Phyl obediently let go her hold of the boy, who had been so engrossed with something Richie was [201] ]telling about the football that he had hardly heeded the caress.
Twenty minutes later Dr. Wise was running his carving-knife up and down the sharpener Freddie had so kindly found, and looking round on his assembled family with the keen, kind eyes that saw everything so quickly. Perhaps his glance rested more tenderly on Alf to-night than on any one else.
Mrs. Wise, at the other end of the table, had some sprays of jonquils in her dress. They were not out yet in the garden, but Clif had seen the early ones in town and brought a few for “the little mother.”
There was a book on the table beside her—Transcendentalism. Ted had been at the greatest pains to borrow it for her and bring it home, because he had been so engrossed in it himself. And busy as she was, and not a bit interested in the subject, she would find time to read it just because of that.
“Any one call, Phyl?” she said.
“Yes, I’m dreadfully sorry, mother,” Phyl said, “but Mrs. Marriott and Mrs. and Miss Anderson came.”
“Why sorry?” said the doctor,—“too much waste of your valuable time? I thought you had a great admiration for Mrs. Marriott?”
“I was down the orchard,” Phyl said; “Mary couldn’t find me, and said every one was out. I—was reading.”
[202]
]“You weren’t reading too much, I hope, to darn that table-cloth, Phyl?” Mrs. Wise said.
“Sixpence she was,” said Ted. “Bet you she was in the apple-tree all day.”