"And, oh, my! Doesn't father look tickled to death!" Patience declared, coming in to her sisters' room that night, ostensibly to have an obstinate knot untied, but inwardly determined to make a third at the usual bedtime talk for that once, at least. It wasn't often they all came up together.
"He looks mighty glad," Pauline said.
"And isn't it funny, bearing him called Phil?" Patience curled herself up in the cozy corner. "I never've thought of father as Phil."
Hilary paused in the braiding of her long hair. "I'm glad we've got to know him—Uncle Paul, I mean—through his letters, and all the lovely things he's done for us; else, I think I'd have been very much afraid of him."
"So am I," Pauline assented. "I see now what Mr. Oram meant—he doesn't look as if he believed much in fairy stories. But I like his looks—he's so nice and tall and straight."
"He used to have red hair, before it turned gray," Hilary said, "so that must be a family trait; your chin's like his, Paul, too,—so square and determined."
"Is mine?" Patience demanded.
"You cut to bed, youngster," Pauline commanded. "You're losing all your beauty sleep; and really, you know—"
Patience went to stand before the mirror. "Maybe I ain't—pretty—yet; but I'm going to be—some day. Mr. Dayre says he likes red hair, I asked him. He says for me not to worry; I'll have them all sitting up and taking notice yet."
At which Pauline bore promptly down upon her, escorting her in person to the door of her own room. "And you'd better get to bed pretty quickly, too, Hilary," she advised, coming back. "You've had enough excitement for one day."