Chapter 4
The Christmas AngelPhoebe watched the two unhappily, sighed when they disappeared
around the corner of the house, and set her bowl of butter upon the
broad, flat rock which just missed being overflowed with water, and
sighed again.
"I'm afraid it isn't going to work," she murmured aloud; for
Phoebe, having lived much of her life in the loneliness which the
West means to women, frequently talked to herself. "She's such a
nice little thing—but the boys don't take to her like I thought
they would. I don't see as she's having a mite of influence on
their manners, unless it's to make them act worse, just to shock
her. Clark USED to take off his hat when he come into the house
most every time. And great grief! Now he'd wear it and his chaps
and spurs to the table, if I did
