ulders being so high as almost to reach deformity; the next point
was that the expression of Phoebe's face was remarkably sweet; the third
was that Phoebe's dress was particularly shabby. It was a brown stuff,
worn threadbare, too short for the fashion, and without any of the
flounces and furbelows then common. Over it was tied a plain white
linen apron--aprons were then worn both in and out of doors--and
Phoebe's walking costume consisted of a worn black mantua or pelisse,
and a hood, brown like the dress, which was the shabbiest of all. The
manner of the wearer, however, while extremely modest and void of
self-assertion, was not at all awkward nor disconcerted. She
courtesied, first to her grandmother, then to her cousin, and stood
waiting within the door till she was called forward.

"Come hither, child!" said Madam.

Phoebe walked forward to her, and dropped another courtesy. Madam put
two fingers under Phoebe's chin, and lifting up the young face, studied
it intently. What she saw there seemed to please her.

"You'll do, child," she said, letting Phoebe go. "Be a good maid, and
obedient, and you shall find me your friend. Sit down, and loose your
hood. Rhode, pour her a dish of tea."

And this was Madam's welcome to her granddaughter.

Phoebe obeyed her instructions with no words but "Thank you, Madam."
Her voice was gentle and low. If the tears burned under her eyelids, no
one knew it but herself.

"Take Phoebe upstairs, Rhoda, to your chamber," said Madam, when the
new-comer had finished her tea. "I see, child, your new clothes had
better not be long a-coming."

"I have a better gown than this, Madam, in my trunk," she answered.

"Well, I am glad of it," said Madam shortly.

Rhoda led her cousin up the wide stone staircase, and into a pretty
room, low but comfortable, fitted with a large bed, a washstand, a
wardrobe, and a dressing-table. The two girls were to occupy it
together. And here Rhoda's tongue, always restrained in her
grandmother's presence, felt itself at liberty, and behaved accordingly.
A new cousin to catechise was a happiness that did not occur every day.

"Have you no black gown?" was the first thing which Rhoda demanded of
Phoebe.

"Oh, yes," said Phoebe. "I wear black for my father, and all of them."

Heedless of what she might have noticed--the tremor of Phoebe's voice--
Rhoda went on with her catechism.

"How long has your father been dead?"

"Eight months."