for his
aunt."

Miss Jane still looked a little unconvinced, though she only said, "I
hope your aunt Miranda won't mind, but you know how particular she is,
Rebecca, and I really wish you wouldn't do anything out of the ordinary
without asking her first, for your actions are very queer."

"There can't be anything wrong this time," Rebecca answered
confidently. "Emma Jane sold her cakes to her own relations and to
uncle Jerry Cobb, and I went first to those new tenements near the
lumber mill, and then to the Ladds'. Mr. Ladd bought all we had and
made us promise to keep the secret until the premium came, and I've
been going about ever since as if the banquet lamp was inside of me all
lighted up and burning, for everybody to see."

Rebecca's hair was loosened and falling over her forehead in ruffled
waves; her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks crimson; there was a hint of
everything in the girl's face,--of sensitiveness and delicacy as well
as of ardor; there was the sweetness of the mayflower and the strength
of the young oak, but one could easily divine that she was one of

"The souls by nature pitched too high,
By suffering plunged too low."

"That's just the way you look, for all the world as if you did have a
lamp burning inside of you," sighed aunt Jane. "Rebecca! Rebecca! I
wish you could take things easier, child; I am fearful for you
sometimes."

XVI

SEASONS OF GROWTH

The days flew by; as summer had melted into autumn so autumn had given
place to winter. Life in the brick house had gone on more placidly of
late, for Rebecca was honestly trying to be more careful in the
performance of her tasks and duties as well as more quiet in her plays,
and she was slowly learning the power of the soft answer in turning
away wrath.

Miranda had not had, perhaps, quite as many opportunities in which to
lose her temper, but it is only just to say that she had not fully
availed herself of all that had offered themselves.

There had been one outburst of righteous wrath occasioned by Rebecca's
over-hospitable habits, which were later shown in a still more dramatic
and unexpected fashion.

On a certain Friday afternoon she asked her aunt Miranda if she might
take half her bread and milk upstairs to a friend.

"What friend have you got up there, for pity's sake?" demanded aunt
Miranda.

"The Simpson baby, come to stay over Sunday; that is, if you're
willing, Mrs. Simpson says she is. Shall I bring her