ting" in dishwashing or bedmaking. Sometimes she used the borrowed
phrases unconsciously; sometimes she brought them into the conversation
with an intense sense of pleasure in their harmony or appropriateness;
for a beautiful word or sentence had the same effect upon her
imagination as a fragrant nosegay, a strain of music, or a brilliant
sunset.

"How are you gettin' on, Rebecca Rowena?" called a peremptory voice from
within.

"Pretty good, Aunt Miranda; only I wish flowers would ever come up as
thick as this pigweed and plantain and sorrel. What MAKES weeds be thick
and flowers be thin?--I just happened to be stopping to think a minute
when you looked out."

"You think considerable more than you weed, I guess, by appearances. How
many times have you peeked into that humming bird's nest? Why don't you
work all to once and play all to once, like other folks?"

"I don't know," the child answered, confounded by the question, and
still more by the apparent logic back of it. "I don't know, Aunt
Miranda, but when I'm working outdoors such a Saturday morning as this,
the whole creation just screams to me to stop it and come and play."

"Well, you needn't go if it does!" responded her aunt sharply. "It don't
scream to me when I'm rollin' out these doughnuts, and it wouldn't to
you if your mind was on your duty."

Rebecca's little brown hands flew in and out among the weeds as she
thought rebelliously: "Creation WOULDN'T scream to Aunt Miranda; it
would know she wouldn't come."

Scream on, thou bright and gay creation, scream!
'Tis not Miranda that will hear thy cry!

Oh, such funny, nice things come into my head out here by myself, I do
wish I could run up and put them down in my thought book before I forget
them, but Aunt Miranda wouldn't like me to leave off weeding:--

Rebecca was weeding the hollyhock bed
When wonderful thoughts came into her head.
Her aunt was occupied with the rolling pin
And the thoughts of her mind were common and thin.

That wouldn't do because it's mean to Aunt Miranda, and anyway it isn't
good. I MUST crawl under the syringa shade a minute, it's so hot, and
anybody has to stop working once in a while, just to get their breath,
even if they weren't making poetry.

Rebecca was weeding the hollyhock bed When marvelous thoughts came into
her head. Miranda was wielding the rolling pin And thoughts at such
times seemed to her as a sin.

How pretty the hollyhoc