She was not prepared for Rebecca Mary, here in her little
rocking chair, rocking her little soul-doll to sleep.
The angels were used to watching o'er, but Aunt Olivia could not
bear it. She went away with a strange, unaccustomed ache in her
throat. The minister's wife would not have wanted her arrested
then.
Aunt Olivia tiptoed away as though Rebecca Mary had said, "'Sh!"
She was remembering, as she went, the brief, sweet moment when
she had sat like that and rocked, with the doll the minister's
wife dressed, in her arms. It seemed to establish a new link of
kinship between her and Rebecca Mary.
She ran plump into Duty.
"Oh!" she gasped. She was a little stunned. Aunt Olivia's Duty
was solid.
"I know where you've been. I tried get there in time."
"You're too late," Aunt Olivia said, firmly, "Don't stop me;
there's something I must do before it gets too dark. It's six
o'clock now."
"Wait!" commanded Duty. "Are you crazy? You don't mean--"
"Go back there and look at that child--and hear what she's
singing! Stay long enough to take it all in--don't hurry."
But Duty barred her way, grim and stern.
Palely she put up both her hands and thrust it aside. She did not
once look back at it.
Already it was dusky under the guest chamber window. She had to
stoop and peer and feel in the long tangle of grass.
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