suppose, that he comes to see Albert and me perhaps. Well, you're not so much of a little fool as you want to pretend. You know well enough Hiram Green is just waitin' round on your whims, and I say it's high time you stopped this nonsense, keepin' a respectable man danglin' after you forever just to show off your power over him, and when all the time he needs a housekeeper, and his children are runnin' wild. You'll get your pay, miss, when you do marry him. Those young ones will be so wild you'll never get 'em tamed. They'll lead you a life of it. It's a strange way for any decent girl to act. If it's a new house you're waitin' on I guess you can have your way at once by just sayin' so. And I think it's time for you to speak, for I tell you plainly it ain't likely another such good chance'll come your way ever, and I don't suppose you want to be a hanger-on all your life on people that can't afford to keep you."
Phoebe's fingers were still shelling beans rapidly, but her eyes were on Emmeline's angry face.
" I thought I had told you," she said, and her voice was steady, " that I would never marry Hiram Green. Nothing and nobody on earth could make me marry him. I despise him. You know perfectly well that the things you are saying are wrong. It is not my fault that he comes here. I do not want him to come and he knows it. I have told him I will never marry him. I do not want him to build a house nor do anything else, for nothing that he could do would make any difference."
" You certainly are a little fool!" screamed Emmeline, " to let such a chance go. If he wasn't entirely daft about you he'd give you up at once. Well, what are you intendin' to do then? Answer me that! Are you layin' out to live on Albert the rest of your life? Ifs best to know what to expect and be prepared. Answer me!" she demanded again, as Phoebe dropped her eyes to hide the sudden tears that threatened to overwhelm her calm.
" I don't know." The girl tried to say it quietly, but the angry woman snatched the words from her lips and tossed them back:
" You don't know! You don't know! Well, you better know! I can tell you right now that there's goin' to be a new order of things. If you stay here any longer you've got to do as / say. You're not goin' on your high and mighty way doin' as you please an hour longer. And to begin with you can march up stairs and take off that ridiculous rig of your foolish mother's "
Phoebe shoved the kitchen chair back with a sharp noise on the bare floor, and stood up, her face white with anger.
" Emmeline," said she, and her voice was low and controlled, but reminded Emmeline somehow of the first low rumbling of a storm, and when she looked at Phoebe's white face she fancied a flash like livid lightning passed over it. " Emmeline, don't you dare to speak my mother's name in that way! I will not listen to you! "
Then in the pause of the clashing voices the little bird from the weathervane on the barn called out again: " Phoe- bee! Phoe-bee! "
And it was then that Phoebe cast her apron from her and went out through the kitchen door, into the golden glorious October afternoon, away from the pitiless tongue, and the endless beans, and the sorrow of her life.
The little bird on the weathervane left his perch and flew along from tree to tree, calling joyously, " Phoe-bee! Phoe- bee!" as she went down the road. He seemed as glad as though she were a comrade come to roam the woods with him. The sunlight lingered lovingly on the buff merino, as though it were a piece of itself come out to meet it, and she flitted breathlessly down the way, she knew not whither, only to get out and away.
Queer, wintry-looking worms crawled lazily to their homes across the long white road, woolly caterpillars in early fur overcoats. Large leaves floated solemnly down to their long home. Patches of rank grass rose green and pert, passionately pretending that summer was not done, scorning the
Phoebe's fingers were still shelling beans rapidly, but her eyes were on Emmeline's angry face.
" I thought I had told you," she said, and her voice was steady, " that I would never marry Hiram Green. Nothing and nobody on earth could make me marry him. I despise him. You know perfectly well that the things you are saying are wrong. It is not my fault that he comes here. I do not want him to come and he knows it. I have told him I will never marry him. I do not want him to build a house nor do anything else, for nothing that he could do would make any difference."
" You certainly are a little fool!" screamed Emmeline, " to let such a chance go. If he wasn't entirely daft about you he'd give you up at once. Well, what are you intendin' to do then? Answer me that! Are you layin' out to live on Albert the rest of your life? Ifs best to know what to expect and be prepared. Answer me!" she demanded again, as Phoebe dropped her eyes to hide the sudden tears that threatened to overwhelm her calm.
" I don't know." The girl tried to say it quietly, but the angry woman snatched the words from her lips and tossed them back:
" You don't know! You don't know! Well, you better know! I can tell you right now that there's goin' to be a new order of things. If you stay here any longer you've got to do as / say. You're not goin' on your high and mighty way doin' as you please an hour longer. And to begin with you can march up stairs and take off that ridiculous rig of your foolish mother's "
Phoebe shoved the kitchen chair back with a sharp noise on the bare floor, and stood up, her face white with anger.
" Emmeline," said she, and her voice was low and controlled, but reminded Emmeline somehow of the first low rumbling of a storm, and when she looked at Phoebe's white face she fancied a flash like livid lightning passed over it. " Emmeline, don't you dare to speak my mother's name in that way! I will not listen to you! "
Then in the pause of the clashing voices the little bird from the weathervane on the barn called out again: " Phoe- bee! Phoe-bee! "
And it was then that Phoebe cast her apron from her and went out through the kitchen door, into the golden glorious October afternoon, away from the pitiless tongue, and the endless beans, and the sorrow of her life.
The little bird on the weathervane left his perch and flew along from tree to tree, calling joyously, " Phoe-bee! Phoe- bee!" as she went down the road. He seemed as glad as though she were a comrade come to roam the woods with him. The sunlight lingered lovingly on the buff merino, as though it were a piece of itself come out to meet it, and she flitted breathlessly down the way, she knew not whither, only to get out and away.
Queer, wintry-looking worms crawled lazily to their homes across the long white road, woolly caterpillars in early fur overcoats. Large leaves floated solemnly down to their long home. Patches of rank grass rose green and pert, passionately pretending that summer was not done, scorning the
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