I thought I was your friend too, Miss Phebe." Phebe still knelt with her arms around Mrs.Whittridge, but she looked up at him with her frank, loving eyes and smiled.

"You know I meant you both," she said softly.
An almost irresistible impulse came over the young man to lay his hand, as his sister had done, on the soft, bright-brown hair.

Clergymen are but human after all.

He bent forward, but only lifted one of his sister's thin white hands and held it a moment between his.

"We must both do our best by this foolish little girl who trusts us so frankly with her friendship, must we not, Soeur Angelique ?" he said gravely.
"I for one am very glad to assume the trust," said Mrs.Whittridge.
"And won't you ever tire of me?
ever?
ever ?" asked the girl.
"Not ever." "You won't ever be tired helping me, or tired of having me come to you for help, or tired of my loving you ?" "Where is your faith gone, my child ?" Phebe drew a deep sigh of content.