“Oh, hush, oh, hush, my dollie; Don't worry any more, For Rebecca Mary 'n' the angels Are watching o'er, —-O'er 'n' o'er 'n' o'er.” The same words over and over—growing perhaps a little softer and tenderer. Rebecca Mary's arm was crooked as though a little flaxen head lay in the bend of it. Rebecca Mary's brooding little face was gazing downward intently at her empty arm. Quite suddenly it came upon Aunt Olivia that she had seen the child rocking like this before—that she must have seen her often. “Rebecca Mary 'n' the angels Are watching o'er,” sang on the crooning little voice in Aunt Olivia's ears. The doll in its coffin upstairs; down here Rebecca Mary rocking her empty arms. The two thoughts flashed into Aunt Olivia's mind and welded into one. All her vacillations and Duty's sharp reminders occurred to her clearly. She had thought that at last she was proof against temptation, but she had not thought of this. She was not prepared for Rebecca Mary, here in her little rocking chair, rocking her little soul- doll to sleep. The angels were used to watching o'er, but Aunt Olivia could not bear it. She went away with a strange, unaccustomed ache in her throat. The minister's wife would not have wanted her arrested then. Aunt Olivia tiptoed away as though Rebecca Mary had said, “'Sh!” She was remembering, as she went, the brief, sweet moment when she had sat like that and rocked, with the doll the minister's wife dressed, in her arms. It seemed to establish a new link of kinship between her and Rebecca Mary. She ran plump into Duty. “Oh!” she gasped. She was a little stunned. Aunt Olivia's Duty was solid. “I know where you've been. I tried get there in time.” “You're too late,” Aunt Olivia said, firmly, “Don't stop me; there's something I must do before it gets too dark. It's six o'clock now.” “Wait!” commanded Duty. “Are you crazy? You don't mean—” “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.