It was not till next morning that Rebecca's heart really began its song of thanksgiving. Her Aunt Miranda announced at breakfast, that as Mrs. Perkins was going to Milliken's Mills, Rebecca might go too, and buy a serviceable hat.  
“You mustn't pay over two dollars and a half, and you mustn't get the pink bird without Mrs. Perkins says, and the milliner says, that it won't fade nor moult. Don't buy a light-colored felt because you'll get sick of it in two or three years same as you did the brown one. I always liked the shape of the brown one, and you'll never get another trimmin' that'll wear like them quills.”
 
“I hope not!” thought Rebecca.
 
“If you had put your elastic under your chin, same as you used to, and not worn it behind because you think it's more grown-up an' fash'onable, the wind never'd a' took the hat off your head, and you wouldn't a' lost it; but the mischief's done and you can go right over to Mis' Perkins now, so you won't miss her nor keep her waitin'. The two dollars and a half is in an envelope side o' the clock.”
 
Rebecca swallowed the last spoonful of picked-up codfish on her plate, wiped her lips, and rose from her chair happier than the seraphs in Paradise.
 
The porcupine quills had disappeared from her life, and without any fault or violence on her part. She was wholly innocent and virtuous, but nevertheless she was going to have a new hat with the solferino breast, should the adored object prove, under rigorous examination, to be practically indestructible.
 
“Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many hats I'll see; But if they're trimmed with hedgehog quills They'll not belong to me!”
 
So she improvised, secretly and ecstatically, as she went towards the side entry.
 
“There's 'Bijah Flagg drivin' in,” said Miss Miranda, going to the window. “Step out and see what he's got, Jane; some passel from the Squire, I guess. It's a paper bag and it may be a punkin, though he wouldn't wrop up a punkin, come to think of it! Shet the dinin' room door, Jane; it's turrible drafty. Make haste, for the Squire's hoss never stan's still a minute cept when he's goin'!”
 
Abijah Flagg alighted and approached the side door with a grin.
 
“Guess what I've got for ye, Rebecky?”
 
No throb of prophetic soul warned Rebecca of her approaching doom.
 
“Nodhead apples?” she sparkled, looking as bright and rosy and satin-skinned as an apple herself.
 
“No; guess again.”
 
“A flowering geranium?”
 
“Guess again!”
 
“Nuts? Oh! I can't, Bijah; I'm just going to Milliken's Mills on an errand, and I'm afraid of missing Mrs. Perkins. Show me quick! Is it really for me, or for Aunt Miranda?”
 
“Reely for you, I guess!” and he opened the large brown paper bag and drew from it the remains of a water-soaked hat!
 
They WERE remains, but there was no doubt of their nature and substance. They had clearly been a hat in the past, and one could even suppose that, when resuscitated, they might again assume their original form in some near and happy future.
 
Miss Miranda, full of curiosity, joined the group in the side entry at this dramatic moment.
 
“Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “Where, and how under the canopy, did you ever?”
 ............