“Go back there and look at that child—and hear what she's singing! Stay long enough to take it all in—don't hurry.”
But Duty barred her way, grim and stern.
Palely she put up both her hands and thrust it aside. She did not once look back at it.
Already it was dusky under the guest chamber window. She had to stoop and peer and feel in the long tangle of grass. She kept on patiently with the Plummer kind of patience that never gave up. She was eager and smiling, as though something pleasant were at the end of the peering and stooping and feeling.
Aunt Olivia was hunting for a key.
The Plummer Kind
The doll's name was Olivicia.
Rebecca Mary had evolved the name from her inner consciousness and her intense gratitude to Aunt Olivia and the minister's wife. She had put Aunt Olivia first with instinctive loyalty, though in the secret little closet of her soul she had longed to call the beautiful being Felicia, intact and sweet. She did not know the meaning of Felicia, but she knew that the doll, as it lay in the loving cradle of her arms, gazing upward with changeless placidity and graciousness, looked as one should look whose name was Felicia. Greater compliment than this Rebecca Mary could not have paid the minister's wife.
“Olivicia,” she had placed the being on the sill of the attic window, stood confronting, addressing it: “Olivicia, it's coming—it is very near to! Sit there and listen and smile—oh yes, smile, SMILE. I don't wonder! I would too, only I'm too glad. When you're TOO glad you can't smile. I've been waiting for it to come. Olivicia, seems as if I'd been waiting a thousan' years. You're so young, you've only lived such little while, of course I don't expect you understand the deep-downness inside o' me when I think—”