"You poor little thing! You poor little thing! You poor little
thing!" over and over.

Rebecca Mary gazed up into the softened face and read something
there. It took her breath away. She could not believe it without
further proof.

"You don't--I don't suppose you LOVE me?" panted Rebecca Mary.
But Aunt Olivia was gone out of the room in a swirl of white
nightgown.

"Everything's on the table," she called back from the stairs.
"I'm going to light a fire. You come right down. I think it's high
time--" her voice trailing out thinly.

"She does," murmured Rebecca Mary, radiant of face.

At half past twelve o'clock they both ate supper, both in their
scant, white nightgowns, both very hungry indeed. But before she
sat down in her old place at the table, Rebecca Mary went round to
Aunt Olivia's place and whispered something rather shyly in her ear.
She had been by herself in a corner of the room for a moment.

"I've sewed the hundred and twoth," Rebecca Mary whispered.




The Thousand Quilt