brooding over the beautiful 
 being. " You'll rest there sweetly after your 
 mother is grown up. And you'll try not to 
 miss her, won't you? You'll understand, 
 Olivicia? — oh, Olivicia!" But she did not 
 cry. Her eyes were very bright. For several 
 minutes she stood there, stooped over pain- 
 fully, gazing down into the cof — the bureau 
 drawer, wherein lay peaceful Olivicia. She 
 was.saying good-bye in her heart — she never 
 said it aloud. 
 
 "Dear," very softly indeed, "you are sure 
 you understand? Everybody has to grow 
 up, dear. It — it hurts, but you have to. I 
 mean I've got to. I wouldn't so soon if it 
 wasn't for my legs. But they keep right on 
 growing — they're awful, dear! — I can't stop 
 'em. Olivicia, lie right there and be thank- 
 ful you're a doll ! But I wish you could open 
 your eyes and look at me just once more." 
 " 167 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Rebecca Mary shut the drawer gently. It 
 \yas over — no, she would say one thing more 
 to the beautifid being in there. She bent to 
 the key-hole. 
 
 "Olivicia!" she called in a tender whisper, 
 " I shall be right here nights. We sha'n't be 
 far away from each other." 
 
 But it would not be like lying in each 
 other's arms — oh, not at all like that. Re- 
 becca Mary caught her breath ; it was peril- 
 ously like a sob. Then she girded up her 
 loins and went away to meet her fate — ^the 
 common fate of all. 
 
 She was very tired. The day had been a 
 fitrain upon her that was beginning now to 
 tell. To put all one's childhood into one day 
 — ^that is not easy. 
 
 Article VI. was the last. In a way, it was 
 a rest to Rebecca Mary, for it entailed merely 
 a visit to the wood-shed. She could sit quiet- 
 ly on the floor opposite the knot-hole and 
 wait for the Thoughts. If the Thought of 
 Growing Up came out to-night, she would 
 say : " Oh, well, you may stay — you needn't 
 go back. I'm not any glad to see you, but 
 i68 
 
IT Was a REBECCA MARY KISS 
 
Article Seven 
 
 I'm ready. I suppose I shall get used to 
 you." 
 
 What Thoughts came out of the knot-hole 
 to Rebecca Mary she never told to any one. 
 It was nearly dark when she went away, 
 planting her feet firmly, holding her head 
 straight — Rebecca Mary Plummer. She 
 went to find Aunt Olivia and tell her. On 
 the way, she stopped to get Aunt Olivia's 
 shawl, for it was getting chilly out on the 
 porch. Significantly the first thing Rebecca 
 Mary did after she began to grow up was to 
 get the shawl and lay it over Aunt Olivia's 
 spare shoulders. The second thing was to 
 bend to the scant gray hair and lightly rub it 
 with her cheek. It was a Rebecca Mary 
 kiss. 
 
 Out in front of the rocking-chair, still 
 straight and firm, she told Aunt Olivia. 
 
 "It's over — I think I put everything in," 
 she said. " I thought you ought to know, 
 so I came to tell you. I'm ready to grow 
 up." 
 
 After all, if Rebecca Mary had known, her 
 "programme" had not ended with Article 
 169 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 VI. Here was another. Take the pencil in 
 your steady little fingers, Rebecca Mary, and 
 write : 
 
 Article VII. — Growing up. (Do not break 
 Aunt Olivia's heart.) 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Un-Plummered 
 
Un-Plummered 
 
 [UNT OLIVIA sighed. It 
 was the third time since she 
 had begun to let Rebecca 
 ' Mary down. The third sigh 
 was the longest one. Oh, 
 this letting down of chil- 
 dren who would grow up! 
 
 "I won't do it!" Aunt Olivia rebelled, 
 fiercely, but she took up her scissors again 
 at Duty's nudge. 
 
