Phœbe was killing time—yet pleasantly, with the aid of “Airy, Fairy Lillian.” She kept it boldly in her lap as this more formidable of her uncles paused beside her chair. She was not rebellious now, but she was determined. Of course Uncle John would be horrified if he were to know about her plans for the coming evening. So he might just as well be shocked not so completely by what he would surely regard as a frivolous book. Well, let him be shocked!
But he did not look at the book. “Grandma has just told me,” he added.
“Yes?” encouraged Phœbe, anxious to return to Lillian.
“Oh, it has warmed my heart,” he declared;”—to hear that you really like my teaching, and the literature that we’ve enjoyed together. And that you’d rather stay with me than go back to Miss Simpson’s.”
“Yes, I would.”
“Blessed little student!” He said it lovingly. And—wonder of wonders!—he leaned down and kissed Phœbe’s hair!
After he was gone, Phœbe sat for a long while, thinking. Uncle John had been unusually kind and tender to her—just at the wrong time! In all the past months, when had he ever thought to do more than give her an absent-minded pat? Why then was he being so nice all at once, so that her conscience hurt her?
She felt resentment toward Uncle John.
She considered, too, his hatred of the “movies”. He had his church, in which he was supreme. He could get up at stated intervals and talk as much as he liked, and who dared interrupt him? He had music, as well, and processions. And he was paid for all this (Sophie declared him to be the best-paid clergyman in town), when, so far as Phœbe could see, he was thoroughly enjoying himself all the time! Writing a sermon was not work. Making calls on people was not work. It was all a weird, not-to-be-understood form of grown-up pleasure.
Then why should he interfere in what she thought was having a good time?