Unconsciously Phoebe cast a look upon her grandmother. She did not think she was vain. To be unconscious that she had some personal advantages would, of course, be impossible; but a thrill crept through her when she looked at the old woman by her side, wrinkled and red, in her copper-coloured gown. As like as two peas! was that possible? Phoebe’s heart sank for the moment to her shoes, and a pitiful look of restrained pain came to her face. This was assailing her in her tenderest point.
“Am I so like you, grandmamma?” she said, faltering; but added quickly, “then I cannot be like mamma. How do you do? My mother wished me to come at once, to bring her kind regards. Is my uncle at home?”
“No, Miss, your uncle ain’t at home,” said Mrs. Tom, “but you might be civil, all the same, and put a name to me, more nor if I was a dog. I’m your aunt, I am—and I likes all my titles, I do—and proper respect.”
“Surely,” said Phoebe, with a bow and a gracious smile—but she did not add that name. She was pleased to think that “Tom’s wife” was her mother’s favourite aversion, and that a dignified resistance to her claims was, so to speak, her duty. It even amused her to think of the ingenuity required throughout a long conversation for the clever and polite eluding of this claim.
“I hope as you mean to let us in, Amelia,” said Mrs. Tozer, “for it ain’t often as I takes so long a walk. I would never have thought of it but for Phoebe—Phoebe junior, as Tozer calls her. She’s been used to things very different, but I’m thankful to say she ain’t a bit proud. She couldn’t be more attentive to me if I was the queen, and talks of your children as pretty as possible, without no nonsense. It ain’t often as you see that in a girl brought up like she’s been.”
“I don’t pretend to know nothing of how she’s been brought up,” said Mrs. Tom, “and I don’t think as there’s no occasion for pride here. We’re all well-to-do, and getting on in the world—thanks to Him as gives the increase. I don’t see no opening for pride here. Me and your mother were never very good friends, Phoebe, since that’s your name; but if there’s anything I can do for you, or my family, you won’t ask twice. Grandmother’s ain’t a very lively house, not like mine, as is full of children. Come in, Granny. I’m always speaking of making the stairs wider, and a big window on the landing; but folks can’t do everything at once, and we’ll have to do with it a bit longer. We’ve done a deal already to the old place.”
“More than was wanted, or was thought upon in my time,” said the old lady, to whom this was as the trumpet of battle. “The stairs did well enough for me, and I can’t think what Tom can want changing things as he’s been used to all his life.”
“Oh, it ain’t Tom,” said his wife, her face lighting up with satisfaction. “Tom wouldn’t mind if the place was to come to bits about our ears. He’s like you, granny, he’s one of the standstill ones. It ain’t Tom, it’s me.”
This little passage of arms took place as they were going upstairs, which cost poor Mrs. Tozer many pantings and groaning, and placed Phoebe for once on Mrs. Tom’s side, for a window on the landing would have been a wonderful improvement, there was no denying. When, at last, they had toiled to the top, fighting their way, not only through the obscurity, but through an atmosphere of ham and cheese which almost choked Phoebe, the old lady was speechless with the exertion, though the air was to her as the air of Paradise. Phoebe placed her on a chair and undid her bonnet-strings, and for a minute was really alarmed. Mrs. Tom, however, took it with perfect equanimity.
“She’s blown a bit; she ain’t as young as she was, nor even as she thinks for,” said that sympathetic person. “Come, Granny, cheer up. Them stairs ain’t strange to you. What’s the good of making a fuss? Sit down and get your breath,” she went on, pulling forward a chair; then turning to Phoebe, she shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. “She’s breaking fast, that’s what it is,” said Mrs. Tom under her breath, with a nod of her head.
“This is the room as your mother spent most of her life in when she was like you,” said Mrs. Tozer, when she regained her breath. “It was here as she met your father first. The first time I set my eyes on him, ‘That’s the man for my Phoebe,’ I said to myself; and sure enough, so it turned out.”
“You didn’t miss no way of helping it on, neither, granny, if folks do you justice,” said Mrs. Tom. “Mothers can do a deal when they exerts themselves; and now Phoebe has a daughter of her own, I dare be sworn she’s just as clever, throwing the nice ones and the well-off ones in her way. It’s a wonder to me as she hasn’t gone off yet, with all her opportunities—two or three and twenty, ain’t you, Miss Phoebe? I should have thought you’d have married long afore now.”
“I stall be twenty my next birthday,” said Phoebe. “My cousins are a great deal younger, I hear; are they at school? I hope I shall see them before I go.”
“Oh, you’ll see ’em fast enough,” said their mother, “they’re
