Phoebe was standing down by the entrance gate. She was waiting for an
oxcart, whose driver had promised to take her with him on his return to
Thorbury. She had arranged with a neighbor to prepare the minister's
supper, but she must be on hand to give him his breakfast. As there was
nothing to interest her at Cobhurst, and nothing to report, she was glad
to go, and considered this oxcart a godsend, for her plan of getting Mike
to drive her over in the spring cart had not been met with favor.
Waiting at the gateway, she had seen Ralph and Cicely walk up the hill,
and watched them standing together, ever and ever so long, looking at the
sky, and she had kept her eyes on them as they came down the hill,
stopped to pick flowers which he gave to her, and until they had
disappeared among the trees of the orchard.
"Upon my word an' honor!" ejaculated Mrs. Robinson, "if that old French
slop-cook hasn't lied to me, wus than Satan could do hisself! If them
two ain't lovers, there never was none, an' that old heathen sinner
thought she could clap a coffee bag over my head so that I couldn't see
nothin' nor tell nothin'.
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