You needn't have come so SUDDEN," she added, with
gentle resentment.
The Thought of Growing Up crept into her mind and nestled down
there. As thoughts go, it was not an unkind one.
"You'll get used to me sometime and like me," it said,
comfortingly. But Rebecca Mary knew better. She drove it out.
Why must legs keep on growing and unwelcome Thoughts come out of
knotholes? Why could not little girls keep on sewing stents and
learning arithmetic and carrying beautiful doll-beings to bed?
Why had the Lord created little girls like this--this growing
kind?
"If I had made the world," began Rebecca Mary--but stopped in a
hurry. The irreverence of presuming to make a better world than
the Lord shamed her.
"I suppose He knew best, but if He'd ever been a little girl--"
This was worse than the other. Rebecca Mary hastily dismissed the
world and its Maker from her musings for fear of further
irreverences.
One Thought came out of the knothole, illustrated. It was leading
a tall woman-girl by the hand--no, it was pushing it as though
the woman-girl were loath to come.
"Come along," urged the new Thought, laughingly. "Here she is--
this is Rebecca Mary. Rebecca Mary, this is YOU! You needn't be
afraid of each other, you two. Take a good long look and get
acquainted."
The woman-girl was tall and straight.
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