"Good night, Grandmother," Janet said softly, but Phyllis lingered long enough to ask,
"Are you quite comfy, dear? Sha'n't I push this pillow so?" she won a grudging "good night" for her pains.
After supper the girls went up to the widow's walk. It was a cold, clear night, myriad stars winked down at them from the ice-blue sky, below them the water lapped the beach incessantly, and the foam sparkled in the starshine.
The girls watched it in silence for a minute, and then Phyllis said,
"Tell me something, Jan; does New York seem like a dream now that you're back or does Old Chester?"
"Old Chester does," Janet replied after a little; "it all seems as though my life here was a million years ago, instead of three short months. I wonder why?"
"Because you're happier in New York, my angel child," Phyllis declared happily. "And now let's go down again. I love your widow's walk, but I am frozen to death."
They went down together and found Auntie Mogs sitting before the fire in the living-room, roasting chestnuts, while Martha stood in the doorway and offered suggestions and gossip.
It was late before they went to bed, but when Janet finally fell asleep she was still holding Phyllis's hand in her firm grasp.