 "You don't want people laughing at her, 
 do you?" Duty said, sensibly. "Well, then, 
 rip out that hem and face up that skirt and 
 stop sighing. What can't be cured must be 
 endur — " 
 
 " I'm ripping it out," Aunt Olivia interrupt- 
 ed, crisply. But Duty was not to be silenced, 
 173 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "You ought to have done it before," 
 dictatorially. " You've known all along that 
 Rebecca Mary was growing up." 
 
 Aunt Olivia, like the proverbial worm, 
 turned. 
 
 " I didn't know till Rebecca Mary told me," 
 she retorted; then the rebellion died out of 
 her thin face and tenderness came and took 
 its place. Aunt Olivia was thinking of the 
 time when Rebecca Mary told her. She gazed 
 past Duty, past the skirt across her knees, out 
 through the porch vines, and saw Rebecca 
 Mary coming to tell her. She saw the shawl 
 the child was bringing, felt it laid on her 
 shoulders, and something else laid on her hair, 
 soft and smooth like a little, lean, brown cheek. 
 The memory was so pleasant that Atmt 
 Olivia closed her eyes to make it stay. When 
 she opened them some one was coming along 
 the path, but it was not Rebecca Mary. 
 
 "Good-afternoon!" some one said. Aunt 
 Olivia stiffened into a Plinnmer again with 
 hurried embarrassment. She did not recog- 
 nize the voice nor the pleasant young face 
 that followed it through the vines. 
 174 
 
Un-Plummered 
 
 "It's Rebecca Mary's aunt, isn't it?" The 
 stranger smiled. " I should know it by the 
 family resemblance." 
 
 "We're both Plummers," Aunt Olivia an- 
 swered, gravely. "Won't you come up on 
 the porch and take a seat ?" 
 
 "No, I'U sit down here on the steps — I'd 
 rather. I think I'll sit on the lowest step, for 
 I've come on a very humble errand! I'm 
 Rebecca Mary's teacher." 
 
 "Oh!" It was all Aunt Olivia could 
 manage, for a sudden horror had come upon 
 her. She had a distinct remembrance of 
 being at the Tony Trumbullses when the 
 school-teacher came to call. 
 
 "It's— it's rather hard to say it." The 
 young person on the lowest step laughed 
 nervously. " I'd a good deal rather not. But 
 I think so much of Rebecca Mary — " 
 
 The horror grew in Aunt Olivia's soul. It 
 was something terribly like that the Tony 
 TrumbuUses' teacher had said. And like 
 this: 
 
 "It hurts — there! But I made up my 
 mind it was my duty to come up here and say 
 17s 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 it, and so I've come. I'm sorry to have to 
 say—" 
 
 "Don't!" ejaculated Aunt Olivia, trem- 
 bling on her Plummer pedestal. For she was 
 laboring with the impulse to refuse to listen 
 to this intruder, to drive her away — ^to say: 
 " I won't believe a word you say! You may 
 as well go home." 
 
 "Hoity-toity!" breathed Duty in her ear. 
 It saved her. 
 
 "Well?" she said, gently. "Go on." 
 
 "I'm sorry to say I can't teach Rebecca 
 Mary any more, Miss Plummer. That's what 
 I came to tell you — " 
 
 This was awful — awful ! But hot rebellion 
 rose in Atmt Olivia's heart. There was some 
 mistake — ^it was some other Rebecca Mary 
 this person meant. She would never believe 
 it was hers — the Plummer one ! 
 
 "Because I've taught her all I know. 
 There! do you wonder I chose the lowest step 
 to sit on? But it's the truth, honest," the 
 little teacher laughed girlishly, but there were 
 shame-spots on her cheeks — " Rebecca Mary 
 is the smartest scholar I've got, and I've 
 176 
 
Un-Plummered 
 
 taught her all I know." In her voice there 
 was confession to having taught Rebecca 
 Mary a little more than that. The shame- 
 spots flickered in a halo of humble honesty. 
 
 " She's been from Percentage through the 
 arithmetic foiur times — Rebecca Mary's 
 splendid in arithmetic. And she knows the 
 geography and grammar by heart." 
 
