“I was never taught to expect any one to do my work, and I never had time to stop to ask such questions,” returned Miss Phebe with a little asperity. “My father died when I was eighteen and I have been at it ever since, trying to keep up the place and make a little out of it.”
“Shall I carry these in?” asked Nan, seeing it was out of place to argue, and standing with bread-plate in one hand and butter in the other.
“If you will be so kind.”
Nan went into the dining-room and set the things on the table, then she helped Miss Phebe dish up, carrying in peas and potatoes, pickles and jelly, doughnuts and “sody” biscuits, custards and pies and lastly—wonder of wonders—fried chicken. This was Miss Phebe’s chef-d’œuvre, a dish suggested by her mother and one which the daughter had been taught to prepare years before. Yielding in this one particular she offered a Northern bill of fare in other respects, to Jean’s great satisfaction, who was delighted to see the array of sweet things, doughnuts and pies, preserves and cake, custards and cookies.
“Even Emerson ate pie for breakfast,” remarked Miss Helen as they settled themselves in the train late that afternoon. The day had been an unforgettable one in many respects, in which the quaint, queer figure of Cousin Phebe stood out alone.
“With so many excellent qualities, so many virtues, and yet so unattractive,” said Mrs. Corner.
“No doubt if you could penetrate the crust you would find a warm heart,” returned Miss Helen. “Cousin Maria is pathetic, and how she clung to us! I am glad we promised to see them again before we leave these parts. Poor Cousin Maria! Environment has forced her into a growth different from that which nature and birth intended, and she is worn out in the struggle. She told me nothing in life could have given her such pleasure as our visit. One feels very humble before such a state of things.”
“And yet,” said Nan, “there is nothing Cousin Phebe would not do for her mother, and I believe she enjoyed our coming, too, though one would never guess it except that she was so eager that we should come again.”
“I don’t believe she works a bit harder than Cousin Sarah,” commented Jack.
“Oh, my child, Cousin Sarah never in her life got up at four o’clock in the morning to make pies and doughnuts before breakfast,” said Nan.