He was balancing the penholder again. Phœbe watched him with dreamy curiosity. It was a distinct relief to shift the burden to other shoulders.
After a while she said softly:
“Do you think I’ve been so—so very wicked, Judge?”
Slowly he rose from his chair, came over to her and kissed her cheek.
“Very wicked, Phœbe. All good, true women may be just as wicked, to help those they love. God bless ’em!”
He turned away to face an old print of Abraham Lincoln that hung on the wall, and seemed to study it intently.
“How is your grandfather’s health, lately?” he abruptly inquired.
“I saw him through the window yesterday. He seemed the same as usual.”
“A live carcass. An active mind in a dead body. If Elaine can rouse that mind, can communicate with him, others may do the same.”
He seemed to be speaking to himself. Phœbe sat quietly and did not interrupt his thoughts.