What had happened?
She did not find out.
This important news, however, she gleaned from her father: Mother was now in New York no longer; she had gone West.
“Isn’t Mother any better, Daddy?” she asked anxiously.
“We hope she will be,” he answered.
“Did you have a letter?” Phœbe wanted to know.
“Yes, I got the news in a letter.”
A wave of scarlet swept up Phœbe’s young throat and bathed the earnest little face. News of Mother—from Mother! It choked her, it was all so wonderful. For had not Mother, for a long time, failed to send any word to her and Daddy?
“Oh, a letter?” breathed Phœbe, and there was sweet entreaty in the young eyes.
Her father began to thrust his hands into his pockets, as if searching, just as he had done on occasions before. Finding no letter, he slapped each pocket with the flat of a hand. He had colored, too. And his forehead was puckered, and he blinked.