Aunt Olivia's back yard was almost as
full of flowery delights to Rebecca Mary as it was to Aunt Olivia.
The child was not there--not anywhere. Aunt Olivia sought for
Thomas Jefferson to inquire of him, but Thomas Jefferson was
missing too. She went the rounds again. Where could the child be?
It was a hot, stinging day in late June when Aunt Olivia's
suspicions awoke. They had been long in rousing, but, once alert,
they developed rapidly into certainties. Her pale eyes glistened,
her thin nostrils dilated--Aunt Olivia's whole lean, sharp,
unemotional person put on suspicion. The child had gone to see
the Tony Trumbullses.
"My land!" ejaculated Aunt Olivia, "after all my forbidding! And she
a Plummer!" She sat down suddenly as though a little faint. She had never known a Plummer to disobey before; it was a new experience.
It took time to get used to it, and she sat still a long time, rigid
and grim, on the edge of the chair. Then as suddenly as she had sat
down she got up. It could not be--she refused to entertain the
suspicion longer. Rebecca Mary had NOT gone there to that forbidden
place; she was in the garden somewhere. Aunt Olivia, a little stiff
as if from a chill, went once more in search of the child.
"Rebecca! Rebecca Mary!" she called, at regular intervals.
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