"What has she been up to now?" asked her mother, who happened to be near.
"Oh, nothing to be cross about," she hurried to explain, fearing lest she should get the girl into trouble. "Indeed, it was a little act of kindness she did."
"I really don't know what you mean," said Bessie. "I know I've been up to no tricks, for I've been as good this last week as they're made. It's almost been the death of me, I've been so--"
"But what about that note you sent my sister yesterday?"
"No, never wrote her, nor saw her all yesterday."
"A note saying her sister wanted very much to see her. Of course I did; I always do, so it was not untrue; but I did not send it. We thought Bessie sent it as a kind little plan to get her out a bit."
Just then Janie came in on an errand, and seeing her mistress's sister, came up hurriedly to her, saying, "Please come in; mistress is looking so bad, and master's not been home all night."
"There!" exclaimed Bessie, as Phebe's sister hurried away, "you may depend that handsome man next door sent that note himself."
"Why should you think that? You are so quick to judge people, and think yourself so mighty clever over it," said Mrs. Marchant.
Instead of the usual saucy answer, Bessie was silent. Was she learning the same lesson Phebe had been learning?
Miss Lizzie Lawson soon found that the trouble which had befallen her sister Phebe was one which, at least for a time, could not be talked about.
"What is the matter with you, Phebe?" she asked anxiously, as she caught sight of the weary-looking face.
"I do not know." Then suddenly throwing her arms round her sister's neck and kissing her, Phebe said, "Lizzie, dear, I'll tell you all in a day or two, but I cannot now. You'll trust me, won't you? And do not say anything to father."
Of course the only conclusion the sister could come to was that husband and wife had quarrelled. "He will soon get over his sulks and come back," she said to herself.
All that day Phebe watched minute by minute for postman or telegraph boy, but no message came. Even the shopmen went about on tip-toe, feeling that something strange was in the atmosphere, but the white set face of the mistress kept them from asking any questions.
Sharp-witted Bessie for once was at a loss to know what to do. Should she show any sympathy? Should she go in, or stay away? Should she seem to know nothing, or all? These were the questions she weighed over and over. At last this little note was sent: