reat white
rooster. Aunt Olivia stood very still.

"You've been a great help, Thomas Jefferson," began again the voice of
Rebecca Mary, after a little. "I'm very much obliged 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 unpolite 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 Trumbullses. Oh,
Thomas Jefferson, I wish she'd allow me to 'sociate!"

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 pronounced
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 would be 'sociating. So I put the cotton in."

The joyous "hollowing" broke in waves of glee on Aunt Olivia's eardrums.
It seemed to be assaulting her heart. Oddly, now it did not sound
unmannerly and dreadful. It sounded nice and cheerful. A Plummer, 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 bymeby. 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 very near. It--it almost scares me. Doesn't
it you? For I don't know how 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 Oliv