It was on a Saturday afternoon that the first came. Phœbe and Uncle Bob were just back from a drive, and were busy, concocting a lemonade in the butler’s pantry, when Sophie came bursting in upon them. The very momentum of her entrance, the queer, excited look of her (even her hair seemed to be lifting), told Phœbe that something unusual had happened.
“Judge!” whispered Sophie.
He glanced up, half a lemon in each hand, and damp sugar on his face. Phœbe had pinned one of Sophie’s aprons about him. He looked comical enough for the “movies”!
“Miss Ruth,” announced Sophie.
Uncle Bob stared, as if scarcely comprehending; then dropped the lemon halves, hastily wiped his face on the apron, which Sophie unfastened, took Phœbe by the hand and started for the sitting-room.
“Who is Miss Ruth?” asked Phœbe as they went.
Uncle Bob smiled down at her. But he did not seem to see her.
There was a slender young woman with Grandma in the sitting-room. She had on a dress that fell in soft folds, was mistily gray, wide-tucked, and cut out squarely at the neck to show a strong round throat. In her hands the visitor held a sun-hat, black, with a sprinkling of forget-me-nots.
“Ruth?” said Uncle Bob in greeting. And the hand that held Phœbe’s trembled.
“I’m here with more Court troubles,” explained Miss Ruth. She was looking at Phœbe. Her eyes were the color of the flowers on her hat.