“It hurts—there! But I made up my mind it was my duty to come up here and say it, and so I've come. I'm sorry to have to say—”
“Don't!” ejaculated Aunt Olivia, trembling on her Plummer pedestal. For she was laboring with the impulse to refuse to listen to this intruder, to drive her away—to say: “I won't believe a word you say! You may as well go home.”
“Hoity-toity!” breathed Duty in her ear. It saved her.
“Well?” she said, gently. “Go on.”
“I'm sorry to say I can't teach Rebecca Mary any more, Miss Plummer. That's what I came to tell you—”
This was awful—awful! But hot rebellion rose in Aunt Olivia's heart. There was some mistake—it was some other Rebecca Mary this person meant. She would never believe it was HERS—the Plummer one!
“Because I've taught her all I know. There! Do you wonder I chose the lowest step to sit on? But it's the truth, honest,” the little teacher laughed girlishly, but there were shame spots on her cheeks—“Rebecca Mary is the smartest scholar I've got, and I've taught her all I know.” In her voice there was confession to having taught Rebecca Mary a little more than that. The shame spots flickered in a halo of humble honesty.
“She's been from Percentage through the arithmetic four times—Rebecca Mary's splendid in arithmetic. And she knows the geography and grammar by heart.”
The look on Aunt Olivia's face! The transition from horror to pride was overwhelming, transfiguring.
“Rebecca Mary's smart,” added the honest one on the doorstep. “I think she ought to have a chance. There! That's all I came for, so I'll be going. Only, I don't suppose—you don't think you'll have to tell Rebecca Mary, do you? About—about me, I mean?”