But for a very ***?*** instant they looked sadly into each other's
little lean brown-yellow faces. It was a brief ceremony of farewell.
"Good-bye," smiled Rebecca Mary, bravely. And the lips of The Other
Little Girl moved as though saying it too. The Other Little Girl
smiled. And neither of them knew that just then she was beautiful.

Aunt Olivia was trying to meet her own courage test. She had been
trying a good many days. Duty--stern, unswerving duty--bade her
inspect Rebecca Mary's little cookbook diary. Should she not know--
ought she not to know the thoughts that were brewing in the child's
mind? How else could she bring her up properly?

"Read it," Duty said, "find out. Are you afraid?"

"I'm ashamed," groaned Aunt Olivia. "Do you think Rebecca Mary would
read my diary?"

"Is Rebecca Mary bringing you up?"

Aunt Olivia sometimes thought so. The puzzle that she had begun to
try to solve when Rebecca Mary's white, death-struck mother had laid
her baby in Aunt Olivia's unaccustomed arms was getting a little more
difficult every day. Some days Aunt Olivia wondered if she ought to
give it up. Oh, this bringing up--this bringing up of little children!

"If I must," groaned Aunt Olivia, and got as far as taking the
little diary in her hands. But she got no farther. She laid it
gently down again.

"I can't," she said, firmly, but she could not look Duty in the face