“My dear,”—it was Grandma speaking—“this is Jim’s little girl.”
Phœbe went forward then. Gravely she took Miss Ruth’s hand, and made the quick dipping curtsey that Mother had taught her. “How do you do,” she said politely.
Miss Ruth bent and touched Phœbe’s cheek with her lips. “I’ve wanted to meet you—often,” she said. Then, as if with sudden feeling, she drew Phœbe to her, and held her close.
The welcome tenderness of it, the embracing arms, the soft, fragrant dress—it was all like Mother to Phœbe. Her eyes swam. She reached up, clasping her arms about Miss Ruth. “Oh, why haven’t you ever been here before?” she asked.
“Ha! ha!” laughed Uncle Bob, triumphantly. “That’s it, Phœbe! Scold her! Scold her!”
Miss Ruth seemed embarrassed. “I’m so busy always, dear,” she answered. “But you’ll come to see me?” Then to Uncle Bob, “Judge, it’s about the Botts case again.” And to Grandma, “Your son will wish his Probation Officer didn’t live so close, bothering him of a Saturday like this.”
“M-m-m!” commented Uncle Bob. He gave her a long, grave look.
“I’ve just had a telephone message from the Botts’s nearest neighbor,” went on Miss Ruth. “And I felt sure you’d want to do something about it before Monday. Judge, Mrs. Botts has been whipping Manila again.”
“Oh, that woman!” scolded Uncle Bob.
“She’s a step-mother, isn’t she, Bob?” inquired Grandma. There was a gay twinkle in her old eyes.