Y ward, Phebe, till you are of age." "Will it be
much trouble, sir?" she asked anxiously. "None at all," he answered; "I hope it will be a pleasure; for, Phebe, it will not be fit for you to live alone at Upfold Farm; and I wish you to come here--to
make your home
with me till you are of age. It would be a great pleasure to me, and I would take care you should
have every opportunity for self-improvement. I know you are not a fine young lady, my dear, but you are sensible, modest, and sweet-tempered, and we should get on well together. If you were happy with
me I should regard you as my adopted daughter, and provide accordingly
for you. Think of it for a few minutes while
I look over these letters. Perhaps I seem a grim and surly old man to you; but I am not naturally
so. You would never disappoint me." He turned
away to his desk, and appeared to occupy himself with his letters, but he did not take in a single line of them. He had set his heart once more
on the hope of winning love and gratitude from some young
wayfarer on life's rough road, whose path he could make smooth and bright. He had been bitterly disappointed in his own son and his friend's son. But if this simple, unspoiled, little country maiden would leave her future life in
his keeping, how easy and how
happy it should be! "It's very good of you," said Phebe, in a
trembling voice; "and I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Clifford, not in the
least; but I could not keep from fretting
in this house. Oh, I loved them so, every one
of them; but Mr. Roland most of all. No one was ever so good
to me as he was. If it hadn't been for
him I should hav
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