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Updated: May 27, 2025
The child, though born prematurely and for the first few weeks a sickly little creature enough, gradually strengthened, but Phoebe's life flickered lower each hour. She did not seem frightened at the approach of death, if she realised it, which was doubtful. It was as though she had used up all of emotion before and had no strength left to indulge in any now.
Farmer Dale had long discovered where Phoebe's money went: he said not a word to her; but went up to town like a shot; found Falcon out, and told him he mustn't think to eat his daughter's bread. She should marry a man that could make a decent livelihood; and if she was to run away with HIM, why they'd starve together.
May had a conscience, though he was not careful of his money, and the fear of ruin to Cotsdean was a very terrible and real oppression to him. The recollection was upon him like a vulture in classic story, tearing and gnawing, as he sat there and smiled over the cup of tea Ursula gave him, feeling amused all the same at Phoebe's talk.
"And," continued Phoebe hesitatingly, "she is playing with with an old friend Mr. Hooker!" "That is quite proper, too, considering their relations," said Clarence tolerantly. "I don't understand," stammered Phoebe. The slightly cynical smile on Clarence's face changed as he looked into Phoebe's eyes. "I've just heard that they are married," he returned gently.
He sat staring at the congealed remains of a pasty on his plate. He did not see how it was possible to go on living. Suddenly a soft, very small hand slid into his lap under cover of the table's corner, and Phoebe's fingers curled round his as she whispered: "Don't 'ee mind, Ishmael. Don't cry. Tell 'ee what, I'll dance weth 'ee, so I will."
It may have something to do with the children's excitement on that "frosty Berkshire morning, and the frost imagery on the enchanted hall window" or something to do with "Feathertop," the "Scarecrow," and his "Looking Glass" and the little demons dancing around his pipe bowl; or something to do with the old hymn tune that haunts the church and sings only to those in the churchyard, to protect them from secular noises, as when the circus parade comes down Main Street; or something to do with the concert at the Stamford camp meeting, or the "Slave's Shuffle"; or something to do with the Concord he-nymph, or the "Seven Vagabonds," or "Circe's Palace," or something else in the wonderbook not something that happens, but the way something happens; or something to do with the "Celestial Railroad," or "Phoebe's Garden," or something personal, which tries to be "national" suddenly at twilight, and universal suddenly at midnight; or something about the ghost of a man who never lived, or about something that never will happen, or something else that is not.
But you should wait until you sit comfortably on the shaded porch of the Eagle House, and then you can have the story at your ease. It seems best that our part of it should close while Miss Phoebe's deep bass note was yet reverberating softly.
During this life at her father's the little boy died. He had been christened, after his father and uncle, Phoebe's rejected suitor Ralph Thornton Daverill. The little girl she had baptized by the name of Ruth.
Her anxiety in Phoebe's behalf had been dispelled when she learned that Isaac Burton was expected at the palace, and was to bring his family with him. With diplomatic shrewdness, she resolved to improve every opportunity to win the Queen's favor, in order that when the time came she might have the benefit of her authority in removing her younger sister from her pretended relatives.
In the morning the pain was entirely gone, but the soreness was still severe. But with frequent changes of compresses during the day, the swelling very much subsided. I wondered why father did not come, as he had not been to see me since sister Phoebe's funeral. My brother informed me that he had a chill during the funeral, and had not been able to leave.
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