eived her, and was wandering anxiously up and down in search of her.
She held back in her corner for the moment, to overcome the shock. Yes,
there could be no doubt about it; there he was, he whom she was going to
visit, under whose auspices she was about to appear in Carlingford. He
was not even like an old Dissenting minister, which had been her
childish notion of him. He looked neither more nor less than what he
was, an old shopkeeper, very decent and respectable, but a little shabby
and greasy, like the men whose weekly bills she had been accustomed to
pay for her mother. She felt an instant conviction that he would call
her "Ma'am," if she went up to him, and think her one of the quality.
Poor Phoebe! she sat back in her corner and gave a gasp of horror and
dismay, but having done this, she was herself again. She gave herself a
shake, like one who is about to take a plunge, rose lightly to her feet,
took up her bag, and stepped out of the carriage, just as Mr. Tozer
strolled anxiously past for the third time.

"Grandpapa!" she cried with a smile. Mr. Tozer was almost as much taken
aback by this apparition as Phoebe herself had been. He knew that his
daughter had made great strides in social elevation, and that her
children, when he had seen them last, had been quite like "gentlefolk's
children;" but to see this young princess step forth graciously out of a
first-class carriage, and address him as "grandpapa," took away his
breath.

"Why--why--why, Miss! you ain't little Phoebe?" he cried, scared out of
his seven senses, as he afterwards said.

"Yes, indeed, I am little Phoebe," she said, coming up and kissing him
dutifully. She was half-disgusted, he half-frightened; but yet it was
right, and Phoebe did it. "I have only two boxes and a bag," she said,
"besides my dressing-case. If you will get a cab, grandpapa, I will go
and see after the luggage."

Old Tozer thought he could have carried the bag himself, and left the
boxes to follow; but he succumbed humbly and obeyed.

"She don't seem a bit proud," he said to himself; "but, good Lord,
what'll she ever say to my old woman?"

He saw the contrast very clearly between his wife and this splendid
grandchild. It did not strike him so much in his own case.

"How is grandmamma?" said Phoebe, blandly; "better, I hope? Mamma was so
sorry not to come herself; but you know, of course, she has a great many
things to do. People in town are obliged to keep up certain appe