 The look on Atmt Olivia's face! The 
 transition from horror to pride was over- 
 whelming, transfiguring. 
 
 " Rebecca Mary's smart," added the honest 
 one on the doorstep. "7 think she ought to 
 have a chance. There! that's all I came for, 
 so I'll be going. ■ Only, I don't suppose — 
 you don't think you'll have to tell Rebecca 
 Mary, do you ? About — about me, I mean ? ' ' 
 
 "No, I don't," Aunt Olivia assured her, 
 warmly. Her thin, lined hand met and held 
 for a moment the small, plump one — long 
 enough to say, "You're a good girl— I like 
 you," in its own way. The little teacher 
 went away in some sort comforted for having 
 taught Rebecca Mary all she knew. She 
 even hummed a relieved little tune on her 
 177 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 way home, because of the pleasant tingle in 
 the hand that Rebecca Mary's aunt had 
 squeezed. After all, no matter how much 
 you dreaded doing it, it was better to tell the 
 truth. 
 
 Aunt Olivia hummed no relieved little 
 tune. The pride in her heart battled with 
 the Dread there and went down. Atmt 
 Olivia did not call the Dread by any other 
 name. It was Duty who dared. 
 
 Confronting Aunt Olivia: "I suppose you 
 know what it means? I suppose you know 
 it means you've got to give Rebecca Mary a 
 chance? When are you going to send her 
 away to school ?" 
 
 " Oh— don't !" pleaded Aunt Olivia. " You 
 don't give me any time. There's no need of 
 hurry — " 
 
 " I'm still a Plummer, if you're not," broke 
 in Duty, with ironic sharpness. "The Plum- 
 mers were never afraid to look their duty in 
 the face." 
 
 "I'm — I'm looking at you," groaned Aunt 
 Olivia, climbing painfully back on to her 
 pedestal. " Go ahead and say it. I'm ready 
 178 
 
Un-Plummered 
 
 -only I guess you've forgot how long I've 
 had Rebecca Mary. When you've brought 
 a child up — " 
 
 "I brought her up myself," calmly. "I 
 ought to know. She wouldn't have been 
 Rebecca Mary, would she, if I hadn't been 
 right on hand? Who was it taught her to 
 sew patchwork before she was iovtx years old ? 
 And make sheets — and beds — and bread? 
 Who was it kept her from being a little tom- 
 boy like the minister's girl ? Who taught her 
 to walk instead of run, and eat with her fork, 
 and be a lady? Who was it — " 
 
 "Oh, you — you!" sighed Aunt Olivia, 
 trembling for her balance. "You did 'em 
 all. I never could 've, alone." 
 
 "Then" — Duty was justly complacent — 
 " Then perhaps you'll be willing to leave Re- 
 becca Mary's going away to school to me. 
 She must go at once, as soon as you can get 
 her read — " 
 
 Aunt Olivia tumbled off. She did not wait 
 to pick herself up before she turned upon this 
 Duty that delighted in torturing her. 
 
 "You better get her ready yourself! You 
 179 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 better let her down and make her some new 
 night - gowns and count her pocket - hand- 
 kerchiefs! You think you can do anything 
 — no, I'm talking now! I guess it's about 
 my turn. I guess I've waited long enough. 
 Maybe you brought Rebecca Mary up, but 
 I'm not going to leave it to you whether 
 she'd ought to go away to school. She's my 
 Rebecca Mary, isn't she? Well? It's me 
 that loves her, isn't it — not you? If I can't 
 love her and stay a Plummer, then I'll — ^love 
 her. I'm going to leave it to the minister." 
 
 The minister was a little embarrassed. 
 The wistful look in Aunt Olivia's eyes said, 
 " Say no " so plainly. And he knew he must 
 say yes — the minister's Duty was impera- 
 tive, too. 
 
 " If she can't get any more good out of the 
 school here — " he began. 
 
 "She can't," said Aunt Olivia's Duty for 
 her. "The teacher says she can't. Re- 
 becca Mary's smart." Then Duty, too, was 
 proud of Rebecca Mary! 
 
