ia did not want to be recognized.

"You there under the quilt, Thomas Jefferson?" 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 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 Trumbullses. 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; 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?"

"Gracious!" shrilled the little red Tony Trumbull, which Aunt Olivia
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 tomorrow morning to see Rebecca
Mary. I'm going to say it over again. Tomorrow 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.

The Bible Dream

Rebecca Mary sat on the kitchen steps, shelling peas and trying not
to listen. She had begun a hummy little tune to help out, but in the
interstices of rattling peas 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 _I_ don't calculate there's much chance
she'll ever see it again."

A sigh followed. The voice was the Caller's, the sigh Aunt Olivia's.

"It's queer where it ever went to!" Aunt Olivia's voice.

"Yes, i