Once Aunt 'Livia gave ME a birthday present and it was YOU. Such a
little mite of a yellow chicken! That's why I'm making the quilt
for Aunt 'Livia. It was three years ago; I've loved you ever since,"
added Rebecca Mary, simply.

For an instant Aunt Olivia stopped being a Plummer. A sob crept
into her throat. "Rebecca! Rebecca Mary! Rebecca Mary Plummer!" she
cried, involuntarily. Then she stepped back hastily, glad for the
cotton in Rebecca Mary's ears. For the surprise--she must not spoil
the child's hard-earned surprise. And, besides, Aunt Olivia wanted
to be surprised.

It was a relief to get away. She could not look any longer at the
picture in the great cobwebby barn--the gorgeous quilt spread out
to its full extent, the empty scaffolds above Rebecca Mary stooping
to her work, Thomas Jefferson pecking about the floor. Aunt Olivia
was not old; through all the years ahead of her she would remember
that picture.

She went straight to the southern boundary fence and looked across
at the jubilant little Tony Trumbullses. The one in a red dress
like Rebecca Mary's she singled out with a pointing finger. "YOU come
here," she called. "I won't hurt you; no need to look scairt. Do you
know who I am? I'm Rebecca Mary's aunt. You know who Rebecca Mary is,
don't you?"

"Gracious!" shrilled the little red Tony Trumbull, which Aunt Olivia
took for yes.

"Well, then, you know where I live. You see here--I want you all,