haps he needed
commanding.

Rebecca Mary thought Aunt Olivia did not care, and it added a new sting
to her pain. There was that time that Aunt Olivia said she wished the
Lord hadn't ever created roosters--Thomas Jefferson had just scratched
up her pansy seeds. And the time when she wished Thomas Jefferson was
dead; did she wish that now? Was she--was she glad he was going to be
dead?

For Rebecca Mary had given up hope. She was not reconciled, but she was
sure. She spent all her spare time with the big, gaunt, pitiful fellow,
trying to make his last days easier. She knew he liked to have her with
him.

"You do, don't you, dear?" she said. She had never called him "dear"
before. She realized sadly that this was her last chance. "You do like
to have me here, don't you? You'd rather? Don't try to crow--just nod
your head a little if you do." And the big, white fellow's head had
nodded a little, she was sure. She put out her loving little brown hand
and caressed it. "I knew you did, dear. Oh, Thomas Jefferson, Thomas
Jefferson, don't die! PLEASE don't--think of the good times we'll
have if you won't! Think of the--the grasshoppers--the bugs, Thomas
Jefferson--the cookies! Won't you think?--won't you try to be a little
bit hungry?"

Rebecca Mary knew what it was to be hungry and not be able to eat,
but to be able to eat and not be hungry--this was away and beyond her
experience. The sad puzzle of it she could not solve.

One day the minister had a rather surprising summons to perform his
priestly functions. The summoner was Rebecca Mary. She appeared like
a sombre little shadow in his sunny sermon room. The minister's wife
ushered her in, and in the brief instant of opening the door and
announcing her name flashed him a warning glance. He had been acquainted
so long with her glances that he was able to interpret this one with
considerable accuracy. "All right," he glanced back. No, he would not
smile--yes, he would remember that it was Rebecca Mary.

"Do what she asks you," flashed the minister's wife's glance.

"All right," flashed the minister. Then the door closed.

"Thomas Jefferson is dying," Rebecca Mary began, hurriedly. "I came to
see if you'd come."

In spite of himself the minister gasped. Then, as the situation dawned
clearly upon him, his mouth corners began--in spite of themselves--to
curve upward. But in time he remembered the minister's wife, and drew
them back to their centres of gravity. He waite