Phoebe grumbles far less; it is wonderful to hear her say, sometimes, that she did not know it was bedtime, when I go in to fetch the lamp.

Reading?
ay, she is always reading; but she sleeps a deal, too.' I used to look round Phoebe's room with satisfaction now; it had quite lost its stiff, angular look.

A dark crimson foot-quilt lay on the bed, a stand of green growing ferns was on the table, and two or three books were always placed beside her.
Some gay china figures that I had hunted out of the glass cupboard in the parlour enlivened the mantelpiece, and a simple landscape, with sheep feeding in a sunny field, hung opposite the bed.

Some pretty cretonne curtains had replaced the dingy dark ones.

Phoebe herself had a soft fleecy gray shawl drawn over her thin shoulders.