this matter was that while Miranda only wondered how they
could endure Rebecca, Jane had flashes of inspiration in which she
wondered how Rebecca would endure them. It was in one of these flashes
that she ran up the back stairs to put a vase of apple blossoms and a
red tomato-pincushion on Rebecca's bureau.

The stage rumbled to the side door of the brick house, and Mr. Cobb
handed Rebecca out like a real lady passenger. She alighted with great
circumspection, put a bunch of flowers in her aunt Miranda's hand, and
received her salute; it could hardly be called a kiss without injuring
the fair name of that commodity. "You need n't 'a'bothered to bring
flowers," remarked that gracious and tactful lady; "the garden's always
full of 'em here when it comes time."

Jane then kissed Rebecca, giving a somewhat better imitation of the
real thing than her sister.

"Put the trunk in the entry, Jeremiah, and we'll get it carried
upstairs this afternoon," she said.

"I'll take it up for ye now, if ye say the word, girls."

"No, no; don't leave the horses; somebody'll be comin' past, and we can
call 'em in."

"Well, good-by, Rebecca; good-day, Mirandy 'n' Jane. You've got a
lively little girl there. I guess she'll be a first-rate company
keeper."

Miss Sawyer shuddered openly at the adjective "lively" as applied to a
child; her belief being that though children might be seen, if
absolutely necessary, they certainly should never be heard if she could
help it. "We're not much used to noise, Jane and me," she remarked
acidly.

Mr. Cobb saw that he had spoken indiscreetly, but he was too unused to
argument to explain himself readily, so he drove away, trying to think
by what safer word than "lively" he might have described his
interesting little passenger.

"I'll take you up and show you your room, Rebecca," Miss Miranda said.
"Shut the mosquito nettin' door tight behind you, so's to keep the
flies out; it ain't fly time yet, but I want you to start right; take
your parcel along with you and then you won't have to come down for it;
always make your head save your heels. Rub your feet on that braided
rug; hang your hat and cape in the entry as you go past."

"It's my best hat," said Rebecca.

"Take it upstairs then and put it in the clothes-press; but I shouldn't
'a' thought you'd 'a' worn your best hat on the stage."

"It's my only hat," explained Rebecca. "My every-day hat was n't good
enough to bring. Sister Fanny's go