Phil nodded. "Yes, she did."
Eliza struck her hands together with satisfaction. "I'd give more'n a cookie to have seen her face when she got there," she said triumphantly.
"No, I wasn't talking about the barrel," continued Mrs. Wright. "That is your own affair: whether you care to keep those family treasures or to give them up. I was speaking in general about your forgiving Mrs. Fabian as you would be forgiven, and banishing discord from the atmosphere. How can you tell how much sunlight that cloud is holding back from this dear boy of Mrs. Ballard's?"
Eliza stared into space and bit her lip. The three were standing in a group near the table.
"Well, sit down, anyway," she said briefly, and they did so.
Phil saw that there was method in Mrs. Wright's choosing of this particular opportunity to make a point. Hers was the face of a peacemaker and it was easy to see what pain she would find in discord.
Now she turned to Phil and asked him about his father and mother, and he told her of the mountains, and his periodical longing for them. This place, he added, gave him a similar sense of exhilaration. It seemed as if he were breathing again for the first time since November.
"You've got to stay," said Eliza nervously; "that's all there is about it."
He smiled. "The bark on a tree isn't as tight as I am," he replied. "I've planned to make my money do just so much."
"'With God all things are possible,'" remarked Mrs. Wright.