his arm with a confiding gesture, as if it
had a right there.

"Now I feel sure of you," said Archie as they went on again, and no one
the wiser for that tender transaction behind the ugly pyramid of boards.
"Mac wrote me that you were much admired by your church people, and that
certain wealthy bachelors evidently had designs on the retiring Miss
Moore. I was horribly jealous, but now I defy every man of them."

Phebe smiled with the air of proud humility that was so becoming and
answered briefly: "There was no danger kings could not change me,
whether you ever came or not. But Mac should not have told you."

"You shall be revenged on him, then, for, as he told secrets about you,
I'll tell you one about him. Phebe, he loves Rose!" And Archie looked as
if he expected to make a great sensation with his news.

"I know it." And Phebe laughed at his sudden change of countenance as he
added inquiringly, "She told you, then?"

"Not a word. I guessed it from her letters, for lately she says nothing
about Mac, and before there was a good deal, so I suspected what the
silence meant and asked no questions."

"Wise girl! Then you think she does care for the dear old fellow?"

"Of course she does. Didn't he tell you so?"

"No, he only said when he went away, 'Take care of my Rose, and I'll
take care of your Phebe,' and not another thing could I get out of him,
for I did ask questions. He stood by me like a hero, and kept Aunt Jane
from driving me stark mad with her 'advice.' I don't forget that, and
burned to lend him a hand somewhere, but he begged me to let him manage
his wooing in his own way. And from what I see, I should say he knew how
to do it," added Archie, finding it very delightful to gossip about love
affairs with his sweetheart.

"Dear little mistress! How does she behave?" asked Phebe, longing
for news, but too grateful to ask at headquarters, remembering how
generously Rose had tried to help her, even by silence, the greatest
sacrifice a woman can make at such interesting periods.

"Very sweet and shy and charming. I try not to watch but upon my word I
cannot help it sometimes, she is so 'cunning,' as you girls say. When I
carry her a letter from Mac she tries so hard not to show how glad she
is that I want to laugh and tell her I know all about it. But I look as
sober as a judge and as stupid as an owl by daylight, and she enjoys her
letters in peace and thinks I'm so absorbed in my own passion that I'm