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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Phoebe's gone, too," she sobbed. "O, Aunt Rachel, I'm so sorry ... but I didn't know ... nobody told me." "That's all right, Johnnie. Somehow it relieves me to talk about Phoebe." She rose from her rocker, laid down her darning, and went to a dresser in the next room. She came out again, holding forth to me a picture ... Phoebe's picture....
At one corner of the group stood a small dead tree. This was the phoebe's customary perch, and on those bare branches first or last every visitor was sure to appear. On the lower branch the robin paused, with worm in mouth, on the way to his two-story nest under the eaves of the barn.
"It is not I that ought to be thought of, it is the general question. Mr. May could not restrain another short laugh. "We must not join in the vulgar abuse of shopkeepers," he said. Phoebe's colour rose. She raised her head a little, then perceiving the superiority of her former position, smiled. "I have no right to do so.
Travellers in Egypt are told that Port Said is the wickedest place on the face of the earth; and in Phoebe's home there would be a like drift of disreputables of both sexes and of all nationalities. It was fitting that one good woman should be recorded as redeeming womanhood there.
Instead of which some perverse cross-current hurried him into the words: 'He'd be all right if you'd go and nurse him, Phoebe. 'No, not at all. They didn't want me and Mrs. Gibson, poor creature, was real glad when I said I was going. She was jealous of me all the time. 'I expect you imagined that. Phoebe's face flushed angrily. 'I didn't! she said, shortly. 'Everybody in the house knew it.
Phoebe's Indian cakes were the sweetest offering of all, in their hue befitting the rustic altars of the innocent and golden age, or, so brightly yellow were they, resembling some of the bread which was changed to glistening gold when Midas tried to eat it.
Tom Tozer had just taken leave of her remonstrant customer with a curtsey, and an assurance that the faults complained of should be remedied, when she caught sight of the infirm old woman leaning on Phoebe's arm, and made the exclamation already quoted. "Lord bless us all! if it ain't grandmamma, and Phoebe's daughter along o' her, I'll lay you sixpence," said Mrs.
Through several long corridors full of perplexing turns and varied by many a little flight of steps, the two young women made their way to the principal parlor of the inn, where they found Mistress Burton standing expectantly before a slow log fire. Phoebe's worthy step-mother was a dame of middle age, ruddy, black-haired, and stout.
"I must thank you for your letter, Phoebe," said Amelius, as he followed her. "By-the-by, who was your messenger?" Phoebe's answer was no answer at all. "Only a young man, sir," she said. "In plain words, your sweetheart, I suppose?" Phoebe's expressive silence was her only reply.
You nearly broke my arm and you might have killed me, you big brute! Look what you did and I never harmed you at all!" She pushed up a sleeve, and held out her arm accusingly in the moonlight, disclosing a tiny, red furrow where the skin was broken and still bleeding. "And you shot a big hole right through Aunt Phoebe's sheet!" she added, with tearful severity.
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