a thousand pound in a box--they take thought for
her. And as concerning the young pairs, married and unmarried, it's only
natural I should bring home what little I can about _them_, seeing that
there's not a Couple of either sort in the neighbourhood that don't come
of their own accord to confide in Phoebe."
She raised her eyes triumphantly to Barbox Brothers, as she said:
"Indeed, sir, that is true. If I could have got up and gone to church, I
don't know how often I should have been a bridesmaid. But if I could
have done that, some girls in love might have been jealous of me, and as
it is, no girl is jealous of me. And my pillow would not have been half
as ready to put the piece of cake under, as I always find it," she added,
turning her face on it with a light sigh, and a smile at her father.
The arrival of a little girl, the biggest of the scholars, now led to an
understanding on the part of Barbox Brothers, that she was the domestic
of the cottage, and had come to take active measures in it, attended by a
pail that might have extinguished her, and a broom three times her
height. He therefore rose to take his leave, and took it; saying that if
Phoebe had no objection, he would come again.
He had muttered that he would come "in the course of his walks." The
course of his walks must have been highly favourable to his return, for
he returned after an interval of a single day.
"You thought you would never see me any more, I suppose?" he said to
Phoebe as he touched her hand, and sat down by her couch.
"Why should I think so!" was her surprised rejoinder.
"I took it for granted you would mistrust me."
"For granted, sir? Have you been so much mistrusted?"
"I think I am justified in answering yes. But I may have mistrusted too,
on my part. No matter just now. We were speaking of the Junction last
time. I have passed hours there since the day before yesterday."
"Are you now the gentleman for Somewhere?" she asked with a smile.
"Certainly for Somewhere; but I don't yet know Where. You would never
guess what I am travelling from. Shall I tell you? I am travelling from
my birthday."
Her hands stopped in her work, and she looked at him with incredulous
astonishment.
"Yes," said Barbox Brothers, not quite easy in his chair, "from my
birthday. I am, to myself, an unintelligible book with the earlier
chapters all torn out, and thrown away. My childhood had no grace of
childhood, my youth
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