“Phil,” said Nancy, about a week later—they had just finished installing Phil’s few Lares and Penates in their new quarters—“isn’t this just the coziest little nook you’ve ever seen?”
“Absolutely,” said Phil, with conviction.
“I wish mother could see how——” The smile was a bit wistful. “Phil, I really think we ought to go up to see mother. Of course she’s furious—her not answering our telegram is proof positive of that. I’m scared to death at the thought of seeing her. She can look you through and through so, when she disapproves! I do think she might have written. We haven’t done anything so perfectly dreadful. You don’t suppose she is sick, do you?” she asked, anxiously.
“Why, no, Little Girl,” said Phil, soothingly; “we’d have heard in some way if there had been anything of that sort.”
“I think I’m getting nervous about her. Will you go up with me to-day, dear?”
“Why, certainly, Nance; whenever you want to go, just say the word. I’m having a holiday now!” Phil laughed like a happy schoolboy.
“All right, then, we’ll go to-day. And please be on your very bestest behavior, Philly-Boy.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be the dutiful son to the queen’s taste.”
“And be sure,” adjured Nancy, solemnly, “to tell mother you’re really making quite a lot of money now, that we’re not starving, and that I’m going to have some new clothes the first of next month.”