 "I know she is," said the minister, heart- 
 ily. "My Rhoda — you ought to hear my 
 i8o 
 
L)n-Plummered 
 
 Rhoda set her up! She thinks Rebecca 
 Mary knows more than the teacher does." 
 
 " Rhoda 's smart, too," breathed Duty in 
 Aunt Olivia's ear. 
 
 "So you see, dear Miss Olivia, the child 
 would make good use of any advantage — " 
 
 "You mean I ought to send her away? 
 Well, I'm ready to — I said I'd leave it to you. 
 Where shall I send her? If there was only 
 — I don't suppose there's some place near to ? 
 Children go home Friday nights sometimes, 
 don't they?" 
 
 " There is no school near enough for that, 
 I'm afraid," the minister said, gently. He 
 could not bear the look in Miss Olivia's eyes. 
 
 " It hurt," he told his wife afterwards. " I 
 wish she hadn't asked me, Felicia." 
 
 " I know, dear, but it's the penalty of being 
 a minister. Ministers' hearts ought to be 
 coated with — ^with asbestos or something, so 
 the looks in people's eyes wouldn't burn 
 through. I'm glad she didn't ask me !" 
 
 " It will nearly kill them both," ran on the 
 minister's thoughts, aloud. " You know how 
 it was when Miss Olivia was at the hospital." 
 i8i 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 "Robert!" — the minister's wife's tone was 
 reproachful — "you're talking in the future 
 tense! You said 'will.' Then you advised 
 her to send Rebecca Mary away!" 
 
 "Guilty," pleaded the minister. "What 
 else could I do?" 
 
 "You could have offered to teach her 
 yourself" — ^with prompt inspiration. "Oh, 
 Robert, why didn't you?" 
 
 "Felicia! — my dear!" — for the minister 
 was modest. 
 
 "You know plenty for two Rebecca 
 Marys," she triumphed. "Didn't you ap- 
 propriate all the honors at college, you sel- 
 fish boy!" 
 
 "It's too late now, dear." But the min- 
 ister's eyes thanked her, and the big clasp 
 of his arms. A minister may be mortal. 
 
 "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't," spoke 
 the minister's wife, in riddles. "We'll wait 
 and see." 
 
 "But, Felicia — ^but, dear, they're both of 
 them Plummers." 
 
 " Maybe they are and maybe they aren't!" 
 laughed she. 
 
 182 
 
Un-Plummered 
 
 That night Aunt Olivia told Rebecca Mary 
 — after she went to bed, quite calmly: 
 
 " Rebecca Mary, how would you like to go 
 away to school? For I'm going to send you, 
 my dear." 
 
 "'Away — ^to school — my dear!'" echoed 
 Rebecca Mary, sitting upright in bed. Her 
 slight figure stretched up rigid and pre- 
 tematurally tall in the dim light. 
 
 " Yes ; the minister advises it — I left it to 
 him. He thinks you ought to have ad- 
 vantages." Aunt Olivia slipped down sud- 
 denly beside the little rigid figure and touch- 
 ed it rather timidly. She felt a little in awe 
 of the Rebecca Mary who knew more than her 
 teacher did. 
 
 "They all seem to think you're — smart, 
 my dear," Aunt Olivia said, and shewotdd 
 scarcely have believed it could be so hard to 
 say it. For the life of her she could not keep 
 the pride from pricking through her tone. 
 The wild temptation to sell her Plummer 
 birthright for a kiss assailed her. But she 
 groped in the dimness for Duty's cool 
 touch and found it. In the Plummer 
 13 183 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 code of laws it was writ, " Thou shalt not 
 kiss." 
 
 '^I'm going right to work to make you 
 some new night-gowns," Aunt Olivia added, 
 hastily. " I think I shall make them plain" 
 - — for it was in the nature of a reinforcement 
 to her courage to leave off the niffles. 
 
 Rebecca Mary's eyes shone like stars in the 
 dark little room. The child thought she was 
 glad to be going away to school. 
 
