itterness was sweetened--that
she began to be cured. She and the little, white cat went down together
to Thomas Jefferson's resting place. When they went home--and they went
soon--Rebecca Mary got her diary and began to write in it with eager
haste. Her sombre little face had lighted up with some inner gladness,
like relief:

"Shes been there and put some lavvender on and pinks. I mean Aunt
Olivia. And shes the very fondest of her pinks and lavvender. So she
must have loved Tomas Jefferson. Shes sorry. Shes sorry. Shes sorry. And
Ime so glad."

Rebecca Mary caught up the little, white cat and cried her first tear of
joy on its neck. Then she wrote again:

"Now there are two morners instead of one. Two morners seams so mutch
lovinger than only one. I know he must feal better. I think he must have
been hurt before and so was I. I wish I dass tell Aunt Olivia how glad I
am shes sorry."

But she told only the little, white cat. The Plummer mantle of reticence
had fallen too heavily on her narrow little shoulders. What she longed
to do she did not "dass." But that evening in her little ruffled
nightgown she went to Aunt Olivia's room and thanked her for the
ruffles.

"They're beautiful," she murmured, in a small agony of shyness. "I think
it was very kind of you to ruffle me--I've always wanted to be. Thank
you very much." And then she had scurried away on her bare feet to the
safe retreat of her own room under the eaves. Aunt Olivia, left behind,
was unconsciously relieved at not having to respond. She was glad the
child had discovered the ruffles and was pleased. It was a good sign.

"I'll mix up some pancakes in the morning," Aunt Olivia said,
complacently. "Pancakes may help along. Rebecca Mary is fond of 'em."

The pinks and the fragrant lavender appeared to have established
a certain unspoken comradeship between the two "morners" of Thomas
Jefferson. Thereafter Rebecca Mary went about comforted, and Aunt Olivia
relieved. The little, white cat purred about the skirts of one and the
stubbed-out toes of the other in cheerful content.

"Well?" the minister's wife queried, in a moment of social intercourse
after church. She and Aunt Olivia walked down the aisle together.

"She's getting over it--or beginning to," nodded Aunt Olivia. "That
other rooster didn't work, but I think the little cat is going to. She
hugs it."

"Good! But she still mourns Thomas Jef--"

"Of course!" Aunt Olivia interposed, rather crisp