It brought him to her in a rush. He put his arms about her, and gave a great gulping laugh, and hugged her.
In Phœbe’s inmost soul there was no real fear of his punishing her publicly. But the growing woman in her sensed the dramatic, and enjoyed it. Also, she knew how to touch the big heart of this uncle; the heart of her father, too!
“Phœbe!”—Uncle Bob was reproving her lovingly. “Going to the movies isn’t a State’s Prison offence—not yet!”
She felt suddenly weak and faint. Someone put a glass to her lips—a glass of warm milk. It was Grandma. She tried to smile as she drank. Grandma was smiling at her.
When the glass was drained, Uncle Bob caught her up. “No, Jim, let me carry her,” he begged. (Phœbe felt like a real heroine!)
At that moment, the thing most dreaded came to pass. The dining-room door opened. Through it came Uncle John. “My dear child,” he began.
Uncle Bob halted, Phœbe in his arms. “Not a word!” he cried, his voice trembling with anger. “I won’t have Phœbe picked on. If you’re wise, you’ll stop fighting the movies and fight with them—fight for better pictures. Don’t tear down—improve!” Then he went on.
There was a happy surprise awaiting Phœbe when her room was reached. The surprise was Miss Ruth, with one of Sophie’s big aprons pinned about her. She received Phœbe from Uncle Bob, and there was no mistaking her joy. It was Miss Ruth who tended Phœbe, undressed and bathed her, helped her to bed, and brought her the broth.
“You won’t go, will you?” whispered Phœbe, lying back among the pillows. “Please don’t leave me!”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” declared Miss Ruth. She took a seat beside the bed.