At tea Rebecca Mary played with her spoon, while her berries swam,
untasted, in their yellow sea of cream. Aunt Olivia remonstrated.

"Why don't you eat your supper, child?" she asked, sharply. Rebecca
Mary was always glad when she said child instead of Rebecca Mary, for
then the sharpness did not cut. She was feeling now for the glasses
up in her thin gray hair. Aunt Olivia could see everything through
those glasses and it made Rebecca Mary tremble to think--oh, oh, dear,
suppose she should see the secret hidden in Rebecca Mary's soul! It
seemed as if Aunt Olivia trained the glasses directly upon the corner
where the secret glittered in the gra--was hidden in Rebecca Mary's
troubled little soul. But this is what Aunt Olivia said:

"It's your stomach. What you need is a good dose of camomile tea to
tone you up. I didn't give you any this spring, for a wonder. Now you
go right up to bed and I'll set some to steeping. Does it hurt you any?"

"Oh yes'm," murmured Rebecca Mary, sadly, but she meant her soul and
Aunt Olivia meant her stomach. She mounted the steep stairs to her
little eavesdropping room and slipped her small spare body out of her clothes into her scant little nightgown. It was rather a relief to go
to bed. If she could have been sure that Thomas Jefferson--but, no,
Thomas Jefferson was not in bed. As Rebecca Mary lay and waited for
her camomile tea she was certain she could hear him stepping about
under the window. Once he came directly under and "crew," and then
Rebecca Mary hid her head in the pillow for he was letting it out.

"Cock-a-doodle-do--ooo, did-you-see-me-swoo-oo-OOP-it-up?" crowed
Thomas Jefferson, under the window. Rebecca Mary with her eyes
pillow-deep could see him stretching his neck and letting it out.