gently. But there was helplessness, too, in his eyes.

"Why, that's all!" returned Rebecca Mary, in surprise. "Of course
I can't dress her or undress her or take her out calling. But
it's a great comfort to rock her soul to sleep."

"Call Rhoda," murmured the wife to the minister; but Rhoda was
already there. She volunteered prompt explanation. There was no
hesitation in Rhoda's face.

"She means a make believe doll. Don't you, Rebecca Mary?"

"Yes," Rebecca Mary assented; "that's her other name, I suppose,
but I never called her by it."

"What did you call her?" demanded practical Rhoda. "What's her
name mean?"

"Rhoda!"--hastily, from the minister's wife. This seemed like
sacrilege. But Rhoda's clear, blue eyes were fixed upon Rebecca
Mary; she had not heard her mother's warning little word.

A shy color spread thinly over the lean little face of Rebecca
Mary. For the space of a breath or two she hesitated.

"Her name's--Felicia," then, softly.

"Robert"--the children had gone out together; the minister's
wife's eyes were unashamedly wet--" Robert, I wish you were a--a
sheriff instead of a minister. Because I think I would make a