"You're going to stay at the minister's--I've paid your board in
advance," Aunt Olivia said, monotonously, as if it were her
lesson. She did not look at Rebecca Mary. "I've put in your long-
sleeve aprons so you can help do up the dishes. There's plenty of
handkerchiefs to last. You mustn't forget your rubbers when it's
wet, or to make up your bed yourself. I don't want you to make
the minister's wife any more trouble than you can help."
The lesson went monotonously on, but Rebecca Mary scarcely heard.
She had heard the first sentence--her sentence, poor child!
"You're going to stay at the minister's--stay at the minister's--
stay at the minister's." It said itself over and over again in
her ears. In her need for somebody to lean on, her startled gaze
sought the beautiful being across the room in agonized appeal.
But Olivicia was staring smilingly at Aunt Olivia. ET TU,
OLIVICIA!
If Rebecca Mary had noticed, there was an appealing, wistful look
in Aunt Olivia's eyes too, in odd contrast to the firm lips that
moved steadily on with their lesson:
"You can walk to school with Rhoda, you'll enjoy that. You've
never had folks to walk with. And you can stay with her, only you
mustn't forget your stents. I've put in some towels to hem. Maybe
the minister's wife has got something; if so, hem hers first.
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