Phoebe Deane (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill
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or in her wonderful hair? He never doubted that it was hers. As he raised it wonderingly in his hand to look at it more closely he fancied he caught the same subtle fragrance that had been in her hair. His fingers closed pleasantly about the soft little thing. For a moment he pondered whether he ought to go after her and give it to her. Then farther up the hill he heard the voices calling him, and with a pleasant smile he tucked it into his inner pocket beside the letter that had played so important a part in the little affair. He rather liked to think he had that bit of velvet himself, and perhaps it was not of much value to the owner. It might at least make another opportunity of seeing her. And so he passed on up the hill with something besides the freedom of Texas to think upon.
Meantime, the load of wheat went down the road after Phoebe at a lively pace, and its driver, in no pleasant mood because he had been all the way to Albany with his wheat and had been unable to sell it, studied the graceful sunlit figure ahead of him, and wondered what there was about it so strangely familiar.
Phoebe had just reached the highroad and paused to think which way she would go, when the wagon overtook her, and turning with her face bright with pleasure, and momentary forgetfulness, she faced the lowering astonishment of Hiram Green! Her face grew deadly white with the revulsion, and she caught at the fence to steady herself. She felt as if the earth were reeling under her unprotected feet. One hand flew to her heart and her frightened eyes, with a wild thought of her late protector, sought the way by which she had come; but the hill-side lay unresponsive in the late sunshine, and not a soul was to be seen. Nathaniel Graham had just picked up his cousin Janet's basket.
" Well, I swow!" said Hiram Green, pulling his horses up sharply. " It ain't you tricked out that way, away off here! " Then slowly his little pig eyes traveled to the lonely hill-side, gathered up an idea, came back to the girl's guilty face, and narrowed to a hateful slit through which shone a gleam of something that might be likely to illumine outer darkness. He brought his thin, cruel lips together with satisfaction. He felt that at last he had a hold upon the girl, but he could wait and use it to its best advantage.
She, poor child, never dreamed that he had seen the young man with her, and was only frightened for the moment with instinctive dread of being alone in an unfrequented spot with him. In an instant her courage came to her aid, and she steadied her voice to reply naturally:
" Oh, is that you, Mr. Green ? You almost frightened me. I was taking a walk and did not expect to see anyone I knew. This is the Albany road isn't it? Have you been to Albany?"
Her unusually friendly tones threw the man off his guard for a moment. He could not resist the charm of having her speak so pleasantly to him.
" Yes, been to Albany on business," he responded. " Won't you get up and ride ? 'Tain't a very pretty seat, but I guess it's clean and comfortable. Sorry I ain't got the carryall. You're a long piece from home."
" Oh, thank you, Mr. Green," she said, cordially. " I'm sure the seat would be very comfortable, and just as nice as the carryall, but I'm out taking a walk this beautiful afternoon, and I'm enjoying every minute of it. I would much rather walk. Besides, I am not going directly home. I may stop at Granny McVane's and perhaps another place before I get home. Thank you for the invitation."
Then without waiting for a reply she flew lightly in front of the horses and sped up the main highway toward the old red farm-house. It was not the direction she would have chosen, but there was no time to do anything else, and her frightened heart gave wings to her feet. She dared not look behind lest she was being pursued.
Hiram Green, thus left alone after his attempt at gallantry, looked after the flying maiden with venom in his little eyes. His mouth hardened once more into its cruel lines and he took up the reins again and said to his horses in no pleasant tones: " G'long there!" pointing his remark with a stinging cut of the whip, which made the weary beasts leap forward at a lively gait.
He did not watch Phoebe any longer, but once he turned his head and looked threateningly at the barren hill-side, and shook the fist that held his whip in a menacing way.
When Phoebe neared the old red house, where lived the two women who always saw and enlarged and told everything, she noted with relief that the shades were drawn down and there was a general air of not-at-home-ness about the place that betokened the inhabitants were away for the afternoon. With joy she went on by the house and turned down another cross road which would lead to a second road going into the village. On this road, just on the border of the town, lived Granny McVane all alone save for her silent old husband. She was a sweet old lady whom care and disappointment had not hardened, but only made more humble and patient. Phoebe had been there on occasional errands, and her kindness had won the girl's heart. From Granny McVane's it would be but a short run home across the fields, and she would thus escape meeting any more prying eyes. She was not accustomed to making calls on the neighbors without an errand, but the fancy came to her now that she would just stop and ask how Granny's rheumatism was, and wish her good-day. Perhaps, if she seemed glad to see her, she might tell her it was her birthday and this was the frock her mother had made. The girl had a longing to confide in some one.
As she walked along the country road, she began to think of home and the inevitable black looks that would be hers from Emmeline. But the day was good yet, though a chill was creeping into the air that made her cheeks tingle. The sun was dropping low now, and the rays were glowing deeper. The stubble in the cornfields that she passed was bathed in its light. The buff merino was touched with a ruddy glow and the girl, as she sped along, seemed like a living topaz in the golden setting of the day.
She reached the little double door of Granny McVane's cottage, and knocked. The old lady, in her white ruffled cap with its black band, and soft kerchief folded across her bosom, opened the upper half of the door, and on seeing Phoebe opened the lower door, too, and brought her in most cordially. She made her sit down, and looked her over with delight, her old eyes glowing with pleasure at the sweet picture the girl made sitting in the flowered calico rocking- chair. She seemed to catch the long sunbeams that slanted low across the kitchen floor, and reflect them with her gown and face till all the little room was filled with sunny brightness.
She made Phoebe tell about the frock, her birthday, her mother's letter, and her walk; and then she told her she must stay to tea with her, for the 'Squire was off to Albany on business and would not be back that night.
The old cat was winking cordially before the hearth, the pot of mush was sputtering sleepily on its crane over the fire, the kettle was singing cheerily beside it, and the old lady's face was so wistful that Phoebe put by her thought of home, and the supper that she ought to be getting this minute, and decided to stay just for once, as it was her birthday. The stiff white curtains shut the little room in cozily from the outside world, and a scarlet geranium bloomed happily on the broad window-seat. Phoebe looked around at the polished old mahogany, and the shining pewter dishes that adorned the shelf, touched the drowsy cat with gentle fingers that brought forth a purr, glanced up at the great old clock with its measured, unhurried tick-tock, tick-tock, and felt like a person who has turned her back upon life and all its duties and abandoned herself to pleasure pure and simple. Yes, for one short hour more she would have what her day offered her of joy, without a thought of trouble, and then she would go back to her duty and cherish the memory of her pleasure. Thus did Phoebe give herself over to the wild excitement of a birthday tea at Granny McVane's cottage.
Precisely at five o'clock the little round table was drawn out from the wall, and its leaves put up. A snow-white homespun cloth was laid upon it and lovely blue dishes of quaint designs in blue set upon it; a bowl, a plate, cup and saucer for each; steel knives; a great pitcher of creamy milk; a pat of Granny's delicious butter; a pitcher of " sugar-house " molasses, looking like distilled drops of amber, and delectable to the taste; a plate of shilling brown husks; a loaf of soft gingerbread, rich and dark like brown velvet. Then the tea was made in the little brown earthenware teapot, the great bowl of yellow mush taken up, and no modern debutante's dinner party, with its hand-painted dinner cards, its beribboned favors, its flowers, and its carefully-planned menu could have a lovelier color scheme, or one that better fitted the gown of the guest of honor, than was set forth for Phoebe Deane's birthday tea, all yellows and beautiful browns, with the last rays of the setting sun over all. The lazy cat got up, stretched, and