Two days after Christmas a young man of serious aspect might
have been seen entering one of the large churches at L – – . Being
shown to a seat, he joined in the services with praiseworthy
devotion, especially the music, to which he listened with such
evident pleasure that a gentleman who sat nearby felt moved to
address this appreciative stranger after church.

"Fine sermon today. Ever heard our minister before, sir?" he
began, as they went down the aisle together among the last, for the
young man had lingered as if admiring the ancient building.

"Very fine. No, sir, I have never had that pleasure. I’ve often
wished to see this old place, and am not at all disappointed. Your
choir, too, is unusually good," answered the stranger, glancing up
at several bonnets bobbing about behind the half-drawn curtains
above.

"Finest in the city, sir. We pride ourselves on our music, and
always have the best. People often come for that alone." And the
old gentleman looked as satisfied as if a choir of cherubim and
seraphim "continually did cry" in his organ loft.

"Who is the contralto? That solo was beautifully sung," observed
the younger man, pausing to read a tablet on the wall.

"That is Miss Moore. Been here about a year, and is universally
admired. Excellent young lady couldn’t do without her. Sings
superbly in oratorios. Ever heard her?"

"Never. She came from X, I believe?

"Yes, highly recommended. She was brought up by one of the first
families there. Campbell is the name. If you come from X , you
doubtless know them."

"I have met them. Good morning." And with bows the gentlemen
parted, for at that instant the young man caught sight of a tall lady
going down the church steps with a devout expression in her fine
eyes and a prayer-book in her hand.

Hastening after her, the serious-minded young man accosted her
just as she turned into a quiet street.

"Phebe!"

Only a word, but it wrought a marvelous change, for the devout
expression vanished in the drawing of a breath, and the quiet face
blossomed suddenly with color, warmth, and "the light that never
was on sea or land" as she turned to meet her lover with an
answering word as eloquent as his.

"Archie!"

"The year is out today. I told you I should come. Have you
forgotten?"

"No I knew you’d come."

"And are you glad?"

"How can I help it?"

"You can’t don’t try. Come into this little park and let us talk." And
drawing her hand through his arm, Archie led her into what to
other eyes was a very dismal square, with a boarded-up fountain in
the middle, sodden grass plots, and dead leaves dancing in the
wintry wind.

But to them it was a summery Paradise, and they walked to and fro
in the pale sunshine, quite unconscious that they were objects of
interest to several ladies and gentlemen waiting anxiously for their
dinner or yawning over the dull books kept for Sunday reading.
"Are you ready to come home now, Phebe?" asked Archie tenderly
as he looked at the downcast face beside him and wondered why
all women did not wear delightful little black velvet bonnets with
one deep red flower against their hair.

"Not yet. I haven’t done enough," began Phebe, finding it very hard
to keep the resolution made a year ago.

"You have proved that you can support yourself, make friends, and
earn a name, if you choose. No one can deny that, and we are all
getting proud of you. What more can you ask, my dearest?"

"I don’t quite know, but I am very ambitious. I want to be famous,
to do something for you all, to make some sacrifice for Rose, and,
if I can, to have something to give up for your sake. Let me wait
and work longer I know I haven’t earned my welcome yet,"
pleaded Phebe so earnestly that her lover knew it would be in vain
to try and turn her, so wisely contented himself with half, since he
could not have the whole.

"Such a proud woman! Yet I love you all the better for it, and
understand your feeling. Rose made me see how it seems to you,
and I don’t wonder that you cannot forget the unkind things that
were looked, if not said, by some of my amiable aunts. I’ll try to be
patient on one condition, Phebe."

"And what is that?"

"You are to let me come sometimes while I wait, and wear this lest
you should forget me," he said, pulling a ring from his pocket and
gently drawing a warm, bare hand out of the muff where it lay
hidden.

"Yes, Archie, but not here not now!" cried Phebe, glancing about
her as if suddenly aware that they were not alone.

"No one can see us here I thought of that. Give me one happy
minute, after this long, long year of waiting," answered Archie,
pausing just where the fountain hid them from all eyes, for there
were houses only on one side.

Phebe submitted and never did a plain gold ring slip more easily to
its place than the one he put on in such a hurry that cold December
day. Then one hand went back into the muff red with the grasp he
gave it, and the other to its old place on 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 blind to hers."

"But why did Mac come away? He says lectures brought him, and
he goes, but I am sure something else is in his mind, he looks so
happy at times. I don’t see him very often, but when I do I’m
conscious that he isn’t the Mac I left a year ago," said Phebe,
leading Archie away, for inexorable propriety forbade a longer
stay, even if prudence and duty had not given her a reminding
nudge, as it was very cold, and afternoon church came in an hour.

"Well, you see Mac was always peculiar, and he cannot even grow
up like other fellows. I don’t understand him yet, and am sure he’s
got some plan in his head that no one suspects, unless it is Uncle
Alec. Love makes us all cut queer capers, and I’ve an idea that the
Don will distinguish himself in some uncommon way. So be
prepared to applaud whatever it is. We owe him that, you know."

"Indeed we do! If Rose ever speaks of him to you, tell her I shall
see that he comes to no harm, and she must do the same for my
Archie."

That unusual demonstration of tenderness from reserved Phebe
very naturally turned the conversation into a more personal
channel, and Archie devoted himself to building castles in the air
so successfully that they passed the material mansion without
either being aware of it.

"Will you come in?" asked Phebe when the mistake was rectified
and she stood on her own steps looking down at her escort, who
had discreetly released her before a pull at the bell caused five
heads to pop up at five different windows.

"No, thanks. I shall be at church this afternoon, and the oratorio
this evening. I must be off early in the morning, so let me make the
most of precious time and come home with you tonight as I did
before," answered Archie, making his best bow, and quite sure of
consent.

"You may." And Phebe vanished, closing the door softly, as if she
found it hard to shut out so much love and happiness as that in the
heart of the sedate young gentleman who went briskly down the
street humming a verse of old "Clyde" like a tuneful bass viol:

"Oh, let our mingling voices rise

In grateful rapture to the skies,

Where love has had its birth.

Let songs of joy this day declare

That spirits come their bliss to share

With all the sons of earth."

That afternoon Miss Moore sang remarkably well, and that
evening quite electrified even her best friends by the skill and
power with which she rendered "Inflammatus" in the oratorio.

"If that is not genius, I should like to know what it is?" said one
young man to another as they went out just before the general
crush at the end.

"Some genius and a great deal of love. They are a grand team, and,
when well driven, astonish the world by the time they make in the
great race," answered the second young man with the look of one
inclined to try his hand at driving that immortal span.

"Daresay you are right. Can’t stop now she’s waiting for me. Don’t
sit up, Mac."

"The gods go with you, Archie."

And the cousins separated one to write till midnight, the other to
bid his Phebe good-bye, little dreaming how unexpectedly and
successfully she was to earn her welcome home.