Rebecca was thinking of these things, and not of spreading the table, when she went to the cupboard to bring out the pewter plates, and she quite forgot her errand until her mother called:
“Rebby! Rebby! What are you about in the cupboard?” Then, bringing only one plate instead of four, she came slowly back to the kitchen.
“What ails the child?” questioned Mrs. Weston sharply. “I declare, I believe both of my children are losing their wits. Here is Anna making rhymes and sing-songing her words in strange fashion; and thou, Rebecca, a girl of nearly fourteen, careless of thy work, and standing before me on one foot like a heron, staring at naught,” and Mrs. Weston hurried to the pantry for the forgotten dishes.
Anna smiled at her mother’s sharp words, for she did not mind being called a silly girl for rhyming words. “’Tis no harm,” thought Anna, “and my father says ’tis as natural as for the birds to sing;” so she added more chips to the fire, and thought no more of it.
But Rebecca, who was used to being praised for her good sense and who was seldom found fault with, had looked at her mother in surprise, and the pewter plate fell from her hands and went clattering to the floor. At that moment the door swung open and Mr. Weston entered the kitchen.
“Father! Father!” exclaimed Rebecca, running toward him, “you won’t put up a liberty pole, will you? You won’t! Promise you won’t, Father!” and she clasped his arm with both hands.