Close to the southern boundary fence of Aunt Olivia's land stood an old empty barn. It had been a place for storing surplus hay, once, when there had been surplus hay. For many years now it had been empty. As Aunt Olivia approached it she noticed that its great sliding door was open. Strange, when for so long it had been shut!
“If that old barn door ain't open!” breathed Aunt Olivia, stopping in her astonishment. “I ain't seen it open before in these ten years. Now, what I want to know is, who opened it? Likely as not those screeching little wild Injuns.” She strode across the stubby grass-ground to the barn and peered into its cool, dim depths. Then Aunt Olivia uttered a little, bewildered cry. Gradually the dimness took on light and the whole startling picture within unfolded itself to her astonished eyes.
Rebecca Mary was quilting. She was stooping earnestly over a gay expanse of purples and reds and greens. Her little tight red back was towards Aunt Olivia; it looked bent and strained. Rebecca Mary's eyes were very close to the gay expanse.
Suddenly Rebecca Mary began to speak, and Aunt Olivia's widened eyes discovered a great, white rooster pecking about under the quilt. His big, snowy bulk stood out distinct in the shadow of it.
“I'm glad we're 'most through. Aren't you, Thomas Jefferson? It's been a pretty LONG quilt. You get sort of tired when you quilt a LONG quilt. It makes your back creak when you unbend it; and when you quilt in a barn, of course you can't see without squinching, and it hurts your eyes to squinch.”
Silence again, except for the industrious peck-peck of the great white rooster. Aunt Olivia stood very still.
“You've been a great help, Thomas Jefferson,” began again the voice of Rebecca Mary, after a little. “I'm very much obliged to you, as I've said before. I don't know what I should have done without you. No, you needn't answer. I couldn't hear a word you said. You can't hear with cotton in both o' your ears,” Rebecca Mary sighed. There was no cotton in Aunt Olivia's ears to shut out the soft little sound. “But of course you have to wear it in, on account o' your conscience. It's conscience cotton, Thomas Jefferson. I've explained before, but I don't know's you understood. It seems a little unpolite to wear it in my ears, with you here keeping me comp'ny. I s'pose you think it's un—unsociable. But Aunt Olivia doesn't allow me to 'sociate with the Tony Trumbullses. Oh, Thomas Jefferson, I wish she'd allow me to 'sociate!”
Aunt Olivia found herself wishing she had conscience cotton in both o' her ears.
“They're such nice, cheerful little children! It makes you want to go right over their fence and hollow too.” Rebecca Mary pronounced it “hollow” with careful precision. Aunt Olivia would not approve of “holler.” “And when you can't, you like to listen. But I s'posed listening to them hollow would be 'sociating. So I put the cotton in.”
The joyous “hollowing” broke in waves of glee on Aunt Olivia's eardrums. It seemed to be assaulting her heart. Oddly, now it did not sound unmannerly and dreadful. It sounded nice and cheerful. A Plummer, even, might be happy like that.