 "Shall I study algebra and Latin?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 "I suppose so — ^that '11 be what you go 
 for." 
 
 "And French— not French?" 
 
 " Likely." 
 
 Rebecca Mary fell back on the pillows to 
 grasp it. But she was presently up again. 
 
 "And that thing that tells about the air 
 and — and gassy things? And the one that 
 tells about your bones?" 
 
 Avint Olivia did not recognize chemistry, 
 but she knew bones. She sighed gently. 
 
 " Oh yes ; I suppose you'll find out just how 
 you're put together, and likely it '11 scare you 
 184 
 
Un-PIummered 
 
 so you won't ever dare to breathe deep again.' 
 Maybe learning like that is important — I 
 suppose the minister knows. ' ' 
 
 "The minister knows ever3rthing," Re-' 
 becca Mary said, soleninly. " If you let me 
 go away to school, I'll try to learn to know 
 as much as he does. Aunt Olivia. You don't 
 — ^you don't think he'd mind, do you?" 
 
 In the dark Aunt Olivia smiled. The small 
 person there on the pillows was, after all, a 
 child. Rebecca Mary had not grown up, 
 after aU! 
 
 "He won't mind," promised Aunt Olivia 
 for the minister. She went away presently 
 and cut out Rebecca Mary's new night-gowns. 
 She sat and stitched them, far into the night, 
 and stitched her sad little bodings in, one 
 by one. Already desolation gripped Aunt 
 Olivia's heart. 
 
 Rebecca Mary's dreams that night were 
 marvellous ones. She dreamed she saw her- 
 self in a glass after she had learned all the 
 things there were to learn, and she looked like 
 the minister! When she spoke, her voice 
 sounded deep and sweet like the minister's 
 i8S 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 voice. Somewhere a voice like the minister's 
 wife's seemed to be calling *' Robert ! Robert !" 
 
 " Yes ?" answered Rebecca Mary; and woke 
 up. 
 
 There were many preparations to make. 
 The days sped by busily, and to Rebecca 
 Mary full of joyous expectancy. Aunt 
 Olivia made no moan. She worked steadily 
 over the plain little outfit and thrust her 
 Dreads away with resolute courage, to wait 
 until Rebecca Mary was gone. Time enough 
 then. 
 
 "You're doing right — ^that ought to com- 
 fort you," encouraged Duty, kindly. 
 
 "Clear out!" was what Aunt Olivia cried 
 out, sharply, in answer. " You've done enough 
 -—this is all your work! Don't stand there 
 hugging yourself. You're not going to miss 
 Rebecca Mary — " 
 
 "I shall miss her," Duty murmured. "I 
 was awake all night, too, dreading it. You 
 didn't know, but I was there." 
 
 The last day, when it came, seemed a little 
 — a good deal — ^hke that other day when Aunt 
 Olivia went away, only it was the other way 
 i86 
 
6^fia^?0 ^OPPan C3^Q38i3 
 
 " REBECCA MARY WAS GOING AWAT 
 
Un-PIummered 
 
 about this time, Rebecca Mary was going 
 away on this day. The things packed snugly 
 in the big valise were her things ; it was she, 
 Rebecca Mary, who would unpack them in a 
 wondrous, strange place. It was Rebecca 
 Mary the minister's wife and Rhoda came to 
 bid good-bye. 
 
 Aunt Olivia went to the station in the 
 stage with the child. She did not speak 
 much on the way, but sat firmly straight and 
 smiled. Duty had told her the last thing to 
 smile. But Duty had not trusted her; un- 
 seen and uninvited, Duty had slipped into the 
 jolting old vehicle between Aunt Olivia and 
 Rebecca Mary. 
 
 "She isn't the Plummer she was once," 
 sighed Duty. 
 
 But at the little station, in those few final 
 moments, two Plummers, an old one and a 
 young one, waited quietly together. Neither 
 of them broke down nor made ado. Duty 
 retired in palpable chagrin. 
 
 "Good-bye, my dear," Aunt Olivia said, 
 steadily, though her lips were white. 
 
