Phœbe sighed, snuggled her cheek against Miss Ruth’s hand, and slept.
CHAPTER XXIII
Uncle Bob was exasperated. He was talking to Phœbe’s father. Phœbe could hear him, from where she lay on the sofa in Grandma’s bedroom.
“A person would think you’re first-cousin to a mule!” cried Uncle Bob. “What makes you so stubborn, Jim? Don’t you see what you ought to do!—Oh, my goodness, the thing is all so simple!”
Phœbe could hear someone walking, to and fro, to and fro, across Uncle Bob’s room. Then, “Well, you see, old man, the trouble is there isn’t anybody,”—and Phœbe’s father laughed. (What were they talking about?)
“You can’t think of anybody?” scolded Uncle Bob. “Well, I can.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve got it all fixed up.”
The footsteps halted. Again Phœbe’s father laughed. “You’re a wonder!” he cried. “Well, your Honor, who is it?”
“You know.”