Hannah had been unreasonably distracted by
the actuality of Phebe's return--the Phebe who had gone away from the
mountains and become an actress.
The buggy was drawn to one side of the principal Greenstream road, at
the post-office. Before him the way crossed the valley and lifted
abruptly to the slope of the eastern range. At his back the village--
the brick Methodist church and the white painted Presbyterian church,
the courthouse with its dignified columns, the stores at the corners of
the single crossroads, and varied dwellings--was settling into the
elusive May twilight. The highest peaks in the east were capped with
dissolving rose by the lowering sun, and the sky was a dusty blue.
Calvin Stammark heard the approaching stage before he saw it; then the
long rigid surrey with its spare horses rapidly rolled up over the open
road to the post-office. He got down and moved diffidently forward,
seeing and recognizing Phebe immediately. This was made possible by her
resemblance to Hannah; and yet, Calvin added, no two women could be
more utterly different.
Phebe Braley had a full figure--she was almost stout--a body of the
frankest emphasized curves in a long purple coat with a collar of
soiled white fur. A straw hat with the brim caught by a short purple-
dyed ostrich feather was pinned to a dead-looking crinkled mass of
greenish-gold hair, and her face--the memorable features of Hannah--was
loaded with pink powder.
Calvin said: "You must be Phebe Braley.
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