Now she tore it up, with a smart ripping of the pasteboard that had not a little resentment in it. They were so “select”, those Simpson girls! Yes! But one of them had pictures like this! Well, it could not stay in the same place with Mother’s photograph!
The secret little place cleansed of its evil holding, Phœbe pressed the pink-wrapped photograph to her breast, and to her lips; then slipped it under the loosened lining. For with more understanding than fourteen may be credited with, Phœbe realized that any picture of Mother had best be put away, kept for herself only—not for her father, or for the dear presence that was to share a new happy home.
CHAPTER XXVI
“May I go right in?—Phœbe! Oh, Phœbe, I’m so frightened! Darling,—why—why, you’re much better!”
Miss Ruth had entered with a rush, to find Phœbe just emerging from the clothes-closet. Miss Ruth was breathless, and a little pale. Now she dropped the hat she was carrying, and knelt on the carpet, and caught Phœbe to her.
“Yes, I’m—I’m much better,” declared Phœbe. She bent to kiss Miss Ruth’s hair.
Miss Ruth hid her face against Phœbe’s breast. “I’m so glad! So glad!” she said tenderly.
“You see,” admitted Phœbe, “I wasn’t truly sick.”
Miss Ruth looked up. “But the Judge said——”
Phœbe nodded. “I know. Only I—I’ve just been pretending.”