She caught a glimpse of her own legs and
shrank back sensitively. They seemed to have grown since she
measured them against the woodshed wall. Rebecca Mary felt the
contrast between her legs and the tea party. Aunt Olivia never
knew how near she had come to being invited to take part in the
celebration, at Article III. on the programme.
Rhoda had had tea parties unnumbered, like the sands of the sea.
She had described them fluently, so Rebecca Mary was not as one
in the dark. She knew how to cut the bread and the cake into tiny
dice, and the cookies into tiny rounds. She knew how to make the
cambric tea and to arrange the jelly and flowers. But Rhoda had
forgotten to tell her how to make a rose pie--how to select two
large rose leaves for upper and under crust, and to fill in the
pie between them with pink and white rose petals and sugar in
alternate layers. Press until "done." Why had Rhoda forgotten? It
seemed a pity that there was no rose pie at Rebecca Mary's tea
party--and no time left to make one.
"Will you take sugar in your tea, Olivicia?" Rebecca Mary asked,
shyly. She sat on the ground with her legs drawn under her out of
sight, but there were little warm spots in her cheeks. She had
not expected to be--ashamed. If there had been a knothole
anywhere, she thought to herself, the Thought of Growing Up would
have come out of it and confronted her and reminded her of her
legs.
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