They're pure gold, every one of them; but I can't
deny they're pretty rough on the outside sometimes. And I hope
you will be--"
"Oh, I know. I understand perfectly. You just got me out here
as a--a sort of sandpaper for your boys' manners!" Evadna choked
over a little sob of self-pity. "I can just tell you one thing,
Aunt Phoebe, that fellow you call Grant ought to be smoothed with
one of those funny axes they hew logs with."
Phoebe bit her lips because she wanted to treat the subject very
seriously. "I want you to promise me, honey, that you will be
particularly nice to Grant; PARTICULARLY nice. He's so alone,
and he's very proud and sensitive, because he feels his
loneliness. No one understands him as I do--"
"I hate him!" gritted Evadna, in an emphatic whisper which her
Aunt Phoebe thought it wise not to seem to hear.
Phoebe settled herself comfortably for a long talk. The murmur
of her voice as she explained and comforted and advised came
soothingly from the room, with now and then an interruption while
she waited for a tardy answer to some question.
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