.. Phoebe's picture....
A shy, small, oval, half-wild face like that of a dryad's. Her chin
lifted as if she were some wood-creature listening to the approaching
tread of the hunter and ready on the instant to spring forth and run
along the wind....
An outdoor picture, a mere snapshot, but an accidental work of art.
Voluminous leafage blew behind and above her head, splashed with the
white of sunlight and the gloom of swaying shadow.
"Why, she's--she's beautiful!"
"Yes--got prettier and prettier every time you looked at her...."
"But," and Aunt Rachel sighed, "I couldn't do nothin' with her at all.
An' scoldin' an' whippin' done no good, neither. Josh useter whip her
till he was blue in the face, an' she wouldn't budge. Only made her more
sot and stubborner....
"--guess she was born the way she was ... she never could stay still a
minute ... always fidgettin' ... when she was a little girl, even--I
used to say, 'Now, look here, Phoebe,' I'd say, 'your ma 'ull give you a
whole dime all at once if you'll set still jest for five minutes in that
chair.' An' she'd try ... and, before sixty seconds was ticked off she'd
be on her feet, sayin', 'Ma, I guess you kin keep that dime.'
"When she took to runnin' out at nights," my great-aunt continued, in a
low voice, "yes, an' swearin' back at her pa when he gave her a bit of
his mind, it nigh broke my heart .
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