The door was suddenly opened and Phebe came rushing in, with a light buoyant step, her cheeks glowing with exercise and her dark eyes sparkling with joy and animation.
"O Mother! Father is in Boston, but will not be home for two or three days. You can never guess what he has for Willie," and the happy child danced about the floor in the exuberance of her glee.
"What business have you to open our letters?" inquired Fanny, beneath the dark cloud that had gathered during the short recital.
The mirth of the little girl suddenly ceased as she looked at her interrogator for a moment, but made no reply. Willie, however, appeared in the door and answered for her.
"The letter was written to us, wasn't it, Phebe?"
"It was written to you; and Father is going to bring him a large dog all trained to draw him. O Willie, was there ever anything so nice!" Her quick anger was gone, and the brightness of the joyous anticipations of the something that was to bring so much to one she so dearly loved daguerreotyped itself on her expressive features. Willie saw it all, and when he had seated himself by the side of his mother on the lounge he beckoned Phebe to him.
"You are sorry about something, my little sister," he said; "tell me what it is."
"No, no; I am not sorry. I was only thinking. You will not want little Phebe when Rover comes. And—and I do like to draw you so much!" and her lips quivered as she strove to keep back the tears.
"Why, my pretty sister, your eyes were so bright when I first told you, and I thought that my new possessions were going to make you as happy as myself; and only a moment ago you exclaimed, 'was there ever anything so nice!' Can you not think so now? It is true I shall not need you for my horse," he continued, laughing. "But just think how dreary it will be to ride alone, with no one to speak to or enjoy the sunshine and cool breezes with me, or gather the pretty flowers along the road, or the lilies from off the lake! No, no, Phebe; I cannot go alone, and Father may take the dog back, if you will not go with me. Or perhaps you imagine that Rover can talk, as well as do many other remarkable things. Besides you must have forgotten that Father wrote that the wagon is large enough for two such 'chicks' as we are. So do not feel badly; you are to go with me, and Rover is to draw us both."
Mrs. Evans clasped them in her arms and drew them tenderly to her.