t white
nightgown. She stood a little way off and saw herself offering up Thomas
Jefferson. It was a dreadful 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 Jefferson. It was only out to the
little lean-to shed, but it seemed a very long way to Rebecca Mary.
The blackness 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 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 disquieted.

With her burden against her breast Rebecca Mary pushed back through the
darkness, 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 Jefferson's feathers.
The trouble in her burdened 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 tomorrow you die!" Her
voice even in a whisper 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 little croaky sound that might have
been "ET TU, BRUTE?" 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. "Tomorrow morning I'll give you some beautiful
corn, 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; an