Volume I Part 21 (1/2)
”Whatever it is,” said Aunt Leth, ”it will be as welcome as the best. I should say, a cup of tea and some nice thin bread and b.u.t.ter.”
”Yes,” said poor Phoebe; ”that will be all, I am afraid.”
”But even that,” said Aunt Leth, ”will entail a small expense. Let me see your purse.”
”No, aunt; it is all right; and I must go at once.”
”There is no hurry, my dear; you have at least half an hour to spare.
f.a.n.n.y is going with you to the station, and she will not be ready for the next twenty minutes. Show me your purse, Phoebe.”
”Aunt dear----”
”My dear child, I insist, or I shall think you do not love me.”
Phoebe's purse was out in a moment; but she repented when it was in Aunt Leth's hand.
”You foolish girl!” said Aunt Leth, looking into the purse, and pinching Phoebe's cheek; ”there is next to nothing in it. Come, now--it is too late, I hope, for secrets between us--tell me all.”
Phoebe, in a low voice, told of the conversation between her father and herself, and of his giving her a florin for a birthday present. Aunt Leth did not look grave as she listened; on the contrary, she nodded and smiled brightly. It was not in her nature to do the slightest thing to aggravate the gloomy surroundings of the young girl's home. Her heart was filled with sweet pity for her niece's lot, and it was for her to shed light on Phoebe's life.
”My dear child,” she said, ”do you look upon me as a mother?”
”Indeed I do, dear aunt.”
”Would you wish to vex me?”
”No, aunt; no.”
”Then you must let me have my way. I know what is right and what is best. I have a little treasure-box, which I find very useful often when I am in a wilful mood. It is sometimes filled with saved pennies, and you have no idea how they mount up. Don't oppose me, Phoebe, or I will not kiss you.” In proof of which she gave her niece a number of affectionate kisses at once. ”I am going to my treasure-box now.”
She produced it from her desk, and put fifteen s.h.i.+llings into Phoebe's purse. Then she closed the purse, and pressed it into the girl's hand.
”What can I say, aunt?” murmured Phoebe, her eyes filled with tears.
”Say, my dear, 'I am glad my aunt treats me as she would treat her own child.' I have served you just as I would serve f.a.n.n.y.”
”I shall never be able to repay you, dear aunt.”
”You are repaying me, Phoebe, every day of your life.”
The grat.i.tude which filled Phoebe's heart had something sacred in it.
But, indeed, that happy house was more than a home to the young girl--it was a sanctuary.
Therefore Phoebe, unloved and neglected as she was in Parksides, was perfectly happy on the day before her birthday. She would be able to make her tea-table quite gay, and she went to the village and laid out to great advantage the money her aunt had put in her purse.
”Good afternoon, Miss Phoebe.”
It was Jeremiah Pamflett who accosted her. He was on a visit to the miser, with books and papers under his arm.
”Good afternoon,” said Phoebe, who was also carrying parcels. She would have hurried on and left him, after these salutations, but he was too quick for her.