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 pincushion, Rhoda?" Rhoda had come up to help.

"Yes," eagerly, "and I'll write Welcome with the pins."

"And the little fan to put on the wall--the pink one?"

"Yes, yes; let me spread it out, mamma!"

"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, like the pins in the pincushion,
spelled "WELCOME."

Aunt Olivia got up earlier than usual one day and went about the house
for a survey. The valise and the little carpetbag she carried downstairs
and out on to the front steps. Her face was whitened as if by a long
night's vigil. When she called Rebecca Mary it was with a voice strained
hoarse. The beautiful being Olivicia watched 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. You can wear that every day now, till--for a
while." Something in the voice startled Rebecca 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 Olivia said, monotonously, as if it were her lesson. She
did not look at Rebecca Mary. "I've put in your 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 minister'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 beautiful being across the room
in agonized appeal.

But Olivicia was staring smilingly at Aunt Olivia. ET TU, OLIVICIA!

If Rebecca Mary had noticed, there was an appealing, wistful look in
Aunt Olivia's eyes too, in odd contrast to the firm lips that moved
steadily on with