"They're such nice, cheerful little children! It makes you want to
go right over their fence and hollow too." Rebecca Mary pronounced
it "hollow" with careful precision. Aunt Olivia would not approve
of "holler." "And when you can't, you like to listen. But I s'posed
listening to them hollow would be 'sociating. So I put the cotton in."

The joyous "hollowing" broke in waves of glee on Aunt Olivia's
eardrums. It seemed to be assaulting her heart. Oddly, now it
did not sound unmannerly and dreadful. It sounded nice and cheerful.
A Plummer, even, might be happy like that.

"Cotton is a very strange ex--exper'ence, Thomas Jefferson," ran on
the little voice. "At first you 'most can't stand it, but you get
over the worst of it bymeby. Besides, we're getting 'most through now.
Ain't that splendid, Thomas Jefferson? And it's pretty lucky, too,
because Aunt 'Livia's birthday is getting very near. It--it almost
scares me. Doesn't it you? For I don't know how Aunt 'Livia looks
when she's pleased--you think she'll look pleased, don't you, Thomas
Jefferson? It's such a long quilt, and when you've sewed every stitch
yourself--"

If Rebecca Mary had turned round then she would have seen how Aunt
Olivia looked when she was pleased. But the little figure at the
quilting-frame bent steadily to its task, only another soft sigh
stealing into Aunt Olivia's uncottoned ears. Thomas Jefferson pecked
his way towards the open door, and the lean figure there started back
guiltily; Aunt Olivia did not want to be recognized.

"You there under the quilt, Thomas Jefferson?" The little voice
put on tenderness. "Because I'm a-going to tell you something.