else towered joy that Aunt Olivia was coming home.

Rebecca Mary's eyes blazed with pride at being a Plummer. This
kind of courage was the Plummer kind. The child's lank little
figure seemed to grow taller and straighter. She held up her head
splendidly and exulted. She felt like going up on the minister's
housetop and proclaiming: "She's my aunt Olivia! She's mine! She's
mine--I'm a Plummer, too! All o' you listen, she's my aunt Olivia,
and she's coming home!"

Suddenly the child flung out her arms towards the south where
Aunt Olivia was. And though she stood quite still, something
within her seemed to spring away and go hurrying through the
clear air.

"I shouldn't suppose Aunt Olivia would ever forgive me, but she's
Aunt Olivia and she will," wrote Rebecca Mary that night, her
small, dark face full of a solemn peace--it seemed so long since
she had been full of peace before. She wrote on eagerly:

"When she gets home Ime going to hug her I can't help it if it
wont be keeping right on."




Article Seven