"Miss Phebe, is it possible you are severe on poor Mrs. Upjohn?"

"Very possible."

"As your pastor I must admonish you. Don't be. Besides, it's safer to
keep on her blind side."

"She hasn't any."

"Unhappy woman! What a blaze of moral light she must live in! But I
ought to have been in my study an hour ago. I must tear myself away. I
wish you all ill-luck possible with those stitches."

"Ah, is that you, Mr. Halloway? I was wondering what kept Phebe so long
in the window. Good-morning, sir. Good-morning, sir. Pray, come in." And
having, by a turn of his slow old head, discovered the young man standing
just outside the window, Mr. Hardcastle came pompously forward, waving
his hand in a grand way he had, that seemed to bespeak him always the
proprietor, no matter in whose house he chanced to be.

"Thank you, Mr. Hardcastle, not this morning. I was just telling Miss
Phebe I ought to be at work. Good-morning, Mrs. Lane. Good-morning, Mrs.
Upjohn--Mrs. Hardcastle--Miss Delano--Miss Brooks."

And with a cheery bow to each individual head, craning itself forward to
have a look at the unusual young man who had work to do, the Rev. Mr.
Halloway walked off to his rectory, which was directly opposite, giving a
merry glance back at Phebe from the other side of the street. Phebe was
still smiling as she went with the stocking to its owner.