"Of course
I can't dress her or undress her or take her out calling. But
it's a great comfort to rock her soul to sleep."
"Call Rhoda," murmured the wife to the minister; but Rhoda was
already there. She volunteered prompt explanation. There was no
hesitation in Rhoda's face.
"She means a make believe doll. Don't you, Rebecca Mary?"
"Yes," Rebecca Mary assented; "that's her other name, I suppose,
but I never called her by it."
"What did you call her?" demanded practical Rhoda. "What's her
name mean?"
"Rhoda!"--hastily, from the minister's wife. This seemed like
sacrilege. But Rhoda's clear, blue eyes were fixed upon Rebecca
Mary; she had not heard her mother's warning little word.
A shy color spread thinly over the lean little face of Rebecca
Mary. For the space of a breath or two she hesitated.
"Her name's--Felicia," then, softly.
"Robert"--the children had gone out together; the minister's
wife's eyes were unashamedly wet--" Robert, I wish you were a--a
sheriff instead of a minister. Because I think I would make a
better sheriff's wife. Do you know what I would make you do?"
The minister could guess.
"I'd make you ARREST that woman, Robert!"
"Felicia!" But she saw willingness to be a sheriff come into his
own eyes and stop there briefly.
"Don't call me 'Felicia' while I feel as wicked as this! Oh,
Robert, to think she named her little soul-doll after me!"
"It's a beautiful name.
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