Olivia calling her Becky. She had passed by the lesser wonder of
being called Rebecca without the Mary.

"Oh no'm, indeed; Aunt 'Livia never shortens me," gently gasped the
child. And the minister's wife, measuring from the bundle down,
smiled to herself. There did not seem much room for shortening.

"But walk in, dear--you're going to walk in? I hope you have come
to make me a little call?"

Rebecca Mary struggled out of her paralysis. Here was occasion
for new embarrassment. For Rebecca Mary was honest.

"N-o'm I mean, not a LITTLE call. I've come to spend the afternoon,"
she said, slowly, "and I've brought my work."

The bundle--the great bundle--was her work! She advanced into the
room and began carefully to unroll it. It was the turn of the
minister's wife to be paralyzed. She pushed forward a chair, and
the child sat down in it.

"It's my Thousand Quilt that I'm making for Aunt 'Livia," explained
Rebecca Mary. "It's 'most done. There's a thousand pieces in it,
and I'm on the nine hundred and ninety-oneth. I thought proberly
you'd have some work, so I brought mine."

"Yes, I see--" The minister's wife stood looking down at the tight
little red figure among the gorgeous waves of the Thousand Quilt.
They eddied and surged around it in dizzy reds and purples and
greens. She was conscious of being a little seasick, and for relief