"And may I ask," in a very quiet voice, looking earnestly into Phebe's face, "what led you to this decision?"
"Yes, certainly. A young man came and asked me to give him employment. I had not advertised, nor spoken of the matter to any one but Mrs. Colston. I liked his manner very much. I took that as a guidance, and have engaged him. I am sending to-night to printers to have circulars prepared, and next week I will help you to get out samples. Perhaps you would not mind seeing Mr. Higgins for me."
"Well, well," said Reynolds to himself, "the idea that God had anything to do with that young man coming here. We shall hear of angels serving the customers next."
CHAPTER X
A GATHERED FLOWER
The printed circulars were issued in Phebe's own name. Whether she had the legal right to do this or not she did not know, but knew well enough the moral right was hers.
The very first trial of the new scheme showed that it would prove a success. This was largely attributable to two things; first, to Reynolds' "push": the scheme being largely his own he felt the responsibility of it, and for his own credit's sake determined it should "go"; the other thing was Phebe's good sense; the grocery department she conducted from a housewife's standpoint, the drapery department from a Christian woman's standpoint, and thus in both had a considerable advantage over her husband.
Fellow tradespeople marvelled that in the absence of the husband there should be an extension of the business. Woman is supposed to be conservative, yet at the same time it is acknowledged she quickly sees a point and seizes it while the man is still thinking about it. Each cannot be fully true. Love may make her at times conservative; but if roused to devoted service she cannot be anything but progressive.
But if sunlight was growing in the business department the shadows were deepening in the home department. Sturdy little Jack had been elevated to sleeping in the crib, while frail little Queenie nestled each night to sleep in the mother's arms. Nanna could see that the child was a fading flower, soon to be transplanted to a fairer region, but, strange to say, the mother's eyes only saw the still brilliant tints of the sweet blossom. Very early every morning the child would sit up and stroke the mother's face till she wakened, such a glad light coming into her eyes when she had succeeded. A little later on she did not attempt to sit up, but stretched up her arms to her mother's face. Then came a morning when the mother woke without the touch of the little fingers; the child was awake, the love-light as usual in the soft, grey eyes, but with not strength enough left to show its love in the old way.