 "Good-bye, Aunt Olivia," Rebecca Mary 
 187 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Plummer said, steadily. "I'm very much 
 obliged to you for sending me." 
 
 "You're — ^welcome. Don't forget to wear 
 your rubbers. I put in some liniment in case 
 you need it — don't get any in your eyes." 
 
 Outside on the platform Atmt Olivia sought 
 and found Rebecca Mary's window and stood 
 beside it till the train started. Through the 
 dusty pane their faces looked oddly unfamil- 
 iar to each other, and the two pairs of eyes 
 that gazed out and in had a startled wistful- 
 ness in them that no Plummer eyes should 
 have. If Duty had staid — 
 
 The train shook itself, gave a jerk or two, 
 and plunged down the shining rails. Aunt 
 Olivia watched it out of sight, then turned 
 patiently to meet her loneliness. The Dreads 
 came flocking back to her as if she had 
 beckoned to them. For now was the time. 
 
 The letters Rebecca Mary wrote were 
 formally correct and brief. There was no 
 homesickness in them. It was pleasant at 
 the school, that book about bones was going 
 to be very interesting. Aunt Olivia was not to 
 worry about the rubbers, and Rebecca Mary 
 i88 
 
Un-Plummered 
 
 would never forget to air her clothes when 
 they came from the wash. Yes, she had 
 aired the night-gown that Aunt Olivia ironed 
 the last thing. No, she hadn't needed any 
 liniment yet, but she woxildn't get any in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Aunt Olivia's letters were to the point and 
 calm, as though Duty stood peering over her 
 shoulder as she wrote. She was glad Re- 
 becca Mary liked the bones, but she was a 
 little surprised. She was glad about the 
 rubbers and the wash ; she was glad there had 
 been no need yet for the liniment. It was a 
 good thing to rub on a sore throat. The 
 minister's wife had been over with her work 
 — she said Rhoda missed Rebecca Mary. 
 Yes, the little, white cat was well — no, she 
 hadn't caught any mice. The calla-lily had 
 two buds, the Northern Spy -tree was not 
 going to bear very well. 
 
 " Robert, I've been to see Miss Olivia," the 
 minister's wife said at tea. 
 
 " Yes ?" The minister waited. He knew 
 it was coming. 
 
 "She was knitting stockings for Rebecca 
 189 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 Mary. Robert, she sat there and smiled till 
 I had to come home to cry!" 
 
 " My dear! — do you want me to cry, too ?" 
 
 "I'm a-going to," sniffed Rhoda. "I feel 
 it coming." 
 
 " She is so lonely, Robert ! It would break 
 your heart to see her smile. How do I know 
 she is? Oh no — ^no, she didn't say she was! 
 But I saw her eyes — and she let the Httle, 
 white cat get up in her lap!" 
 
 "Proof enough," the minister said, gently. 
 
 Between the two of them — ^the child at 
 school and Armt Olivia at home — letters 
 came and went for six weeks. Aunt Olivia 
 wrote six, Rebecca Mary six. AH the let- 
 ters were terse and brief and unemotional. 
 Weather, bones, little white cats, liniment — 
 everything in them but loneliness or love. 
 Rebecca Mary began all hers "Dear Aunt 
 Olivia," and ended them all " Respectftdly 
 your niece, Rebecca Mary Plummer." 
 
 "Dear Rebecca Mary," began Aunt 
 
 Olivia's. " Your aff. aunt, Olivia Plummer," 
 
 they closed. Yet both their hearts were 
 
 breaking. Some hearts break quicker than 
 
 190 
 
Un-Plummered 
 
 others ; Pltimmer hearts hold out splendidly, 
 but in the end — 
 
 In the end Aunt Olivia went to see the 
 minister and was closeted with him for a 
 Uttle. The minister's wife could hear them 
 talking — ^mostly the minister — ^but she could 
 not hear what they said. 
 
