She began a muffled, sad little tune like a wail. The words were
terrible words.

"I'll hold you in my arms. I'll rock you--rock you--rock you. For
tomorrow, oh, to-MOR-row you--must--die! Aber-a-ham offered Isaac,
and _I_ -MUST OFFER YOU."

Over and over, then tenderly she lowered Thomas Jefferson to the
shoe box again.

When Aunt Olivia came up in the morning, vaguely alarmed because
it was so late and no Rebecca Mary stirring, she had news to tell.
Someone going by had told her something.

"Well, that woman's found her 'di'mond-stone,'--how are you feeling
this morning, child? It was in her pocket where she'd put her hand
in and felt round! So all that fuss for noth--"

Suddenly Aunt Olivia stopped, for without warning, out of a box at
the bedside stalked a great white rooster and flew to the foot board
and "crew":


"Cock-a-doodle-do-ooo!
It was glass that glittered in the grass,
And all the time I knew-oo-ooo!"

"My grief?" Aunt Olivia gasped.