d
I'm the best friend you've got in the world! But I've got to, I've got
to--I've got to! It's been revealed to me in a dream. There was a man
once in the Bible, named Abraham, and there was his dearly beloved
little boy named Isaac. And now here's me named Rebecca Mary, and
dearly beloved you named Thomas Jefferson. Oh, I don't suppose you can
understand; I suppose you're asleep. You'll never know how it feels to
give up your dearly belovedest, but oh, oh, dear, you'll know how it
feels to be given up! You'll be one o' the blessed martyrs, Thomas
Jefferson--doesn't that comfort you a little speck? Oh, why don't you
wake up and be comforted?

"The Lord excused Abraham, after all. But this isn't the Lord, it's Mrs.
Avery's boarder. I'm afraid she isn't the Lord's kind--I'm afraid not,
Thomas Jefferson. I don't dare to let you hope; I've got to prepare you
for the worst."

She caught up the big, white fellow with sudden, irresistible yearning
and sat up with him and rocked him back and forth in her arms. She began
a muffled, sad little tune like a wail. The words were terrible words.

"I'll hold you in my arms. I'll rock you--rock you--rock you. For
tomorrow, oh, to-MOR-row you--must--die! Aber-a-ham offered Isaac, and
_I_-MUST OFFER YOU."

Over and over, then tenderly she lowered Thomas Jefferson to the shoe
box again.

When Aunt Olivia came up in the morning, vaguely alarmed because it
was so late and no Rebecca Mary stirring, she had news to tell. Someone
going by had told her something.

"Well, that woman's found her 'di'mond-stone,'--how are you feeling this
morning, child? It was in her pocket where she'd put her hand in and
felt round! So all that fuss for noth--"

Suddenly Aunt Olivia stopped, for without warning, out of a box at the
bedside stalked a great white rooster and flew to the foot board and
"crew":

"Cock-a-doodle-do-ooo!
It was glass that glittered in the grass,
And all the time I knew-oo-ooo!"

"My grief?" Aunt Olivia gasped.

The Cookbook Diary

Rebecca Mary decided to keep a diary. It was not an inspiration, though
it was rather like one in its suddenness. Of course she had always known
that Aunt Olivia kept a diary. When she was very small she had stretched
a-tiptoe and with little pointing forefinger counted rows and rows of
little black books that Aunt Olivia had "kept." Each little black book
had its year-label pasted neatly on the back. Rebecca Mary breathed
d