A look of genuine distress crossed her honest face.
“No, honey,” she admitted, in a low voice.
“Then, where does the money come from that we’re living on now?”
“H—m. Miss Phœbe done guv it to me.”
“Phœbe!”
“Miss Phœbe; shuah.”
“Where could Phœbe get any money?” he inquired, wonderingly.
“Yo’ haf to ask heh, I guess, Marse Phil.”
He reflected a moment.
“Auntie, you’re keeping something from me; something I ought to know; and it isn’t right to treat me so,” he declared.