Eleanor Gates

“ Phœbe knew that it was this visit which had made Uncle Bob decide against Phœbe’s continuing at the school.
If the five grown men and women in the big rooms below could have known how grievously Phœbe’s ignorance of any part of the real truth was torturing the child, then each, and all, would have hastened up the stairs to that little figure, turning and tossing, as the bewildered brain strove to arrive at facts. For though the facts were bad enough, Phœbe’s guesses were far more terrible. She did not pray, or weep. She lay and planned how she would run away—to Mother. ”

“ Manila’s home was of brick, with white trimmings and green blinds. The window toward Miss Ruth’s was not high from the ground, and it was just above a recently spaded flower-bed. When Phœbe reached the fence that skirted the flower-bed, she gathered a handful of small gravel, tossed it against the window-panes, and then crouched in the lee of the fence. Her heart was pounding against her middy blouse—pounding wildly. She was glad of it. In a matter of this kind that was precisely what a moving-picture heroine’s heart should do! ”

“ Miss Ruth bent close. Her look searched Phœbe’s face.
Phœbe had meant to go on just as Mr. Henry Walthall would have gone on—“Miss Shepard, dear little woman, say Yes to me,” and then add, “Be my mother, and Daddy’s loving wife!” But she forgot how Mr. Walthall had knelt and looked, forgot to be solemn and poised; and completely out of her thoughts went all that she had planned to say. Instead she threw her arms about Miss Ruth, and clung to her wildly. “Oh, you must come with us!” she cried. “We can’t live without you. ”

“ Manila’s face fell. And her eyes, roving, lit upon the nearby globe. She pointed. “Can’t y’ find it on the world?” she suggested.
“On that?” cried Phœbe.
“Look for it!”
Phœbe gave Manila’s arm a soothing pat. Then with a shake of the head, “Poor little girl, don’t you know that Heaven isn’t on the globe? And I’ve never even seen it in the movies.”
Manila sat down.
“I know what’s inside,” confided Phœbe. “That’s the bad place, where we go if we kill anybody, and if we tell lies. It’s awful hot there, Uncle John says, and we burn and burn. Oh, Uncle John knows everything religious.” ”

“ She explained that she had spent every cent she had at the drug-store. At any other time she would have hesitated to confess that even to Uncle Bob. But now she was suddenly indifferent even about what he thought.
And Uncle Bob, seeing her cheeks so pink and her eyes so full of fire, dropped the handle of the lawn-mower as if it were red-hot, and emptied one pocket of its silver. “God bless me!” he cried. “A rubber ball’s a great idea! And if you see anything else you like——”
Phœbe took the silver and was off like a shot. She knew the store that carried toys. ”

“ Uncle John gone, Sophie did a hop-skip to Phœbe’s chair. “What d’ y’ think!” she exclaimed excitedly.
Phœbe looked up languidly. Secretly she was annoyed at Sophie’s interruption, for the exquisite Lillian (a sort of novelized Marguerite Clark) had just sprained her slender, silken-covered ankle, and a lover fully as handsome as Dustin Farnum was about to take Lillian up in his strong young arms.
“What?” she inquired politely.
Sophie bent, put a hand on each knee, and beamed into Phœbe’s eyes. “Comp’ny,” she announced.
“Company? Who?” Phœbe was more than interested. ”

“ That morning Uncle John’s sermon failed to bore her as usual. She had her thoughts. Only at first were they miserably unhappy. As Uncle John progressed, she fell to thinking of a plan: it had to do with her return to New York. The dear apartment was still there, even if Mother was West. Perhaps—undoubtedly!—Sally was still on hand, black and bland, devoted as ever, and full of her accustomed gaiety. Why should Phœbe stay in a town that treated her unkindly and gossiped about her mother? Why not go back to New York, the dear home, the fond servant and the enchanting “movies”? ”

“ Just now, with her new idea in mind, she felt so happy and light-footed that she needed no rides. She knew she could go on walking all day!
But there was something she had forgotten: breakfast. Very soon she remembered it—at about the time she was accustomed to having it. And as she trotted along she thought of her cereal and cream, her three-minute egg, and the little stack of crisp, hot buttered toast that Sophie always brought with the egg.
Phœbe looked on either hand for houses. ”

“ Noon came, and with it a visit to the dining-car. Then the afternoon dragged itself along. Toward the latter half of it, Phœbe, worn by the excitement of the sudden departure, and lulled by the motion of the train, curled up on the green plush of the car seat and fell asleep, her short brown hair spread fanwise upon her father’s shoulder.
The afternoon went; twilight came. Still the train rushed on, carrying Phœbe northward toward that new home awaiting her. She slept a second time, after a simple supper. Her journey was to end shortly before midnight. ”

“ But this much I can tell y’: Miss Ruth don’t love your Uncle Bob, and she’ll never marry him, for the plain and simple reason that she loves somebody else.”
“Oh!—Who, Sophie?”
“Somebody that went and married somebody else,” Sophie answered glumly. “And so Miss Ruth stayed single. And folks say her heart is broke——”
“Just like in the moving-pictures, Sophie!”
“Only it’s a lot harder when it’s real, and not make-believe.”
“Some day maybe that man’ll get free and come back to Miss Ruth,” suggested Phœbe. “And then she’ll marry him, and they’ll be happy for the rest of their lives.” ”

“ At first Phœbe was sure that it was a boy, all dressed up grotesquely, as New York boys dressed themselves every Thanksgiving Day. For surely (the figure was close now) no young person ever could have real hair that was so red, or wear a hat, except in fun, that was so queer and green. And then the dress—too loose, and too long. And the shoes—! So large!
Suddenly Phœbe’s heart gave a leap. It was not a dressed-up boy: It was a girl! “A girl in disguise!” concluded Phœbe, excitedly, with moving-picture plots springing to her mind. “And she’s flying from the enemy!” ”

