Only an Incident | Page 4

Of girl-friends
she had plenty, and of men-friends she had plenty; but of lovers she had
none.
And this was why when the Rev. Mr. Denham Halloway was called to
the vacant parish of St. Joseph's and fell down in its maidenly midst
like a meteor from an unexplored heaven,--a young, handsome divine,
in every way marriageable, though still unmarried, and in every way
attractive, though still to the best of hope and belief unattracted,--this
was why no girl of them all thought her own chances lessened in the
least when he and Phebe became such friends. No one gossiped. No
one ah-ah'd, or oh-oh'd. No one thought twice about it. What difference
could it make? If it had been anybody else now! But it was only Phebe
Lane.

CHAPTER II.
PHEBE.
"Miss Phebe!"
"Oh, Mr. Halloway!"
"Hush. Don't let them know I'm here. I couldn't help peeping in as I
went by. You look done up."
"I am."
"What's going on?"
"Come in and see."
"Heaven forbid! Gracious! Mrs. Upjohn will think that's a swear. Don't
look this way, Miss Phebe. They'll discover me. What's Mr. Hardcastle
saying?"

"The world is very evil."
"'The times are waxing late.' Why doesn't he add that and go?"
"He never goes. He only comes."
"What is Mrs. Upjohn so wrought up about?"
"She caught one of her Sunday-school boys breaking Sunday."
"How?"
"Eating apples."
"Horrible! Where?"
"Up in a tree."
"Whose tree?"
"That's where the unpardonable comes in. Her tree."
"Poor boy; what a mistake! What are you doing with that hideous silk
stocking?"
"Picking up dropped stitches."
"Whose stitches? Yours?"
"Mrs. Hardcastle's."
"Don't aid and abet her in creating that monstrosity. It's participation in
crime. It's worse than eating apples up a tree. Do you always have such
a crowd here in the morning?"
"Always."
"How long have they been here?"

"Nearly two hours."
"What do they come for?"
"Habit."
"Miss Lydia's asleep."
"Habit too."
"What shall you do when you are done with that odious stocking?"
"Sort crewels for Mrs. Upjohn."
"And then?"
"Iron out my dress for the party."
"Oh, at Mrs. Anthony's? Who'll be there?"
"Everybody who has dropped in here this morning."
"Who else?"
"Those who dropped in yesterday."
"But what will you do to make it party-like?"
"Simper. Aren't you coming too?"
"Not if you think it would do for me to say that I held party-going
wrong for a clergyman. Could I? I might win over Mrs. Upjohn to the
Church by so holy a statement."
"You had better take to round-dancing instead, then, to keep her out of
it."
"Miss Phebe, is it possible you are severe on poor Mrs. Upjohn?"

"Very possible."
"As your pastor I must admonish you. Don't be. Besides, it's safer to
keep on her blind side."
"She hasn't any."
"Unhappy woman! What a blaze of moral light she must live in! But I
ought to have been in my study an hour ago. I must tear myself away. I
wish you all ill-luck possible with those stitches."
"Ah, is that you, Mr. Halloway? I was wondering what kept Phebe so
long in the window. Good-morning, sir. Good-morning, sir. Pray, come
in." And having, by a turn of his slow old head, discovered the young
man standing just outside the window, Mr. Hardcastle came pompously
forward, waving his hand in a grand way he had, that seemed to
bespeak him always the proprietor, no matter in whose house he
chanced to be.
"Thank you, Mr. Hardcastle, not this morning. I was just telling Miss
Phebe I ought to be at work. Good-morning, Mrs. Lane. Good-morning,
Mrs. Upjohn--Mrs. Hardcastle--Miss Delano--Miss Brooks."
And with a cheery bow to each individual head, craning itself forward
to have a look at the unusual young man who had work to do, the Rev.
Mr. Halloway walked off to his rectory, which was directly opposite,
giving a merry glance back at Phebe from the other side of the street.
Phebe was still smiling as she went with the stocking to its owner.
"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Hardcastle, taking it from her without
looking. "Oh, my child, how could you be so careless! You have let me
pull out one of the needles. Well--well."
Phebe took the work silently back, and sat herself down on a stool to
remedy the mischief.
"A nice young fellow enough," remarked Mr. Hardcastle,
condescendingly, returning to the group of ladies. "But he'll never set

the river on fire."
"No need he should, is there?" said Mrs. Upjohn, looking up sharply
from her embroidery. She always contradicted, if only for argument's
sake, so that even her assents usually took a negative form. "It's enough
if he's able to put out a fire in that Church. It doesn't take much of a
man, I