but you have to. I mean I'VE got to.
I wouldn't so soon if it wasn't for my legs. But they keep right on
growing--they're awful, dear!--I can't stop 'em. Olivicia, lie right
there and be thankful you're a doll! But I wish you could open your eyes
and look at me just once more."

Rebecca Mary shut the drawer gently. It was over--no, she would say one
thing more to the beautiful being in there. She bent to the keyhole.

"Olivicia!" she called in a tender whisper, "I shall be right here
nights. We shan't be far away from each other."

But it would not be like lying in each other's arms--oh, not at all like
that. Rebecca Mary caught her breath; it was perilously like a sob. Then
she girded up her loins and went away to meet her fate--the common fate
of all.

She was very tired. The day had been a strain upon her that was
beginning now to tell. To put all one's childhood into one day--that is
not easy.

Article VI. was the last. In a way, it was a rest to Rebecca Mary, for
it entailed merely a visit to the woodshed. She could sit quietly on the
floor opposite the knothole and wait for the Thoughts. If the Thought of
Growing Up came out tonight, she would say: "Oh, well, you may stay--you
needn't go back. I'm not any glad to see you, but I'm ready. I suppose I
shall get used to you."

What Thoughts came out of the knothole to Rebecca Mary she never told
to any one. It was nearly dark when she went away, planting her feet
firmly, holding her head straight--Rebecca Mary Plummer. She went to
find Aunt Olivia and tell her. On the way, she stopped to get
Aunt Olivia's shawl, for it was getting chilly out on the porch.
Significantly the first thing Rebecca Mary did after she began to grow
up was to get the shawl and lay it over Aunt Olivia's spare shoulders.
The second thing was to bend to the scant gray hair and lightly rub it
with her cheek. It was a Rebecca Mary kiss.

Out in front of the rocking chair, still straight and firm, she told
Aunt Olivia.

"It's over--I think I put everything in," she said. "I thought you ought
to know, so I came to tell you. I'm ready to grow up."

After all, if Rebecca Mary had known, her "programme" had not ended
with Article VI. Here was another. Take the pencil in your steady little
fingers, Rebecca Mary, and write:

Article VII.--Growing up. (Do not break Aunt Olivia's heart.)

Un-Plummered

Aunt Olivia sighed. It was the third time since she had begun to let
Rebecca Ma