But Phœbe was scarcely listening. A new plan—a wonderful, heart-stirring plan—had come to her, following on the thought that now her days were again free. “Oh, Uncle Bob,” she began, “if I don’t have to go to school again, maybe Daddy will let me go West! To Mother!”
Her uncle backed a step; his look lifted to the wall behind her. He slapped one plump hand with the other, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Mm—er—yes,” he observed; then turning away, “I’m afraid we haven’t made things very lively for you here.”
“It isn’t that,” she protested. “I’ve had Daddy. And I love to be here with all of you. You’re all so nice to each other—never cross. But—but, Uncle Bob, I’m beginning to—to miss my Mother.” Her look beseeched him.
He sat down, holding out his hands to her, and she came to stand at his knee. “If you have to stay a little longer with us,” he said gently, “you can be out-doors every one of these sunny Spring days, and you can plant a garden. And when it rains, well, this isn’t a little, tucked-up New York apartment—this big house.”
She looked around, nodding. “It’s terribly big,” she declared. “So many rooms, and so far up to the ceiling. At first I almost got lost—you remember? To go anywhere, you have to travel so much.”
Uncle Bob laughed, and drew her to him. “You blessed!” he said. “Of course it’s big. Why, there’s room enough here to swing a cat.”
“Yes,” agreed Phœbe, “but I don’t want to swing a cat.”
“I mean”—Uncle Bob was shaking precisely like the more substantial portion of a floating-island pudding!—“that you can stretch yourself.”
“No.” Phœbe shook her head with decision. “No, Uncle John doesn’t like me to stretch. He says, ‘Ladies don’t do it’.”
“Oh, you funny little tyke!” cried Uncle Bob. “Can’t you run, and romp, and play?”