Aunt Maria also was sceptical. "Ach, Phœbe, it vonders me now that Barb'll spend all that money for carfare and to stay in the city and then mebbe it's all for nothin'. There was old Bevy Way and a lot of old people I knowed went blind and they died blind. When abody gets so old once it seems the doctors can't do much. I guess it just is to be."
"Oh, Aunt Maria," Phœbe said hotly, "I don't believe in that is-to-be business! Not until you've done all you can to make things better."
"Well, mebbe, for all, it's worth tryin'. I guess if it was my eyes I'd do most anything to get 'em fixed again."
Mother Bab said little about the hopes Phœbe had raised, but the girl knew how the woman built upon having sight for a glad surprise for David.
"I'm afraid the fifty dollars won't reach," she said the day before they were to take the trip to Philadelphia.
"Don't worry about that. Those big doctors usually have hearts to match. I told you there are generous people who give lots of money to hospitals."
"And I guess the hospitals pay the doctors then," offered the woman.
"I guess so," Phœbe agreed. Her conscience smote her for the deception she was practicing on the dear white-capped woman. "But what's the use of straining at every little gnat of a falsehood," she thought, "when I'm swallowing camels wholesale?"
She managed to secure a short interview with Dr. Munster before the examination of Mother Bab's eyes.
"I want to ask you what the operation is going to cost, hospital charges and all," she said frankly.