“My aunt Olivia wouldn't allow me to think of you,” she explained in dismissing them. “And,” with dignity she added, “neither would Rebecca Mary.”
It was to be as the minister's wife had prophesied—there were to be not even the three days of grace allowed by law when Rebecca Mary grew up. Sitting there with her legs, her poor little unappreciated legs, the innocent cause of the whole trouble, curled out of sight, Rebecca Mary planned that there should be but one day of grace. She would allow one day more to be a little girl in, and then she would grow up. But that one day—Rebecca Mary got up hastily and went to find Aunt Olivia.
“Aunt Olivia,” she began, without preamble—Rebecca Mary never preambled—“Aunt Olivia, may I have a holiday tomorrow?”
Aunt Olivia was rocking in her easy chair on the porch. It had taken her sixty-two years to learn to sit in an easy chair and rock. Even now, and she had been home from the hospital many months, she felt a little as though the friendly birds that perched on the porch railing were twittering tauntingly, “Plummer! Plummer! Plummer!—rocking in an easy chair!”
“May I, Aunt Olivia?” It was an unusual occurrence for Rebecca Mary to ask again so soon. But this was an unusual occurrence. Aunt Olivia's thin face turned affectionately towards the child.
“School doesn't begin again tomorrow, does it?” she said in surprise. Weren't all Rebecca Mary's days now holidays?
“Oh no—-no'm. But I mean may I skip my stents? And—and may I soak the kettles and pans? Just tomorrow.”
“Just tomorrow,” repeated bewildered Aunt Olivia—“soak your—stents—”
“Because it's going to be a pretty busy day. It's going to be a—a celebration,” Rebecca Mary said, softly. There was a strangely exalted look on her face. Oddly enough she was not afraid that Aunt Olivia would say no.
Aunt Olivia said yes. She did not ask any questions about the celebration, on account of the exalted look. She could wait. But the bewildered look stayed for a while on her thin face. Rebecca Mary was a queer child, a queer child—but she was a dear child. Dearness atoned for queerness in Aunt Olivia's creed.