“A step.”
“Oh, Daddy has promised that we’re to be alone together—with Sally.”
He nodded. “Suppose he has! How about getting a step-mother yourself?”
“But I don’t want one!” she protested. “I just want my real mother—like other girls have!” And then, in a quavering remonstrance against Fate, and with breast heaving, and clenched fists, “Oh, why haven’t I my mother! Even the kittens have a mother, and the little ducks have a mother!”
“Ah!” cried Uncle Bob, triumphantly, “you’ve made my point for me, young lady!”
“Point? What?”
“The little ducks have a step-mother!”
“M-m-mm!” That was a new thought. Phœbe sat down.
“That Plymouth Rock,” went on Uncle Bob, “is a mighty good little hen.”
“I never thought,” agreed Phœbe. “Of course that hen is a step.”