"Think of Phil, just at the threshold of her life. We've done our best for poor dear Phil," said Mrs. Fosdick chokingly. "Amzi can't deny that we've tried to do our duty by her."
"Of course, you have all been nice to her," remarked Lois, picking up a box of candy and shaking it to bring to the surface some particular sweetmeat.
"It has not been so easy to bring Phil up!" declared Mrs. Waterman, enraged that Phil's mother should take their assumption of responsibility for the child's upbringing so lightly, so entirely as a matter of course.
"You ought to know, without our telling you, Lois," said Mrs. Hastings, "that your coming back will be the worst thing possible for dear Phil. If you think about it quietly for an hour or two, I'm sure you will see that."
"You ought to go down on your knees to God with it!" boomed Mrs. Waterman, "before you think of contaminating her young life. It's only right that we should talk to our pastor before coming to a decision."
Amzi snorted and walked to the window. There he saw as he looked out upon the lawn something that interested him; that caused a grin to fasten itself upon his rubicund countenance. Phil, under a fire of snowballs from a group of boys who were waiting with their Christmas sleds for a chance to hitch to a passing vehicle, gained Amzi's gate, ducked behind the fence to gather ammunition, rose and delivered her fire, and then retreated toward the house. Her aunts, still stubbornly confronting her mother, and sobbingly demanding that Phil be kept away pending a recourse to spiritual counsel, started at the sound of an unmistakable voice. Amzi, chewing his cigar, watched Phil's flight up the path, and noted the harmless fall of the final shots about her. She waved her hand from the doorstep, commented derisively upon the enemy's marksmanship, and flung the door open with a bang. A gust of cold air seemed to precipitate Phil into the room.
"Hello, Amy! Merry Christmas, everybody!"
Amzi walked toward Lois. "Phil, this is your mother." Mrs. Hastings glided from her post by the hearth until she stood between Phil and Lois, who stood with her back to the center table, the tips of her fingers resting upon it. Her face betrayed no apprehensions. For the moment she was out of the scene and the contest lay between Phil and her aunts.
"Phil, this is not the place for you! Go into the other room at once," said Mrs. Hastings, swallowing a sob.
Amzi struck a match and lighted a cigar with his habitual three puffs. Across the flame he saw Phil sweeping the group with her eyes. She stood erect, her hands in her muff to which particles of snow clung where it had fallen in her encounter with the boys at the gate. The crisp air had brightened her cheeks. She wore that look of unconcern for which she had been distinguished as a child. She moved her head slightly, to avoid the figure of the intercepting aunt, and met for an instant her mother's indifferent, unappealing gaze. Her intuitions grasped the situation and weighed its nice points. Phil had rarely in her life been surprised and she showed no surprise now.