If there had been still another name--Rebecca Mary Something Else--
she would have called: "Rebecca! Rebecca Mary! Rebecca Mary
Something Else!"
"Yes'm; I'm here."
"Where's 'here'?" sharply.
"HERE--the grape-arbor, I mean."
"Have you got your sheet?"
"I--yes'm."
"Is your stent 'most done?"
Rebecca Mary rose slowly to her reluctant little feet, and with the
heavy sheet across her arm went to meet the sharp voice. At last
the Time had come.
"Well?" Aunt Olivia was waiting for her answer. Rebecca Mary
groaned. Aunt Olivia would not think it was "well."
"Well, Rebecca Mary Plummer, you came to fetch my answer, did you?
You got your stent 'most done?" Aunt Olivia's hands were extended
for the folded sheet.
"I've got it DONE, Aunt 'Livia," answered little Rebecca Mary,
steadily. Her slender figure, in its quaint, scant dress, looked
braced as if to meet a shock. But Rebecca Mary was terribly afraid.
"Every mite o' that seam? Then I guess you can't have done it very
well; that's what I guess! If it ain't done well, you'll have to
take it--"
"Wait--please, won't you wait, Aunt 'Livia? I've got to say
something. I mean, I've got all the over-'n'-overing I'm ever going
to do done. THAT'S what's done. The hundred-and-oneth stitch was
my stent, and it's done.
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