 "It's come," she nodded, sagely. "I was 
 sure it would. That's what the little, white 
 cat purred when she rubbed against my skirts, 
 ' She can't stand it much longer. She doesn't 
 sleep nights nor eat days — she's giving out.' 
 Poor Miss Olivia! — ^but I can't understand 
 Rebecca Mary." 
 
 " It's the Plummer in her," the little, white 
 cat would have purred. "You wait!" 
 
 Atmt Olivia turned back at the minister's 
 study door. "Then you will?" she said, 
 eagerly. "You're perfectly willing to? I 
 don't want to feel — " 
 
 "You needn't feel," the minister smiled. 
 "I'm more than willing. I'm delighted. 
 But in the matter of — er — ^remuneration, I 
 cannot let you — " 
 
 "You needn't let me," smiled Miss Olivia; 
 191 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 " I'll do it without." She was gently radiant. 
 Her pitifully thin face, so transfigured, 
 touched the big heart of the minister. He 
 went to his window and watched the slight 
 figure hurry away. He would scarcely have 
 been surprised to see it turn down the road 
 that led towards the railway station. 
 
 " Oh, Robert!" It was the minister's wife 
 at his elbow. " You dear boy, I know you've 
 promised! You needn't tell me a thing — 
 didn't I suggest it in the first place? Dear 
 Miss Olivia-^I'm so glad, Robert! So are 
 you glad, you minister!" But they were 
 neither of them thinking of little, stubbed- 
 out shoes that would be easier to buy. 
 
 Aunt Olivia turned down the station road 
 the next morning, in the swaying old stage. 
 Her eager gaze never left the plodding horses, 
 as if by looking at them she could make them 
 go faster. 
 
 "They're pretty slow, aren't they?" she 
 said. 
 
 " Slow ? — them ? Well, I guess you weren't 
 never a stage horse!" chuckled the old man 
 at the reins. 
 
 192 
 

 Y^ J { Jii'»a6D0 jFamsa (5as4B{[| 
 
 "they were in each others arms 
 
Un-Plummered 
 
 "No," admitted Aunt Olivia, "I never 
 was, but I know I'd go faster to-day." 
 
 At the Junction, half-way to Rebecca 
 Mary, she descended alertly from the train 
 and crossed the platform. She must wait 
 here, they told her, an hour and twenty 
 minutes. On the other side of the station 
 a train was just slowing up, and she stood a 
 moment to scan idly the thin stream of people 
 that trickled from the cars. There were old 
 women — did any of them, she wondered, feel 
 as happy as she did? There were tall chil- 
 dren, too. There was one — Aunt Olivia 
 started a little and fumbled in her soft hair, 
 under the roses in her bonnet-brim, for her 
 glasses. There was one tall child — she was 
 coming this way — she was coming fast — she 
 was running! Her arms were out — 
 
 "Aunt Olivia! Aunt Olivia!" the Tall 
 Child was crpng out, joyously, "Oh, Aunt 
 Olivia!" 
 
 "Rebecca Mary!— my dear, my dear!" 
 
 They were in each other's arms. The 
 roses on Aunt Olivia's bonnet-brim slipped 
 to one side — the two of them, not Plummers 
 193 
 
Rebecca Mary 
 
 any more, but a common, glad old woman 
 and a common, glad, tall child, were kissing 
 each other as though they would liever stop. 
 The stream of people reached them and 
 flowed by on either side. Trains came and 
 went, and still they stood like that. 
 
 "Hoity-toity!" muttered Aunt OHvia's 
 Duty, and slipped past with the stream. A 
 Plummer to the end, what use to stay any 
 longer there? 
 
 " I was coming home," cried Rebecca Mary. 
 "I couldn't bear it another minute!" 
 
 "I was coming after you — ^my dear, my 
 dear, / couldn't bear it another minute!" 
 
 THB END 
 
BOOKS ON NATURE STUDY BY 
 
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 ROSALIND AT REDGATE. Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller. 
 
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 With illustrationa by E. Plaisted Abbott. 
 
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 AT THE TIME APPOINTED. WiA a fron&piec* in color* 
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