But you're not really to BLAME," she added,
hastily, mindful of Thomas Jefferson's feelings. "I should have
done it sometime if you hadn't crowed. I knew it was coming.
I suppose now I shall have to starve. You'd think it was pretty
hard to starve, I guess, Thomas Jefferson."
Thomas Jefferson made certain gloomy responses in his throat to the
effect that he was always starving; that any contributions on the
spot in the way of corn kernels, wheat grains, angleworms--any
little delicacies of the kind--would be welcome. And Rebecca Mary,
understanding, led the way to the corn bin. In the dark hours that
followed, the intimacy between the great white rooster and the
little white girl took on tenderer tones.
At breakfast next morning--at dinner time--at supper--Rebecca Mary
absented herself from the house. Aunt Olivia set on the meals
regularly and waited with tightening heartstrings. It did not seem
to occur to her to eat her own portions. She tasted no morsel of
all the dainties she got together wistfully. At nightfall the
second day she began to feel real alarm. She put on her bonnet and
went to the minister's. He was rather a new minister, and the
Plummers had always required a good deal of time to make
acquaintance. But in the present stress of her need Aunt Olivia
did not stop to think of that.
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