'I thought, at least, you would be glad of me,' said Phoebe, smiling;
'you who stay at home.'

'To be sure, I am,' said Bertha; 'but it is such a shame! I shall tell
Robin, and he'll say so too. I shall tell him you nearly cried!'

'Don't vex Robin,' said Phoebe. 'When you go out, you should set
yourself to tell him pleasant things.'

'So I'm to tell him you wouldn't go on any account. You like your
political economy much too well!'

'Suppose you say nothing about it,' said Phoebe. 'Make yourself merry
with him. That's what you've got to do. He takes you out to entertain
you, not to worry about grievances.'

'Do you never talk about grievances?' asked Bertha, twinkling up her
eyes.

Phoebe hesitated. 'Not my own,' she said, 'because I have not got any.'

'Has Robert, then?' asked Bertha.

'Nobody has grievances who is out of the schoolroom,' opined Maria; and
as she uttered this profound sentiment, the tinkle of Miss Fennimore's
little bell warned the sisters to return to the studies, which in the
heat of summer were pursued in the afternoon, that the walk might be
taken in the cool of the evening. Reading aloud, drawing, and sensible
plain needlework were the avocations till it was time to learn the
morrow's lessons. Phoebe being beyond this latter work, drew on, and in
the intervals of helping Maria with her geography, had time to prepare
such a bright face as might make Robert think lightly of her
disappointment, and not reckon it as another act of tyranny.

When he opened the door, however, there was that in his looks which made
her spirits leap up like an elastic spring; and his 'Well, Phoebe!' was
almost triumphant.

'Is it--am I--' was all she could say.

'Has no one thought it worth while to tell you?'

'Don't you know,' interposed Bertha, 'you on the other side the red baize
door might be all married, or dead and buried, for aught we should hear.
But is Phoebe to go?'

'I believe so.'

'Are you sure?' asked Phoebe, afraid yet to hope.

'Yes. My father heard the invitation, and said that you were a good
girl, and deserved a holiday.'

Commendation from that quarter was so rare, that excess of gladness made
Phoebe cast down her eyes and colour intensely, a little oppressed by the
victory over her governess. But Miss Fennimore spoke warmly. 'He cannot
think her more deserving than I do. I am rejoiced not to have been
consulted, for I could hardly have borne to inflict such a mo