"Good afternoon," Rebecca Mary said, politely.

The minister's wife was cutting little trousers out of big ones--the
minister's big ones. It was the old puzzle of how to steer clear of
the thin places.

"Boys grow so!" sighed, tenderly, the minister's wife, over her work.
She had not heard the voice from the doorway.

"Good afternoon"--again.

It was a quaint little figure in tight red calico standing there.
It might easily have stepped down from some old picture on the wall.
Rebecca Mary had a bundle in her arms. It was so large that it
obscured breast and face, and only a pair of grave blue eyes,
presided over by thin, light brows, seemed visible to the minister's
wife. The trousers puzzle merged into this one. Now who could--

"Oh! Oh, it's Miss Plummer's little girl Rebecca," she said, cordially.

"Rebecca Mary her NIECE," came, a little muffled, from behind the
great bundle.

"Rebecca Mary's nie***--*** Oh, you mean Miss Plummer's niece, and
your whole name is that! But I suppose she calls you Rebecca or
Becky, for short? Walk in, Rebecca."

But Rebecca Mary was struggling with the paralyzing vision of Aunt