Perhaps I shall want to
eat a--horse. I've heard of folks--You get very unparticular when
you're starving."
It was five o'clock. They WERE going to have supper at half past.
She could hear the tea things clinking in the house. She stole up
to a window. There was Aunt Olivia setting the layer-cake on the
table. It looked plump and rich, and it was sugared on top.
"There's strawberry jam in between it," mused Rebecca Mary,
regretfully. "I wish it was apple jelly. I could bear it better if
it was apple jelly." But it was jam. And there was honey, too, to
eat with Aunt Olivia's little fluffy biscuits. How very fond
Rebecca Mary was of honey!
Aunt Olivia stood in the kitchen doorway and rang the supper bell in
long, steady clangs just as usual. But no one responded just as
usual, and by the token she knew Rebecca Mary had not taken the
other stitch that lay between her and supper.
"She's a Plummer," sighed Aunt Olivia, inwardly, unrealizing her own
Plummership, as little Rebecca Mary had unrealized hers. Each
recognized only the other's. The pity that both must be Plummers!
Rebecca Mary stayed out of doors until bedtime. She made but one
confidant.
"I've done it, Thomas Jefferson," she said, sadly. "You ought to be
sorry for me, because if you hadn't crowed I shouldn't have sewed
the hundred and oneth.
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