And so the doors were thrown open, supper was announced, and Joppa, as it swarmed around the loaded tables, felt that its hour of merited reward was come; and Mr. Hardcastle, when at last he could eat and drink no more, stood up and pronounced, in the name of the united assembly, that Mrs. Upjohn’s entertainment had been a very, very great success, as all that dear Mrs. Upjohn undertook always was sure to be, and particularly those devilled crabs were unapproachable for perfection.  Nobody could make him believe that even the Baroness Bunsen with all her learning could ever have spiced them better.

CHAPTER V.

FRIENDS.

Several days later, as Mr. Halloway was leaving the rectory one afternoon, he saw Phebe standing in her door-way, and crossed to speak to her.

“Alone?” he asked, smiling.  “I supposed that now you would never be without a shadow.”

“Gerald is up-stairs dressing.  She is going to ride with Mr. De Forest.  He has been to see her twice already, and you have not called yet.”  There was the faintest possible reproach in her voice and in her eyes.

“I have been really busy the last few days, Miss Phebe.  You may know there is always some desperate reason when I am long absent.  But here I am now.  Shall I send in my card for Miss Vernor?  Must I do it up in New York or Joppa style?”

Phebe laughed.  “Never mind the card, Gerald will be down soon.  It is nearly time, and she is always so punctual.  What is it, Olly, dear?”

An ugly little boy, with a pale, pinched face and impish eyes, was pulling smartly at her dress.

“I say, Pheeb, can I have a cookie?”

“Does Gerald let you have cookies between meals, Olly?”

“Yes,” answered Olly, unhesitatingly.  “Always.”

“What’s that?” broke in an unexpected voice behind,—­a clear, ringing, decided voice.  “I will not have you tell such lies, Olly!  Why will you do it!”

“I’ll have the cookie anyhow,” said Olly, starting on a run.  “Pheeb said I could, and this is Pheeb’s house, and I will.”

“And you won’t,” said the voice, sharply.  There was a scuffle, a rush, the sound of a smart box on the ear, a sudden childish howl, and Olly fled back to Phebe and buried his face in her dress.  Phebe folded her arms protectingly around him, and looked up appealingly at the tall, slender figure approaching.

“Oh, Gerald, must you?”

“Phebe, I can’t have you spoil that boy so.  I won’t have him a liar and a gourmand; he’s bad enough without that.  Olly, stop bawling this moment.”

“I won’t,” screamed Olly.  “You hurt me, you did, and if I can’t have a cookie I’ll cry just as loud as ever I can; so there!”

“Then you’ll cry in the house and not on the front steps.  I won’t have it.  Come in immediately.”

And holding up her habit with one hand, the young lady reached out with the other,—­a very small and white but determined-looking little hand Denham noticed (from where he stood he could not see her face)—­and wrenching the child by no means gently away from Phebe, she dragged him with her toward the parlor.