These words, however, had not the inhospitable bluntness with which they may strike the reader; for the two relatives, in a talk before bedtime, had arrived at a certain degree of mutual understanding. Hepzibah knew enough to enable her to appreciate the circumstances (resulting from the second marriage of the girl’s mother) which made it desirable for Phœbe to establish herself in another home. Nor did she misinterpret Phœbe’s character, and the genial activity pervading it,—one of the most valuable traits of the true New England woman,—which had impelled her forth, as might be said, to seek her fortune, but with a self-respecting purpose to confer as much benefit as she could anywise receive. As one of her nearest kindred, she had naturally betaken herself to Hepzibah, with no idea of forcing herself on her cousin’s protection, but only for a visit of a week or two, which might be indefinitely extended, should it prove for the happiness of both. To Hepzibah’s blunt observation, therefore, Phœbe replied as frankly, and more cheerfully. “Dear cousin, I cannot tell how it will be,” said she. “But I really think we may suit one another much better than you suppose.” “You are a nice girl,—I see it plainly,” continued Hepzibah; “and it is not any question as to that point which makes me hesitate. But, Phœbe, this house of mine is but a melancholy place for a young person to be in. It lets in the wind and rain, and the snow, too, in the garret and upper chambers, in winter-time, but it never lets in the sunshine. And as for myself, you see what I am,—a dismal and lonesome old woman (for I begin to call myself old, Phœbe), whose temper, I am afraid, is none of the best, and whose spirits are as bad as can be! I cannot make your life pleasant, Cousin Phœbe, neither can I so much as give you bread to eat.” “You will find me a cheerful little body” answered Phœbe, smiling, and yet with a kind of gentle dignity, “and I mean to earn my bread. You know I have not been brought up a Pyncheon. A girl learns many things in a New England village.” “Ah! Phœbe,” said Hepzibah, sighing, “your knowledge would do but little for you here! And then it is a wretched thought that you should fling away your young days in a place like this. Those cheeks would not be so rosy after a month or two. Look at my face!” and, indeed, the contrast was very striking,—“you see how pale I am! It is my idea that the dust and continual decay of these old houses are unwholesome for the lungs.” “There is the garden,—the flowers to be taken care of,” observed Phœbe. “I should keep myself healthy with exercise in the open air.” “And, after all, child,” exclaimed Hepzibah, suddenly rising, as if to dismiss the subject, “it is not for me to say who shall be a guest or inhabitant of the old Pyncheon House. Its master is coming.” “Do you mean Judge Pyncheon?” asked Phœbe in surprise.