commanding.

Rebecca Mary thought Aunt Olivia did not care, and it added a new
sting to her pain. There was that time that Aunt Olivia said she
wished the Lord hadn't ever created roosters--Thomas Jefferson had
just scratched up her pansy seeds. And the time when she wished Thomas
Jefferson was dead; did she wish that now? Was she--was she glad he was
going to be dead?

For Rebecca Mary had given up hope. She was not reconciled, but she
was sure. She spent all her spare time with the big, gaunt, pitiful
fellow, trying to make his last days easier. She knew he liked to
have her with him.

"You do, don't you, dear?" she said. She had never called him "dear"
before. She realized sadly that this was her last chance. "You do
like to have me here, don't you? You'd rather? Don't try to crow--
just nod your head a little if you do." And the big, white fellow's
head had nodded a little, she was sure. She put out her loving little
brown hand and caressed it. "I knew you did, dear. Oh, Thomas
Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson, don't die! PLEASE don't--think of the
good times we'll have if you won't! Think of the--the grasshoppers--
the bugs, Thomas Jefferson--the cookies! Won't you think?--won't you
try to be a little bit hungry?"

Rebecca Mary knew what it was to be hungry and not be able to eat,
but to be able to eat and not be hungry--this was away and beyond her
experience. The sad puzzle of it she could not solve.

One day the minister had a rather surprising summons to perform his