“ Keep Daddy from getting married again! You will, won’t you? A step-mother would whip me, and wear Mother’s clothes, and make Daddy hate me! Oh, Uncle Bob, you don’t think Daddy will bring one home?”
“Darling baby,” he said tenderly, “I know your Daddy won’t bring one home.”
“Oh, not a Peru woman!” pleaded Phœbe. “I don’t want one!”
“Don’t you worry. No Peru woman is going to get him.”
“But I don’t want anybody,” she persisted. “Oh, Uncle Bob!”
That was all. Except that when Phœbe had gone to Miss Ruth’s with Manila, and was nearing home again, Grandma came out to meet her. ”

“ A soldier was dying, alone, in No Man’s Land. And suddenly, there by the side of the dying had appeared the One whose look of love and compassion had brought a smile to the face of the prostrate boy. She must not pray to her mother. She must pray to Him. “Oh, dear Jesus,” she plead, “give me back my mother! Oh, please give me my mother!”
Grandma, shifting upon her old knees, came nearer to Phœbe by a hand’s breadth. Grandma’s dress, of wool, and black, with pipings of grosgrain, had been made for her two years before. ”

“ The very possibility brought her to her feet and out of the closet. “No! I won’t stand it!” she cried. “I must have Mother! I won’t stay here! I won’t! I won’t!”
She was immediately all resolution. She washed her face. Then she took off the dress she was wearing—her grandmother had bought it—and opening the suit-case, chose and put on a dress of her mother’s buying. Thus fortified, as it were, in something that had been touched by hands dear beyond expression, she descended to the library. She hoped all the grown-ups would be there on her arrival. ”

“ Uncle Bob was not a remote possibility, but Sophie was even more approachable. Phœbe broached her subject diplomatically. “I don’t see many people here, do I?” she inquired.
It was so casual that Sophie had no inkling of what lay beneath the innocent question. “You don’t lose much, neither,” was the grunted rejoinder. (Sophie held local society in high disdain.)
“I knew lots of ladies and gentlemen in New York,” Phœbe went on. “Because Mother has so many friends—beautiful ladies, that wear beautiful clothes. And gentlemen who are rich, and have cars, and bring me candy and things.” ”

“ This is ‘Kenilworth,’ by Sir Walter Scott. Of course you’ve read it.”
“‘Kenilworth’?” said Genevieve. “Why, no.”
“You haven’t?” returned Phœbe, shocked. “Oh, my, that’s too bad. After a while, when you’re grown up, you’ll wish you’d read it. A girl can’t be just fluffy. And a woman mustn’t be fluffy. We must know things, and we must be wise and—and as much like Miss Ruth Shepard as we can possibly be.” ”

“ Mother had never taught her to pray. And once when Phœbe had asked about prayers (having seen two children kneeling beside their father’s chair in a moving-picture) , Mother had answered, rather sharply, “I don’t believe in teaching innocent little tots that they’re full of sin. It’s wicked.” But Grandma—when she found that Phœbe did not know “Now I lay me”—Grandma had knelt down beside Phœbe (they were in Phœbe’s room) and implored God to touch Phœbe’s heart, and claim Phœbe’s love. ”

“ He would not let her go. “Phœbe! Oh, Phœbe, listen to me! Your father guesses that you don’t want him to marry. And so he won’t. For that very reason you must choose your mother. And you must choose her before you go!”
255“Before tomorrow?”
“This very afternoon!”
At that they both rose. There was that set look about Uncle Bob’s jaw which Phœbe, learning the moods of men, recognized as a sign of determination. Before that big, glowing countenance and those clenched teeth, Phœbe weakened.
He saw that. “Oh, Phœbe,” he pleaded, “there’s so much that you must know for your own safety and happiness. ”

“ Uncle Bob halted, Phœbe in his arms. “Not a word!” he cried, his voice trembling with anger. “I won’t have Phœbe picked on. If you’re wise, you’ll stop fighting the movies and fight with them—fight for better pictures. Don’t tear down—improve!” Then he went on.
There was a happy surprise awaiting Phœbe when her room was reached. The surprise was Miss Ruth, with one of Sophie’s big aprons pinned about her. She received Phœbe from Uncle Bob, and there was no mistaking her joy. It was Miss Ruth who tended Phœbe, undressed and bathed her, helped her to bed, and brought her the broth. ”

“ Phœbe sat down and regarded her visitor, marveling at her. A step-mother—a cruel step-mother who beat and tortured, exactly like the step-mothers in the movies! “Then you’re Manila Botts,” she declared.
“Yop.”
Somehow, Phœbe, hearing the name from Miss Ruth, had thought of Manila Botts as some one tall and plump—quite a grown person. And here—! “Tell me about your step-mother,” she bade.
“She’s a woman,” ventured Manila, helplessly. ”

“ She nodded vigorously.
“Oh, we all love you, dear,” quavered Grandma.
“I know,” acknowledged Phœbe.
“Don’t you love anybody but Daddy and Mother?” asked Uncle Bob.
“Oh, yes.”
“I thought so! Grandma, and Uncle John, and a wee bit of love for yours truly——”
“And I love Miss Ruth.”
Uncle Bob sobered. He looked down, thoughtfully. “Miss Ruth,” he repeated. “Ah, yes. Who doesn’t love Miss Ruth.”
“Manila loves her,” confided Phœbe. “Sophie told me all about it. Miss Ruth has been so good to Manila. She calls Miss Ruth ‘Angel’.” ”