ary was gone. Time enough
then.

"You're doing right--that ought to comfort you," encouraged Duty,
kindly.

"Clear out!" was what Aunt Olivia cried out, sharply, in answer. "You've
done enough--this is all your work! Don't stand there hugging yourself.
YOU'RE not going to miss Rebecca Mary--"

"I shall miss her," Duty murmured. "I was awake all night, too, dreading
it. You didn't know, but I was there."

The last day, when it came, seemed a little--a good deal--like that
other day when Aunt Olivia went away, only it was the other way about
this time. Rebecca Mary was going away on this day. The things packed
snugly in the big valise were her things; it was she, Rebecca Mary, who
would unpack them in a wondrous, strange place. It was Rebecca Mary the
minister's wife and Rhoda came to bid good-bye.

Aunt Olivia went to the station in the stage with the child. She did not
speak much on the way, but sat firmly straight and smiled. Duty had told
her the last thing to smile. But Duty had not trusted her; unseen and
uninvited, Duty had slipped into the jolting old vehicle between Aunt
Olivia and Rebecca Mary.

"She isn't the Plummer she was once," sighed Duty.

But at the little station, in those few final moments, two Plummers, an
old one and a young one, waited quietly together. Neither of them broke
down nor made ado. Duty retired in palpable chagrin.

"Good-bye, my dear," Aunt Olivia said, steadily, though her lips were
white.

"Good-bye, Aunt Olivia," Rebecca Mary Plummer said, steadily. "I'm very
MUCH obliged to you for sending me."

"You're--welcome. Don't forget to wear your rubbers. I put in some
liniment in case you need it--don't get any in your eyes."

Outside on the platform Aunt Olivia sought and found Rebecca Mary's
window and stood beside it till the train started. Through the dusty
pane their faces looked oddly unfamiliar to each other, and the two
pairs of eyes that gazed out and in had a startled wistfulness in them
that no Plummer eyes should have. If Duty had staid--

The train shook itself, gave a jerk or two, and plunged down the shining
rails. Aunt Olivia watched it out of sight, then turned patiently to
meet her loneliness. The Dreads came flocking back to her as if she had
beckoned to them. For now was the time.

The letters Rebecca Mary wrote were formally correct and brief. There
was no homesickness in them. It was pleasant at the school, that book
about bones was going to be very i