They were healthy dreams, if inherently romantic and unreal. There was nothing morbid about Phœbe, although it must be admitted she had some queer characteristics that might be called faults. Cousin Judith thought she was more like her mother than any of the other children, yet her shrewd eyes marked the girl’s frequent abstraction and knew her thoughts were often far away from her material surroundings.
Phœbe scented a mystery. That old Miss Halliday possessed some secret which she dreaded to have revealed was quite evident to her, judging from what she had overheard. It would be difficult to explain to others, those peculiar sounds. Perhaps, she would be laughed at if she attempted it. She resolved, therefore, to keep her own counsel and watch Elaine carefully. If she discovered the secret it would then be time enough to make it known; meantime, she could enjoy the suggestion of a mystery without interference.
Practical, everyday life is apt to dispel visionary dreams. Phœbe leaned from her window the next morning and watched Cousin Judith bargaining with Miss Halliday for a dozen of fresh eggs.
“The Randolphs, across the road, pay me twenty cents a dozen,” said Elaine, gruffly. “You can buy eggs from the grocer for eighteen. There’s no need to waste your money on me.”
“Do the Randolphs take all you have?” asked Judith.
“Then I will not urge you,” replied Miss Eliot, “although I would be willing to pay you twenty cents, myself. I know your eggs are quite fresh, which is not always the case with those obtained from the grocer.”
“I don’t want your money,” observed the woman, in a disagreeable tone. “I won’t touch your money. Mr. Eliot allows you house room out of charity, but he desires no communication, of any sort, between the two families.”
“How do you know that?” inquired Judith, looking at the old servant, steadily.
“You know very well that he is incapable of speech.”
“Do I? That shows your ignorance, Judith Eliot. Your uncle can speak when he wants to, and speak to some purpose. His mind isn’t paralyzed, I assure you, and he is competent to direct his own affairs.”
“Call in the law, if you want to,” she said; “I’d be glad to have you do it. Mr. Eliot can prove his mental condition in court, and his right to manage his own property. But if you put him to that trouble he’ll turn out the whole tribe of you, as sure as my name’s Elaine Halliday!”