The days flew by; as summer had meltedinto autumn so autumn had given place towinter. Life in the brick house had goneon more placidly of late, for Rebecca was honestlytrying to be more careful in the performance of hertasks and duties as well as more quiet in her plays,and she was slowly learning the power of the softanswer in turning away wrath.

　　Miranda had not had, perhaps, quite as manyopportunities in which to lose her temper, but it isonly just to say that she had not fully availed herselfof all that had offered themselves.

　　There had been one outburst of righteous wrathoccasioned by Rebecca's over-hospitable habits,which were later shown in a still more dramatic andunexpected fashion.

　　On a certain Friday afternoon she asked her auntMiranda if she might take half her bread and milkupstairs to a friend.

　　"What friend have you got up there, for pity'ssake?" demanded aunt Miranda.

　　"The Simpson baby, come to stay over Sunday;that is, if you're willing, Mrs. Simpson says she is.

　　Shall I bring her down and show her? She's dressedin an old dress of Emma Jane's and she looks sweet.""You can bring her down, but you can't showher to me! You can smuggle her out the way yousmuggled her in and take her back to her mother.

　　Where on earth do you get your notions, borrowinga baby for Sunday!""You're so used to a house without a baby youdon't know how dull it is," sighed Rebecca resignedly,as she moved towards the door; "but at thefarm there was always a nice fresh one to play withand cuddle. There were too many, but that's nothalf as bad as none at all. Well, I'll take her back.

　　She'll be dreadfully disappointed and so will Mrs.

　　Simpson. She was planning to go to Milltown.""She can un-plan then," observed Miss Miranda.

　　"Perhaps I can go up there and take care of thebaby?" suggested Rebecca. "I brought her homeso 't I could do my Saturday work just the same.""You've got enough to do right here, withoutany borrowed babies to make more steps. Now, noanswering back, just give the child some supper andcarry it home where it belongs.""You don't want me to go down the front way,hadn't I better just come through this room andlet you look at her? She has yellow hair and bigblue eyes! Mrs. Simpson says she takes after herfather."Miss Miranda smiled acidly as she said shecouldn't take after her father, for he'd take anything there was before she got there!

　　Aunt Jane was in the linen closet upstairs, sortingout the clean sheets and pillow cases for Saturday,and Rebecca sought comfort from her.

　　"I brought the Simpson baby home, aunt Jane,thinking it would help us over a dull Sunday, butaunt Miranda won't let her stay. Emma Jane hasthe promise of her next Sunday and Alice Robinsonthe next. Mrs. Simpson wanted I should have herfirst because I've had so much experience in babies.

　　Come in and look at her sitting up in my bed, auntJane! Isn't she lovely? She's the fat, gurglykind, not thin and fussy like some babies, and Ithought I was going to have her to undress anddress twice each day. Oh dear! I wish I couldhave a printed book with everything set down in itthat I COULD do, and then I wouldn't get disappointedso often.""No book could be printed that would fit you,Rebecca," answered aunt Jane, "for nobody couldimagine beforehand the things you'd want to do.

　　Are you going to carry that heavy child home inyour arms?""No, I'm going to drag her in the littlesoap-wagon. Come, baby! Take your thumb out ofyour mouth and come to ride with Becky in yourgo-cart." She stretched out her strong young armsto the crowing baby, sat down in a chair with thechild, turned her upside down unceremoniously,took from her waistband and scornfully flung awaya crooked pin, walked with her (still in a highlyreversed position) to the bureau, selected a largesafety pin, and proceeded to attach her brief redflannel petticoat to a sort of shirt that she wore.

　　Whether flat on her stomach, or head down, heelsin the air, the Simpson baby knew she was in thehands of an expert, and continued gurgling placidlywhile aunt Jane regarded the pantomime with akind of dazed awe.

　　"Bless my soul, Rebecca," she ejaculated, "itbeats all how handy you are with babies!""I ought to be; I've brought up three and ahalf of 'em," Rebecca responded cheerfully, pullingup the infant Simpson's stockings.

　　"I should think you'd be fonder of dolls thanyou are," said Jane.

　　"I do like them, but there's never any changein a doll; it's always the same everlasting old doll,and you have to make believe it's cross or sick, orit loves you, or can't bear you. Babies are moretrouble, but nicer."Miss Jane stretched out a thin hand with a slender,worn band of gold on the finger, and the babycurled her dimpled fingers round it and held it fast.

　　"You wear a ring on your engagement finger,don't you, aunt Jane? Did you ever think aboutgetting married?""Yes, dear, long ago.""What happened, aunt Jane?""He died--just before.""Oh!" And Rebecca's eyes grew misty.

　　"He was a soldier and he died of a gunshotwound, in a hospital, down South.""Oh! aunt Jane!" softly. "Away from you?""No, I was with him.""Was he young?""Yes; young and brave and handsome, Rebecca;he was Mr. Carter's brother Tom.""Oh! I'm so glad you were with him! Wasn'the glad, aunt Jane?"Jane looked back across the half-forgotten years,and the vision of Tom's gladness flashed upon her:

　　his haggard smile, the tears in his tired eyes, hisoutstretched arms, his weak voice saying, "Oh, Jenny!

　　Dear Jenny! I've wanted you so, Jenny!" It wastoo much! She had never breathed a word of itbefore to a human creature, for there was no one whowould have understood. Now, in a shamefaced way,to hide her brimming eyes, she put her head downon the young shoulder beside her, saying, "It washard, Rebecca!"The Simpson baby had cuddled down sleepily inRebecca's lap, leaning her head back and suckingher thumb contentedly. Rebecca put her cheekdown until it touched her aunt's gray hair and softlypatted her, as she said, "I'm sorry, aunt Jane!"The girl's eyes were soft and tender and theheart within her stretched a little and grew; grewin sweetness and intuition and depth of feeling. Ithad looked into another heart, felt it beat, andheard it sigh; and that is how all hearts grow.

　　Episodes like these enlivened the quiet course ofevery-day existence, made more quiet by the departureof Dick Carter, Living Perkins, and HuldahMeserve for Wareham, and the small attendance atthe winter school, from which the younger childrenof the place stayed away during the cold weather.

　　Life, however, could never be thoroughly dullor lacking in adventure to a child of Rebecca'stemperament. Her nature was full of adaptability,fluidity, receptivity. She made friends everywhereshe went, and snatched up acquaintances in everycorner.

　　It was she who ran to the shed door to take thedish to the "meat man" or "fish man;" she whoknew the family histories of the itinerant fruitvenders and tin peddlers; she who was asked to takesupper or pass the night with children in neighboringvillages--children of whose parents her auntshad never so much as heard. As to the nature ofthese friendships, which seemed so many to theeye of the superficial observer, they were of variouskinds, and while the girl pursued them withenthusiasm and ardor, they left her unsatisfied andheart-hungry; they were never intimacies such asare so readily made by shallow natures. She lovedEmma Jane, but it was a friendship born of propinquityand circumstance, not of t............